The Guidance (20 page)

"You ask me," Jason says, "the girl has lost her facilities. Gone-zo!"

I shift my gaze between Taylor and Celia. "How did she explain this to everyone? To the coaches, her cheerleader sponsor ... her parents? Does anyone know?"

Taylor waves her hand in the air dismissively. "I talked to Stephanie this morning, and she said that Courtney claimed that time of the month and blamed it on popping too much Pamprin."

"And people bought it?"

Celia scowls. "What else are folks going to believe? That Courtney Langdon is so threatened by you that she invited an evil spirit to dock inside of her?"

"I see what you mean."

All this while, Becca has had her headphones on, listening to the sound from the video on her laptop. "Hey, y'all, check this out. There are EVPs here."

"You can hear them through all of the stadium noise?" Jason asks.

Becca says, "Yeah, the spirits appear to be manipulating the energy created by the crowd's buzz. Listen to this."

We transfer the DVD to Celia's monstrous computer and turn on the speakers. We all circle around Celia as she clicks where Becca tells her to. There's definitely a garbled sound when Courtney's rushing the field. Then again, it's a football game, so there's going to be a lot of background noise.

"This sound is different than your standard crowd noise," Becca says. "Lemme sit, Nichols."

Celia shoves out of the chair so Becca can sit. She clicks on the video, copying and pasting here and there and doing all sorts of computery things that I just don't get. She opens the editing software, pastes a portion in, then amplifies, cleans up the background noise, and takes out the distortions. Man, look at her go! She hits Play and Rewind several times, listening intently, until she's pleased with the results.

Becca says, "I think I got it this time. Listen. There are two EVPs here."

She cues up the first one.

"
Reeeeeeeeeeebels ev'rywhere.
"

"Rebels everywhere?" Taylor repeats.

Jason snaps his head up. "Hillside High is the Rebels. I don't get why you would get an EVP about the football game."

I think I do.

"It has more to do with the Civil War, I think," Celia says. "What about you, Kendall?"

I gulp down the dry lump that's formed in my esophagus. "I'd like to hear the other one."

"You got it, chief," Becca says, fast-forwarding to where we see Courtney up close. "Here we go." Becca hits Play.

You can hear the camera rattling as Taylor rushes to catch up with Courtney while she's being escorted away. She asks Courtney if she's okay, and then the EVP.

"
Geeeeeeet ... me out ... of ... daaahkness...
"

"Again, please," Celia asks.

"
Geeeeeeet ... me out ... of ... daaahkness...
"

Celia looks to me. "'Get me out of the darkness'?"

"That's what it sounds like to me," I confirm. The EVP is clear as day.

"Man, that's one helluva class A EVP, don't you think?" Becca says proudly.

"It's proof that something paranormal is going on with Courtney," Taylor says. "The girl is totally
not
in her right mind. The question is, What's doing it?"

"No, Taylor," I say. "That's not it at all. The question is, Will Courtney let us help her?"

"We won!"

Monday afternoon, Kaitlin bursts through the back door into the kitchen and drops her lacrosse gear next to the refrigerator while she digs out a Vitaminwater. Celia and I look up from our homework to take in my sister's appearance. Her blue, white, and yellow uniform is covered in grass stains and red Georgia dirt. A tuft of grass is caked on her right shoulder. Her left knee is scraped up, and her ponytail has seen better days.

"God, you're a mess. What does the other team look like?" I joke.

"We kicked their ass!" Kaitlin proclaims.

"Watch the mouth, kiddo." I don't remember being allowed to say
ass
when I was thirteen. I probably shouldn't even say it now, come to think of it.

"Why? Are you going to tell Mom?"

"Tell me what?" Mom asks as she walks into the kitchen laden with grocery bags from Super BI-LO. She holds some out toward me. "Here, Kendall." I jump up.

"Can I help, Miss Sarah?" Celia asks.

Mom relinquishes several bags to both Celia and me. "Thanks, girls."

The clock reads only 4:30. "You're home early," I say.

"Needed to get something for dinner. I think all we have in the fridge is butter, Diet Coke, and three-day-old baked chicken." She turns to Kaitlin. "And what are you going to tell me? That you've been wallowing in a pigsty?"

Kaitlin snorts Vitaminwater out her nose. "No! Umm, nothing other than we won today. You should have seen me. I was awesome! Totally kicked—" She stops and connects her gaze with mine. "—Butt. Totally kicked butt."

Good save, brat
.

"That's wonderful, sweetie." Mom picks the grass off of my sister's shoulder and tsk-tsks at her.

"Strip out of those nasty clothes and go take a shower, Kaitin," I tell her.

"Duh, I was just going to." She sticks her tongue out at me, and I roll my eyes.

"What was that all about?" Mom asks. She takes a big hunk of meat out of the bag and places it on the counter.

"Kaitlin said a wirty dord."

We hear the shower start upstairs and Mom sighs. "I guess that's inevitable. I can't keep my girls little forever." She continues pulling out carrots, potatoes, celery, and onions. Mmm ... she's making Yankee pot roast, one of my faves. No one cooks like my mom. Celia knows this 'cause she has to suffer through re-heatable meals that their housekeeper, Alice, makes in advance for the busy family that never eats together. I guess that's why Cel's so damn skinny.

She and I help unload the groceries and then finish up our homework. I'm so tired of this pig-dissection project with Courtney. Fortunately, we only have another week and then we're done. Courtney was zombielike in class today, and I had to do pretty much all of the work to remove the pig's heart. Like...
ick
.

Mom flits around the kitchen getting the pot roast going; the air is filled with the tang of seared meat and simmering vegetables. It's truly a comforting smell.

"Are you girls working on a case?" Mom asks from the other side of the kitchen.

Celia sits up. "You mean like a ghost investigation?"

Mom stops wiping the counter. "Well ... yes. I'm interested to learn what it is that you do. I'm trying to be more open-minded and accepting of my psychic daughter."

A warm rush of pride slides through me. I pull out the kitchen chair between Celia and me and invite Mom to sit down. Celia has a couple of files from closed-out cases that we're going to discuss. We're deciding what evidence we can put on our website. However, there's one file marked Active, which Mom zeros in on. I can read it in her mind as well as her eyes.

I clear my throat. "We're helping a fellow student who's been seeing a spirit. He's sort of ... messing with her."

Mom raises an eyebrow. "How so?"

Celia laughs. "He makes her act out and do things that only a guy would do. It's actually quite fascinating."

With a gasp, Mom says, "Isn't that dangerous? It could be something demonic."

I scowl across the table at my friend. Mom's trying to participate in my life, and I don't want to scare her off immediately with talk of spirit possession and whatnot. I think Celia gets the message.

Waving my hand, I say, "No, no, don't worry about this. We can show you something a
lot
more interesting. It's this new thing that Celia and I started doing."

Mom seems slightly relieved. "Whatever you want to show me."

"Let's do the spirit-art thing," I say, almost bouncing in my seat.

Celia pulls a sketchpad from her book bag, along with a tray of pencils. She sharpens a couple and lays them next to the blank sheet of paper and a gigantic pink eraser. "Ready when you are, chief."

I inhale a deep breath. "Okay, you see, Cel here is wicked good at drawing. So what I do is describe the spirit that I see in my head or however they show themselves to me. It's like getting a police-artist sketch. Then we can show it to the family or whoever to see what the connection is to the deceased."

With a nod of her head, Mom seems intrigued. "I'd very much like to see you two do this."

"Excellent!"

Celia frowns. "Who do you want to draw though, Kendall?"

"Oh, I've got it! Let's draw Emily!"

"Who's Emily?" Mom asks.

"The ghost that lives here in the house." When I witness Mom's cheeks pale, I reassure her. "She's nice, Mom. Don't worry. Pretty too. You'll like her."

Her hand slips up to grip her neck like she's trying to force herself to breathe ... to accept. "I'm not too sure, Kendall."

"It'll be cool. Let's do it."

I close my eyes and center my breathing, slowing it, almost. I block out the sound of Kaitlin moving around on the upper floor and the pot roast bubbling away on the stove. The sole focus of my attention is Emily. I've seen her so many times, it's like conjuring up an old friend in my memory. However, she helps out by appearing for me, right next to Celia.

Trying not to freak out Mom any more, I speak to Emily in my head.

Thanks, Emily!

"
I don't know if that's such a good idea, Kendall.
"

Why not?

"
Your mother is very skeptical. I don't want her to send me away.
"

Don't be silly, Emily. No one's sending you away until you're ready to go
.

I begin describing my spirit friend. "She has long dark hair and soft green eyes, not too far apart. Her nose is slender, as is her face. And she's really pale."

Celia glances at me over her notepad. "She's a ghost, Kendall. Of course she's pale."

That gets a laugh out of Mom.

Over the next fifteen minutes, I describe Emily from memory and by how she appears to me now at the kitchen table. I decide to have Celia give her a pretty smile instead of the glower she's tossing at me.

What?

"
I just don't like this, Kendall.
"

I need the practice, Emily
.

"I wish your friend wouldn't practice on me."

You're just being silly
.

"Almost done," Celia says. I love watching her draw. She's like a five-year-old with a crayon in her hand for the first time. Her tongue hangs out of her mouth and circles her lips, as if she's sketching with it as well as the pencil. Her eyes are focused on her task, and then a smile breaks out over her face. As she flips the notepad around, she says, "Ta-da!"

"Awesome! You drew her perfectly!" I exclaim.

My joy is short-lived though; Mom sucks in an enormous gulp of air and nearly falls out of her seat.

"Mom! Are you okay?"

"Miss Sarah?"

"Wh-wh-where did you see that woman?" she asks through short breaths.

"What do you mean? This is Emily. The ghost here in our house."

Mom's eyes tear up, and her face reddens. "That's impossible."

"What is it, Miss Sarah? You look like you've seen ... well, a ghost."

Mom regains her balance, stands, and pushes the chair back to the table. She turns and heads to the fridge, where she grabs a bottle of water. I watch the liquid disappear in three, four huge gulps. Mom is shaking and is afraid to tell me something. Fear radiates off her in a halo of light. Her aura is a shocking muddy blue to my eyes. Quickly, I dig my aura-meaning reference out of my bag and flip to the right section. The color I'm seeing means fear of the future, fear of self-expression, fear of facing or speaking the truth.

What truth? My mom's no liar. Maybe I'm just wigging her out with all of this. Yet I swear I saw recognition in her eyes when Celia showed her the drawing of Emily.

I silently cross the room and touch Mom in the middle of her back. She jumps three feet in the air, like she's been zapped with a Taser. "Mom? Are you okay?"

Her back is still turned, but I sense her calming herself and compressing her unease into a neat pocket somewhere deep inside her stomach. "I'm fine, dear. Just overwhelmed to actually
see
this ghost you say is in our house."

Celia brings the drawing to us. "She's not frightening though, Miss Sarah. Look how pretty she is. So young. I wish she'd tell Kendall how she died."

Mom swallows. "You don't know?"

"No, I don't. Emily won't tell me anything. Says she's just here to guide me, that's all. But it's a mystery I'd love to solve." Emily's still standing next to the kitchen table, not pleased with me at all. Her eyes reflect a gloominess that I'm sorry I brought on. Maybe she thinks Mom and Dad will force her to leave me now. "Emily's just a little older than I am and she'd never do anything to hurt me. It's like having a big sister, almost."

Mom begins to choke, and lifts the plastic bottle to finish off the water that's left in it.

The ends of my fingers tingle where I'm connected to Mom, and I'm wondering if she's hiding something from me. That fear of facing the truth that her aura is radiating; she couldn't...

"Do you know her, Mom?"

She spins toward me, horror painted on her face. "What? I don't see spirits like you do!"

"No, I mean, did you
know
her when she was alive?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Kendall." She rushes around the butcher block in the middle of the kitchen to tend to the pot roast on the stove. The rich savory aroma no longer appeals to me; instead, it makes me feel a little nauseated. Deep in my heart of hearts, I know my mother is lying to me. The woman who taught me the Ten Commandments. The one who punishes me when I'm caught in a fib. She's ducking the truth on this, and I want to know why.

"You
do
recognize her." I grab the notepad from Celia. "Look at her again, Mom. Who is she? I need to know!"

She pushes the sketch away. "Kendall, enough of this." Her breathing is ragged, but then, she composes herself. "I simply thought she looked like this woman I saw on
Inside Edition
the other afternoon. A woman who was wanted for the murder of her boyfriend in Buffalo."