The Guidance Read online

  "Play back your recorder, Becca," Celia says before I can.

  After a quick rewind, we hear Becca's question and then a garbled swooshing turning into a voice that says, "Leeeeeeeeeeefffffffff behind."

  "Did you hear that?" Becca says with excitement. "Score!" She loves getting EVPs, and I must admit I get a real rush out of it as well.

  Then, a little further into the recording, we hear, "Miiiillllllie."

  He called her that, Emily tells me.

  I take out my rose quartz pendulum that I use for dowsing. It's really cool because I can ask it yes-or-no questions and have a two-way conversation with a spirit. I'm absolutely sensing a presence here in this basement. However, I have to make sure it's Delaney Lockhart. We've run into so many street ghosts in our investigations lately—random spirits that inhabit Radisson, people who lived a long time ago, before the interstate to Atlanta cut through or the town was wired for cable.

  As I hear Taylor clicking away in the background with her digital camera, I'm still experiencing the emotional choke of extreme heart pain. Is this from Delaney's cardiac? It feels more like a broken heart than blocked arteries. Not that I'm a doctor or anything. There just isn't that sense of blood stopping and not filling the chambers of the heart. I'm picking up something much more forlorn.

  "Are you Delaney Lockhart?"

  I watch as the pendulum dangling from my thumb and forefinger swings back and forth, from left to right. This is how I get the answer no.

  Hmm. "Are you a female spirit?"

  The pendulum confirms another no.

  "Are you a male spirit?"

  "Duh," Becca says with a snicker.

  "You know we have to explore all options," Celia snaps.

  My pendulum begins to swing in a circle, clockwise, which signifies a yes answer.

  "Check this out!" Taylor shouts. "I just took a series of pictures of that corner."

  Sure enough, there's a mist in the bottom right corner that gets larger in each frame until it takes on a shape. A very distinct human shape.

  Taylor points. "That looks like a soldier's cap. Like someone from the Civil War."

  We do have a lot of Civil War history in this town. Local legend has it that General Sherman visited Radisson on his infamous March to the Sea. He and his men were so enamored of a townswoman here that they didn't burn the place and left many historic antebellum houses in their original condition, like the mansion that Celia and her parents live in on the street behind my house.

  Turning to Celia, I ask, "Did Mrs. Lockhart say anything about a ghost in her house before Delaney's death?"

  She shakes her head, tossing her short black bob back and forth. "Never before, although she claims her daughter Evelyn's house is haunted. That was one of the reasons she and Mr. Lockhart gave it to her and moved out here into the carriage house."

  "You're some kind of street ghost, aren't you?" I call out. "You sensed what was going on here, that we were looking for a spirit, and you butted in. If that's what you are, you need to leave, please. You don't belong here. Go back to where you were or let me help you cross into the light."

  Before I can say another word, I feel a piercing pain so bad that I have to clamp my hands over my ears to stop it. All I hear reverberating through my head is this wicked, evil laughter, sinister almost, echoing off my cerebral matter. I scream inside, telling him to bugger off. He's not wanted. I clutch my chest and then I feel an insane twinge in my head.

  He's trouble ...

  Like I need Emily to tell me that.

  I fall to my knees from the intense throbbing in my temples. Taylor drops next to me. "Jason should have come with us tonight," she says. "He's going to be inconsolable if anything happens to you."

  Yeah, my boyfriend still doesn't exactly like that I do this on a regular basis.

  You'll be fine. Ride it out, Kendall.

  I reach for Taylor's hand and hold on tightly as the pain begins to subside. I just wish the soldier would stop it with the evil laugh, like he's taking pleasure in seeing me this way.

  Suddenly, a man appears before me in plaid shorts, a white Titleist shirt, and a Nike visor. Oh, this has got to be Delaney Lockhart. He glances down at me and smiles. Then he tosses a glower to the corner where the soldier is standing. Inside my head, I hear him tell the other man to be gone and leave me alone, to "go back to Evelyn's." Great, we're going to have to come back and clean out her house as well.

  The soldier disappears, just like that.

  Celia and Taylor help me up. I cock my head to the left. Celia's EMF detector flashes like the lights on a state trooper's car. EMF stands for "electromagnetic field," and the detector reads levels of energies. It's widely thought in the paranormal community—yes, we're a community—that spirits use energy to manifest. And since everything in the world is basically made of energy, you never know where a ghost may appear or how it'll do it. Let me tell you: I've got a manifestation, all right.

  "Mr. Lockhart?" I ask out loud.

  Celia and Taylor spin in the direction my voice is aimed. Becca follows along behind me.

  I hear him plain as day, as if he's really standing before me. Well, he is standing before me, only no one but me can see him.

  Mr. Lockhart smiles. "I'm sorry about that soldier. He's been nosing around here trying to get attention and cause trouble. Are you okay, dear?"

  "Yes, sir," I say, catching my breath. All of my physical symptoms have eased. "You know why I'm here, right?"

  Becca lifts a dark brow at me and then positions the digital recorder toward where I'm speaking. Taylor snaps away on the camera, and Celia stands by, taking all sorts of measurements. They've all seen this before and know to go with the flow and not freak out that I'm seeing an entity ... and having a conversation with it.

  "They left me behind," he says. "Those idiots at the airline. I sat on a conveyor belt for at least two days. Good thing I was embalmed before they put me in the casket. Otherwise"—he waves his hand in front of his nose—"that would be a horrific smell, don'tcha think?"

  I snicker at the ghost's joke about his own demise. I have to be serious though, since I don't know how long Delaney will be able to manipulate the energy for me to see and hear him. "Where are you?"

  He takes off his visor and scratches his head. "I don't rightly know."

  My body sags and I exhale noisily. "You have to remember something. A detail? A sound? A smell?"

  "Nope. The formaldehyde sort of masks everything else."

  "Ask him about the airplane," Celia instructs. "Is there anything he can remember about it? Particularly the color?"

  "Sure, sure," he says, hearing Celia's question. "I remember going into this big ol' gold plane."

  "Gold," I say to Celia. "He says it was gold."

  She runs her hands through the top of her hair and I can almost hear the wheels of thought turning. "Mrs. Lockhart said she was on Southeastern Airlines. Their planes are blue and silver. The luggage handlers must have loaded him onto the wrong flight."

  "Who has gold planes?" Becca asks.

  Of course, Celia, knower of all things trivial and seemingly unimportant—seriously, the girl could win the adult Jeopardy! tournament—snaps her fingers. "Journey Airlines has gold planes. I've seen their ads on television."

  "Do they fly into Atlanta?" Taylor asks.

  Celia shakes her head no. "Their hub is Memphis."

  The energy shifts in the room and becomes almost staticky. My own oomph is starting to fade; I know Delaney's been pulling off my psychic abilities to talk to me. He smiles and waves and blows a kiss. We'll get you home, I say in my head.

  You did well, Emily notes to me.

  We rush upstairs to tell Mrs. Lockhart. Well, I don't. Becca has to help me up the stairs and over to a couch to regain my strength. Man, connecting with spirits like that just wears me the hell out. I need a massive nap now.

  Celia dials up Journey's toll-free number on her cell phone and gets the proper customer ser
vice person to help out. We listen to the one-sided conversation as she relays the information. Mrs. Lockhart stands holding Taylor's hand as she awaits the verdict.

  "Yes, she's right here and can give you all of the information." Celia breaks into a wide grin. She passes her cell phone to Mrs. Lockhart. "They have your husband."

  "Thank you, Jesus!" she sings out. "And you girls! Thank you, thank you! This wouldn't have happened without you. Now my Delaney can come home for a proper burial. Evelyn and Veronica will be so relieved." She puts the phone to her ear and begins giving her personal information.

  "Yep, just another typical day for the ghost huntresses," I say with a contented sigh. Taylor and Becca high-five and Celia leans over for a fist bump.

  Why am I still feeling a bit kerfuffled though?

  You haven't seen the last of that soldier ...

  And along with Emily's sweet voice, the sinister laugh is back.

  Yeah, I have a feeling our paths will cross again.

  Chapter Two

  "You were home early last night" Mom says the next morning, pouring Rice Krispies into a bowl for me like I'm not almost seventeen and can't do it myself. She's such a ... mom. "Were you able to help that woman out?"

  I pour the fat-free Lactaid—no real milk in this house due to Mom's intolerance (to milk, among other things)—into my cereal and listen for the familiar snap, crackle, and pop that I've loved as long as I can remember. "Her husband's coffin was picked up by the wrong airline and sent to Eugene, Oregon, by mistake."

  Across the table, my thirteen-year-old sister, Kaitlin, screws up her face. "Ewww ... that's gross, Kendall!"

  "Kaitlin!" Mom fusses.

  "She asked me!" I shout back to Kaitlin. For some reason, Kaitlin's bratty tendencies make me react to her in the same immature manner.

  Mom sighs. "Kendall. Really."

  Dad walks in and smacks Kaitlin gently on the head with the morning paper. "No squabbles first thing in the morning, girls." He pours a stream of hot coffee into his WGN mug and sits at the table with us. "What about a missing coffin?"

  I put several spoonfuls of sugar on my cereal and fill everyone in on the ghost hunt last night at Mrs. Lockhart's, leaving out the part about the laughing soldier. No need to acknowledge his antics any further. Dad nods his head and listens, seemingly impressed with my abilities and how I was able to obtain the necessary information from Delaney to find his body. "The airline told us he should be here in Radisson by the weekend." I spoon in a mouthful of Krispies and munch delightedly.

  Mom wipes at an imaginary spot on the counter while one of my cats, Buckley, weaves around her legs. The other two cats, Natalie and Eleanor, are under the table, waiting for my bowl of cereal milk that I've been spoiling them with lately. I can see Mom's still having a hard time with my...abilities. After all, it's only been two months and it remains a hard pill for her to swallow. See, she's really strong in her religious beliefs and doesn't quite grasp that I'm able to communicate with the dead. Not that I'm not a spiritual person. I am. Even more so now. Mom just thinks it's wrong and even evil and defiant of God's directives in the Bible. Thanks to Dad's patience and open mind, she's trying to accept me. I'll give her that. However, there are vestiges of tension between Mom and me.

  "Well, I think that's fascinating, kiddo," Dad says with a smile.

  "I think it's retarded," Kaitlin says with a Krispy hanging off her bottom lip.

  I ignore her and continue to vacuum cereal into my mouth. Gotta get to school soon.

  From behind me, Mom clears her throat. "Remember our deal, Kendall."

  Oh yeah ... the Deal.

  Mom let me develop my psychic abilities under the tutelage of Loreen Woods—a really awesome lady who gets me and what I'm going through because she's psychic too—and go on ghost investigations with my girls as long as, in return, I agreed to see a psychiatrist. Mom's a nurse and always has to rule out medical conditions as the first-response answer. She's afraid I've got something abnormal going on in my brain that's causing my psychic headaches or, worse, that I'm schizophrenic and that's why I'm seeing strange people and hearing voices.

  I gulp down hard; the Rice Krispies nearly stick in my dry throat. "Yeah, Mom, I totally remember the Deal."

  Dad reaches over and pats my hand. "We have to make sure there's nothing physically wrong with you, Kendall."

  "I know, Dad." I put off the visit to the psychiatrist as long as I could, but the appointment is set for the Saturday after next. "We're going to spend a fun-filled day in Atlanta"

  Kaitlin perks up. "Do I get to go? I want to go to Six Flags. Penny and me want to ride the Mind Bender."

  Mom clicks her tongue. "It's Penny and I want to ride the Mind Bender, and no, you can't come to Atlanta this time. Kendall and I are going together."

  I want to roll my eyes, but out of respect I don't. I know Mom's worried about me and only wants to make sure I'm not suffering from some mental ailment. Hell, I sorta want to find out as well. You know, just for confirmation.

  Dad winks at me from behind his glasses. "I wish I could come. Just too much going on with the Mega-Mart project."

  Part of Dad's job as city planner is to oversee the development of a huge area being created around Mega-Mart's new distribution center. It's going to include affordable housing, a school, and tons of jobs for Radissonians. Celia's dad, Rex Nichols, is the owner of Mega-Mart—Celia's a rich girl, although you'd never know it—and the development played a major part in our first investigation at city hall. A ghost was messing around with my father, and even hurt him pretty bad. So Dad knows I'm for real and that the battery of psychological tests awaiting me is more for Mom's benefit than anyone else's.

  "That's okay, Dad," I say with a resigned sigh. I bend down and set my bowl on the floor. Soon Natalie and Eleanor are nose-butting each other to get at and slurp up the sugary milk.

  He reaches for my hand. "But everything's going to be okay, Kendall. Your mother and I both love you greatly, and we'll continue to support you no matter what."

  I return his squeeze and try to cram down the emotions rising from my stomach and clenching in my throat. I'm not too thrilled about being poked and prodded, but I did make a promise.

  I just wish I could see what's in store for me in Atlanta.

  Monday morning's classes whiz by, thankfully. Celia and I shove our books into our respective lockers and head to the caf to meet up with Taylor and Becca and, of course, Jason. I haven't had nearly enough Jason Tillson time.

  Ever since our group helped the belligerent spirit at city hall find peace and go into the light, our website (www.ghosthuntress.com) has been getting pummeled with hits. Word about us teenage ghost huntresses spread throughout Radisson and even into surrounding towns. Because of this, my weekends have been full of investigations, research, and honing my psychic skills, not so much honing my Jason skills. That's going to change this weekend, however. Friday night we're going out on a bona fide date, like normal high schoolers.

  "Hey, Kendall! Celia!" Sean "Okra" Carmickle calls out to us in the cafeteria line. He's one of the stars of our football team, only he's nursing a broken leg right now. And he's one of the most popular guys in school. Behind him is Jim Roach, Student Government Association president, and Kyle Kadish, president of my class; they nod and smile at us too. A group of girls wave, wide-eyed. It's truly weird how many people at Radisson High School seem to know about and be in awe of my psychic abilities. I guess word got out. Celia and her big mouth.

  "Well, wha'd'ya know," Celia notes. "Is this what it feels like to be popular?"

  I signal at the girls. "I guess so. Who knew?"

  Back in Chicago, I was happy to be just another face that blended into the crowd. The main thing I wanted here at Radisson High School was to get by and fit in. It's strange to have attention for this reason. I certainly didn't ask for this gift, and I wouldn't have requested it had I known everything it would entail. Loreen says it's God's plan for me, so I try t
o go with the psychic flow, learning about tarot and dowsing and reading up on divination and other people with psychic abilities. Being the new kid in school is hard enough without the whole talking-to-and-seeing-ghosts thing.

  The cafeteria lady glops on my plate a pile of mashed potatoes, some green peas, and a formed meat mound that they dare to call "Grandma's Meat Loaf." My Grandma Ethel is rolling in her grave right now at the thought of someone pushing that gray crap as anything she might have made. It's weird that I can see almost every Tom, Dick, and Harry spirit here in Radisson, as well as Emily, my spirit guide who lives in my house, and yet I can't connect with Grandma Ethel, which would be the ultimate in cool. Loreen says it means she's at peace.

  Celia motions her head toward a table. "Taylor already got us a seat. I told her to bring the pictures from Mrs. L.'s so we can decide which ones to put up on the website."

  I'm about to answer when I hear, "Hey, Ghost Girl!"

  I turn my head in the direction of the insult and do my best to plaster on a smile.

  "Boo!" the girl yells and then laughs like it's the funniest thing ever said. "Did I frighten you, Kendall?"

  This is followed by cackles and giggles from the girl's fellow cheerleaders and followers Farah Lewis, Megan Bremer, and Stephanie Crawford.

  You'd think I'd be used to this after a couple of months of juvenile harassment from the likes of Courtney Langdon and her flock.

  Courtney doesn't let up. "You know, I have an excellent tailor who could fashion a stylish straitjacket for you, Ghost Girl."

  Whatever, beeyotch.

  "Get over yourself, Courtney," Celia—suddenly my alpha wolf—says in my defense.

  "Like I'm so scared, Nichols."

  Courtney's clique giggles more as Celia and I try to pass. They follow us, making weird noises. Ugh. They're so immature. Well, except for Stephanie Crawford, who looks rather uncomfortable going along with the herd. I tune in to Stephanie's thoughts and pick up a sense of embarrassment for Courtney's behavior. Deep down, Stephanie thinks it's cool what I can do. She even admires me. Wow ... that's righteous. I smile in her direction to let her know I don't lump her in with the others.