Dream Dancer (Ghosts Beyond the Grove Book 2) (5 page)

     It wasn’t that I wanted to die; it was that I just didn’t feel like being alive anymore.  A curious way to look at things, I suppose, but there
was
a difference between the two that defied explanation. 

     The passage of time was getting harder and harder for me to distinguish with each day in my new surroundings.  There was nothing for me to do but sleep.  Some days were good; other days were beyond horrific.  As I requested, no one came to visit me.  It was exactly what I wanted yet I felt hollow and alone. 

     I didn’t want Ruby there with me yet every dreamless sleep left me wondering where she was and what she was doing.  She tortured me with her presence yet she tortured me with her absence, too.  I was stuck in a no-win situation.  I was eternally in love with someone who was trying to drive me crazy. 

     Dr. Landon monitored me closely to make sure I didn’t try to kill myself.  Nurses came and went and I refused to converse with them.  During our therapy sessions, I remained silent as well.  He gave me new meds and took away old ones because he thought they weren’t working.  But the truth is, I wanted to stay inside my own mind for a while.  It seemed like the only safe place for me to be.

     I became so accustomed to not communicating that I decided I preferred it that way.  The further everyone stayed away from me, the happier they all would be.  And
I
was much happier when I was asleep.

     One night as I was curled up with a thin blanket and about to drift off, I felt a presence—like I was no longer alone.  No one had entered my room in hours; I would swear to that fact.  Yet there in the darkness, I sensed curious eyes upon me. 

     Cautiously, I opened my own eyes and stared at the stark wall in front of me.  I listened for the sound of breathing but heard not one inhale or exhale.  In fact, there were no sounds or scents at all. 

     “It isn’t her,” I thought to myself.  “You would know if it was her.  You would be able to smell her—taste her almost.  This is all in your imagination.”    

     But still, I felt those eyes on me.  Someone or some
thing
was studying me.  Or my mind was slipping away faster than I thought it was.  As my meds kicked in and consciousness began to fade away, I heard a voice whispering into my ear.  Or did I?  The line separating reality from fantasy was hashed and broken allowing events to seep from one realm into the other.

     “You need to get out of this place.  I’m here to help you.”

     The voice spoke with clear certainty as though a direct plan had already been set into motion.  But I didn’t want out.  The demons hadn’t penetrated these walls until tonight.  No, whoever was speaking to me was no friend of mine.

5.  Go with the Flow

     When the screen finished loading and the bird was in full view, I face palmed at the sheer brilliance of it.  Why didn’t I think of that myself?

     “Mom, you are a genius!” I blurted out then felt awkward for having said something like that in front of Shelly again.  So I quickly issued an apology.

     “Stop it with the apologies already!  In case you forgot, I was adopted as a child.  The people who raised me are my parents but I will always be curious about the biological ones who left me for dead.  I understand the thoughts in your head better than you think I do.  Now tell me what it is about that little brown bird that has you so excited!  He looks pretty ordinary to me.”

     “He may look ordinary but check out his name and where he’s supposed to be.”

     Shelly read through the bird’s description and remained confused.  “It says he’s indigenous to Costa Rica.  Don’t even think for one second that you’re going to go flying off to Costa Rica by yourself, young lady!”

     “I won’t
need
to go to Costa Rica.  I have everything I need right here.  You’re overlooking the obvious.  Try again.”

     Shelly pulled my laptop closer to her and concentrated on the screen.  The second she found what I’d been trying to show her, I could see it on her face.

     “It’s a Clay-colored Thrush!  Clay is the key here!  You may not be able to get in to see Zach, but Clay can!  And you’re right—your mother
is
a genius!”

     Now that Shelly had solved the riddle, it was time to invite my spectral ace in the hole to the conversation.  “Oh, Cla-ay!  I need a favor from my favorite ghost in the whole wide world!”

     Within seconds, Clay came strutting through the kitchen, fluffing his collar like the true lady’s man that he was.  “You always keep coming back for more!  You just can’t resist my charms, can you?  But don’t forget that I’m taken now.  You had your chance, remember?”

     I nodded my head and laughed.  Clay had that kind of effect on me.  I could always count on him to say something unexpected that would put a smile on my face.  Now I needed him to help me do the same thing for Zach.

     “Yes, I remember it well.  Waking up to your ghostly behind in my bed is a moment that won’t easily be erased from my memory.  Nor the time you so lovingly began hijacking my dreams.  I think Sophie is much better equipped to handle a man like you. 
But
…I
could
use a huge favor from you right now.”

     Clay grinned and took a seat at the table.  “You know I’m always around to help you, Ruby.  Scout’s honor.”

     “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear!  Remember that little reconnaissance mission I sent you on a few months ago?  To spy on Zach?  Well, I need you to up the ante on that just a bit.  Are you in?”

     Before Clay could reply, Shelly let out an exasperated sigh.  “I wish I could see and hear you, Clay.  Ghosts should come with subtitles like those avant garde foreign films your father hates, Ruby,” she grumbled.  “Hearing only half of a conversation gets kind of annoying, you know?”

     “Sorry, Shelly, but half of the time I forget that Clay is dead.”

     Halfway through my sentence, he knew what I was going to say next and echoed my own words back to me at the very second I said them myself.  Clay was like a brother to me.  A brother who liked to flirt and was once very deeply in love with me.  Scratch that.  That was a terrible analogy and I got an icky feeling for even thinking of it that way.  Clay was one of my biggest supporters but very much paranormally friend-zoned for eternity.  There, that sounded much less gross and definitely more accurate.

     “Okay, Clay, here’s the deal—Zach is locked up in the looney bin and he isn’t allowed to have any visitors.  At least not living ones, that is.  I need you to get in there and try to talk to him, get him to open up to you.  You’re my only hope for figuring out what’s wrong with him.  Will you do it?”

     “It’s a sad state of affairs when a dead guy is your only hope.  You do realize that, right?” 

     He didn’t wait for me to respond.  Instead, he whiplashed me with another unexpectedly sweet pledge.  Moments like these made me sad that someone with his incredibly good heart met with such a violent and untimely end.

     “Don’t worry, Ruby.  I know how much you love him.  If there’s anything I can do to help, you know I’ll do it.  Scout’s honor.”

     “Thanks, Clay.  I don’t really have a script for you to read from.  You’re going to have to wing it once you’re in there.  Try to befriend him—show him that you’re on his side no matter what he says to you.  Above all else, go with the flow.  Don’t make him mad if you can help it.  I’m trying to help him—not make things worse.  If it starts to get ugly in there, get out.  And report back to me as soon as you’re done.”

     “Okay.  But before I go, let your stepmom know that I sure am glad that I can see her—she is one fine cougar!”

     I giggled uncontrollably as he made a clawing motion in the air as a visual representation of Shelly’s new feline status.  Clay smiled back, nodded his head, and then closed his eyes.  He didn’t have to concentrate to find me but he did when it came to finding anyone else.  I was thanking my lucky stars that Zach was able to see him now too because there was a possibility of an actual conversation between them even if all I got was random guy talk.  I needed to know what was lurking in Zach’s thoughts—good
or
bad.

     After Clay was gone, I relayed his side of the conversation to Shelly—including the fact that he thought she was hot.  She was visibly flattered but vehemently denied it, her cheeks turning a bright shade of red the entire time. 

     “So now what?” she asked, obviously trying to change the subject.

     “So now we demolish that pizza and we wait for him to return.”

     And demolish it we did.  There wasn’t a single crumb left to attest to the fact that it ever existed in the first place.  We talked about anything and everything
but
Zach while eating.  It was only after our dishes were rinsed and in the dishwasher that I posed what must have seemed like a very odd question to her.

     “Shelly, do you ever think about time travel?  You know, whether or not it’s possible?”

     I thought she was going to drop the fresh glass of wine she’d just poured herself and not because she was intoxicated.  No, she was well aware of the weirdness that was me.  She knew that I had a valid reason for asking such a strange question.  And that’s what probably frightened her the most.

     “No,” she replied cautiously.  “Why do you ask?”

     “Well, something happened to me while I was at that hotel in Pittsburgh—something I gave zero credence to at the time.  But when that incident was alluded to by Salma in Sedona, I started to question it.  If I tell you my theory, will you promise not to think that I’m crazy?”

     “Of course I will.  I’ve already accepted the fact that you’re different than most people.  In fact, I kind of like that about you.  Whatcha got for me this time?”

     Having finally built up enough courage to take a closer look at the newspapers given to me by that odd little man over breakfast, I rushed out to the foyer and returned to the kitchen hauling my suitcase along with me.  They were buried at the bottom—where I intended for them to stay until I could destroy them.  But now, I was wondering if they were given to me on purpose.  Maybe they, too, were a sign from Mom on which direction I should turn to help Zach.  I didn’t want that direction to be backwards, but I needed to face the fact that that very well may be what I would have to do.

     I dug systematically through all of my stuff until I found what I was looking for.  Handing the newspapers to Shelly without giving away any clues, I simply said, “What do you think of these?”  She took a few minutes to inspect both of them, and then answered cryptically. 

     “What am I
supposed
to be thinking about them?”

     “I won’t answer that question—at least not yet.  First, I want your unbiased opinion of what you’re holding in your hands.”

     “Unbiased?  Honestly, what I see here is a newspaper from decades ago that is in too good of condition to be authentic.  And a copy of the New York Times from a couple days ago.  But obviously, you see something different so you’re going to have to explain it to me.”

     “Okay, I will.  But don’t be surprised if you’re skipping the glass and drinking straight from the bottle by the time I’m done.  And don’t say that I didn’t warn you.”

     Shelly took my warning seriously.  “I think I’m going to sit down for this one—with this glass of wine in one hand and a bag of chips in the other.  Do you want some?  Chips not wine, of course.”

     “Of course.  And yes, chips are the perfect ‘dessert’ after pizza, right?” I said, forcing a laugh even though I felt completely serious on the inside.  The mere thought of time travel frightened me yet if it was what it took to save Zach, I was more than ready to do it.  I think.

     So with that, I launched into the account of what happened at the hotel and Salma’s quote regarding Nestor and newspapers.  I felt slightly foolish, I have to admit, until Shelly pointed out something that I had missed.

     “Wait a second—equations, you said?  He said he was going wherever the equations took him, right?”

     “Yeah, why?”

     “Turn to page 5 of Saturday’s paper—the one he gave you on Friday.  In the meantime, I’m going to the New York Times website to see if any of what’s in your paper corresponds to what they have.”

     Page 5.  I leafed through until I found it and at first found nothing out of the ordinary.  Until I looked closely.  In a very small, tight hand-written script, I found figures and numbers woven into the typewritten words themselves.  It would take a trained eye or a mathalete like me to realize that hidden in those lines was an equation.  Was that old man crazy or a total genius?  Or might they, in fact, be one and the same?

     “Oh my God….” Shelly’s words trailed off into nothing leaving me with one conclusion.  The paper I received on Friday correlated with the news that was actually reported on Saturday.  But that’s when something else took my attention completely away from random equations and time travel.