On the Fringe (22 page)

I whipped my head around as he faded into the window behind him like he was about to shift away. I wasn’t ready for him to leave, not yet, and I flew across the room, reaching out just as he disappeared. Instantly, I felt something latch onto me, forcefully yanking me forward, like a magnet.

My vision went blank for a second, and I suddenly found myself in Felix’s bedroom. A naked mattress lay next to a bench press and weight rack. I guessed the dumbbells explained Felix’s other pastime. Smoking crack and bodybuilding—a little counter-productive, if you asked me.

I turned to Aden, who held onto me like a magnet. His eyes seemed fluorescent as he towed me along with him through the bed, into the closet and out the wall, pausing momentarily while hovering outside the apartment building above a parked car.

“This is fun,” he grinned, before fading again, pulling me with him as we shifted back inside to the living room. Felix was now planted in a torn, mustard-colored armchair in front of a TV blaring with static and obnoxious voices. The screen flashed in and out as he mindlessly flipped the channels, his head glowing under the lights.

Somehow Aden released me, and I felt a relieving sense of freedom.

He slid in front of me and extended his hand, like we were meeting for the first time. “I don’t think we’ve ever formally met. I’m Aden.”

I stared at him blankly until he finally got the picture, retracted his hand, and floated toward the window. He gazed out through the bars and clouded glass. “I don’t think you understand who I am,” he said before turning back to face me.

“I know who you are now. I know what happened–”

“Great. Then I suppose we can just skip this part.” He clasped his hands together, smiling.

“Look, I know you’re pissed off at me for what happened.
I get it.
But what do you expect me to do about it now? I’m dead, too, in case you haven’t figured it out.”

His smile dissolved into a frown, and he seemed to lose his composure before quickly readjusting and continuing. “The problem is, you want everything to instantly iron itself out without any effort or pain on
your
part. That’s how you’ve lived your whole life—the boy who had everything, who never had to lift a finger.”

I had no idea what he was talking about.

His mind seemed to drift for a minute as his eyes bounced back and forth from me to the window to me again. “So let’s just get right to the solution. Is that what you want? Some neat little fix so I’ll quietly go away?”

I almost said ‘yes,’ but before I could respond, blurred colors were trailing behind him like contrails from a jet as he flew at me, pinning me to the floor. A flimsy aluminum lamp toppled over, breaking a pile of dirty dishes and throwing a pyramid of soda cans across the room. Somehow Aden had pinned me to the ground. There wasn’t any pain, but I could feel a distinct pressure at my shoulders and thighs where he held me. His face, only inches from mine, seemed to ooze outrage. How he was doing it completely baffled me. It was like he was dead and alive at the same time.

A strange squealing noise started coming from the corner by the TV. I turned and caught sight of Felix, who was crouched on the floor and peering around with bug-eyes. He was making a moaning noise that sounded like a mix between an injured dog and an asthma attack, and held his hands over his ears, like he could hear us.

He could.

“You don’t want to look at me?” Aden asked through gritted teeth, pressing his face into mine so far that I had to close my eyes because of the dizzy claustrophobia. “You sniveling, selfish brat
,
” he hissed, releasing his grip. “Shut up and pay attention for once in your petty, useless existence.”

I sunk to the floor where he’d dropped me, overwhelmed by his power.

“I am Aden,” he repeated, like I hadn’t heard the first time. But it was difficult focusing now, because Felix was scratching at his arms and mumbling to himself. Aden didn’t seem to care or even notice. “Did you hear me?” he asked, waiting for me. “ADEN!” he screamed, leaping forward and through me, the stream of color following him like before, but this time without the force that threw me to the ground.

Felix looked in our direction and pushed himself against the wall, holding his knees, and shivering. He was breathing heavily, almost panting —a high-pitched whistle coming from his throat.

“
You
are the reason I’m dead.” Aden’s face smothered mine before he pulled away and relaxed into the back of the couch, partially submerged. “You took everything away from me—all because you forgot to look both ways.”

“I was just a kid.”

“Just a kid,” he repeated in a funny high voice, trying to mimic me. “Just a kid…”

“What do you want?” I was suddenly fuming. “If I could take it back, I would. You want me to say sorry? I’M SORRY!” I flew at him, the anger driving me.

He laughed and pulled backward, leaving me panting. “Don’t you
feel
it now?
What a rush!
You should feel what it’s like after a haunting! It’s the only power you’ll ever get in this place.”

I froze, trying to digest what he’d just said, shifting my gaze to Felix, who was still in the corner with his head buried in his knees. The TV continued buzzing in and out, the reception fighting for survival.

“Power…” I repeated his words, still trying to get it.

“Come on, are you really that stupid?”

I whipped around. “Who’s the stupid one? You’ve been holding onto a grudge for twelve years. Get. Over. It. You are DEAD.” I rushed through him and felt the strange sensation of overlapping space coursing between us. I emerged on the other side beside Felix, who had fallen over, apparently passed out.

“So, you think just because you
love
her, that justifies your involvement with her?” Aden asked, keeping his distance. “Get over yourself. We all need something to keep us going, don’t we?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Love, hate, fear, guilt—take your pick. It’s all just fuel to get what we want.”

“So, that’s what you want? To haunt a girl…or a druggie?” I asked, looking over at Felix. “That’s the big kick you’re getting?”

“That, and seeing you suffer, which was my intent in the first place. Now it’s a two for one—a rush and revenge. What’s your excuse?”

“Excuse?”

“To interfere with Claire’s life. At least revenge is a legitimate motive.”

“I’m not interfering with her.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Why is that any of your business?”

“You made it my business.”

“How’s that?” I asked, drifting away from Felix, and toward the window where the last of the sunlight was trying to force its way through the dirt into this hellhole.

Aden laughed out loud,
of course.
So dramatic.

“You still don’t get it. How did you not flunk out of school? Education, these days…” He floated right up to my face. “I’ll make it simple. One—you killed me. Two—you saved Claire. Three—Claire can see me now thanks to you and I get to scare her, which gives me more power…
la-di-da-di-da
… Shall I go on?”

I suddenly felt the weight of what he was saying, like I had slipped to the bottom of the sea. Claire’s aunt
was
right.My connection with Claire had opened up a window, a Pandora’s box, or whatever you wanted to call it. And now I didn’t know how to close it back up.

Claire

Dad pounced on the intruder from behind, pulling him into a headlock. Mom and I jumped and screamed, tipping over bowls and spilling soup across the table. I was afraid to look. All I could hear was Dad’s grunting, along with the muffled sound of the intruder’s protests. Strangely, the voice started sounding a little familiar—which was when Mom and I both ran around the table.

“Dad!” I yelled, pulling at his arm.

“Matthew!” Mom said, pulling at my brother’s torso.

Dad let go, and we all stood there facing each other in surprise, confusion, and a little bit of deflated terror.

“What the…?” Matthew stepped back, eyeing us in alarm.

“Matthew,” Dad breathed, finally recognizing him.

“
Yeah!
Were you expecting someone else? What’s
wrong
with you guys?” he croaked while rubbing his throat.

“Matthew,” Mom said soothingly, like it was the only name in the world. “I’m
so
sorry. We didn’t know you were coming. Why didn’t you call?”

“Now I have to
call
to come home?” he shot out defensively, fixing his shirt. His face seemed to soften a bit when he looked over at me. I gave him a weak smile and shrugged my shoulders.

He looked so much older—the months and a tragic past aging him too quickly. His hair, still as blond as ever, was longer than I remembered. He also seemed more hefty, like he’d been working out. The one thing that
did
look the same was the tired, jaded look on his face that took over the night Daniel was killed.

Mom pulled Matthew into a hug lasting longer than normal. “Of course you don’t need to call. You can come home any time you want.” She finally released him just when I thought he was going to bolt.

“Sorry, Son, it’s just…well, a lot has happened over the last couple of days,” Dad said apologetically. Matthew waited for him to continue, but Dad seemed almost embarrassed to reveal the details. He was never one for drama. “We thought you were an intruder,” he finally admitted, not quite looking Matthew in the eyes.

“I figured that much,” Matthew answered, still irritated.

“Are you hungry? Come have some soup,” Mom said, as if a bowl of soup could solve the world’s problems.

“No thanks. I already ate.” Matthew walked to the fridge, eyeing me strangely.

I followed him, uncertain what to say or do. It had been so long since we last talked, that I felt uneasy, like we were cousins or something. It made me sad, because we used to be so close.

“So, what’s been going on here?” he asked, grabbing a Coke and popping it open. “Obviously there’re some things you haven’t told me.”

“It’s a fairly new development, Matthew,” Dad said, a little defensively.

“Well, are you going to fill me in? Or were you going to wait until Christmas?”

Mom and Dad looked at each other briefly, then at me. I kept quiet. “There’s no reason to get upset, Matthew,” Mom said. “We were planning on talking to you about this, once things settled down a bit.”

Matthew brought his drink to the table and sat down, kicking his feet up on another chair. Mom and Dad sat across from him, most likely trying to figure out where to start. I quietly gathered the soup bowls and started cleaning up the mess.

Matthew waited for them to speak. “I’m all ears,” he prodded, taking another swig. “Give me what you got.”

The dishes kept me busy, though I could easily hear the whole conversation behind me. Occasionally, I turned to peek at Matthew’s face, trying to gauge his reaction as Dad explained the events of the last day and a half—a.k.a. my Peeping Tom-turned-stalker, and his threatening note. Matthew acted a little surprised, but his reaction seemed subdued, like he was hiding something.
What
, I couldn’t tell just yet, so I kept my suspicions to myself and my eyes and ears alert from afar.

“Are the police even doing anything about it?” Matthew asked.

“They’ve been here twice.” Dad answered.

“And they took the note in as evidence,” Mom added. “We’re still waiting on that.”

Matthew tipped his chair on its heels. “So they’re essentially doing nothing.”

“What do you want them to do?” Dad challenged.

Matthew fidgeted, his mask of confidence briefly transparent, at least long enough for me to notice. “I don’t know,” he admitted, standing up and finishing off his Coke. “But, they’re useless, if you ask me.”

Without another word or glance in my direction, he walked past me toward his room, leaving the rest of us awkwardly staring at each other. No one knew what to say, although we all understood what Matthew was referring to—the police never caught the person who shot Daniel. Though we all pushed it back into the corner of our minds, Matthew could
never
forget.

Later, Matthew brought his things in from the car, including four giant garbage sacks filled with dirty clothes, while I hung out in my room in front of my computer. I wondered what the information in that newspaper article meant to me now. My ghost had an identity. Had it changed anything? Even after finding some of the answers I was looking for, I didn’t know what to do with those answers, other than wait for Daniel to show up.

It was already dark, though still early evening. Most people hated the way fall hijacked the daylight, but I always liked it—especially now. The sooner the sun went down the better, as far as I was concerned. Except, I hadn’t seen Daniel since last night. What if he truly wasn’t coming back like he had said, or if he’d somehow figured out a way to get around my haunting ghost?

There was a knock on my door.

“Come in,” I called, still lost in thought.

“Claire?” Matthew said, his voice surprisingly meek.

“Hey.” I turned around in surprise, almost blushing. “What’s up?”

He slowly walked to my bed, probably one of the few times I’d ever seen him so unnerved. I waited to hear what was on his mind as he sat stiffly at the foot of the bed, staring at me for a second. His hands were clasped together like he was trying to figure out what to say. I turned my chair around to face him.

“First of all, I’m sorry about that creep. I wish I’d been here.
I
would have caught him,” he said, not really looking me in the eye.

“I know,” I agreed. Really, Matthew probably
would
have
caught him.

“So, how come
you
guys didn’t call me?” He seemed hurt.

“Everything just happened so fast, and, and…
Wait
…” I just caught the emphasis he’d put on ‘you.’ “You mean someone
did
call you?

He nodded.