The Guidance

chapter Eighteen

Just as I'm about to fall asleep in my history class—discussion of the Restoration, Reformation, Renaissance, or some other historical r word—my phone vibrates in my pocket. My heart soars when I see it's a text message from Jason.

>it's me.

>hey me.

>what up?

>tryin 2 stay awake.

>me 2.

This is the first time we've talked since he stormed out the other night. I don't know whether he's still ticked off at me or what. I attempt to break the ice as Mrs. Hixon blathers on about Martin Luther and the Peace at Westphalia in 16-some-thing-or-other.

>so...?

>I'm sorry I wuz a dick.

>U wrn't a dick.

Yeah, he really was, but I get it.

>Yes I wuz.

>I understand. Em was out of line.

>So wuz I I'm sorry.

>u said that. ©

>mean it.

>love u, mean it.

>ur adorable.

>no, u r.

>;) c u soon.

The bell rings, signaling the end of the day, and I stash my BlackBerry in my purse. Jason and I have definitely begun our restoration. Could we be any cuter?





On Thursday, I sigh as I look at the folder that Celia has compiled on my archenemy ... and our new client: File GH-0023—Courtney Langdon.

"Great," I mutter.

"Was Courtney in school today?" Celia asks from her computer.

Taylor sets her Nikon D40 camera (a new toy she got off eBay) on the floor and pipes up. "She called in sick the last couple of days. Stephanie and Farah told me she was completely embarrassed about what-all she's been doing in public and has been hiding out in her room feigning some incapacitation."

Yeah, I've been on my own with the pig dissection, which is fine with me. A person can only take so many gnarly looks in a day.

"Whatever," Becca says. "She deserves what she gets. The bitch toyed with the spirits and bagged on what we're doing. She asked for this."

Sadly, Becca's right. However, it's our duty as ghost huntresses to help anyone who reaches out to us. Even Courtney Langdon.

"That's why we've gathered the team." I stand up in front of the girls and smooth out the wrinkles in my jeans. Jason and Clay—de facto members of the team—are absent right now, doing whatever it is that boys do after school on a Thursday, while we establish a game plan for dealing with the Union soldier who's playing marionette with one of the most popular girls in school. "Celia, you wanna tell us what you've been able to dig up?"

She swivels in the leather chair and plants her Reeboks firmly on the carpet in front of her. "So, I've done some research on the Crawford house."

"Why?" Taylor asks with a bit of a pout. "Shouldn't we be looking at Courtney's instead?"

"No," Celia explains, "this entity seems to be tied to the Crawford house. That's why he felt comfortable enough to bust in on our investigation in the carriage house with Stephanie's grandfather, and then later to attend a party and step into one of the guests."

"Who just so happened to have invited him in," Becca interjects.

Celia rolls her neck for a moment. "Annnyway. According to the registrar of deeds, the house has been in Miss Evelyn's family dating back to the early 1800s. In the Radisson library, I found some old lithographs of Union soldiers encamped in the area during Sherman's March to the Sea. Throughout Georgia, troops were left behind to police the locals and secure whatever properties they could. One of the places where Union soldiers camped out was right on Crow Lane." She pulls a large map off her desk and spreads it on the floor, pointing to the location of the property where Evelyn and Stephanie Crawford live.

"So because of the ginormous yard, the Yankees made it their home?" Taylor asks, poring over the map. "I hope no one got raped or pillaged."

"It wasn't the Middle Ages," Becca says with a smirk.

"Yeah, but that shit happened," Celia says.

"Those poor people," Taylor says and adds another good pout. Often I wonder who the real empath is here. That girl feels everyone's pain.

Taylor shifts on the floor and stretches out her legs. I hear the click and ping as she scrolls through her digital images. I know without looking that they're the pictures she took the night of Stephanie's party.

I crawl across the room on my hands and knees to perch next to Taylor and gaze over her shoulder. Typical party pics of people making silly faces and all smashed together in group hugs and stuff. There are a lot of goofy ones of all of us in our costumes. My heart instantly picks up speed when I see Jason in his tight Batman attire.

Taylor straightens. "Ooo ... is that a soldier?" She points at a pic of Celia, me, and Becca all sticking out our tongues at the camera. "See. Look."

Sure enough, in the background, there's a man in a navy blue uniform circa the Civil War era. My instincts tell me it's the same soldier I was dealing with that night, even though I can only see him from behind. I can literally smell the musty wool of his uniform and sense the dirt clogged under his fingernails from weeks—months, even—on the battlefield. The stench of iron-y blood and sweat and tears and lives lost in a war of brother versus brother.

"Is this dude following us around?" Becca asks, obviously referring to the Lockhart case.

"It's possible. Anything's possible." I pause for a moment and tune in to all of the vibrations creeping through my body. The pinch of the psychic headache. The tremble of my hands and legs. The immense sorrow filling my heart. The symptoms permeate my entire being. "We've got to get back to the Crawford house, set up our equipment, and really begin to dig around there. It's the only way we can help Courtney."

Celia reaches for her cell. "I'll call Stephanie right now."

"We need reinforcements on this one," I say.

"I'm on it."

A while later, three visitors arrive at Celia's house: Stephanie, Loreen, and Father Mass. Steph plops down onto the living room sectional and lets out a long sigh. The last two are confused as to why the other is there. I can read it in both of their eyes as they move into the Nicholses' house and take seats opposite each other.

Animosity swirls in the air between them. Eyes cut across the room, touching on each other. I wish they could just be friends, since I trust them both with my life.

"Thanks for coming, you guys," I say, breaking the tension in the room.

Loreen shifts her gaze to me and smiles. "Anything you need, Kendall." I try not to giggle at the latest T-shirt she's wearing. It reads, "If You're Telekinetic, Raise My Hands."

"Are y'all really going to go ghost busting in my house?" Stephanie asks.

"We don't bust," Celia says, a bit irritated. "That's for the movies. We'll investigate the instances of paranormal activity by interviewing you and your mother, and we'll do all we can to rid Courtney of the entity that seems to be occupying her."

Father Massimo puts up his hands. "Now, look, I don't want you girls trying to do an exorcism. Kendall, we've already talked about this."

I shoot back, "I promised you that we wouldn't. That's why you and Loreen are here. Between the two of you—your age, experience, wisdom—we can work together to help Courtney. First, we've got to know what we're up against."

Loreen tosses a smug glance Father Castellano's way. "If we're dealing with an oppression, we just have to convince the girl to muster her strength and throw the bum out. I'm willing to work with you if you're willing to work with me."

"I shouldn't be involved in this."

"But you are," I say.

He sighs. "Tell me your plan."

"First we'll investigate Stephanie's house and try to flush this guy out and see what his deal is," I explain.

"What do I do?" Stephanie asks with a concerned look.

Celia swivels from side to side in her chair. "We'll need full access to your house and any historical documents you or your mom have about the time when the Union soldiers were encamped in your yard."

"Sure, sure..."

"Your mom told me that she had diaries from Ada Parry—that's Evelyn's great-great-grandmother," I say to Loreen and Father Mass. "If we can read through those, perhaps we can piece together a narrative and see where this ghost might fit in."

"You've got it," Stephanie says. "My house has creeped me out my whole life, so maybe this'll help cleanse it too."

"We'll do our best," Loreen assures her.

"Okay, Celia, fill them in on what we've got so far."

After Celia details everything we know to date, Father Mass frowns.

"I don't know about this whole oppression thing. I think we're dealing with something more serious. Perhaps demonic."

"Kendall would know if she was dealing with something demonic," Loreen says sharply.

"I don't think it's—" I begin. However, the adults talk around me, not hearing what I'm saying.

Loreen seems exasperated at Father Massimo. "You're being a stick-in-the-mud."

"And you're taking this too lightly," he responds. "If you want me involved, I'll need to bring the bishop in on this and get his permission for a formal exorcism."

Loreen scoffs at him. "Under your rules and regulations, that'll take weeks. This girl doesn't have weeks."

"I know that!"

I try to mediate. "You guys—"

Continuing, Loreen insists, "Courtney's in the driver's seat with this and she has to get rid of the spirit herself."

I notice that the more these two argue, the closer they get. Their auras are practically on fire with desire and passion, whether for the topic or for ... each other? Seriously? That's what I'm picking up? Honest to Pete, if that's the case, why don't they just do it and get it over with? Sheesh!

"Can't you do this for her?" Loreen shouts.

"You want me to lose my job?" Father Mass says back sternly.

Loreen pushes her strawberry blond curls out of her face. "I didn't know they could fire priests."

"I can lose my parish."

"Guys! Please!" I say, waving my arms. "I appreciate both of your suggestions and we'll take everything into account. As long as I know you're both onboard, that's what matters. We've got a lot of research to do before our next step. Courtney reached out to me, but will the soldier allow her near us? That remains to be seen. We'll see what we can do." I glance at Loreen. "With your help, of course."

Her eyes light up. "Whatever you need. Right, Father?"

He stares her down with his dark eyes and I can see his hesitation melt somewhat.

"You don't have to do anything that the bishop wouldn't approve of," she says. "Just be there for Kendall. Can you do that?"

"Then it's settled," I say. "Loreen, Father Mass, we'll set up Saturday night for an investigation. We want you both with us. Ten, okay?"

"Absolutely," she says.

Father Mass is still noncommittal. "I can't promise anything, Kendall. I have to operate under the rules of the church."

"You have to do what you have to do, Father. So do I."

"I'll pray for you all," he notes.

Celia stands up. "Then we go back to the Crawford house and start figuring this out."

Yep. We'll get to the bottom of this. My Spidey senses tell me so!

***

On Friday night, at the Crawfords' Miss Evelyn sets down an antique chest that she's pulled out of the attic. Dust floats out in gentle puffs as she heaves the lid off to delve into the contents.

"I haven't opened this in years." She plunders through delicate silk materials that appear as thin as butterfly wings and removes a jewelry box, a pack of letters, and several deep red journals with crinkled old pages. "I read Ada's diaries when I was in my teens, but I couldn't tell you for the life of me what's in them. The only thing I recall is feeling like I was reading a romance novel."

"Great," Becca says with a sneer. I knock her in the side with my elbow.

Miss Evelyn hands the three diaries over to me. I promptly turn to Becca and plunk them in her arms. "I think you and Taylor should read over these while Celia and I try to get a sketch of the soldier."

"Whatever you gals need," Miss Evelyn says. "Stephanie, you help them however they want."

"Yes, Mom."

The front-door bell chimes, and next thing I know, Jason and Clay walk in.

Jason kisses me quickly on my temple and slips his arm around my waist. "What do you need me to do?"

"Yeah, put me to work," Clay says with a wink to Celia.

She blushes slightly at the obvious PDA.

"Jason, you can help Taylor and Becca read the diaries. The quicker we can get a handle on Ada Parry's background and whatever angst she put in her journals, the sooner we can piece this together."

Celia hands an EMF detector to Clay and sets him off to explore the Crawford house and draw a map of the layout, highlighting the areas of high electrical energy coming from fixtures and plugs. The Tillsons and Becca spread out on the couch in the living room and get to work reading. Tomorrow night's the ghost hunt, so tonight—Friday—we're doing some preliminary research, trying to find out as much as we can about Ada Parry and what happened in this house so long ago.

"You ready for me?" I ask Celia.

Picking up a small fishing-tackle box and a large drawing pad, she asks me, "Where you wanna do this?"

"Let's go back into the ballroom where we got the pictures of the guy and where I first saw him clearly."

The ballroom seems so empty compared with its festive appearance at the Halloween party. On the back wall is a century-old crushed-velvet settee. I lower myself to it, feeling the aged springs creak under my weight. Celia sprawls on the floor in front of me and opens the tablet. She nabs a few pencils and is ready to get down to business.

Over the next fifteen minutes, I describe the soldier to the best of my ability. She's sketching away furiously, with her tongue wiggling out of her mouth. She probably isn't even aware that she's concentrating so hard on the drawing.

"No, closer together," I say, pointing to the outline of the eyes that she's drawn. "And his mustache isn't that bushy."

"Back off, Moorehead," she says with a laugh. "I'm still creating."

A few minutes later and Celia flips the pad my way. "Voila!"

"Un-freaking-believable," I say with a gasp. "You nailed him."

She smiles up at me from the floor.

Stephanie enters the room with two Diet Cokes for us. She freezes in her tracks when she see Celia's latest masterpiece. The sodas nearly slip from her hands. "Holy shit! That's him!" She gives us the sodas.

"Who him?" I ask.

Pointing, Stephanie says, "The guy. I've seen him in our backyard and over at my grandparents' house." She shakes the memory out of her head. "I always thought I was dreaming or hallucinating. It was a few years back, when Dad still lived here. I saw this dude outside and he was laughing. Mom and Dad were having one of their famous fights and I'd left the house to give them some room. That guy was there. He was, I swear."

I move in to hold her hand and comfort her. "I believe you, Steph."

"But ... but ... but he's a ghost? I saw a ghost? That is beyond freaky."

I scrunch up my face. Welcome to my world.

"He's obviously connected to you, your family, and your house."

She begins to shake in my grip. "Don't worry, Steph. We're here and we're going to help."

We've got to get through those diaries and find out what on God's green earth is going on here.