The Awakening (29 page)

"Are you getting Charles?"

"I don't know. My head really hurts, though."

Becca pipes up. "I read there was a judge back in the 1870s who was known around the area for selling moonshine from his home stills."

"That's got to be what I'm picking up," I surmise.

"What does that have to do with Charles, though?" Taylor asks.

"It all blends together." I concentrate hard on steadying my erratic pulse. "The judge ... and Charles ... they're connected." A calendar page flashes in my mind. "It has something to do with the month of September."

"No shit!" Becca shouts out. "Are you kidding me? Man, you're good, Moorehead."

"Why's that?"

Flipping through a small notepad, Becca says, "That's the judge. His name was Nathaniel P. September, and he presided over the court in the 1870s."

Taylor looks at me with smug delight. "So it's his name?"

"I don't believe it," Jason adds.

I block him out, though. I block them all out. Something is here with us. I snap my fingers and point in front of me to alert Celia. She follows alongside of me with her EMF meter as I slowly move through the courtroom. Immediately, her temperature measurer begins registering in the low sixties. "Fifty-nine, fifty-six, the temp's dropping," she says.

Even though the musty room is quite dark, I can make out the outline of the judge's bench, the witness stand, and the tables where the lawyers make their cases.

"And it's back up to sixty-nine," Celia says.

My stomach moans, half in frustration and half in continued anticipation.

"We've been trying to recreate those still shots I got," Taylor says. "You know, where we saw the man in the coat?"

I squelch my aggravation at missing whatever was just here and then quickly moved along. "Any luck?"

Jason approaches from one of the rows of benches. "None. There's no possible way anyone could run from any point in this room, pause in front of that table, and then run back out of the picture in the time the camera took the pictures. Unless it was tampered with. You know, someone messed with the timer."

"Who would have done that, Jason?" Taylor asks, her lips flat.

"Come on. It's the only answer. Either that, or the photo isn't real," he qualifies.

Taylor stabs her fists to her waist. "How else do you explain it, Mr. Smarty-Pants? You think I Photoshopped it or something?"

He raises his voice at her. "I didn't say that, Taylor. Quit putting words in my mouth."

Becca stops next to me. "They're at it again."

"Guys, it's okay," I say, trying to stop the sibling bickering.

Celia stretches her hand out in front of her. "Y'all, I'm definitely feeling a cold spot again. Here. Try it."

Jason puts his hand forward and then pulls it back. "Whoa! That's just weird. The air conditioner must be on."

"Nuh-uh," Becca says. "We had the custodian turn off the system for the weekend while we're here."

"It must have come on by itself then," our skeptic says.

I shake my head, sure that again we're not alone. It's the same sensation I felt when we had the misty images in my bedroom and made contact with Emily. Poor, forgotten Emily. I guess I owe her an apology for thinking
she
was the one who was going to hurt my dad. First things first. We have to cleanse this building and make it safe for Dad and his coworkers. "There's no A/C on, Jason. Deal with it."

He opens his mouth to counter, but then stops.

Taylor clicks her digital camera several times and begins looking through the photos on the readout. "There are some orbs here, but they could just be bugs."

The EMF meter flashes orangey red and is registering up to eight, which is, like, really high for an energy field.

Coinciding with that, my hand starts trembling, a bit spaz-like. My hands feel aged and itchy. I breathe in a few quick, shallow gulps of air.

"Something's here," Celia says as she watches me.

I center my thoughts on the area in front of us—the cold spot. I definitely sense not only what I think is Charles Stogdon, but also the former judge who worked here and had a massive drinking problem, although I don't think he has any interest in our ghost hunt. My head throbs and my throat seems to be tightly knotted.

"What's going on with you, Kendall?" Celia asks.

Words don't come easily. I force them out. "My head hurts."

"You've already said that."

Irritated, I say, "I know, but it still hurts."

She blows her hair out of her eyes. "Can't you think of anything else to say?"

I shake my head and bend over at the waist, hoping to alleviate the considerable ache. "No, because that's what's going on. My head hurts."

"Isn't there another way to describe it?" she asks.

"My
friggin
' head hurts?"

Jason pulls her away from me. "Come on, Celia. Give her a break."

Just as he touches me, I hear that whispered voice in my ear again.

"
Off my land!
"

"What did you say?" I ask him.

There's enough light to see that his blue eyes are dilated in the dark room. "I didn't say anything."

"But I just heard—"

"
Off. My. Land!
"

It's like someone's standing an inch away from me speaking low in my ear. Excitement surges through me. I stand and then spin to each side. "Charles? Is that you?"

"I just got something on the recorder," Becca pipes up.

She rewinds and hits Play." You can hear us talking, and then in the background, there's a garbledy whooshing sound. Like clothing moving.

"
Uuuuuuuuuuuffffffff muhhhhhhhhhhhh lahhhhhnnnnnd
."

Becca's eyes meet mine. "'Off my land'? Is that what it says?"

"That's what I heard," I agree, my heart slamming away in excitement.

"No way," Jason says. "I didn't hear anything. Where did that come from?"

I unfurl my pendulum from my fist and look over at Celia. "I can't believe we wasted so much time at the staircase when we should have been in here."

She motions me over with her hands. "Sorry, but maybe you were where you needed to be, for some reason. Should we try and make contact?"

"Yeah, I'm going to dowse to back up all of the sensations going on inside of me."

Jason touches my back. "Are you okay to do this?"

I drown for a moment in those clear eyes of his. "I
have
to do this, Jason."

His eyes carry concern. "You don't have to do anything that's gonna hurt you just to prove yourself."

"I'm not trying to," I say with a smile. "Just watch. We'll make a believer out of you yet."

He winks. "I highly doubt that. But I am here for you, Kendall."

Lump. In. Throat. Not the time to swoon.

We gather in a circle where the frigid air surrounds us. It feels as if some sort of cloud or weather system engulfs me, passes through me. I'm chilled, but not like a normal cold. Like the air has substance to it.

I secure my pendulum the way Loreen taught me that day in her shop. "Are there any spirits here?" I ask, already knowing the response. We all watch as the chain and stone begin moving.

"That's a
yes
for her," Celia says, beaming. "May I ask the questions?"

I nod slightly.

Celia clears her throat and then says, "Are you Charles Stogdon?"

"Yes," I say, watching the pendulum.

"Can you make a sound for us, Charles, to let us know you're here?"

Taylor shifts and her shoe scuffs on the floor. "Sorry. That was me."

Celia continues, "Can
you
make a noise, Charles?"

Suddenly, in the balcony of the courtroom, there's a knock.

Jason jumps. "What the hell was that?"

"I'm on it!" Becca turns and heads up the stairs leading to the balcony.

Celia winks at me. "That girl is fearless."

Still dowsing, I agree. "We all have to be."

"Can you please knock twice, Charles?" Celia asks politely.

Knock. Knock
.

"I don't believe this," Jason hisses.

"Shhh" comes from Taylor.

Adrenaline is flowing through my body like an intravenous drug. This is a high like I've never experienced—not that I've ever done drugs or anything, but you know what I mean. "Can you show yourself to me, Charles?"

The pendulum changes directions, swinging from left to right.

"No," Celia notes.

"I feel him," I say. "He's here. I know it."

Taylor snaps several pictures, nearly blinding me with the horrendously intense flash.

"Anything up there, Becca?" Celia shouts.

Becca hangs over the railing. "The recorder's picking things up, but I don't see anything. I definitely heard that friggin' knocking."

"Look," Taylor exclaims. She passes her digital camera over and points to the screen. "Right there. On the left."

Sure enough, there's a bit of a mist, like the pictures of Emily in my bedroom. And something of a shadow.

"Holy shit," Jason mutters.

I nearly cry in relief. "It's him." To the room, I say, "I know it's you, Charles. Please come talk to us. We mean you no harm or disrespect. We're here to help. To lend a hand with whatever's keeping you here. To stop you from scaring the workers here and hurting them. And we can help you find peace if you'll just let us."

A window bangs in the balcony, followed by a cold breeze that whooshes by my arms.

My pendulum is spinning like crazy.

"Are you pleased that we're here?" Celia asks.

The back-and-forth motion clearly says
no
.

"Not at all," I say. "He's irritated. I can hear him growling in my ear."

Becca returns from the balcony and holds the digital recorder up. "There's a disembodied voice on here, but the EVP isn't clear." She plays it for us several times. To the rest of the group, it probably sounds like gobbledygook. However, I hear Charles's comment plainly next to me.

"
You're meddling with my land
."

"No, Charles, I'm not meddling."

Jason looks at me and then back at Taylor. "Who's she talking to?"

Taylor smacks him on the arm. "The ghost, you moron."

Then again. "
You're meddling with my land
."So clear, it's like someone's in my head. I place my hands over my ears and back away two steps. There's no one physically there, but I know what I heard.

Celia knows something's going on. "Is he talking to you, Kendall?"

"Yeah, he thinks I'm messing with his land. And he's making my head hurt like blue-blazing bullshit." I bite down on my bottom lip to stop from crying out. Charles won't relent, though, and the pressure in my brain keeps building and building until I collapse to my knees. Tears ooze out the corners of my eyes, and I don't know if I can go on like this.

I reach a weak hand out to her and beg, "Celia..."

Seeing my severe pain, she reacts on my behalf. "It's not your goddamned land anymore, Charles," Celia tells him. "So leave Kendall alone!
You've been dead over one hundred and fifty years!
"

She did
not
just go there.

Before we realize anything's happening, two large windows in the back of the room slam open. Celia seemingly loses her balance and falls backwards. She lands—
bam!
—flat on her ass on the hardwood floor.

"Son of a bitch!" she screams out. "That hurt, Charles!"

Jason and I help her up, and she rubs her backside for emphasis.

"Well, that pisses me off," Becca says. "Sure you don't want me to sucker punch him?"

"You guys. We can't antagonize him," I beg.

Taylor pulls her camera away and has a heartbroken look on her face. "That's right. Sure, he's dead, but he can't move on, y'all. We have to help him."

I toss her a sympathetic glance and then step forward to where I think Charles is standing. I can't see him, but I sense company. "Tell you what, Charles. I'm going to give it to you straight. Once you hear the whole story, if you want us to help you, we will. If you don't, then we'll pack up our equipment, say a prayer of blessing to protect this building, and leave you be. But if after I tell you everything, you understand we're just here to help, I want you to leave this place. Deal?"

Becca holds her recorder out. Celia points the thermometer. Taylor clicks away on her camera. Jason stands behind me.

In my ear, "
Deal
."

"He's game." I take a deep breath and send a quick prayer to heaven. I'm ready to tell Charles everything that Celia and I discovered in our research. I must keep an even, assuaging tone if we're going to get him to pass into the light.

"Charles Stogdon. We know all about you," I say. "You were a wealthy landowner in Radisson in the 1830s after you moved here from North Carolina. Following the War Between the States"—I say that, not the Civil War, out of respect for him—"you freed your slaves, which was the right and honorable thing to do. You also promised some of those freed slaves that you'd deed part of your land to them so they'd be able to set up their own farms and houses."

"That's pretty righteous of him," Becca says.

I continue. "Right, Becca. But in the early 1870s, some people here in the community weren't exactly happy with the outcome of the war, or with Mr. Stogdon's generosity to his former slaves." I pause for a minute and hear a creaking sound behind me. Celia moves around, and the EMF meter continues to flash impressively. "You know this story, Charles. You know it because it's real and it happened. You were there. You know all about the false deed to your property, trumped up by one of your neighbors, that said you didn't own the land. Because you were an outsider from North Carolina, there were enough townsfolk to side with your neighbor in calling you a thief. Your neighbors all insisted you were mad. Especially because of your wanting to give land to freed slaves. No one did that."

Becca whispers, "I'm picking up all kinds of EVPs now. You're getting to him, Kendall."

In my head, I ask the pendulum to point to where Charles is standing. It swings heavily to the right, so I follow. "The city court got involved in the ruckus about the deed in a very public, heated trial. Judge September presided over it. He may have enjoyed his spirits—and I mean of the alcoholic kind—but he was still a Confederate and no pushover for someone who wanted to do the right thing for freed slaves. It all happened. The mob. The judge. The hearing."