44 Book Four Read online

  We had a small savings account our mom left us when she died. Personally, I could think of lots of other things I would have used the money for. But it seemed important to Kate in a way I didn’t fully understand.

  Our little house had never looked so good.

  She leaned back in her chair and stared off, deep in thought. She smiled finally, looking at her scone.

  I hesitated and then went for it.

  “So what did you want to talk about?”

  “Oh, yeah,” she said. “I know you said I should choose the paint color for your room, but I’m torn between two. Do you have a preference?”

  She pulled out two small paint chips and handed them to me.

  I smiled, relieved as I looked them over.

  When I drowned in that mountain lake almost four years ago, I was brought back to life but some things were different. Since the accident I see people’s energy circulating around them and can read how they are feeling. I see ghosts occasionally. And although I haven’t had one in a while, sometimes I have visions.

  The other big change is that I’m color blind and live in a world of blacks, whites, and grays.

  I handed Kate the darker shade.

  “This one,” I said.

  “Good,” she said. “Want a bite?”

  “No, thanks.”

  I was trying to cut down on my pastry intake, which had skyrocketed since I began working here. I felt sluggish when I practiced or went for runs. Soccer season was still a few months away, but it was time to get ready.

  I watched three cyclists walk in and get in line. They were all wearing those tight-fitting racing outfits with numbers and geometric designs all over. Maybe there was an event in town, but even with the mild winter, it still seemed too early for bike races.

  “So, what are you and Ty up to this weekend?” Kate asked.

  “Probably catch a movie,” I said.

  Kate smiled as I yawned.

  “He’s really serious about you. I mean he’s still hanging around even after you made him watch Water for Elephants over at the house the other night.”

  “Yeah, that was a real dog,” I said. “I’m letting him pick the next one.”

  “Hey, how did you sleep last night?”

  I shrugged, and as if on cue, yawned again.

  “Same.”

  I didn’t like to talk too much about my nights. I didn’t want her to worry and I especially didn’t want her to start in again about me going back to see my old psychiatrist, Dr. Krowe. I knew she heard me sometimes when I was up, walking around the house, waiting for my fear to settle down and dissipate so I could catch at least a few hours of sleep. No matter how quiet I tried to be, the house creaked under my feet at those hours. Plus, Kate was a light sleeper.

  She stared at me.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Really. It’s getting better, I think.”

  “Bull,” she said. “Look, Abby, I know you don’t want to take sleeping pills, and I get that. But if you don’t start getting some regular sleep soon, your system is going to break down. You are going to break down. You aren’t looking that great. You can’t go on like this.”

  She said she did, but she didn’t get it. I had had a bad reaction to the drugs Nathaniel gave me when he kidnapped me. The pain was so horrible I thought I would die. But it was nothing compared to the feelings of helplessness, loss of control, and being held prisoner. In my head that’s what sleeping pills meant and it would be a cold day in hell before I took them.

  “I know all that,” I said anyway. “A few more weeks. If it doesn’t get better, I’ll go see him, get the pills and everything. Promise.”

  Kate sighed and stretched.

  “All right,” she said. “A few more weeks, but that’s it. It’s normal, you know. You’ve been through a traumatic event. They treat these conditions successfully. I’ve been doing research on it.”

  I held back a sigh of my own.

  “I’m going to send you some links. Just read about it, okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  I wasn’t sure why, but seeing Dr. Krowe felt like going backwards. I agreed with what Kate was saying, that I needed to start having normal sleep again. But seeing him again and discussing all the things that had happened didn’t feel right. Kate wasn’t going to stop though and it made me glad that I hadn’t told her about all the nightmares.

  She stood up.

  “I gotta get going,” she said. “What time will you be home?”

  “I’m practicing after work so not until after seven.”

  “Riverbend Park?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “Is Ty meeting you?”

  “No, Kate. But I’ll be okay. Lots of people are always there and the sun stays out late these days.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Don’t forget to call when you’re on your way home.”

  “I won’t.”

  It still took some getting used to, having to check in with Kate all the time. But after what had happened with Jack Martin in the parking lot, I always made sure to call her and let her know where I was, especially if I was by myself.

  “I won’t forget,” I repeated.

  She packed up her computer and notebook and shoved them into her bag.

  She waved goodbye and walked through the crowd and out the door.

  CHAPTER 4

  A misty rain fell from a blinding, white sky as I ran up to the far end of the grass and threw down my water bottle. I didn’t mind getting wet. It felt good being outside, and at least it wasn’t snowing.

  I zipped up the Barcelona jacket Ty had gotten me for Christmas and then scrolled to the new playlist I had put together the night before. I put my keys deep in my pocket before starting, the soccer ball sluggish at my feet in the wet grass.

  Even with the cold rain there were a lot of people at the park. A few were walking their dogs. A group of young women ran past me, their voices and breathing loud, mixing in with the beat of my music. A mom pushed a baby stroller on the cement path that skirted the grass.

  I hit the timer on my watch and started running, thinking about soccer. Jack Martin suddenly popped into my mind.

  It wasn’t like I thought Jack would come back for me. I knew that with Nathaniel dead, so was the research. And really, Jack had been nothing more than a glorified assistant, a henchman. The FBI investigators told us that while he was still a wanted fugitive, they doubted that he would ever return for me. It would have been too much of a risk and they suspected he was probably living under another alias in another country.

  I didn’t lose any sleep over him. What made me uncomfortable was that just about everyone who played soccer through Parks and Rec knew Jack. Or they thought they knew him. And when we both went missing following an indoor soccer game last November, rumors had started.

  According to one story, Jack and I had eloped. A few people joked about wedding presents and asked where we had registered. Even though the whole idea made me sick, I tried to play along, not wanting to appear too defensive or that I had something to hide. That I knew something.

  But at some point the jokes stopped and some of his friends began to worry that something had happened to him. They filed a missing person report, but the police told them that the authorities were already looking for him, that “Jack Martin” was a person of interest in an FBI investigation.

  There had to be a mistake, his friends said. He wasn’t the kind of person to be involved in something like that, whatever that something was. I couldn’t help thinking about all those crime shows I used to watch late at night. There were always those friends and neighbors of killers saying that the murderer was “such a nice guy.”

  I almost laughed thinking I would have felt the same way about him before. Before he kidnapped me, I had thought Jack was a nice guy too. That’s how he was able to kidnap me. Even though I had noticed his strange energy on more than one occasion, I was sure he was a friend. The whole experience had left me feeling stupid and
angry at myself. But I was determined to learn from it and move on.

  I figured it might be a little awkward at first, but that after a few games people would forget about Jack. Until then, I would just have to focus on keeping my lunch down whenever his name came up.

  I kicked the ball too far ahead and it rolled over by the river, stopping just short of the sloped embankment. I walked down to the water, staring out at the Deschutes gliding by peacefully as I caught my breath.

  “Nice jacket,” I heard from behind.

  I lost my balance for a moment as I turned, following the voice. It belonged to a man, about 30, wearing an Athletic Bilbao jersey, drinking water from a plastic bottle.

  “Thanks,” I said, thinking how he was probably the only person in Bend, maybe even the entire United States, with that shirt. “You too.”

  But I had let my guard down. I hadn’t seen the stranger, who was standing only a few feet away from me. I looked around and was surprised that no one else was nearby, just the two of us by the river. I felt for my keys in my pocket, for the Mace that was clipped onto them. I felt a little better as I touched the cylinder.

  “Well, see ya,” he said before running off. “Agur.”

  I should have been more aware of who was around me.

  I walked in the opposite direction, trying to calm down.

  “Relax,” I told myself. I watched as he ran far off into the distance, only a small speck now, taking the path that led toward the Old Mill stores. I started dribbling again.

  I went for another half an hour, in the end leaving behind the jittery feeling. Most of the time, I was good about paying attention to my surroundings. But obviously, sometimes I wasn’t.

  On my last lap around the park, I looked for Jesse. I hadn’t seen him for a while and was expecting him to show up soon. We usually met in the park after a run, or down by the river. But not too often. Only a couple times really since we’d gone over to his dad’s motorcycle shop and had a sit down.

  It had been a good meeting. Jesse said he wasn’t sure if his dad had believed it, that Jesse was actually there as a ghost, but even though Mr. Stone had been quiet afterwards, I could tell by his energy that something in him had changed. He wasn’t as sad. I had seen him once since our meeting, and he greeted me with open, hopeful eyes and a large smile. He believed, I could tell. And after I handed him a box full of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, he gave me a hug and thanked me. And I knew it wasn’t for the cookies.

  I never called out to Jesse anymore. In the months since I had been kidnapped, I realized that he needed to move on. And it was important that he knew that I could live without him. I didn’t want to, and it ached when I thought that there might be a day in the near future when I didn’t see him walking along the river toward me. But I was trying really hard to show him that I could do it. That I could make it on my own.

  Still, it was hard to think that way. And sometimes, usually after we got to talking about basketball or soccer or the people I worked with at the coffee house, I would forget. I would forget that Jesse was a ghost, and didn’t belong in this world anymore. And then, just for a minute or two, my heart would break all over again.

  There was so much of Jesse’s world that I didn’t understand and I always got the feeling that he didn’t either. He would walk with the others, the ghosts and the dead, but he didn’t talk much about it. And when I asked, he said that he didn’t know enough to say anything for sure.

  And he told me that he would hang around for a little while longer to make sure I stayed safe. He promised he wouldn’t just disappear one day.

  I ran to the Jeep as the rain turned to hail.

  I called Kate to tell her I was on my way home, hoping she had made dinner.

  CHAPTER 5

  The coffee house was packed as I walked through the door on Wednesday afternoon. The three o’clock through closing shift was my favorite, even though it didn’t go by as fast as the morning hours. After dinner, things got pretty quiet. But the energy in the place shifted as well. The customers were more relaxed and friendlier. And in the last hour, hardly anybody came. I was never sure why Mike wanted to stay open until nine, especially on week nights, but he seemed to think it was worth it.

  After saying hello, I walked to the back and checked the schedule and saw that I was closing with Mo. We would be together, just us, for two long hours. I cringed. It wasn’t that I didn’t like her, it’s just that I never knew what to say to her. She was even quieter than I was and when it was just the two of us working together, there were a lot of strange long silences throughout the evening. I didn’t take it personally. Mo barely talked to anyone.

  “What’s up, Abby?” Mike said. Both David and Mo were behind the espresso bar.

  “Hey,” I said, taking over the register.

  There were only a few people in line and I took their orders.

  “Super fun times,” David said to me and then told me he was taking his break.

  The first few hours flew by and then the place emptied out and quieted down. Mike went home. He told us that he was forcing himself to leave and have dinner with his wife and kids at least three times a week. Mo nodded a goodbye to him without eye contact.

  It seemed we were destined to have a quiet night. David went in the back to work on inventory and Mo put in the new Chilblains CD. Mike wanted to start promoting some of the local indie bands that played in the clubs on the weekends and gave us a stack of music to go through. He told us to categorize them according to the best times of day to play them. There were various genres. The alternative music could be for the afternoon and evening. And the string quartet would be perfect for the lunch hour.

  David had told me that Mo played in one of the bands in the stack of CDs, and I was looking forward to hearing what she had going on besides, of course, a winning personality.

  “It’s harsh, harsh music,” he whispered, when I had asked about her band.

  Mo had been working at Back Street for three years and David was sure that she was some sort of relative of Mike’s. Mo wasn’t that much older than me, but she seemed like it. David said he sometimes saw her at the clubs on the weekends.

  She turned up the music louder than usual, the bass pumping steadily through my body. The guitar riffs reminded me of the grunge sound of the 90s. It was pretty good stuff, and I made a note to myself to borrow the CD and add some of the songs to my running playlist.

  Two men came in and I dialed down the volume. I took their orders and when their drinks were ready, they headed for opposite corners and sat at small tables.

  “Going on my break,” Mo said, her eyebrow rings glinting in the light. The place was empty now and I was wiping down tables, killing some time.

  “Okay,” I said.

  I watched her for a moment as she walked outside and pulled a cigarette from her pocket, lit it and sat down on the curb. Soon she was engulfed in white smoke.

  I went over to the espresso machine and dumped out the grounds into the bags that we gave out for free to gardeners, and washed out some canisters. David came back up to the front and turned down the music even lower.

  “This band sucks,” he said. “Hey, how’s it going out here?”

  “Good,” I said. “You off soon?”

  “If soon means right now then, yes,” he said, smirking. “Scary, huh? Being left alone with Mo.”

  He laughed. He was just having fun. Out of everybody, David was probably Mo’s favorite. He knew that I was a little intimidated by her.

  “Must be awfully quiet in here with the two of you. Sorry to miss out on all the fun. Just remember. Her bark is worse than her bite. Actually, she doesn’t even have a bite. Really. She’s very cool. Just low energy, that’s all.”

  I shrugged.

  “So how’s that beautiful boyfriend of yours?” he asked as he grabbed a towel and wiped down the counter.

  I gave him a look and held it for a minute before rolling my eyes. I didn’t exactly like that te
rm, and he used it often. I wasn’t even sure if Ty was exactly my boyfriend. We were friends, did things together. Kissed sometimes. I had strong feelings for him. But I told him I needed to go slow, really slow. He said he completely understood and that he wanted to give me room to recover from everything. That’s what we were doing for now. So I wasn’t sure if that really qualified as being a couple.

  But I wasn’t going to go into all that with David.

  “Ty’s good,” I said. “How’s your beautiful boyfriend?”

  He laughed and leaned up against the wall.

  “Wow, look at you,” he said, shaking his head. “It only took five months for you to warm up to me, but here we are. Abby Craig, I never gave up hope.”

  David always called everyone by their first and last names, like we were all stuck in a Stephen King story. I thought it was odd the way he did that, until I found out he was actually from Maine, just like King and most of the characters in his books and movies. I guess that was just how they talked back there.

  “Come on, now,” I said, smiling. “I warmed up to you at least a week ago.”

  He laughed again.

  “And by the way,” David said. “Eduardo DaCosta is just fine. You should come out with us sometime. We’re going to the clubs on Friday night.”

  David was a big partier and was always coming in looking like what the cat dragged in on Monday mornings, with lots of stories about his crazy weekends. He also had a hard time remembering that I wasn’t 21 yet and couldn’t get into the bars.

  He looked at me, his light eyes wide, waiting for an answer.

  “Can’t,” I said. “Not until the end of June anyway.”

  “Oh, yeah, I’m always forgetting that,” he said. “You just don’t seem 20 years old, Abby Craig. You’re much older and wiser. An old spirit or something.”

  I nodded. It made me kind of sad, David saying that.