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Past Midnight
Mara Purnhagen


Let me set the record straight. My name is Charlotte Silver and I'm not one of those paranormal-obsessed freaks you see on TV…no, those would be my parents, who have their own ghost-hunting reality show.And while I'm usually roped into the behind-the-scenes work, it turns out that I haven't gone unnoticed. Something happened on my parents' research trip in Charleston—and now I'm being stalked by some truly frightening other beings.Trying to fit into a new school and keeping my parents' creepy occupation a secret from my friends—and potential boyfriends—is hard enough without having angry spirits whispering in my ear.All I ever wanted was to be normal, but with ghosts of my past and present colliding, now I just want to make it out of high school alive…












I turned on the light to my room and gasped. My parents had all their equipment out—the ion meters and recorders and even the thermal camera. They brought the thermal along only if they felt confident that it would capture something on-screen. Something paranormal.

Dad set the thermal reader down on my bed. “It’s time we showed you something,” he said.

I couldn’t help feeling dread. Dad turned on a video screen. I immediately recognized the Courtyard Café in Charleston.

“Do you see those white shapes?” he asked.

I sucked in my breath. “What is it?”

Mom shook her head. “We’re not sure yet. But Charlotte, whatever they are, it appears they followed us home.”

“What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

Dad turned to me. “We think something powerful was triggered back in Charleston. We’re getting readings stronger than anything we’ve ever recorded.”

My legs felt shaky and I gripped the back of Dad’s chair. The still images on the screen stared back at me. “Do you know what caused it?” I asked. No one said anything. I looked at Mom. “What triggered it?”

“You did,” she said gently. “We think you’re the trigger.”




past midnight

mara purnhagen










ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


A sincere thank-you to my wonderful agent, Tina Wexler, and equally wonderful editor, Tara Parsons.

A round of applause to Ed Davis, Marguerite Demarse, Karen and Patrick Dulzer, Heather Foy, Kimm Gildea, John and Martha Lohrstorfer, Nancy McDaniel, Rita Owen and Kathy Payerchin.

A standing ovation to Robert Lettrick (Web site guru) and Kristi Purnhagen, who read the first draft.

And a special shout-out to my guys: Joe, Henry, Quinn and Elias, who keep me busy, make me proud and remind me that I am never alone.


Dedicated to four people who have always lived far from normal: Sayrah, Christine, John-Paul and Matthew




I know a lot about ghosts. More than the average person and way, way more than any other seventeen-year-old. Except for Jared and Avery, but most of what they know they learned from me this year, when things got crazy. I know a lot about things going crazy, too, thanks to my parents. They’re paranormal researchers, and let’s just say they like to bring their work home with them. And sometimes, their work follows them home.

For good.




Contents


Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven

Chapter twelve

Chapter thirteen

Chapter fourteen

Chapter fifteen

Chapter sixteen

Chapter seventeen

Chapter eighteen

Chapter nineteen

Chapter twenty

Chapter twenty-one

Chapter twenty-two




one


I was never normal, but I liked to pretend that I was. It usually took a few months before everyone else caught on. School would start out just fine, then Halloween would roll around, my parents would be all over the local news, and suddenly I would find myself exposed as Charlotte Silver, Princess of the Paranormal. I don’t know why I thought this year would be any different, but I did. And maybe it was different, but not in the way I had hoped. If anything, it was much, much worse.

We had spent the summer in Charleston, South Carolina. My parents were producing another one of their documentaries, this one called Haunted Hospitality. They spent their days researching old hotels and restaurants that claimed to have ghosts, while I relaxed at the beach and took walking tours of the city with my sister Annalise, who was a sophomore at the College of Charleston. She worked part-time at one of the supposedly haunted local restaurants during her summer break.

“The only spooky thing about the place is my boss,” she told me as we spread towels out on the sand. “He can get a little handsy, if you know what I mean.”

I didn’t, but I could guess. Annalise was strikingly beautiful with large hazel eyes and glossy black hair, just like our mom. Growing up, everyone talked about how she would become a model, but she was just over five feet tall, which is definitely a drawback in the modeling industry. Still, my parents had used her a few times for reenactments in their documentaries. Annalise would pull her hair into a bun, slip on a white Victorian dress and walk slowly in front of a green screen. When special effects were added later, she would appear as a transparent figure floating above the floor. She made a great ghost, which was ironic because in real life she was the one everyone seemed to notice while I was the one who slipped by, barely detected.

While Annalise resembled Mom, I took after Dad—tall and wiry, with dark hair that hung so straight it was infuriating. There wasn’t even the hint of a curl. I kept it just long enough to tuck behind my ears and secretly resented it when Annalise complained that her glossy locks were simply “too bouncy.”

During our third week in Charleston we decided to spend the morning at Waterfront Park. It was a warm Friday in June, the breezy air tinged with the sharp scent of seawater and the shrieks of gliding gulls. We walked along the pier searching for a place to sit and watch the boats. Tourists occupied all of the wide wooden bench swings that lined the dock, so we waited until a couple laden with cameras lumbered to their feet, then claimed the swing as our own. We sat back and rocked slowly, enjoying a clear view of the docked cruise ships and darting birds.

“This is nice,” I said, pushing down on my feet to sway the swing.

“Summers are the best,” Annalise murmured. She sounded drowsy. I felt tired, too, and worried that we might both fall asleep on the swing and wake up hours later, our arms bubbling red with sunburn.

“Maybe we should walk down to the beach.”

“Can’t. We have to meet Mom and Dad in less than an hour, and it’ll take that long to walk to the beach and back.”

I stopped swinging. “They didn’t say anything to me about filming a scene today.”

Annalise smiled. “They called me this morning. They need more chum.”

“Chum” was what we called anyone who was brought in specifically to draw out paranormal energy. Some people claimed that a ghost would appear only if a certain kind of person was present, such as a curious child or a pretty girl. I didn’t have to guess what kind of person my parents needed, and I felt a familiar twinge of jealousy. I was never asked to serve as ghost bait. Maybe I should have been grateful, but part of me wondered if it was because our parents didn’t think I was good-looking enough to attract the interest of some dead, disembodied guy. It was insulting, really. Of course, no one in my family truly believed in ghosts, but still. Before I could get myself too wound up, Annalise spoke.

“They said they needed you, too.”

“Really?” Maybe I had been wrong. Maybe my parents did see me as chum.

“Mom said the sound guy is sick. She needs your help.”

Of course. Need a beautiful girl to lure reluctant spirits from hiding? Call Annalise. Need a plain and reliable worker to pick up the slack? Call Charlotte. Or don’t even call—just tell Annalise to drag her along. After all, I couldn’t possibly have anything else to do on a summer afternoon. I shook my head.

“I’ve got to stop thinking like that,” I muttered.

“Huh?”

I sighed and rocked the swing harder. “Nothing.”

We sat a little while longer before strolling through the old section of town, our flip-flops slapping against the sidewalks. The air smelled like jasmine and felt cooler than it had been at the pier. Guys stopped to gawk at Annalise while I pretended not to notice. It was actually easy because there was so much to look at: the historic mansions, the moss-draped trees, the horse-drawn carriages pulling noisy tourists through the streets. I looked for black bolts on the outside of houses, the telltale sign that the structure had been damaged in the earthquake of 1886 but had survived. There was something amazing about those homes, I thought, that they had been strong enough to survive devastation and were still standing today. “It’s so beautiful here,” I sighed.

Annalise adjusted her bikini top. “Yeah? I forget. I guess I’m used to it, though.”

I didn’t think I would ever get used to living in a town like this, and I’d lived in a lot of places. Any time my parents received funding for one of their documentaries we picked up and moved, sometimes for just a few weeks. The place we had lived the longest was England, when I was four and Annalise was eight. Our parents spent a year researching ancient castles. I don’t remember much about the trip, but my parents liked to tell stories about how Annalise and I climbed up dark towers and napped in basement torture chambers. Not exactly a typical childhood. Of course, we didn’t have typical parents.

Mom and Dad met just after college. They’d both studied psychology at Ivy League schools and were attending a national conference when they bumped into each other—literally, Mom claims—outside a lecture about parapsychology. Neither one believed in ghosts or hauntings or telepathy or anything else about the field, but they were interested in one aspect: disproving it. Within a year, they’d married and had set about debunking some of the world’s most famous ghost stories, from wailing women in hotel hallways to confused Civil War soldiers roaming empty fields. They cowrote a book, Ghost of a Chance, explaining the scientific causes of most “hauntings.” Their careers took off, and soon they were being recognized as the world’s foremost ghost debunkers. Then, when my mother was three months pregnant with me, something happened.

They were filming one of their documentaries inside an abandoned insane asylum. Dad was repositioning a camera when he felt something brush past his leg. When he looked down, he didn’t see anything, but later, when he checked the tape on his thermal camera, it showed a small figure, about three feet tall, sliding past him. When Dad checked the sound readings and matched them to the exact time he felt something against his leg, a clear voice could be heard saying, “Pardon me.”

I guess everything changed after that. It was the one thing my parents couldn’t explain. Dad became obsessed with EVPs, or Electronic Voice Phenomena. They’re sounds that are too low for a person to hear but can be picked up by recording devices. He found natural causes for some of them, like local radio interference, and proved many to be hoaxes, but he could never fully explain what had happened to him at the asylum that day.

Dad once told me that the trick is not to prove something is real, but to prove that it is not real. My parents spent their lives trying to prove things were not real, and for the most part, they were successful. Very successful, judging by their book sales and TV deals. But I wondered sometimes if what they really wanted was to believe beyond a doubt, to have a clear and absolute answer to the question of what happens after a person dies. Personally, I didn’t think I wanted to know because there was nothing you could do to change it, but I could understand how the question consumed people.

By the time Annalise and I found the restaurant our parents were investigating, I was starving and my forehead felt slick with sweat. All I wanted was some lunch and a blast of air-conditioning. When I opened the door to the Courtyard Café, I instantly knew I’d get neither.

Inside the restaurant it was dark and stuffy. A few ceiling fans churned the thick air slowly, creating only a hot breeze. All the tables had been pushed against one wall, with the chairs stacked at the other end. I knew most of the crew and guessed the rest of the crowd consisted of employees waiting for something to happen.

“Girls! Thank goodness you’re here.” Mom rushed toward us. She was wearing her work clothes: a pair of khaki pants and a black T-shirt. “We’re way behind schedule,” Mom said to Annalise. “The owner is getting frustrated and we’ve had absolutely no readings today.” Mom lowered her voice and nodded in the direction of a dark-haired woman standing in the corner. She was wearing a long apron with “Mrs. Paul” stitched across the front. “She claims this place has a green lady.” Mom smirked. “Right.”

Mom didn’t believe in apparitions of any kind. She said people thought they saw something, and their brains tried to connect it to the familiar, and that in twenty years of research she’d never once confirmed an actual, stereotypical ghost.

Annalise smiled. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

“Me, too,” I chimed in. “Could I just grab some lunch first?”

Mom glanced at me. “No time. We’ll go out to dinner later, though, okay? Great. You know where the sound equipment is, hon.”

I trudged away to locate the boom mic while Annalise pulled a black T-shirt over her bikini top and got ready to serve as the day’s chum. Everyone on the team wore a black shirt because it made it easier for the cameras to pick up light around a person. I was wearing a white cover-up over my bathing suit, but it didn’t matter too much—the sound person always stood behind everyone else.

Dad came into the room and clapped his hands together. “Attention, please!” he said. “We’re going to be moving into the next room. We’ll set up and start rolling.”

He saw me across the room and waved. I tried to wave back, but I was holding the boom mic and accidentally knocked Shane, our main camera guy, on the head.

“Watch it,” he snapped, but when he saw it was me, he smiled. “Oh, hey, kid. Filling in?”

“Unfortunately.” I sighed.

Shane had been with us for so long we considered him to be family. He was thirty, stocky and a devoted fan of low-budget horror movies. He was trying to film his own slasher flick when he met my parents, who promised him a steady paycheck and strange adventures, so he stayed with us instead of running off to Hollywood. Shane was the only crew member who had been with us since the beginning. Most people stayed with us for a project or two, then settled down somewhere like normal people. Shane was like us—definitely not normal.

We all moved as one slow, sweaty herd into the adjoining room. As in the front room, all the tables and chairs had been stacked against the walls and the drapes had been pulled shut to make it darker. It took a second for me to register, but the room was much cooler than the first one. In fact, it was downright cold. Within minutes I had goosebumps.

“Do you have a sweatshirt I could borrow?” I whispered to Annalise.

She gave me a funny look. “There’s one in my beach bag.” She went to the corner of the room and came back holding a pink sweater. “Try this. It’s long on me, so it just might fit you.”

I carefully set the heavy equipment down and pulled on the sweater. It was a little short but it fit, and I began to feel slightly warmer.

Dad asked everyone to quiet down and get ready. Then he had Annalise stand in the middle of the room. After checking all the cameras twice, he gave her the signal to start talking.

“Hello,” she said. Her voice was confident and friendly, as if she was simply introducing herself at a crowded party. “My name is Annalise and I’m wondering if anyone is here with us today.”

One camera focused on Annalise while one stayed on my parents and the rest of the team. They held up their heat-sensing monitors and EMF (Electro Magnetic Field) readers while I positioned the microphone above their heads.

“Okay, we’re getting something,” Mom said. “It’s faint, but it definitely wasn’t here last night.”

I felt my nose begin to tickle and knew a sneeze was coming on. I tried to hold my breath.

“Keep talking,” Dad instructed. “I think it’s working.”

Annalise kept up her conversational tone, asking simple questions and then waiting a moment as if she expected an answer. My sneeze was building, I could feel it. I tried not to, but just as Annalise asked again if anyone was present, it happened. I sneezed so loudly that half the team jumped, startled, and the sound echoed off the walls. Dad shot me a disapproving look while a few people tried not to giggle.

“Sorry,” I said, loud enough for the entire room to hear. “My bad.”

“Charlotte, please, if you could just—” Mom was cut off by sudden activity on all the readers. “Wait a minute. We’re getting something.”

I could see the lights of the equipment dancing wildly. It was rare to get so much activity so quickly. My parents were smiling and everyone seemed excited.

Everyone but Annalise.

“Um, guys? Something feels weird.” She looked around the room and grimaced.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” Mom asked.

“I don’t know, but something’s not right.”

“Just a few more minutes, okay?”

I was watching my parents so I knew where to position the mic, but I was also keeping an eye on Annalise. Her open, casual demeanor was gone, and her patient smile had been replaced with a slight trembling, as if she was cold and scared at the same time. I had never seen her frightened before. In fact, I’d never seen anyone in my family scared. We were all rational, logical people who knew that a simple scientific reason was waiting to be discovered behind nearly everything. Something was causing massive activity in the room, but my parents would figure out what it was once they had collected all their data. Annalise had done this enough times to know that. But she was obviously freaked out. She shook her head and looked down.

“Please? I want to leave.”

Dad was gazing at his EMF reader. “One more minute, hon.”

Annalise swallowed. “I can’t. I can’t stay here one more minute. I’m done.”

Mom and Dad exchanged a glance. “Sure, of course. You can go. We’ve got enough,” Dad said, but he furrowed his brow. I knew he wanted as much recording time as he could get.

Mom walked over to me. “Go with her,” she whispered. “I can take the mic.”

I followed Annalise into the main dining area. She sat on the floor and covered her face with her hands. I sat next to her.

“You okay?”

She shook her head. “It was so strange, Charlotte,” she whispered. “I mean, I was fine, and then suddenly I felt so—so sad.”

I rubbed her shoulder. “How do you feel now?”

She sniffed and looked up. Her eyes were slightly red. “Better, actually.” She looked at me. “The second I left that room I felt a little better. I have goosebumps, though.”

I pulled off the pink sweater she’d let me borrow. “Here. I stretched it out for you.”

She laughed. “Thanks.” She looked past me, toward the other room. “Did you feel anything? I mean, besides that you were cold?”

“No. And the cold I felt, well, that was just the room.”

Annalise frowned. “But the room was warm. Hot, actually.”

I thought my sister was out of sorts and I didn’t want to disagree with her about temperature. We both knew that feeling cold was often a sign of paranormal energy, but we also knew that sometimes it was just that—cold. People often read too much into it.

Within a few minutes the team finished up, and we all helped put the tables and chairs back the way they had been, thanked Mrs. Paul for her time and headed out for a late lunch. Annalise remained quiet for most of the afternoon, and I tried to reassure her that everything was fine.

“Just think,” I said. “You’ll never have to step foot inside that place again.”

I didn’t know it then, but I was dead wrong.




two


It’s all about energy. That’s what my parents say, at least. The theory that drives them, the single idea that makes their career possible, is that ghosts do not exist but energy does. The way Dad explained it to me when I was little is still the way I like to imagine it. I had been having a hard time sleeping in the house we were renting at the time because I could hear footsteps pacing outside my door. Dad came in and sat on my bed.

“Think of time as an ocean,” he said, smoothing my hair. “And think of yourself as a small stone tossed into that ocean. What happens when you throw a stone into water?”

“It sinks?” I wanted Dad to stay as long as possible so I wouldn’t have to listen to the footsteps alone.

“Well, yes. But it also creates tiny ripples on the surface, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Dad’s theory was that some people created greater ripples than others. Their energy, he said, echoed long after they’d died. At first, he believed that only strong or intense emotions lingered, which was why places where a death had occurred seemed haunted. But then Mom discovered something that changed his mind.

Mom met Edith, a woman who lived down the street. Edith claimed that an evil spirit was trying to force her out of her home. “It grabs my feet at night,” she said. “It tries to pull me out of my bed.”

Edith was nearly hysterical. She’d been living in the house for only a few months and she didn’t want to move, but the paranormal activity occurred every week, and she couldn’t take much more. My parents investigated and noticed some strange readings in the master bedroom. While Dad spent a week at the house, Mom contacted the former owners, who had lived there for over thirty years before retiring to Florida. They’d never had a problem with anything strange, they said. Their daughter, now in her forties, still lived in town, and Mom invited her to the house one day.

“I loved this place,” the woman said. “My family was so happy here.”

Mom didn’t tell the woman what had been happening, only that she was researching the history of the house. When they walked into the master bedroom, the woman told Mom how she used to wake up her parents every Sunday morning by running into their room.

“I’d grab their feet,” she said. “I’d try to pull them out of bed so they’d get up and make me pancakes.”

The revelation changed the way my parents looked at their research. They’d been working under the assumption that only people who died left behind energy, usually after a single powerful event. Now they realized that perhaps simple repetition could also leave an imprint. It explained doors opening, or the sound of footsteps. Their new goal was to determine what triggered such energy. Why didn’t Edith feel the pull at her feet every single night or only on Sundays? They never figured it out completely, but they did introduce Edith to the woman and explained the story and their theory. The solution was actually easy: Edith moved her bed, and the tugging stopped. My parents reasoned that the trigger was the position of the bed because Edith had placed it in exactly the same spot as the previous owners.

“The truth is that the paranormal is normal. It’s just a normal we don’t understand yet,” Dad liked to say.

I thought about Edith’s story as my parents continued to investigate Charleston. They would spend a week at a place, filming in both the daytime and at night to get the best possible results. They tried to coax Annalise into returning to the Courtyard Café, but she refused. Mom and Dad backed off, but I knew they were just waiting, hoping that she would change her mind before the end of the summer.

Annalise and I spent the next few weeks of our vacation going to the beach or taking walking tours of the historic downtown. She didn’t talk about what had happened and I didn’t ask. I hated to see her so quiet, though. She wasn’t simply my sister—she was my friend. We’d spent our lives moving from place to place and, besides my parents and Shane, Annalise was the only truly constant person in my life. Despite the fact that I sometimes felt overshadowed by her beauty and the attention she received, I was closer to her than anyone. I had missed her terribly when she left for school, and I knew I would miss her even more after the summer ended and we moved to our next destination while she began her junior year of college.

“Where are you guys going after this?” she asked me one afternoon. We’d stopped at a little park to enjoy a picnic lunch. I was sitting against the trunk of a huge tree, eating pasta salad out of a paper bowl. Annalise was sitting cross-legged in the grass and poking at a Cobb salad with her plastic fork.

“No idea. They’d better figure it out soon, though. I need to register for school.”

“You’ll be a senior,” Annalise said softly. “Wow. That’s kind of hard to imagine.” She fastened a foil lid on her bowl and set it inside the beach bag we’d brought. “How many high schools have you been to?”

I did a quick calculation. “Five? No—six. I guess Florida doesn’t really count, though, because I was only there for a few weeks.”

Annalise shook her head. “You know, it’s not fair. To you, I mean. You should be able to stay in one place for more than a single semester.”

I sighed. “That would be nice.”

I had learned how to leave a place behind without leaving a piece of myself along with it, but more important, I had taught myself how to be detached. I never joined teams or clubs, and I doubted my picture appeared in a single yearbook. I was, in a way, a ghost: no one could prove I had ever existed once I physically left a location.

“You should say something,” Annalise said. “I mean, aren’t you tired of Mom and Dad dictating your life?”

“Why didn’t you ever say something? You’ve been to more schools than I have.”

“Honestly? It never even occurred to me that I had a choice.”

“But you think I do?” I wasn’t sure what my sister thought I could accomplish. Did she want me to pick a fight with our parents? Did she want all of us to move permanently to Charleston?

“I think that if we approached them together, we could change things.”

“Change what things?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to join Annalise’s revolution. Things were fine. Not perfect, but fine. I could live with that.

“It’s time we had a voice,” Annalise said. “Whatever Mom and Dad want, they get. If they want to move across the country, they do. If they want you to stand in the middle of a room and allow negative energy to hurt you…” She didn’t finish her sentence.

“What really happened?” I finally asked. She was plucking grass from the ground.

“I don’t know, Charlotte. I really don’t. But I don’t want to feel that way ever again.”

“What way?”

“I just felt this sadness. This terrible, awful sadness, and it seemed to come from inside me and fill me up until I could hardly breathe.”

I watched my sister for a while. She was staring at the grass, slowly running her fingers over it. I wanted to help her get over the experience, and there was only one way I knew how to do that.

“You have to go back,” I said.

“I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“If you don’t face it—whatever it is—it’ll bother you. And you can’t escape it, exactly, because you live here now. What if your friends decide to go to the Courtyard Café for lunch one day? You can’t avoid this. Not forever.”

“I know,” Annalise said softly.

“We can go in the daytime, with the entire crew and everything, so you won’t be alone.”

“That didn’t help me before.”

“I’ll be with you, too. I’ll stand right next to you and I won’t leave no matter what.”

“I know you won’t, Charlotte. But you didn’t feel what I did. You’re not afraid because you don’t think anything’s really going to happen.”

She had me there. Annalise was the sensitive one in the family, a sponge soaking up other people’s emotions. I was more like a slab of concrete. I believed she’d felt something, but I didn’t think it was anything more than random energy. If she went back, maybe she’d realize that and she could stop feeling so frightened.

We sat in silence for a few more minutes. I knew she was coming to a decision and that I shouldn’t push her. I looked around at the park where we were sitting and realized that we were just a block from the Courtyard Café. Horse-drawn carriages clopped steadily down the road while happy tourists snapped pictures and peered into the windows of specialty shops. Everything in Charleston felt so old, as if it was stained with history. I rested my head against the tree and wondered how long it had stood there. More than a century, I guessed. Its trunk was huge, and its thick branches curled up toward the sky.

Finally, Annalise looked at me. “You really think I should do this?”

“I do.”

She stood up. “Okay, then. Let’s get it over with.”

Our parents were thrilled that Annalise had reconsidered, but revisiting the café proved to be difficult. Mrs. Paul, the restaurant’s owner, had seen a surge in customers after my parents appeared on the local news and proclaimed the Courtyard Café “one of the most haunted locations in the city.” We had to schedule a time when business was likely to be slower so we could close off the side room and not affect the dinner rush.

Two weeks later, right after the Fourth of July, we returned. Our visit was supposed to be short—less than an hour, Mrs. Paul declared—and we couldn’t move any of the furniture. Dad grumbled that they’d done a lot for the business and this wasn’t the way to be thanked, but Annalise was relieved—no matter what, the whole thing would be over and done with soon.

“Ready?” I asked her. We were sitting at a small table in the main room as the crew set up their equipment.

Annalise nodded. “Yeah. I mean, you can’t ever be ready when you don’t know what’s about to happen, but I’m as ready as I can be.”

We were wearing black T-shirts and khaki pants like everyone else. I’d grabbed my sister’s pink sweater as we were heading out, just in case she got cold, and tied it around my waist as we walked into the side room. Both cameras were focused on us as Annalise and I weaved around the tables and made our way to the center of the room. I took hold of my sister’s hand and squeezed. She smiled at me then began to speak out loud.

“Hello. My name is Annalise and I’d like to know if anyone is here with us today? If there’s someone here, could you give us a sign?”

The room began to feel cooler to me, and I almost let go of my sister’s hand so I could put on the sweater, but she was holding on to me tightly and I didn’t want to pull away from her.

“How are the readings?” Mom whispered to someone.

“Normal so far.”

“Keep talking,” Dad directed.

Annalise took a deep breath. “Hello? Do you remember me? I was here a few weeks ago. I felt—something. Was it you? Is someone here?”

Nothing happened. Twenty minutes passed, and all the readings remained the same. I could tell my sister was feeling calmer because she began to loosen her grip on my hand. Maybe she thought her first encounter had been a fluke, a surge of energy that had nothing to do with her presence.

“See?” I whispered. “This isn’t so bad.”

I felt an icy breeze against my cheek and wondered if the air-conditioning had kicked on. I let go of Annalise and quickly slipped her sweater over my head.

“Charlotte.” Annalise’s voice was strained. “It’s happening again.”

“We’re getting something!” Dad announced.

I grabbed my sister’s hand. “I’m right here,” I said. “Not going anywhere.” Annalise nodded, but her face was frozen with panic. I decided to do the talking for her.

“Whoever you are, we mean no harm,” I said loudly. “What do you want?”

I paused. Mom was holding a digital recorder to catch EVPs, and she nodded at me. I asked a few more questions, but as I did I was aware of two things. First, my sister looked pale and her hand was shaking. Second, something felt weird to me, as if the air had gotten heavier or somehow thicker. I didn’t see anything strange, but I felt absolutely certain something was standing in front of us. It seemed to move closer, and I could feel a breath of frozen air against my cheek. Annalise whimpered.

“That’s it,” I declared. “We’re done.”

I pulled my sister with me, guiding her around the tables and chairs and various crew members. I didn’t stop until we were standing on the front porch of the restaurant, where the frozen feeling from inside instantly melted away in the muggy evening air.

Annalise slumped onto the porch steps and immediately began to cry. “Did you feel it, too?” she asked. “Did you feel how awful it was?”

“I felt something,” I admitted. “But it wasn’t horrible. It was just—unusual, I guess.”

Our parents came outside, and I was surprised to see that they were both smiling. “Great job, girls,” Dad said. “I can’t wait to listen to the EVPs from this one.”

“The ion meter was all over the place,” Mom added. “Highest numbers we’ve had so far.”

“How wonderful for you,” Annalise said bitterly.

Dad looked confused. “Are you okay?”

Annalise stood up. “No, I am not okay,” she said, her voice loud. “You dragged me into something terrible and you don’t even care. Well, I’m through. I’m never doing this again! Ever!” She stormed off before my parents could respond.

“What on earth was that all about?” Mom asked me.

I didn’t have an answer. I’d never seen my sister react so furiously to one of my parents’ sessions. I didn’t know what was happening, but I had the uneasy sense that whatever it was had just begun.




three


When I was eight, we lived in a house where you could hear the steady squeaking of a rocking chair nearly every night, even though we didn’t own a rocking chair. When I was ten, we lived in a house where the TV changed channels on its own so often that it was useless to sit down to try and watch something. And when I was thirteen, we lived in a house where you could hear violin music drifting up like smoke from the empty basement. I lived in all these places, and none of them truly scared me, although it could feel creepy at times. I would get ready to take a shower and then pause, wondering if something was watching me undress.

Mom and Dad were drawn to these places. The older, the better, and they often rented a house without having ever stepped inside. And although they constantly reassured us that it was all just random energy and nothing that could really hurt us, my sister and I longed for a new house, something completely devoid of history or rumors or sudden, unexplained deaths.

That’s why, when Dad pulled the moving van into the driveway of 1227 Copper Court that August, I had to restrain myself from yelling with joy. It was everything I’d always wanted in a house, right down to the beige aluminum siding.

“We’re home.” Mom sighed. She was less than thrilled and had spent the two-hour drive from Charleston reminiscing about all of the other places we’d lived and how none of them had been less than a hundred years old. I’d spent the drive trying to tune out her stories and take a nap. I must have slept for a little while because I remembered dreaming about a dark-haired girl reading a book. She was wearing a long, old-fashioned dress as she sat against a tree, and I had the distinct impression that it was the same tree where Annalise and I had eaten lunch a month before. It was just a brief vision, but the image of the girl slowly turning the pages of her book stayed in my head until we arrived at our new house.

Both Mom and Dad sat in the van staring at the place we’d call home for the next ten months. It was so new the front yard hadn’t been seeded yet. We’d be the first people to live in it. That thought alone made me smile.

“Who’s got the keys?” I asked from the backseat. I couldn’t wait to look around and claim my bedroom.

I nearly skipped to the front door while my parents slowly followed. Dad tossed me the keys and I stepped inside. Sunlight poured in from the bare windows.

“Smells like new carpet,” I said happily.

“Smells like cheap carpet,” Dad grumbled behind me.

Mom looked around at the taupe walls and white trim and brown doors. “This place has absolutely no personality,” she announced. “I bet the interior of every house on this street looks exactly the same.”

“That would make sense,” Dad said. “All of the exteriors look exactly the same.”

I wasn’t going to allow their sour mood to affect my jubilant one. I ran upstairs, peeking into each of the three bedrooms until I decided on a room overlooking the backyard. It was smaller than the master, but it had more windows and a decent closet. I sat on the pristine carpet, leaned back on my arms and closed my eyes. This would be my room for at least one full school year. I couldn’t believe my luck—or Annalise’s ultimatum.

After her second experience at the Courtyard Café, Annalise retreated to her campus apartment and refused to speak to our parents for a few days. They seemed upset by her reaction, but they were too busy examining video footage and planning their next investigation to really do anything about it. They weren’t prepared when Annalise showed up at their hotel room demanding a family meeting.

“Family meetings” were rare for us. Usually it meant my parents were going to announce the next city we’d be living in. My dad tried to take control right away.

“I know we need to discuss certain things,” he began, “but I’d like to set a few ground rules first.”

Annalise stopped him. “I have only one ground rule. You need to listen to me without interrupting for five minutes. Then you can say whatever you want.”

My sister had never been so assertive. She meant business, and my parents knew it. They nodded and Annalise took a deep breath. She told them that she had always participated in their projects enthusiastically, but she would no longer do so unless they agreed to a few new conditions.

“What kind of conditions?” Mom asked warily.

Annalise reminded her of the five-minute rule, and Mom pretended to zip her mouth shut and throw away the key.

“First, I’m taking a year off from helping with any of your research.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dad stiffen. I had overheard enough conversations during the past few days to know that he wanted to focus completely on the findings from the Courtyard Café, which had produced readings beyond their expectations. Instead of compiling all of the Charleston locations into one television special, he planned to dedicate a full hour just to the restaurant—and Annalise. He wanted to go back, and he needed her to go with him.

“Second, I will return to that place only in my own time, when I feel that I’m ready.” Annalise looked directly at Dad when she said this. He sighed.

“Third, I want the three of you to stay in one place this year. Same town, same house, same school for Charlotte.”

I don’t know who was more surprised by the third condition: me or my parents. Annalise and I hadn’t discussed “changing things” since our conversation in Charleston, which I thought was merely my sister venting. I honestly didn’t think she would take action.

Before anyone could respond to her request, Annalise held up her hand.

“I know that may sound strange. But I have my reasons, if you’ll just hear me out.”

She went on to explain that college had proved to her how important it was to have some stability in her life. She had loved traveling when we were kids, but part of her always wanted to stay in one place longer, to make friends and join teams and just generally be a part of something.

“You were part of something,” Dad protested. “You were a part of our crew.”

“Are you saying we’ve been terrible parents?” asked Mom, her brow furrowed with worry.

“I’m saying that I want Charlotte to have a chance at something a little more normal.” She smiled at me. “And no, I don’t think you’re terrible parents.”

Mom and Dad were obviously perplexed. Dad said he had always thought traveling was the best education you could get.

Mom turned to me. “Is this what you want, Charlotte? Are you unhappy?”

It was strange how quickly the conversation had turned. I fidgeted nervously.

“It would be really nice if we could stay somewhere for a year,” I said. “I think I’d like that.”

Over the next few days, my parents seemed to forget about their research as they tried to come up with a plan that would make us all happy. They found a small town about two hours north of Charleston with a good school system. They planned trips to nearby cities with locations they could easily drive to. All that was left was to buy a house. That’s when I stepped in.

“I have one condition of my own,” I told them. They were looking up homes for sale online, and every picture on the screen showed some kind of dark Victorian. They weren’t thrilled when I told them I wanted to live in a new house, but in the end, they agreed.

“We’re doing this for you,” Dad said with a shrug. “Might as well go all the way.”

Mom smiled. “We’re doing this for all of us,” she said, touching Dad’s hand. “We want everyone on our team to be happy.”

That was how I ended up sitting on the clean, brand-new floor of my clean, brand-new bedroom at the beginning of August. I was enjoying the empty space and the sun on my face when Mom came upstairs.

“I see you’ve claimed a room,” she said, sitting down next to me.

“Isn’t it perfect?” I asked. “I’ve always wanted something like this.”

“Well, I’m glad. This house may not have much personality, but it certainly has a lot of light.”

“I could sunbathe right here,” I joked.

Mom patted my knee. “Enjoy. Then come downstairs. We have a lot of unpacking to do.”

I groaned. Unpacking was the worst part about moving, especially since my parents always insisted we do it ourselves. They didn’t trust anyone with their expensive equipment. Instead of putting it off, I decided to get the hard labor over with and followed Mom downstairs. Outside, Dad was surveying the open back of the moving truck.

“Do we have more stuff than before, or does it just seem that way?” he asked.

“Just seems that way,” I said. “Hand me a box.”

Over the next few hours I made a thousand trips up and down the stairs. My legs were feeling sore and I was ready for a break. I was happy, though, that my room now held a bed and a dresser, as well as a dozen different cardboard boxes marked with my name. I noticed one of the boxes was smaller than the others and was labeled in my sister’s handwriting. I knelt down next to it and peeled off the thin brown packing tape. On top of everything was a single sheet of notebook paper.

Dear Charlotte,

I hope you’re having fun settling into the new house (ha ha—I know how much you love to unpack). I just wanted to let you know how great it was to spend the summer with you. I’ve enclosed some things I thought you might need this year. Have a great time at school, and see you soon!

Love, Annalise.

I folded the note in half and smiled. It had been difficult leaving Annalise behind in Charleston. I had given her a wordless hug before getting into the car, but I refused to look out the window as she waved us off. Even though this would be her second year away at college, I still had not gotten used to the emptiness that came with her absence from my daily life. And now, after having spent the summer with her, I knew it would take me a while to readjust.

I sifted through the box and found a new alarm clock, some notebooks, a pack of multicolored pens and, at the very bottom, Annalise’s pink sweater. I lifted it out and held it for a moment.

“Charlotte! We need your help!” Mom called from downstairs.

“Coming!” I yelled back.

“Charlotte.”

I spun around. It sounded like Mom had whispered my name from right behind me, but no one was there.

“I need something to eat,” I mumbled. My stomach was obviously impairing my brain. I set Annalise’s sweater on top of the nearest box.

“There’s no residual energy in a new house,” I said out loud. I waited, as if I might get a response. Nothing. I turned and went downstairs.

“Oh, good.” Mom motioned me over to the truck. “I don’t need to remind you to be careful with this,” she said as she gingerly placed a TV monitor in my arms.

“Living room?” I asked, drooping under the weight of the monitor.

“Next to the others,” Mom confirmed.

We never really had a living room in any of our houses. My parents converted the largest room of each home into their office, which meant pushing long tables against the walls and filling every square inch with equipment and computers. The dining room held the sofa and TV, and we ate our meals in the kitchen.

After all of the equipment had been safely stored in the living room/office, I returned to the truck, determined to get everything cleared out before dinner. As I was pulling out a floor lamp from the back of the truck, I spotted a girl about my age standing across the street. My first thought was to wonder how she had managed to put a guinea pig on a leash, but when I looked more closely I saw that she was walking a very tiny dog. She waved, so I set the lamp down on the sidewalk and crossed the empty street to say hi.

“Moving in?” she asked. Her microscopic dog began to bark wildly. It was more of a high-pitched squeak, a sound like something a rabid mouse would make.

“Yeah. Hi, I’m Charlotte.”

“I’m Avery. And this—” she motioned to her pet “—this is Dante. Shh, Dante.”

“What kind of dog is he?”

“A very naughty one. Dante!” She smiled at me apologetically. “He’s normally friendly. And quiet.” She scooped him up and cradled him in her arms. He stopped barking, but his eyes remained on me. I’d never seen a dog so protective of its owner.

“So, where are you moving from?” Avery asked. Her light brown hair was pulled into a ponytail and she wore a blue T-shirt with “Vikings” across the front.

“We just came from Charleston,” I said.

“Oh! I have friends who go to college down there.”

“My sister goes to school there! I wonder if she knows any of them?”

Avery nodded. “Maybe. It’s a small school.” She looked around. “Just like this is a small town. In fact, nearly half of last year’s senior class is going to Charleston.” She frowned as if she’d remembered something, then changed the subject.

We chatted for a while. She pointed out her house at the bottom of the hill and we talked about school, where we would both be seniors.

“Do you play any sports?” she asked.

“No. You?”

Avery pointed to her T-shirt. “I’m a cheerleader. Go Vikings.”

I smiled. “Is this a big sports town?”

“Kind of. Our football team’s good. They went to State last year. Although this year…” Her voice trailed off and she looked down at Dante, who was keeping up a low growl as he stared at me.

“So where’s the best place for pizza around here?” I asked, deciding to change the subject this time. “My parents said I could pick dinner tonight.”

“That’s easy. There’s this little place downtown called Giuseppe’s. Best pizza around, I swear.”

“Do they deliver?” After a long day of unpacking, I was craving a hot slice of pizza with pepperoni and extra cheese.

“No, but I’ll go with you to pick it up,” Avery offered. “I have a car.”

I was thrilled. Not only was Avery nice, but she lived right on my street and had her own car. If we became friends, we could drive to school together and I wouldn’t be forced to ride the dreaded bus. My parents owned two vehicles: a silver BMW that I wasn’t allowed to go near, and a large black van with the word “Doubt” painted across the side in tall silver letters. I couldn’t imagine pulling up to school in the van, so it was either catch a ride with someone or endure the school bus.

We agreed to meet an hour later. Dante squirmed in Avery’s arms as she walked home, growling and trying to get one final, fierce look at me.

“I don’t like that dog,” I muttered. As soon as I said it, I felt a sharp, cold breeze against my face. It lasted only half a second, but it was so intense I put a hand to my cheek. Then Dad hollered at me to get the lamp off the sidewalk and into the house.

“I met a girl from my new school,” I told him after I’d plugged the lamp into an outlet in the dining room. He was pushing a sofa against the wall. “We’re going to get pizza later.”

Mom came into the room carrying a fake fern. “You’ve made a friend already? That’s wonderful.”

I shrugged. “She’s not a friend yet. But we’ll both be seniors, so that’s something.”

“Bring me back a sausage, bacon and pepperoni,” Dad grunted.

“Three-pig pizza. Got it.”

Mom rolled her eyes. “I’ll take a vegetarian with extra mushrooms.”

I could hardly wait until Avery arrived. I went upstairs and took off my sweaty T-shirt, then debated for a while on what to wear. The sun was setting and my room was feeling cooler, so I decided to put on Annalise’s pink sweater. It wasn’t on the box where I’d left it, though. Instead, it had been folded and placed on my bed. I was annoyed that Mom had come in my room, even if it was just to fold a sweater. It was as if she was silently scolding me to keep things neat.

The doorbell rang and I bounded down the stairs. Mom got to the door first. “Hello, I’m Karen Silver,” she said, her voice sounding exactly as it did on her TV specials.

“Avery Macintosh. I live down the street.”

“We’ll be back in an hour,” I told Mom as I brushed past her.

“Have fun. Drive safe!”

I was embarrassed, but Avery nodded seriously. “I’m a very safe driver, Mrs. Silver. You don’t have to worry.”

Avery’s car was an adorable green Mini Cooper. “I love it!” I said. “Is it new?”

We got in. “It was a present for my sixteenth birthday, future graduation and next three Christmases combined.” Avery checked her rearview mirror, then looked over at me. “And I meant what I said—I’m a safe driver, so buckle up.” She said it with a smile, but I could tell she wasn’t joking around.

“Absolutely,” I said, clicking the belt into place.

The drive took longer than I thought it would. Avery seemed to take a lot of deserted back roads instead of the main street that led downtown, but I told myself that I just didn’t know the town or its shortcuts yet. When we finally arrived at Giuseppe’s, I was starving. We slid into a corner booth and ordered a large cheese and pepperoni, and I placed a carryout order for my parents.

I looked around. “This is a neat place.” It was tiny, with stone walls and arches that made it feel as if we were sitting inside a warm, well-lit cave. I breathed in the scent of garlic and a slightly woodsy aroma.

“They have an actual brick oven,” Avery said. “That’s what makes it so good. I come here all the time with people from school.”

“Are you ready for school?” I asked her.

“Not really. Schedules come out next week, and I’m hoping I made the yearbook staff.”

“I’m just hoping all my credits will transfer and I won’t get stuck taking gym.”

Avery sipped her drink. “So why’d you guys move here?”

I gave my standard response. “My parents’ jobs.”

The answer seemed to suffice, and Avery didn’t ask anything else about it. She talked about our school, Lincoln High, and which teachers to avoid. “Seriously, if you get Abrams for math, try to get your schedule changed. All he does is yell.”

Our pizza arrived and I was happy to discover that it was absolutely the best I’d ever had. “And I’ve been to Italy,” I told Avery, “so I know what I’m talking about.”

Avery put down her drink. “Really? That’s so exciting! When were you there?”

I immediately wished I hadn’t said anything. I didn’t want her to think I was bragging, and I certainly didn’t want my parents’ career to come up. “It was a few years ago. We went there on vacation.”

“I’ve always wanted to travel abroad,” Avery said. “My boyfriend went to Rome with his family last Christmas. He said it was amazing.”

“What’s your boyfriend’s name?”

“Adam. He was a senior last year.”

“So he’s away at college now?”

“He got into Michigan.”

I picked up my pizza. “That’s far. But you can see him when he comes home to visit at holidays and stuff, right?”

Avery hesitated. “His family moved out of state a couple of months ago.”

Her voice sounded heavier, and I realized her relationship with Adam was a difficult subject for her. I tried to think of something to say, but she beat me to it.

“What about you? Did you leave someone behind when you moved?”

“I wish.” Moving around so much had meant that my love life was constantly interrupted. Even when I did date a guy, it never lasted more than a few weeks, and I didn’t bother to keep in touch after my family left a place. What was the point? Eventually, I’d have to hear about how he’d met someone else, and I hated the idea of being so easily replaced.

Avery and I chatted and ate. I was just starting to feel really comfortable with our conversation when her cell phone rang. She pulled the phone out of her purse and checked the number.

“Sorry, it’s my mom,” she said. “I have to answer it.”

I polished off another slice as Avery took the call. She asked a lot of questions, like “what?” and “when?” and I got the impression that something bad had happened. She flipped her phone shut.

“I’m so sorry, but we have to go.”

“Is something wrong?”

She bit her lower lip. “It’s Dante. My mom said he’s really sick. I need to take him to the emergency vet.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I hope he’s going to be okay.” I offered to go to the vet with her, but Avery said no. We boxed the rest of our pizza and picked up my parents’ order. On the way home, Avery drove on the main road back to our neighborhood, which took less than half the time and made me wonder why we had gone the long way to begin with.

“I hope Dante will be okay,” I said again before I got out of the car. “If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”

“Thanks, Charlotte. I’ll see you later.”

I delivered the pizzas to my parents, who were in the living room discussing footage with Shane.

“I’ll start with EVPs this time,” Shane said as he reached for the meat pizza. “I think we got something at the restaurant.”

“I’d like to hear it.” Dad wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I want to determine if there was a correlation between the ion readings and possible EVPs.”

I didn’t want to listen to their boring conversation, so I went upstairs to unpack boxes of clothes. My room was cold, and if I didn’t locate my own stuff, I would be wearing Annalise’s sweater until it fell apart. As I sat on the floor and refolded some shirts, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was strange Avery’s dog had gotten sick just hours after I had announced that I didn’t like him. It made me feel as if I was somehow responsible.

“I don’t hate Dante,” I said out loud. “I want him to get better and be absolutely fine.”

I waited for a cold breeze or warm, reassuring feeling, but nothing happened. I took a deep breath. What was wrong with me? Did I really believe I had the power to make dogs sick? Was I mental? Normal people didn’t think that way.

I sat on my bed listening to the muffled voices coming from downstairs. It was my goal to get through the entire school year as someone who passed for normal. Ordinary, even. Making friends with Avery was a good start, I thought. If I could keep my parents from appearing on local TV and made sure they kept their big “Doubt” van hidden in the garage as much as possible, I might be okay. On the outside, at least. And wasn’t that what mattered? You could have all the crazy thoughts you wanted, as long as you smiled and kept them to yourself. People saw only what you allowed them to see, and I planned on showing them Charlotte Silver, a regular, everyday kind of girl.

I hoped that this time, I could pull it off.




four


Annalise called me the day before school began to check in and wish me luck.

“Have you unpacked everything yet?” she asked.

I looked around my room. Half the boxes were empty, but I hadn’t taken them downstairs yet. “Almost.”

She laughed. “I’ll take that as a no.”

I told her all about Avery but left out Dante, whose condition had improved almost overnight.

“The vet said it must have been something he ate,” Avery explained the day after we’d had pizza. “He’s still sick, but he’s much better than he was last night.” She frowned. “I don’t know what he could have eaten, though. He’s too little to jump up on the counter or get into the trash.”

I felt relieved—and more than a little silly that I’d ever thought Dante’s sudden illness had anything to do with me. Random breezes and cold spots were just that—random.

“How’s Charleston?” I asked Annalise. “More important, how are you?”

“I’m really good, actually. Don’t take this the wrong way, but ever since you guys left, I’ve felt a hundred times better, as if a weight has been lifted off my chest.” She grew quiet. “That awful feeling I had? It just kind of faded.”

“I’m glad,” I said, trying to stifle a yawn.

“Am I boring you?” Annalise joked.

“No. I guess I haven’t been sleeping very well lately.”

“I’ll let you go, then. Rest up, Charlotte. And have a great first day.”

After we hung up, I yawned again and glanced at the clock. It was only seven, which was way too early to go to bed, even if I was tired. I hadn’t been staying up late, and I usually slept in until nine or ten, but I was still exhausted. I had been dreaming a lot lately, something that was rare for me. I couldn’t remember the dreams when I woke up—they seemed to slip away from me like sand sifting through my fingers—but more than once I saw the same dark-haired girl reading by an old tree. I awoke feeling as if I’d just visited Charleston, and the sense that I was now in the wrong place would linger for hours afterward.

Looking around my room, I decided it was time to clear out some of the mess. I scooped up piles of dirty clothes, dropped them into empty boxes and carried one box at a time downstairs, emptying the clothes into the laundry room and flattening the boxes before stacking them in the recycling bin. On my third trip, I stopped to see what my parents were doing. They were in the living room with Shane, and the three of them had earphones on, which meant they were listening to EVPs.

“I’ve got something,” Dad said loudly. Mom and Shane removed their headphones.

“From the Courtyard Café?” Shane asked.

“It’s near the end.” Dad clicked on his computer. The screen showed a voice-analysis screen, which allowed the user to see voice patterns and static. I walked into the room, curious to hear what they’d found. Mom turned around and saw me.

“Hi, Charlotte.” Her voice was a little too loud, like she wanted to make sure Dad and Shane knew I was there. They stopped what they were doing and turned around, as well.

“What’d you find?” I asked. “Can I listen to it?”

Mom and Dad exchanged a glance, and Dad cleared his throat. “Of course you can,” he said. “Just not yet. Let’s wait until we have everything compiled. Then you can hear it all at once.”

It was not the response I had been expecting. Normally my parents were more than eager to share their findings with me and to get my input. EVPs were usually just a few words, and sometimes they were so soft you could barely make out what, if anything, was being said. Our parents often asked Annalise and me to listen to recordings and give them our first impression. Most of the time, it was just a garble of noise, and our parents would try to prove that another source, such as radio interference, was causing it. Once in a while, though, they recorded a clear word, such as “help” or “hello.” When this happened, they tended to guard it carefully, eliminating any possible explanation of its cause before presenting it to someone outside of the team.

Which was what they were doing now, I realized. When had I been demoted from “vital member of the team” to suspicious outsider?

“Fine. Well, I’m going to bed early, I guess. School tomorrow.”

“Good luck!” Shane said happily.

“I’ll get you up early,” Mom said. “We can have breakfast together.”

“Sure. Okay, then. I’m going upstairs.”

The three of them nodded, still smiling, obviously waiting for me to leave the room before they returned to their findings. I walked slowly, hoping they would get back to work so that I might overhear something. When I reached the doorway, I glanced over my shoulder. They were still watching me.

“Good night, honey,” Mom said.

“Sleep tight,” added Dad.

“Whatever,” I mumbled, retreating up the stairs. I knew they were listening to make sure I went all the way up to my room, so I stomped my feet for their benefit and shut the door to my bedroom with a little more force than necessary.

I was annoyed with my parents but didn’t have time to dwell on it. Almost immediately after slamming my door, the phone rang.

“Ready for tomorrow?” It was Avery.

“Everyone keeps asking me that,” I said, plopping down on the floor. I was pleased that I’d cleared so much out of my room, especially the mini mountains of clothes. I now felt more organized. Or, at the very least, not like a complete slob.

“I’m picking you up at seven-thirty sharp,” Avery reminded me, emphasizing the word sharp. “What are you wearing?”

We had made a trip to the mall a few days earlier to shop for back-to-school clothes, which was fun because Avery had a talent for finding stuff that looked great on me without being pushy about it.

“I was planning on wearing those dark pencil jeans and that blue tank top you picked out.”

“Perfect. I’m wearing my green shirt with that white denim skirt. What do you think?”

I knew Avery was asking me only as a courtesy, but I appreciated the effort. “Sounds great,” I said.

Avery and I had spent a lot of time together over the past week. Besides the mall, we’d been back to Giuseppe’s once for lunch and had run a few errands for her mom. She even tried to help me organize my closet one afternoon.

“You could hang everything by color,” she suggested as she surveyed the piles of clothes scattered across my room.

“Or I could just do what I always do,” I said, pointing. “Clean goes there and dirty goes over there.”

She laughed. “What’s that pile, then?”

“Almost dirty but clean enough to wear once more.”

“This is a lost cause, I think.” She rubbed her arms. “It’s cold up here.”

“I think this room gets most of the air-conditioning,” I said. “I can open a window, if you want.”

“No, that’s okay. I’m thirsty. Let’s go downstairs.”

Avery had been over twice, but I’d never given her the full tour of my house. Part of me was embarrassed by all the boxes stacked in the corners, but I was more concerned about the questions she’d ask once she saw the living room. Sure enough, after we’d grabbed sodas out of the fridge, she caught a glimpse of the computers and monitors and the hundreds of gray, tangled wires.

“Wow. What’s all this?”

“Oh. My parents make, um, documentaries,” I stammered. “They edit everything from home and then send it to their production company.”

“You’re kidding. What kind of documentaries?”

“Well, they just finished up filming one about, um, historic buildings in Charleston. Pretty boring stuff.”

That was basically true, I told myself. I hoped Avery didn’t notice how much I was hesitating. I was an awkward liar.

“Hey, maybe they can help us.” We had gone into the dining room to watch TV. “The cheerleaders are planning an amazing Homecoming week this year. We want to make a video postcard for the alumni. Maybe your folks could help us edit it?”

“Yeah, maybe. I’ll ask them later.”

My parents had been off at a nearby historical society in an attempt to gather information about local landmarks. I had no idea when they were coming back, but I really didn’t want Avery around asking them any questions. They’d have no problem revealing everything to her, and I wasn’t ready for that. So far, she saw me as a normal, slightly messy girl who trusted her fashion sense and liked pepperoni pizza. It was too soon to ask her to accept me as some sort of teenaged Ghostbuster, as well.

I was able to get Avery to leave before my parents came home, but I knew it wasn’t something I could keep up for too long. Eventually, she would run into them and the truth would come out. We’d been living in the house for three weeks, though, and so far, so good. Shane had been driving the “Doubt” van and kept it parked at his new apartment across town, and my parents were fully occupied with editing their Charleston footage.

Avery and I talked a little more about school the next day. After we hung up I yawned, my eyelids feeling heavy. Part of me wanted to remain on the floor and fall asleep right where I was, but I knew I should get up, wash my face and curl up under the warm covers.

“Too cold,” I mumbled.

A second later, I felt a warm sensation, almost as if someone was lowering a blanket onto me.

“Charlotte.” It was just a whisper, faint and far away. I was drifting in that hazy space between asleep and awake, but I felt tugged toward sleep and had the sense that I was sinking slowly. I felt cool grass beneath me, and I could smell jasmine in the air. I was back at the park in Charleston where Annalise and I had eaten lunch a few weeks before, near the same tree where the dark-haired girl in my dreams liked to read. I felt as if I was waiting for the girl to arrive. In fact, I felt sure that she would arrive at any moment, that I should stay exactly where I was.

“Charlotte?”

I opened my eyes. Mom was standing over me, looking down. I sat up, confused.

“I fell asleep,” I mumbled.

“You were talking.” Mom reached down and helped pull me up.

“What did I say?”

“I’m not sure. It was more like whispering.” Mom cocked her head to one side. “You okay?”

“Just tired. I’m going to bed now.” I went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth. When I returned, Mom had picked up the last of my dirty clothes, including Annalise’s pink sweater.

“I’ll take these downstairs for you,” she said. She leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Sleep well. See you in the morning.”

I got into bed and fell asleep almost immediately. It was a hard and dreamless sleep, and when I woke up early the next morning, I felt more rested than I had in weeks. I had the vague impression that something odd had occurred the night before, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Had I been dreaming?

As I showered, I decided that everything was fine. I’d experienced some strange sensations, but I was living in a new place and that was bound to happen. Maybe I was just extra sensitive to temperature in the South. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t that big of a deal. I wouldn’t let myself dwell on it. Besides, I had more important things to focus on.

It was time to introduce Charlotte Silver, Average Ordinary Girl, to the rest of the senior class.




five


Avery wasn’t kidding when she said seven-thirty sharp. I was just peeling a banana when I heard two quick honks of a car in the driveway. I glanced at the kitchen clock: 7:29.

“That’s my cue,” I said to Mom. She was still in her bathrobe, sitting at the kitchen counter and sipping a cup of coffee.

“Good luck, hon. Have a great day.”

I gathered up my backpack and left the house just as Avery honked once more. I slid into the passenger seat and smiled.

“A little impatient, aren’t we?”

She pulled out of the driveway. “Sorry. I hate being late, is all.”

I settled into my seat. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

My parents and I had driven past the school once, and it was no more than ten minutes from our house. Even if there was morning traffic, we would get to school with about half an hour to spare.

“You still need to pick up your schedule,” Avery reminded me. She had received hers in the mail the week before, but since I registered so late, I had to stop by the main office to pick up mine.

Avery chatted about some of her friends. “They’re really nice,” she said. “You’ll like them.”

“Are they all cheerleaders?”

She glanced at me. “Yes. But don’t worry. We’re not cliquey or snobby or anything. You’ll fit right in.”

“So they won’t try to recruit me? I’m highly uncoordinated. I can barely clap in rhythm.”

Avery grinned. “You may want to work on that. But no recruiting, I promise. We will not try to bring you over to the dark side.”

I noticed that, once again, we were taking a shortcut that was anything but short. In fact, it seemed like Avery never took the main road if she could avoid it, even if it meant driving miles out of her way. I asked her about it once after we took the long way to pick up medicine from Dante’s vet.

“I don’t like heavy traffic,” she had said with a shrug. “And I want to be careful with my new car.”

We arrived at school, and Avery turned into the section reserved for seniors. About half a dozen girls stood in one corner. When they saw Avery’s car, they all waved happily, then parted like a wave. They had been blocking off a specific space, I realized, to make sure that no one else could park there.

We stepped out of the car and were greeted by a chorus of hellos. Some of the girls offered Avery quick hugs. They complimented her clothes and said how great it was to see her. I hung back, waiting to be introduced.

“This is Charlotte,” Avery said finally. “She just moved here from Charleston.”

The girls smiled and looked at me closely. I smiled in return, suddenly self-conscious. They were sizing me up, I thought, judging whether or not I would be accepted into their circle. I was sure Avery had told them about me, but how much?

“Do you cheer?” asked one. I wasn’t sure who had spoken. All the girls had long, light-colored hair and perfect tans.

“Uh, no. Sorry, I don’t cheer.”

Avery laughed. “But we’ll overlook that one little personality flaw, won’t we?” she asked, and the other girls giggled at the joke.

“Any friend of Avery’s is a friend of ours,” said a girl to my left, and the others nodded and murmured their agreement. I relaxed a little. Avery suggested we go to the main office to pick up my class schedule, and we all walked as one big group across the parking lot and into the school.

We attracted more than a little attention as we made our way through the wide, crowded hallways. The girls pointed out to me where the cafeteria was and chatted about who they had for English and math. When we got to the office, they formed a semicircle behind me as I waited for the secretary to locate my schedule.

“Your locker number and combination are here,” said the frowning woman as she pointed to the bottom of my schedule. Then she noticed Avery, and something in her face softened.

“How are you, dear?” she asked. Genuine concern filled her voice.

“Fine, thanks,” Avery replied brightly. Then she nudged me and we left.

The girls passed around my schedule, comparing it with their own. “She’s in B lunch!” exclaimed one.

Avery smiled. “That means we all have lunch together.”

When we reached the senior hallway, Avery checked my locker number. “Callie, would you mind showing Charlotte to her locker?”

The tallest girl in the group reached for my schedule. She looked down at the number, then up at Avery. Something passed between them, but I wasn’t sure what it was. “Of course,” she said. “We’ll catch up with you later.”




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