I visit Sam by the river. The sun has climbed halfway up the sky, and the sunlight dances on the surface of the water, shimmering reflections dazzle my eyes.
It’s as if my presence calls to him, and he appears beside me out of thin air. I jump, startled by how fast he materializes.
Sam smiles. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I study him, his unruly brown hair and good natured face, and my heart warms just a little bit. I think of the last time I saw him, of his lips on mine, his arms around me the entire night, and my face warms too. “How do you do that? Pop out of the air like that? And how do you vanish? Can I do it?”
He laughs. “I…I don’t really know how I do it. To me, it’s like going to sleep. I even come back feeling a bit refreshed, or, as refreshed as a ghost can feel, I guess. I’ve learned how to do it over the years.”
“So, I’ll learn too, eventually.”
Something flashes across his face, a shadow of concern.
“I hope you’ll never have to learn. I hope we can cross over soon.”
I look down at my shoes, and Sam reaches out and brushes his fingers over the top of my hand.
“Bree?”
I frown. “I haven’t had any luck communicating with my parents. But I have to find a way. Caleb is planning to rob them on top of everything.” I try to keep my anger in check, to not show him how upset I am. I glare at the ground between my feet, feeling the rage start a slow burn in my stomach again. “Caleb is still planning to do it, even after he murdered me.”
Sam reaches out and catches a strand of my hair between his fingers. His eyes are wide and full of sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Bree.” He studies my face, concern clear on his.
“Sam.” I pause, thinking how to phrase my question. “Today I kicked at a wall, because I was angry at Caleb, and my foot didn’t go through it. Caleb heard it. Do you think there’s some way I can do that with my parents? Similar, but…I don’t want to scare them.”
Sam frowns. “Obviously you were able to become substantial because of your anger. You should be careful. You don’t want to get too involved with him, or you’ll accidently tether yourself.”
The idea is repulsive. “I wouldn’t…”
“You wouldn’t mean to,” he says firmly. “It wouldn’t be your fault. It would be because you have strong emotions involving him, regardless of what they are. I pretty much tethered myself to you out of sheer will, because of the strength of…” He trails off, his cheeks flushing.
“Of what?” His hand is on top of mine again, and I flip my hand around and curl my fingers through his.
“I think you know.” His smile is beautiful, and he learns forward, touching my face gently with his fingertips. I shut my eyes, enjoying the sensation of his fingers on my cheek. Already I’m sick of not being substantial, of not being able to feel anything.
“Lie down with me,” he murmurs. “Let’s pick out shapes in the clouds like we used to. Do you remember the games we used to play?”
I remember. Ten-year-old Bree and Sam, lying in the green grass of the school baseball field, dreaming up dragons and steam trains in the clouds.
Sam leads me to a patch of grass further down the river, and we lie back and look up at the sky. The clouds are marshmallow puffy today, perfect for spotting all kinds of different things. We spend an hour happily pointing out ridiculous shapes and making up outrageous things that aren’t even there. At one point Sam flips over onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow, staring at me.
“What?” I say. “Can’t you find the mermaid?”
“I don’t want to.” He smiles at me.“I’m happy looking at you.”
I feel myself blush practically to the roots of my hair. “Sam…”
“What?” He says innocently. “It’s true.” When he begins stroking one hand over my hair I shut my eyes and sigh happily. For a moment I imagine us getting up, and walking hand in hand across whatever veil or barrier separates us from the afterlife. Walking into the sunset with him and living happily ever after. But then my parent’s faces suddenly surface in my memory, and Caleb’s, and Nakia’s face, tear-stained and terrified. I can’t leave things this way. I can’t just check out and leave everything unresolved. I’ll always wonder what happened.
“Sam,” I whisper. “I have to try to warn my parents.”
His brown eyes look sad, and his fingers go still in my hair. “I know. And you know what I said before is still true. I’ll be waiting for you.”
I nod, and shift my gaze back up to the sky, back to the puffy white clouds collecting there, blocking out part of the sun and leaving us in shade. And I can’t help but wonder, exactly how long will he be willing to wait?
Visiting my parents again turns out to be a bad idea. Mom is sitting at the counter, her address book in front of her, phoning everyone she can think of, barely holding back hysterics. Dad is on his cell phone arguing with someone. The police, I think.
It’s hard to see them this way. Mom and Dad usually laugh at everything. They’re carefree, happy, busy people. Now they’re miserable. I stand behind Mom as she asks my aunt in a shaky voice, if she’s heard anything from me, anything at all. I peer over her shoulder to see her address book is open to “Aunt Beatrice”, who lives in England. Mom’s obviously getting desperate. We both jump when Dad suddenly shouts, “It’s been four days!” He’s silent and then he shouts again. “Well, the last place anyone saw her was over at that boy’s house! You need to get a cruiser over there, get some of your guys to talk to him. I always said that little shit was bad news, and now I’m more convinced then ever!’ His voice cracks. “Yes. Four days today.” His brows draw together. “What the hell do you mean ‘that’s all’? Listen, my daughter would never run away. “
Four days? That’s how long it’s been since I died? It doesn’t seem right. The days have stretched into oblivion; I’ve been haunting this place for years. Now dad continues, his voice high and strained, “And if she were upset enough to go somewhere for a few weeks, she’d leave us a note, or call us! We’re a typical family, and we have our problems, but she would never do that to us.” He goes silent, listening to the person on the other end. “Yes, alright. I’ll be calling back.”
He slams the phone into the receiver. My stomach flips in excitement. He’s sent the police after Caleb! I hope, fiercely, that there’s some sort of damning evidence and the police are able to find out what happened. I mean, it’s not like I found blood stains over there, but the police had ways of finding stuff out. Maybe they would discover something I hadn’t. Then I could be at peace knowing Caleb was going to be locked away for murder. Then I could go with Sam.
Mom’s eyes are filled with tears as she hangs up her cell phone. “What did the police say?”
“They told me to be patient, to keep calling her cell phone. In the meantime they promised to go ask that boy some questions.” Dad’s expression is dark. “I’m not satisfied though. I don’t think they plan on being real pushy about it. They basically just told me she’s probably run away from home, like our daughter is some kind of delinquent. And they asked a lot of questions about…him.”
“Who…Simon?” Mom frowns. “Did you tell them it’s very unlikely?”
Dad glares down at the phone in his hands. “They didn’t really listen. Said they had to follow all leads. I think they’re more interested in him. Maybe they think she ran away to go meet him or something.” He drags one hand over his face, something he only does when he’s really and truly frustrated. He must feel so helpless.
“She would never run away,” Mom’s voice cracks.
I bite my lip painfully, tears threatening. Hearing them referring to me in the present tense is both comforting and disturbing. It almost makes me feel alive again. But they clearly aren’t letting themselves think the worst, and they need to. Hesitantly I reach out for Mom’s shoulder, willing myself to touch her, willing my hand to be solid. Instead my fingers pass through her, and I jerk back, scared I’ll hurt her somehow. She hunches her shoulders a little, and says absently, “Can you hand me my sweater, hun? It’s on your chair.”
I allow myself a little scream of frustration, fists clenched, nails biting into my palms. I can’t even comfort my mother. I just give her chills.
“It’s not fair!”
They can’t hear me wailing, it doesn’t matter if I shout.
“This isn’t fair!” I can’t stand it anymore, and when Mom bursts into tears and Dad moves to comfort her, I flee the scene. There is nothing I can do, and I can’t stand watching anymore. I’ll just fall apart. The last thing I see before I turn away is Dad holding Mom tightly. He’s facing away from the kitchen window, but he’s looking back over his shoulder, a dark expression on his face as he stares out at the woods.
I storm out of the house and back through the forest, past the river without looking to see if Sam is there, and straight through the back fence into Caleb’s yard. I continue past the rickety, abandoned dog house, up the wooden stairs of the deck. Gliding through the sliding glass door I come face to face with him. He’s in the kitchen making a smoothie in his boxer shorts. Seeing his face makes the rage flare up inside me, hotter than ever.
The kitchen is still an absolute pig sty. Beer bottles and trash everywhere from the night I died, and I’ve been dead for three days. The lazy asshole. I’m so furious at him - for taking my parents from me, for making them suffer like this – that I sweep my arm across the counter, screaming in mindless rage. I make contact, and beer bottles and plastic cups go flying. The bottles hit the ground, crashing into pieces, making me jump. Glass shards skitter across the kitchen tiles, and beer splashes everywhere. Caleb and I both stare at the mess in shock. Then the anger trickles away, replaced by elation. I’m practically giddy – I did it! – and he’s backing away, a horrified expression on his face.
“What the hell?” he says. “What the hell was that?” He looks around, like a glass smashing bandit might be lurking around the corner, hiding behind the counter maybe. “Hello?” Caleb puts his smoothie down on the table and edges to one side, steering clear of the pieces of jagged glass. He leans forward and peers behind the counter, “What the fuck was that?” he mutters. After a second he leans across the huge pile of dishes in the sink and yanks the window shut, like he thinks some sort of light evening breeze swept all the bottles and cups off the counter. “Weird,” he mutters, and I watch, with a big grin on my face as he shuffles over to get the dust pan and broom.
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