Apparition (32 page)

Through the billowing clouds of smoke, I finally see him. He’s walking away too, his back to me.
Matthew?
He reaches the far edge of the flames.
Matthew, is this it?

“What is it? What do you see?” Morris is standing at my side.

“They … they’re all leaving.”

Morris looks distraught. His eyes, red-rimmed, search desperately, but he looks right through the ghosts and on to the horizon.

Matthew?
He stops, turns and faces me. I can barely see him.
Are you really leaving? We never said goodbye
. I strain to see him more clearly, frantic for any kind of sign. I hold up my hand but a cloud of smoke passes between us, obliterating him. As it clears, all I can see are ghostly shadows crossing the field on the far side of 12th Line.
Goodbye, Matthew. Goodbye!
And now I’m crying like my chest is cracking open. He’s gone. This time, he’s really gone.

I feel Kip’s arms around me. He whispers in my ear, “It’s over.”

I’ve finally stopped crying. I’m exhausted, feeling numb but better.

Kip has been propping me up, holding me tight. The paramedics have bandaged his head and cheek, checked him for signs of concussion. They had him strip off his oily clothes to the waist, and now he’s wearing one of their heavy jackets. Jack, Ethan and Joyce are warming up in one of the police vans. Ethan, head down and sleepy, is huddled under Joyce’s arm, wrapped in a thick blanket. We’ve been told we can go home soon. Morris, looking haggard and distracted, has been standing apart, pacing and smoking a cigarette. A little earlier I saw Joyce watching him, and I decided to say something.

“Don’t you think now would be a good time to kick the habit?” She looked at me, surprised. “You know, for your health.”

Narrowing her eyes at me, she gave Ethan’s head a rub and said, “We’ll think about it.”

I can’t believe it’s finally over. I rest my head on Kip’s shoulder, my swollen eyes fixed on the collapsed barn. It’s still burning like a colossal campfire in the snow, lighting up the evening sky. But suddenly I catch sight of something past Kip’s shoulder, beyond the burning timbers, through the smoke. I pull back and tilt my head a little. Kip looks at me, leans in and kisses me on the forehead. He holds his lips there for a few moments, hard, and then I pull away. Look again.

Through the drifting grey smoke and the glow of flames, I can see a figure leaning against a tree. It’s Matthew, with a half-smile on his face.

I can’t move. I look up at Kip. I can’t speak.

“Why do I get the feeling I’m about to get punched?” he whispers.

Matthew’s smile widens. He raises his finger slowly to his lips, as if to say,
Shhh
.

I am grateful to my first-draft readers, Don Gillmor, Shelley Ambrose and Susan Millican, for offering such generous encouragement to a natural-born coward.

I had a mountain of help in the editing of this book, chiefly from my agent, Jackie Kaiser. She guided me with patience and persistence, and whether she intended to or not, she has changed my life. I had the great good fortune to work with Janice Weaver of Doubleday Canada, with her sharp insight and kind touch. Thanks, also, are owed to Allyson Latta, for additional editing and her good counsel, and to my copy editor, Gena Gorrell, who, like Amelia’s grandmother, doesn’t mince words.

Finally, I’d like to express my gratitude to my husband, Michael Allder, for his love, strength and wise advice, and to my son, Ben Kotchie, for constant inspiration.

I walk up the driveway of the abandoned Telford farm, my legs feeling wobbly. I’m looking for Matthew, but do I even want to find him? I honestly don’t know. Part of me hopes he’s gone, only because I don’t know how much more of him I can take. And that makes me feel terrible, because I still care for him. He was my first love.

Beyond the farmhouse, there’s a heap of black where the barn burned down five days ago. The world’s largest barbecue pit in a field of snow. It’s still circled by yellow police tape. I guess they don’t want anyone messing around in it. An old woman died in the fire, after all. Actually, over the years, a lot of people died in that barn, including Matthew. He’s been dead for four months, but he’s still hanging around.

So where is he now?

Not near the tree where I last saw him standing. Not near the barn ruins. Now what? I’m looking around and my eyes are starting to sting from the smoky stench still in the air. And they’re beginning to go all blurry from tears. He’s not here.

“Matthew?”

Maybe in the end he had second thoughts about staying behind and decided to take off with the other ghosts. Maybe he caught up with them across the far field. They were heading west on some kind of ghoulish pilgrimage. All the dead souls from the barn, including old Mrs. Ross, heading for a world beyond this one.

I rub my eyes and try to focus, squinting over what’s left of the barn. I don’t want to get too close to the charred and collapsed frame. The smell of smoke, an awful stink, is taking my breath away. It’s hard to make out much in the wreckage. Mrs. Ross’s body is gone—the police took it away in a bag. Everything’s black like charcoal. But there are menacing bits of metal sticking out, old farm equipment mixed in with the burned barn boards that came crashing down.

“Matthew?”

Nothing.

It’s hard to breathe. I feel dizzy and need to sit down. Walking over to the empty farmhouse, I flop down on the lowest step of the small porch at the side door. I pull my knees up and rest my eye sockets on them. I wrap my arms around my head to block out the edges of sunlight. I feel cold and empty inside.

That’s when I feel Matthew’s presence and look up. He’s about twenty feet away—white face, black hair, across his abdomen four dark red holes dripping blood, blood trickling from his nose and smiling mouth. I jump up in fright and scream so loud that he disappears, but not before a look of worry comes over his face.

I’m bent over the porch railing, chest heaving and heart pounding, sobbing out loud, when I see him again. He’s standing farther away, this time without the pitchfork wounds and blood.

I straighten, try to catch my breath. It’s a struggle to speak. If I could hit him with a baseball bat, I would. I’m furious.

“I can’t believe it!” I finally cry out.

“What can’t you believe?” He moves a little closer, cautiously.

“I can’t believe you’re still here.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“What do you expect? Am I some kind of yo-yo you can just play with? You’re gone, you’re back, you’re gone, you’re back. Do you know how painful that is?” Now I’m yelling. “And what’s with the pitchfork holes?”

He looks down at his shirt like he’s embarrassed.

I sit down on the porch again, my head in my hands, elbows on my knees. I’ve got to calm down.

“I’m not sure. Sometimes that just happens. I think I have flashbacks—it really freaked me out at first. But why are you so angry? It’s like you hate me or something. Was that not a good idea? Staying behind?” He pauses, waiting for me to answer. “It seemed like a brilliant one at the time.”

I have to admit I
have
been feeling angry with him. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because just when I thought I’d lost him for real, and was devastated, I also felt a bit of relief that’s hard to explain. Like at least I could get on with my life.

“It’s just so complicated,” I finally say.

“Complicated by what?” he asks. “By Kip?” There’s a hint of jealousy in his voice.

At the sound of the name, I set my jaw, shake my head quickly. “No. Not by Kip. Kip’s not … Kip’s not even in the picture.” Now I feel like hitting him again—I feel like hitting
anything
—because I’m lying and I know it. It’s because of the horrible guilt I feel about falling so hard for Kip, and the pain of having to let him go.

“He’s not?”

“No, he’s not!” I look away, fighting to keep my eyes clear.

“Kip’s not in the picture?”

“I just said that, didn’t I? Are you deaf? Why are you so stupid these days?” I stop when I see his hurt expression. I would never have talked to him like this when he was alive. “Kip’s got his own life to lead,” I say, trying to calm down. Matthew looks at me, kind of perplexed. “Besides, he doesn’t even live here anymore.” Now I’m really depressed. “Matthew, I’m sorry. I don’t hate you. I … I’ve loved you since grade nine. Do you have any idea what it was like for me when you died? I just don’t know how much more of this I can take, that’s all. You, being a ghost. It’s not easy.”

“Like it is for
me
?” he shouts. Then his voice drops. “I’m sorry …” He looks away, like he’s forgotten something or lost something, and then I realize he’s fading. I can see through him.

“Matthew, don’t go. Don’t disappear. Please? Just … look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for yelling at you. I’m not used to this new situation yet. But”—I nod as he gets a little clearer again—“but I’m getting more used to it all the time. I am. Just … let’s think for a minute. I mean, the barn is gone. What are your options? You can’t just hang out in a friggin’ field all day and night, can you?” I’m looking around. “Would you rather have a roof over your head? Would you rather have … I don’t know, privacy?”

“I don’t know what I want,” he says finally. “Nothing feels quite right. Everything feels a little strange. Sometimes I feel like I got a bad hit on the head. Like half my brain got stolen or something. I wish whoever stole it had taken the whole thing.”

I think for a few moments. “Okay. I’m going to make a crazy suggestion: let’s you and me break into this house and check it out. No one else is using it right now, so maybe you can hang out inside. That’s better than
wandering around out here where the barn used to be, don’t you think? And that way, I can find you more easily. If I get this door open, do you think you could just go inside?”

I’ve noticed before that Matthew—ghost Matthew—seems limited in what he can do and where he can go. He was trapped in the barn. He seems stuck on the Telford property. It makes me think about Morris’s theory of the geography of ghosts. How some places are more ghost-friendly than others.

“Do you think you could manage that? Just … hang out in there? You know—haunt the place. Like a proper ghost. Maybe learn some ghost tricks.”

“You don’t think I’m a proper ghost?” He sounds hurt, but then I see his eyes narrow like he’s trying not to laugh.

“I’m just saying … I mean, who knows what you’re capable of in your new state. You haven’t really tested your … um, ghost powers, have you? I mean, we know what you’re
not
capable of.”

“Oh, like body contact, right?”

For an instant, I remember Kip’s arms around me the night the barn burned down, and it’s like Matthew has read my mind.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” I say quickly, trying not to sound bitter.

“You know, you’re way more heartless than you used to be.”

“Well, you’re way more brainless.” I shouldn’t have said that either. “So I guess the only thing missing here is a Cowardly Lion.” Good. That made him smile. “And Dorothy,” I add, and then immediately regret it. Not so funny. Dorothy was Mrs. Ross’s name.

I get up to examine the door, trying the doorknob. Locked, of course, but a little wobbly, like there’s a loose screw.

“Maybe we can take the knob off? A screwdriver would be good. Or should I just break the window and reach inside to unlock the door, like they would on TV? What do you think?”

I look over my shoulder for Matthew, but he’s not there. I turn back to the door just as the curtain behind the glass flies up. Matthew’s face on the other side of the window—mouthing “Boo!”—makes me jump. The doorknob turns and the door opens.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“You said I needed to learn some tricks.”

“Not tricks on
me
!”

I don’t even feel like going in now, but what choice do I have? I’m the reason Matthew’s here. I’m the only one he’s got. I bend down and take off my boots. I don’t want some real estate agent to see footprints and think the house has been burgled. Taking a deep breath, I step inside, then shoot a threatening look at Matthew.

“I’m not hanging out with you if you’re going to pull that kind of thing.”

“Geez. All I did was walk through one wall. Maybe
you’re
the Cowardly Lion.”

I ignore that and look around. I’m standing in the middle of the kitchen, in my socks, and the floor is freezing.

“Okay, Matthew, will this do? Could you make yourself at home here? At least for a while?” A sudden thought makes me uneasy. “You don’t think it’s already occupied, do you? By another ghost, I mean. Can you tell?” I couldn’t take another psycho ghost right now. I flash back to Jimmy, the killer ghost who haunted the Telford barn.

He looks at me and shrugs. “I don’t think so.”