Page 36

I stare up at the sky, suddenly dizzy. It’s one of those perfectly clear nights when every star is visible, all of them seeming to pulse with extra energy. I’m buzzing, too, over what Fritz is telling me. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that Billy, who so desperately wanted to believe in ghosts, eventually found his way to Ezra Hawthorne, a man who allegedly communicated with them. Yet it’s a shock to hear, mostly because Billy never mentioned it in the tent later that night.

Then again, I didn’t give him much of a chance.

“Do you think he was lying to Billy?” I say. “About making contact with spirits?”

“Mr. Hawthorne didn’t lie about things like that,” Fritz tells me. “If he said it happened, he believed it to be true.”

“Which doesn’t mean it is. Did you ever see it happen?”

“No,” Fritz says. “Remember, I rarely took part in the institute’s activities.”

“But you’re a believer?”

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.” Fritz returns his hand to his pocket, removing another cigarette. Lighting up, he says, “You know that old saying ‘Seeing is believing’? Well, I have yet to see anything that’s made me believe. But I haven’t outright dismissed it, either. Not after some of the things I’ve heard. Ezra regaled me with so many tales of communicating with the dead that I suppose I’m a bit of an expert on the subject.”

Noise rises from the nearby woods, faint but distinct. A rustle in the underbrush. It might just be an animal.

Then again, it might not.

“What if I wanted to try it?” I say.

“Talking to the dead?” Fritz cocks his head, intrigued. “Why would you want to do that?”

I have my reasons, none of which I’m prepared to share with him.

“Just hypothetically,” I say. “Can I talk to any spirit?”

“Only the ones who have something to say.”

“What if I have something to say to them?”

“It’s not that simple,” Fritz says. “It’s not like picking up a phone and calling someone. The majority of spirits can’t be contacted.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re at peace.”

Fritz kneels and runs his index finger over the grass, drawing an invisible circle. “That’s the land of the living,” he says before drawing another circle that slightly overlaps it. “This is the spirit realm. Ezra believed that’s where the souls of the deceased go. Most of them, anyway. A very few never quite make it because something is keeping them tied to the land of the living.”

“Where do they go?”

Fritz taps the space where the two circles meet. “It’s a kind of limbo between the two realms. If a spirit is there, you have at least a small chance of contacting them.”

“But not if they’re in the spirit realm,” I say.

“Correct,” Fritz says, pointing at me with his cigarette. “The spirit realm is the place you want your loved ones to be. It means nothing prevents them from moving on. No unfinished business.”

“Like murder?”

Fritz stares at me. “This isn’t hypothetical at all, is it?”

“The other day, you asked if I’ve seen something unusual on the cul-de-sac,” I say. “I have.”

“Billy?”

“Yes.” There’s no point in denying it. Fritz knows anyway. “He’s been haunting the woods.”

“Fascinating.” Fritz moves to the edge of the yard and peers into the woods. “Is he here now?”

“I’m not sure,” I say, thinking about the faint rustle I heard. “Maybe?”

Fritz takes one last, lingering look into the woods before turning back to me, puffing on his cigarette. “Do you know what he wants?”

“I don’t. But I’m pretty sure he’s been trying to tell me something. At first, I thought he was leading me to the Hawthorne Institute because that’s where he was found.”

“And because you thought we’d murdered him,” Fritz says, his bluntness tinged with understanding. If he harbors any hard feelings toward me over that, he doesn’t show it.

“Correct,” I say. “But now I think I misunderstood him, and I’d like—”

“To flat out ask him what he wants.”

I start to blush, for the idea continues to sound ridiculous. “Is that even possible?”

“If Ezra Hawthorne were here right now, I’m sure he’d suggest a dozen different ways in which you could attempt to contact Billy. Unfortunately, he isn’t. And there’s no way to reach him.”

“He’s firmly in the spirit realm?” I ask. “How do you know?”

Fritz gives me a sly smile. “Just because I don’t yet believe doesn’t mean I haven’t tried.”

“So I’m out of luck? My only option is to let Billy keep haunting me and try to figure out what he wants?”

“Maybe the haunting is what he wants,” Fritz says. “Over the years, Ezra became convinced that some souls remain caught between the earthly and spirit realms by choice. His advice was always to leave them alone.”

But I can’t do that. God knows I tried. Running away as fast as I could, hoping the guilt and bad memories wouldn’t catch up to me. But they did. They always do. Now they’re always present, taking the form of insomnia, of The Dream, of Billy’s shadowlike figure tossing baseballs into the backyard.

“Why?”

“Because there’s something else that keeps a spirit bound to the earthly realm. Something stronger than unfinished business.”

“What’s that?” I say.

Fritz drops his second cigarette next to the first one. Extinguishing it with a mighty stomp, he says, “A grudge.”