44 Book Four (6 page)

Driven by the boundless possibilities, or the lack of oxygen to my brain, I pushed myself even harder.

I could hear the barking of a dog in the distance, his howl carried by the wind, past the junipers, past the goal posts and fields, and into the surrounding desert.

After a few minutes, I fell back into an easy trot and looked around again. There were a few women with dogs in the distance and an older man now juggling one field over. A park maintenance employee was next to the bathrooms, emptying trashcans.

Out here in the fresh air, the long, sleepless night almost seemed to be part of someone else’s life. But then I caught myself yawning. I had to try something new. Whatever I was doing wasn’t working.

I did a few more field-length sprints, focusing on taking quality shots as I closed in on goal. Then I worked on free kicks and penalties. I had read that the hardest place for a goalkeeper to make a save on PKs was high in the corners. I aimed for the spot just below where the post met the crossbar. Of course, some players aimed right for the goalie, knowing that chances were good that he would lunge in one direction or the other. Most experienced keepers don’t want to just stand there, hoping that the ball will come right at them. They want to earn their keep, so they try to read the shooter’s mind and guess right. Or left. I practiced some shots straight down the middle.

On one of these attempts, I missed badly, kicking the ball off the side of my instep, sending it spiraling high and wide, flying perfectly in the left top shelf corner.

At one point a middle-aged man came by with his crazy Labrador, cutting across the field. He didn’t have it on a leash and it started chasing after me.

“Sorry,” the guy said, whistling and then yelling and then whistling again. The dog ignored him, and ran off and disappeared into the brush.

I checked my watch and saw I only had a few minutes left, so I ran downfield full speed to the opposite goal line and turned around and sprinted back for one more shot. For all the marbles. But as I looked up toward the goal, I saw that someone was in it, pretending to be a keeper.

I picked up the gauntlet and kept coming. If somebody wanted to try and stop me from scoring, good luck to them. I crossed midfield and thought about where I would put my shot.

As I got closer, I saw that it was a kid between the posts, not quite a teenager. He must have been with the man and the crazy dog, but had stayed behind to play a little soccer. I was glad. I could use the practice with a live goalkeeper and started visualizing how bad I wanted to burn him.

He was light on his feet, bouncing gingerly, taking a few steps away from the line and holding out his hands, palms facing toward me. He seemed to know what he was doing. At first he hung back, but then he came out to close the angle. Smart, I thought.

I’ll just fake left and go right around him
, I thought.
Or fake right and go left. Okay, left.
And then…
Sure, why not?

I decided to do neither. Instead I would chip the ball over him. That would show him.

I closed in, noticing he wasn’t smiling or even looking up at me. He kept his focus razor sharp on my feet and the ball. I thought about how much force to use, not too hard and not too soft, and how far under the ball to get.

Now
, I thought.

“Not today, kid,” I said out loud as I stepped into it. I lobbed it over him just right and watched it sail through the air, a work of art now more than a ball. But as I stood there admiring my skill, the boy somehow backed up and jumped high in the air, putting himself in position to make an awesome save.

“Damn,” I said under my breath.

The ball was heading straight for his hands. There was no way he could miss it.

But he did.

I stood there, breathing hard, amazed that the ball got past him, almost like it had gone right through him, and bounced into the goal.

Adrenaline suddenly rushed through my body as I realized
what
he was.

He looked up at me slowly and I staggered back. His large eyes had deep, black circles around them, his lips as pale as his face. I could see scratches and scars and bruises all over his arms. His face had a deep gash on the right side that ran down from his eyebrow to his neck.

He was wearing jeans and a familiar Guns N’ Roses T-shirt.

There was no ducking away or turning or hiding from this ghost. Our eyes locked and he knew that I had seen him. He stared at me somberly with washed out eyes, waiting.

“Abby,” he said.

I was numb with fear and I couldn’t move. I couldn’t run.

“Abby,” he whispered again, almost prayer like, his haunting voice carried by the wind to my ears. “Help.”

I heard the loose dog behind me again, breathing hard as it ran up, barking as it circled, the owner still chasing after it and calling its name.

When I turned back toward the net, the ghost boy was gone.

CHAPTER 10

He knew me.

The ghost knew my name.

I sat in the Jeep with the doors locked, the windows rolled up tight, trying to shake off the chills that ran up and down my back and stared out at the empty field.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen a ghost before. Or that I had stopped seeing them. I still saw them around town sometimes, walking along the sidewalks, sitting at tables in empty restaurants, walking in parks. But I never made eye contact, never acknowledged them even if I had a feeling they wanted to talk to me.

And so far, it had worked out fine. Since I had been back from the island, the only ghost I talked to was Jesse.

But somehow, I was too late in figuring it out with this kid. He saw that I saw him.

And he knew my name. 

Even though I was getting used to seeing the dead, they still scared me. And I had never seen a kid ghost before. It left a sad feeling inside and I wondered how he had died. By the looks of the scars and cuts, it seemed certain that it wasn’t natural causes.

The dog and his owner finally left. I watched the goal for a while longer, wondering if the ghost would return now that it was quiet, but he didn’t come back.

I drank the rest of my water and tried to calm my nerves. I didn’t really know what to do and then I thought about my last conversation with Jesse.

“Whatever you do, Craigers, don’t make any eye contact with them,” he said as we walked along the frozen river. It was in late February and a light snow had left a thin layer of white on everything. I was out for a run and I found Jesse in the park, standing next to the river.  

We stood and watched the ducks fly in and land on the water and then slide across the icy parts like it was a skating rink.

“Don’t even look in their direction. That way, the ghosts will leave you alone.”

I didn’t mind his advice. Truthfully, I was perfectly content talking to just one ghost. But it had felt right helping Annabelle and her family and I wondered if I should be helping more of them.

“But maybe it’s what I’m supposed to do,” I said.

“No, it’s not your job,” Jesse said. “Look, every ghost has a sad story. And there are a lot of them, trust me. You can’t waste all your energy being pulled into their problems. That’s not why you came back. If you let them, they’ll end up sucking the life out of you.”

“That’s harsh,” I said, tugging at a tree branch that was covered in snow. All the plants and trees were a stark white. “I’m just saying that me seeing ghosts and helping them, well, maybe that’s the good in all this.”

He sighed and shook his head.

“The good in all of this is that you’re still alive,” he said. “And that you have an opportunity to live your life. For you, not for them.”

He stared at me, his eyes slicing into mine. It seemed like we always ended up arguing when I talked about the ghosts I sometimes saw.

“I know that and I didn’t mean it that way,” I said. “I meant that it could be another good thing that came out of my accident. That I can help people.”

“They’re not people,” Jesse said bluntly. “Not anymore.”

“But when I helped Annabelle, I also helped her son, who is very much alive.”

After I mentioned it, I wished I hadn’t. It still bothered me that while we had been able to locate Annabelle’s body at the bottom of the Deschutes River, we hadn’t been able to help solve her murder.  But at least her family now knew what had happened to her.

“Craigers, the ghosts need to move on,” he said. “It’s not good for you and it’s not good for them to be staying in this world, so focused on their past.”

I sighed.

“We all leave this world with unfinished business, regrets, things we want to set right,” he said. “And it always comes too soon. But when it does come, that’s it. It’s time to move on. That’s what they need to realize. You need to listen to me and stay away from them.”

“Come on,” I said. “Don’t be so dramatic. Not all the stories are of murders and brutal deaths. What about your dad? I helped him. I think I helped him a lot.”

I was excited when we went over to the motorcycle shop and I told Mr. Stone that I could see and talk to his dead son. Jesse was so sure that his dad wouldn’t believe me, but he was wrong. Although Mr. Stone didn’t say much or ask any questions, he listened to everything Jesse told me to tell him with watery eyes and a kind smile. Jesse told him how much he loved him and missed him and that he was sorry about the accident.

Jesse smiled suddenly, like he was remembering the visit too. He stopped and took my hand and kissed it.

“I know,” he said. “And I loved talking to my dad like that with you. You’re right. It helped him. And it helped me too.”

I nodded.

“But these others, they’ll suck the life out of you, Craigers. They don’t care. And they know about you now, about how you can see them. Some are looking for you.”

Goose bumps covered my arms.

“What? What do you mean they’re looking for me?”

My heart jumped into a sudden, crazy fast pace.

“Just listen to what I’m saying. Walk past them and you’ll be fine. Focus on what you want to do with your life.”

I stared out at the soccer field. The ghost still hadn’t come back.

It wasn’t as simple as the
see no ghosts, hear no ghosts, speak to no ghosts
approach Jesse wanted me to take. Maybe I had a say in it, a choice to make. Maybe it wasn’t my destiny to help them, but if one of them came to me asking for help, it wasn’t in my nature to just turn away without a good reason.

I wasn’t sure what the ghost boy wanted from me, but I had the feeling he would tell me.

I turned on the car, cranked the heater, and sat back.

And remembered.

It wasn’t the first time. The ghost had been at the Badlands that day. He was on the trail, following Ty and me. It was the same kid that I saw when we were hiking. 

A fresh set of goose bumps ran down my arms. I pulled out of the lot. It was stormy up ahead, dark clouds gathering, the darkness looming.

CHAPTER 11

It had been crowded and super busy at Back Street the entire day. Working through the lunch hour was never as fun or relaxing as the night shifts, and I missed David. I even missed Mo.

Kate stopped by to say hello but didn’t stay for too long. I wasn’t able to take my break with her, and she seemed preoccupied. There was a constant line that always threatened to spill out the door, no matter how fast I took the orders. The longer wait and lack of seating made tempers short, causing some to leave in a huff.

And even though it was busy, the hours snailed by. I was looking forward to the rest of the week, working nights and seeing David.

There were a few other employees who worked during the day that I didn’t know that well. One was a woman who constantly talked about her daughter. And then there was Lyle, a photographer who had his work in a few of the galleries around town. He took a lot of nature shots. Mike had a few of them framed up on the walls over the tables. They were really good, shots of a climbers scaling Monkey Face at Smith Rock, Broken Top at sunrise, a fly fisherman casting at Hosmer Lake.

But I didn’t talk too much to either of them, just to Mike, who had been in a good mood all day, like most days.

After talking with David that night, I had sent Mike an email telling him about my summer river plans. I was worried that he might be mad or something, especially after I had disappeared on him at the end of last year. But he wasn’t. He asked me what the hours were like and I told him.

“We’ll make it work,” he said, making a fresh pot of Costa Rica blend. “No problem. You’re a great employee and we’ll figure it out.”

I was glad. It’s not like my big plan in life was to work here forever, but it felt right for now and it was nice to be appreciated.

I tried to focus on what I was doing, but my thoughts drifted back to the ghost I had seen out on the soccer field. I couldn’t help wondering about how he died.

He had said he needed help, but I didn’t know who he was or what he wanted. There was nothing I could do but wait. And in a strange way, I was hoping it wouldn’t be for too much longer. I didn’t like being stalked and would rather just deal with his problem, whatever that might be.

By the last hour of my shift, I was exhausted and wishing it would slow down so Mike would send me home. I was ready for an afternoon nap. But there was no way. It was still wall to wall customers and I ended up staying later than I had been scheduled for.

At just past six o’clock, I stepped outside, into the parking lot to finally head home. The sky was a light gray, all in clouds, but it was a little warmer than earlier. I saw David, his tires burning rubber as he swerved in and parked right next to me, a little too close.

He was late, like he usually was.

“Hello and goodbye, Abby Craig,” he said, jumping out of the old Camaro and brushing by me.

“Hey, wait, how did the audition go?” I asked. I was glad that I had remembered.

“Nailed it!Just got the call. Just call me Leo DiCaprio from now on,” he said.