Authors: Kim Baccellia
Right, that’s it.
Feeling better, I put together a plan of action. If I couldn’t help the woman before, I could help her now.
Chapter 9
I didn’t want to go. I hated dances. But I knew this would get Mom off my case about making the crosses and then she’d lay off nagging Dad. Poor Dad. I hated him being at the receiving end of Mom’s complaining, especially about me.
A few hours wouldn’t kill me. I could slip in and out of the dance with enough time to do my rescue. Plus Mom would leave me alone – for at least a little while.
So I went.
Once inside the building I almost changed my mind. The piercing music and gaudy decorations – along with Hillary’s wannabe court in their Nordstrom designer dresses – made me want to gag.
I almost left right then but I remembered Mom’s pissed off face. Anything – even this dumb dance – was better than going back to that.
I made my way to the refreshment table, which was pushed against the far wall underneath some loose orangey crepe paper. The usual sugary staples filled the table, cake slices, brownies, and Costco Gourmet Chocolate Chunk Cookies. A mixture of 7-Up and lime sherbet filled the punch bowl.
Cura wandered over to me. Tonight she’d colored a pink stripe in her brown hair. Her combination of layers gave her dress a vintage appeal.
Cura grabbed a fudge brownie and took a bite. “Oh, my God, I think I died and went to Heaven. Want one?”
“Nah, that’s okay.”
“I’m glad you decided to come,” she said, wiping a crumb off her mouth.
“Beats staying home.”
“Come on, it can’t be that bad. At least you don’t have a mother who insists on playing her high school oldies 24/7.”
I laughed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right, although this music isn’t that much better.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Cura pointed to the dance floor. “Hey, check out Dylan. Isn’t that sweet? Look, he’s dancing with Linda.”
I smiled. Dylan might get on my nerves but I had to admit he was being a real gentleman dancing with the thirteen-year-old friend of his sister. Her face glowed, and it had nothing to do with the lights in the hall.
Then the music stopped.
“Why don’t you ask Dylan to dance?” Cura nudged me with her free hand.
“Hey, Dylan, over here!” Cura motioned him over, before I could say anything.
The artificial light played over his boyish features. My heart raced. Why hadn’t I noticed before how much of a hottie he’d become? And it didn’t hurt that he wore an amazing suit that only accentuated his surfer body – broad shoulders, tight abs, and nice butt.
“Jeez, Cura,” I muttered, but it was too late.
“Hey, wanna dance?” he asked with a shy, sexy smile.
“Sure.” I ignored the urge to grab his hand. Instead I led the way to the dance floor, trying hard not to let my emotions show.
Next to the punch bowl, Cura gave me a thumbs up.
The loud rock music changed to a familiar love song that I’d often fantasized over. It felt weird to be with Dylan during this song.
My gosh! He’s my friend, not my boyfriend.
Dylan must have felt the same way. He stepped back when the music started, a panicked expression on his face.
“Don’t worry, I don’t bite.” Taking his hand, I placed it on my lower back. I stepped in closer. My satin dress rustled against his chest.
Emotions surged through me. What was going on?
He’s only my friend. I kept repeating this, but deep down I wished it weren’t true.
Hey, didn’t that one chick on TV end up with her next-door neighbor? Why couldn’t that happen to me? Dylan was a lot cuter than that actor too.
I leaned into him, enjoying the moment. I didn’t want the music to stop. Somehow being within his arms I felt so safe. And for a moment, I forgot about rescues and pissed off mothers.
I glanced up. Up close, he was even cuter.
Dylan opened his mouth to say something, when the music stopped.
“Can I have this dance?” Out of nowhere, Mark appeared. A rock classic song blared with his arrival.
His black leather jacket and blue jeans looked especially hot. His cross necklace sparkled in the light. Mark beckoned me closer with his eyes. I obliged.
“Hey, man,” Dylan growled. “Do I know you?”
“Dylan,” I hissed, “don’t be rude.” I glared at him.
“Sorry, dude.” Mark shrugged. “I didn’t know you two were together.”
“As if.” I laughed. “That would be like dating my brother. We’re just friends.”
Even in the dark hall, I could have sworn Dylan looked hurt. He clutched his hands to his side. At that moment, I felt like such a traitor.
“Later, dude,” Mark said, with his hand on my lower back. He guided me to the dance floor.
I couldn’t resist looking back at Dylan. He stood on the dance floor, alone. Cura shook her head.
The guilt rammed into me hard. Some friend I was. I wanted to go back, and be with him.
“Hey,” Mark said.
I glanced up, and all memory of Dylan fled. All that mattered was being with Mark. This time he wore an intoxicating sandalwood scent. I couldn’t help myself. I leaned closer, wanting more.
“How did you get in dressed like that?” I pulled away, motioning to his outfit, which so wasn’t in keeping with dress standards.
“Don’t worry about it. The point is, I’m in. Heard about the dance and thought I’d drop in.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“Me too.” He smiled. I felt my heart miss a beat.
He pulled me back into his embrace. The whole world disappeared and it was just me and him on the dance floor. I wondered what it would feel like to kiss him. I moved my head a little to the right, until our noses were only inches away. Closer. Just a little closer.
The music stopped.
He pulled away, a frantic look on his face. “Gotta bail.”
And just like that he was gone.
Was it something I said?
I stood on the dance floor, wondering how Mark managed to just pop in on me. Then I glanced at my watch.
Oh, my gosh.
I needed to go. Now.
Only a few more hours to do my rescue. I felt so guilty. Here I was enjoying myself while a poor spirit needed my help. I couldn’t have another repeat of the other night at Hillary’s house.
Next to the wall, Dylan stood with Cura, his arms folded. He looked disappointed.
Should I go to him?
Jeez, I couldn’t deal with this.
No, I had to do my rescue. Still, I couldn’t deny the mixed emotions swirling inside me. First Dylan. Then Mark.
What was going on with me?
Chapter 10
I pushed aside the mini blind to glance outside.
Jeez, could it be any colder?
I snuggled inside my brother Ricky’s old American River College sweatshirt, trying to get warm. My breath frosted the window. The street lights vanished in the dense fog, painting the world a dreary gray.
With my cross, the spooky atmosphere, and a wandering spirit, this night had all the makings of a cheap horror flick.
I’d come home early from the dance, more confused than ever. Mom didn’t say much. But I could tell she was happy I’d left the garage and my handmade cross. Little did she know the truth – that I’d be sneaking out later with the very cross she hated, to do what I did best – help the dead find the light.
But why couldn’t I forget about Dylan or Mark? Jeez, I didn’t have time to dwell on boys.
I glanced at the wall clock. One minute past one o’clock in the morning – time to complete my rescue without waking up my family.
Still I hesitated. It wasn’t just the cold weather outside.
Even though I was glad to help the woman in my nightmare, I still felt queasy. I mean, look at my latest track record. Not good. What if I screwed up again?
Something about the woman – besides the blood and splattered brains – bothered me all day. Her clothing and language seemed familiar. If I remembered right, a bulky nun-like outfit hung loosely from her body. But I knew she wasn’t a nun. Instead of a stereotypical nun’s coif, a colorful silky scarf concealed her hair and highlighted her terrified eyes that reminded me of a deer that stumbled in front of Dad’s SUV last summer in Reno – right before our Chevy smacked into it.
Anxious to get my rescue over with, I grabbed the extra set of keys from the marble kitchen counter. I tiptoed past Dad’s sleeping form. One of Grandma’s log cabin quilts covered his body. Guilt about my run-in with Mom came over me. Was I the reason for him sleeping in the living room?
A few empty cans of beer were scattered around his La-Z-Boy.
I inched along the back wall, careful not to bump into Mom’s collection of Thomas Kinkade prints and knickknacks that lined the counter in the family room. Fastened in the middle of the wall was our new flat screen TV. Gray static filled the screen. The white noise gave me goose bumps and reminded me some people actually believed the dead communicated through off-the-air radio waves.
I stretched over to turn it off, but decided against it. I glanced at Dad. He snored loudly. Nothing could wake him. Or so I thought.
“Huh...?” He jerked up, knocking over one of the beer cans next to his chair.
Major crapola
. Ducking down, I looked for a place to hide. My heart pounded so hard I thought for sure he heard it. I hid behind the counter.
Please, go back to sleep.
Though I loved Dad to pieces, he’d had the hardest time accepting anything to do with the supernatural. I cringed just imagining what he would think of my little excursion this early in the morning.
His half-closed eyes glanced around the room. He shrugged and went back to sleep.
Whew.
Too close. I waited a few more minutes. When his snoring resumed, I dashed to the door, opened it and left.
Strands of fog drifted by me, wrapping around cars, houses, and our mailbox out front. Just the right atmosphere for what I needed to do to place the completed cross next to the deserted airbase. I hoped someone had found the woman’s body by now. I so didn’t want to deal with a bloody corpse this early in the morning.
As I cut across our front lawn, my Nikes squeaked on the wet grass. The moisture soaked through my sweats. I shivered. I made my way toward our old Jetta, parked on the street.
I knew I shouldn’t be driving, considering I only had my learner’s permit.
But I had to do this. Hopefully, something would distract Mr. Policeman while I did my job.
Feeling better, I started the car, wincing at the backfire.
Jeez, couldn’t Dad or Mom take the car to the shop?
I prayed Dad, or anyone else in the neighborhood hadn’t woken up.
I drove around the corner and let out a sigh of relief. Good, no one had gotten up to stop me. Maybe this rescue wouldn’t be too hard after all.
Chapter 11
As I drove toward the deserted airbase, I made out my school on the hill across the freeway. For a moment I forgot about my rescue.
Memories of the last few hours came back to me.... Dylan looked so hot on the dance floor. I couldn’t forget how safe and protected I felt in his embrace.
How I wished I had someone to confide in, someone who understood my fascination with crosses and dead people, someone who would not judge me, or call me strange like they did some of those Goth or Emo kids whose only fashion statement came in black and chains.
But that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. Knowing my luck, instead of being bumped down to an even worse fate than invisible status at school, I’d get carted off to the local funny farm where everyone saw dead people.
No, I wouldn’t go there.
I continued to the old airbase. I got off the I-80, driving down Watt Avenue. Oak trees flashed by my window.
At the top of the hill, the fog thinned. A few lone strands drifted by my car like bits of broken spider web.
I parked my car on the shoulder of the old asphalt road, near a dilapidated warehouse. From my window I could make out ‘Aircraft Engine Test’ on the building. Litter covered the dry forgotten grass. Rusted metal containers lay on their sides.
I slid from my car and opened the trunk. An old quilt covered the cross. I removed it, careful not to smudge the pen artwork. Moonlight embraced the wood, draping its approval around it.
I walked to the crest of the hill.
Thousands of stars filled the sky. Without man-made lights or fog, I could see all of Sacramento spread out in the basin below.
I turned away. I had no time to admire the sights. The woman I needed to rescue only had a few more hours left before her chance to cross over passed. Then she’d be left to wander the airbase forever.
And I’d be responsible. I shuddered, remembering my failure at Hillary’s house.
I’d already screwed up one rescue. I hated to think what would happen to me if I didn’t do this one right either.
The ominous barbed wire fence separated me from the ghostly base inside. A cold breeze lifted loose leaves and debris. A few runaway tumbleweeds rolled by the empty airplane hanger.
Everything about the area was the same as in my nightmare – the old battered sign, the decrepit airbase, the gaping hole in the fence.
The hairs on the back of my neck rose. I whirled around, expecting to see someone. I could have sworn someone was watching. A whiff of a woodsy scent drifted my way.
Okay, I don’t have time for this
. I shrugged off the uneasy feeling that someone was stalking me. Right. As if Mark didn’t have anything better to do than to follow me and hide out at an old airbase this early in the morning.
Once at the fence, I nudged the cross through the opening.
Thump
. The cross hit the ground. I winced. A little too noisy for comfort.
I scanned the area. Satisfied no one heard me, I crawled through.
I picked up the cross and hurried forward. Enormous oak trees and serviceberry crowded close together, their branches looking like malevolent guards, trying to keep intruders out. Piles of dead leaves blanketed the grass.
An owl hooted. Startled, I ran right into a spider web. A sticky string clung to my skin.
Ew.
I pictured some humongous garden spider crawling up my arm.