The Guidance Page 7

  "Gnarly!" Dragon shouts out. Becca smacks him in the stomach.

  Mr. McDonough finishes up. "Poor bastard died of blood loss before the paramedics could get to him."

  I grip my upper arm, acknowledging the red-hot pain in my joints. "That would explain it." My whole body involuntarily convulses, just thinking of the guy caught up in the pin resetter and losing a limb like that. And he's still here. I know it.

  I ask, "May I take a look?"

  "Well, sure thing, little lady."

  The six of us follow Mr. McDonough down the lane. He crawls into the gutter and slips behind the pins into the rear pathway. I follow him, as does Celia and Taylor. Taylor pulls out her BlackBerry and starts snapping pictures as I walk around getting a feel for the place. I breathe in deeply, smelling the musty dustiness coupled with the dank smell of a cleaning mop. Closing my eyes, I zero in on the spirit that's been teasing me with a tap, tap, tap on my brain. I see him clear as a bell. Curly hair. Crooked smile. Small scar between his eyes. An old sailboat injury, when the jib hit him. His name is...

  I look at Mr. McDonough. "Was the man's name Rob Breslin?"

  He chortles. "Damn, you're good! That was his name."

  And just like that, Rob Breslin appears before me, as vivid as Celia, Taylor, and Mr. McDonough. He's wearing dirty khaki pants with a bit of green paint smudged on the left leg. A Grateful Dead T-shirt adorns his chest, and he's missing his right arm. Dried blood is encrusted on the sleeve of the shirt.

  "Do you see my arm?" he asks me. "I can't find it anywhere."

  I flick my eyes over to Celia and nod that the spirit is here. She stretches her hand out to feel for any changes in the temperature. Goose bumps dance up and down her arm as she comes in contact with the area where Rob Breslin is standing. She's found a cold spot! Celia cocks her head to the side, indicating to Taylor that she should take some pictures.

  I focus on Rob though. He can't be over forty. What a disastrous way to die—having a limb jerked from your body.

  "I've got to find my arm," he says.

  "I don't know where it is," I say to him.

  He runs his remaining hand through his hair with great frustration. "I've been looking for it since the accident. It's got to be here. I mean, you don't just leave an arm lying around."

  His smile is heartbreaking, and I want nothing more than to find his limb for him. It's impossible, though. Through my psychic vision, I see that the appendage was so badly damaged by the machinery that there was nothing really to bury with him. I've got to do everything in my power to help him cross into a better place.

  "Rob, do you see the light?"

  "Sure I do. It's been around for forever, but I gotta get my limb back."

  "You need to cross over into the light, Rob."

  "Not without my arm."

  Celia and Taylor watch with great interest.

  "He won't go into the light without his arm."

  Celia turns to where I see Rob. "You know, if you go into the light, you'll be whole again," she says. Girl's damn smart.

  "That's right," Taylor says, agreeing. "They say we're all healed up and whole and everything when we get to heaven. You should totally go."

  "You'll find peace there," I add. "You don't want to hang around a dirty old bowling alley forever, do you?"

  Mr. McDonough lifts his eyebrows at me, but I wave him off, since my comment wasn't meant as an insult. I mouth sorry, and he seems to understand.

  Rob glances past me. "The light is spectacular. I've wanted to check it out for a while."

  "Your arm will be there for you ... in the light."

  With that, he walks toward me, through me, almost. Although I feel a jolt like my entire system has been shocked, it soon turns to a warm sensation. I'm consumed by his joy and relief; he feels so loved and welcomed. He radiates tranquillity.

  "Thanks, kid."

  I smile. "You're welcome."

  And with that, he's gone.

  I double over, my hands on my knees, as I catch my breath. I don't get as winded talking to spirits as I did at first, but it still takes a toll on me.

  "Check this out," Taylor says. She holds up her BlackBerry, and there on the screen is a wispy mist swirling around where I saw Rob standing. "Tres exciting!"

  "Is he gone?" McDonough asks.

  "Yes, sir. He's crossed over."

  I crouch down to fill Jason and Becca in on what just happened and see that we've drawn quite a crowd. Celia slides out and shouts, "Kendall just crossed over another spirit! She rocks the house!"

  People clap and cheer as Jason pulls me out of the crawlspace and into his arms.

  Not everyone is cheering though.

  I glance over people's shoulders to a small group gathered on the fringe. Courtney Langdon has been watching.

  And she's pissed.

  Jason pulls his Jeep into my gravel driveway and yanks up the emergency brake. I can tell he's not particularly pleased with me over tonight's turn of events. What was I supposed to do? Just let that Breslin guy wander around for eternity, looking for his missing limb?

  The connection with Breslin completely drained me of my energy, but I'm trying not to let that show. I promised Jason a night without ghosts or ghost hunts, and it hasn't turned out that way. Then there was the nuclear death stare from Courtney. My life seems to be spiraling into a pathetic mess that I can't do anything about.

  Well, I can do something...

  I reach over and lace my fingers through Jason's. He's got such large, tan, strong hands. Mostly from working construction last summer—before I moved here and even knew who Jason Tillson was. Or what ghost hunting was all about. Man, talk about life-altering occurrences in the past two months: a new town, a new school, new friends, a boyfriend ... oh yeah, and becoming psychic. Most teenagers would go crazy with a list like that.

  But I'm not crazy. And tomorrow, I'm going to prove it.

  Jason curls his hand around mine and tightens his grip. I draw strength from just being around him.

  "Don't let how Courtney acted tonight upset you," he says softly.

  "Courtney's ass in a coffeepot," I say back.

  "Huh?"

  I giggle. "Sorry. It's one of my dad's stupid sayings. I have no idea what it means."

  Jason's smile is illuminated by the streetlight. "I think it means who gives a shit what she thinks."

  "Unfortunately I do, because at the present time, she's making my life a living hell."

  "Don't let her," he says, so nonchalantly.

  I nearly snort. "Easy for you to say. You're a guy. The one that dumped her. You don't have to deal with the repercussions of her nasty attitude. It's always easier for a girl to pick on another girl. Especially one who's already put herself in the spotlight by being 'different.'"

  "You're not different, you're special," he says.

  Awww ... heart melt...

  "Yeah, but you don't buy into all of this stuff that's going on. You're the skeptic on our ghost team, remember?"

  He lifts his blond eyebrows and moves his eyes back and forth. "I'm supporting you, Kendall. And my sister. You both believe in this stuff."

  "You've seen and heard the same evidence as we have. What about what happened tonight at the bowling alley?"

  Jason moves his hand in the air, gesturing, unable to come up with words. "I don't know. What do I know about the afterlife? Do I believe you connected with something tonight? Yeah, seems like you did. Was it a ghost? I don't know. I didn't see him."

  I do get where he's coming from. "Do you believe in God?"

  "Of course I do!"

  "And in the devil."

  "Sure ... so?"

  "Well, then there have got to be other entities in this world that we can't see. We can't physically see God, yet we have faith that he's there."

  "That's different," Jason says.

  "How so?"

  "It just is."

  "Great argument," I say with a laugh. "I'm only saying that part of fa
ith is believing what you can't see. You can't actually see love, can you? But you've felt love in your life," I nearly plead. It's so important to me that Jason gets all of this. I'm determined to make a believer out of him. "Love isn't tangible, except in things like a kiss, or holding hands, or like my dad doing the dishes so my mom doesn't have to."

  Jason tilts his head back against the car's headrest and closes his eyes. "You're right. I get what you're saying."

  Feeling cheeky, I say, "Then you believe in ghosts?"

  "Nah."

  "Spirits?"

  "Nope."

  "Not even angels?"

  He shakes his head. "No way."

  I smile at him in the dim light. "Then how do you explain me?"

  Jason laughs so hard, the Jeep nearly shakes. "Ahhh ... a technicality."

  He leans in, so close that I can feel his warm breath on my face. I love it when he makes his move like this. I know what's coming next. Sure enough, his lips touch mine, and the familiar electrical current surges through me, igniting my insides and making my heart skip a beat. I don't care what happens in the future or who I eventually end up with when I'm eighty and rocking on the porch; I will never forget Jason Tillson's kisses. The boy's got talent.

  I dissolve into his arms and put my free hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer to me as he deepens the kiss. There's nothing as secure as having Jason's arms around me, protecting me in a way that no one else can. Not that I need protecting. It's just good to know he's here if and when I need him.

  Jason ends the long kiss and then feathers lighter ones on my cheek, eyelid, and forehead, like he's truly worshiping me. It's ... un-freaking-believable. And it wipes out all—well, most, anyway—of the apprehension and anxiety over what tomorrow will bring.

  As if he's psychic himself, Jason lifts my chin with his finger and asks, "You're thinking about your appointment in the morning, aren't you?"

  I shrug innocently, not wanting to ruin our moment. It's not often that Emily gives me alone time with Jason, so I definitely want to take advantage of it.

  "You don't have anything to worry about," he says. "At least your mom lived up to her end of the bargain, taking you to a doctor familiar with kids who have gifts like yours."

  "This coming from the eternal skeptic."

  "I'm not skeptical about you, Kendall. Just the whole existence of spirits and what have you. I still need to see things for myself. It doesn't mean that I don't believe you see things."

  I let out a long sigh and relax into the bucket seat. "Now you sound like Mom."

  He tugs me back to him. "I'm only saying that this doctor is open-minded."

  Yeah, maybe so. "It still means he's going to be checking for all the signs of crazy and wack."

  Our fingers find each other again. "You want me to come with you?" he asks. "I was gonna play basketball with Roachie, but I can come to Atlanta instead."

  I lay my head on his shoulder and smile. "You're the sweetest, Jason. I've got to do this on my own though. Besides, I need the time with Mom so she can really listen to the doctor and to me and understand that what's happening inside me is not something psychotic or evil."

  Jason touches his forehead to mine. "I'm proud of you, Kendall." Then he kisses me again. Like the kind from the movies, when the music swells, crescendoing to a magical height until it bursts into fireworks and the moon begins to sing. (Okay, so I've watched Moulin Rouge one too many times.)

  "Thanks, Jase," I mutter between kisses.

  "And, I ... you know."

  "Know what?"

  His blue eyes shimmer. "You know. I love you, Kendall."

  I bolt upright. "You do? Whoa!"

  He laughs at me, and I can see his face is red from ear to ear. Holy craptastic! Jason Tillson just told me he loves me!

  "I love you too, Jason," I say, bringing his sexy self to me again.

  "I believe in love 'cause I can see it. I'm looking at it right now, Kendall," he says before kissing me again.

  After we make out for a while—nothing too porno—I finally gather my wits about me and break apart from him, promising to call him when I get back into town. I float into the house, past Dad, who waves from the den where he's watching David Letterman, and collapse face-down into the fluffy quilt of my bed. It's hard to put into words the satisfaction of helping Rob Breslin cross into eternal bliss, and it's coupled with the fact that Jason believes in me sooooooo much. And he frickin' loves me!

  "Did you have fun tonight?"

  Emily's in my rocking chair, making it move ever so slightly. I don't even get frightened anymore when she shows up.

  "I don't know," I say with a grin. "Did I?"

  "I kept my promise, Kendall. You were on your own."

  Rolling onto my back, I scoot to the pillows and prop myself up. "It was ... interesting." I fill her in on what happened at the bowling alley, and she seems pleased. "Most of all, I got to spend time with Jason, and that was awesome." A satisfied sigh escapes from me. "He loves me, Emily. Like, said it and all. Do you know how much that means to me?"

  "You're very loved, Kendall. You should know that."

  I clutch one of my throw pillows to my chest. "This is like real love, though. Not like the love between parents and their kids. Parents have to love their kids. This is someone who picked me out from all the rest and chose to love me. That's ... wicked amazing."

  Emily appears to gnaw on her lip, biting back words she seems to want to say. "Your parents love you that way too. That's why you're going to see that doctor tomorrow."

  I toss the pillow across the room at Emily, knowing that even if it hits her, she won't feel it. "My mom wants to prove that she's right about my awakening, that it's all in my head."

  "You should be grateful that she's so protective and cares what happens to you. Not everyone has that in their life," she says wistfully.

  "Was your mom not protective of you, Emily? Is that why you died?"

  She waves me off with a flick of her hand. "This isn't about me, Kendall."

  Following a long pause, I reassure her. "I do realize that I'm loved and cared for. I'm not stupid. I just want to get this over with, prove myself, and get back to my life. I don't want Mom running the meeting or telling the doctor what he should think about me."

  "She won't."

  "Yeah, she will. But I understand."

  "For what it's worth, Kendall," Emily says, "I'll be there for you too."

  My heart pounds hard, like it did when Jason said he loved me. Because I realize that in her own way, Emily loves me too. "That means the world to me, Em."

  Chapter Seven

  I grab the sissy bar—or in this case, the "oh, shit!" handle—over my head as Mom takes the exit for I-85 off I-20 like she's Kyle Busch pulling in to have his tires changed. "Whoa, Sarah!" I say, only half kiddingly.

  Mom shakes her head. "I knew we should have left Radisson earlier. I don't want to keep the doctor waiting."

  As a longtime nurse, Mom thinks it's incredibly rude for patients to keep the medical staff waiting when they have set appointments. Of course, she has no defense for how patients always seem to have to sit in the doctor's waiting room for weeks on end, reading year-old Redbooks and back issues of Sports Illustrated.

  "We've still got a half-hour to get there."

  "Atlanta traffic is always a nightmare."

  "It's Saturday," I say.

  "We'll still barely make it downtown." Mom switches her Volvo into the left lane and guns it past a rickety old pickup truck doing its best to keep up with the early-morning interstate traffic. "Did you deliberately try to make us late so you wouldn't have to do this?"

  My brows knit together as I stare at her over my sunglasses. "Uh. Wha—I can't believe you think that! I said I'd do this, and I'm doing it. Geez."

  Mom bites her bottom lip and reaches over to touch me on my blue-jeaned knee. "I'm sorry, Kendall. I'm just nervous about this meeting and what we might find out."

  That your dau
ghter's really psychic, Emily says in my head.

  I mentally wave her off. "I'm not trying to be the bratty kid, Mom, you know that. Kaitlin has that role down pat. I want this over and done as much as you do."

  In no time, Mom zigzags through the I-85 raceway, exiting swiftly downtown and turning onto Peachtree Street. This is really the first time I've been to the city. I'd love to have a chance to explore the Underground, go and visit Coca-Cola World, see the Carter presidential library and Martin Luther King Jr.'s grave, take in a Braves game, or even see my beloved Blackhawks play the Atlanta Thrashers (High-Stickin' Chickens, more like). Maybe Jason and I can visit the city together one weekend when I'm not ghost hunting. If I still get to ghost hunt.

  We park in the office-complex garage and make our way into the building. It smells of antiseptic cleaner coupled with a Febreze-like odor. It's times like these that I wish I didn't have that clairsentient ability where I'm able to pick up spirits through my sensitivity to smells. Not that there are any spirits here. Are there? No, it's a pretty recently built building and it's not like it's a hospital, where people die and stuff.

  I need to get a grip on my thoughts. Especially since some quack is about to start dissecting them.

  "Sarah and Kendall Moorehead to see Dr. Kindberg," Mom says to the receptionist. "We have an appointment."

  The nurse checks us in and tells us to wait. Great. Mom drives like a bat out of hell to get here, and they make us wait. Whatever.

  My BlackBerry sings that I've received a text message, so I pull it out of the case.

  >Patience 4 the patient.

  Huh? Who's this from? There's no number to text back.

  Mom tsk-tsks me. "Do you have to do that now?"

  Another beep.

  >I'm here if u need me. E

  How did you do that, Emily?

  Just then, the door to the inner sanctum opens and an older man steps out. He's wearing a light blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and no tie. He's sporting a crewcut, like he's just finished a tour in the Middle East with the Eighty-second Airborne. His khakis don't look institutional or anything, so maybe this guy doesn't have a stick up his ass after all. "Mrs. Moorehead? Kendall? Why don't y'all come on in?"