Greg Weisman - Rain of the Ghosts

Spirits. Ghosts. Translucent. Glowing. Standing in a semicircle around the N.T.Z. Rain was hyperventilating, desperate not to lose it completely. All these tourists do NOT belong here, she thought. She counted them. There were eight of them. She counted again. Still eight. The counting helped calm her. Helped focus her. There had seemed to be so many at first. But no, it was a finite number of dead folk. Fixed and unchanging. At least for now. She scanned their shimmering faces. It was hard to clearly discern their features, but she was soon convinced. The Dark Man wasn’t there. These were new ghosts. All men. All dressed in bomber jackets and some kind of uniform. They looked to her like old-fashioned World War I flying aces or something.

Then, just as her breathing returned to normal, they started to approach. To close in around her and Charlie, who still had both hands locked tightly around her arm. She looked at him. He was clearly frightened, glancing back and forth between her and the clearing. He sees them, she thought. Thank God, he sees them.

Rain cringed involuntarily as the Eight drew closer. They began to point out to sea. Their lips were moving but no sound came forth. Rain studied their body language. They seemed to be begging, imploring. “What do they want?!”

Charlie was clearly freaked: “What? Who? Rain, what’s wrong with you?”

She turned on him like a woman betrayed. “The ghosts! Don’t tell me you can’t see them?! You have to see them!”

He looked at her, followed her gaze and stared at the empty N.T.Z. Moonlight and a cold fire pit. That was all. He turned back to her and shook his head.

She stared at him. Then slowly her own head rotated toward the Eight, still pointing, reaching, begging for something beyond the cliff. Equal parts dread, fear and anger were at war within her. But anger was something she could hold onto. So anger won. She took a step forward. Charlie released her arm. The ghosts ignored her. She took another step. “Why me?” she said. “What do you want from me?!”

Reaching out to sea, the ghosts ignored her still, looking through her as if she were the transparent one, as if she were the ghost. Desperate, she took three fast steps toward the nearest spirit and reached out to him, shouting, “What do you want?!” Her hand passed right through him. There was no substance, just sensation. She had vaguely expected him to feel cold. But whatever stuff he was made of was warm and liquid, like the Caribbean. He was tall, but she tried to meet his gaze. His face was fluid, indistinct. But young. Maybe nineteen or twenty. How could he be so young? She stood right in front of him, waving her arm back and forth through his head.

He took no notice. But somewhere, not in her ears, but in the back of her mind, she heard him speak… or maybe just think. The whispered words, like the ghost, were liquid, were smoke. But a few of them registered: Home… Send us home… Finish it… The mission… Help us…

It was her turn to beg, to implore. “Stop it! I can’t help you!”

Finally, the spirit acknowledged her presence. He lowered his head. His eyes locked onto hers. Solid black and hard as jewels. She wanted to run away, but those eyes froze her in place. He reached out. Put a hand of smoke and liquid into her chest and spoke again, spoke to her. Send us home! His voice was the night wind blowing sand across the beach. Quiet, dry, steady, insistent and impossible to hold onto. And again, Send us home!

It was all too much. She shut her eyes. Screwed them shut against the young ghost, against all of the Eight. Charlie watched her body coil into a kind of standing fetal position. Finally, she screamed: “GO AWAY!!”

Silence. The whispering stopped. Slowly and with great trepidation, she raised her head. The young ghost was gone. The Eight were gone. She turned a full circle. The clearing was empty. Moonlight. A cold fire pit. A cliff. Rain Cacique. And Charlie Dauphin, staring at his lunatic best friend.

She felt like a lunatic. Or one step from lunacy at most. She looked at Charlie. He hadn’t seen anything. “Rain?” he said.

She shook her head, muttering to herself, “Maybe I am losing it. You can’t see them. No one can.”

Charlie wanted to say something helpful, so: “It’s grief. Playing tricks on you. It has to be.”

She nodded absently. That’s right. That’s all it is. He took her hand and squeezed it. She managed a smile. Then strangely disappointed, she walked with him into the jungle.

Rain recovered her shoes from behind the ferns. Charlie watched intently as she slipped them on and emerged into the light of the Camino.

“Kinda dressy for the N.T.Z.”

Rain and Charlie turned to see Marina Cortez watching them with amusement. “What are you guys, having candlelight dinners up there?” She was sitting next to Ramon Hernandez on the front bench seat of his convertible. He leaned over to whisper something in her ear. Rain didn’t have to be a psychic to guess what he was saying. Ramon had been at the funeral and the wake with his parents, grandparents, sisters, in-laws, nieces and a nephew. As Marina’s expression changed from mirth to sympathy, Rain once again felt the weight of everyone on the islands knowing her business.

Marina climbed up onto her knees and leaned out of the car, “Rain, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Rain didn’t want pity or even compassion right now. Other people’s emotions felt like a burden. Created expectations for how she was supposed to respond in turn. “It’s okay,” she said flatly, which was all she could manage.

“It’s not okay. I know. Look, why don’t you guys hang with us tonight.” Then, after the fact, Marina glanced toward Ramon for confirmation. He didn’t look thrilled. Clearly, he’d been hoping for some alone time with the pretty girl from Malas Almas. But he wasn’t a complete idiot. There really wasn’t any way he could object.

“Yeah, sure. Climb in,” he said, hoping his tone sounded inviting enough to fool Marina, but threatening enough to discourage Charlie at least.

But Charlie wasn’t searching for nuances. This was an unprecedented opportunity. Seniors didn’t invite eighth-graders to hang. If they could just be spotted driving around with Ramon by someone, anyone, from school, it would alter their entire status come Monday morning. Plus, it might serve to get Rain’s mind off of, well, whatever.

“Not tonight,” Rain said.

Marina would not be thwarted so easily. “Come on, come with us.” She opened the door and slid closer to Ramon to make room in the front seat.

Ramon liked the sliding closer part, and his attitude improved, “Yeah, Cacique. Get in.”

Charlie nudged Rain toward the car. “It’s what you need,” he whispered. “Blow off some steam. With seniors…”

It wasn’t what Rain needed, and she knew it. But she felt defused. They were being so nice, and she couldn’t come up with any peer-acceptable objection. She slid into the front seat next to Marina. “Thanks,” she said, not meaning it very much.

It was only then that Charlie realized he wouldn’t be sitting next to Rain. He stood over the others stupidly, until Ramon finally said, “Well, what are you waiting for? Climb in.”

Charlie lurched over the chassis and tumbled into the backseat. Ramon put the car in gear, surreptitiously slipped an arm behind Marina’s back and drove off.

There was an awkward silence. Then Marina turned abruptly to Rain and said, “You know, my older sister died last year.”

“I didn’t know,” Rain said quickly. “I’m sorry.” It was almost exactly what Marina had said to her two minutes earlier, but they were the only words Rain could find. Marina’s revelation confused and upset Rain. The truth was she didn’t know Marina Cortez very well at all. There was the age difference, and, besides, Marina lived two islands over. Rain saw her around some times, but they had no history together. Now, we’re sharing this?