The Ghost Files 3 (3 page)

No, not again!

It’s useless fighting, though. I feel myself getting sucked into the void of her memories
. I struggle against the hands holding me down. I can’t move, can’t scream. I’m trapped in her nightmare and there’s no way out until she shows me what happened to her.

God help me.

Chapter Three

Cigarettes, sweat, and beer. It’s a distinctive odor and familiar. It stinks and I hate anything that stinks. It’s a phobia with me. I try to roll away from the smell
, but I can’t. I’m not tied up either. No, he doesn’t
need
to tie me. My body is broken from the beating it’s already taken. My eyes are swollen and blurry. I can’t make out anything other than a few shapes that flicker in the moonlight. Dirt. I smell dirt, so maybe I’m in the woods? The dirt smells like the stuff at the camp I’d been forced to attend one summer. It had lots of trees. I can hear the water, too. Maybe somewhere around Lake Norman, near Mooresville?

A foot connects with my ribs and air whooshes out of my lungs. God, that hurt. He’s so gonna suffer when I can get my hands on him. Footsteps walk away and then come back. I can smell the smoke close to my nose. The sizzle registers before the pain. He’s burning me with his cigarette! God, no! I feel the searing pain each time he touches my flesh. Whimpers escape my throat and fear clogs
my thoughts. Okay, okay, I
know
it’s not my fear, it’s the girl’s, but that doesn’t really help. I
am
her right now and that’s overwhelming me. I must concentrate.

I’m shoved onto my stomach and I hear a scream. Non
ononono…my mind shies away from the
very
worst thing. Don’t think about it, block it out, block
her
out! But I can’t. Now he’s laughing, grunting as the screams continue, but now, soft and muted, because my—her—throat is on fire.
I am not this girl!
My internal self chants over and over—trying to escape the sounds…and the damage. Not me, it’s not me, the chant begins.

“Mattie, Mattie, Mattie…”

What? My consciousness snaps back. Someone is repeating my name, like a mantra over and over. The guy. His voice is whisper-soft, but his lips are against my ear.

“How do you like
this
, Mattie Hathaway?”

I try to block it out, but can’t. His voice is so full of hatred and all I want to do is curl up in a ball and cry. No, no, no, I don’t want this curse of a gift, just take it away, please, just take it away…

“Mattie? Mattie!”

Someone is shaking me and I open my eyes. Mary’s face comes into focus and
I blink rapidly. I’m back, not…somewhere or some
one
else. Poor Mary. She’s afraid, for me. I understand her expression as I uncurl myself from the ball I’ve wrapped my body in, grab the sink, and pull myself up. In the mirror, I see my face wet with tears, pale, eyes wide and dilated. No wonder Mary’s worried. I’m shaking and nearly fall when I take a step. Mary catches me.
Just breathe, Mattie
, I tell myself.
Just breathe
.

I close my eyes and take several deep breaths, but can’t shake the experience I just had
—which was the vindictive little ghost’s point. That kind of fear doesn’t leave. Oh, when I get my hands on her…I’m shoving her into the light. I might dangle her in The Between just for spite first. I really want to feel bad for her—only because she died horrifically. But…dang it, she’d tortured me because she
wanted
to.

At least now I understand why these girls blamed me. He’d chanted my name while he brutalized them. He definitely knew me, but the question is
how
does he know me? I need to talk to Dan.

“Do you want to sit?” Mary asks, concerned, pulling me back to reality.

“No, let’s go,” I croak. She helps me outside, where I gratefully plop onto the stone ledge once again. Mrs. C. is whispering to Mary, but I don’t really care what they’re saying. My body still screams from the memory of what happened to that girl. I feel the broken ribs, the bruised and bloody face, and every blow she took. I feel
everything
, even the thing I want most to
not
remember. I shudder away from it and tears leak from my eyes. I hurt so much.

Mary urges me to stand and we board the bus, talking to me
all the while, but I’m not paying attention. Why can’t I shake these feelings? I want to scream, shout, tell them what’s happened, but I can’t. Not here. I gotta talk to Doc or maybe the Malones. They might know a way to stop the ghosts from forcing me to feel everything they do.

The Malones. I wince just thinking about them. They’re Dan’s birth family, the one he was stolen from. Eli Malone, Dan’s younger brother, is also the reason Dan’s adoptive mother is in jail right now. And it’s my fault, no matter what anyone says.

Mrs. Cross gets us settled into the car and turns on Kiss 95.1 as we drive. It’s my favorite radio station in Charlotte. She’s putting on a brave face, but I’ve freaked her out. It doesn’t seem to bother Mary, but her mom is having issues. I mean, the lady
said
she could handle my particular brand of weird, but now that she’s gotten a glimpse of it, I’m not so sure about that.

“Mattie, there’s something I need to warn you about before we get to the police station,” Mrs. Cross says, visibly nervous. “There are some new developments you need to be aware of.”

New developments? That doesn’t sound at all good.

“It’s a good thing,” Mary assures me with a smile. My radar goes on high alert. They’re both acting way too chipper.

“Dan called your social worker to let her know what was happening,” Mrs. Cross continues. “He gave her your father’s name and she’s been in contact with him over the last few days.”

I freeze, startled, terrified. Now I have to think about my father,
and
face what I did to Dan’s family. A few weeks ago, I’d asked Dan to help me find my father. My mom had never spoken of him, that much I can remember. Eventually, Dan tracked my mom’s movements and learned she kept going back to New Orleans. So he asked Mr. Richards to engage a private investigator. What he found pretty much tore Dan’s family to shreds.

When the PI looked up my mom, Claire Hathaway,
Dan’s
adoptive mother’s name kept popping up. My mother’s
real
name was Amanda Sterling, not Claire Hathaway. Apparently, Dan’s mother was Claire’s sister. So, Dan’s mom helped her sister steal me from my real family. Unfortunately, it gets worse. Dan’s mom didn’t really adopt Dan. She’d kidnapped his birth mother, Amelia Malone, held her hostage until he was born, and then killed and disposed of her body. Creepy and scary doesn’t even begin to describe my feelings about this.

Earlier, to escape the Meg-and-Dan situation, I’d agreed to help Dr. Olivet with his haunted house in New Orleans. How better to prove a house is haunted than to take a bona fide Ghost Girl along with you? Right? He’d agreed and that’s how I’d met the Malones. Later, Dan showed up at the house and gave me his report of the investigation. Unfortunately, the Malone brothers, Caleb and Eli
, eavesdropped, and when they heard ‘Amelia Malone,’ they’d burst in. Come to find out, Amelia Malone was Caleb’s mother. For years, they’d assumed she’d died in a horrific accident. Eli, obviously pissed, had called the cops and turned in Dan’s adoptive mother without thinking about the consequences.

Not that turning her in was a bad thing; Dan would have done it himself eventually. He really
believes in all that truth and justice drivel.
I
firmly believe in fending for myself, and if I have to do the wrong thing to accomplish it, I won’t hesitate. It’s the fundamental difference between Dan and me, but what also brings us together. He needs someone who defies his choices and makes him live outside the box. I do that. Or I did. I’m not sure what’s going to happen over the next few weeks. Dan
says
he doesn’t blame me for what’s happened, but I keep waiting for him to change his mind. Now that we’re home, he’ll see the damage the search for my father caused his family. I’m not sure our relationship can survive that.

Then again, I’m inherently a selfish person, but Dan’s not. Unlike me, he always puts others first.
Maybe
he can forgive me. He’s the only person I’m not selfish with. Well, I
try
, really I do, but it’s hard. Like the Meg thing. I want to be happy for him, get past my anger, but…was Mrs. C right? Is this part of growing up? It sucks. Making peace? Dan would do it for me, so I’ll
try
to forgive him, but not Meg. There’s not a bloody chance in Hades of me forgiving her! If I could hit her again, I would.

“Mattie?” Ms. Cross interrupts my volatile thoughts. “Did you hear me? Nancy has spoken to your father and he’s coming to Charlotte to meet you.”

“Huh, what?” I ask, startled. My father is coming here? Knowing he exists is one thing, but actually meeting him? I don’t know about that. I need time to wrap my head around the fact that he’s real.

“Mom, she looks as freaked out as you did when we came back outside earlier,” Mary says, her voice worried.

“When?” I demand. “When is he coming?”

“I’m not sure,” Mrs. Cross says slowly. “Nancy didn’t say, but I’m sure she’ll tell you everything.”

I nod and relax. Yeah, whatever. I can deal with this dad-stuff later. If they’d sprung him on me today, not sure what might have happened. I have to face all the messed-up crap surrounding my kidnapping and Dan’s. At least today, I won’t have to deal with a father I’ve never met.

“Nancy will meet us at the police station,” Mrs. Cross continues. “She wants a DNA sample to run against Mr. Crane’s to make sure you’re his daughter.”

Nancy Moriarity is my social worker, and some kind of lady. She’s the reason I’m in a good place. She never gave up on me, even when I sabotaged every decent home she’d put me in. Nancy made me understand I had to work hard at school and get good grades if I wanted a way out of the life I was in, and a scholarship to a good school could do that. She gave me a reason to get myself straight. I owe her a lot. Even being so selfish, I do understand what she did for me. Any other social worker would have tossed me in a group home and been done with it.

“We’re here,” Mary announces, making me look up. The first thing I see is Dan’s beat up old Chevy pick-up. He’s in the middle of ‘fixing it up
’, or so he says. It looks like a piece of junk, but he loves that truck.

“You ready for this?” Mary asks.

I nod. Time to face the Richards family.

Chapter Four

The Charlotte Police Department is as loud as I remember. There are the distant sounds of yelling and phones ringing. The desk sergeant grunts when Mrs. Cross tells him who we need to see. He just waves us toward seats. He’s not someone I recognize. Must be new. Thought I knew all the desk guys.

After a few minutes, Detective Ross Grady sticks out his head and calls us back. I like Grady. He’s decent for a cop. I personally think he should have been a basketball player. He’s tall, I mean like six-six or some outrageous number. His caramel-colored skin highlights his blue eyes. I can never make up my mind if he’s African-American or if one of his parents was from the Middle East. I’m always too chicken to ask. It seems rude and I don’t want him mad at me. Who else is gonna work to keep me out of juvie?

“Hey
, kid.” He smiles and ruffles my hair like I’m five. “Dan said you were pretty banged up from your fall, but man, you look worse than awful.”

“Aw, Grady, you know just what to say to a girl,” I reply with a laugh.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite juvenile delinquent.” Great. I know
that
voice.

I turn, and yep, there’s Sergeant John Campbell lounging at one of the desks. The Sarge and I go way back. He’d busted me when I first came to Charlotte four years ago. I decide to give him my nastiest smile, the very-toothy one. “Officer Dickhead,” I purr softly.

“Mattie!” Mrs. Cross sounds appalled.

“Why am I not surprised to see
you
?” Sergeant Campbell drawls. “What did you do this time?”

“I’m not adding to my yellows,” I snark back. “This time, I’m here as a
witness
.” He gets an even more vicious grin.

“Your yellows?” Mrs. Cross asks.

“Her rap sheet, ma’am,” Campbell says. “Mattie has a record a mile long.”

“A
sealed
record,” I remind him, keeping the teeth bared.