Ghost Memory (6 page)

“Well, we don’t know how much time
we have, so we are going to Nana now, Fi. I know this will hurt you
for a long time, but you must stay strong and know that you are
going to be safe and taken care of. Your mother and I love you more
than we can ever say. Stay here.”

He reached out a hand, but, like
Mom, didn’t make contact. I heard sirens far off in the distance as
my parents started to fade from view.

I called after them, afraid they’d
go before I said the words, “I love you both, and I always, always,
always will love you more than anything in the world times three.”
The strain in my voice caught their attention and brought their
figures back clearer for a few seconds, and then they faded from
view. By then the sirens had also faded.

I don’t know how long I stood
there, not thinking, frozen in place. Time didn’t have any meaning.
My brain had shut down, and I existed in some place where nothing
could touch me. I simply – was.

“Fiona Bartlett?” A soft male
voice, then a pause. “Fiona? What’s wrong with her?”

Voices started to penetrate. A
young cop, early twenties, stood a few feet away. He had a sweet
face, currently crinkled in anxiety as he looked up at a very tall,
stocky woman in her mid-thirties.

She shook her head and asked,
“Fiona? Are you Fiona Bartlett?”

I thought for a second. Then I
realized that yes, I was Fiona, so I gave a small nod.

She gave a small sigh of relief.
“I’m Officer Green, and this is Officer Brown.” She paused.
“Fiona,” she continued, “we need you to come with us. We’re going
to take you somewhere warm and dry while we wait for your
grandmother.”

I looked around and saw their car
parked in the drop-off drive. I remembered my instructions. “May I
see your ID, please?” My voice cracked as if I hadn’t spoken in
years.

Green immediately showed me her ID.
I looked at it carefully, comparing the picture to her face. She
had medium brown hair, hazel eyes, a rather large nose and a light
scattering of freckles. I decided that she was indeed Officer Marna
Green.

Officer Brown presented his ID, and
I repeated the process, discovering that he was Kevin Brown. He had
dark blonde hair and brown eyes. His sweetness came through even in
the picture. I nodded to them that I was satisfied.

Officer Green reached an arm toward
me, but I stepped back. She immediately dropped her arm and stood
still. I simply looked at her. I didn’t want to leave the school.
It was a place I knew.

Officer Brown said soothingly,
“You’ve got to come with us, Fiona. You can’t stay here all
night.”

I looked from one officer to the
other, picked up my bag from the walkway and trudged to their car,
careful to step around them. I didn’t want to be touched; I was
afraid I’d break into a million pieces.

Behind me I heard Brown say in
confusion, “She didn’t even ask why we’re here or where her parents
are.”

“Don’t ask me how, but I think she
already knows,” was the soft, low response from Green. I heard
their footsteps as they followed along behind me.

When we came into the station
through the front door, we met a crowd of people. Some were crying,
some just sat and stared. The noise and pain levels were almost
physical.

My escorts led me to a door, where
we were buzzed through. Brown moved off in one direction, while
Green led me in a zigzag past desks and even more people. I didn’t
want to look at them too closely, so I kept my head down, watching
the back of Officer Green’s khakis and shoes.

I was shown into a room with a
table and a few chairs, and the door was shut behind us. I was
glad. The pain in that other room was too much to bear when added
to my own. I sat quietly in that small room. Officers Brown and
Green took turns staying with me, but it seemed that Green was
there the most. I answered when asked a question, but I didn’t ask
any of my own.

I sat in that room for several
hours. They offered sodas, sandwiches, cookies and candy, but I
only accepted the soda. They also offered to take me somewhere I
could sleep. I mumbled, “No, thank you,” in that scratchy croak
that had become my voice.

Eventually, after one of his longer
absences, Brown came back in with my grandmother. Nana wore her
travel outfit - jeans with a butter-soft leather jacket over a
T-shirt. She carried a large bag over her shoulder.

She came over to me immediately and
pulled me into a tight hug. I closed my eyes and just melted into
her. I heard the scrape of a chair as it was pulled close, and she
moved slightly away to sit down. She immediately pulled me close
again, smoothing my hair and kissing the top of my head.

Nana was awesome personified.
People often said I looked like her. While there was some
resemblance, I wasn’t a carbon copy. She was an elegant lady,
striking rather than pretty. In her early fifties, her hair still
had the red from her younger pictures. She kept it stylishly short.
It had faded a bit, though, and I suspected she hit the highlights
because it seemed blonder than the last time I’d seen her. She had
bright green eyes that just seemed to look right into your soul.
Her features combined into a classic look. The light freckles
across her nose and cheeks only added to that.

Nana’s delicate features were less
refined on me. My nose was slightly crooked from being broken in a
bike accident, and my hair was a pale golden blonde. I did have her
green eyes and freckles, though. I’m sure I had the same strained,
numb look that she had that night, too. My eyes felt as hollow as
hers looked.

“I think we have it sorted out for
the most part,” Brown said to his partner as he handed her a
folder. She read through it. I watched her from the safety of my
grandmother’s arms. Brown watched me.

Green looked up at Nana. “Did you
want to do this in another room?” She gave a small glance at me as
she handed the folder back to Brown. I got the impression he wasn’t
going to take it, but finally he did.

“No,” Nana said as she shook her
head. “She might as well hear it now.”

Brown sat back down, taking a deep
breath. His voice was firm, but quiet. “Mrs. Roberts, Fiona, there
was an accident on the freeway. The rain made the road slick. One
of the plastic barrels at an off-ramp lost enough of its weight
somehow that the wind picked it up and blew it onto the freeway.
The safety barrel got caught in one of the wheels of a gas tanker.
The driver lost control, and his rig jack-knifed across the lanes
of traffic. When a panel truck hit the trailer, it exploded, even
though it was nearly empty. The smoke and debris formed a wall that
the other cars simply couldn’t avoid.” He stopped, looking down at
the folder.

“How many?” prompted Nana.

Brown paused. “As near as we can
tell right now, there were twenty-seven vehicles involved.” His
horror was palpable as he set the folder on the table.

“Oh, dear god,” breathed Nana.

Green picked up the folder. “Your
daughter’s car was in the last wave that hit. We identified most of
the vehicles from their license plates, once we had the fire under
control. We’re still recovering the victims. It all happened very
quickly, according to our witnesses.” She paused and held Nana’s
gaze. “We are very, very sorry for your loss. Is there anything we
can do for you?”

Nana continued to hold on tight to
me. “Is it possible to call a cab for us?”

Green spoke up, “That won’t be
necessary, ma’am. We’ll drive you home.”

That night, the house had lost the
feeling of home already. I had just crawled into bed when the
realization hit me, and it hit me hard: I was never going to see my
parents again. I covered my mouth with my hands to hold in the wail
that wanted to tear screaming from my throat. My door flew open,
and Nana was there.

My body was shaking from the huge
sobs that broke as she gathered me in her arms and held me tight. I
could feel her sobs as we mourned together. I have no idea how long
it lasted, but we finally cried ourselves out.

Nana pulled my blankets and pillows
from the bed, and we took them into the family room. She brought in
more pillows and blankets, and we made a nest on the large sofa,
sipping hot chocolate.

I was curled up and drifting off to
sleep, when I felt a familiar touch brush my forehead and hair. Mom
had done that when I was a little kid. For a moment or two, I even
thought it was my mom. I half opened my eyes to see Nana looking
into the distance with an unreadable expression. The thought that
she had once stroked my mom’s hair, just as Mom had mine, followed
me into a deep sleep.

The rest of that time is blurry to
me now. Bits and pieces are clear, but the mind has its own way of
coping with trauma. We had a memorial service, cremation for what
was recovered of my parents’ bodies. I remember a lot of people
were there. My parents’ clients, my teachers and friends from
school, even a few of the carnies showed up.

Afterward, Nana had me start
packing things up. My parents had left precise instructions, true
to their little accountant hearts. Nana put the house on the market
to sell, with the money going into a trust for me. I didn’t go back
to school. I was kept busy packing up the things I would be taking
with me.

Nana and I made a trip to the
carnival. She packed up the stuff she wanted and had it shipped.
She made arrangements to sell her RV. I wanted to stay there with
the carnival. The people were nice and warm and felt like
family.

Nana said no, that it was time she
stopped hiding out and rejoined the world. She’d already made
arrangements for us to move to San Francisco. She owned half of a
Bed & Breakfast in one of the Victorians, and we would stay
there until she found more permanent housing for us.

Once in San Francisco, it seemed
like no time at all before we were out of the B&B and into a
spacious condo in a nice and quiet neighborhood. Nana had gotten a
part time job at the local library and registered me in sixth grade
for the fall.

That summer was a time of change.
Nana and I were working out how we fit together. The numbness began
to ease somewhat over that summer, but I don’t think I was ever
really a child after that. My natural, happy nature was subdued. I
often sat and stared at nothing from our living room window.

Nana wanted me to go out and play
with the other kids, but I just didn’t feel like it. The thought
that I’d have to answer questions as the new kid and tell them my
parents died made my throat close up. So, instead, I read a lot,
watched movies, and best of all, I discovered gaming. I was able to
disappear into each of those worlds for hours on end. Games kept me
company a lot during that time. I stared at the TV, playing as time
crept by.

Nana and I discussed the visits
from my parents after they died and everything that seeing them
might mean. Since she and I both had abilities most people didn’t,
she made it clear we needed to keep that fact to ourselves for our
own protection.

Nana’s ability was empathy. She
knew what people were feeling. That was why she had done her tarot
and crystal ball act back in the carnival. Mostly she dealt with
the living, but now and then one of the dead would find her and she
was able to sense them. In the case of my parents, her tie with Mom
was so close she was actually able to see and hear her.

Nana told me about an old friend of
hers who was a telepath and psychic.

“This was years ago, when I was in
my twenties. My friend didn’t make a secret of what he could do and
often consulted with police. He didn’t get a lot of attention in
the papers or anything like some do, but he was pretty consistent
with his results. One day, he disappeared. I have no idea where he
went. He was just gone. But I’m telling you, Fi, I knew he was
alive. I could feel his emotions - his pain, his fear.” She paused,
looking into the distance as she sometimes did. “I still do.”

A chill ran through me as she
looked straight into my eyes. “Maybe I’m a foolish old woman, but
since I don’t feel old, I’m going to say I’m not. But we are only
safe if we keep our abilities to ourselves, Fiona.”

It was a lesson I’d never
forget.

To continue reading, you can find
buy links for
Relics
and the other works in the
Modern
Magics
series at
Maer’s Website
(http://maerwilson.com/modern-magics/).

Relics, Modern
Magics
, Book 1

“‘Relics’ is a powerful read which
will challenge long-held perceptions of good vs. evil and Light vs.
Dark well after the book is finished.” Diane M. Haynes, author of
Rift Healer
, YA finalist in the Gayle Wilson Award of
Excellence.

“In Relics, author Maer Wilson
takes everything you think you know about the creatures of the
fantasy world and twists it around to create a unique and engaging
story.” Constance Philips, author of
Resurrecting Harry
and
Fairyproof
.

Portals, Modern
Magics
, Book 2

“Juggling angels, psychics, and a
myriad of other magical folk (and their problems), Thulu and La Fi
return in Portals to find a kidnapping victim, and maybe just save
the universe as a side job. Maer Wilson does a beautiful job of
painting their world, weaving a mystery, and sprinkling on a touch
of humor in her sophomore fantasy. Such a fun escape!” --LynDee
Walker, bestselling author of the
Headlines in High Heels
Mysteries
.

“What I personally liked best about
the story is the very dry humour with which La Fi narrates the
story. Too often harrassed by the dead and trying to run a business
and save the world she is a fantastic main character, an often
reluctant heroine but a spirited and likeable one.” Christoph
Fischer, author of
The Three Nations Trilogy
.