Phantoms of Fall (The Haunting Ruby Series Book 2) (31 page)

I could hear the panic in her voice but it was nothing
compared to the blistering terror in mine. “Rita!” I blurted
out, “There was this woman and she was running! And then
there was this man with a knife and he stabbed her over and
over again!”

“
What
? You’ve seen them too?” Knowing that I wasn’t
stark raving mad and that Rita had seen them too made me
relax just a little.

“Yes. They kinda came with the property, so to speak.
I have no idea who they are but I saw them a lot when I first
bought the building.
It was so intense in those first few
months that I almost sold the place. I did a lot of research, but
I never could figure out who they were. I haven’t seen them
in a few years—I thought they were gone.”

“Oh, they are most definitely still here.” I still had a lot
to learn about ghosts so I asked the one question lingering in
my mind. “What kind of ghosts are they?”

“Just residual—they’ve never interacted at all. They
have no clue they’re being watched. Their emotions were so
intense that they somehow carved themselves
into their
surroundings. That’s the kind of thing that usually happens
on the anniversary of the event.”

Anniversary haunting. Was this what I was going to
experience on Halloween—alone in
the dark
and
creepy
locker room at the school? And if so, was I ready for this? I
don’t know what I expected to see in that locker room but if it
was anything like this, I was about to have second thoughts.
Suddenly, I was struck by an odd question.

“Sure—I’ve seen it first-hand. When we investigated
at the Winterbourne Lighthouse in Maine, we saw the murder
of the lighthouse museum curator. She was killed in 1984 and
at the time, her killer was in the state penitentiary.”

Would I get to see a teenage Mr. Raspatello wrap a
noose around Garnet’s neck and hoist her writhing body to
the ceiling? Suddenly, I didn’t want to go in there alone. But
who could I get to help me? Rita wouldn’t want any part of
breaking into the school so she was definitely not an option.
Rachel?
She would help me—I knew she would—but could I
trust her not to tell Zach the truth?
I had the answer to that
before I even finished asking myself the question.
Definitely
not. I would have to do it alone—there was no other way.

“Interesting.” It was all I could think of to say. The
bizarre image I just saw was nothing compared to what I
might see on Halloween. After assuring Rita that I was fine
and not too scared to return to work in the morning, we
ended our conversation.
I took one last look at the spot
where I watched the spectral murder and turned out the
lights.
Things
were about to get more intense than I
bargained for.

My intentions were simple—keep the distractions to a
minimum in the two weeks leading up to Halloween. If I was
going to pull this whole thing off, I would need a clear head.
So of course, they turned out to be intensely dramatic weeks.
Misty kept her distance and Mr. Raspatello left me alone.
Even encounters with Garnet were minimal.
That left only
one other source.

Zach continued to pretend that I didn’t even exist.
Chloe couldn’t keep her hands off of him. Every time I saw
them together, she was giggling and looking like the happiest
girl in the world. That was how I used to look. I hated her so
much but how could I blame her?
Being with Zach was
amazing and if the situation were reversed, I would have
sunken my claws into him at the first opportunity, too.

Zach seemed happy, too, at least at first glance. But I
knew him well and I could see that something was bothering
him.
Below the
surface, there was
something
dark and
untouchable.
Like a wall no one could ever penetrate—no
one but me, I was sure of it. If I could only talk to him, I knew
his secrets would come spilling out. Unfortunately, though, so
would mine.

Meanwhile, I continued to sink deeper into a loveless
oblivion. Without Zach to hold, my arms felt empty. Without
his kisses, my lips felt as cold as stone. When I was with him, I
felt alive.
Without him, I was
nothing but a reanimated
corpse. I was going through the motions but I was completely
dead inside.

So when the guidance counselor pulled me aside and
reminded me that I needed to start sending
out college
applications, I had a huge decision to make. Zach and I picked
out a college together over the summer—one with a great
pre-vet program for him and a good English department for
me.
Now that we were apart, I had to find a different school
somewhere far away from him and the perfect memories of
our love.

I picked a university in Philadelphia, the one Lee and I
always assumed we would attend. It felt wrong, but I did it
anyway. Any plan I made that didn’t include Zach felt wrong,
so I assumed that it was probably the right choice. I didn’t tell
anyone where I applied. When I left Charlotte’s Grove next
fall, it would be forever. Dad and Shelly would just have to
come visit me in the city.
This town was too full of Zach for
me to ever return.

By the end of the day on the 25
^th
, Rachel had the final
tally on RSVPs for the party. Out of the 229 people invited,
200 said they were attending. Misty chose not to RSVP at all,
so I was left with an indefinite answer about whether or not
she would be there. I wanted to know if Zach was coming, but
I couldn’t dare ask Rachel. If I asked her one single question
about her brother, she would get the
wrong idea.
Well,
actually, it would be the
right
idea but one that I could never
admit was right.

Homecoming was Friday night and the whole school
was buzzing with activity in preparation.
The Red Ravens
would be playing their bitter rivals the Graysburg Giants and
at halftime they would be crowning the Homecoming King
and
Queen.
Ballots
were handed out in
homeroom
that
morning so everyone could vote. I almost choked on my own
tongue when I read down through the names.

The usual couples were at the top of the list.
Misty
and Kody and Rachel and Boone were listed first followed by
two couples I didn’t know. The last set of names on the
ballot? Chloe Cosgrove and Zach Mason.

It had to be someone’s idea of a cruel joke. They’d
only been together for a couple of weeks—did they really
qualify to be in the running for such an honor?
That should
have been
me
, not Chloe! Even if they
were
dating, they didn’t
have anywhere near the chemistry that Zach and I had.
I
wanted to slam my head repeatedly off of the top of my desk
until my brain was sufficiently damaged—anything to take
away the knowledge that he was dating someone other than
me.

I voted for Rachel and Boone, of course, and dropped
the slip of paper into the ballot box. Even if they didn’t win,
that still meant that he and Chloe would be together at the
game.
And not
just
together, but together in front of the
whole school. He would be standing next to her in a tux and
looking like the Norse god he was. She would probably wear
some gorgeous dress and not be able to take her eyes off of
him the whole night. My thoughts made me so depressed that
I was half tempted to hand Mr. Raspatello a rope and a clear
shot at my neck. I could even draw a dotted line across my
throat with a Sharpie to serve as a guide.

Offering myself to a killer wasn’t going to solve my
problems, though, so I had to regain focus. Today was crucial
to my plan to break into the school on Sunday. Today I would
have to undo the latch on the window in the locker room
without getting caught by Coach Hunter. If I couldn’t manage
this one simple task without being seen, then my whole plan
would be ruined.

I walked into the locker room with a guilty conscience
even though I hadn’t actually done anything yet. As I sat
down on the bench to tie my shoes, Coach Hunter poked her
head around the lockers.

“Ruby, I have to go down to the administrative office
for a minute but I’ll be right back. You can just head out to the
track when you’re ready, okay?”

Score!
The only time other time in my life that I got
that lucky was the day I met Zach. Hopefully, this time would
have a happier ending.

After she walked away, I counted slowly to twenty and
then crept around the line of lockers. She was gone—time for
action. I grabbed one end of the bench and dragged it toward
the window. The bench only needed to move two feet for me
to be able to climb on top and reach the window latch. The
heavy wooden base scraped loudly across the cement floor so
I put all of my weight into it to move it as quickly as possible.

Climbing onto the bench, I reached up to grab the
handle and came up short by a full two inches. The window
was higher than I estimated.
Balancing on my tip toes, I
stretched my arm out again and wrapped my hand around the
latch and twisted. It wouldn’t budge. Those windows
probably hadn’t been opened since the eighties if they’d ever
been opened at all. But I couldn’t give up—that window
had
to open and before Coach Hunter got back.

I leaned forward to get a better grip and almost fell
head first into the wall. Once I regained my balance, I yanked
on the latch with everything I had. Slowly, the handle turned
until the window was unlocked. I pushed on the bottom of
the window until it popped open just a crack.
Mission
accomplished.

Or at least the first half of it anyway.
I wiped my
fingerprints off of the latch with my towel, jumped down from
the bench and pushed it back into place.
Standing back to
survey my handiwork, I was pleased.
There was no way
anyone would notice that window wasn’t locked.

The wind was bitter but I had the best run I’d ever
had. Everything was falling right into place. Why was it that I
could pull off a heist of this caliber, but I couldn’t keep my
personal life from falling apart? I rejected the idea that I was
born for ghost hunting—even if I was, this was the last time I
would do anything of this nature.
Period, end of story. After
this was all over, I was done for good.

After double checking that the window was still set for
Sunday night, I said goodbye to Coach Hunter and headed
home. Everything else for Sunday was ready to go.
All of the
supplies I needed were tucked into a bag behind my seat—
gloves so I wouldn’t leave fingerprints, a low beam flashlight
in case I really needed it, and a black hoodie to help hide my
identity in case I was spotted. The snacks I told Shelly I would
grab on my way home from work Sunday night were already
safely hidden in my trunk. Time was the only thing I didn’t
have under my control.

Forty-eight hours until go time. Forty-eight hours to
worry about all of the different ways my plan could fail.
Forty-eight hours to wonder if Zach would show up at the
party with Chloe on his arm. I was staring down the barrel of
the longest two days of my life.

Time always seems to move slower when you’re
waiting for something big to happen and this time was no
exception.
Friday night dragged on forever as I lay in bed
crying
over
thoughts
of
Zach
and
Chloe
together
at
Homecoming. Was he only dating her to make me jealous? If
so, well played Zach, well played.

I took a break from crying to go check out the ball
room. Shelly put the finishing touches on the decorations the
night before but I was too busy feeling sorry for myself to go
check them out. When I opened the door and flicked on the
lights, I hardly recognized the place.
harvest wonderland.
It was a Halloween

present—bats,
jack-o’-lanterns, black cats,
etc.
Woven
in
among them were garlands of fall-colored leaves that made
the whole room look classier than most Halloween parties
did. A fake coffin was set up in the center of the room to serve
as
a buffet and
multiple tables
decked out with
black
tablecloths
and
skull
shaped
candles
lined
the
walls.
Everything reflected back through the mirrors and made the
room truly a sight to behold. Too bad I wouldn’t be able to
enjoy it.

There were so many things I wanted to enjoy but just
couldn’t seem to manage the slightest bit of excitement. Like
the oak grove for instance. It was only after the leaves began
to turn that I found out what type of oak trees they were.
They were scarlet oaks. In the fall, scarlet oak leaves turned
the most brilliant shade of red imaginable. The entire grove
stood under a blood red canopy that put ordinary fall foliage
to shame. Once the leaves began to fall, the ground, too, was
covered in a lush carpet of crimson. It would have been the
most romantic place to walk hand in hand, to kiss until you
were breathless.

But not for me. It might as well have been painted in
nothing but a palette of gray. The beauty turned ugly in my
eyes. I looked at those leaves not seeing their splendor but
only their death—strange, but the true splendor of fall lay in
the dying process. The leaves were prettiest when they were
dead—if I could see it, would my heart be just as gorgeous?