The Black Page 7

  "Then Damon is as different as he says. I can't do that kind of thing."

  "What can you do?"

  Maggie looked me square in the eye and for the first time I sensed that there was more to her than a meek, frightened girl. I couldn't imagine what had been so wrong about her life that she had been kept in the Black for so long. I wanted to know all about her, but I had to take care of Marsh first.

  She answered, "He can be made to understand that he isn't alone."

  "0-kay," I said, skeptically. "I guess that's a start. Would you do it for me?"

  Maggie took a deep breath and gave me a small smile. "I'll try."

  "Awesome. Thank you. How does it work? What do we do?"

  She stood up and turned her back to me. "Think of your friend," she said over her shoulder.

  I closed my eyes and pictured Marsh. I saw his blond hair and brown eyes. In my head he wore a hoodie sweatshirt and jeans. He was building a model rocket at his kitchen table. His cat, Winston, was on the table next to him, watching.

  "Got him," I said. "Now what?"

  I opened my eyes to see that in front of Maggie, the colorful fog had appeared.

  She turned back to me and winked. "Now we pay him a visit."

  I liked Maggie.

  She took a step into the fog… and disappeared. I leaped after her, jumped into the swirl of color, and landed in Marsh's bedroom.

  Maggie was already there, standing at the foot of his bed, looking down on a sleeping Marsh. It was daytime.

  Sunlight streamed in through his bedroom window. When I had been in the Light with Damon it was night. How long ago was that? A few minutes? A couple of hours? A hundred years? I kept hearing that time had no meaning in the Black, and that looked to be true, at least in how it corresponded with the Light. Passage of time in the two dimensions wasn't necessarily relative.

  "It's going to take a while to get used to this," I said, stunned.

  "Is that him?"

  "That's the guy," I said. "Yo! Ralph. Rise and shine!" He didn't move.

  Maggie rounded the bed and knelt down next to Marsh's head. She looked at my sleeping friend with a sad smile. Did she feel sorry for him? Did she think he was vulnerable and cute? Did she miss being in the Light?

  Seeing Marsh gave me mixed feelings. It was good to see my friend, but the last time we were together we'd had a blowout fight that was mostly my fault. I'll always regret that because I'll never get the chance to tell him how sorry I was. More than that, I didn't want to be dead. I wanted my old life back. I had to force those thoughts away. Why sweat over something that could never be?

  Maggie barely moved. She kept looking at Marsh, concentrating. After a few seconds she closed her eyes and started breathing deeper. It seemed like she was going into some kind of trance.

  "What are you doing?" I asked.

  My answer came in the form of rippling color. All around her the air began to move and shimmer. It wasn't dramatic like when we moved from place to place. It was barely perceptible but it was there and Maggie was causing it. The aberration, or whatever it was, grew around her until it enveloped Marsh too. Finally, Maggie leaned down, pursed her lips, and without opening her eyes she gently blew air at Marsh's face.

  Marsh's hair moved.

  It was subtle, but it moved, and it woke him up. He smiled as if he was having a great dream as he brushed the hair out of his eyes.

  "You did it!" I exclaimed.

  My spontaneous outburst broke the spell… or whatever it was. Maggie stood and backed away into the swirling fog that appeared behind her. I jumped right after her and a second later we were back on her porch in the Black. She sat down on the couch as if the effort had taken a lot out of her. I felt like an idiot for disrupting the whole thing, but was way more excited about having made contact with Marsh.

  "How did you do that?" I asked.

  "The stronger your connection is with the person in the Light, the less difficult it is. It's about focusing your thoughts and energy."

  "Who taught you that?" I asked.

  Maggie shrugged. "I've made friends across many visions."

  "Well, it was awesome! We could like… like… write stuff on one of his sketch pads to tell him what's going on. Or maybe even whisper stuff to him. This is great."

  "It's not like that," Maggie said. "I'm barely able to move a little air."

  Instantaneous deflation. How was I supposed to warn Marsh that he was in trouble if all I could do was get Maggie to blow a little breath across his forehead? I fell down onto the couch, defeated.

  Maggie said, "If you could talk to him, what would you say?"

  "He should know I'm looking out for him and that if things start getting scary, he isn't alone."

  "What about his family?" she asked.

  "It's only him and his father. His dad is a good guy but he isn't around a lot. Marsh is going to need more coverage than that."

  "Do you have a family?"

  "Yeah. So?"

  "You could try to send your friend to them."

  That made me laugh. "Yeah, right. My dysfunctional family wouldn't be any help."

  "But it might help him understand that you are part of what is happening to him. That would be a beginning."

  "I don't know, maybe. But it's not like a breath of air can do that."

  Maggie jumped up and went into her house. I thought maybe I had scared her off again but a couple of seconds later she came back with a piece of paper and a big old-fashioned number two pencil.

  "Draw something that will connect Marsh to you," she commanded. "To your family."

  "Uh… what?"

  "Draw something that will send him to your family looking for answers. Something simple."

  I didn't know what she was planning to do but didn't have any better ideas. What could I draw that would make Marsh think of my family? The answer wasn't obvious… until I thought of it. I took the pencil and drew a symbol. It was a cluster of three swirls.

  Maggie examined it closely and gave me a questioning look.

  "It's a tattoo my sister just got," I said.

  "Your sister has a tattoo?" she asked, incredulous.

  "Yeah, she's a piece of work."

  "I didn't know girls got tattoos."

  "Maybe not in your time. When did you, uh… Man, I can't believe I'm asking this but… when did you die?"

  Maggie's expression turned dark. She folded her arms across her chest and she sat back on the couch. I saw her glance over my shoulder at something. It was quick, as if she did it unconsciously. I looked to where she had glanced to see a barn that was about thirty yards from her house. My first thought was that maybe she had died in there. My second thought was that I had yet again asked an incredibly insensitive question.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I promised not to ask any more dumb questions. It's just that the tattoo thing made me remember we came from different times and I wasn't being nosy or anything. I was just interested in when you died—lived. I meant lived. That's all. I'll shut up now."

  Wow. Could I have been any clumsier? She stared at the ground for a few seconds, then jumped to her feet and started for her door.

  "Maggie, don't leave!" I called.

  She stopped short, but not because of me.

  Someone was standing on Gramps' property, watching us. I stood up to see another one of those odd people wearing dark clothes with their hands folded in front of them. It was a woman who looked like somebody my mom would hang out with. There was nothing strange about her at all, except that she came out of nowhere and was quietly observing us.

  I saw another person inside the house, watching us from behind pulled curtains. It looked like it might have been a young kid, but I couldn't tell for sure, and as soon as we made eye contact, the curtains dropped.

  "Come inside," Maggie said, and went for the door.

  I followed her inside and she quickly closed the door behind me.

  "Who are those people?" I asked. "They're all over the
place."

  "I call them Watchers," she said, and walked farther into the house.

  The place looked like it had been decorated by somebody's grandmother. The furniture was heavy and dark. The lamps had flowered shades that matched the curtains. It was totally old-fashioned but that made sense. Maggie had probably lived there when that stuff was in style. I wasn't about to ask her when that was. No way. Lesson learned.

  A fire crackled in the fireplace, making the place warm and inviting. Maggie went right to it and sat down on a rug. Though she was my age, seeing her plop down so easily made her seem more like a little girl. I took a chance and sat next to her.

  "Who are the Watchers?" I asked.

  Maggie stared into the fire, her mind a million miles away.

  "Spirits," she finally said. "But not like us. They never speak to anyone and you never know when they might appear."

  "What's their deal?" I asked.

  Maggie kept her eyes on the flames. "They are the ones who decide when we are ready to move on."

  "You mean like judges? They're out there keeping score?" She nodded.

  "Wow. So they could be your best friend or… not." "I hide when I see them," she said absently.

  I didn't ask her why. If the Watchers hadn't sent her on, then they obviously didn't like what they saw. I couldn't imagine why. Maggie was the sweetest, most innocent… ghost I'd ever met. Sheesh.

  "Would they help me?" I asked. "What if I told them about what Damon was doing?"

  She shook her head. "When spirits try to speak with them, they vanish."

  "So we're on our own here."

  Maggie was still clutching the sketch of Sydney's tattoo. I reached forward and gently took it from her.

  "Then, would you help me?"

  Her eyes were glistening, on the verge of tears. I couldn't imagine what was going through her head and didn't dare ask.

  "We aren't supposed to interfere with the Light," she said. "I may have already done too much."

  My heart sank. She was right. At least based on what Gramps told me. It was looking as if all those stories about people being haunted or getting contacted from the great beyond might actually be true. I'd seen proof. But were those spirits guilty of interfering with the Light? Did the Watchers, or whatever they were called, make those spirits pay by keeping them from moving on to their next existence? What exactly was the penalty for messing with the Light?

  "Damon's been causing a lot of trouble in the Light," I said. "If that's so wrong, maybe we'd be doing a good thing by trying to stop him."

  She gently took back the sketch of the tattoo. "Maybe," she said, and took my hand. "Or maybe it doesn't matter because it's already too late for me."

  Before I had a chance to ask her what she meant by that ominous comment, she pulled me to my feet. The swirling fog returned and by the time we were upright, we were standing in Marsh's kitchen. In the Light. I still wasn't used to jumping between dimensions and it took me a few seconds to stop my head from spinning.

  It was a sunny morning with light streaming in through the window over the sink. It might have only been a few minutes since we had been there before. Or not. I'd spent a lot of time in that kitchen, mostly raiding the Seavers' pantry for snacks. Marsh sat on a stool at the island in the middle of the room eating breakfast. Raw Pop-Tarts and chocolate milk. His mom used to hate it when he ate like that. He never told her I was the one who introduced him to that particular breakfast of champions. Seeing him made me laugh, and my heart ache.

  I wondered where his father was, then remembered he was planning a business trip to Las Vegas. Mr. Seaver never had to worry about leaving Marsh on his own. Marsh was too responsible of a guy to get into any trouble.

  "He's alone," I said to Maggie.

  "I see that."

  "No, I mean he's all alone. His father is out of town. There's nobody around to help him if things go south. We've got to make this work."

  She held up the sketch and examined it, as if memorizing the design.

  "What are you going to do?" I asked.

  "I don't know yet."

  She glanced around the kitchen, then stood behind Marsh, gazing over his shoulder.

  "Ovaltine," she said, thinking out loud.

  On the counter in front of Marsh was an open container of the chocolate drink mix.

  "Are you sure he can't sense that we're here?" I asked. "Some people can, but your friend doesn't seem to be one of them."

  I got right up next to him and screamed, "Raaaaaalph!" The only person who jumped was Maggie.

  "Sorry," I said.

  "If you want him to feel our presence, we have to use our spirit to manipulate the Light."

  "Like when you blew on his hair?" I asked.

  Suddenly Marsh's cat, Winston, jumped up onto the counter.

  "Whoa!" I shouted in surprise and backed off. Some ghost I was.

  Marsh was startled too…

  … but Maggie stayed focused and reacted instantly. She leaned forward and the same swirling haze I saw when she blew on Marsh's forehead appeared in front of her. She let out a quick, sharp breath aimed at Winston, and Winston reacted. The cat jumped to the side… and knocked over the can of Ovaltine, spreading chocolate powder all over the white counter.

  "Whoa!" Marsh cried. "Winston!" he yelled angrily, but the cat was already long gone, probably terrified and confused after her brief encounter with the spirit world.

  "That was great!" I shouted. "How did you do that?"

  "We can create movement in the air, like a ripple of energy. That's about all I can do."

  "Damon could do a lot more than that," I pointed out.

  "I'm not Damon," she shot back. Blunt.

  I was right about Maggie. She wasn't as meek as she seemed.

  As Marsh got up and went to the sink to get stuff to clean up the mess, Maggie moved in. She leaned directly over the pile of spilled powder with her nose just above the mess. Her eyes were closed and her forehead was creased in concentration. Whatever she was trying to do with the powder it would have to be fast because Marsh had gotten the trash can and a sponge, ready to wipe it up.

  "Hurry," I said.

  "Shh!" Maggie chastised.

  Marsh stopped moving. It was like he had sensed something. Was it Maggie's "Shh"? He put the garbage pail down and left the kitchen. I went with him. I didn't want him taking off before Maggie did whatever it was she was trying to do.

  "Ralph," I called to him. "Ralph. Don't go anywhere. C'mon, man. Don't leave."

  He didn't hear a word. I followed him into the living room, where he checked the thermostat. That was classic Marsh. He figured there had to be a scientific explanation for what had happened. The idea that two spirits were lurking around and moving energy fields around would never have entered his mind.

  Which raised a question: Did he even know I was dead? Seemed to me like he was going about life, business as usual. He'd be one of the first people my family told about my dying but he didn't look upset or anything. And that raised still another question: Did my family even know I was dead? I'd been all alone out on that lake. Was it possible that nobody even knew what had happened?

  I didn't have time to stress about it because Marsh was headed back to the kitchen.

  "Excellent, dude, keep moving!" I coaxed, hoping that somehow my words would seep into his brain.

  He pushed through the swinging door and went back for the sink. I, on the other hand, focused on Maggie. A colorful rippling cloud had formed between her face and the chocolate powder on the counter. I stood beside her without saying a word for fear of breaking the spell, or whatever it was. Maggie's eyes were scrunched tight and her head seemed to shake from concentration.

  Marsh grabbed the cleaning supplies and moved to the counter to start wiping up the mess, when he stopped short. We stood on either side of Maggie, though Marsh had no idea that he wasn't alone. His eyes grew wide and when I looked to the counter, I saw why.

  The powder was m
oving. It was subtle at first, as if a faint breeze was brushing it around, but even a faint breeze would have made no sense to Marsh. The windows were closed. The heater fan wasn't on. He was seeing something impossible.

  The breeze grew stronger, blowing the fine powder across the counter. Most of it spread out across the white tiles but some of it remained where it had spilled. The more powder that blew away, the more was revealed of the pattern that Maggie was creating.

  It was the triple swirl. Sydney's tattoo.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  Marsh jumped. I did too. I might be a ghost but I could still be surprised. Somebody was at the front door. Maggie kept concentrating, working to complete the triple swirl. Marsh looked terrified, which made no sense. How could he be more scared about somebody at the door than by an impossible phenomenon happening in his kitchen?

  Ding-dong.

  The doorbell. Marsh took one last glance at the chocolate pattern, then ran back for the sink. From underneath he pulled out a small fire extinguisher. What was up with that? There wasn't any fire. He held the metal cylinder in one hand as if to use it as a weapon. Why was he so frightened about somebody at the door? He ran out of the kitchen and I was about to follow him when another swirling cloud of color appeared on the far side of the island from us.

  "Maggie?" I called.

  From out of the cloud came a shadow… a big shadow. It moved from the cloud of color and pushed across the counter like an oncoming storm that totally messed up the message Maggie had painstakingly created.

  And it didn't stop. The dark shadow hit me, hard, knocking me off my feet and onto my back.

  When I landed, I looked up to see I was staring directly into Damon's angry eyes.

  8

  "Is that your response?" he barked, spraying spit into my eyes. "Do you truly believe you can protect him from me?"

  I was pinned on my back with Damon's knee on my chest. He may not have been much of a fighter, but he was heavy. And strong.

  "He's my friend," was all I could say.

  "He is beyond your help," he spat through his sharp teeth. He jumped off me and bounced to his feet while brushing himself off.

  I tentatively stood up and looked around to see that he had knocked me out of the Light and straight back to his vision in the Black. We were on a rocky ledge, high above the village where I had first met him. Below us was the square with the statue and the fountain. Far below us.