Unbroken (12 page)

“But I don’t get it.” Rebecca frowned, trying to make sense of the geography of Frank’s story. “What were you doing in Tremé? Why didn’t you just walk along the river to Esplanade? St. Philip was really out of your way.”

Frank was silent. He wouldn’t look her in the eyes.

Rebecca shook her head. “Don’t tell me you weren’t taking the locket to the house on Esplanade,” Rebecca said. “Please.”

“I was, I was!” he said. “I was walking toward Esplanade Avenue, just as you say, but then — well, I changed my mind. It
was wrong of me, I know. But something wicked came into my head, and instead of going straight to the house, I went to look for my friend. His name was Connor, and we’d worked on the docks together. I wanted to find him so we could have a drink with the money I’d been given.”

He hung his head and didn’t go on. Rebecca couldn’t question him for a minute or so because a couple was crossing Rampart Street and about to walk right past her. She stared at her phone as they passed, pretending to check a nonexistent message.

“So you went to this house,” Rebecca said at last, when there was no one around to hear her. “And then this Gideon Mason guy attacked you?”

“Yes, in the street,” Frank explained, “and then he dragged me into the house. It was a place used by the gang he belonged to, but nobody else was there. He stabbed me and I fell face-down on the floor. The last thing I could manage to do when I was alive was slip the locket out of my pocket and let it drop between the floorboards. I didn’t want him to have it.”

Rebecca swallowed. Hearing someone talk about their own death was awful. And what must it be like to then see your murderer in the ghost world, roaming the very same streets where he hunted you down?

“He took my money, which wasn’t much. That’s when two other men arrived at the house. He was boasting about how he’d
found a good mark, because I was carrying a silver locket as well as money. They demanded to see the locket, and he didn’t have it. They searched my body and couldn’t find it. Then they all started shouting. They said he’d stolen the locket, or else he’d made the story up to justify murdering someone in their house and putting them all at risk of detection. The others didn’t trust him and they were angry and drunk. There was a fight and he was stabbed.”

Rebecca realized she was holding her breath.

“So — you were there — I mean, the ghost of you was there?” she whispered.

“Watching, yes. But when I saw my murderer fall over, bleeding, I left. Straight through the walls and back to Rampart Street. All I could see around me were ghosts. I was terrified. Delphine was the one who calmed me down. She called out to me, and told me that it wasn’t so bad being a ghost. She was wrong, but … Well. There was nothing I could do about it. Not until now.”

“So, Gideon Mason died, obviously,” Rebecca said softly, trying not to feel glad that he’d gotten his comeuppance. All these murders! New Orleans must have been a dangerous place in those days.

“Yes, he died. The first time I went back to the house I saw him, and that’s when I knew for certain. Another ghost told me his name — I didn’t know who he was, of course. And eventually
he figured out that the locket must still be inside the house, because I kept going back there. He told me that if I hadn’t hidden it, he wouldn’t have been murdered that night. He thinks he would have had a chance to redeem himself for the crimes he’s committed, and to be a better man. Instead he’s a murderer who was murdered himself. He’s going to be a ghost forever.”

“And that’s why he wants to punish you.” Rebecca understood now.

“He doesn’t want me to be saved. He doesn’t want the locket to be found. He wants it to be lost, or destroyed, so I’ll never be able to redeem myself for breaking the promise I made.” Frank looked stricken. “You have to help me!”

“I want to, really I do,” Rebecca told him, and she meant it: He sounded so anguished. But at the same time, she didn’t like this new ghost, and she was afraid of what he might try to do, especially if he considered himself damned for eternity anyway. “I’m just…. scared, that’s all,” she admitted.

“You have nothing to be afraid of!” Frank was almost shouting at her. “You have to believe me! He can’t hurt you! He’s only a ghost!”

“Easy for you to say!” Rebecca raised her voice, too. “He threatened me today, and it was really scary, OK? I want to find this locket. I really, really want to find this locket!”

But she was shouting into thin air, because Frank had disappeared.

This was too much. How dare he just disappear on her? First he only told her half-truths, and now he was running off — wherever ghosts ran off to — right in the middle of a conversation. She swung around on the spot, in case he’d just decided to materialize somewhere else.

“Rebecca? Rebecca Brown? Oh my god, is that you?”

This wasn’t Frank’s voice. It was a girl’s voice, coming from … where? Rebecca felt dazed.
Not more ghosts
, she pleaded silently.
Please, no more ghosts
. She couldn’t take any more attention from the spirit world.

“It’s us, Amy and Jessica. Remember? From Temple Mead.”

Rebecca shook her head, the way a dog might shake water from its coat, and tried to get her brain in gear. There was a car parked there at the curb, a silver SUV with tinted windows. But one of the windows was down, and there were two girls sitting in the car, staring at her as though she were naked. Amy and Jessica from Temple Mead. Her so-called friends. The last people — evil ghosts aside — that she expected or wanted to see here on Rampart Street.

Rebecca blinked, realizing that Amy was speaking. “Jessica didn’t believe me, but I thought it was you, so I pulled over. Are you OK? You seem kind of upset.”

“What? No. I’m fine,” Rebecca burbled. She had no idea how long they’d been sitting there, or how much they’d heard.

“Hey, Rebecca!” called Jessica, leaning forward to wave. She’d always been the friendlier of the two, though that was a
relative thing. Really, looking back, she’d just been marginally less disapproving.

“Hey, Jessica.” Rebecca bent down to wave back. She wished they’d drive off and leave her alone, but she knew that was extremely unlikely. Amy and Jessica could smell gossip from the other side of Lake Pontchartrain.

She couldn’t believe how much they’d changed in a year. Jessica’s red hair was now in a chic pixie cut, and she wasn’t wearing glasses. Rebecca couldn’t even tell if Amy was still skinny, because she was completely shrouded by a thick blonde mane of hair. It had to be extensions, Rebecca thought. Amy’s hair a year ago was short, and as wispy as a baby’s.

“So, what are you doing here?” Amy was looking her up and down, and Rebecca wished she’d changed before running out of the house. Her jeans had grass stains on both knees from the gardening this afternoon, and the hoodie she’d slung on smelled like damp soil.

“I’m just in town for the week with my dad and my friend. We’re staying in the Quarter.”

“Oh, we know that! Like, everyone saw you on Prytania Street on Monday. What I mean is, what are you doing
here
standing around on Rampart Street? It’s totally dangerous, you know. There’s a really bad neighborhood just over there.” Amy nodded her head in the direction of Tremé.

“I was just …” Rebecca couldn’t think of a single thing she might be doing here. “Standing around alone like a loser”
seemed the answer they expected. “Ah, I just got dropped off. I have to go … meet my dad now.”

“We’re meeting up with Amy’s parents,” Jessica told her, and Amy’s mouth slid into a pout. Rebecca remembered that face well. She used to make it at school when Jessica told Rebecca
anything
, no matter how dull.

“We’re going to Arnaud’s,” Amy said, in a tone that suggested Rebecca would never be admitted to such a venerable establishment.

“So, are you lost?” Rebecca couldn’t resist a bit of meanness herself. “The Quarter’s that way.”

She gestured over her shoulder.

“God, no! We come downtown all the time now — don’t we, Jess?”

“Oh. Yeah. We’re so
over
Uptown.”

“Over it! I was just saying, I wish Peristyle was still open. That was my total favorite.”

“If we were going there this would be the best parking spot ever,” Jessica observed.

“I know, right?”

Rebecca thought her head was about to drop off her shoulders. She’d forgotten how Jessica and Amy could spout inanities for what felt like hours on end.

“Well, good to see you guys,” she said, standing up straight again. “I don’t want to make you late for dinner, and I should be … getting back.”

“Hey, wait!” Amy said before Rebecca had the chance to turn away. “Won’t we be seeing you on Thursday night?”

“You know.” Jessica was leaning so far forward, her head was almost resting on the dashboard. “At the Spring Dance. The boys have organized it this year. Can you believe that? I bet you they’ll totally spike the punch.”

“It’s at the country club,” drawled Amy. She looked at Rebecca with wide eyes, feigning innocence. “So Anton hasn’t asked you, then?”

“I was sure he would.” Jessica looked disappointed. “Amy said I was totally
deluded
, but …”

“Guys move on,” said Amy, obviously unwilling to let Jessica’s lament continue uninterrupted. “It’s horrible, but once you leave town, they just don’t remember you. Not if you were just, you know, like a short-term thing.”

“Sort of like a summer romance,” suggested Jessica.

“You know,” said Amy. “A vacation hook-up.”

“Actually,” said Rebecca, her face burning with anger, “I
will
be seeing you on Thursday night. Anton asked me. To the dance.”

“Cool!” said Jessica, but her smile faded so quickly she must have spotted the look on Amy’s face.

“So — see you there!” Rebecca gave them a breezy wave, and walked away, suppressing a groan. What had she done? Not only did she not want to go to the dance, she was barely on speaking terms with Anton. She couldn’t believe she was going to have to
call and beg him to take her. He could easily have asked someone else by now. Phil might have asked someone else, too, and if that was the case, what was she going to tell Ling? Boys were as slippery as ghosts when it came to getting them to do stuff you wanted them to do. They tended to have minds of their own.

There was only one thing to do, and that was lie.

I
t’s just, Ling is desperate to go,” Rebecca told Anton, pinning her phone to one ear with her shoulder while she unlocked the gate. “She was really upset when I said no. I think maybe she’s into Phil or something.”

“Really?” Anton sounded dubious. “She met him twice for about five minutes.”

“Not just that,” Rebecca said quickly. “She’s working really hard this week with all the volunteer projects, and this will be our only chance to have fun. She was all excited when Phil mentioned it, and I realize I’m just being really unfair.”

“So, do
you
want to go?” Anton asked her. “I don’t want you to be forced into it or something.”

Rebecca was in the courtyard now, brushing her free hand against the rubbery leaves of a banana plant.

“I do want to go, really,” she told Anton, and when she said it, Rebecca knew that she meant it. She wanted to see Anton again. Despite what had happened between them in the
cemetery, she knew he would still make her heart skip in that particular way. She wanted to face up to all those Temple Mead girls and show them that she wasn’t scared or intimidated. She wanted to dress up and go out with Ling and have some fun.

“If the — if the offer is still open, that is,” she stammered. “If you haven’t asked someone else. Have you?”

Anton exhaled, something between a sigh and a laugh.

“Who else would I ask?”

“I don’t know. Julie Casworth Young?”

“Please. She laughs like a mouse with asthma. And she probably had her date and her dress all organized last October.”

“You missed your chance,” Rebecca teased.

“Just as well. She’d probably make me wear a pink tie.”

“Maybe I’ll make you wear a pink tie.”

“Maybe I’ll make you wear a pink dress.”

“Yeah, right.” They both laughed, and then fell silent.

“So,” Anton said at last. “Friends again, OK? No more arguments between now and Thursday.”

That would be easy, Rebecca thought. They weren’t
seeing
each other between now and Thursday. And no way was she telling Anton anything about Frank, Gideon Mason, and their all-eternity death grudge.

“But just one thing,” Anton added. “Toby is definitely …”

“Anton! No Toby, OK? I don’t want to hear another word about him.” Rebecca had more important things to worry about
than Toby Sutton, not that she could discuss them with Anton. “No arguments before Thursday, remember?”

“OK. No arguments.”

Back inside the house, Ling and her father were waiting for her, drinking iced tea at the kitchen table.

“How about Cochon for dinner?” her dad suggested. “Ling has never eaten fried alligator.”

“I’m not sure I want to,” Ling said, screwing up her face. “Don’t tell me it tastes just like chicken.”