Haunting Zoe (4 page)

Carlos tilts his head and sighs deeply. For a
split second I think he’s admiring her ass, then I realize his eyes
are laser fixed on her designer handbag and I chuckle out loud.
Everyone in line turns to stare at me. I can actually feel the
blood rush into my face. Carlos turns, blocking me from view and I
can breathe again. He fiddles with my scarf, twisting it and
tucking it until it’s sitting perfectly against my small chest.

“I really don’t want to do this.”

Carlos tugs on my earlobe. “Don’t worry Zoe
Bowie, I’m here.”

I shake my head. “Let me rephrase. I’m
not
doing this. I don’t even like half of these people.
Hell, I didn’t like Logan when he was alive, and I’m not going to
sit here and pretend like I miss him now that he’s gone.” I
swallow. Imagining myself sitting in one of those black folding
chairs, listening to crying girl after crying girl get up there and
whine about what a great person he was and how he changed their
lives. I throw up a little just thinking about it. “If my mom asks
where I went, tell her I had a nervous breakdown and had to go
home.”

He smiles deviously. “I’ll tell her that you,
being the delicate flower you are, were overcome with grief and had
to excuse yourself to the fainting couch,” He says in a thick
southern accent.

“Why thank you Miss Scarlett.”

I can’t help but grin. I know it’s been his
dream to play the lead in the local theater company’s production of
Gone with the Wind
since he was five. My remark earns me a
kissy face and a wave as he turns to go inside.

I’m all ready to make a break for it, when I
get a glimpse of something out the corner of my eye. As I turn to
get a better look, I see a boy walking away and into the coat
closet at the other end of the hall. I don’t know why I follow him,
but my feet are moving before I can fully rationalize it to myself.
My boot heels clack on the stone tile floors and sounding like a
heartbeat, slow and steady. I run my fingertips along the beige
walls as I pass by what I hope is the casket showroom and not some
sort of demented waiting room for whoever’s next in line for
viewing, then a room full of comfy looking floral chairs, and
finally an office. At the very end of the hall, the door to the
coat room is ajar. As I reach out and push it open, an army of
shivers march up my back.

If this was a horror movie, this is the part
where I would die.

As soon as I step inside the door, the boy
turns and my heart sinks into my feet. For a minute, I just stand
there, staring at him like an idiot. All I can feel is icy cold air
from the vent in the ceiling blowing down on me, chilling me to my
core. Then the anger flows in, replacing the cold shock with a
flush of heat. I reach behind me and slam the door shut.

“What is your freaking
damage
,
Logan?”

He stares at me, his green eyes wide. “Excuse
me?”

My eyes narrow. I know what’s going on here.
“I’m being punked, aren’t I? This is some stupid reality TV show or
something right?”

He just stands there looking confused.

“Does your family know you’re alive? I mean,
seriously, if this is some dumb publicity stunt for the reporters
out front…” I’m so angry I don’t even know what to say. Logan has
always been a bit of an attention whore, but this is a new low. My
hands are balled onto fists at my hips. “Say something, Logan.
Please
. Find the magic words to make this whole mess not be
the most horrible thing a human being has ever done in their entire
life, ever.”

“Zoe?” his voice is soft and he has a dumb
half grin on his face that I remember from when we were kids. I
have a desperate urge to remove it with my fist. “What are you
talking about?”

Oh, sure. Like I’m the crazy one. “You are a
giant douche hammer, you know that? I mean, what is this? Some
idiotic attempt to get extra credit in English class? Tom Sawyer
101? I mean, those people think you’re dead! We all thought…” I
trail off again, the words jumbling in my brain before I can get
them out. I’m so angry I’m bordering on incoherent. My pulse is
racing and my whole face feels hot. I need to calm myself before I
completely lose it. I take a deep breath, hold it for a second, and
then release it slowly.

He takes a step toward me, tilting his head
curiously. “You can see me?”

“Okay, that’s it. I’m not falling for
this…whatever this is. I’m going to march in there and tell your
mother right now.”

He straightens, a cocky grin spreading across
his face. That’s a look I’m more used to seeing on him recently.
“You’re going to go tell my mommy on me? What, are we five
again?”

I grunt and flip him off, throwing the door
open.

“Wait!” I hear him call behind me but I keep
going. Inside the main room his parents have taken seats next to
Kaylee in the front row. Ignoring the minister speaking from the
pulpit I stride up the center aisle, stomping angrily. I’m almost
to the front when I realize something. The dark brown casket is
open. My pace slows and I see Logan’s face, his eyes are closed
like he’s sleeping inside the white satin lined box. I spin,
looking behind me, but he’s gone. I spin back around and take the
final steps to the coffin, clutching the sides for support.

Up close, I’m not sure what I’m seeing. He
looks kinda puffy and waxy. Maybe that’s how he’s doing it. Maybe
it’s some kind of wax dummy. I reach out to touch his face when a
sob from behind me snaps me out of it. Two pairs of arms grab me
from either side, Carlos on my left and my mother on my right. They
quickly usher me back down the aisle to a chorus of sobs and camera
snaps. I’m shaking. Around me there is a thick white fog clouding
the very edges of my vision.

“Mom?” I ask.

She’s soothing me, patting my hair and
rubbing my back. Outside they lead me to the car amidst more
cameras clicking. I can barely walk. My knees are like Jell-O and I
feel like I’m breathing through a straw. I gasp and the fog gets
worse. I feel Carlos slip me into the passenger seat of mom’s old
Camry then he thrusts a bottle of cold, sweaty water in my
hand.

“Are you okay Zoe?” My mother asks, kneeling
in front of me.

She has her nurse face on and I know if I say
the wrong thing, I’m going to end up spending the night in the
hospital.

“I think she’s in shock,” Carlos says,
patting my hand gently. I pull it away.

“Not helping, Carlos.” I look over at my
mother who is clearly on the edge of panic. “I’m fine. Just,
overwhelmed. Can we just go home?” She nods, patting my knee before
moving to the other side of the car. Carlos gently turns me in my
seat, trying to help me buckle. Behind him, on the steps to the
funeral home, Logan is standing in the sunlight. Only, the
reporters are all ignoring him.

I grab Carlos by the lapel and jerk my head
towards the stairs.

“Do you see that?”

He turns and looks over his shoulder.
“What?”

“Do you see anyone on the steps?”

He frowns, “No. Why?”

I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut.
“Never mind. I think my breakfast grape juice fermented. I’m gonna
go home and lay down for a bit.”

He shuts the door and I lean out the window
to give him a peck on the cheek.

“Take care, sweetie. Call me later when you
are feeling better.”

I tug my hair out of the bun and let it fall
around my shoulders. A familiar ache is growing inside my skull and
I know if I leave it in, it’ll only make it worse. “I will.”

He steps back onto the curb and we speed off.
I don’t open my eyes all the way home, I just let the cool wind
blow knots into my hair and try not to think of the thousands of
pictures of me freaking out coffin-side that are hitting the web as
we speak, or of Logan’s face in that coffin.

I fail on both counts.

***

By the time I open my eyes, the sun is
shining full strength through my bedroom window. Somehow I’ve made
it out of my clothes and into my soft blue pajama pants and grey
tank top. I groan, rolling over and glancing at the alarm clock.
The flashing red 4:13 makes me jerk up, tossing off the warm green
comforter and leaping to my feet. I open my door, but the house is
completely silent. A piece of paper is taped to my door.

Zoe-

Working a double shift. Call me if you aren’t feeling
better soon. Don’t forget to pick up what you need for school!

Love,

Mom

I rip the paper off the door and wad it into
a ball, tossing it over my shoulder as I step into the hallway. The
first day of school is in less than a week, but I almost can’t
bring myself to think of it. It’s not that I hate school, per-se,
but it’s tedious and boring. Not even my advanced classes really
challenge me, and let’s face it, I’m probably going to spend the
bulk of the year in the library anyway—which I’d rather do without
a bunch of other people annoying me. I’m supposed to be there
tomorrow since I volunteered to help set up for back to school
night, but I’m actually debating blowing it off.

Then a pang of guilt sets in and I think
better of it.

Mrs. Jackson had been kind enough to let me
spend most of my summer there, helping out at times, or just
devouring the new books. As I’m rummaging through nearly barren
cabinets my cell rings on the counter.
Putting on the Ritz
,
Carlos’s ring tone, echoes through the house. I snatch it up.

“Hey Carlos. What’s up?”

“Not much. How are you feeling? I called
earlier but your mom answered. She said you were still
sleeping.”

I stifle a yawn. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I
don’t know what happened. Panic attack or something?”

Yesterday’s events seem so surreal, I can’t
make sense of any of it. I suppose grief does weird things to the
body.

“As long as you are feeling better now.” His
voice is hesitant, like he’s waiting to gauge my reaction.

I cringe and drop the bag of Cheetos I’m
holding as I remember my scene at the viewing.

“Oh shit. How bad is it?”

There is a short pause at the other end of
the line. “Not terrible. Though you started quite a trend. About 30
girls threw themselves on the coffin and wept like idiots after you
left.”

I sigh as relief settles into my chest,
releasing the tension. “Well, I suppose that’s good at least.
Better to be considered an attention whore than a lunatic, right?
Any viral videos yet?”

“A few of the other girls posted pics, but
none of you.”

I frown and switch the phone to my other
ear.

“I can hear you frowning, Zoe.”

Now I grin. He knows me so well.

“Would you really rather be a crazy,
attention grabbing, wannabe?”

I pull open the bag and stuff a cheesy poof
in my mouth, crunching on it as I answer.

“Better than being invisible. I could strip
naked and ride a horse down the hall in Lady Godiva style and no
one would even notice.”

I can hear him laughing. “Oh, honey, you
don’t have the figure for nudity.”

I roll my eyes. “Thanks for that.”

“Well, if you’re quite done with the pity
party, I could use some help picking out my back to school
wardrobe. I’m driving to the city to hit Bloomies. Wanna join?”

“When are you going to get over your crush on
the hot guy at the Bloomingdales counter?”

He huffs, “When he quits looking so good in a
pair of slacks. Come on, don’t crap out on me. If I go alone he
will think I’m stalking him.”

“You are stalking him,” I say around another
Cheeto.

“Well, yeah, but I don’t want him to
know
that I’m stalking him.”

I shake my head and take my bag of powered
cheese awesomeness back to my room. “Sorry. You’ll just have to go
with your plastic.”

“Fine. I will let my credit card be my guide.
But you owe me one.”

“Put it on my tab,” I say, unable to keep the
smile off my face as I end the call.

Brimstone, my lean black kitty, leaps onto my
desk and demands affection the way only cats can.

“Well, Brim. We both knew this day was
coming. Today is the day I stay in my pajamas and do nothing but
glut myself on Cheetos and read books.” I say it as if it’s the
first time that it’s ever happened rather than being a semi-regular
occurrence.

She rubs her head against me, unimpressed by
my slothful declaration. I grab my dog-eared copy of
The
Collected Works of Edgar Allen Poe
and settle in. It’s a bit
darker than what I’ve been reading lately, but it’s by far one of
my favorites. As I curl into my comfy old reading chair, Brim leaps
up and curls into a ball on my lap. Soon I’m lost in the pages. I
don’t look up again until a clap of thunder shakes the house.
Carefully moving Brim onto my bed I pull back my sheer curtains.
The sky is dark and droplets of rain cover the glass.

I glance at the clock. It’s almost seven now
and my stomach growls, taking advantage of the break in my reading
to remind me that one can’t live on Cheetos alone. Setting my book
beside the still sleeping cat I head back to the kitchen. The
kitchen light flickers but manages to stay on. I grab the long
black flashlight from the junk drawer, just in case. A flash of
light bursts through the windows over the kitchen sink followed
quickly by a roll of thunder so loud that the tiny hairs on the
back of my neck jump to attention. I shiver and pour myself a glass
of milk and toss a few slices of leftover pineapple pizza onto a
plate. As I turn back to my room, the lights flicker again. When
the flickering stops I’m no longer alone in the kitchen. I don’t
scream. I think I’m too startled for that. I can’t even draw in a
breath. I’m frozen, unable to think beyond the face staring back at
me. The glass and plate slip through my fingers, crashing to the
floor and shattering at my bare feet. Logan stands in front of me
with his hands held out .