Hereafter

  “Really? Because I had another idea. You know, if the whole yearbook thing works out.”

  “Oh, and what’s that?”

  “Well, say we find your picture. That’ll mean we’ve also found your last name. All we have to do is find it in the phone book and then, presto, we’ve found your family. It’s not like Wilburton’s that big of a town. If you’ve got an uncommon last name, chances are pretty good the people who share it are related to you, right?”

  When he finished his excited little rant, I gulped. His idea put another wrinkle in this afternoon’s plans—a new level of anticipation and fear.

  “Let’s . . . uh . . . let’s take this one step at a time, okay?” I laughed shakily.

  “Yeah. Yeah, you’re definitely right. One step at a time.”

  Once again, he couldn’t fool me. Though he sounded serious and he frowned as he nodded, his eyes sparkled with his new idea. I didn’t even try to hide my sigh this time as he hurried toward the back door.

  We entered the school and strode through its halls—each of them itching at me with familiarity, just as the buildings themselves had done previously—before we reached two double doors. Through their glass panes I could make out rows and rows of tall bookshelves. I grabbed the fabric of my skirt and began twisting it wildly.

  With one hand pressed against a door, Joshua looked down at me. Though he seemed a little less eager now, his expression was still resolved. Whether I liked it or not, he was going into that room.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  No.

  “Sure,” I squeaked aloud.

  He nodded and pushed open one of the doors. I tried to clear my throat of the stupid squeak, steeled myself a bit, and then followed him into the library.

  A long reception desk guarded the entrance. Its counter was piled high with returned books, and its sides were taped up with a cluster of inspirational posters. One proclaimed YOU CAN DO IT!, so I gave that poster a spiteful glare.

  Joshua walked purposefully toward the back of the library, and I followed behind him as he wove through the rows of shelves. Finally, Joshua stopped between the last row of bookcases and the farthest wall of the library.

  We were in the reference section, judging by all the outdated dictionaries and encyclopedias. Joshua bypassed these in favor of a few shelves near the floor. He crouched down and began running his index finger along a row of thin books, each covered in black or purple. I shuddered.

  Yearbooks.

  After only a few moments, Joshua apparently found the group of books he was seeking. He began pulling out handfuls, reading their spines before putting them back or tucking them into the crook of his arm. When he eventually stood, he held about ten Wilburton High School yearbooks. I leaned to one side in order to stare at their spines. Printed there in varying shades of metallic ink were dates, all ranging from the 1990s to the mid 2000s. I leaned back up and stared at Joshua, terrified.

  Joshua, however, was all business as he carried the stack of yearbooks over to a desk. He separated the books into two piles on the desktop, drew out one chair for me, and sat down in his own. I slipped into my chair and folded my hands in my lap, unsure of what to do next.

  Joshua pushed one of the stacks closer to me and then pulled the other toward him. He opened the yearbook on top of his stack and flipped through its pages until he found the first one with student pictures. Placing a finger on the page, he began to scan the photos, comparing each face to the corresponding name printed near the margins.

  After he’d done so for a few minutes, I cleared my throat. He glanced up at me, still frowning in concentration. Then he frowned harder and tilted his head.

  “Why aren’t you looking through your books?” he whispered. I answered in my regular voice, although the words themselves came out soaked in embarrassment.

  “Because I can’t open the books, Joshua.”

  “Huh?”

  I stared down at my lap and began to scratch at my dress with one fingernail. “I told you—you’re the only thing in the living world I can feel or affect. I can’t open doors, remember? So why would I be able to open a book?”

  I just shrugged, but Joshua tucked a finger under my chin and lifted my head, holding it up until I met his gaze. When I looked, he was still frowning.

  “Oh.” Joshua now sounded embarrassed, too. “I guess I wasn’t thinking. Sorry.”

  I shrugged again, this time smiling wanly. “No big deal.”

  He shook his head, not fooled, but returned the yearbook without another comment. He scooted the book closer to me on the desktop and leaned over as he flipped the pages, clearly intending for me to search with him. I chuckled a little to myself. Obviously, no death-related disability could get me out of going through these yearbooks with him.

  We sat there, flipping through page after page in book after book, to no avail. We chose the books in no particular order, jumping from the 2000s to the 1990s and back again. I made no effort to point out the inefficiency of this process to Joshua, since each page-flip made my stomach drop in anticipation.

  At one point Joshua looked down at his watch impatiently. It was almost 2:40, only fifteen minutes until the end of school. As he read his watch, I could see one emotion all over his face: frustration at the apparent failure of his brilliant plan. He grabbed one of the few books left on the stack, handling it with less care than the others and flopping it open to the first page.

  That’s when it happened.

  The first page was as innocuous as those of the other yearbooks. It boasted a picture of a cartoon man in a hardhat (a Digger, apparently the school’s mascot), and the dates 1998 to 1999. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  The second page, however, was much different. This second page contained a large, full-color photograph of a girl. Underneath the picture was a caption, which read:

  In Loving Memory of Amelia Elizabeth Ashley

  April 30, 1981—April 30, 1999

  I stopped breathing. Then I began to choke.

  I stood up suddenly, forcefully. The chair in which I’d been sitting flew back across the tiles with a loud screech before it slammed against the library wall.

  My head swung around toward the sound. I stared at the chair, openmouthed. It seemed ordinary enough—a red plastic seat atop thin metal legs. Just a plain old chair. And the first object in the living world, other than Joshua, I’d been able to move since my death.

  The thought of my death sent my head flying back around to the photograph in the yearbook. To the girl in it, and the name under it.

  The chair would have to wait.

  This picture scared the hell out of me. I wanted nothing more in this world than to turn away from it. But I was transfixed.

  The girl in the picture stared up with the tiniest smile on her lips. The smile curved up just a bit at the corners; it was pleasant but wary, as though the girl had heard something funny but wasn’t sure if it was okay to laugh. Her eyes—a bright, woodsy green that matched her dress—sparkled with the laugh. Her wavy brown hair fell past her shoulders and framed her thin, oval face. A pink flush couldn’t quite cover the tiny freckles sprinkled across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

  She looked timid and sweet, but also vibrant. And very alive.

  A drop of liquid fell from my chin and hit the page, darkening into a round little spot on the girl’s neck. I wiped at my cheek, reflexively knowing the droplet was a tear—my tear.

  “That’s me in the picture, isn’t it?”

  I couldn’t even look at Joshua, couldn’t pull my eyes away from the picture as I spoke. I whispered, as if a loud noise might break the spell that had fallen over us. Nothing but silence answered me. Then—

  “Told you you’re beautiful.”

  I turned toward the soft sound of his voice. Actually, only my head moved, since my body appeared to be anchored to the desk. I didn’t realize until now that I’d gripped the edge of the desk with both hands, knuckles clenched to white above the wood
grain. Under my fingertips, I could feel the slick surface of the wood breaking through the numbness. This sudden, physical sensation didn’t surprise me in the least; actually, I was kind of shocked I hadn’t splintered the desk with the force of my grip.

  I wasn’t the only one in shock, either. Joshua stared back at me; belief, disbelief, and a multitude of other emotions played across his face. But no matter how disparate his changing facial expressions might be, each of them told me the same thing.

  He knew. Beyond any doubt, beyond any wish, beyond any hope. He knew I was Amelia Elizabeth Ashley. And I was dead.

  I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.

  Joshua slowly rose from his chair. He held out his hands in front of him in a gesture of surrender. The action reminded me of the way he’d approached me three days ago, on High Bridge Road. Like he expected me to run away at any second.

  Still moving with absolute care, Joshua placed his hands on either side of my face but didn’t touch me. He looked directly into my eyes and raised his eyebrows. Warning me of his next move, or maybe asking permission for it.

  Though I didn’t respond, he must have sensed some kind of assent on my part. He lowered both of his hands to my cheeks, gently cupping my face. I held perfectly still, even when it felt as if his hands had burned prints onto my skin. Joshua leaned forward and, very softly, pressed his lips to my forehead, just above my eyebrow.

  The kiss sent a jolt through my entire body. The sensation was more intense than any I’d felt until now—a pure shock wave rushing along my spine and down each of my limbs. I gasped from the strength of it, dragging in a near-shriek of air.

  Reacting to the sound, Joshua tried to pull away to see if I was okay; but I clamped my hands down on his, holding them to my cheeks. I closed my eyes and tried to steady my ragged breath. I shook my head No, willing him not to move.

  He complied, standing close to me and cupping one side of my face in his left hand while stroking my other cheek with the fingertips of his right hand. Eventually, my breathing began to even itself, coming out in a slightly less alarming way than its previous pant. After a few seconds I released his hands and nodded to let him know I was better. Far from okay. But better.

  Joshua ran his fingers down my cheek once more and then dropped his hands. I felt him move away from me, though I didn’t open my eyes. I could hear him rustling around somewhere a few feet behind me. Slowly, I opened one eye, then the other. I turned my head to peek at my picture, which stared up innocently from the desktop.

  I was still staring at the picture when Joshua walked back around me and placed something on the table next to my picture. It was a phone book.

  “Trying to find the Ashleys?” My voice broke and cracked, as if it had been hours since I’d last used it instead of minutes.

  “Only if you want to,” Joshua whispered.

  “Open it,” I said, not taking my eyes from the desk.

  Joshua leaned around me and bent over the phone book. He flipped through each of the vellum-thin pages until he reached one specific page. He traced his index finger down the list of A names and then stopped, leaving his finger in the middle of the page. I leaned over him and stared at the spot where he pointed. Above his finger, one line held my attention.

  Accompanying a phone number and an address was a singular name. A very familiar name.

  Ashley, E.

  I stared at that line for an eternity. I stared at it when the bell rang, signifying the end of the school day. I stared at it while the other students packed up their things and left Joshua and me frozen in the back row of the library.

  Finally, I stirred.

  “E. Ashley—that’s probably my mom, Elizabeth. I don’t know why my dad’s initial isn’t there. His name is Todd. Todd Ashley.”

  My voice came out flat, unemotional. Nonetheless, I began to shake a little.

  The image of that printed name and its missing companion floated around in my head. Then, mixing in with the names were flashes of other, blurrier images. The faces associated with those names. The faces of my family.

  Forgotten faces. Impossibly, irrevocably forgotten. And yet, like my flashes of memory, here they were—regaining shape and form in my mind.

  I wrapped my arms around my frame, hugging myself tightly. Joshua moved closer, almost touching me but not quite. We stayed like that for a while—ten minutes could have been ten hours for all I knew—until, miraculously, I felt . . . lighter.

  In that lightness was the strangest, most inexplicable flood of relief.

  I don’t know how it was possible, but Joshua seemed to sense the change in me. This time, he was the one to break the silence.

  “So, Amelia Elizabeth Ashley,” he said quietly. Carefully. “Do you want to see your family again . . . today?”

  My whispered response shocked me, mostly because it was true.

  “Yes. I do.”

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

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

  Chapter

  Fifteen

  Joshua guessed it would take us at least twenty minutes to drive from the school to the first address he’d written down on a scrap of notebook paper. After we’d begun driving, Joshua pulled out a tiny phone. (I’d seen cell phones while alive, I was sure, but none of them could fit in the palm of your hand like this one.) From this practically invisible device, he called his mother to let her know he’d be home late. With that responsibility handled, Joshua fell quiet as he drove, casting the occasional, worried glance in my direction. I’m sure he could tell I was too lost in my own thoughts to carry on a conversation.

  But, to be fair, the things in my head weren’t exactly thoughts. They were remembered images and sounds, accompaniments to the hazy, long-buried memories of my family. People who had all but vanished from my mind, until the past hour. People whom I would see, for the first time in more than a decade, in just a few minutes.

  First, and most disconcertingly, I saw my father’s face. A strange haze clouded most of the memory, obscuring the setting and the other people in the scene. But there, clear and unmistakable in the center of the image, was my father. His green eyes crinkled at the corners as he ran one hand through his thinning blond hair. Then, in a blur, the image cut over to a woman. My mother. She was sitting on a threadbare recliner, the one in our living room maybe, and looking up at my father. No, not at my father. At the small, amber-colored drink in his hand. Dad liked to drink at Christmas, and my mother didn’t approve.

  Soon these remembered images blurred with the scenery flying outside the car windows. The effect started to make me dizzy and, in turn, nauseated. This was an odd feeling, considering ghosts couldn’t get sick. I leaned over slightly, placing my elbows on my knees and rubbing my temples with my fingertips.

  “Amelia? You okay?”

  Without taking my head from my hands, I peeked at Joshua from between my fingers. While trying to watch the road, he was also sneaking as many worried, sidelong glances at me as he could without driving into a ditch.

  I sighed and leaned back against the seat.

  “No, I’m not okay,” I answered with a wan smile. “I just keep . . . remembering things. People, actually. My family. So, naturally, I’m terrified.”

  “Yeah, me too, kind of.”

  I frowned. This afternoon Joshua had been absolutely confident—confident that, in discovering my name and my family, we’d made the right choice. Now his confidence seemed shaken.

  “Why should you be scared, Joshua?”

  “Well, I guess I’m mostly nervous,” he said. “For you.”

  I nodded, laughing quietly. “Would you be mad if I said I’m glad to hear it?”

  Joshua laughed too. “Not at all. We’re kind of in this together, right?”

  “I guess so,” I said with a faint smile.

  “So,” Joshua went on, “do you want to talk, to distract ourselves? We can
still talk about the serious stuff, if you want.”

  I thought about his suggestion. Actually, a distraction from my memories sounded nice. Even if we had to talk about the memories themselves. At least then I wouldn’t be alone with them in my own head.

  “Yeah,” I said. “That sounds like a good idea.”

  Joshua nodded. He gave me a quick, worried glance, the kind he gave when he wanted to ask something tough but wasn’t sure if the question would offend me.

  “Something on your mind, Mr. Mayhew?” I forced the playful note into my voice, pressing it past my tension and nerves.

  “Well, I was just thinking it kind of sucks.”

  “What sucks?” I asked with a smile.

  “That you died on your birthday.”

  My smile faded. “Oh. That.”

  Joshua didn’t respond with anything but a raised eyebrow. I could tell from his expression that he wasn’t trying to push me for more answers. He just didn’t know what to say next.

  “Apparently,” I said, not waiting for Joshua to find his response.

  “Apparently?”

  “Apparently I died on my birthday. I don’t actually remember my death.”

  “But you’re starting to remember other stuff? Like your family?”

  “Yeah, sort of. But not my death. Well, nothing except the actual dying part. I can’t remember why, or how, I was in the water when I drowned.” I shuddered a little and went on. “Maybe that’s just part of being a ghost. Not remembering most of the death stuff.”

  “Do you even want to know about the rest of it?”

  “You know, I’m not sure. Let’s see. . . .” I searched for the most apt analogy but could only find a weak one. “The closest thing I can compare it to is being in a car accident, or breaking your leg or something, and not wanting to look because it will make you sick, but really wanting to at the same time.”

  Joshua fell silent for a moment. He frowned heavily, just before shooting me a wary look.

  “Do you think the problem is psychological maybe?” he asked. “Instead of supernatural?”