Circle of Secrets (23 page)

“I want Mirage — I want my mamma,” I whisper to the angel, surprise prickling down my body. I’d just called her Mamma for the first time in more’n a year. The name feels strange on my tongue. It also feels strangely good.

I crouch down at the stone base of the angel statue memorial, knowing why I’m there. Knowing I have to look. Afraid of what I’m gonna find.

Raindrops slip down my eyelashes. I wipe at my face so I can see better to read the inscription carved into the stone.
When I trace my finger across the fancy lettering underneath the angel’s bare feet, that’s when I know for the first time in my life, for shootin’ certain — that ghosts are real.

GWEN RENAE DUMONDE
REST WITH THE ANGELS, CHERISHED DAUGHTER
BORN IN BAYOU BRIDGE
DIED IN THE BAYOU TECHE

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN

T
HE WORDS SINK IN WITH THE WEIGHT OF TWO TONS OF
bricks.

“Gwen,” I whisper, blinking over and over again to make sure I’m not seeing things. “No, no,
no.
All this time you’ve really been a ghost.”

All my fears, all those eerie suspicions that Gwen is actually a ghost smack me right in the face. I feel dizzy, like I’m gonna fall right over on to the grass, the whole world veering left and right and upside down.

I’d seen Gwen, played with her, talked to her, drank root beer floats with her, seen her house, held her hand.

How was all that possible?

And where was she now, this ghost girl? The girl from the moonlight. The girl who’d left notes in the blue bottle tree …

I grab the locket from the charm bracelet and snap it open, shielding the photos from the rain with my other hand.

Gwen and her pretty friend with the intense black eyes. It’s written right into the pictures and I’ve known it for a while; I just didn’t want to believe it was really true.

Gwen and Mirage were best friends. All them years ago, they were best friends right here in Bayou Bridge. When Miss Silla Wheezy was a kitten — and Miss Silla saw the notes being hidden inside the blue bottles.

Gwen’s best friend disappeared.

Because she grew up.

Leaving Gwen eleven years old, almost twelve.

Which means Gwen’s dead.

She’s dead. She’s dead! I’ll never forgive myself long as I live.

I press my forehead to the carved stone angel girl, and see the curved smile of the statue grinning back at me.

Gwen is out there somewhere. Hovering between death and heaven. Or is it life and death? How did she die? Why is she still here? And why can I see her — why only
me?

Instantly, the answer flits through my mind. I’m the one that released the notes from the blue bottle. The bottles that trapped ghosts and spirits and long-ago messages.

My skin crawls with icy tingles as it all fits together.

I’m searching for a ghost I can see and hear and touch. Does that make me for real crazy? Or is it because I’m the one that can save her? Can I really save Gwen from dying? What an incredible idea!

Maybe it isn’t too late at all. Maybe that’s why I’d found her, because I can do something to stop the tragedy of her death. And if I can stop it, that means I’ll be helping Mirage erase all her sadness and guilt. Might even erase that
FOR SALE
sign in the front yard.

I feel hot and frantic as I jump to my feet and race back to the entrance gates.

Gwen’s ghost is still in this world because she
wants
something. Or maybe she needs to
do
something.

Seems like for-sure craziness, but why else would Gwen haunt the graveyard, talk to me like she was still alive, or dance under the blue bottle tree in the moonlight?

Lightning cracks like a whip over my head. Boiling black clouds burst. Rain stings my legs, and it’s impossible to see more than two feet in front of me.

The slippery grass and thick, sloppy mud make running almost impossible. Cypress trees thrash overhead, the Spanish moss brushing against my face like nettles.

The night is scary and fear clutches at me like hands on
my throat. I’m having trouble running and breathing right at the same time.

When I reach the road, I see Gwen and my heart leaps into my mouth.

I watch her jump up onto the bridge pier, which is strange because I saw her boat tied up at the bank before I headed into the cemetery. As I get down the road, I see her boat, but it’s not moving. The water is so choppy and it’s so windy, it should be bobbing up and down, but it doesn’t do a thing.

Then I realize that Gwen’s boat is slowly lowering in the water. At first I can’t figure out why, and then I realize it’s sinking. The boat must have sprung a leak and is filling with water. Soon it’ll sink to the bottom of the bayou.

Running like crazy down the muddy road, I hope I can get to the pier so I can grab Gwen and get to the island safely before it’s too late.

When I reach the steps up to the pier, the wind is so strong, I almost fall over.

Alongside me, foamy brown bayou water rushes between the pilings, making the wooden pier shiver and quake. The bayou is like a nightmare. The water that started rising earlier that day is so many feet higher now. How can it rise so
fast? It’s almost as high as the bridge and ready to spill across the wooden planks. The water is like a force of its own, with a mind and a will, not caring who’s in its path.

“Gwen!” I scream, running toward her.

She turns and sees me, just as the wind knocks me over and I fall with a hard thump, skinning both my knees on the cypress planks.

And then I see other people, nope —
other kids,
whooping and hollering and running up and down the pier.

I freeze where I’m kneeling, shocked all to pieces.

Is it Tara and Alyson and Jett and Ambrose? Are they playing Truth or Dare at night? During a storm?

A couple of ’em have flashlights. Beams of white are waving all over the place, up into the clouds, over the water, along the bridge.

“Chase the light!” someone yells, and I don’t recognize the boy’s voice. It’s not T-Beau or any of the other boys I know from school. “You gotta take the dare if you ain’t gonna tell the truth!”

A couple of figures line up, their toes on the edge of one of the cypress planks. Kids I don’t recognize. Kids I’ve never seen before.

A moment later, I know exactly who they are: Bayou Bridge kids from the past.

I got stones for a stomach, rocks in my gut, as I hover between my time and their time. Almost twenty years ago.

Somebody screams, “On your mark, get set — go!!!”

The whole world is whirling as I rise to my feet and watch them take off toward the island like a shot. Other kids stand along the edge as they pass, in danger of getting knocked into the bayou if someone flails their arms two inches too close as they race by.

From the distance, I hear, “I win! I win!” It’s a girl’s voice, and I know the voice belongs to Gwen. She’d said she could beat anybody running, and that included the boys.

I wrap my arms around myself, the rain sopping my clothes, melting into my skin right down to the bone. How can they stand it? My jeans are heavy against my thighs, my shirt dripping under my collar.

There are giggles and shouts and nonstop chatter as they cluster together, deciding what to do next.

“This is a night to remember!” a boy says loudly. “The night we faced the elements together in one great dare — and won.”

“Against all odds,” another girl says, picking up on his triumphant tone. “We’ve faced alligators and deadly waters. Truths that made us squirm. Nobody can ever say we’re afraid of anything.”

“Whoo hoo!” the group shouts together and slaps hands, proud of themselves.

“So who’s gonna go swimming tonight?”

“You is crazy for sure!”

“Nah, them alligators are hiding during a storm. Deep down on the banks over the other side.”

“Nobody can swim in that water. It’ll sweep ya right out to sea.”

“Maybe the Gulf, but not the sea.”

“Same thing, you idiot.”

“How about Mirage? She ain’t gone swimming yet.”

“Yeah, Mirage!”

The rest of the kids pick up the chant and start pushing a girl to the edge of the bridge. “Don’t be a chicken. We’ll pull ya right up.”

My blood runs cold through my veins. I feel myself swaying on my feet.

“Hey, I see a gator! Over there! Look at them red eyes!”

“You liar!” a girl screams, terror lacing her voice.

“Jest jokin’, Mirage.”

The whole group is behind her, not letting her back out of the dare. I squint through the rain and try to find Gwen. She’s at one end, silent, biting her lips. Trembling as the rain pummels her head and drips off the ends of her hair. I can see
Gwen getting ready to charge the group, but she’s afraid of accidentally knocking Mirage into the water, that’s how close she is to the ledge. It’s like Mirage is being forced to walk the plank on a pirate ship.

“Ten seconds in the water, that’s all. Come on, just do it and get it over with.”

“You gotta do it,” another voice adds firmly, “or you’re out of the group.”

Mirage stares down at the churning water. I want her to push them all away, tell them to go to heck, grab Gwen and run like mad for the safety of the island.

Water starts lapping over the edge of the bridge, making me seasick to the extreme.

Mirage suddenly turns, flails her arms like a windmill, then dives through a hole in the group, hitting and kicking her way through. Her action reminds me of when I pushed past Tara and Alyson holding me hostage in the bathroom. I didn’t want to face them or fight them. I just wanted to run away. There are shouts and screams of indignation, then taunts and yells. Next thing I know Mirage is flying toward me, her feet pounding the planks, running like an alligator is chasing her all the way home.

Her long dark hair is plastered to her skin, her eyes black and sunken. She’s breathing hard as she flies by and I can feel
the wind she sets off as she whips past and disappears into the darkness. A moment later, I can’t even feel her feet pounding the boards anymore. She’s jumped off the end and disappeared.

The other kids have no mercy.

“Mirage is just a stupid girl. She’s got no guts.”

“Aw, let her go. Forget about her.”

“Okay, Gwen is next!”

My moment of relief turns to fear.

Gwen’s face is pale, her eyes terrified as she screams at her friends.

Some friends. They’re idiots. Tonight ain’t a night for jumping in the bayou — and getting back out alive.

“We got flashlights! We won’t lose ya!”

“Yeah, right!” Gwen is arguing, fighting back, not letting them bully her. “Y’all are idiots. Nobody could climb back up out of that rough water tonight. And I don’t trust a single one a you to pull me up, either.”

If she was smart, she’d leave, too. But she’s tougher than I ever knew, not letting them order her around, standing her ground. But sometimes standing your ground isn’t the smartest thing to do.

My limbs ache like I have a fever. The driving rain is so bad now, I can hardly see.

And the bridge is starting to move. It’s swaying back and forth as the force of the churning, rising water pounds against the pilings. The whole pier shudders from the power of the river.

Through strands of plastered hair, I watch the kids slip and slide on the wet bridge as they try to set up another game.

We’re farther out than I realize, and when I look over my shoulder the bank seems a mile away. If we don’t leave now, none of us might make it back before the water knocks us clean off the bridge.

An instant later, there’s a flash of lightning overhead.

A series of yelps and screams come from the kids and suddenly the entire bridge is jolting up and down and side to side as the group runs for the bank. I turn to run, too, but it’s too slippery and I go crashing to my knees, banging my elbows.

Three seconds later, the kids have run past me and are gone. Every last one a them. Disappeared into the night like the ghosts they are. Even the sound of their voices is gone.

Still on my knees, I crawl my way down the bridge, trying not to throw up every time a wave of water comes over the walkway and attempts to wash me away.

Where’s Gwen? I saw her earlier. In my time. As a ghost. But I can’t leave her behind now. There’s gotta be a reason I see her now, a reason she came to me.
Me.
Is it only because
I opened the blue bottle notes? Or is there something more, something bigger?

I’m the only one who knows how much Gwen fears drowning. How she dreams about the terror of drowning. How she is paralyzed by the thought of it. Because years ago she’d drowned once before.

Gwen is the girl from the story. The girl who drowned right here. The lightning. The blood … no.

I get to my feet and head back toward the middle of the bridge. Back toward Gwen. Where is she? I realize that she never ran by me with the rest of the kids.

They left her out here, alone. Then I see her, crouched on the pier, holding her arm like she’s hurt.

“Gwen!” I scream as loud as I can.

She turns toward me and I’m so glad she can hear me I almost bust out crying.

I try to run toward her as fast as I can and keep my balance, careful to stay in the middle so I don’t get swept off the pier. But I hate, hate, hate running away from the safety of the bank and back toward the middle of the bayou. It’s terrifying.

Gwen peers through the slanting rain and starts moving toward me. Will I really be able to save her? If I can get her back to the banks, we can sit tight in the cemetery until help arrives.

I start to smile as I get closer, and I can see the smile of relief on her face, too — just as the biggest, ugliest bolt of lightning I’ve ever seen in my whole life cracks the sky right down the middle, splitting it in half. The lightning is fat and blinding and enormous and lights up the whole bayou. I can even see the trees illuminated in a flash of white on Gwen’s island on the far shore, the bridge like a straight road tying the banks together.