The Reaping (The Reapers Book 1) (4 page)

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Please, Kelsey, don’t lie to me.”

She looked at me and I could see it in her eyes.

Just the day before, I had gotten irritated with Angelica for not washing her own dishes and had thought I might be better off living alone, but the idea of her joining the ranks of those who called me a freak hurt with an almost physical pain. She was the one person I really cared about who still saw me as ordinary. Any friends I’d had in my home town had drifted off or turned on me when my mother started telling everyone about my abilities. The readings she’d had me do had only made it worse. I’d been a little girl; I hadn’t yet learned to lie, and the dead rarely say what the living want to hear.

“It really was a nightmare, Angelica. I’d had a particularly bad argument with him and I had a nightmare. That’s all it was.”

She peeked up at me, and the look in her eyes, the dark mixture of fear and hope, made my knees buckle. I pulled out a chair and sank down into it before meeting her gaze again. I would convince her it was just a dream. “I know you would love it if I suddenly manifested a psychic ability, but you know it’s not true. The only odd thing about me is my ridiculously overactive imagination.”

She nodded. “You’re probably right, Kelsey. I’ve known you long enough to have caught on by now if you were psychic. And if it was anything else…you’d tell me, right?”

“I would tell you, but I swear it was just a dream. A really odd, coincidental dream, but just a dream.”

Angelica sighed and dropped her gaze again. “Having spent so much time around Landon, you probably had a connection to him on a psychic or spiritual level and you felt it when he died.”

The idea of me having any sort of connection with Landon grossed me out, but it was less frightening than the idea of Landon being able to enter my dreams. “Do you really think that’s possible?”

“Anything’s possible. We know you didn’t kill him yourself, so the knowledge of his death must have gotten to you somehow.” She sighed and shook her head. “Anyway, it’s girls’ night. Let’s go out tonight and pretend like none of this is happening.”

For the second time that day, I felt as though I had been injected into a new, unknown reality. For a few moments, I had been capable of a psychic connection to a dead man and, just as abruptly, Angelica was acting as though everything was perfectly normal. “I don’t know, Ang. Right now, I need to get out of my own head and go for a run.”

“Great idea, I’ll come with you.”

I didn’t often tell her no, and it made me sad to do so now. “I’m sorry, Ang, but I need to be by myself right now.”

She nodded and smiled as though I had every right to request a private run. “I understand. Just know I’ll be here if you need me, and that I’m taking you out and getting you drunk tonight.”

“We’ll see,” I said.

In several layers of clothes—leggings, t-shirt, sweatshirt, hat, and gloves—I ran away from my apartment and from town, toward the mountains, quiet now in the lull before ski season really got going. I popped in my earbuds and my favorite running mix pounded into my brain, beginning with Slipknot’s, “Psychosocial.” I ran hard for the first mile, until my lungs stung and my thighs ached. I slowed down only when I felt I might fall over if I didn’t get a long, deep breath. Even then, I reduced my speed to a jog just long enough to breathe easily again.

I didn’t slacken my pace again until my playlist switched from metal to more mellow alternative rock. I dialed down to a jog to match the rhythm of Blue October’s “Hate Me,” because I knew I wouldn’t be able to make it back to my apartment if I kept up my starting pace. A part of me still wanted to run so fast and hard that all I could think about was the ache in my lungs and putting one foot in front of the other. Instead, I focused on the music and on keeping my rhythm even. The thought of Angelica and the way she had looked at me still made me want to cry but, as long as I didn’t think about her or Landon, I felt moderately calm, almost normal.

I reached the base of the mountain and ran down the street dividing the slopes and the condos from the shops and the bars. Most places were closed and empty, but I heard music from a bar at the end of the street, O’Leary’s Irish Eyes. O’Leary’s was the only bar in town that still allowed smoking and catered to people whose main interest was drinking. It had no pool table, no stage, no dance floor, not even a dart board; just a bar and a few tables. Despite its lack of entertainment offerings, or maybe because of it, O’Leary’s was the only resort bar more popular with locals than tourists. For the most part, locals kept to the downtown bar scene and the tourists frequented the venues closest to their resort condos, but O’Leary’s appealed to the older locals who were just looking for conversation, booze, and a place to smoke.

As I neared the bar with its cheesy, four-leaf-clover neon sign, a man stumbled out the door and right into my path. I dodged him without looking at him, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me to a definite stop. I jerked my arm free, faced him, and pulled my earbuds from my ears, expecting to see a very drunk stranger or an acquaintance looking for whatever female company came his way. I was ready to start running again after a firm, “No, thank you.”

Instead, I found myself facing Officer Reid. The man’s eyes were red-rimmed and blood-shot, but he spoke clearly when he said, “Whoa, Ice Princess, what’s your hurry? This is Reid’s hangout, so I figure you must be looking for me.”

My first instinct screamed to run away as fast as I could, but I found, to my surprise, that I wanted answers. “How do you know Landon used to call me that?”

Reid gave me a twisted, empty smile. “I’ve already explained this to you, Kelsey. Why don’t you come back in with me, and we can discuss it over a beer?”

“No, thank you, Officer. I want to finish my run. Just tell me why you’re playing this game. Why are you pretending to be Landon?”

His smile vanished. “I showed you, Kelsey. I showed you in your dream that I
am
Landon. I have to use this idiot’s body when he is stoned or drunk, and it’s not enough. I want a healthy body so I can live right this time. I want
your
body.”

His hands were in tight fists by his sides, his cheeks red from more than the chill air or his intoxication. I knew I should try not to make him angrier, but I just didn’t feel like being nice to the crazy psycho who was screwing with my mind and taking advantage of me. “I don’t remember any dream, and I don’t believe for a second that you’re Landon. As for my body, I don’t feel like sharing, thank you anyway.”

I was running before the last word was out, back toward my apartment and away from him.

I heard steps behind me, and he yelled, “I am Landon. You know I’m Landon. I’m still here!”

I increased my pace and put my ear buds back in. Once I had gone about a block, I turned and looked back, but no one followed me. A bit shaky, my heart beating faster than normal, I kept my pace to a jog until I had calmed down a bit.

By the time I got back to the apartment, the sky had darkened and small snowflakes had begun drifting down. Normally, I would have been happy to see the snow, but I felt numb. I remembered the girl I used to be, before Mom had spread the news of my ghostly abilities to everyone in town, standing in the snow and laughing, catching the flakes on my tongue. But I was not that girl anymore. Somewhere along the way, the beauty and pleasures of life had lost their sparkle.

That spark of uncontrollable joy lay asleep in me, and it seemed it would never reawaken. As much as I loved living in Colorado and being anonymous, I often felt like I walked on a narrow street with raging white water on either side of me. On one side was the chance everyone in Briarton would learn my secret, and on the other rested the possibility I would be consumed by my own lies. In the beginning, I had been sure that the passage of time would make me less afraid and more comfortable in my new, normal life, but I found I was becoming more afraid, instead. With every day that passed, I had more to lose. Now Reid and/or Landon were threatening to take everything I had worked so hard to get.

As I finished my run, I felt no more relaxed or grounded than when I’d started. I might be able to believe Reid was playing a sick joke on me but that didn’t explain my dream. It didn’t seem possible the two could be coincidence. Which meant either I was psychic, or Landon was actually squatting in Reid’s body. At the moment, I found the former easier to accept. No ghost had ever been able to enter my dreams before, much less the body of a living person. And I was pretty sure I’d rather be psychic than live in a world where ghosts could jump into and control the living.

I walked back into the apartment, simultaneously relieved and disappointed to find Angelica wasn’t there. If she had been, I might have confided in her. I needed to talk to someone and hash out my worries and doubts until they made sense.

The phone rang, as though in response to my thoughts. I picked up, too afraid to check the caller-ID, and focused my attention on the window. The falling snow comforted me and the dark, heavy clouds suited my mood.

“Kelsey? Kelsey, honey, are you okay? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for days.”

Mom exaggerated more than a little bit. She had called twice the day before and she had left no messages.

I tried to keep the sigh out of my voice as I sank into a chair. “Yes, Momma, I’ve been busy. I’m fine.”

“Oh, well, honey, I just heard a rumor, and I had to talk to you to clear it up.”

My heart bucked with fear. Was it possible news of Landon’s death had spread to the East Coast? “You’ve already said it’s just a rumor, so why do you need to clear anything up? You know how people gossip.”

“Yes, of course you’re right, dear. But this came from a very reliable source.”

“What is it, Momma?”

“Well, I ran into Molly Meyer’s mother at the grocery store, and she said Emily Hendrickson is getting married next June.”

I slumped with relief and annoyance. “How exactly can I clear that up, Momma?”

“Well, you and Emily were so close. I figured you would have at least heard about the wedding, and I thought she’d probably invited you.”

“Momma, I haven’t said more than five words to Emily since fourth grade.”
When you told her mother I could see ghosts
. “She certainly isn’t going to invite
me
to her wedding.”

“Oh well, I just thought if she did, you might be coming back here in June, and I wanted you to know that you are more than welcome to stay with me.”

“If she does invite me, and I do decide to go to her wedding, there is nowhere else I’d rather stay.” The idea of my having had friends in school was just one of the many fantasies Mom needed.

“Oh, good. You just let me know as soon as you hear anything. Are you doing okay? I read in the paper that you are in for a real cold spell there next week.”

“I’m fine, Momma. Cold is a good thing here.”

“Well, I’m glad you are doing so well. I just miss you so much since you left. I couldn’t help but think of the way I felt after your father…well, I just felt so lonely, like my whole world had ended…”

“I miss you, too, Momma.”

“Have you heard from him?”

My father had disappeared when I was five and my mother stopped sending me to a therapist and started believing in my abilities when I was seven. She was so desperate to know what had happened to him, she believed in me. I’d never seen him, and she never failed to ask.

“No, Momma. I haven’t seen many ghosts at all lately. I’ve been busy with work and—”

“Oh well, you have always been stronger than me and you have so many friends there. You aren’t all alone like I am. You ought to find a roommate, though. I hate the idea of you living there by yourself.”

“I’m not alone, Momma, I
have
a roommate. It’s just that Angelica and I are thinking of trying to find a third roommate to help with the rent.”

“You know, sweetheart, if money’s tight, you can always move back here. I miss you so much.”

I had heard this line from my mother more times than I can count. The first time she said it to me, I believed she meant it and I felt so bad for her that I agreed to return home. As soon as I did, she backtracked and said I needed to live my own life and she would never keep me from it. I realized then that she didn’t want me to come home. I imagined life was easier for her without her freaky daughter who reminded her of the husband who’d left. My mother couldn’t admit that reality, so we played this little game to make her feel better.

“I miss you, too, Momma. If there was some way I could live with you and also live here, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“I know you would, sugar. I know you would.”

“I gotta go. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Kelsey.”

I hung up and sank into the overstuffed chair in the living room. The space held a mismatch of furniture, all of it familiar and well-loved. The chair I sat in was neon blue and belonged to Angelica. I had found the futon at a yard sale, and it had a lumpy mattress covered in bright purple faux suede. The battered coffee table had come from the dumpster outside the apartment building. The nicest piece of furniture in the living room was the wooden rocking chair that Angelica’s grandfather had made, and the newest was the red beanbag. Mom had never visited me here or even seen pictures; if she had, she would have been appalled. Mom believed an attractive interior environment vital to mental well-being.

After my father disappeared, my mother lost some of her energy and happiness. As a kid, I noticed the change, and when Mom came to me for comfort and kind words or asked me to stay with her rather than go to a friend’s birthday party, I complied. It made me feel grown-up and useful that she needed me so much. As I grew older and experienced my own sorrows and let downs, Mom wasn’t really there for me. When I tried to talk to her about Daddy or about my own problems, she would change the subject to her own troubles or loneliness, or act as though she hadn’t heard what I was saying to her. As far as Mom was concerned, I didn’t have any real problems and to act as though I did seemed selfish and childish. She had lost her husband; she had raised her strange, slightly crazy daughter alone; she no longer had the energy or the time to worry about what I needed or wanted. So I had stopped sharing anything personal with her. I learned to handle life’s tribulations and stresses on my own. I had managed just fine, and that wasn’t going to change just because some crazy cop was pretending to channel my dead boss.