A Strange There After Page 5

  “Ask her how she hurt her arm.”

  Boone relayed my question.

  “Right after everything escalated. You were screaming. Jason had been tossed aside like a rag doll. Travis was trying to keep Anna calm because she was freaking the heck out. I’m guessing it was the moment Catherine booted you from your body. This burst of energy exploded out of you, or Marietta, I couldn’t tell at the time. Knocked me off my feet and right into a tombstone. One concussion, an overnight stay for observation and twenty-two stitches.”

  She lifted her hair and showed me an ugly gash crusted with blood and stitched together.

  “I’m so sorry. I don’t remember anything after Catherine let Marietta go and started in on me. I do remember feeling as if my soul was being sucked from my body. I guess we all know what that meant.”

  Boone told Abby what I said, pulling a bag of chips from her stash. “I can’t fathom any being having such power. The only thing I can think of is a demonic spirit.”

  I shuddered and nearly dismissed the idea. It was possible, but while the entity in the yard did look like a character from a low budget horror movie, this didn’t feel evil in that kind of way. But what did I know? At this point, I’d explore any option.

  “We can look into it,” Abby mused. “I’m not sure though. Where would we have picked up a demonic entity?”

  “Maybe it’s been on your land for years, and some random act opened it up to the stepmother. A Ouija board?”

  “I don’t think we own any. One of Suzie’s or Anna’s friends might have brought it to the house,” I suggested.

  “Idiots,” Boone muttered. Louder, he said, “It’s also possible Catherine ran into something particularly nasty on the other side and brought it with her.”

  “She’s evil enough on her own.”

  “Think about it, Abby. A normal ghost or spirit does not have the power to take over a body completely. It can inhabit it with the host but never replace it.”

  “So, you’ve never heard of this kind of possession before?” she asked.

  “Nope. But I can do some research.”

  I shifted in the deep grass. “It can’t be demonic. I saw it. This thing looked human.”

  “And you didn’t think to tell me earlier?” Boone barked.

  “Tell you what?” Abby demanded.

  “She’s seen whatever this is.”

  “Catherine, yeah, of course she has.”

  “No,” I interrupted them. “This wasn’t Catherine.” I paused. Was it? After spending an unknown amount of time in the river, her body might have become that unrecognizable. No. The longer I considered it, the less likely it became. This was something new. “Catherine would have taunted me. She enjoys making me suffer.”

  “Unless in her natural form as a spirit, she doesn’t have full function, didn’t know it was you. Maybe she can leave your body, like at night.”

  “Tell me what’s going on.” Poor Abby. It must have sucked to be excluded from the conversation.

  As Boone relayed the information, my mind wandered. The best way for me to get answers was to ask Catherine directly, but I didn’t see that happening. I didn’t want her to know how desperately I was trying to get my body back. She’d take my hopes away from me, too.

  We went round and round for another hour, each time realizing we knew very little about what was actually happening. Abby laid back, staring at the stars and stretching her casted arm to the side.

  “You’ve been through a lot,” Boone said, breaking the sudden silence and dumping the last of the chips in his mouth.

  “There were days I thought I wouldn’t make it.” I snorted at the irony. “If I’m honest with myself, I haven’t made it.”

  “You’re not dead. Not in the traditional sense.”

  “Helpful, thanks.”

  “What do you want me to say? I could compare it to an out of body experience, but you’re not in a hospital dying. That’s the only other instance I can think of where a body has lived and a soul’s been walking around without it. Or where the physical form is above ground and healthy.”

  “Yay for me. I’m a freak of nature.”

  “That’s a good thing.”

  “Please, tell me how this is good?”

  “Chill. I don’t mean your situation. I mean you in general. You’re not like other girls, and that is always a positive.”

  His words reminded me of Jason, and I fell quiet. Not long ago, Jason told me the exact same thing, how my uniqueness attracted him. It’d made me feel special. Coming from Boone, I wasn’t sure it was a compliment. The guy just pushed my buttons. The wrong buttons.

  “I’m not like other girls because I am missing a body.” I picked at the grass. “I don’t like you.”

  He didn’t even pretend to be hurt. “So? You’re not the first, and you certainly won’t be the last. I like controversy. If you rattle someone, human or spirit, you often get an unabashedly honest reaction.” Boone leaned closer and actually winked. “I don’t believe you, by the way. I’m very likable. Soon, we’ll be BFF’s.”

  Abby laughed, pushing up onto her good elbow. “Is she giving you a hard time?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “I miss her sarcasm,” Abby said wistfully.

  “I’d be glad to share some of it with you,” Boone joked. “If it gets me out of the line of fire, take it. Sooner or later, Quinn’s bound to give me a complex.”

  “You already have one,” I drawled. “I’m surprised your big head can fit through the doors of most buildings.”

  He ran a hand over his faux hawk. “I’ve been told I have a very nice head.”

  Okay, that made me laugh, right along with Abby.

  We sat there a while longer, me trying to delay going home, Abby and Boone wanting to toss more ideas back and forth. Nothing inspirational struck, and it bummed me out. I didn’t expect instant miracles, but I couldn’t help feeling a little depressed.

  “Don’t let it get you down,” Boone whispered.

  He must have sensed my mood. “I’m trying.”

  “We’ll figure it out. I’m invested now. You’re a great research subject.”

  “Awesome. I’m your lab rat.”

  He chuckled and rose to his feet, picking up his and Abby’s trash and tossing it in a nearby can. Stretching his back, his t-shirt rode up, revealing an interesting looking tattoo on his side, but I didn’t want to show too much interest in his skin. He’d probably take it the wrong way.

  “Abby and I will do some research,” he shot her a glance, “if she’s got time.” She nodded. “Good, we’ll come by in a day or two. I have to get a look at this house I’m hearing so much about.”

  I bit my tongue to keep from suggesting they make it one day instead of two. I had unnatural expectations of how fast things would move after getting others involved in my plight. Each day I felt myself slipping away a little more. Soon, I’d end up like Jackson, stuck and grumpy, not caring what went on in the world around me.

  Chapter Seven

  At home, I existed in this strange bubble—joyous over having found help and anxious due to all the time slipping by. I wasn’t used to relying on others. For five years, I had to take care of myself. Marietta never included me in her family dinners with the twins. I was in charge of finding my own food, or else she’d let me have whatever was leftover after they ate. Any parental guidance came in the way of a warning. Thank goodness that survival instinct carried over with me into the spirit world, even if I didn’t always remember it. Despite trying to remain positive, my mind and body had other ideas.

  Hoping to distract myself, I decided to venture into the yard to see if I could find out what appeared in my window. Even though I kind of expected it to, nothing happened. No blackouts. No thunder of god. No horrific figure. Just me and the lush landscaping.

  Marietta had hired a man to come in once a week to take care of the lawn and trees, but we rarely spent a lot of time outside. Of course, she a
nd her offspring were definitely more the ‘indoor’ type. At one point, I remembered the twins begging their mama to put in a pool. Having a place to cool off would have been nice. I wasn’t really sure why it didn’t happen. Probably because Marietta ended up with a soul-sucking parasite attached to her. Judging by the overgrown grass, Catherine must have neglected to take over the bill paying. Typical.

  Century old trees shaded the whole area, which sat nestled away from any surrounding streets, beds of flowers added pops of color, but most of the blooms were dried and dying. When I pictured the future, I used to imagine digging through the rich soil, introducing some of my own touches to the landscape. Maybe, once I returned to normal, I’d look into it. Add in a big patio and barbecue area, too. As far as I knew, the Historical Society allowed some modern updates. Other homes in our neighborhood had done the same.

  It unsettled me a bit, to plan for a future I didn’t even know I had.

  Thinking of plans, my eyes were drawn to the carriage house. The dilapidated building sat to the rear of our property, abutting the yard next door. I wanted to renovate it, convert it into a photography studio, once I finished art school. Another part of my future put on hold until I figured out this whole body snatching thing.

  Sighing, I tucked away the longing and the ideas. One step at a time. I had to keep my mind trained on the end result and cling to the hope Abby and Boone would find a way to come to my rescue. Or, for now, focus on the task at hand, which meant finding whatever I saw back here. It knew something. I’d bet my life on it.

  Tiptoeing onto the lawn, I paused for half a second, wishing I could kick off my shoes and feel the grass between my toes. Tilting my face to the sun, I only sensed a bare trace of its warmth. Then I continued on. While I possessed courage, I wasn’t sure it would stay once evening fell. The memory of the figure nearly chased me inside to safety.

  Passing near the carriage house, I stepped into the shade of a towering oak. Its gnarled branches arched out in a hundred directions, twisted fingers reaching for the sky. Sunlight filtered down, broken in places by the many leaves. As a young girl, maybe five years old, I stood beneath it and marveled at its size, its age, how it’d survived for so long. I’d felt so tiny.

  “Nature is amazing, isn’t it? It can endure anything.”

  Startled, I spun, expecting to once again find the terrible woman, but it was only Jackson. Standing under the ancient oak, in his uniform, with the antebellum mansion at his back, he belonged in a Margaret Mitchell novel. He reached up to swat at one of the low-hanging limbs and made it move slightly.

  A little jealous, I reached up and mimicked his action, hoping my hand became solid like it had the other day. It didn’t. Not even after three tries.

  “If only we are as strong,” I mused.

  “You are.”

  I didn’t answer him, not sure I believed it. He tried another route.

  “Why are you out here?” His question was laced with exasperation, reminding me of the day he compared me to a child.

  “Are we really going to have this conversation again? I’m looking for answers, Jackson. Let me say it so you can remember—I’m not giving up. I still have fight in me.”

  He slid to the ground, stretching a leg out in front of him and crooking the other so he could rest an arm on his knee. “Your passion is exhausting, but it also reminds me of what it’s like to have something to fight for.”

  Optimistic he might actually be in a rare mood to talk, I sat near him, leaning against the crumbling brick wall of the carriage house. “Do you mean the war or Catherine?”

  “Both.” He rubbed his chin, scratching at the faint whiskers there. “War is easier to talk about. It takes the sting off of talking about her.”

  “Were you scared?”

  “Foolishly, no. At least, not in the beginning.” He cocked his head. “You must understand, we southerners were exceedingly confident. It came from how we were raised, believing our way of life was best, and no stiff-necked northerners were going to tell us it wasn’t. We thought it would take months to defeat the north, despite the fact we didn’t have any armories or factories. We had slaves and bravado.”

  Shadows passed across his expression. “I didn’t get scared until we marched halfway into the north, when our supplies began running out, and we had to trudge through two feet of snow with holes in our boots. I watched boys of thirteen die during the night, huddled under nothing but their coats for warmth. Screams were a constant throughout camp, especially after a battle. The surgeons ran out of morphine too early. Many of the amputations were done without. Marching into the hellish roar of battle. Men falling on either side of me. One cut clean in half by a cannonball.” Jackson’s eyes became glassy, and I watched him swallowing numerous times, fighting against a swarm of dark memories as his chest rose and fell swiftly. Finally, he got a hold of himself, and his tortured gaze met mine. “Through it all, my visions of a future with Catherine drove me on. She kept me anchored to something besides blood and the stink of rotting flesh.”

  He paused long enough for me to prompt him to continue. “You were engaged?”

  “Yes.” His features lightened, chasing away some of the ghosts and transforming him into the carefree man I imagined he once was. “We would have been married within months if I hadn’t enlisted. I asked her, begged her really, to wed me before I left. She joked, telling me we’d wait so she could marry a decorated war hero. I desperately wanted to make her proud.”

  “Instead, she waited for years.” I considered how it would affect me. In the 1860s people didn’t have the instant communication we did now, thanks to cell phones and email. Letters arrived months apart, sometimes longer. Stories and rumors trickled into the homes of those with loved ones fighting, terrible and unbelievable. It had to be torture waiting to hear if your fiancé lived. How had it changed Catherine? Did it push her into what she became?

  “None of us knew how dire conditions were at home, but it didn’t take much imagination to guess.” His words regained their hollowness. “If our army was running out of money and provisions, what did it mean for our families? I wasn’t sure if mine was starving or not, if Catherine’s had been forced to give up their properties. Apparently, it was worse than I thought. They were desperate enough to marry her to Jennings.”

  I didn’t want to aggravate Jackson by pointing out her daddy had basically been blackmailed into agreeing to their union.

  “If I recall, it’d been an entire year since she heard from you.”

  “I wrote, but matters such as postage were out of my control. I never imagined she wouldn’t be there, waiting for me. My faith in our love carried me through the worst days of my life. Gettysburg,” he choked, stumbling over the words. “I’ll never get those visions out of my mind. Years later, it torments me. Waking nightmares. This is the biggest reason I keep to myself. There are days I feel like I carry more ghosts on my back than there are in the entire city of Savannah.”

  I shuddered at the bleakness surrounding him. I’d seen other soldiers wandering the city and the old fort out on the river. Each one held the same empty expression. To be trapped in an eternity of reliving those horrors would be maddening. Did PTSD last for centuries?

  Jackson sat up, glancing around frantically, as if he only then realized how dark it was. He rose to his feet on shaky legs and turned to me, abject fear blanching his features. “We should not be outside once darkness falls.”

  I stood as well. “What is it? What’s here?”

  I shivered at the utter fear warping his voice. Something tickled me, a sensation that wasn’t physical, prying at the edges of my consciousness. Spinning in a complete circle, I didn’t find anything threatening, but I knew it was there, hidden. Strangely enough, I also desired it. I recognized what it offered. This wasn’t the creepy figure who tried to pass through the attic window. This was different, worse. The unbridled power intimidated me, causing me to shrink into myself.

  Child, I am not t
hat poor woman. I can assist you and will not harm you.

  I tried to ignore the assault on my mind, but this invader was everywhere. It penetrated me, held me immobile, locked in its grasp. Definitely male, unlike what I’d seen from my room, and vibrating with power. I couldn’t believe it. Another new entity.

  You can have your life back.

  As denials bloomed, they were replaced by images of me and Jason. The flickers were too quick, but they were moments we’d shared, kisses and looks. My heart burned with an intense ache for him, to feel his arms embracing me. It was one of the only instances I’d ever felt safe.

  Warmth filled me, the feeling of being alive. The scent of jasmine filled my nostrils, mingled with sunshine and other flowers. I turned my head to find I was lying in the grass with my head in Jason’s lap. In his hands, he held a script, reading from it as I gazed up at his strong jaw and full mouth. Sighing in contentment, I glanced back to the book I held, a textbook on black and white photography. In the background rose my house. We were home, my home.

  We can make all this happen, you and I. Together. All you have to do it let me in.

  Next, I saw a flash of me and Abby walking across the campus of a school, laughing, our arms weighed down with books. It morphed into a picture of me in a dark room, developing photographs. Last, I witnessed a vision of me in a long gown, showing what I guessed to be art critics around an art exhibit.

  Let me help you, and you can be happy again. Will you accept my assistance?

  Although I knew the vision wasn’t real, I clung to it with all my might. Letting go meant returning to this cold, unforgiving life I’d been stuck in for two weeks. I missed feeling as alive as I did in these hallucinations. I wanted this entity’s help, didn’t I? No one else had any answers for me.

  All of a sudden, a solid figure crashed into me. I sensed the entity trying to maintain his hold, but I was swept off my feet and carried away.

  Chapter Eight