The Reason (21 page)

Yeah, well, it's all an act right now. I'm anything but positive about my own future. I just can't let on anything to Jason. He has to be assured that I'm okay so he can get on that airplane and fly off to the farthest reaches of our country. Family first—for both of us.

I lift up on my tiptoes to kiss him again. Soft and quick, over and over. "You'll always be in my heart, Jason Tillson."

"You too, K."

"You two done macking on each other over there?" Taylor calls out.

"Probably not," Celia remarks. "Anyone got a crowbar?"

"Har-har-har. Very funny," I say, still gripping Jason's hand.

"Like you and MacKenzie didn't make out for two hours last night," Jason says to his twin. "I should have broken his face."

Taylor punches at him. "Get over yourself."

"Right, Jason," Celia says. "All of those dogsledding boys are gonna loves them Miss Southern Belle."

We all laugh together and then fall into one giant embrace.

Mr. Tillson clears his throat. "I hate to break this up, kids, but Air Alaska waits for no one. Especially at the Atlanta airport."

One more hug. One more kiss. One more goodbye. And then the Tillsons are backing out of their former driveway and disappearing around the curve.

"Hmm..." Celia says, deep in thought.

"What?"

"Just wondering who we'll get to do photos for us now."

Now might not be the best time to tell her—although I owe her my honesty. "You may need to find someone to do the sensitive work as well."

"WTF? You can't ditch me too, Kendall! Are you moving back to Chicago?"

"No, not at all. I just need to ... step away from the ghost hunting for a while."

"What about Emily?" Celia asks.

"She's gone," I say with a wistfulness in my voice.

"Like
gone
gone?"

I bob my head. All that time Emily and I spent together and I never realized she'd actually given birth to me. Wow ... some psychic I've turned out to be. "She said she finally saw the light. For the first time since I was born. She had to go. I wanted nothing more than for her to stay, especially now that I have so many questions left unanswered."

"I'm sure." Celia reaches into her back pocket and pulls out some folded papers. "I wasn't sure if you'd still be interested in this. It's from my cousin Paul, with the GBI."

"About Emily?"

Celia's turn to bob her head. "Go ahead and peruse it."

My hand shakes as I read the report on missing person Emily Jane Faulkner, daughter of John Thomas and Anna Wynn Faulkner of St. Germain, Wisconsin. Last seen on December 21, 1993, at a Mobil station in Rockford, Illinois. Driving a Pontiac Grand Am registered in her name. Thought to be traveling from Wisconsin to St. Louis, Missouri, with Andy Caminiti...

I let my hands fall to my sides. "This has the names and locations of my real grandparents. And this Andy person—he could be my ... father." The lump in my throat migrates down to my heart, causing it to beat like a locomotive. "Celia, do you know what this means?"

"We've got more investigations to carry out?"

"
I
do. I've got to find a way to get in touch with these people. I can't waste my energies anymore on strangers, Celia. Ghost hunting means nothing to me when it's possible there are people out there who can tell me about where I come from."

Seemingly confused, Celia asks, "Why is that so important to you?"

My mouth drops open. "It'll explain why I am the way I am. Why I'm ... afflicted with this sixth sense. Why it's happening to me."

With hand extended, Celia says, "Anything I can do to help—count on me."

"Thanks. Maybe one day we'll get back to the ghost hunting."

Celia drops her chin into her chest; her dark hair covers her face. She digs her booted shoe into the gravel of the Tillsons' driveway and lets out a sigh. "All good things must come to an end."

With a snicker, I say, "So we've switched from Shakespeare to old English proverbs, eh?"

"Actually," she starts, "I was thinking of Jean-Luc Picard's final words on the last episode of
Star Trek:The Next Generation.
"

I toss my head back and laugh like crazy for the first time in weeks. At least since my run-in with Sherry Biddison and her staircase of death. The jostling makes my side hurt where my surgery stitches have just been removed, but it's the best feeling in the world.

"You are
such
a geek. That's why I love you."

She flashes me a toothy grin and we begin walking back to my car.

"Besides," I say, "I
much
prefer Captain Kirk and the original series."

"Purist," she mutters.

"I call 'em as I see 'em."

"Why don't we start a
Star Trek
club at school," Celia suggests. She loops her long legs into my small car and buckles up. "We could have a convention and people can dress like their favorite character—you know, like cosplay. Or we could debate certain topics, like Romulan aggression versus Klingon independence. Maybe we could even try to do some timetravel experiments to see if we indeed need portals or if the slingshot around the sun works."

As Celia Nichols, queen of the science geeks, prattles on, I shift gears and smile. Sure, our ghost-huntress team is in a little disarray, but nothing will stop girls with a mission.

That we are!

I
SIT AT
R
ADISSON'S
C
ENTRAL
P
ERK
C
AFÉ
stirring my chai soy latte—I know, how pretentious-sounding of me—and let out a long sigh. God willing, I've just aced the last of my midterms and am almost done with calculus in my life ... forevah.

Spring break is coming up in a few weeks. Celia, Taylor, Becca, and I were going to drive down to Destin, with Loreen and my mom chaperoning, and do a little ghost hunting. That's off the table now.

I got a text from Taylor yesterday telling me how gorgeous Alaska is and how she's never seen so many people wearing plaid, which she finds goes well with her American Eagle jeans that make her butt look cute—her words, not mine. Leave it to Taylor Tillson to take the lemons and not only make lemonade but have enough left over for lemon teacakes and lemon chiffon pie.

Mmmm ... pie. Maybe I'll get a piece to celebrate finishing my tests.

If only life were so simple that a mere dessert could assuage all aches.

And I am sadly hurting. A dull throbbing daily that has me tossing and turning in my sleep. It's more than just losing Jason and seeing him and Taylor move off. It's the uncertainty of so many things. My existence, for starters.

I stare at the foam in my cup as if it's an apparition of my past. I wish it could answer my questions. Before, I was just Kendall Moorehead, daughter of David and Sarah, from Chicago, Illinois. Now, I'm the adopted daughter of a kind nurse and a dedicated city planner. They're still my parents; that's a no-brainer. However, deep down, in a crevice of my stomach, that groaning sensation gurgles, stirring up the endorphins in my brain, which has more questions than a Trivial Pursuit game.

Sure, looking back at the past few months of my life, see I've experienced more than most "normal" teenagers do. My psychic awakening is now nothing compared to having a near-death experience and then finding out I'm adopted.

I miss Emily terribly. At times, it seems she's still watching over me, but I know that's just a pipe dream. She finally found her peace where she belongs. When will I find mine, though? I've stared at that piece of paper Celia gave me from her cousin a hundred times. The names write out in cursive in my mind's eye.

Emily Jane Faulkner.

John Thomas and Anna Wynn Faulkner.

Andy Caminiti.

Significant players in the movie of my life.

My dreams are fraught with myriad images of strangers. A gray-haired woman sitting on a back porch, watering flowers. An older man with a hearing aid casting for fish on a lake. A woman making breakfast for a large group of people in a mountain resort. Mountains, too, color my dreams. Beautiful, majestic rocks shooting high into the vast blue sky, as if reaching to heaven. Waterfalls of misty streams fall between boulders casting off prisms of rainbows. It's a gorgeous place, but I have no idea where it is or why I'm seeing visions of it.

And then there's the guy. The one I've dreamed of before. Dark blackish brown hair with streaks of gray or white at the temples. Jet-black eyebrows and eyes the color of coffee before it's diluted with cream. He bores those chocolate eyes into me as if there's hatred or resentment between us—which is wicked sad 'cause he's wicked cute. Who he is, I haven't a clue, but knowing how things are for me since my awakening, I'm sure I'll meet him soon.

Mom's Volvo pulls up to the curb and she honks the horn as she waves. I nab my Styrofoam cup, book bag, and purse and head out.

"Calculus?" she asks when I open the car door.

"Ninety-seven."

Mom holds up her hand, wanting a high-five. Since she's not aware that kids my age fist bump instead, I humor her. "I'm so proud of you, Kendall," she says.

"Thanks, Mom. I'm proud of me, too—considering all the crap I've been through."

She places her hand lovingly on my knee and squeezes. "That's something I wanted to talk to you about. Dig into my purse and pull out that stuff I printed."

I bend and find several pages stapled together. Enlightened Youth Retreats? I read. "What's this for?"

Mom glances over and then back at the road as she drives through Radisson toward our house. "I called Dr. Ken Kindberg in Atlanta, remember him?"

"Sure." Dr. Kindberg was the psychiatrist who confirmed that I do indeed possess the psychic skills I claim to have. "Why did you call him?" Probably a stupid question, considering ... everything.

Mom rolls her eyes at me and snickers. "Annnnnyway. I filled him in on all you have been through lately and he directed me to this website that can help you."

My heart falls a bit. What website can assist a girl who loses her first love? Who now has a blistering red scar from having her spleen removed? Who's too afraid to connect with the spirit world she's been dealing with for seven months? Who wants nothing more than to beg for medication to get her to stop having psychic visions and empathic headaches? I need a website where I can put in my name and my birth mother's name and out will spew all the pertinent backstory so I'll know who I am.

"Kendall, hon ... just read it."

I let my eyes dance over the page, reviewing information about teens just like me who are considered to be "enlightened." Psychics, mediums, indigo children, empathics, healers, telepaths, and others who have special gifts and abilities. I read aloud. "'Nestled in the backyard of Yosemite National Park is Rose Briar Inn, the site of our year-round Enlightened Youth Retreats. Here, specially gifted young people from ages thirteen through twenty can gather together for seminars, lectures, hands-on experiments, meditation, and quiet time with others or nature in the relaxing town of Oakbriar, California.'"

My eyes pop. "California?"

"Yes," Mom says. "Since your spring break is coming up, your dad and I thought this would be a good thing for you."

"A retreat, huh?" Cali-frickin'-fornia!

"Right, dear. The cost covers all of your meals and housing, and you'd meet others from all over the country who have similar gifts as yours. I know you've been feeling disjointed lately and perhaps this trip is just what the doctor ordered."

"Or the nurse," I say with a smile.

"The nurse definitely recommends it," Mom says. "As much as I'll hate having you away from home for ten days, your father and I feel like this is the best thing for you, Kendall."

"Won't airfare be kind of expensive?"

Mom winks at me. "Kendall, don't worry about things like that. Your father and I aren't struggling and we want our girls to be happy. This is what you need. Time away from Radisson and your ghost hunting—which you already said you wanted a break from—and a chance to meet other teens like you."

A week in the Sierra Nevadas, huh? A mountain getaway? An opportunity to find out who Kendall Moorehead really is before I delve into the mystery that
is
my mother ... and my family.

"I think I'll do it!" I say to Sarah, my mother.

"Good! Your dad and I can make all the arrangements this evening. And you know what one of the coolest things is? That psychic from TV, Oliver Banks—the guy who wears the Ray-bans all the time when he's getting psychic messages on that true-crime show—is the one who runs it and helps kids just like you."

My brow hitches. "
You
watch a TV show about a psychic that solves true crimes?"

Mom hems and haws. "Oh, you know. It's one of those things on at night ... background noise that I stop on occasionally."

She is the cutest thing evah! Considering she wanted to medicate me at first when my psychic abilities blossomed. I'm proud of her accepting my gift—or my curse, whichever way you might see it.

Perhaps this retreat will do the trick.

We pull into our driveway, and Mom parks the car. I lean over and kiss her on the cheek. "Love ya; mean it."

I do mean it. She may not have physically birthed me, but she is my mother. She cares enough about me to let me explore and find myself.

And I will. There will be plenty of time for that after spring break.

Time for Kendall Moorehead to discover the truth of her roots.

First off, California, here I come!

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