Wake the Hollow Page 13

After the HollowEve meeting, Bram and Jonathan return with more masks, ropes, chains, a leather saddle, and several bolts of white fabric. Jonathan grunts as he plops the last box in the corner by his bed. “Getting down to the wire.”

  I stare at my papers. I don’t really care. Plus, Jonathan can go eat shit and die anyway.

  “I can’t believe they didn’t post parts tonight,” Bram mumbles.

  “Yeah, it doesn’t exactly give us much time to practice.” Jonathan stares at me again for good measure then walks out of the bedroom. “Later, freaks.” The door slams, and then it’s just me and Bram.

  “Where’s he going?” I ask.

  “I told him to leave us alone.”

  “He can be here. It’s his apartment.”

  “Mica, after today, you need time alone.” Leaning over me, he moves stray hairs from my face. “I wanted you to have some space.”

  Eyes closed, I give in to the gesture. He sits on the edge of the bed. “Feeling better?”

  I shake my head, rubbing Coconut’s ears. “No. I need sleep. Will you watch me while I sleep?” In case the woman comes back, I want to add. If only I could trust him not to laugh.

  “I’ll watch over you. I’ll kick the ass of any ghost that tries to haunt you, all right? Promise.” He presses a palm to his heart. I smile. At least he didn’t mock me. He gives me a quick kiss on the cheek then lies back on Jonathan’s bed. “Go to sleep. I’ll stay out here watching…whatever.”

  “Thank you.” I stand and start picking up all my stuff. Bram tries to get a sneak peek at the papers, but that’s one thing I can’t share right now. I pack it all up and slide it underneath the mattress again when he starts fiddling with his phone.

  Despite my efforts to fall asleep, all I can do is think about my mother’s envelope, its messed-up contents, and my lady ghost standing in the field. I open Bram’s night table drawer where I keep the one photo of her and stare at it.

  That’s her all right. Mami said to follow her.

  Take it and run.

  But where?

  ...

  The woman glides through the wall, hands over her face, and right away, I know I’m in for it. She sobs uncontrollably and trembles. Though I’ve never had a child, I can feel with inexplicable empathy her anguish over having lost her baby—a blunt, soaring pain that rips a gaping cavity where a soul had been.

  In the rocking chair is a squirming bundle. I approach it and reach out to pull the blanket away. Tiny arms and legs pump underneath the sheath. Slowly, I peel back one corner, and…blond hair, face too soft to be real, big hazel eyes that sway open and closed. Sofia?

  My ghost appears next to me, dark eyes floating in the middle of her face. I can almost see them completely now. Do I know you? I saw you today by the river.

  Please follow me!

  Not this again. But this time, instead of avoiding her…I close my eyes and imagine myself following her. The walls dissolve, and suddenly, we’re outside under a blazing, sunny hillside. We glide over old wooden train tracks. In the distance, a steam train is fast approaching through the hills.

  The smoky specter stops on the tracks and holds up her hands, like trying to stop the oncoming train. Move! I shout, my words lost under the chugging of the engine. Move! I scream again. The train screeches louder—rhythmic metal on metal—as the old locomotive speeds toward us. The woman holds fast, determined to stop it. Then, just as I’m about to recoil in horror at the inevitable bloody mess, she turns to mist as the train surges right through her, chugging on to its unknown destination.

  Keep him safe, I beg of you...

  She’s inches from my face. Soft, pleading, tearing eyes. Something’s familiar about them. I can’t make sense of it, though. It’s as if our souls are connected, or had been, for some time. Then, I hear my mother again…

  ...was my father's guide, then mine...now yours...

  follow her...

  As much as I try to do as she tells me, panic strikes me again. I fight it with a strong lunge forward, and it works. I break away, hurtling toward the ghost woman with outstretched hands. Solid iciness grips me and tugs hard. Suddenly, we’re flying above the chugging steam train, and I’m following her down the grassy landscape. When she glances over her shoulder at me, her face is clearer. Eyes, nose, mouth, for a fraction of a second. I know you.

  Micaela...

  What is it?

  Find it.

  Find what?

  Proof.

  Of what? My God, what does she want?

  Of us! The woman shouts, her mouth opening into a gaping black hole.

  I scream. Wake up! Wake up! My own voice shrieks in my ears, drowned out against the screeching of the steam engine.

  “Wake up!”

  Something holds me down. The paralysis. The woman. I can’t tell… Rock-solid hands grip my arms, too strong to be a frail, grieving wraith. Finally, I let out a shrill cry and force my eyes open. Dark, except for the white blinds over the open window tapping lightly against the sides.

  Bram hovers over me in bed, struggling with my flailing arms, using his knee to block my kicks. “Mica, stop! You’re dreaming.” But I keep fighting. Is he attacking me? Was he snooping in my mom’s envelope? Where is the envelope? Then I focus on Bram’s face, and reality swerves in. He’s just consoling me. “Oh my God. I can’t take this anymore. I swear, I can’t.”

  “That’s it. I’m calling a doctor for you.”

  “No!” I cry against his shirtless chest, his smooth skin warm against my face. “I don’t want doctors. They wouldn’t understand. I just want…”

  I don’t know what I want, but it’s definitely not a psychotherapist telling me I’m delusional. I want someone I can trust near me at all times. I need Bram here, just like this. Every night. I can’t sleep alone anymore. That way, if I do fall into the sleepless abyss again, he’ll be here to yank me free.

  “Want what?” His confused eyes search mine, heavy breath from the struggle of waking me still on his lips. The air between us, electric. I’m falling from all things sensible, like dreams blending with reality, except reality keeps changing with every passing day.

  Bram’s face is inches from mine as he tries to focus in the dark.

  I hear his heartbeat.

  Lacing my hands around his neck, I raise myself to meet him, but it’s his expression that kills me. Weak, defeated, trying to convince himself that the best thing right now would be to just leave the room and give me space. But I don’t want him to go. Gently, I pull him down and press my lips against his.

  How? How did I manage to wait so long for this? What was I afraid of? This is Bram, the same boy who rode his bike to my house every day for seven years. Who sat with me without a word the night I left and watched my tears fall. Who held me and told me he would miss me, promised me everything would be all right.

  I pull away from him. “I’m sorry.”

  Deep, airy breaths. “For what?”

  “For not telling you everything before.” I cry freely now. “It’s hard knowing who to trust. Your family hates me. Your friends hate me. Feels like the whole town hates me. I just want to feel safe.”

  “You talk like someone’s after you.”

  “There will be soon.” I have too many important possessions.

  “Well, you’re fine. You’re with me. You’re safe.”

  “No, Bram. Something’s happening. First the dreams, then voices, now visions. I wanted to tell you all about it, but when I left, you stopped talking to me. I figured you took their side. How do I know you won’t do it again?”

  “I was a stupid kid. Let’s forget about it. We can make it work.” He brushes my hair away from my face, swipes his thumb across my lips. “You’re battling something fierce. I don’t know what it is, but I’m here. We’re all here.”

  I know I’m giving up what little control I have left by opening up to him, but if a ghost woman wants to send me cryptic messages via dreams, and my mother wants to materialize as
mist and voices in my head, if people around town are really accusing my dead mother of stealing important documents, and if I am losing my mind, there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it anyway.

  “Who’s we, Bram?”

  He nods toward Coconut sleeping at the foot of the bed. “The fur ball, me, you? Who else do you need?”

  “My mother,” I say to my own surprise. “My mother. She had things to tell me, and I didn’t want to hear them. I wasn’t here to hear them. Now she’s gone, and I’m ready to listen. That’s nuts, isn’t it?”

  “You didn’t know any better. We’ll figure it out. But you have to talk to me.”

  My sobs catch in my throat. How can he be so understanding? And what’s wrong with me for mistrusting him? It’s hard to judge his intentions with his face so close to mine, his lips parted and aching for another kiss. I rise up to kiss him again, but he pulls back.

  “I have to tell you, though, if you keep doing that, there’s no way you’re safe with me. Not crying, kissing me, wearing that…” He takes in the sight of me in a thin T-shirt and no bra. “You’re making me crazy.” He lies down, his warm body stretching alongside mine. His mouth takes in my neck, jawline, lips. There won’t be any more talking. I reach over and pull up the flannel sheet, enclosing us in a tight, warm space.

  This is how things should be. Normal, not piecing together bits of my troubled past. Not warding off ghosts. No more voices, either. I close my eyes, my mind, focusing only on myself and Bram’s arms around me. So by the time we’ve fallen asleep tangled in each other’s arms, layers and years of doubt and mistrust lifted off of us, there’s nothing left to stop us.

  ...

  In the morning, he kisses my cheek, slips out of bed, and the warmth between us is replaced by cold air from the windows. The memor few hours before lingers fresh in my mind. But thoughts of the ghost woman come barreling into my brain, too. Her pleading eyes. What proof does she expect me to find? I pull her photo from the night table drawer and look at it again.

  Bram returns from the bathroom fully dressed, ready in his Ye Olde Coffee Shoppe polo and jacket. “I need to go put in a few hours.” He sits on the edge of the bed and plays with my hair. “After work, we’re meeting to finalize the activity schedule. Want to come? It might help get your mind off stuff.”

  I can’t stop staring at the photo. “I would, but I have to keep researching.”

  You sound like me now, I hear my mother’s soft laugh from somewhere.

  I remember my promise to include him in everything from now on. “My mom left me photos, a family tree…I’ll show it to you when you get back. And this.” I turn around the photo of my nightly visitor to face him.

  Bram’s eyes narrow at the picture. “That’s her?”

  I nod. “Yes, from my dreams and the field. I think she used to appear to my mom, too, and my grandfather before her. Do you think people can become psychic later in life, or do you think you have to have it from birth?”

  Bram doesn’t answer. He cocks his head. “Are you sure that’s her?”

  I flip the photo back around. Yes, those are definitely the same dark eyes, the same pleading look of urgency that started the night after Mami died. “Why?”

  “You didn’t see it in our Lit book?” He grabs the photo for a closer look, and a puff of air escapes his lips. He lets the photo flutter onto the bed. “That’s Mary Shelley.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “To have taken the field openly against his rival would have been madness…”

  It’s freezing and windy when I arrive at the college campus. After Bram left for work, I verified what Mary Shelley looked like on a few websites, then emailed Dane to ask if he could meet me. He suggested the college courtyard at noon, since not too many people would be there on a Sunday.

  Nervously, I wait behind a giant oak tree.

  It may be Sunday, but there’s plenty of students here, reading and lazing about. Even my school’s color guard is practicing on the football field. I honestly don’t want people around when I tell him about the evidence I have. This morning, it hit me just how much I’m in possession of secret information and I would much prefer to meet in an isolated area.

  I’m about to email Dane from my phone to ask if we can meet somewhere else when I spot his tall form emerging from the parking lot, keys hanging from his jeans’ belt loop. My pulse quickens. Am I really going to tell him about my mom’s confidential papers? I have to. This is his area of expertise.

  He stops in front of me, blowing out a chilly breath. “Hi. You okay?”

  “Not really.” I cling to my backpack straps tightly. “Where can we go?”

  “What about the lake?”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Over here. It’s quieter. Where did all these people come from?” He looks around, leading me as he walks.

  I keep up with his long strides, trying to control my breathing. We stroll down a sidewalk between two glass buildings, and for one split second, I note how nice we look together. But just as quickly, I shake the thought from my brain. I kissed Bram last night.

  “You want something to eat?” He points out a sandwich cart by the lake.

  “No, thanks. Actually, maybe just coffee.” Something to ward off the cold. Dane orders a panini with two coffees. I try to pay, but he pulls out his wallet and hands the lady cash. “Thank you. You didn’t need to do that.”

  “You’re welcome. How does this look to you?” He points to an iron bench by the water. We make our way over and sit down. “So tell me what’s up.” He takes a cautious sip of his hot coffee.

  I let out a slow breath, holding tight to my warm paper cup. “Every time I think things can’t get more complicated, they do. I learned a thing or two over the last week, and…I need to know what you think about it.”

  “About?”

  “The Washington Irving–Mary Shelley hookup you mentioned.”

  He smiles. “You liked that, huh? I thought that was interesting, too.”

  How can I find out more without giving him too much of my own personal information? Delicately. “You know my mom passed away. You told me you knew why her house was for sale.”

  Dane stares back at the lake. “Yes, and again, I’m very sorry to hear that. You know, my father passed away suddenly, too. Three years ago. I hadn’t spoken to him in a few years, either, so I know what you’re going through.”

  I don’t think I ever told him that my mom and I weren’t on speaking terms, but by now, it doesn’t surprise me. Small town. Everyone talks. “I’m sorry to hear that, too,” I tell him. “Do you ever think about how things might’ve turned out differently had you stayed in contact with him?”

  “Every day,” he says, his mouth turning into a hard line. “Not a day goes by when I don’t. But tell me about what you’ve learned.” He focuses on me and bites into his sandwich.

  “Okay…so my mom left me some papers…” I hesitate. Whatever I say, I can’t un-say, so I should probably think this through carefully.

  He squints. “Papers?”

  “How can I put this?” I play with my coffee cup, spinning it a quarter turn at a time over my lap. “I have some evidence that might support your theory.” I watch him sip his coffee, then set it down. I expected at least raised eyebrows from him or any other clue of interest, but he’s so calm.

  He leans forward. “What kind of evidence?”

  “A photocopied page from a journal. It doesn’t mention Mary Shelley, but I think there has to be more.”

  “There might be. The page you’re talking about is from a private, longer journal of Irving’s. Supposedly, it fills in the gap in the timeline without ever actually mentioning Ms. Shelley.”

  “That’s the one you mentioned in class.”

  “Yes. I’ve seen it, too. Does it mention a double creation?”

  A flush fills my cheeks. So, it’s not that secret anymore?

  He continues without waiting for my answer. “Pretty much the who
le Historic Hudson group your mother worked for has seen it. It definitely has a lot of people talking.”

  “That’s only one of the papers. You know, it’s weird to hear you talk about my mother, like you knew her.” I suddenly hate how famous she’d become for all the wrong reasons.

  “People talk, Micaela.” He raises an eyebrow, letting that one sink right in. “And I believe you used to have a doll named Sofia, too, right? And a cat named Coco?” His gray-blue gaze pierces right through me. How did he know all that? My brain reels, but I will it to calm down. I have to keep reminding myself that in small towns, info gets around fast.

  A tingling iciness races through me as I remember the bank’s password. “Point taken.” Talk with enough people in this town, and anyone would learn those facts. If he knows them, so could Dr. Tanner or anyone my mother collaborated with. Is that why Doc Tanner was at South River Bank? To try his hand at the safe deposit box with my password? “What else do you know about my mother, the secret journal…anything. I want to know everything.”

  “Why? How will it help you?”

  “Because I deserve to know. I need to understand what happened to my mom,” I snap, staring at him. “I spent too long without her. I need to know what drove her, what she was doing with all that research. I need to know what was so important about it that she couldn’t move to Miami with me and my dad. There’s forces not letting me leave until I do.”

  “The ghosts you’ve been seeing?”

  My mother’s voice, the flash of white nightgown, Mary Shelley’s faceless spirit begging me for help, the snippets of voices and images flitting through my mind. Forces, telling me what to do. “Yes. I feel like I’m going to lose my mind, Dane. I just…I have to see this private journal at the Engers’ library. Can you help me? Don’t you get special privileges as a researcher?”

  He chuckles under his breath. “I wish it were that easy. Don’t you get special privileges as family of an Historic Hudson employee?”

  “No. They would never let me in anyway, now that everyone thinks my mom stole that journal. You saw how that lady, Janice, treated me at Sunnyside. I only just learned about it when Bram mentioned it and then I saw a flyer at the police station.”