Believing (Lily Dale #2)(26)

Black eye. Obsessive thoughts about some psychic kid.

He needs some kind of distraction.

And he might have stumbled upon just the thing.

Abruptly, he turns back to the glowing computer screen, still open to his latest find. Perhaps a little too close to home for complete comfort, but one gets tired of travel.

Hayley Gorzynski, a junior at Saint Jude’s High School, right here in Akron. She’ll be playing the lead role of Sandy in a local theater production of Grease.

The newspaper article contains a glowing quote from Jamie Corona, the show’s director.

“Casting was a no brainer,” Corona says.“Hayley will make a perfect Sandy, with her long blond hair and big blue eyes.”





EIGHT

Friday, September 7

3:06 p.m.

Mr. Bombeck is writing yet another excruciatingly difficult problem on the board—and Calla is wishing the last bell would hurry up and ring—when it happens. Again.

She feels the presence before she spots the source. It makes itself known in the now-familiar way: a sudden chill creeps into the classroom.

She glances toward the window, left open to air the stuffy classroom on this sultry September afternoon.

The sun is still shining, and she realizes the chill isn’t coming from the window. With it comes a distinct uneasiness and an eerie, tingling sensation that creeps over Calla’s skin.

Her fingers tighten around her pencil and she keeps her gaze focused on Mr. Bombeck up at the front of the room.

The presence remains, grows stronger still.

Finally, no longer able to ignore it, she turns her head. Just slightly. But far enough to spot Kaitlyn Riggs, plainly visible just a few feet away, watching her.

The dead girl’s ghostly eyes beg Calla to do something.

Help her. Stop him.

Stop him.

Over and over, Kaitlyn’s voice fills Calla’s head, her commands growing louder, more urgent.

Stop him!

Calla closes her eyes and grips, feeling sick.

Go away, she silently begs her ghostly visitor. Don’t do this to me. Not here. Not now.

In her mind’s eye—or is it?—she sees Erin Shannahan. Not the picture from the Web site, but her body, lying face-down in the woods.

This time, though, she can see more of the scene. Trees, brush, rugged terrain . . . and a trail marker bearing the letters CKT. A ring of rocks. This time she can see charred black splinters inside the circle—an abandoned campfire site?

She zeroes in on Erin herself.

Matted blond hair, freckled arms, silver watch— Her hand . . .

It’s moving, her fingers clawing at the dirt and leaves.

She’s alive!

The pencil snaps in Calla’s own hand and her eyes jerk open again to see one splintered piece flying through the air.

It lands on the floor across the aisle. Jacy leans over, picks it up, and looks at her. She can feel other eyes on her as everyone sitting in the vicinity looks up to see what happened.

“Is everything all right back there?” Mr. Bombeck asks from the board.

“I’m sorry, I just . . . dropped my pencil.”

She reaches to take the broken piece from Jacy, who shifts his gaze to the spot where Kaitlyn Riggs materialized.

Can he see her too? Or does he sense something?

Calla turns to find that the apparition is gone.

Stop him! Stop . . . him . . .

Her voice fades to an echo in Calla’s brain before it disappears altogether as the shrill ringing of the last bell shatters the room.





“All I know,” Evangeline says as they make their way toward home through a gray, muggy afternoon, “is that you have got to do something about this. If this girl is alive out there somewhere, you need to help her.”

“How?” Calla shifts her backpack, filled with homework for the weekend, to her other shoulder. It seems to weigh a ton, and but it’s nowhere near as heavy as the new burden of figuring out what to do about Erin.

“Call the police.”

“And tell them . . . ?”

“That you think she’s still alive.”

“And who do I say I am?”

“You can be anonymous. If we make the call from the pay phone by the café in the Dale, it doesn’t come up on Caller ID.”

“But I don’t even know where to tell them to look. All I saw is woods, and kind of . . . rough terrain, and a trail marker . . .”

“With CKT on it,” Evangeline points out. “So let’s go straight to my house and Google that on the computer—if we can beat my brother to it.”

Calla considers this. “I don’t know . . . my grandmother was really upset that I got involved with Kaitlyn’s case.”

“And if you hadn’t, she’d still be out there somewhere. Her body, anyway. If Erin’s still alive, you can save her life. Look at it this way—you have nothing to lose. And Erin Shannahan has everything to gain.”

“Do you think we should just tell my grandmother and let her deal with it?”

“Not with your dad about to blow into town. She might decide to send you back to California with him, to keep you from getting involved in stuff like this.”

“I’ve thought about that too,” Calla said. “Well, how about your aunt?”