“No. I can’t let her down.”
“What about letting yourself down? You could be hurt.”
“That’s unlikely. Even if someone did do this to her, a murderer isn’t going to hang around a crime scene. Right?”
“I still don’t like it, Riley. If something happens, I don’t think I can protect you.”
• • •
We’ve walked for about ten minutes. I convinced Hayden it’s not that unsafe, but I’m having a harder time convincing myself.
Then it hits me. I’m jumping to conclusions. We don’t know that Abby was murdered. Chances are she fell, and that story in the paper got it right.
I attempt to let go of the fear, but most of it follows me up the path. We don’t talk. I just listen to the crunch of my feet on the loose rocks and twigs. Occasionally, I think I hear Hayden’s steps moving with mine. But that’s impossible.
The trail gets steeper. Hayden doesn’t let go of my hand.
I remember his words. If something happens, I don’t think I can protect you. The fact that he wants to protect me pulls at my heartstrings. But knowing why he can’t because he’s dead gives those strings an even harder yank.
I still feel safer with him here. He’s become a touchstone for me this last week.
We reach a fork in the path. Unsure which way to go, I stop.
“Is she here?” Hayden asks.
“I don’t see her,” I say.
“So, we wait on her?”
“No. We’ve got a fifty-fifty chance of choosing the right way.” I let go of his hand and follow the path to the left.
We walk another five minutes before I catch the strong scent of jasmine. I stop and look around. The cold hits immediately.
“She’s here,” Hayden says.
“I know.” I hug myself and when I glance at him, I notice he seems nervous, almost afraid. Why? Now’s not the time to figure it out. It’s getting colder.
“Abby?” I do a slow circle, trying to find her. It’s only when I’m back facing Hayden that I see her over his shoulder. She’s up ahead on the path. “There,” I say and hurry toward her.
She’s standing right off the trail in thick brush, her gaze directed into the woods.
“Abby?” I say her name again.
She turns. Her face is wet with tears, she’s cried her makeup off. Smeared mascara circles her already dark-ringed eyes. I see what looks like clay fall loose from her face. I imagine Dad sculpting it to her face, to hide her crushed cheekbone and make her look like herself, not like a victim.
“Are you okay?” My voice is low, soft, and echoes the empathy I feel for her.
“In there.” She points to the woods. “My ring. It’s . . . in there.”
I look through the woods and see it. It’s a shed, like a tool shed. The outside is painted a greenish tan color, practically camouflaging it in the woodsy surroundings.
I take a step then look back to make sure Hayden’s following me. He’s already at my side.
“Abby says the ring is in the shed.”
We walk through the brush to get a closer look at the outbuilding. Thorns cling to my jeans.
“Shit,” Hayden says.
“What?” I ask, my fear multiplying, outgrowing my chest cavity, making it hard to breathe.
“It’s locked. The shed’s locked.”
“How could her ring be . . .” I gaze at the padlock. My heart skips a beep.
“He locked me in there,” I hear Abby say.
My chest grips forcing air out of my lungs. “Someone locked her in there.”
Glancing back, I find her still standing by the path.
“Why was she in a locked shed? Ask her,” Hayden insists.
I motion for Abby to join us. She shakes her head. Even from here, I can see her pain. And I can feel it. Terrible things were done to her here.
I move back to the trail and stand close to her. Fingers of cold reach for me. Then her fear soaks through my skin. I can taste it on my tongue. Metallic, bitter. I shiver from the cold, but don’t move back. “Abby?”
She doesn’t answer, but looks at me. Tears web her lashes.
“Who locked you in there?”
Hayden moves in beside me.
“He . . . locked me in there.” There’s a rawness in her voice.
“What did she say?” Hayden asks.
I hold up a hand to silence him for a few minutes and look back at Abby. I imagine what terrible things happened and shiver. “Who did this?”
She blinks, more tears fall to her face. “Just get my ring.”
“It’s locked. But . . . I need to know who did this. Tell me.”
“No. It’s too ugly,” she murmurs.
“Please, Abby. I need to make sure he pays for this,” I say.
“I can’t . . .” She fades, leaving me soaked in her pain, her desperation.
“Shit!” I bellow out and kick a rock.
“What did she say?” Hayden asks.
“That she couldn’t talk about it because it was too ugly.” Tears fill my eyes. “I swear to God, I’m going to find out who did this to her.”
Hayden’s arm comes around me. “And I’ll help you. But for now, let’s get the hell out of here.” He looks around.
“Yeah.” We turn to retrace our steps when a blast of cold hits.
Abby appears right in front of me. “Run! Run!”
“Run from what?” Steam billows up from my lips, chills race down my spine.
“Run!” she screams again.
“What’s wrong?” Hayden’s shoulder comes against mine.
“She said to run.” I hug myself against the cold, against the fear growing inside me. Even knowing it’s her fear, not mine, I can’t control it. I’m scared.
“Then let’s do it.” He grabs my hand.
I hear footfalls crunching dry leaves and twigs.
Hayden and I both look toward the path and a man emerges. He’s a tall, big man, wearing a uniform with the park name spelled out over his front pocket. His nametag reads Bill, Park Custodian. I want to believe that means he’s not a threat. I want to believe his job title means he’s not the one who locked Abby in the shed. I want to believe the fear turning my skin ice cold is an overreaction.
But my gut says he’s the one. I take a step back.
“Run!” Abby screams.
Panic crawls up my spine. Hayden shifts closer.
The man appears shocked to see us. Then I remember, there is no us. He can’t see Hayden. He only sees me. Hayden’s words play in my head. If something happens, I don’t think I can protect you.
I’m basically alone with a murderer. My fear quotient shoots up to an astronomical level.
“Hello, young lady,” he says. His eyes, a light green—unnaturally light—move over me, and I feel him assessing me, not in a good way.
“Let’s go,” Hayden insists.
I want to run, but Evil Bill’s blocking my path. I want to scream, but I doubt anyone would hear me. I want to be anywhere but here. I feel dizzy with panic. Then the tiniest bit of logic intervenes. That logic says if I scream or run, he’s more likely to come after me.
“Hey,” I say, but my voice trembles.
“You okay?” he asks, still staring at me all creepy-like.
“Yeah,” I manage. “Just leaving.” I start to walk around him.
He shifts to block my path. Abby starts circling him, screaming, “No. No!” I see him run a hand up his arm as if he can feel her coldness.
“Shouldn’t you be in school?” he asks. “Are you a bad girl, skipping school?”
The sleaze in his tone has my heart slamming against my chest bone.
Hayden touches my shoulder. “Tell him your dad’s here. Tell him he’s following you. Do it!”
“No. I’m . . . my dad’s here,” I do as Hayden says. “He’s right behind me.”
The park worker lifts a brow. “I didn’t see him on the path.”
“He might have stepp
ed off the path.” I swallow fear down my throat.
“Really?” Disbelief adds a level of creepiness to his tone. He smiles. “Is that a black eye you’ve got?” He reaches up as if to touch me and I stumble back.
Right then my phone rings.
“Answer it,” Hayden tells me. “Answer it and pretend it’s your dad. Tell him you’re here with a park attendant. Tell him you are on your way down the trail. Make it sound like your dad is close by.”
My mind is rushing and I feel frozen.
“Do it!” Hayden yells.
My phone’s still ringing, and I pull it out of my pocket to answer it. The line’s silent. I remember Hayden’s ability to mess with my phone.
“Hi Dad.” I look away as Bill scrutinizes me. “I’m just right up the trail. Yeah, close. I’m with Bill, a park custodian.” I take a breath. “Yeah. I’ll head that way and we’ll meet up in a minute or two.” I hang up, certain that the whole thing sounded so fake that he sees right through me.
I lift my eyes to his. “Gotta go.” I take another step.
He shifts to block me again. “I’m betting that wasn’t your dad.”
My chest clutches tighter with panic. Right then his phone rings. Only it’s not a normal ring. It’s a constant high piercing noise. And it grows louder.
Louder.
Louder.
He pulls his phone out.
“Run! Now!” Hayden screams.
I do it. I dart around Evil Bill and take off in dead run.
Chapter Fifteen
I’m all the way around the curve of the path when I hear a popping sound, like a firecracker. “Fuck!” I hear Bill the custodian yell.
I keep going, running. My feet slap against the ground. The sound echoes in my ears. I don’t hear him following, but I can’t slow down.
I come to a place where the edge of the path drops off. I remember the vision. I remember Abby running close to the edge. I remember feeling as if I was falling.
That’s when I know Abby fell while running from him. My gaze goes to the sharp drop-off. But I still don’t stop running. I’m more afraid of Bill than I am of falling. And I know that’s exactly how Abby felt.
I turn a corner and almost run smack dab into a couple.
“I’m . . . sorry,” I say, out of breath, with fear still clawing at my insides.
“Is something wrong?” the woman asks.
I’m poised to tell her that a murderer is after me, but right before the words slip out of my raw throat, I realize how crazy that would sound. I have no proof. Evil Bill never really touched me.
“What happened?” The man asks.
“Nothing. I . . . I ran into a park custodian and he just . . . gave me the creeps.”
Right then I hear footsteps racing down the path. I move closer to the couple.
Bill comes running around the curve of the trail. He looks angry, mad. He stops when he sees us. His gaze lands on me. I take another step back.
The man standing beside his wife or girlfriend takes a defensive step forward.
Bill lifts his hand. Blood drips from his palm. “My phone exploded while I was holding it.” He seethes out. He groans in pain and moves around us to continue down the hill.
I stand there with the couple and watch him leave. As he moves, I see the trail of blood following him. I don’t have an ounce of sympathy for him.
“Well, that’s probably why he was acting weird,” the man says, sounding relieved.
“Yeah,” I say, knowing it’s not true.
Hayden appears beside me. His posture and his tight expression says he hasn’t shaken what’s happened either. “Let’s go.”
I nod. Then I look at the couple. “Thank you.”
“Sure,” they say as if I didn’t owe it. But I know I did. And they aren’t the only ones I owe gratitude to.
I start walking with Hayden beside me. I’m holding my side, still winded from the run. I feel like I need to puke.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I nod, swallow and say, “You were wrong.”
“About what?” he asks.
I get tears in my eyes. “You were able to protect me. You made his phone explode. Thank you.”
His arm comes around me and I feel him pull me closer. It warms my soul. But it’s the kind of hug that makes you want to fall against a shoulder and cry.
“Yeah, I did do that,” he says. “But let’s not try that again. It scared the shit out of me.”
• • •
Hayden stayed with me the whole ride home. He talked about funny movies. I know he did it to try to calm me down. And I guess it worked. Because by the time I pull up into my driveway, I no longer need to run to the toilet and throw up. But one question is still heavy on my mind. Now what? I can’t just let this go. I won’t let this go.
I recall the skin-crawling look Evil Bill gave me and it gives me the chills all over again. How crazy is it that I deal with death and dead people, and yet none of them have scared me as much as he did?
Hayden fades when I get out of the car, but he’s standing in the entryway when I open the door. I start to go up to my room, but the thought of crawling in bed with him, letting him hold me, kiss me, and help me forget everything sounds too tempting. I remember so clearly how it felt to make out with him on Dad’s bedroom floor. I can’t let that happen again, so I opt for the sofa instead and sink into it. Dropping my head back, I close my eyes.
Hayden drops down beside me. The sofa doesn’t sink, but I feel his presence. A tingly sensation. I revel in it. I don’t know how I’d have survived this last week if he hadn’t been here. My thoughts go back to the bedroom floor and I realize the sofa isn’t any safer than the bed.
I recall something he said once: Maybe I’m not here for you to help me. Maybe I’m here to help you.
Could that be true? Could Hayden be an angel? That would explain why he’s so different. If so, I’m lusting after an angel. I’m for sure going to hell.
I open my eyes and look at him. He looks concerned. He reaches over and brushes a strand of hair off my cheek. His fingertips actually feel warm, comforting. “It’s going to be okay,” he says. His tone is so tender, I want to cry.
I swallow the weakness down. “How are we going to prove what that man did to Abby? If I thought going to the police and just spilling my guts about seeing ghosts and all this shit would help, I’d do it. I’ll let them think I’m battier than bat shit if that would get him arrested and locked away for life. But I don’t think it’ll help.”
“I know,” Hayden says.
“I’d consider calling, just making up something to put suspicion on him, but they can trace phones. I see it on all of those cop shows.”
“You watch those shows, too?”
“Not by choice. Dad and I take turns picking what to watch.” I inhale. “You’d think with what he does for a living, shows about death would be the last thing he’d want to see. But nope.”
“It must be a guy thing,” he says. “I like them, too.”
I nod and think about Dad. I wonder if he took off for another long lunch today. I swear just the heaviness of that thought has me sinking deeper into the sofa. Deeper into a place where I feel bombarded with problems I can’t fix.
I close my eyes again—trying to push everything away. Trying to forget. I’m almost asleep when I feel Hayden’s lips on my forehead. It’s a feathery touch that says he cares. “Get some rest,” he whispers. “We’re going to figure this out. I promise.”
• • •
I’m jarred awake by a chiming sound. It only takes me a few minutes to realize it’s the doorbell. I pop up from the sofa and pull my phone from my pocket to check the time. It’s 3:30. I slept for over two hours. I make my way to the door and peer out the peephole.
It’s Kelsey. I recall telling her we could hang out. Now I’m not sure I’m in the mood, but I don’t feel right turning her down.
I open the door and resign myself to having compan
y. “Hey,” I say and step back, letting her know she’s invited in.
She walks in and looks around, checking out my house. I almost wait for her to say something about how cold and sterile it looks.
She turns back to me. “Are you feeling better?”
It takes a second to remember I told her Aunt Flow was here. “Yeah, a little.”
“Were you sleeping?”
“Yeah, but I needed to wake up.” I blow several strands of hair from my face and glance around to make sure we’re alone. We are.
“I’ve got all the medicine you need.” She holds up a bag.
“Medicine?” I yawn.
She pulls out a plastic bag that has something brown in it. “Herbal stuff.”
My jaw drops open. “What?”
She laughs. “Just wanted to see if you were awake. It’s not weed. It’s better than weed. We’re talking a Chunky Monkey Menstrual Miracle to the rescue.”
“Chunky Monkey? Isn’t that . . . ?”
“Ice cream. Yeah. Have you ever tried it?”
“No,” I say.
“Well, you’re about to. Not that this is just ice cream. It’s so much more.” The smile in her eyes turns sad for a second. “It was my grandmother’s cramp remedy.” She walks into the kitchen. “Where are your bowls and spoons?”
I move in, point to the drawer, and grab two bowls.
She pulls two spoons out of the drawer, walks to the table and starts emptying the contents of the big bag.
Along with the plastic baggy of unknown contents, there’s a quart of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, along with a banana, some cookies, nuts, and a small bag of Reese’s Pieces candy.
While I’m not really on my period and I’m unsure of this remedy, most of the ingredients sound yummy and considering I slept through lunch, I’m more than willing to give it a try.
I sit at the breakfast table and watch her prepare two bowls. She cuts up the bananas, adds several spoonfuls of ice cream, nuts, Reese’s Pieces, a couple of what looks like ginger cookies, and sprinkles the top with the brown stuff in the baggie.