The Awakening (33 page)

I get a closer look at her. "Are you Resurrection Mary?You know, the lady in white that everyone sees in Chicago's Resurrection Cemetery?"

She giggles like a teenager. Like me, almost. "No, not at all. Although I know her and she's a lovely woman."

"Then why are you here?" I nearly beg. "Why me? Why now?"

Shaking her head, she says, "Too many questions at once, Kendall. It's not my place to tell you. All I can say is we're cosmically connected. Like you and Loreen. You'll have to find the rest out on your own."

"You're damn right I will. I'm an excellent researcher." Although I don't have the first freaking clue who Emily is, why she's my imaginary friend, or why I can see her again.

"I will tell you," Emily says. "What you're doing with your friends is quite admirable. There are a lot of beings and spirits wandering around—who are stuck and need your help."

"Are you stuck, Emily?" Shouldn't she be the next ghost we should help?

"Yes and no. I know I'm not alive, but I'm not ready to fully pass on into the light. I'll know when the time is right. There are entities that need your help more right now."

I swallow the dry lump in my throat. "I know."

"We can help them together, Kendall. You, me, your ghost huntresses—and your cute ghost hunter, Jason. You just have to know where to look," she tells me.

"Where?"

She spreads her arms wide. "They're everywhere. And they see your beacon of knowledge shining out to them."

I gaze out over the landscape of the cemetery and unexpectedly connect with an assortment of spirits I hadn't seen earlier. Over by the footbridge are the union soldiers, camped out, it seems. To the left, there's a Native American woman in full tribal garb, holding a little boy by the hand. And up on the far hill, there's a young black girl in a ragged outfit climbing a tree. Certainly like nothing I've seen today. My mind speedily deciphers that she's the ghost of a slave. A girl who lived over a hundred and fifty years ago and died during the Civil War.

"They're all caught here?"

"For one reason or another," Emily says. "But you'll help them."

Looking at the many spirits around me, I let out a pent-up sigh. "Wow. I've certainly got my work cut out for me. Good thing I've got two years of high school left!"

To be continued...

The thoughts and feelings described by the character of Kendall are typical of those experienced by young people awakening to sensitive or psychic abilities.

Many of the events and situations encountered by Kendall and her team of paranormal investigators are based on events reported by real ghost hunters. Also, the equipment described in the book is standard in the field.

However, if you are a young person experiencing psychic phenomena, you should talk to an adult. And although real paranormal investigation is an exciting, interesting field, it is also a serious, sometimes even dangerous undertaking. While I hope you are entertained by Ghost Huntress, please know that it's recommended that young people not attempt the investigative techniques described here without proper adult supervision.

Terminology and descriptions pertaining to Kendall's psychic awakening, skills, and abilities from Maureen Wood,
psychic/ intuitive/sensitive/healer/Reiki master
.

Kendall's LifeSounds 440® white-noise sound machine product information from Marsona and
www.luxevivant.com
.

EMF Meter descriptions and definition from
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/EMF_Meter
.

Celia's Lead in Hair Products experiment—from the University of Sydney, Australia,
Chemistry Demonstrations and Experiments on the Internet:
alex.edfac.usyd.edu.au/methods/science/Internet-chem-dems-expts.htm.

Definition of "Residual Haunting" from
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Residual_haunting
.

Ghost hunting terms and definitions from various sources including author's firsthand knowledge and experience, The New England Ghost Project (
www.neghostproject.com
),

Darkness Radio (
www.darknessradio.com
), Ghost Village (
www.ghostvillage.com
), TV shows
Ghost Hunters, Dead Famous, Most Haunted,
and
Paranormal State,
and
www.Wikipedia.com

Prayer to Saint Michael from
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prayer_ to_Saint_Michael
.

Shakespearean Quotes from
www.enotes.com/shakespeare-quotes
.

Zyprexa® product information from
www.zyprexa.com
.

Kendall Moorehead's world has just been blown wide open. Don't miss what happens next in

Let me tell you what: it's been a busy couple of months for me, Kendall Moorehead. Once word got out about how my team of ghost huntresses helped a 150-year-old spirit that was trapped at city hall pass into the light, well, everyone and their brother has stopped us with a ghost story or two to tell. Being official ghost huntresses has made me and my friends—Celia, Taylor, and Becca—the talk of town, and we've garnered a ton of attention. (Not all of it is positive ... especially the dirty looks and ill treatment from school beeyotch Courtney Langdon and her flock of followers. However, I think that has more to do with the fact that I'm now dating her ex-boyfriend—and Taylor's twin brother—Jason Tillson.)

It's sort of hard to have a boyfriend when all of your weekends are filled with visits to Radisson's most historical—and often haunted—locations, the mustiest and dustiest of basements, and the homes of some lonely and weird townspeople. Like right now.

I shift on the antique couch and clear my throat to ease the tension in my tight chest. I don't think that Mrs. Lockhart is one of those weirdos we've been running into lately—the kind who wear tinfoil hats and sleep in their bathtubs for fear that something is watching them—because she was a kindergarten teacher in Radisson for years and schooled all three of my friends. However, the woman is definitely brokenhearted and forlorn. The sadness radiating from her is palpable, and I can feel it in the fibers of my being like the heat from a well-stoked fireplace.

I nudge Celia in the ribs with my elbow, and she knows that I'm ready to get down to business.

"So, Mrs. Lockhart, can you tell us again everything that happened with your husband?" Celia says in a very grown-up, professional manner. She flips open her notepad and twirls her Bic between her long fingers.

Becca clicks the digital recorder on and places it on the marble coffee table. She's our sound expert on the team, trying to capture EVPs, electronic voice phenomena. EVPs are the coolest thing ever. I mean, I can hear the spirits' voices in my head, but the digital recorder can actually pick up disembodied voices that will answer questions or make statements during our investigations. That way, if we capture anything, it totally backs up what I'm saying. Taylor nods at me and then moves over to where she has the video recorder set up. She's a whiz-bang at anything photography related. That's why she's on the team. Some of the pictures she's captured with the infrared camera and the night vision are a-freakin-mazing!

Sitting forward, I fold my hands together and listen as Mrs. Lockhart explains why we're here. The older woman dabs her wrinkled eyes with the corner of a lace handkerchief. She sniffs hard and then takes a deep breath.

"Delaney and I went out to Scottsdale last week to visit with our youngest daughter, Veronica—our older girl, Evelyn, lives next door to us—and her boys. They're such good boys, those grandsons of mine. Derrick is on the soccer team and Spencer has learned to ride his bike—"

"Yes, ma'am. Now, about Mr. Lockhart, please," I say, trying not to be rude.

"Certainly. As I was saying, we were having a ball at Veronica's. Even to the point where Delaney said he would consider moving out there, much to Evelyn's chagrin. I never thought he'd want to leave Georgia. But the weather out in Arizona is simply amazing." Mrs. Lockhart moves behind her ear a stray lock of salt-and-pepper-colored hair that escaped the tight bun at the base of her neck. I feel a tension at the back of my own neck and wonder if it's empathy from what she's going through or if I slept wrong last night.

She continues. "Delaney loved the putting greens and courses out there and was spending most afternoons golfing and relaxing. He's been so stressed lately, what with the economy and all and watching our retirement accounts dwindling. But on Saturday he didn't come back from his tee time and Veronica and I got worried. Someone from the country club called and told us that he'd had a ... a..." She trails off a moment and then begins to cry. My heart goes out to her, knowing she's lost the love of her life. I mean, literally lost him.

"It's okay, Mrs. Lockhart," I say, hoping it sounds soothing. It would probably be a good thing for me to get up and go sit with her. Taylor nods at me from across the room as if she's reading my mind. I slide off the couch and move to our client's side, taking her frail hand. Immediately with the connection of skin to skin, I'm stung with grief and pain and a deep, deep loneliness. In my mind's eye I see Millicent and Delaney as a young couple, walking hand in hand down by the Spry River here in Radisson. So much in love, with the rest of their lives ahead of them. Children ... two girls and a boy. Years flash before me like shuffling cards until I see her weeping in her daughter's arms. "Can you finish the story you told Celia on the phone?"

Mrs. Lockhart fists her free hand against her mouth and nods. "He ... he had a h-h-heart attack on the eleventh hole and was more than likely taken straight to Jesus with no pain or suffering." She blots under her eye again to catch a wayward tear. "The man he was playing with said he'd just gotten a hole in one," she adds with a slight laugh.

"Man, golf's a rough sport," Becca mutters. Taylor immediately gives her a nasty look.

Celia jumps in to cover Becca's comment. "Tell Kendall the part with the airlines, Mrs. L." Celia looks at me. "This is the most important part."

The woman keeps going. "Oh, very well. It seems that Southeastern Airlines kind of——well, how do I say this—misplaced my Delaney."

"They what?" I ask incredulously.

She tugs a piece of paper out of the pocket of her housedress and passes it over to me. It's got a barcode with a number and is marked "ATL," the airline code for Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport.

"Is this a claim ticket?"

"For his coffin," she says.

Holy crap!

"Just a second. You're telling me..." I begin.

Celia finishes. "...that she checked him into Baggage in Phoenix, but when Mrs. Lockhart landed in Atlanta and went to claim him, Delaney was missing."

Mrs. Lockhart sniffs into her handkerchief. "I was so distraught; I didn't know what to do. Evelyn had to drive over and talk to the supervisor. Poor child was grief-stricken herself, losing her father, and she had to go though all of the airport's bureaucratic red tape."

"What can we do, though, Celia?" I raise my brow and bite my bottom lip as I consider what it is exactly that I—that we—can do to help locate the body. Not really the type of investigation we're used to.

Mrs. Lockhart grips my hand tightly in hers. "You've got to use your powers to find him."

"I don't really have powers." I'm not a comic book or movie character like Superman, Ironman, or Wonder Woman. "I locate
spirits
of the deceased, not the deceased themselves."

"Have you talked to the local coroner?" Becca asks.

"He was no help. But y'all will be, right?"

"I-I-I don't know—" What exactly can I do?

Her eyes light up. "Oh, but that's just it. I feel Delaney here in the house. Evelyn said she's sure he's around, too. She's even felt him over at her house. Surely you can try to contact him. He would know where his body is, wouldn't he?"

Celia shrugs. "I suppose."

Taylor lets out a long sigh and says, "
Une telle tragédie
. Such a tragedy."

So, let me get this straight. I'm to make contact here in the house with Delaney and he's going to tell me where we can find his body so Mrs. Lockhart can get him home for the funeral he deserves to have. A final resting place. As ludicrous as it sounds, I guess we can help out with that. Honestly, I don't think the
Ghost Hunters
have ever had a case like this one.

I release the older woman's hand and drag my palms down the sides of my jeans as I stand up, not sure which one of us has let off the nervous sweat. "I'll give it a try."

She's on her feet, too. Gratitude paints its way across her wrinkled face.

"I'm going to need assistance, though," I say to my posse.

"We're here, Kendall," Taylor pipes up.

"Ditto" from Becca.

Celia nods and smiles.

I push my wavy brown hair behind my ears and then rub my hands together. "I appreciate that you guys are here, but I'm going to need even more help."

"Emily?" Celia asks.

My turn to nod.