The Dead Lands Page 15

  “Of course he didn’t! And neither did Mikey!”

  “So who did?” Abby sensed that Megan was close to breaking through. She could all but see her confession bubbling up inside her. “You didn’t fall or jump, did you?”

  Megan didn’t say a word. She stood there, looking helplessly at her brother, his shoulders shaking violently as he sobbed.

  “Your father’s right,” Abby said, still pushing her. “There was someone else out there, wasn’t there?”

  Megan squinted as though fighting back tears of her own. She started backing away from Abby, her hands upraised as though to push her away.

  “And you know who it was, don’t you?” Abby resisted the urge to move closer to Megan. She knew how difficult this was for her, and she didn’t want her to be frightened any more than she already was.

  Finally, Megan stopped moving back at the living room wall as if that physical barrier could actually contain her. She sighed, and the sound blended ever so gradually into a low moan. Mike stirred but didn’t look up.

  “Yes … yes … yes,” Megan said, her voice heavy with resignation. Her eyes were shiny and blank as she shook her head from side to side.

  “Yes what?” Abby asked, knowing this was the moment she had been waiting for.

  “There was someone else out there, and I didn’t fall … or jump.” She paused as if taking a breath. “My stepfather … he’s the one … He pushed me off the cliff.”

  — 3 —

  Jim Burke was lying on his bed in the darkness of his bedroom, staring up at the ceiling. It wasn’t very late, only a little after ten o’clock, but he’d told his mother he wasn’t feeling well and wanted to get some extra sleep.

  The glow of the streetlight outside his window cast a distorted rectangle across the windowsill and floor. A corner of the light reached his bed, and from time to time he raised his hand and stared at it in the bluish glow. It looked ghostly, and he tried to imagine what it would be like to be a ghost and be able to see through your own hand.

  After what had happened the night before, throughout the day, he had become more and more convinced he either imagined seeing and talking to a ghost or else he was cracking up. Maybe he had listened to a bit more of that crazy psychic talk his mother engaged in than was good for him.

  There was no ghost girl named Abby Cummings. There couldn’t be. And there certainly was nothing supernatural connected to the locket he had bought to give to his mother.

  He should forget about the whole thing.

  “That way lies madness,” he whispered into the darkness. But when he inhaled and then exhaled softly, he could feel a faint stirring in his chest, a loose fluttering sensation, like his belly was full of tiny bubbles.

  “So where are you now?” he asked, raising his hand and flexing his fingers. He wondered what—if anything—he would feel if he took hold of that ghost girl’s hand.

  Would it be cold and clammy, like a dead fish? Would a chill pass through him? Or would there be absolutely nothing? Like touching fog or smoke?

  He suspected nothing, because that’s what was happening here …

  Absolutely nothing.

  He was sleep-deprived because of school and homework and football practice and spending endless hours playing World of Warcraft on his computer. It was the weekend, and what he needed was a good night’s sleep or else he really would get sick. He needed to chill.

  So why couldn’t he get that girl out of his mind?

  Why couldn’t he just dismiss what had happened as an aberration or a dream that had seemed real at the time and was nothing more?

  A sudden chill ran through him, and an odd tightness gripped his stomach so hard it actually pained him. Groaning softly, he sat up on his bed and looked around, trying to pierce the surrounding darkness. The house was quiet except for the faint buzz of voices from the TV in his mother’s bedroom. He tried to block out that sound as he scanned his room. His heart skipped a beat when he saw a luminous glow at the foot of the bed.

  He pulled away as a tightening sensation squeezed his throat. He wanted to cry out but couldn’t as a face, softly lit and out of focus, resolved from the darkness until two glowing eyes were staring at him.

  “Hello,” said a voice, light and airy.

  Jim tried once more to speak, but the only sound that came from his throat was a ragged gasp.

  “I wanted to see you again,” the ghost girl said.

  “Abby?” Jim said. His voice was muffled, as if coming from far away. “Is it really—?”

  The ghost girl nodded as a warm smile spread across her face.

  “I wanted to … to see you again, too,” he managed to say.

  The ghost girl’s smile widened even more, and she shifted closer to him, apparently without moving. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw her whole body. She was still at the foot of the bed, but he experienced an odd sense of closeness with her.

  “You remind me of someone I used to care a lot about,” she said.

  “Really? Who?”

  Abby reached one hand out to him. It hovered like radiant mist in the darkness. Jim wanted to reach out and touch her, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to feel anything.

  “Remember that boy I told you about, my friend Jon Hilton?”

  “The one who died in the fire because he thought you were in the house?”

  “Yes. Him. You look an awful lot like him. Maybe that’s why I was drawn here. Maybe it has nothing to do with my locket.”

  “I dunno,” Jim said, not sure how to react to what she was saying. The truth was, he could finally admit to himself that—as crazy as it seemed—he felt a strong attraction to her.

  Could he fall in love with someone in an antique photograph?

  That was crazy.

  “You do look a lot like him,” Abby said, “and you—I feel a little bit sad, but in a good way, if you get what I mean, because you … you remind me of him.”

  “When you were alive,” Jim said. He couldn’t stop staring at her luminous face hovering in the darkness, and all he could think about was how beautiful she was.

  “Maybe I’m … Do you think I could be the reincarnation of this person you used to know?” he asked.

  Abby smiled at that and shrugged, her shoulders rising almost to her ears.

  “I have no idea, but I don’t think that’s how it works.”

  “But you haven’t passed on,” Jim said, both thrilled and frightened by the prospect. “So maybe that’s what’s still waiting for you once you finally let go.”

  Sadness dimmed Abby’s eyes, and Jim was suddenly fearful that she was going to fade away like she had the night before. He reached out to her and said, “Wait … Stay with me. I want to help you.”

  Abby’s expressions softened, but terrible sadness lingered in her eyes.

  “How could you help me?” she asked, her voice an airy whisper that seemed to be all around him in the darkness.

  “I don’t know, but I—something. I have to be able to do something.”

  Abby was silent for a moment or two and then nodded.

  “I’ll do anything for you ... anything you ask,” he said.

  He was still reaching out to her, and now she raised her hand. They both watched, amazed, as their fingers entwined, but Jim felt his hand closing on empty air, and the disappointment in Abby’s eyes told him she felt the same thing … nothing.

  “Please don’t go,” he said. “I want to be with you. I’ll do anything to be with you.”

  Abby’s expression suddenly froze, and she shook her head.

  “You have no idea what you’re saying,” she said, her voice stronger and angry and fearful.

  “I would, though,” Jim said, his heart suddenly filling with a desperate need to be with this girl. “Is that possible? If I … if I killed myself, could I be with you?”

  “No!” Abby said, shaking her head vigorously from side to side. Jim felt the cold blast of her breath waft against his face, and a ch
ill ran through him like a dash of ice water. He clutched his shoulders as he shivered. “You can’t do that! You can never do something like that!”

  The look of abject terror on her face frightened Jim, but that didn’t make him want to be with her any less. If anything, he was spurred to protect her and comfort her all the more, if he could.

  “I didn’t really mean it,” he said. “I was just saying …” He suddenly felt foolish. If anyone had seen him, standing here, carrying on a one-way conversation with empty space, they would have thrown the net and dragged him off to the loony bin.

  “You can’t ever think about killing yourself. Ever! You have no idea what happens to people who—” Before she could finish, a shudder ran through her.

  Jim watched as Abby began to fade from sight, receding like a light that was moving deeper and deeper into a dense fog. Her eyes were the last thing to disappear, and just before they winked out, he whispered softly, “Come back to me.”

  When it came, the reply was so soft he thought he might have imagined rather than heard Abby say, “I will … if I can …”

  — 4 —

  Abby stood outside Jim Burke’s house, head tilted back, staring up at his darkened bedroom window. The streetlight was haloed with a glowing mist.

  She was angry and frightened that Jim would suggest he would kill himself in order to be with her. The thought of anyone voluntarily ending his or her life was too much for her to handle. She was so lost in thought that she never noticed the cloaked figure that slid through the night toward her until it was right behind her. She let out an involuntary shriek when she turned and faced it.

  The dark figure didn’t say a word as it raised a slim, white hand to where its face should be. Only there was no face to see, even in the glow of the streetlight. A thin veil of black silk hung down, covering the figure’s features beneath its wide-brimmed hat.

  Abby was shocked. She started to ask why he was there, but she already knew the answer. This Reaper was her friend, and he only appeared when she was in immediate danger.

  But what was the danger?

  “Is Reverend Wheeler coming?” she asked, looking frantically up and down the street. The line of streetlights created tiny pools of light at regular intervals along the pavement. Between them, the darkness swirled like dense smoke, but try as she might to discern what was wrong and identify the source of danger, she didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

  “I don’t hear his Hell Hounds,” she said.

  The figure remained motionless, his hand raised to where its lips would be, cautioning her to remain silent. The silk veil swayed as he turned his head left and then right. Holding his hand out to her, he indicated that he wanted her to take it.

  Is this it? Abby wondered. Is he finally going to take me away?

  A thrill of excitement coursed through her, but she knew in her heart of hearts that this wasn’t the right time. There were still too many things unresolved. Maybe once she finished helping Megan, or if she—maybe with Jim Burke’s help—figured out what the significance was of her locket and key … But not now. She wanted to say that out loud, but she remained silent as she slid her hand into the Reaper’s cold, bony grip.

  The instant she touched his hand, she felt light. The night began to spiral around her like a carousel, and she tightened her grip simply to keep from falling down. Nonetheless, she was swept up into a spinning, silent whirlwind that caught her and the Reaper and carried them along. In an instant, they were moving like they were trying to outrace an approaching thunderstorm.

  Abby had never experienced flight like this. Usually, getting about in the Dead Lands involved simply walking from one place to another, although it was walking with a strange, unearthly sensation. The closest comparison Abby could come up with was the giddy feeling she’d gotten the one time she had tried ice skating as a child.

  But flying like this was entirely new.

  After a few seconds of vertigo, Abby had the courage to look around, hoping to get her bearings. The landscape looked so strange from this high up, like a checkerboard painted with shadow and light, some of which moved along on the street below. She wondered, not if, but where Reverend Wheeler was down there. She knew he was still hunting for her. He would never stop, but right now, she felt absolutely safe.

  A long distance off to her left, Abby saw the ocean. Even this far away, she could see the dark waves churning and hear the crashing of the foam on the shore. She had been expecting the Reaper to head toward the sea, back to the safety of the cemetery, but she realized with a sudden sinking in her heart that he was heading away from the ocean.

  Desperate to ask him where he was taking her, she closed her eyes, trusting that wherever it was, she would be safe as long as she was with him. The whirling, dizzying sensation continued for a while, but then abruptly ended. Abby opened her eyes when she realized she was no longer flying and was standing on solid ground.

  Her first shock was seeing Megan, standing close by. The second shock was realizing she was in a room she didn’t recognize. She looked around for the Reaper who had brought her here, but he was nowhere to be seen. For a terrifying moment, Abby wondered if she was somehow dreaming this. She had never experienced what she remembered as “dreams” since she had died, but then again, the Reaper had never “flown” her anywhere before, either.

  “Are you—?” she started to say, but Megan shot a surprised look at her as though she hadn’t known Abby was there until the instant she spoke.

  “How did you get here?” Megan said. The expression on her face was a curious mixture of surprise and anger.

  Abby had no idea how to reply to that, but she instantly assumed that Megan had caught no hint the Reaper had been here, either. She took a moment to survey her surroundings. The room was small. One wall was lined with an overflowing bookcase. Most of the shelves held file folders instead of books. Close to one wall was a desk angled so that whoever sat there could see out the large bay window. On the desk was a small lamp that had a lampshade made of molded dark green glass. But that wasn’t the only source of light in the room. There was also one of those machines Abby knew people called “computers,” and Megan’s stepfather, Bob Ryder, was seated at the desk. His elbows were braced on the edge of the desk as he leaned forward and studied what was on the computer screen.

  “I’ve been dead for a long time,” Abby said, once she had appraised the situation and felt relatively safe. “I know my way around the Dead Lands. What are you doing here? I told you to wait for me at the cemetery.”

  Megan cast her gaze down to the floor, and Abby had the distinct impression she wasn’t telling the entire truth when she said, “I was going to, but something drew me here.”

  “What’s ‘here’?”

  “This is my stepfather’s office,” Megan said, indicating the room with a wide sweep of her hand. “He runs his plumbing company from here.”

  “That’s a computer he’s using, right?”

  Megan nodded.

  “Can you see what he’s doing?” Abby asked.

  Shifting closer to the desk and moving behind Megan’s stepfather, Abby stared at the screen, but light kept flickering like a wildfire, making her feel dizzy. She couldn’t make out anything, pictures or words, on the screen.

  “I … I can’t focus on it,” she said. “Is it different for you?”

  “No,” Megan said. “It looks … It’s not working right or something, but it’s supposed to display pictures and videos, and you can e-mail people and play games and all sorts of things.”

  Abby had no idea what she was talking about. As the years progressed, she had seen some amazing things—cars and airplanes, for instance. She had heard about computers and knew they were some sort of communication device, like the telephone—which she had never seen when alive.

  “He’s reading stuff,” Megan said, craning her head forward and looking at the screen. Her face appeared a ghostly blue in the light of the computer. “I’d guess
it’s something to do with … I’m not sure … I can’t make it out. It’s flickering too much, but it’s probably something to do with his company. That’s usually what he uses it for.”

  “It’s almost midnight,” Abby said, glancing over her shoulder at the clock on the wall. “Why’s he working so late?”

  “Oh, he works all the time,” Megan replied. “My mother complains that he’s a workaholic, but lately, she’d been complaining more than usual.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Before I died, I heard them arguing a lot.”

  “About what?”

  “Money, mostly. What else? His company was losing lots of money, from what I heard them say, and my mom was nagging him to sell the business and do something else before we lost the house.”

  “Lost the house? You mean they—you wouldn’t have been able to live here anymore?”

  Megan nodded, her eyes glazed like moonlight on snow.

  “So maybe he’s working late, trying to sell the business,” Abby said.

  But Megan shook her head tightly as she stared at the screen. Her eyes widened as she concentrated until, finally, she let out a soft gasp. For an instant, her stepfather seemed to respond to her presence. He shivered and glanced over at the window as if expecting to see that it had been left open.

  “What is it?” Abby asked, suddenly fearful because of the expression on Megan’s face. She looked stunned, and then her eyes began to mist over with tears that would never fall.

  “Megan? What is it? What did you see?”

  “I think I saw … I could kinda make it out,” Megan said as she moved away from the desk, all the while shaking her head and staring wide-eyed at her stepfather.

  “How could you,” she whispered, and then, without another word, she passed through the wall, disappearing so fast she was gone before Abby could react. She was left standing there alone in the darkened room with Megan’s stepfather. She was convinced she would know what had really happened to Megan if only she could see what he was looking at on that madly flickering screen.

  Abby