The Ghost Files 3 Read online

  “What happened to you?” I whisper. This girl definitely tops the list of most gross.

  “You happened to me, Mattie Hathaway,” she hisses. “This is All. Your. Fault!”

  She launches herself at me.

  Chapter Two

  There is nothing but burning anger in the eye of the dead girl hurtling towards me. She means to do me serious harm. What did I ever do to her? And how is her death my fault, of all things? I’ve never even met the chick.

  Like a flash, I’m up and moving across a huge expanse just inside the airport entrance. No way can I do anything while in front of all these people—even if I knew how to stop her. Bathroom, bathroom, I’d seen one behind baggage claim. That’s the best plan I have right now.

  Then I burst through the open-style doorway. “Sorry, sorry, got the runs,” I say in apology to everyone staring at me like a crazy person. Those simple words clear the bathroom better than anything else. No one likes the smell of diarrhea. I’m never embarrassed to use this excuse. It works. Simple as that.

  After I look in all the stalls, I breathe a small sigh of relief. I’d learned a long time ago to open stall doors to make sure no one was actually in them. It always surprised me to find out how many high school girls will hold up their feet in a stall just to hear gossip. I’d only made that mistake once when I screamed at a ghost to leave me alone. It was the last time I’d ever acknowledged one—until Sally’s ghost showed up a few months ago. Rumors are nasty, especially ones about me. After that school, I always attached myself to the in-crowd. Better to be the freak on the inside than the freak on the outside.

  Now where is the danged ghost? She’d lunged at me like there was no afterlife and she doesn’t bother to follow me? The nerve of the little chit.

  “Look, I don’t have time for your drama,” I call out. “I have places to be. If you need help, I’ll try, but just not right now.”

  “She hates you,” another girl-ghost voice says, making me whirl around, but I don’t see anyone. I hate it when they hide.

  The bathroom door opens and two flight attendants stroll in. I sigh. Why can’t people just stay out of the bathroom for a full five minutes? Women go to the restroom more in an hour than men do all day. It’s flippin’ ridiculous.

  I head into one of the empty stalls and hope to God the new ghost won’t pop in with me.

  “Why does she hate me?” I ask, switching to internal chatter mode. No point in letting anyone hear me and think I’m crazier than I am.

  “She blames you for her death and our deaths.”

  Our deaths? “I don’t understand. What did I do to cause someone’s death?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispers close to my ear. “But I know it is your fault.”

  “How can it be my fault if you don’t even know what I did?” I try not to cringe from the cold slowly settling into my bones. She’s so close to me.

  “The only thing I remember is your name,” she tells me. “I heard it over and over as I died. What happened to me happened because of you.”

  “How did you die? Can you say?” God, what a horrible question. Do I want to know the answer?

  “Pain. Lots of pain. I remember screaming, crying out for someone to save me, but no one came. It hurt so much.”

  My body shudders again, and not just from the cold. “You said I’d caused all of you to die,” I whisper. “How many girls?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said, her voice sounding more like a death rattle. “Maybe eight?”

  Eight? I cringe. Eight girls dead and they all think I’m responsible?

  “Where did you die?” She needs to give me something to go on so I can tell Dan. He’ll chase down a lead…well, if he’s still talking to me. I did deck his girlfriend, but then again, he threw me out of the way to help the little backstabber. Should I even be talking to him at all?

  “I…I…” The screech begins at the base of my skull and explodes behind the eyes. The pain—her pain—echoes through my head. And just like the other ghosts—their screaming feels like a hot knife slicing through me. I hate knives.

  “Shh,” I whisper, hands covering my ears, but it doesn’t help. “You’re hurting me.”

  “Good,” another voice whispers. “You need to suffer like we have.”

  Freaking awesome. This one isn’t the ghost from earlier. It’s new, but she’s just as angry. Hands grip my arms, squeezing so hard I know there’ll be bruises. The cold bites into me and I clench my teeth against the need to scream. Okay, toilets are flushing and water is running. That means the flight attendants must be getting ready to leave.

  “What in the world…” I hear one of them say. Chances are the mirrors are icing over.

  “It’s so cold,” the other flight attendant says, her voice sounding a little worried. As well she should be. There are some very pissed-off ghosts in here. “Come on, let’s go. If we miss the first employee bus, we’ll be waiting a good thirty minutes. It’s shift change and I want to see my kids.”

  “I know you think I’m responsible for your deaths,” I say when I hear the ladies leave.

  “You are,” they both hiss.

  “Regardless,” I interrupt them, trying to focus past the pain in my head. “I will help you, but not right now. I have to be at the police station soon. If you find me tonight, I will do everything I can. I promise.”

  “How can you help us?” another voice pipes in. This one is calmer, younger than any I’ve heard so far. “The others said we’re dead, but I don’t believe them. I don’t feel dead.”

  I sigh. She sounds confused. The typical ghost can’t accept the fact they’ve died and need help to realize it so they can cross over. I just learned last week if those ghosts don’t cross over, their confusion turns to rage and then they become what is called a vengeful spirit. Then all they want is to cause a whole lot of pain to the living. Not a chance I’m letting the little buggers turn all vengeful on me. Those things hurt. My entire body can attest to that.

  “It doesn’t matter what she thinks she can do. She has to pay.”

  My entire body stiffens. It’s the girl from outside. She’s mad as all get out. What to do, what to do? I’m trapped in a bathroom stall. Probably not the brightest idea in hindsight. Time to go on the offensive.

  “Look, I don’t even know you so there’s no way I am responsible for your death! I’m not paying for something I didn’t do, now back off!”

  “Ohhh, she’s getting pissy.” The angriest of them laughs. “Maybe we should show her why this is her fault.”

  Show me? My eyes widen. Oh, no way. That’s only happened to me once and I refuse to do it ever again.

  “Don’t make me feed you to The Between,” I threaten. They shrink away from me immediately, afraid. Every ghost has glimpsed The Between. It’s the void between this plane and the next, full of monsters just waiting to gobble up an unprotected soul.

  “You can’t hide from us, Maattiieeee…”

  They’re whispering all around me, their voices sounding more like the hissing of a pit of snakes than anything else. Pain explodes behind my eyes and the temperature in the room turns from freezing to a burning cold. The water is running and I know without looking every reflective surface is covered with a sheet of ice. These ghosts are seriously pissed off.

  “Yeah, well, you try something and it’ll be the last thing you ever do,” I say softly. “I will feed you to the wraiths without a second thought.”

  Fear is something I’m tired of feeling. I never used to be afraid of anything, but since breaking my own rule and talking to the spooks, my life has been one terrorfest after another. So, I’ve had it. I won’t let them make me afraid anymore.

  Well, I refuse to let them see they can make me afraid, at least.

  I take a deep breath, and then push the stall door open and step out. My feet hit ice and I go sliding, landing on my butt. Water has overflowed the sinks and now the tiled floor is iced up. Well, that’s just freaking great.
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  The lights in the room flicker as I carefully pick myself up off the floor. Where are they? The room is so cold it physically hurts, but I force back the pain. I’ve felt worse than this. These little ghosts have nothing on the ones I’ve faced over the last week. “Come out, come out, come out,” I call quietly. “Not so brave when you know I can take you out, huh?”

  A hollow chuckle comes from one of the stalls and I whirl, desperate to see where the little buggers are hiding. Too late, I realize my mistake. My feet slide out from under me and I hit the floor again. But this time my head bounces really hard.

  “What’s wrong, Mattie?” The angriest ghost laughs harshly in my ear. “Not so brave now that I have you at my mercy?”

  Her hands reach out and grasp my head.

  No, not again!

  It’s useless fighting, though. I feel myself getting sucked into the void of her memories. I struggle against the hands holding me down. I can’t move, can’t scream. I’m trapped in her nightmare and there’s no way out until she shows me what happened to her.

  God help me.

  Chapter Three

  Cigarettes, sweat, and beer. It’s a distinctive odor and familiar. It stinks and I hate anything that stinks. It’s a phobia with me. I try to roll away from the smell, but I can’t. I’m not tied up either. No, he doesn’t need to tie me. My body is broken from the beating it’s already taken. My eyes are swollen and blurry. I can’t make out anything other than a few shapes that flicker in the moonlight. Dirt. I smell dirt, so maybe I’m in the woods? The dirt smells like the stuff at the camp I’d been forced to attend one summer. It had lots of trees. I can hear the water, too. Maybe somewhere around Lake Norman, near Mooresville?

  A foot connects with my ribs and air whooshes out of my lungs. God, that hurt. He’s so gonna suffer when I can get my hands on him. Footsteps walk away and then come back. I can smell the smoke close to my nose. The sizzle registers before the pain. He’s burning me with his cigarette! God, no! I feel the searing pain each time he touches my flesh. Whimpers escape my throat and fear clogs my thoughts. Okay, okay, I know it’s not my fear, it’s the girl’s, but that doesn’t really help. I am her right now and that’s overwhelming me. I must concentrate.

  I’m shoved onto my stomach and I hear a scream. Nonononono…my mind shies away from the very worst thing. Don’t think about it, block it out, block her out! But I can’t. Now he’s laughing, grunting as the screams continue, but now, soft and muted, because my—her—throat is on fire. I am not this girl! My internal self chants over and over—trying to escape the sounds…and the damage. Not me, it’s not me, the chant begins.

  “Mattie, Mattie, Mattie…”

  What? My consciousness snaps back. Someone is repeating my name, like a mantra over and over. The guy. His voice is whisper-soft, but his lips are against my ear.

  “How do you like this, Mattie Hathaway?”

  I try to block it out, but can’t. His voice is so full of hatred and all I want to do is curl up in a ball and cry. No, no, no, I don’t want this curse of a gift, just take it away, please, just take it away…

  “Mattie? Mattie!”

  Someone is shaking me and I open my eyes. Mary’s face comes into focus and I blink rapidly. I’m back, not…somewhere or someone else. Poor Mary. She’s afraid, for me. I understand her expression as I uncurl myself from the ball I’ve wrapped my body in, grab the sink, and pull myself up. In the mirror, I see my face wet with tears, pale, eyes wide and dilated. No wonder Mary’s worried. I’m shaking and nearly fall when I take a step. Mary catches me. Just breathe, Mattie, I tell myself. Just breathe.

  I close my eyes and take several deep breaths, but can’t shake the experience I just had—which was the vindictive little ghost’s point. That kind of fear doesn’t leave. Oh, when I get my hands on her…I’m shoving her into the light. I might dangle her in The Between just for spite first. I really want to feel bad for her—only because she died horrifically. But…dang it, she’d tortured me because she wanted to.

  At least now I understand why these girls blamed me. He’d chanted my name while he brutalized them. He definitely knew me, but the question is how does he know me? I need to talk to Dan.

  “Do you want to sit?” Mary asks, concerned, pulling me back to reality.

  “No, let’s go,” I croak. She helps me outside, where I gratefully plop onto the stone ledge once again. Mrs. C. is whispering to Mary, but I don’t really care what they’re saying. My body still screams from the memory of what happened to that girl. I feel the broken ribs, the bruised and bloody face, and every blow she took. I feel everything, even the thing I want most to not remember. I shudder away from it and tears leak from my eyes. I hurt so much.

  Mary urges me to stand and we board the bus, talking to me all the while, but I’m not paying attention. Why can’t I shake these feelings? I want to scream, shout, tell them what’s happened, but I can’t. Not here. I gotta talk to Doc or maybe the Malones. They might know a way to stop the ghosts from forcing me to feel everything they do.

  The Malones. I wince just thinking about them. They’re Dan’s birth family, the one he was stolen from. Eli Malone, Dan’s younger brother, is also the reason Dan’s adoptive mother is in jail right now. And it’s my fault, no matter what anyone says.

  Mrs. Cross gets us settled into the car and turns on Kiss 95.1 as we drive. It’s my favorite radio station in Charlotte. She’s putting on a brave face, but I’ve freaked her out. It doesn’t seem to bother Mary, but her mom is having issues. I mean, the lady said she could handle my particular brand of weird, but now that she’s gotten a glimpse of it, I’m not so sure about that.

  “Mattie, there’s something I need to warn you about before we get to the police station,” Mrs. Cross says, visibly nervous. “There are some new developments you need to be aware of.”

  New developments? That doesn’t sound at all good.

  “It’s a good thing,” Mary assures me with a smile. My radar goes on high alert. They’re both acting way too chipper.

  “Dan called your social worker to let her know what was happening,” Mrs. Cross continues. “He gave her your father’s name and she’s been in contact with him over the last few days.”

  I freeze, startled, terrified. Now I have to think about my father, and face what I did to Dan’s family. A few weeks ago, I’d asked Dan to help me find my father. My mom had never spoken of him, that much I can remember. Eventually, Dan tracked my mom’s movements and learned she kept going back to New Orleans. So he asked Mr. Richards to engage a private investigator. What he found pretty much tore Dan’s family to shreds.

  When the PI looked up my mom, Claire Hathaway, Dan’s adoptive mother’s name kept popping up. My mother’s real name was Amanda Sterling, not Claire Hathaway. Apparently, Dan’s mother was Claire’s sister. So, Dan’s mom helped her sister steal me from my real family. Unfortunately, it gets worse. Dan’s mom didn’t really adopt Dan. She’d kidnapped his birth mother, Amelia Malone, held her hostage until he was born, and then killed and disposed of her body. Creepy and scary doesn’t even begin to describe my feelings about this.

  Earlier, to escape the Meg-and-Dan situation, I’d agreed to help Dr. Olivet with his haunted house in New Orleans. How better to prove a house is haunted than to take a bona fide Ghost Girl along with you? Right? He’d agreed and that’s how I’d met the Malones. Later, Dan showed up at the house and gave me his report of the investigation. Unfortunately, the Malone brothers, Caleb and Eli, eavesdropped, and when they heard ‘Amelia Malone,’ they’d burst in. Come to find out, Amelia Malone was Caleb’s mother. For years, they’d assumed she’d died in a horrific accident. Eli, obviously pissed, had called the cops and turned in Dan’s adoptive mother without thinking about the consequences.

  Not that turning her in was a bad thing; Dan would have done it himself eventually. He really believes in all that truth and justice drivel. I firmly believe in fending for myself, and if I have to do the wrong thin
g to accomplish it, I won’t hesitate. It’s the fundamental difference between Dan and me, but what also brings us together. He needs someone who defies his choices and makes him live outside the box. I do that. Or I did. I’m not sure what’s going to happen over the next few weeks. Dan says he doesn’t blame me for what’s happened, but I keep waiting for him to change his mind. Now that we’re home, he’ll see the damage the search for my father caused his family. I’m not sure our relationship can survive that.

  Then again, I’m inherently a selfish person, but Dan’s not. Unlike me, he always puts others first. Maybe he can forgive me. He’s the only person I’m not selfish with. Well, I try, really I do, but it’s hard. Like the Meg thing. I want to be happy for him, get past my anger, but…was Mrs. C right? Is this part of growing up? It sucks. Making peace? Dan would do it for me, so I’ll try to forgive him, but not Meg. There’s not a bloody chance in Hades of me forgiving her! If I could hit her again, I would.

  “Mattie?” Ms. Cross interrupts my volatile thoughts. “Did you hear me? Nancy has spoken to your father and he’s coming to Charlotte to meet you.”

  “Huh, what?” I ask, startled. My father is coming here? Knowing he exists is one thing, but actually meeting him? I don’t know about that. I need time to wrap my head around the fact that he’s real.

  “Mom, she looks as freaked out as you did when we came back outside earlier,” Mary says, her voice worried.

  “When?” I demand. “When is he coming?”

  “I’m not sure,” Mrs. Cross says slowly. “Nancy didn’t say, but I’m sure she’ll tell you everything.”