Hereafter (15 page)

The memory of Eli’s warnings about my nature—and my future—flashed unbidden into my mind. Then something else struck me. As I’d suspected when Joshua first described the Seers, Ruth and her friends knew about Eli, at least vaguely. They’d been hunting him for years, apparently without success.

“How do you know all these things about ghosts, and about High Bridge?” I asked.

“Because I’ve been studying the supernatural most of my life and watching that bridge for decades. I know what happens to the very few souls who don’t move on to an afterlife. And I know what happens to the ones who haunt High Bridge: they become slaves to it, just like that boy we’ve been trying to catch.”

“But I’m not haunting High Bridge,” I protested weakly.

Ruth finally met my gaze and gave me a cold smile. “You’re haunting my grandson. That’s enough for me.”

So this must have been what she meant that night at the Mayhews’ house when she’d said I wasn’t what she’d expected: although dead and freely roaming, I wasn’t the “boy” she’d been trying to catch. Even so, Ruth obviously intended to treat me in the same manner as Eli. As if I were some evil, rogue spirit.

I held my head as high as it would go, considering how much I’d started to tremble. “Joshua likes me too, you know. I’m not haunting him against his will.”

“That doesn’t matter. He’ll understand his role as a Seer soon enough, and then he’ll make the right choice.”

Ruth nodded, as if to emphasize the inevitability of this conclusion. But something about her words made me pause. I tilted my head to one side.

“Just so I understand all the rules: Seers get a choice to participate in this battle?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “That question doesn’t really matter since
every
Seer has participated after they’ve had their triggering event.”

“Until now,” I pointed out.

Ruth blinked, obviously surprised. She recovered fast, though, and shook her head. “Joshua hasn’t made his choice yet. He wouldn’t have, without consulting me first.”

“Don’t be so sure,” I answered, speaking softly but with a certainty even Ruth couldn’t doubt. However angry Joshua had been (and might still be) with me, I believed him when he promised he wouldn’t use his gift against me. Ruth looked as if she believed it too, now.

She stared at a point past me, not really looking at anything in particular. Thinking. Then, more to herself than to me, she began to murmur.

“I was biding my time with Joshua. Waiting for the right moment to tell him about his heritage. But maybe that was a mistake. . . .”

She trailed off, and I took advantage of her distraction to push the issue further.

“If Joshua made a choice you didn’t think he could make, then doesn’t it make sense that I could do the same thing? That I could choose not to be evil?”

Pursing her lips into a thin, prideful line, Ruth drew herself up to her full height. “Joshua can deny his nature all he wants, but eventually he’ll come back to it. He has to.”

I raised one eyebrow. “Are you saying
neither
of us has free will?”

Ruth narrowed her eyes; and, for all their beauty, they suddenly appeared predatory.

“Joshua is free to make his mistakes,” she said, “for now. But I wouldn’t want you to think, for even a second, that we’re going to give you the same opportunity of choice.”

I felt an ominous little shiver crawl up my spine. “What exactly are you saying?” I whispered.

“I’m saying you’d better get moving to one place or another, because your days in the living world are numbered. We have plans for you, and they don’t involve dating my grandson.”

The ominous shiver broke free of my spine and turned into an allover tremble, one that threatened to make my teeth clack together. I fought to wear a cold, calm expression and to keep my arms at my sides instead of wrapped protectively around me. Before I could show Ruth how much she terrified me, I had to get out of here.

“Well, thanks for the heads-up,” I mumbled, practically leaping down the last few steps.

I moved away from Ruth as quickly as I could, seeking out the shortest path through the church parking lot to the woods surrounding it. I hadn’t made it more than a few feet toward the trees when Ruth called out after me.

“We’re coming for you in two days, when the moon is waning and our banishing spells are their strongest. So be ready.”

Without warning, a stabbing sensation shot through my head. Involuntarily, I hunched my shoulders and bent my neck against the pain. I whipped my head from side to side, uselessly trying to shake off the pain.

Then, like some awful companion to the ache at my temples, a blur of images filled my mind. The images moved at such a dizzying speed across my vision, I couldn’t make out their details. They flashed, relentless and brutal in my head, until I felt an actual wave of nausea rise up within me.

The force of the sensation was so disorienting that I stumbled, tripping over my own feet and falling to my hands and knees on the ground. My hands slapped hard against the graveled parking lot, and, suddenly, I could feel the sharp bite of the gravel. It cut into the skin of my palms and knees, breaking through my ghostly numbness at the worst possible time.

At that moment the pain dissipated—so quickly that I almost wondered whether I’d experienced it at all. Still bent over, I shook my head in confusion. I barely had time to ask myself what could have caused the pain before I heard a soft, feminine laugh behind me.

At that moment I knew exactly who had hurt me.

Pushing myself up from the gravel I could no longer feel, I didn’t acknowledge Ruth’s earlier warnings, or the cruel headache. At least not outwardly. Instead, I sprinted for the woods, waiting until I crossed into them before I broke into violent shudders of fear.

Chapter
Seventeen

L
ong after Ruth disappeared back into the church, I paced among the trees just along the edge of the parking lot. Ruth could probably still see me from a church window if she wanted to, but I wasn’t really thinking rationally enough to care.

In fact, for a while I couldn’t think at all. I could only feel the phantom clench of terror in my stomach, could only hear my wild gulps for breath. Eventually, though, I calmed down enough to try and make my brain function again.

Once freed from blind terror, however, I couldn’t help but imagine all the alternate futures I had in store: exorcism—and obviously, a painful one—at the hands of the ladies of Wilburton Baptist Church; entrapment in the dark netherworld forest, courtesy of a dead guy in skintight pants; or employment as some sort of grim reaper for the dead guy and his evil masters.

And, of course, the worst aspect of each possible future: no Joshua in a single one of them.

“I’m doomed,” I said aloud with a hysterical giggle.

“And why exactly are you doomed?”

At the unexpected voice, I spun around, my hands in defensive claws. A quick scan of black hair and midnight blue eyes, however, made all my anger, if not my fear, evaporate.

“Joshua, I’m so sorry.” My arms dropped to my sides in defeat. “I thought it would help, but I just ended up making things a million times worse.”

“It’s okay, Amelia. It’s going to be okay.” He kept his voice low, soothing.

“How?” I asked, the hysterical edge creeping back into my voice. “How’s it going to be okay? How do you know I’m not evil and need to be destroyed?
I
don’t even know, and I’m me!”

“Because I just do, that’s all.”

Joshua stood with one foot on the asphalt of the parking lot, one on the edge of the grass that led into the woods. With his arms crossed casually over his chest, he didn’t look the least bit concerned. When he gave me a reassuring smile, the ache in my chest stirred slightly. But I had to ignore it, for now.

“You have no idea how much that means to me, Joshua, honestly. But even with what we found out about my home and my family, I still know so little about myself—too little to know where I belong or what I deserve.”

“What do mean, ‘deserve’?”

I dropped my head into my hands. “Basically, your grandmother just told me I deserve to go to . . . hell, I guess; and if I didn’t, she and her friends would send me there. In two days.”

“Wait—what?”

I sighed, still not looking up at Joshua. “Ruth and her little coven are going to exorcise me in two days.”

“No, they aren’t,” Joshua growled.

My head shot up from my hands. Before I could ask him how he intended to stop them, Joshua lurched forward and closed the space between us. He leaned over me, locking my gaze with those strange-colored, beautiful eyes of his.

“Come with me,” he murmured. “Now.”

I tried to focus, tried to ignore the intensity of his stare. “Where? Why?”

“To my house. We’re going to try and figure out a few things about you.”

“But Ruth said—”

“Screw what Ruth said,” he interjected. “I live in that house too, and I say you’re always welcome. More than welcome, actually.”

“Oh.”

A number of emotions warred inside me: fear, anger, uncertainty. But now, a jittery kind of happiness warred right beside them. Joshua just had that effect on me.

“So,” he said, holding out his hand. “Want to come home with me?”

I smiled and stretched out my hand to his.

During our car ride, I described my conversation with Ruth in greater detail. I finished the story just as we pulled into Joshua’s driveway and he killed the engine. Joshua stared silently out at the Mayhews’ garden.

Then, frowning, he rested one arm on the steering wheel and turned toward me. “I think I need to apologize for my grandma being such a—”

“Concerned relative?” I offered before Joshua could say something he’d regret.

Joshua just grinned, easily seeing through my effort at diplomacy.

“Concerned.” He laughed. “Right.” He leaned over me to open my door and then leaned back, lingering for a moment near me.

“Promise me something?” Joshua asked, still very close to me. I simply nodded, too befuddled by his proximity to say anything even remotely clever.

“Promise we’re just going to enjoy tonight? And not worry about Ruth?”

I grimaced. “She’s going to make that pretty hard on us, isn’t she?”

Joshua shook his head. “She’ll be at the church almost all night. After we make it past the rest of my family, it’s just you and me.”

I felt a slight flush at the thought. I didn’t waste more than a second wondering how a dead girl could feel so warm. How could I care, honestly, when anticipating an entire night with him?

“Let’s go,” I managed to say. Joshua nodded; and quickly we were both out of the car, walking through the garden toward the porch. Crossing the upper deck, Joshua came to the back door first and opened it for me.

As I passed through the open doorway, he pressed his hand against the small of my back to guide me forward. The mere pressure of his hand played havoc with the speed of my breath, but I only had a few more steps to enjoy the sensation. Within seconds we had stepped into the Mayhew kitchen.

Like the last time I saw it, the kitchen bustled with activity. To my immense relief, Ruth hadn’t joined her family for dinner, as Joshua had predicted.

To our left, Joshua’s father and Jillian stood over a half-constructed salad, laughing. To our right, Joshua’s mother hunched over a pot, pouring what looked like an enormous amount of pasta into a serving bowl. She set down the pot and absentmindedly ran a hand through her hair, a gesture I recognized well from her son. Then she crossed over to the kitchen island and began to sort through a small stack of dishes, arranging them for the dinner table.

“Just three plates tonight, Mom,” Joshua said by way of announcing himself.

“Oh?” She sounded curious but not offended by her son’s request. “Not joining us?”

“Loads of homework.” Joshua shrugged, and gave me a covert wink.

“I’m not the only one who has to do the dishes after dinner, am I?” Jillian whined, looking first to her distracted mother, then to her father’s back. When both of her parents ignored her pleas, Jillian gave Joshua a small sneer and turned back to the salad, picking angrily at a few protruding leaves.

Joshua ignored his sister and crossed the kitchen to swat his father playfully on the arm.

“You know,” Joshua said in a light tone, “they’ve invented this magical thing called a dishwasher. I hear it’s life changing.”

His father chuckled. “Yeah. Her name’s Jillian.”

“Not funny,” Jillian protested, still facing the salad. With the palm of her hand, she shoved the bowl away from her. She spun back around toward her family, opening her mouth in what would inevitably be some petulant comment.

She closed it with an audible pop, however, when her gaze landed on the space where I was standing—on the space that should have appeared empty to her.

Like yesterday, her gaze didn’t fall on me. Not exactly. But she still stared in my direction and looked as if she were trying, with difficulty, to peer through a heavy screen of smoke. Still without the benefit of her grandmother’s powerful sight, Jillian’s gaze didn’t pierce me . . . couldn’t harm me. Yet it made me nervous, and caused me to cast my eyes around the kitchen in the fear Ruth would burst into the room at any moment.

As Joshua had promised, however, Ruth didn’t come barging into the room, shouting threats and dropping me to my knees in pain. And eventually, Jillian gave up the effort of peering in my direction. She turned back toward her brother, wearing only a slightly disconcerted expression.

“Nothing in this house is fair,” she complained. Joshua began to laugh, which would undoubtedly have angered Jillian further had their mother’s sharp command not silenced the entire room.

“Enough!”

Everyone, including me, turned toward the kitchen island where Rebecca Mayhew still stood. She nodded first to Jillian, then to Joshua.

“You, finish the salad. You, get upstairs and avert this crisis, before I make you.”

With a groan of protest, Jillian spun back around to the counter and began furiously rearranging the salad, muttering something about fairness under her breath. Joshua gave his mother a quick salute and then ducked, as if to dodge the displeased glare she aimed at him. Behind us, I heard his father choke back a laugh.

When Rebecca directed the glare at her husband, Joshua used his parents’ temporary distraction to catch my eye. He twitched his head to another archway on the opposite side of the kitchen. I took the gesture to mean we were leaving.

With as much grace as I could muster, I wove my way between Jillian and her father, careful not to touch either of them. Almost without thought, I paused next to Jillian, waiting for . . . what, I wasn’t sure. When her eyes didn’t flicker again in my direction, I crossed to the archway through which Joshua had already passed and turned to look at the kitchen one last time.

Rebecca had returned to setting the table, one hand continually brushing through her pretty hair. Jeremiah stood at the counter, staring down at his daughter with a surprising amount of patience as she finished the salad. When she began muttering angrily again, he picked a small piece of lettuce from the salad bowl and flung it at her. Jillian glared at him indignantly, but after only a beat, her expression softened. She smiled wryly and, without breaking eye contact, plucked the piece of lettuce from her shoulder and flung it back at him.

I smiled at them all and then gave them an impulsive little wave.

In that moment I wanted to join them so badly, it hurt. Aside from the ever-threatening presence of Ruth, the Mayhews represented something I craved, something I’d so obviously lost.

A family.

I pictured my own mother, sitting in that tiny house by herself; I pictured my father, wandering lost in the darkness of the netherworld. As I continued to watch the Mayhews, a melancholy fog started to sneak over me. My thoughts, then, were as sudden as they were dark.

If Eli gets his way,
I told myself,
you’ll never see these people again unless you’re trying to ruin their afterlives. And if Ruth is right, you’ve got less than forty-eight hours left with Joshua, anyway. So, dead girl, you can totally forget about joining his family; you weren’t even around to keep your own together.

I shook my head, hard, as if the movement could dispel the bitter thoughts. I didn’t want to think about those things tonight, and I’d promised Joshua I wouldn’t. So I spun around through the archway, eager for Joshua’s face to clear away the sadness for a while.

As I’d hoped, Joshua waited for me, leaning against a wall between the arch and a steep staircase. With a playful smile, he pushed himself off the wall and then crept closer to me. I kept quiet and still, although the rational part of my brain knew I didn’t have to.

Now only a foot away from me, Joshua leaned in, very close to my face, and hovered there for a second. After a few deliciously tense seconds, Joshua leaned to one side.

Though I couldn’t feel his breath on my ear, I closed my eyes and imagined I could. Warm and feathery, brushing along my skin. For the first time today, I shivered happily.

“Would you be offended,” he whispered, “if I asked you to come up to my bedroom with me?”

I opened my eyes and tried not to choke. I had no idea about my past life, but I was more than sure a boy hadn’t asked me up to his room since my death. Of course, there was a first time for everything. So I answered in the steadiest voice I could.

“That doesn’t offend me. And, yes, I’ll come up. But just this once; don’t expect it to become a habit or anything.”

“I wouldn’t count on it if I were you.” Joshua moved back and flashed me a wicked grin.

I rolled my eyes, all the while telling myself,
Don’t let your jaw drop. Don’t giggle. Just be cool.

“Let’s go, Joshua,” I sighed, trying my hardest to project an aura of total nonchalance.

He laughed and turned to climb the stairs. Whatever amount of “cool” I demanded from myself, it wasn’t enough to stop me from shivering once more as I followed him.