Dust to Dust (23 page)

Diiiiiing
.

The lunch bell rings, and Mr. Dunkle stands up. “Y'all aren't allowed to head to lunch, so I hope you brought sandwiches. I, however, need to grab a bite. I'll be back in twenty, and Mrs. Harris across the hall in woodshop will be keeping her eye on the door.”

We all nod, and Mr. Dunkle chuckles. “What am I saying? Y'all have been reading all morning—you're not going anywhere. ISS is practically a library project today!”

He gives us a wink as if he secretly likes us; he shakes his head as he walks out the door. I exhale. I doubt he's heard anything we've said so far, but what I want to say now is pretty intense.

“Okay, listen up,” I say. “It's about Carson.”

“What about me?” My best friend pops her head into the doorway and then, seeing no teacher, slinks inside. Dylan beams at her as she sits down next to Nick with a smile.

“What is it, Callie?” Nick's voice is comforting, encouraging. Carson and Dylan both lean in. I look at their three faces—two I've known for years and one brand-new—and I feel a warmth among us, almost like we're connected, like we're supposed to come together in this moment. It sounds hokey but I sense us becoming a team, and it gives me the courage to go on.

“Cars, they should know, too. . . .”

She nods, instantly realizing what I'm about to say. “You're right.”

And so I tell Nick and Dylan about how Reena took over Carson's body once this summer.

“It was at Tim McCann's party,” I say, and then I look at Nick knowingly, to see if he'll remember.

“That was the night of my car accident,” he says. “It was the night she . . .” He pauses.

“Kissed you,” I say.

“But I didn't—” Carson starts.

“It was Reena.” I say it loudly and clearly for everyone's benefit.

Dylan scowls. I know he's jealous.

“Whoa,” says Nick, a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

A boulder's weight of guilt settles on my shoulders. Nick's been possessed, too, by Thatcher. He's not at risk of being taken again—Thatcher would never do that—but I feel weird not telling him. Still I try to put those thoughts out of my mind for now and press on.

“So a third possession is worse than death,” I say.

“How can something be worse than dying?” asks Nick.

“Because after the final possession, there's no Prism, no Solus,” I tell him. “The soul just blows away like dust. That's what Thatcher said.”

Nick looks away at the sound of Thatcher's name, and my stomach knots. He has to know that I haven't told him everything about Thatcher—Nick is quick to pick up on things. But how can I really explain my relationship with him? How to do I tell Nick that Thatcher is everywhere I turn—in the pages of these books, in my
thoughts at night, haunting my dreams? How do I admit that I'm in love with a ghost? As soon as that thought enters my mind, I can feel Thatcher's impression in the room. The air feels thicker all of a sudden and its stale smell is replaced by this almost honeysuckle scent. I think I'm the only one noticing, but maybe that's okay.

There's something beautiful in that. In me being the one person who can sense that he's here, watching over us.

I open my eyes and come back to the room, comforted by the thought that there are five of us here, not four. And although Thatcher is probably not pleased that I'm getting more involved in this battle than he thinks I should, the fact that he's not interfering like he did with Wendy sort of signals that he respects my decision, doesn't it?

Well, that's what I'm going to choose to believe in this moment. I have to if we're going to get anywhere.

“Only Eli is more vulnerable than Carson,” I continue. “If we're ever together near a vortex, it could be disastrous.”

“Okay,” says Dylan, standing up like he's making a speech. “‘The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.' FDR.”

“What does that mean?” asks Nick.

“I don't know.” Dylan sinks back into his chair. “I couldn't think of a quote to fit this moment.”

“Here's what I think we should do,” I say, firmly and decisively. “First, we go after Thatcher's ring so that we'll be able to call on the Guides for help if we end up in a dangerous spot without backup.”

“Like a vortex where Reena takes my body again and makes out with Nick?” asks Carson.

“For example,” says Nick, grinning.

I swat them both. “How can you joke right now?”

“It's a coping mechanism!” she says.

I clear my throat to get them back on task. “Okay, so step one is: get the ring.”

“Makes sense,” says Dylan, his face lighting up with enthusiasm. “The ghost emergency call button needs to be secured.”

“So we'll go to Eli's house tomorrow while he's at school and find a way in—we've got to search his room,” I say. “I trust y'all can figure out your own alibis for missing school.”

Everyone nods.

“What if the ring's not there though?” asks Carson.

“We could always try going to where the poltergeist used to live,” says Dylan. “If his family still lives in town, maybe he took it there, for safekeeping or something.”

“So you're saying he stole it off Eli before I expelled his soul yesterday?” I ask. “Do you think Leo still has that kind of power, now that he's been away from the Prism for so long?”

“I don't know, but I think it's a possibility,” says Dylan.

“Okay, so searching Leo's place will be option two,” I say, smiling for a moment. But then I glance at Dylan's books and sigh, frustrated. “I haven't figured out what comes next though.”

The honeysuckle smell gets even stronger, and it's almost as though Thatcher is giving me a sign of support. It feels really good to have him trusting in me.

“We'll figure it out,” says Carson, encouraging me. “Let's just do step one.”

Nick runs his hands through his hair. “This is . . . a lot to take in. Last week the only mysterious thing in my life was where the heck my lost socks go.”

“I know.” I touch his shoulder to convey that I understand how crazy it all sounds. Dylan and Carson are so quick to believe because they've always believed. But Nick . . . he didn't seek out any of this. I look at him pleadingly—we really need his help, especially with Eli Winston.

“We have to try and get the ring back,” I say, and when he gazes up at me, I see the commitment in his eyes. He puts his hand over mine, squeezing. It's a pledge to move forward, in so many ways.

“Okay,” he says. “I know where the Winstons keep a spare house key.”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

WHEN I WALK IN the door after school, I'm happy to have this quiet moment at home. Tomorrow, the plan begins. Tonight feels like the calm before the storm.

“Callie May?” I hear my dad's voice in the den.

“You're back from work early,” I say, popping my head in.

“I took a mental health day,” he says. “I have to go to DC tomorrow to give a talk—it's a last-minute fill-in. But I wanted to make sure you're okay with that.”

“I've stayed home alone for one night before.”

“I know. But not since . . .”

“The coma. Right.” I smile at him. “I'm fine, really.”

“Okay, I'll be gone less than a day.” Dad pats the cushion beside him. “I've been looking through this old album.”

I recognize the book instantly. It was a secret album he kept,
one that he didn't show me. I only saw it when I was haunting him from the other side, when I was with Thatcher trying to help my father heal.

I curl up next to him on the couch.

As he flips the pages open now, I see my family—me and Mama, Mama and Daddy, the three of us all together. There's a photo of me and Carson, both front-toothless on a swing set, and even a picture of me and Nick from last year, all dressed up in front of the Fishers' fireplace, right before we went to the winter formal.

“How come you never showed me these before?” I ask.

“Oh, you know,” he says, smiling. “I guess I was just embarrassed about my sentimental side, or I thought you'd think I was holding on to the past too much or something.”

“I would never think that,” I tell him. “You're the strongest man I know.”

I lower my face, feeling kind of cheesy for saying that, but he reaches out and turns my chin up to him, so he can look me in the eye. Now he speaks clearly, deliberately. “You're healing, you're living your life again, you're not letting what happened this summer get you down—or even slow you down, far as I can tell.” He pauses. “I'm proud of you,” he adds.

I start to tear up, and my father pulls me closer. He puts his arm around my shoulder, and I lean into him, smelling his clean detergent smell, breathing in the safety and security of home. It's the two of us on the couch, missing Mama, as we've been missing her for years now.

But when I close my eyes, I know she is always with us.

“Your mama knew how to express herself; she knew exactly how to make everyone around her feel loved. I feel like she's still teaching me how, through you. As long as you're here and we're together, Callie May, she is, too.”

And then, like a puzzle piece falling into place, I finally understand why she couldn't haunt me the way she wanted to. . . . I was her death spot, a place where spirits are not supposed to return. So she visited Carson instead. She tried to bring peace through my best friend. Mama did her best for me and Daddy. What else could I ask of her?

I meet Carson in her driveway the next morning. “Let's go,” she says. “Nick and Dylan are on their way to Eli's.”

We're heading toward our friend's house, banking on his parents being at work and Eli being at school. I know I'll get in trouble for skipping again if my father finds out, but this is urgent. Like, life-or-death urgent. Besides, I hid my dad's cell last night, so he'll probably have to call me from the landline and tell me it's missing. I felt a little guilty being sneaky like that, but desperate times call for drastic measures.

Carson parks on the street a few doors down, behind Nick. He drove his parents' van, I notice, as we walk up to greet the boys.

“Those are really awesome,” says Dylan. He's admiring the red and yellow kayaks strapped to the top of the van.

“Did you guys carpool?” I ask them.

“It was on the way,” says Nick. “Mom let me take the van because I told her the soccer team had a field trip today and needed
more vehicles. School might call her, but I'll deal with that later.”

“Good thought,” I say. “We can all drive together from here.”

“It was Carson's idea.” Dylan smiles at her adoringly, and I make a note that when this is all over I need to talk to Carson about how perfect Dylan is for her. When I look over, though, I see that she's noticing his grin, and returning it with one of her own.

“You probably should've taken the kayaks off the roof,” I say to Nick. “Gas burners.”

“My dad's going camping this weekend. He wanted them ready.”

I shrug. “Well, I'm glad we have a big car anyway.”

When we get up to the porch, there's a bright blue snail-shaped planter in the front filled with red geraniums. Nick gently tilts it back and pulls out a silver key.

“Really?” I say.

“So obvious,” mutters Carson.

“Don't look a gift snail in the mouth,” says Dylan. He stands behind Nick, who steps in and calls out, “Hello?” just in case.

No response. We all head inside.

Eli's room is easy to spot on the long hallway. There's a dirty-laundry trail spilling out of the door, which is covered with World Cup athlete posters. I peek inside to see his bed isn't made and there's a half-empty bottle of Gatorade on the nightstand.

“Where would he put the ring?” I wonder aloud, as we all crowd in.

Dylan takes in a breath. “He doesn't seem to be the most thoughtful person in the world, does he? I bet if it is here, it's under a pile somewhere. . . .”

Just then, we hear the door creak open and we all freeze. Keys are thrown onto a table, steps start coming down the hallway.

“
Shiiiit
,” whispers Nick. He stands in front of the rest of us as Eli walks into his room, totally startled

“What the hell are y'all doing here?”

“Hey, man,” says Nick, cool as a cucumber. “No school today?”

“I'm off for the week. I'm . . . resting,” says Eli. Then he seems to remember our situation. “Hey, why am I explaining myself to you? You're the ones in my house.”

I step forward from behind Nick.

“Eli, the other day in the hallway—”

“Y'all need to get out of here before I call the cops.” Eli's words are strong, but at the sight of me he looks shaken.

Carson goes up to him and links her arms through his. “Eli, we're looking for a ring,” says Carson. “Callie was wearing it around her neck when you had your . . . scuffle.”

“You already asked me about that,” says Eli, turning to me. “I told you I don't have it.”

He shakes off Carson's arm and says again, “I'm seriously gonna call the cops if you don't leave.”

“I know about the night by the bonfire at Folly Beach, Eli,” I say, and it's as if the room stills. “When you heard the ghost girl's voice, and Brian and Hunter didn't believe you.”

I was with Reena that day, and we stumbled upon Eli and the others on a summer Saturday night, drinking by the fire pit. Reena had some fun with Eli, knocking a beer from his hand, pulling a cigarette from his mouth, whispering in his ear. Eli was truly freaked
out—I know because I saw him run through the woods to escape what was happening.