Haunted Read online

  When I focus on her, she takes a seat in the grass.

  “Where were you just now?” She drops her bag and puts a barrette in her mouth as she pulls her short hair back into an almost-ponytail. She clips it, then digs out a bag of potato chips and shoves one in her mouth. “You want?”

  I stare at her, at the potato chips. My look is the only answer I’m willing to give. I don’t know how she stays so thin when she eats like crap.

  “I have the most awesome news, which is why I have the celebratory potato chips,” Stella says, crunching another.

  “So everyday must be a celebration,” I say. I’ve stopped studying and am now picking grass.

  “Funny. But seriously—are you ready for this?”

  I say nothing, which must mean to her I am.

  “Nate and I are going out.”

  “On a date?” I put a blade of grass in the corner of my mouth as though the small gesture will hide my absolute shock.

  She tilts her head to the side as if offended by my disbelief. “Don’t get too excited now,” she jests. “Yes, on a date.”

  “Excellent. When did this happen?” I lean back on my palms, certain I won’t get any studying done during lunch period.

  “This morning. I kind of asked him out,” she hedges.

  “Well, that’s okay, right?”

  “There’s kind of a hitch.” Stella’s nervous; she folds and unfolds the opening of the chip bag. When I say nothing, she continues. “You see, it’s a, what do you call it?” she delays. “A double date.” She stares at me awaiting my reaction.

  My eyes narrow. “And I suppose this involves me?”

  “Kind of.”

  “And Eli?”

  “Kind of.”

  “No way,” I say. My jaw tightens.

  “I know…” she hesitates, “I know what you told me. And I’m not trying to get you two together or anything. I mean, it’s obvious you want nothing to do with him.”

  It is? I wonder. Am I so frigid toward him that even Stella notices?

  “It would just be a favor to me is all. It’s kind of how I got Nate to agree to the whole thing, what with my semi-stalking and all.”

  “I don’t know,” I say, throwing down the blade of grass. “I’d feel like I’m cheating or something.”

  “But you’re not,” she says. “It’s not like he knows. And he’d want you to move on with your life, right?”

  I know she means to be reassuring, but her stating the obvious makes Jeremy’s death all the more painful.

  “If you’re not ready,” she mopes, “I understand.”

  I fight back the tears. I don’t want Stella to see me cry. She is right. Jeremy doesn’t know. He’s not even here anymore. I’ve looked for signs from him, something totally obvious to let me know he’s still around and still thinking about me. Sure, there’s the feather and the red bird in the tree at the cemetery. But those are all coincidences. Just me seeking out evidence Jeremy’s still around, watching over me, holding on, still loving me. But I’m really only fooling myself. Dr. Wheeler said it’s all what you see in it. To me, there truly is no evidence from the other side. Jeremy is gone. I have to accept it and—like my mom suggested—try to move on.

  “I’ll do it,” I say despite the pain it causes me to utter those words.

  “You will?” Stella sounds more shocked than I am.

  “Yeah. But just so you don’t get any funny ideas, it’s strictly platonic.”

  “No funny ideas.” She holds up her hands. “I swear.”

  Jeremy

  The summer slowly dies into fall. There’s a crispness to the night air and in the early mornings. But the sun continues to rally in the afternoon.

  Though I don’t spend all of my time at the cemetery, I seem to be here more than I want. It takes a lot of energy to venture outside its perimeter. Going home, to Wheaton, anywhere else—really—takes an enormous amount of effort. I siphon the power from somewhere. The sun, maybe. The lamppost lights. Whatever will lend it to me, I’ll take it. But I need to leave. Desperately. Because Hailey’s not here.

  “So who is she?” Rae asks, following my gaze out the archway of the cemetery entrance.

  My focus turns to her. I watch as Rae and the little boy make a chain out of dandelion stems. The air is filled with spores, wispy things that float around like fairies.

  “That’s who you’re waiting for, right? For her to come?”

  I simply stare at Rae. My personal life is none of her business. “What makes you—”

  “I know,” she says, her fingers twisting the weeds with deftness and precision. “I’m waiting for someone, too.”

  I feel her watch me. The kid, too.

  “What happens if they don’t?” I ask.

  “Ever come back?”

  I nod, hoping the day will never come.

  “Then…” Her eyes creep toward the outer boundary of the cemetery.

  “No way,” I nearly shout. “Never.”

  “Never is a long time,” she says.

  I storm away. “I’m going to look for her.”

  Rae pays me a sad look, then returns to the flower tapestry.

  Hailey

  That night I have a dream of Jeremy. We stand across from one another in an open field sprinkled with lilacs. The air is heavy with their perfume. The full moon cascades down on us. Jeremy lingers on one end, and I’m on the other. The air is warm and gentle, brushing lightly over the hair on my arms like a lover’s touch.

  I try to run to him, but my legs get weighed down in the thick grasses beneath my feet. And each time I step closer, he floats farther away.

  This goes on for some time until my level of frustration builds and makes me restless in my sheets. I become aware I’m dreaming, but I work hard to stay asleep so I can be with him for as long as possible. The visions fade, though I try to hold onto them: his dark hair, his strong hands, even the midnight black dress shirt he wore.

  I open my eyes in the hope of finding him beside me, and being told everything since the accident was only a nightmare. But instead of Jeremy, the only thing I see is the moon sifting through the opening in my curtains, slicing a piece of light along its path like the swipe of a machete.

  I get up and go to the window and see the yard is a snow globe of dandelion fluff.

  Jeremy

  There’s a warm glow in the room when I step inside. A sheer orangish scarf covers the corner lamp. A way, I suspect, to tamp everything down. The disco ball light twinkles. But the things inside the room take second place when I see her at the window. One of the stray dandelion spores has caught in her pulled-back ponytail.

  There’s a spot in my chest that seizes like the flicker of a heart attack.

  “Hailey,” I utter.

  She turns and moves her eyes around the room as if she actually hears me. Then she hesitates before flipping off the corner light and shrouding the room in darkness. She crawls into bed, texting a message on her phone.

  I’m a statue, rendered frozen at the sight of Hailey in the same room with me. It all seems so familiar, the same. It’s like I’d never left, never died.

  I look around, as if for permission, before inching toward the bed, moving in beside her. I watch her profile, her closed eyes, and see tears snake down. I reach an apprehensive hand out and wipe them away. As soon as I touch Hailey, everything feels so natural again, and I wiggle closer, taking in the smell of lilac and the tickle of her hair against my cheek. My arm loops over her in an attempt to give her even the slightest bit of comfort. I want to make her pain go away. But being with her again like this eases my agony more than hers.

  Jeremy

  Days have passed, and I’m here again. I’ve had to recoup my energy because returning has become a habit. When I’m in Hailey’s room, I don’t want to leave. It feels like home. Safe. Comforting. There’s the disco ball light I often glanced at from the warmth of her bed. The curtains that billow in the breeze of an afternoon storm. I drift ar
ound, fingering the trophies on the desktops, instantly recognizing the first-place statue we were awarded for couples dance. I remember her not wanting to let it go, she was so happy. I never wanted her pleasure to end, so I let her keep it. And here it is still, taking me instantly back. To the ballroom where we danced the Viennese waltz. We flowed seamlessly with turns and change steps. Our arms, our footwork, our movements meshed as one. There was no separating her from me. Which is why we won and why we were so amazing together in and out of the dance studio.

  I hear the shower stop and see the wafts of steamy air escape from the crack in the doorway. I afford Hailey her privacy, though I so very much want to go in and see her delicate curves and dew-kissed skin. She’s getting ready for something. Not sure what.

  She opens the door to the bathroom and steps out in nothing more than a towel. Her hair falls over her shoulders, dripping wetness down her arms and back like teardrops. I can smell lilac emanating from her and it instantly takes me back to what we were.

  Since the accident, my intuition is heightened, so much that I can tell something is up tonight that I may not like.

  I stand beside her as she combs through her closet. I close my eyes. If I concentrate hard enough, I may be able to pass her a sign. Because even though I can run my fingers over her sweaters and hanging pants, they don’t visibly move at my touch for her to notice. Unless I try really hard to physically manipulate them. And that consumes more energy than I can bottle. So much, I often need to rest for what seems like days afterward. I don’t want to sleep when I can be with Hailey almost like we were before.

  I sense she’s stopped going through her closet, so I open my eyes. Hailey’s arms wrap around her to ward off a chill, and she searches around for something that’s caught her attention. A sound? A whisper of air? A feeling? Maybe she senses me here with her.

  “Do you, Hailey?” I ask.

  But instead of responding, she turns back to her clothes as if nothing happened at all. I drown in devastation. I so want her to be aware of me there. To be absolutely sure I’ve not deserted her in death.

  “What do I have to do, Hailey?” I shout. As if raising my voice will allow her to hear me. She doesn’t. She plucks a black v-neck shirt and a pair of jeans and tosses them on her bed.

  I’m a voyeur. I watch the towel fall away, drink in every part of her until she’s completely covered in the outfit she has chosen.

  “Hailey, your friends are here,” I hear her mom call from out in the hall.

  “Be right there,” she yells back while fastening a silver necklace and sticking hoop earrings in.

  I move to the door and listen to the blend of voices below. There are male tones. Guys.

  I hear Hailey’s mom, Barbara, say, “Double date, huh?” It’s as much a surprise to her as it is to me, apparently.

  I study Hailey who brushes on some eye shadow. I comb my eyes over her. Sexy, beautiful. More so than usual. And her jeans are entirely too tight for anyone but me. I feel pricks of jealousy starting.

  Hailey heads for the door, so I grab for her shirt and yank at it. “Don’t go!” I demand.

  She doesn’t listen. Doesn’t hear. God, think fast. I feel powerless to stop her. But I cannot let her go out with this other guy. I hurry ahead of her out the bedroom door, scurry ahead to peer over the banister to the living room downstairs.

  Hailey busies herself with the contents of her purse: phone, money, and breath mints. Oh gee, not those.

  I divide my attention between her and the goings on downstairs. There’s a guy with band hair, tattoos, and a lot of black. A complete rocker. A delinquent. A degenerate. What the hell is she doing? There’s also a girl. Joan Jett-ish dark hair, heavily kohled eyes, silver bangles on her wrists. They chatter, make small talk with Hailey’s mom. Then another guy moves into view. And I stare, stunned, because it’s him. The one who leered at her from outside the cemetery gates. The one with the bicycle and the guitar strapped to him. What could she possibly see in him? In his messy hair and untucked shirt? If things were bad before, they just got worse.

  As Hailey tugs on her faux leather jacket, I hold tightly to her arm, trying to stop her. “Don’t go, Hailey!”

  She gives her sleeve a harder pull as if it’s the jacket itself that’s being resistant and not me attempting to stop her.

  “Please,” I plead, ready to lose my composure completely, “Stay here with me. Let me hold you again.” The mad rush of tears comes, but I manage to dam it for now. “Stay,” I beg and grovel. But it’s fruitless. There’s nothing I can do but let her go.

  She descends the stairs, and I see it in his eyes: the desire. He is totally captivated by her. And why wouldn’t he be? Even in death, she still knows how to steal my heart. I trail behind her, not willing to give up yet.

  “You look…pretty,” this guy says. I don’t have to be a mind reader to know what he’s really thinking and wanting.

  “Thanks.” She keeps her distance from him. For now.

  Nonetheless, I panic. I rush to Barbara’s side and stare at the side of her face. “You can’t let her go. Tell her she has to stay.”

  Barbara looks to me for a brief moment and puzzles, and then straightens her face as best as she can. “Stella says you’re going to dinner?”

  Hailey nods.

  “Well, have a good time. Call if you’re going to be late.” She swallows down all the things she really wants to say.

  “All right.” She kisses her mom lightly on the cheek, always so uncaring of the stigma among friends and peers of being close to her parents—something I always cherished about her; a reason to love her all over again.

  Her mom and I watch the four of them move to the door. Clearly, that’s the extent of what Barbara intends to do. But not me. I shadow them outside, down the walkway, and to the car parked curbside.

  Stella and the hard-core guy get in the front, while bicycle guy opens Hailey’s door for her. Shit! Why does he have to be nice and gentlemanly? Better for him to fuck up right away so she sees the mistake she’s making.

  I stand there and put my head in my hands as he closes her door and rounds to his own side. Then, as if it’s a revelation, I realize they can’t even see me. I run on the guy’s heels to the street side. He slides into the rear driver’s side. Before the door shuts, I slip in, too, and wedge my way between them. For a moment, I rest my head against the back of the seat. To think I almost left Hailey in his hands. What a close call! She sits on my right, and I look over at her profile. Though she’s as gorgeous to me as ever, she appears sad. My insides lift a bit at the notion it’s because she still thinks of and pines for me.

  “So,” says the girl, Stella, “where are we going to eat? I’m starving.” She pivots in her seat to look back, “Hailey doesn’t eat meat.”

  The opening-doors-bicycle-guy eyes her, as if this makes Hailey all the more attractive to him. “Well, I guess you and Nate aren’t going to be close buddies anytime soon. He’s a fast-food hound,” he says by way of explanation.

  The guy reaches up and slaps the driver’s—Nate’s—shoulder. Hailey pays them a courtesy smile.

  “No way,” Nate speaks into the rearview mirror. “No greasy burgers? No fish–n- chips?”

  “Nate loves fish and chips,” the untucked-shirt guy says as an aside. “Can’t get enough of them.”

  “Shut up, Eli,” Nate calls back from the front seat.

  So…it’s Eli. The guy who has his sights set on my girlfriend.

  “Any suggestions?” Nate asks.

  “How about Palmers?” Stella offers with a flutter of her eyelashes. She has her body angled toward Nate with a glossy-eyed stare fixed on his profile. She’s his for the taking, no doubt. I’m grateful Hailey doesn’t look at Eli in the same way. I don’t think I could survive it.

  “I’m on a budget,” he answers.

  “Nice,” says Eli. “Real classy.”

  “I’m just saying. How about here?” He pulls into the parking lot of
a Long John Silver’s.

  “What did I tell you?” Eli turns to Hailey. “Fish and chips.”

  She smiles at him, and he catches hold of her eyes. They’re locked in a stare for a moment. I give him a shove. He looks away, but no thanks to anything I did.

  “Come on, Nate. Fast food?” Eli says with a deprecating tone. “There’s nothing for Hailey here.” Another look. God, I wish he would stop that.

  “She’s not available, guy,” I say right to his face. Of course, he doesn’t hear me.

  “It’s fine,” Hailey says. “I’m not really hungry anyway.”

  Eli leans forward in his seat as Nate finds a parking space. “This isn’t cool,” Eli whispers in his ear. “You may not care, but I’d like to make a good first impression.”

  “All in favor of LJS?” Nate asks the car.

  Stella, Nate, and then Hailey—in her I-don’t-care fashion—raise their hands. Eli sinks, defeated, back into his seat.

  After a less-than-stellar meal of fish and chips for Hailey’s three new friends and some vegetables and bread sticks for her, they take off again. Eli wears the scowl he developed toward Nate, the one that came about when they laid eyes on the menu. Frankly, I’m elated. Hailey appears unmoved despite Eli’s apologies over his friend’s lame choice for food. Rather, she looks like she wants to get the night over and go home.

  “This is great, isn’t it?” Stella pronounces.

  Nate seems satisfied. But the mood in the back seat is quite different. Both Hailey and Eli are miffed about the entire night. “Sorry,” Eli whispers toward Hailey yet again.

  “It’s fine,” she says. I can tell it’s a lie; I know her so well.

  Nate pops a CD into the car stereo. Hard rock thrums from the speakers. “This your band?” Stella asks Nate.

  “Yeah.” He puffs up a bit.

  “It’s not fine,” says Eli, scooting a bit closer to Hailey, muscling me out of the way. I push Eli hard, but it does absolutely nothing. “It sucks.”