Wraith (5 page)

“No, that sounds really great. I need to ask my mom and dad, but I can’t see that they would say no.” It sounded interesting. “What’s the name of the shelter so I can tell them?”

“Safehaven, down on Third.”

“Jane,” I heard my name and for a moment I forgot myself and my head snapped away from Ava’s. “Look at this one,” Evan said. I focused my attention to where my invisible friend stood pointing at a row of sunflowers made out of saw blades.

Evan deserved more than this.

I wandered over to be near him, across the room from where Ava studied quilts hanging from the wall. I checked over my shoulder to see if she was watching. She wasn’t. “Having fun?”

Evan laughed. “I am, believe it or not. Although, I may be ready for you to get a boyfriend. I’d much prefer to go watch a baseball game, or maybe a monster-truck rally.”

I scoffed at the thought of Evan and his laid-back, tousled blonde hair at a testosterone-fueled truck rally. I was about to respond when I heard footsteps on the stairs, and I scooted away from Evan, turning my back to him.

He sighed. “The brush-off, again. Someday, I’ll find a girl who’s willing to be seen in public with me.”

His joke was bittersweet, but before I could respond, the couple coming up the stairs arrived at our floor. They never entered our room, but instead went into the children’s wing, an area where local children’s artwork was hung on display. I listened as an excited young girl ran across the hardwood floors. “Look! There it is!”

Heavy footsteps followed hers and a voice responded, too low for me to hear. Again, I heard her speak, “See, here’s the house and the tree, and there’s my room…”

Curiosity took hold, and I peered around the corner to see the artwork under discussion. My breath caught and I moved closer to the wall when I saw the pair talking. Dark hair, wide shoulders under a loose black T-shirt, and long, skinny legs gave him away. I mentally cursed myself for being able to identify his body so easily.

Annoyed with myself, I focused on the girl with him. She was a surprise. Young, maybe ten or so, with long, dark hair like his, worn in a braid down her back. He held her, his wiry arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her so she could see the painting on the wall. Her hands were free, pointing and directing at different things on the canvas. I couldn’t see it well from my vantage point, and he couldn’t see me at all as his back was to me.

His shoulders were lacking that tense feel from school and as he rested his head on the top of hers, I heard him laugh, working a hand free to gesture at the painting. I couldn’t stop myself from watching them. This wasn’t the Connor I had experienced at school, or even the one I had witnessed with his friends or his fan club of girls. He wasn’t hostile and sarcastic or scary or flirty. He was being nice—sweet even—to this younger girl.

I ducked behind the wall as she wiggled out of his arms and dropped to her feet. “Look at this one,” she said and grabbed his willing hand. The younger girl dragged him dramatically over to see a large, framed photograph. I heard him protest, calling her. “Emma.”

“William took it.”

Connor dropped to a crouch, so he was level with the little girl. “William? Is he your boyfriend?”

“Gross, whatever,” she said and rolled her eyes. I could see both of their profiles now. He had the kindest, teasing grin, reminiscent of the snarky ones he gave me at school.

“Well, when you do get one, make sure I meet him. That’s what big brothers are for.”

Ahh, big brother, of course. She smushed his cheeks together and his lips puckered like a fish.

“Why you—” he started and tossed her over his shoulder, the two of them laughing as he spun her around. I ducked back to the anonymity of the wall because the moment felt intimate.

I noticed Ava walking toward me. “Hey, can we go outside and see the garden before we leave? I know it’s raining, but I have an umbrella,” I said, hoping to lure her in other direction.

“Sure,” Ava said, happy to go down the other set of stairs that led out to the garden. Before my foot touched the first step, though, I took one last look over my shoulder, surprised to see Evan standing where I had just been, close to the wall, spying on Connor and his sister in the other room. He must have sensed me watching him, because at that moment he turned to me, and I was shocked to see the sad expression on his face. He offered a weak smile and turned his back to continue watching the other room.

T
HE WALK FROM HOME
school the next day was rainy and wet…again. “Ugh, I don’t remember it ever raining this much,” I complained. “It’s not like we live in Seattle or something. This is the South, we have droughts, not rain.”

Evan and I walked together, as usual. I was bundled up in a ridiculous raincoat that my mother had graciously purchased for me so I could continue my daily walks to and from school.
Thanks, mom. A raincoat is so much more awesome than a car.

A car drove by and sprayed Evan with water. It bypassed him and landed all over my legs and boot-covered feet. “Jerk,” I muttered under my breath, and shot Evan a dirty look since he found all of this
hilarious.
“I was talking to you, by the way.”

He tossed an arm around me and laughed at my hostility. “You love me,” he said, his mouth close to my ear. Again, I marveled at how he could make physical contact with me but no one else. I assumed it was part of our special arrangement. It took him months to build up to it. I’m not even sure how he managed it. But he could touch me and he could pick up small objects if he concentrated hard enough. The fact I couldn’t touch him back was weird, we didn’t set the parameters of our relationship.

Today, though, the weight of his arm was different. Things had been tense between us for the last several weeks. I supposed it could be a variety of things causing distance. I had Ava in my life, a girl—a
real
girl—who I could talk and share with. Then there was the Connor thing, which we had come to a silent truce about agreeing to disagree. Evan still wanted me to approach him and find out what he knew; I wanted nothing to do with his pyromaniac self. He was dangerous and mean. Plus, and I hated to admit it, his eyes were too blue and his hair too messily perfect. The reality was, even though I saw him acting nice to his little sister, it didn’t change the fact he had attempted to burn his family’s home down.

When we returned home from the art museum the day before, I knew something was wrong. Evan had retreated into himself, and when I tried to cajole him out of his funk, it was futile. His depressed moods were more and more common, so the positive attitude today filled me with relief.

“Oh, so Mom was excited about the project at the women’s shelter over the break,” I said, turning my face up to look at Evan around the edge of my hood. His eyes instantly tensed and the laughter from moments before disappeared. “What?” I asked, trying to discern what caused his attitude shift.

He dropped his arm from around my shoulder and shrugged. “Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”

I stopped walking and stared at him hard. “You didn’t say anything, but obviously something is wrong.”

“It’s nothing, Jane, drop it.”

“Come on,” I whispered, “tell me, what’s up?”

Evan’s face twisted in concentration. “I’m just worried about you going to the shelter…but if your mom thinks it’s okay, then who am I to argue?

“Why are you worried about that?” I asked, completely confused.

Again, he shrugged. “I just am. I mean, there are really dangerous people involved with all that.” He paused. “Jane, these women have been abused. What if their abuser finds them? What if you’re there when it happens?”

“Evan, I think you’re overreacting a little. It’s just one day, paint and Play-Doh for the kids.” I smiled in an attempt to lighten his dark mood. “I doubt we’ll even see any adults, and the location is generally kept a secret. Ava says from the outside you can’t even tell it’s a shelter. It’s some kind of warehouse or something.”

He didn’t look appeased, but I wasn’t in the mood to argue, so I changed the subject. “Do you think my Aunt Jeannie saw you?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t have a moment of connection like I have with you, where I knew you could see me and I could see you, but she did seem aware.”

I crammed my hands deeper into my pockets. “She told me all this crazy stuff about how she used to read palms and auras. It was a little disturbing.”

“I heard. Why did it bother you?”

“She was just really on target with some things. And I have this situation, where I can see you. Who knows, maybe it’s some kind of family thing.”

Evan nudged me with his elbow to keep walking and after a couple feet another car flew by causing a gush of water to splash off the wheels. This time I yelled, “Jackass!” over the pouring rain. To my astonishment, the small blue car came to an abrupt stop and shifted into reverse. Horrified, I focused my eyes ahead and picked up my pace.
Great, piss off a crazy driver, Jane.

After a couple of feet, Evan tugged on the back of my coat. I realized the car was next to me and when I stopped, it also stopped. The driver rolled down the window.

I should have been surprised when I realized that Connor was the driver, but I wasn’t. I also—sadly—wasn’t surprised that my heart started beating erratically when I saw his blue eyes peering out the window.

“Of course,” I said. Loud music and warm air burst from the car. “Only you would be a big enough jerk to spray me with water.”

I expected a snarky comeback, or even a lame apology, but instead his eyes shifted between me and Evan. “Jane, I need you to get in the car.”

Laughter bubbled from my chest. “No. Freaking. Way. That is not going to happen.” The intensity of his eyes terrified me. He wasn’t angry, more like pleading.

“Jane, go. It’s important,” Evan said.

I turned and looked at him—something I never did in public—but it was too late. Either Connor could see him, or he was as bat-shit crazy as I was and it didn’t really matter. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

He shook his head, the blonde locks shifting as he did so. “Come on, Jane. For me?” He grabbed my arm. “I need you to do this.” I didn’t know what to do. One minute Evan was telling me not to volunteer due to the danger of the situation and the next he was practically forcing me into the car of a known delinquent.

I was literally caught between the two of them: Evan, my best friend, on the sidewalk, and Connor, the beautiful, scary, intense boy I didn’t know or understand, waiting in his car. For a brief moment I considered running and ignoring the pleas of both of them, but instead I turned my back on Connor and looked Evan in the eye and said, “Why? Why is this so important?”

He held my gaze and said, “Trust me. Please?”

I sighed. “Fine, but you owe me an explanation when I get home.” I would have felt better if he would’ve said something, but his expression remained serious. Facing Connor and his small, crappy blue car, I said, “That is, if I make it home,” as I stepped off the curb, into a deep puddle.

“Later,” was his reply and he was gone, leaving me to fend for myself. Annoyed, I moved around to the car and wrenched open the heavy, creaky door and dropped into the seat. As I removed my hood and strapped on my seat belt, Connor’s fingers reduced the volume on the stereo. He shifted into gear and the car let out a loud sputtering noise. Now I knew why he played his music so loud.

His eyes flicked to the mess of CDs and books littering the floor and center console. “Sorry about the mess and the car; it’s crappy.” He shifted his gaze forward again. When I didn’t respond, he spoke again, “This car was my dad’s. He saved it from when he was in high school to give to me. I suspect it was a piece of junk then, too.”

For some reason this struck me as funny; this guy, totally hot and dangerous, basically forced me into his car, and now he’s apologizing for how junky it is. Plus, the irony of his sentimental, thrifty father sounded very familiar. Damn it, I didn’t want things in common with him. Now I sat in Connor-the-fire-starter’s car, laughing uncontrollably because we had things in common. Like cars, and counseling, and seeing ghosts.

“What?” he asked, a smile twitching at his lip. 

I wiped my eyes and exhaled. “Nothing. What do you want? I knew you had a record, but kidnapping?”

His eyes narrowed so tight I couldn’t see the blue. “You don’t know anything about me, Jane.” His voice was harsh and a little hurt.

I twisted in my seat and face him. “Then why don’t you tell me something that I don’t hear whispered around the hallways at school?”

He took a deep breath and exhaled, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “What do you want to know?”

What did I want to know? Who are you? Why are you bothering me? Can you really see my ghost? Did you go to jail? Are you a pyromaniac? Why do you make my stomach twist in knots just thinking about you?

Rubbing my gloved hands over the top of my legs I decided to throw caution to the wind. “Can you really see him?”

Connor’s hand reached to the lever between us and he down shifted as we rounded a curve. With fascination I watched the muscles of his arm clench under the fabric of his shirt. His movements were quick and fluid—easy. “Yeah, I can see him.”

Our dual admission hung in the air and I longed to turn the music back up so there was something between us other than the noisy hum of the car and our breathing. I should have felt scared or weird or possibly exposed but I didn’t, not completely. For the first time in months, I wasn’t alone.

“Is he the only one you see?” I asked, breaking the odd, yet comfortable tension.

He glanced away from the windshield, looking me in the eye. “Now? Yes. But there have been others.”

My stomach dropped. “Others?” I whispered. I didn’t want others. He nodded, his eyes back on the road and he turned into a large parking lot, getting off the road. “What are you doing?”

Connor eased the car into a space, away from any other cars and put it in park, leaving the engine and heat running. “I just need to talk to you. Just for a minute. If you never want to speak to me again, that’s fine and I promise to leave you alone. But we need to discuss this.”

I swallowed. He was right. There were things I needed to understand and I was getting the feeling he needed to as well. “Okay. Talk to me.”

Both of his hands were still on the steering wheel, gripping it so tight his knuckles were white. His eyes were down, staring at his hands, and I studied his profile. His jaw was sharp, and his cheekbones high and prominent. My fingers itched to sketch him. “Nine months ago I tore my house apart and tried to burn it to the ground.”

Wow
. I was one second from bolting from the car, but I decided to just listen, to hear him out, so I waited, terrified of what he would say next. 

“I just wanted to make them go away.” His voice was so tight, so tense, as though he fought to get the words out.

“Who? Who did you want to go away?”

He turned his head, away, looking out the driver’s window. “Them. The ghosts or spirits—whatever you want to call them. They wouldn’t leave me alone. It was constant and harassing and I thought I was losing my mind.”

I understood this, some of it. I, too, had thought I’d lost my mind, and Evan’s presence was constant, but it also calmed me –he was my friend. He tried his best from the beginning to respect my space. “How many were there?” I asked, confused by the use of the term ‘they.’

“One at first, then the others came. It’s like they seek me out. They know I can see them and they come to find me.”

My jaw dropped in horror. “They seek you out? What do they want?”

He twisted toward me. “Different things. To pass on messages, to help them find something or someone. To just have someone to talk to. To scare the crap out of me. I don’t know, it’s always different.”

I stared at the boy next to me. He no longer seemed intimidating, although what he said scared me. Instead, he appeared lost, and it was all I could do not to reach out and comfort him. I kept my hands in my lap, though, and said, “That’s horrible.”

“What does yours want?”

“Mine?” I asked. He lifted an eyebrow in question. “Oh, Evan? He doesn’t want anything. He’s just kind of my friend. He helped me out when I first moved and…”

Connor didn’t seem to notice I’d trailed off. “What do you mean he’s your friend?”

I shrugged. “He just is—I’m not explaining it to you.”

“They all want something, Jane. It’s why they’re here.”

I shook my head in denial. Evan was my friend, he was my ‘spirit guide.’ I refused to believe he was using me.

Connor’s long, cold fingers wrapped around my arm. “These ghosts…they’re stuck. They’re stuck in our world because they aren’t finished with something from their days of living. They need to move on, but they can’t. So they roam around until they find some unsuspecting fool like me,” and he scowled, “or you, to help them find their way. Your ghost, Evan, needs something. The sooner he finds it, the sooner he goes away.”