With a sigh, she opened the top book on her large stack and sunk into her chair to study. I turned the page in my Chemistry book, trying to redirect my thoughts, when I froze.
Was Brent projecting? He hadn’t mentioned getting together tonight. We’d been meeting weekly for training sessions, but we usually planned those in advance. Maybe he wanted to see me and had projected for us to have a romantic rendezvous.
Another thought crept into my mind. Maybe it was the person we had felt earlier in the day. Either way, I decided to check it out.
My spirit slipped from my body. I loved the familiar rush of freedom that filled me. My spirit surged with anticipation, unfurling like a constricted rosebud to full bloom. I inhaled the comforting smells of our room: Cherie’s perfume, my collection of essential herbs arranged on my desk, even the residue of lingering laundry detergent and the lemon fresh scent of our cleanser.
Cherie sat at her desk, hunched over a magazine, her hand resting on her cheek, her gum blown to a perfect bubble. Not for the first time, I wished that she could project too.
Eager to find Brent, I turned my attention to leaving the room. Disembodied spirits couldn’t normally move objects, unless they were skilled like Brent. He had been training me to develop this talent too, but I didn’t have half his ability.
I concentrated on the closed window in our room, knowing it led to the fire escape and freedom. Brent’s abilities allowed him to move some things with a flick of his wrist, or even just a look. Mine was a full-bodied process.
“Please open. Please open,” I mumbled. I waved my arms toward the window, swinging them clear across my body, repeatedly, until it finally slid open. A sigh of relief left my lips and I stepped through the opening, heading down the stairs.
Brent came bounding up to meet me before I had taken even a few steps. “You got the window open. Good job.”
“Thanks,” I said, meaning it. “Hey, did we plan this and I forgot?”
“No, I only projected because you did.”
I shook my head. “It wasn’t me.” I twisted the edge of my frayed gray sweater. “I thought you were either practicing or hoping for a make-out session.”
Even in the waning moonlight Brent’s eyes flickered with interest. “So you came running? I’ll have to keep that in mind.”
Even though we had been dating for almost a year, I still blushed at his comment, glad for the cover of darkness. A weird sort of zing, like a really strong case of static electricity, passed over us both, complete with a blue spark. I recognized it from earlier in the day.
“I think whoever was projecting just finished.” Brent rocked back on his heels. “That didn’t last very long. If it’s the same for them as it is for us, then their bodies must be frozen now. I’m assuming they won’t be able to move until we reconnect. Which means they’ll know there are others out there who can project. I’m not sure I want them to know that.”
“Agreed,” I said. “We better go.”
Brent nodded, gave me a quick kiss, and vanished. My spirit jumped back to my body too, and I gasped at the shock of cold that always drenched me after projecting, leaving me shivering.
Cherie looked up from her books. “You okay over there?” Her eyes narrowed. “Did you just project?”
“Y—yes,” I stuttered. I pulled my comforter around my quaking body and closed my eyes against the sudden harshness of the light. It always took a few minutes for the cold to fade. “I was sitting here studying when time stopped, so I checked to see if Brent was projecting, but it wasn’t him.”
“You mean there are others out there who can do it?” Her voice was soft, knowing that my senses became overwhelmed after projecting. Even her whispered words assaulted my eardrums as if she had screamed.
“It looks like it.”
“How did they learn?” She asked with a hopeful grin. “Maybe they can teach me.”
“Maybe, but we don’t know who it is yet,” I said once my teeth stopped chattering.
“It doesn’t matter.” Cherie’s smile crumbled. “I probably wouldn’t be able to figure it out anyway.”
I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to comfort Cherie but she was probably right. If she hadn’t been able to project after trying all last year, she most likely wouldn’t pick it up now.
After a few moments Cherie asked, “Is it a good thing or a bad thing that other people can project?”
“I’m not sure yet.” I chewed the inside of my cheek. “And I’m a little afraid to find out. Yet another mystery.”
Cherie perked up. “I don’t project, but I’m good at mysteries. I’ll solve it for you.”
v
I was called to the headmaster’s office a few days later. His secretary was out so I knocked on his door without being announced. Being summoned to his office was more than a little scary. I wiped my palms on my uniform before knocking. Headmaster Farnsworth opened the door and to my surprise, detectives Velasco and Roberts were there waiting for me.
Roberts acknowledged me with a nod. “We came to talk to about your case. Your headmaster insisted on being present.”
“Please sit down Ms. Silva,” the headmaster said.
I wiggled into an uncomfortable leather chair as he addressed the detectives. “Has there been any progress made on the investigation?”
“No, we’re going to put it aside.” Velasco leaned back in her chair. “We interviewed witnesses and watched the security footage. We’ve come up with nothing but dead ends. It looks like the only thing in your building that anyone noticed was the maintenance staff responding to a water leak. But all the statements agree that they did their work and then left. The pictures you gave us were printed on a standard laser printer—could have been done anywhere. We just have no further leads to pursue at this time.”
“Did you ever discover if anything else was stolen?” Roberts asked, pulling a pen from out of his suit coat.
I shook my head. “No, the only things missing were the pages from my journal.”
Headmaster Farnsworth stroked his white beard and leaned back in his seat. “While we do wish that the culprits had been found, our school appreciates your efforts. Our students’ safety is very important to us.”
I swallowed my disappointment, too. Knowing the police had found the perps would have brought me some measure of peace. I studied a painting hanging on his wall. It depicted a tree, but there was something odd about it. I squinted at it but before I could make out more, Roberts asked me a question.
“Has anything else strange happened?” He crossed his ankle over his knee.
I doubted he wanted to hear about my dream and shook my head.
Velasco chimed in. “We never were able to find the DJ you mentioned. Have you seen him since?”
“No.”
“Are you sure he’s a student here?” she asked.
I shook my head again, afraid I was wasting their time.
The headmaster leaned forward in his seat, his expensive chair squeaking in protest. “So what should the school do, at this point? What should Ms. Silva do?”
“With nothing else to go on, we’re going to assume this was just a one-time incident, but in case it isn’t, please be careful.” Roberts tapped his pen against the pocket-sized notebook he held. “You still have our number?”
“I do.”
“Call if something else happens.” He gave me a warm grin. “But I’m really hoping you’ll never have to make that call.”
v
After my classes and internship were over, I headed back to my dorm. It was going to be a lonely night because Brent, Cherie, and Steve all had a cross country meet at a rival school, and wouldn’t be back till late. I had an enormous amount of homework and not even my friends to distract me from doing it. I hoisted my overstuffed backpack onto my shoulders, the zipper groaning in protest at the weight of books and assignments.
When I got back to my room, the phone was ringing. I ran and picked it up with a breathless, “Hell
o.”
“Yara?” My vovó’s friendly voice greeted me.
“Hi, Vovó.” I let my backpack clunk to the floor
“I’m going to be out delivering some of my orders. Do you have time to see me if I stop by?”
“Yes, please. You can save me from homework.
I could hear the grin in her voice. “I’ll be there soon.”
“Don’t forget a visitor’s pass this time.”
She hung up, and I wasn’t sure if she’d heard me, but I figured it wouldn’t matter anyway. Vovó always did things her own way. I flung myself on my bed and stared at my ceiling, trying to find shapes in the popcorn texturing, until my eyes grew heavy. Eventually I gave into my desire to nap.
I was drinking from a well of fresh water. I tried to swallow the liquid but it caught in my throat and refused to go down. The water leaked past my lips, dribbling down my chin. Clearing my throat didn’t help. It only made me aware I couldn’t breathe. I brought my hand reflexively to my neck and my body convulsed, struggling for air.
I startled awake, gulping for air I still couldn’t get. My eyes popped open. Sophia was bent over me, her hand at my throat, her auburn hair trailing past her shoulders, tickling my cheek. The genuine delight in her smile and eyes while she squeezed my neck, choking me, made everything that much more sick, more wrong. My right hand flew to my neck, clawing at her hand, trying to dislodge her icy fingers. But it was my own hand, as numb as if it were dead, that was squeezing the life out of me. Sophia controlled it, squeezing my throat, denying me oxygen. I bucked on the bed, my nails slicing into my own skin. I tried to scream but I couldn’t gather enough air. My free arm left my throat to flail in the air, trying to connect with her. She dodged my fists and laughed, sounding just as malevolent as any movie villain, sending chills down my body.
My hand returned again to my throat, trying to wrench it free but her fingers—my fingers—pressed even tighter. My spirit rattled inside my body, banging against flesh and bone as her ghostly hand sank deeper, going past blood, tissue, and sinew, grasping onto my spirit’s throat.
My body couldn’t take much more. White spots fluttered past my eyes, the world blurring into a drunken kaleidoscope of colors. My lungs were on fire, my mouth parched. The familiar, tingly sensations of projecting rippled through me, and my spirit sprang from my body, ripping Sophia’s fingers from my throat.
I could breathe.
The air tasted sweeter than any chocolate. Sophia still stood over my spiritless body. Her face hardened, her eyes bulged, and her fingers flexed by her side. Again, she stretched out her fingers to my empty body and I grabbed them, gripping them. I threw her hand back and shoved her hard in the shoulders, my physical body jerking up as she stumbled back because it was still attached. She shrieked, her auburn curls straightening, her face flaming red.
“All I want to do is help you,” I said, forcing myself not to retreat, copying what I had seen Vovó do and raising my hands in what I meant to be a peaceful gesture.
“Murderer!” Sophia screamed, her eyes wild with rage.
“No, I’m not,” I said in as calm a voice as I could muster.
“Murderer!” She screamed again. With a roar she leapt toward me, my body dragging behind her as she reached for my throat. Her fingers clenched tight and in defense I raised my hand to her neck.
We held each other there for several seconds, locked in a stalemate as we clenched each other’s throats. The clasp of her necklace bit into my fingers—I re-grasped but it only pushed it in further. She shoved me backward and I lost my grip on her neck. I teetered off balance and my fingers reached, trying to grab hold of any part of her. I caught her locket and it came free. I fell back and landed hard against the desk, holding the locket in my hand. She lunged forward, trying to snatch it from me, but her tether to my body threw her off balance and she stumbled to her knees. I glanced down at the oval pendant. Strands of something poked out from the seams, like dark thread.
My hair! The thing that tied us together.
Without hesitation, I forced open the locket. The hair fluttered in the air for a second before I snatched it in my palm. My numb hand began to tingle back to life, the connection between us no longer existing.
Sophia let out an inhuman howl, grabbing my hand, trying to force it open. I lifted my leg and kicked her in the knee. She fell to the floor, still bellowing her anger. I reattached my body and spirit. Fighting through the body-wracking shivers, I leapt from the bed and grabbed a lighter out of the desk drawer that Cherie used for her scented candles, and lit the hair on fire. I threw it onto the candle plate and watched it burn, the wisps of smoke filling the air with its pungent stench.
“I can get more!” She advanced on me, each step heavy and menacing. I opened the door, flinging myself into the hallway, running into someone.
“Always in a rush,” a voice said. Vovó. Her eyes darted behind me. “Oh, you have company.”
Sophia raged again, slashing her fingers at me.
Vovó frowned. “And she is angry and rude.” She dropped her hand into her bag and pulled out a pinch of something powdery and white, which she threw at Sophia. The ghost hissed like a wet cat and dropped to the floor, crossing her arms to shield her face. Vovó took a deep breath and straightened her sweater vest before entering my room. She pulled me in behind her and we carefully stepped past the crouching Sophia. Vovó closed the door and pulled something different, something blue, from her purse and threw it in Sophia’s face.
“Calm down,” Vovó ordered the ghost. Sophia tried to get up, her hands in front of her face, her long nails arched toward us like claws. Vovó threw another handful at her. “Calm down! We are here to help you.” I was a little in awe. I had been fighting for my life, but Vovó looked as if she was simply shooing a cat out of the yard.
“Murderers!” Sophia screamed. She stood and came toward us but Vovó tossed more of the powder her way. As it hit her, Sophia stumbled backwards and fell into the full-length mirror on the back of the door. She screamed as she tumbled through it and disappeared.
Everything went silent. I stood in the middle of the room, looking around and panting for air, afraid to move. The adrenaline in my system had me primed and ready to continue the fight. I stood sentinel for several seconds, but Sophia didn’t return. My pulse began to slow back to a normal rhythm, and I decided it was safe to stand down.
Vovó was by my side in an instant. She held me at arm’s length for a moment, her eyes widening as she stared at my neck. Her eyes filled with tears. She reached out a hand and carefully touched one finger to my neck. I hadn’t realized how tender it was and even Vovo’s featherweight touch made me wince.
“Oh, Querida.” Her voice shook and she pulled me into a bone-crushing hug.
“That was close,” I said in a rough voice. “But I got my hair back. We’re no longer attached.”
“You did good.” Vovó rubbed my back.
I glowed at her praise and rested my head against her shoulder.
“You didn’t exaggerate. She is very confused and angry. I think it will take both of us to help her find some peace. We’ll have to figure out how to calm her down. But she shouldn’t be able to appear again for a while. She used up a lot of energy just now.”
That, at least, was something. I sighed and glanced over at the mirror where Sophia had disappeared. She was gone and my hand was my own again, but I was still terrified. She would be back. I couldn’t help but shiver.
“Um, Vovó? Would you mind giving me a tour of exactly what’s in your bag? And then leaving me some?”
v
The battle with Sophia had left me exhausted and I fell asleep early that night, happy to be the sole controller of my hand. I slept soundly, not even awakening when Cherie returned late from her cross country meet.
I awoke before Cherie’s alarm clock belted its familiar hard rock song. I stretched luxuriously and stared out the window. It was another perfect California day, with bright s
unshine and only a few wispy clouds to mar the otherwise spotless sky.
Cherie rolled over in bed, took one look at me, and rubbed her eyes. Her gaze seemed to snag on my throat. “Oh. My. Stiletto. Heels.”
“What?” My voice sounded raspy, like a chain smoker’s.
Cherie jumped up and grabbed a compact mirror off the dresser and brought it back. I examined my image, trying to see what she was so upset about. “I know I look like crap in the morning. But thanks for pointing it out.”
“I’m not talking about your bed head. I’m talking about that huge bruise on your neck!”
I gasped when I saw the eggplant-purple bruise exactly where Sophia had grabbed me. It was in the shape of a hand, each finger’s impression caught in sickly Technicolor.
“Wow.”
“I should see the other guy, right?” Cherie tried to smile but it didn’t work. She wrung her hands together. “I’m guessing this is from more than a make-out session gone wrong.”
“Hardly a Brent-induced hickey.” I pulled out some make-up and dabbed it over the bruise. It didn’t help at all. In fact, it made it look even worse. “I was visited by Sophia last night.”
Cherie sat up straight. “She attacked you? I thought she had disappeared.”
“She had, but she gathered enough strength to appear again.” I grimaced because it hurt to talk.
“What did she want?”
“Besides to kill me?” I grabbed a wet wipe and rubbed it over my bruise, wincing at the pain that shot through my neck. “I got back my hair, though.” I waved my newly freed hand at Cherie, complete with wiggling jazz-fingers. “My hand is one hundred percent ghost free.”
“That’s something I guess.” Cherie’s eyes followed my hand as I brought it back down. “Did she give you those scratches on your hand too? It looks like you were attacked by a cat.”
I shook my head, not looking at the scratches on my left hand. “Nope, I did that to myself. It’s a long story.”
“Alright, spill it. I want every detail.”
I told Cherie everything, even the parts that made me want to let out a girly scream and wet myself. We were good enough friends that I knew she wouldn’t judge me.