The Counseling (9 page)

"It's not," I say in defense of my ghost-hunting group. "We help people who have entities that are ... causing trouble." To say the least.

"Do you do it like all those people on television?" Maddie asks. "Like with computers and meters and thermometers and stuff?"

I nod. "Exactly."

"That sounds like fun!" Maddie exclaims.

Remembering the tumble down Mayor Donn Shy's front staircase thanks to a supernatural push from her resident spirit is anything but fun. The scar on my torso where my spleen was removed is anything but fun. The vivid memory of sitting in heaven with my Grandma Ethel and my cat Smokey—although it was soothing at the time—is anything but fun.

I clear my throat to unclog the anxiety of days past. "It's work. Something you have to take seriously and responsibly."

How can I explain to the triplets, who are just now experiencing their own awakenings, that ghost hunting isn't all fun, games, silliness, and drama, like you see on the reality shows? Ghosts don't perform for cameras and they don't act on command. It's grueling hours reviewing video and listening to voice recordings in the hopes of finding that
one
piece of evidence to help put the case on a solvable track. It can be incredibly boring when nothing happens or when you debunk an alleged haunting. Mostly for me, it's been life-threatening and life-altering.

How do I make clear that although it seems to be my calling, I don't know if I'll be able to go back to regular investigations, sweeping through people's basements and attics in search of something that proves they have a lingering spirit? Besides, I'm unsure of the state of our ghost-hunting team since we've lost Taylor and her photographic skills (and equipment) and Jason as a protector and skeptic.

Everything's so messed up.

"Maybe you can show us how someday, Kendall," Maddie says with a smile. "We'll come to Georgia over the summer and visit."

I offer a grin back. "Maybe so. That would be fun."

The girls move ahead to their cabin, and I slip into mine. I kick off my flip-flops and look for my sneakers. Jess, Willow, TF, and Micah want to go on a nature walk behind the inn after lunch. It's such a gorgeous day with the Dasani blue—what, I can't recycle that term now that Jason's out of my life?—sky and mulchy green mountains.

The hair on the back of my neck prickles, and an icy cold runs down my arms.

My ears buzz as if they're searching for the right radio frequency.

Oh no ... something's about to happen.

Then I hear it.

Can you help me?

It's the same voice I heard yesterday. Only this time, there's more of a plea to the tone.

Doing my best to block out the droning request, I rummage under my bed to locate my left Nike. I don't want to acknowledge the spirit. Maybe if I ignore the call for assistance, it'll go away. But the voice implores me, this time in a distinctly female voice.

Please help me...

Slowly, I push myself off the floor, a sneaker clutched in each hand. The young woman's pain is so forceful and so directed at my empathic nature that I suddenly have tears running down my face without even knowing I am crying. They're not my tears, though. They're hers. Her despair is palpable, and the only human—and humane—thing to do is turn around and face the entity that I know is in the room with me right now.

I catch my breath at the person before me.

She's about my age, from the looks of her. I can't make out her name yet, but I know she was born in May and she likes to go fishing with her grandfather. The petite girl sits at the edge of Jess's bed, beseeching me with her large, doe-like eyes. Her hair is brown, chestnut almost, and a curly, tangled mess. Dirt coats the knees of her jeans, which are torn in several places. The rips are from something vicious and not merely a fashion statement. Tears continue to course from my eyes, matching the ones that are drying on her grimy cheeks.

I cover my face with my hands to block her from view. If I can't see her, she's not really there, right? I honestly don't know if I'm ready for another hyperemotional spirit. I remember Richie from the airplane and the heart-wrenching message I have to deliver to his mourning fiancée when I get home. Can I honestly help all of these people?

Please go away,
I beg in my head to the teenage phantasm.
Let me just have this retreat so I can decide what's next for me.

However, when I lower my hands, the young girl is still before me. Closer now. Standing a foot away, totally in my space.

"Help find me," she begs.

I stretch a trembling hand out to attempt contact with her. The area in front of me is frigidly cold—if Celia were here with her temperature gauge, I'm sure it would register a major drop. I begin seeing clues and images in my mind. First, I see a rainstorm that turns into hail, pounding the pavement. Then the sound of dolphins rings out, an
eeee ... eee ... eee. Hail
plus
eeeee.
Her name is Hailey.

Even though her manifestation has brought the room's temp down, I'm sweating like a pig. A droplet of water trickles down my back and into the waistband of my jeans. The connection with Hailey's spirit is strong and totally draining on me like an hour-long Pilates class.

"Help find me," she repeats.

"Help find you what, exactly? That's not really a complete sentence. Have you misplaced something or are you yourself lost?"

"Pleeeeeeeeeeease."

Then Hailey fades away; apparently she lacks the strength to continue showing herself to me. My empathic tears stop; ones of my own replace them. After a moment, I start to laugh, almost hysterically. I sag in exhaustion and crumple into a heap at the foot of my bed. What a loser I am, lying here on the floor of my room boo-hooing my eyes out because of a ghost. Is this what it's come to? Why couldn't Hailey have appeared next door in the Pucketts' cabin? Why did she choose mine? Why do
I
always have to be the responsible one?

I swipe the back of my hand against my cheeks and smear the wetness on my jeans. I cram my feet into my sneakers and then lift off the floor and open the door to rejoin the others, who hopefully haven't ditched me while I was dilly-dallying with Hailey.

But I find Peggy Armer, one of our counselors, standing there in the frame of my french doors. "We all have to be responsible, Kendall."

"How ... wh ... huh?" Oh, right; she's reading my thoughts too. Geesh, privacy anyone? Apparently not around a bunch of freaking psychics. Do I need to wear a helmet or an aluminum foil hat?

Peggy steeples her fingers together. "I'm sorry, Kendall. I just felt a tug in your direction, telling me you might need me."

I push my hair away from my face and blow out a gust of air. "I do need you, Ms. Armer—"

"Peggy, dear."

"Umm, okay, Peggy. I need all of you. I need to know how to help these spirits without hurting or losing a part of myself."

She smiles calmly. "We all possess certain gifts, and the spirits know which ones of us to reach out to. It's the equivalent of a light on inside a house, emanating its warmth to the outside, inviting the spirits to step forward and knock on the window. You can't squelch the lost souls when they call out, Kendall"

"But I don't want to pay attention to them right now. I've spent the last eight months tending to their wants and needs and every cry for assistance, to the detriment of my own well-being." I clutch my hands together over my heart, feel it hammer like a meat tenderizer pounding steak. "I want to do what's right, but can't I just take care of me for a while?"

"It's perfectly natural to feel that way," she says. "You're at this retreat for a reason, though. You have a gift, a talent, and, believe it or not, a calling. If spirits seek you out, you must know that it's a matter of their trust and belief that
you
are the one to solve whatever is haunting them."

Interesting choice of words. The haunting ones are haunted themselves?

"Center your breathing, dear, and just ... relax. I'm going to send you some Reiki energy while you concentrate. Now shut your eyes. In. Out. In. Out."

Peggy's mellow voice is reassuring and soothing. Obediently, I close my eyes and follow her instructions. Deep breath in. Exhaaaaaaale slowly. Again. Okay. Good. Yes, this is working. Centering is happening. I'm picturing the air filling my lungs to capacity and then slowly trailing out. My heart rate slows to a more normal pace and my muscles start to relax.

"Wow, Peggy, that really—"

I open my eyes, but I'm all alone.

Willowmeana pops her head around the corner. "You coming, Kendall?"

"Umm, yeah, I was just—" I stop the words and scrutinize my surroundings. Peggy's nowhere to be found. She exited my cabin as stealthily as she arrived, obviously to give me my space. Guess that's what makes her a good counselor. "Yeah, let's eat."

That's what I need. Sustenance and a head-clearing nature walk to flush out my thoughts. Too much funk happening today. A girl can only take so much.

The stroll through the wooded path with my new friends—as well as the hot open-face roast turkey sandwich with dressing and cranberry sauce for lunch—did the trick in cleansing my mind and easing my tension. Now I'm back at the inn, sitting downstairs in the library that's annexed to the large conference room. The space is full of dark, rich colors, and the décor of antique Victorian furniture continues. I shift on the gold couch that's pretty to look at but a pain in the keister to sit on. How British women back in the Victorian days sat on something like this for hours wearing yards of clothing, sweating to death, and waiting for some dude to come a-courtin', I don't get. Thank heavens times have changed and you can just hook up—not in a have-sex way, please!—with someone you have a lot in common with or who you're just naturally attracted to.

Oddly enough, my first thought isn't of my former guy, Jason; rather, it's the rugged face of Patrick Lynn that appears in my mind. All right, I'll admit it: even though he's been nothing but a snarky little turd to me, I'm totally attracted to him. Why do I go for the guys who seem to hate me at first? Oy!

The adjoining door opens and Heidi calls to me. "Are you ready for us, Kendall?"

I shake thoughts of Patrick and his cuteness aside and adjust on the uncomfortable sofa. "Yes, ma'am." It's time for my individual evaluation with the counselors.

Oliver, Peggy, Mary, Heidi, and Wisdom Walker file into the room and take the seats around me. Heidi chooses to assume the lotus position on the floor.

Oliver pulls out a file and smiles at me. "Kendall, we're so happy you could be here with us this week. Your parents were quite adamant that you needed this desperately, due to some challenges you've encountered."

"You can certainly say that," I confirm with a harrumph. I'm so tired of talking about this—so tired of hearing myself whine about it—but I know the counselors need the scoop, so I give them the dollar-fifty version of the story: being shoved down a staircase by a bitter old ghost and having an out-of-body experience while the doctor removed my spleen were a couple of the specific challenges I encountered. "So there you have it," I say, collecting my emotions and trying not to be a weepy sap anymore.

He nods. "I understand, Kendall. And yes, we're here for you. All of us. We will help you." He flips through the manila folder on his lap. "I've been reading over your file and the notes that Dr. Ken Kindberg from Atlanta sent along, per your parents' request. You've had, shall we say, a very taxing awakening thus far."

With a sigh, I agree. "That's true."

Heidi's eyes shine at me. "Tell us everything, dear."

For the next forty-five minutes, I fill the counselors in on all that has happened since I moved from Chicago to Radisson, Georgia. The awakening. Making new friends. Forming the ghost-huntress team. Falling in love with Jason. Losing Jason. The cases we've worked on. The successes. The debunking. The fruit loops we've dealt with. Father Mass and his mentorship. Loreen and her guidance. Emily and her position in my life. The out-of-body trip to see Grandma Ethel. Finding out I'm adopted. Trying to get a grip on exactly
who
I am now. And more important, who I'm
supposed
to be. The adults patiently and attentively listen to my tale, nodding in the right places and covering their hearts in others. When I get to the end, I feel the weight of tears behind my eyes again. I can't believe what a cry-frickin'-baby I've become on this trip. Toughen up, Kendall.

"I'm so tired of crying over this," I say. "In the beginning, it was cool and fun and unique and it got me some popularity at school. My ghost-hunting group has done a lot of good, mind you, and we're making a respectable name for ourselves, but now ... I don't know ... the whole near-death experience really messed with me. I'm almost ... fearful of the spirits now. I never know which one is going to be friendly and which one is going to totally muck with me. I'm not a toy for their enjoyment. I need to either get past this ... major malfunction I'm having and continue to develop my so-called gifts or get on some sort of medication to block this shit altogether." I pause at the use of a wirty dord. "Sorry about that."

Oliver's eyes crinkle. "Don't worry, Kendall. You're free to say whatever you like here. We're not going to suppress you in any way, or judge. That's not our job."

My gaze drops to where my hands are twisted together in my lap. "Thanks. I appreciate that."

Tapping a ballpoint pen against his lips, Oliver takes a moment to contemplate my circumstances. "From all you've told us, Kendall, you've been dabbling in a lot of different areas to test out and strengthen your psychic abilities." He puts down the pen and, fingers laced together, leans toward me. "If you want to get past this mogul in your psychic development rather than medicate your ability away, I believe what we need to concentrate on this week is finding a focus for you. Discovering that
thing
that only Kendall Moorehead can do and what will make you the most comfortable when conversing and interacting with the spirit world." Looking to his counselors, Oliver asks, "So, where do we go with Kendall to help her move forward?"