The Guidance

chapter Twenty-Two

Like I do after any super-intense ghost investigation, I sleep like the dead—ha-ha ... get it? The dead ... never mind—Sunday morning, not waking up until well past noon. (Oops! Father Mass is going to notice my absence in the Moorehead section.)

After a near thirty-minute shower and an extensive blow-drying session, I slip on my jeans and my most comfy T-shirt. Celia sent a group e-mail out to everyone saying we were doing evidence review at Becca's house. Jason's giving me a ride over.

Dad's at the office—yeah, on a Sunday—and Mom's working on a science-fair project with Kaitlin in the den when I hear the tires of Jason's Jeep crunch on our gravel drive.

"You heading out?" Mom asks.

"Going to Becca's to look at what we captured last night."

Mom blinks hard. "Did you get enough rest? I know ... that sort of thing tires you out."

"I did. No worries."

I hear the tink-tink of the horn and I run over to kiss Mom on the forehead. "Love ya! Mean it!"

Outside, Jason steps from the driver's side and comes around to open my door for me. He lays a soft kiss on my lips before he shuts me in.

When he retakes his seat behind the wheel, I ask, "To what do I owe this honor?"

His eyes sparkle against the bright November afternoon. "Trying to be a gentleman."

"You always are, Jase. You're the best." I choke on my words. Not because they're not true, but because it's incredible that this amazing guy has stood by me through all of this stupidity.

He stares at me with those powerful blue eyes of his until I almost feel like he's the psychic one, reading my thoughts and emotions.

His fingers glide into mine; his thumb brushes the top of my hand. "I know I've been hard on you about all the investigation stuff."

"I know it's been—"

"Shhhh!" he says quietly. "I've been selfish and demanding in wanting a girlfriend who wants to hang out and do things just with me. What can I say? It's what I was used to. And I wasn't understanding enough about what you've been going through."

"Jason, it's been really—"

This time, his hand moves to cover my mouth. "Damn, Kendall. Shut it, will ya?" he says with a hearty laugh. "I'm, like, baring my soul here. Guys don't do shit like that."

I smile underneath his palm. I let him finish.

"The investigating is important to you and even though I've been skeptical, I enjoy being a part of it with you. What happened last night was ... whoa—I don't know how to put it in words. Even though I didn't see what you saw, or experience what you were going through, I could almost empathize with this awakening thing. I could see that you believed in what was going on. That you really helped that dude find peace. That you reunited him with the love of his life ... in death. It was unlike anything I've ever observed." He stops for a sec and brushes his knuckles under his chin like he's reliving everything. "You did something useful, even when it meant it might suck out all of your energy. And you helped Courtney, despite the fact that she's a roost-ruling bitch. That's classy, Kendall. Not everyone would have done what you did for her. She owes you."

He takes a deep breath and sort of holds it.

I wait a moment. "My turn?"

"Yeah," he says, his eyes sparkling.

I lean across the stick shift and take his face in my hands. I plant the fattest, wettest kiss on his amazing lips and then pull back. "You are the best boyfriend I've ever had."

His eyebrows rise. "Aren't I the only boyfriend you've ever had?"

"Semantics," I say, using Father Mass's word.

This time, Jason kisses me. The kind of kiss that makes me crinkle up my toes inside my Timberlands.

"This weekend," I say. "You and me. No one else."

"Not even Emily?" he asks.

"Sorry she's been so aggressive with you."

"She's protective of you."

I shake my head. "I don't need protection from you."

Jason kisses me again. And again. And again. Mmmm ...

We'll eventually get over to Becca's.





Taylor's exuberant smile nearly lights up the room. "I outdid myself, I must say."

"These pictures definitely don't suck," Celia notes.

We're spread out all over Becca's den with bags of Doritos, Tostitos, and Cheetos sustaining us through our evidence review.

"The temperature analysis I did throughout the night indicates areas with drops in degrees at the same moments that both you and Loreen were feeling the presence of the entity," Celia reports in a very scientific manner.

"That's amazing."

Taylor's digital images show mists and formations and shadows of a figure. The infrared picked up what we all think was Major Fair, and there's plenty of documentation of the windows banging and doors flying open. Even though Miss Evelyn and Stephanie were there, this will make one hell of a reveal if they'd like to go over it with us.

"The longer we do this," Celia says, "the better our evidence gets."

"It's véritablement stupéfiant!"

Becca grimaces. "English, Tillson! English!"

"Truly amazing," she says with an innocent grin. "What do you have, Becca?"

"The mother lode of EVPs. I'll play a few."

Feeling the need to reach out to her, I say, "You know, you've done an amazing job with all of this. I can't tell you how proud I am and how much help you've been."

She beams up at me. Not her usual don't-give-a-damn Goth-girl grin, but a genuinely warm, friendly smile. "That means a lot to me, K."

"You betcha," I say. I'm really glad to have her as a friend and to know she's not still upset with me for—

Wait. What's going on?

My left temple quivers slightly, as if a blood vessel has gone majorly insane underneath the surface. I freeze in place. I count to ten. I take a deep breath. Something is ... here...

While Becca's cueing .wav files up on her software, I try to ignore the psychic sensations that are starting to swell within me. I'm getting the same sneaking feeling that I got the last time I was here. Something is calling to me, despite how hard I'm trying to ignore it.

I'm kind of busy right now ... can you come back another time?

Nothing responds, so I hope I've dispelled the curious spirit.

"Listen to this one," Becca says, unaware of my inner struggle. "Leeeeeeeft for deeeeeeeeeeeead."

"Cool beans," Celia says. "'Left for dead.' That's a clear one."

"It sure is!" Taylor says enthusiastically. "I got chills hearing that."

"What about you, Kendall? Pretty clear?" Becca asks.

I nod, only half listening. I move my eyes about the room, trying not to draw attention to myself as my friends are fascinated with the EVPs. Besides, I know what happened last night. I saw the major with my own eyes. I don't need further convincing. I do, however, need to know who's trying to contact me right now.

Please help us.

My heart hammers away; the blood is rushing to my head and making me dizzy. I have to hold it together. Maybe I'm just a little weak and overly sensitive after the connection with Major Fair last night.

Becca's playing another EVP. "Sounds like it says, 'You can see us.'"

"Us? Like more spirits?" Taylor asks.

"That's an old house," Celia says. "Lots of spirits around there, more than likely. Right, Kendall?"

She knocks me on the arm. "Huh? What?"

"There are probably other spirits in the Crawford house, 'cause it's so old."

"Oh, sure," I say, not really listening.

Celia kneels in front of me. "Are you all right?"

I hear a distinct whisper in my left ear.

Must heal her.

A lump forms in my throat, making it hard for me to utter anything coherent.

Celia's eyes are dark with concern. "Kendall? You're not, like, channeling anything, are you? You're not ready for that."

Shaking loose from my trance, I say, "No, no, it's nothing like that. It's..." I plead with Becca with my eyes. She looks toward the door to the trophy room and then back at me.

Her gaze tells me no, but then she says, "Someone's here?"

The voice whispers to me again in such an affectionate, tender way. It's like I'm sitting on a fluffy cloud of trust and comfort. I repeat what I'm told, although I have no idea what it means. "Granny Gama's here?"

Celia and Taylor exchange glances. "Who's that?"

Becca's mouth falls open.

I struggle with the pronunciation. "Gran-Gomma? No, it's definitely Granny Gama ... Gahhhhma. Like mama with a g. Does this mean anything to any of you?"

"No clue," Becca says flatly. Then she hands two sets of headphones over to Taylor and Celia. "Y'all mind giving a second listen to this sound file for me? I may not have caught everything."

"Sure."

Becca carefully lifts herself off the floor, goes over to the trophy room, and motions for me to follow along. I don't say a word; I do as I'm told.

Once we're inside the dark, dusty room, Becca closes the door and bursts into tears. Huge, chubby drops roll out of her overly black-lined eyes; silent sobs rack her as she tries to stop the emotional overdrive churning through her system, which I sense as well. Charcoal eyeliner and mascara traces gush down her pale white cheeks, leaving tracks of sorrow in their wake.

She wipes at her face with the back of her hand, making everything worse. I pull a Kleenex from my pocket and gently dab her face.

"Talk to me, Becca."

She gulps for air, struggling to get out the words. "Gr-gr-gr-granny Gama was my—"

"Grandmother," I finish, already knowing the answer.

"When I was a little girl, my daddy wanted me to say, 'Hi, Granmama,' but it came out as Granny Gama. It stuck."

I smooth out the smear under her left eye. "I think that's sweet."

"Sh-sh-she was the world to me." Her hands fly up to cover her face, and her crying increases. "It's all my fault."

"What's your fault?"

A whispery image of a tiny woman slowly materializes in front of me. Her hair is dark and pulled up in a bun. Wrinkles smudge around her eyes and stretch over her cheeks. Her eyes are the same as Becca's. A fiery twinge clutches at my heart. Definitely experiencing some coronary probs here. No doubt about it, since I've had it before with other spirits. Regardless, I pull my fist against my chest as if the sensation is overcoming me for real.

"Granny Gama had a massive heart attack. It took her before she even hit the ground," I say.

Becca lowers herself to the floor and puts her knees to her chest. Her tears have subsided some, but the emotional slash is still there.

"Please tell me what was your fault."

She blinks. "I'm responsible for her death."

"What?"

"No, child," her granny says.

"After my mother left, when I was five years old, Granny Gama raised me. Dad worked all the time—still does—and she was the one who cooked and cleaned and got me to school. She's the one who enrolled me in tap, ballet, gymnastics, and baton. She paid for all of it with her Social Security check because she knew I was obsessed with beauty pageants." She sniffs hard and wipes her nose with her hand. "Granny was at every single pageant. Front row, center, cheering me on." Becca gestures to her trophy cases. "She had these shelves made specially. And we celebrated each award and crown as I won them. I knew I was going to grow up to be Miss Georgia and then Miss USA or Miss America. I was that determined."

"So what happened?" I ask.

"Same thing that happens with any obsession. It became my life, to the detriment of everything else. Granny told me I was getting too big for my britches and that I didn't think my shit smelled." She stops and laughs sarcastically. "Well, she was right. I was gorgeous and I didn't mind flaunting it. I had such an attitude. I mean, I look back and I can see where people might think it was simply confidence in my abilities. It was more than that, though. Soon, I was out practicing more hours than I spent at home. I took every dance class I could. I worked hip-hop and aerobic moves into my routine. More, more, more. It wasn't enough."

"Becca," I say, trying to get her to focus. "How is Granny Gama's death your fault?"

She takes a staggered breath. "B-b-b-because for all she did for me, I couldn't do one thing for her."

"Stop, precious," her granny says. "Don't let her go on."

"She has to go on," I say. "This has obviously festered for too long." To the point that the multitalented beauty queen Rebecca Asiaf had turned into a Goth girl named Bulldozer Becca to remake the image she had of herself.

Becca buries her dark head into her folded arms. "I killed her."

"How?"

"It was the day before a pageant and she was finishing up an outfit for me. She could sew sequins and pearls and fringe like a pro. She asked me to pick something up for her. No big deal. Just a quick errand. I didn't do it, though. I was so caught up in myself and winning the next crown, practicing longer hours, that the store closed before I could go. So what, I'd get what she needed tomorrow." Becca looks up at me. "There was no tomorrow for her."

"What happened?"

"Granny was in the kitchen making dinner for Daddy and me when she had a heart attack. I got home just when it was happening. I rushed to her and held her, asking what was wrong. All she could do was fumble around in the pocket of her housecoat."

"Pills," Granny says. "I was looking for my nitroglycerin."

Suddenly, the whole scene plays out for me in my mind's eye. "Oh no ... the errand?"

"I was supposed to pick up her prescription." Becca sniffs. "I didn't know it was that important. I didn't know she had heart problems enough to demand emergency pills."

"How could you know, precious," Granny says. "I never told you."

I place my hands on Becca's arms, trying to let Granny's love flow to her. "You didn't know. Not even your dad knew."

Tears shining in her eyes, she says, "No, he didn't."

"You didn't kill her, Becca. It was a mistake."

"I shouldn't have let my prescription run out," Granny tells me.

Becca lets out a silent scream of pain that I feel in my bones. "I let her down. I couldn't take two seconds from my important life to go to the drugstore and get her pills. There aren't words to describe the guilt I've been living with."

But I understand. Her ache ebbs across the gap between us to wash me in her sorrow.

"Is that why you dyed your hair and pierced yourself and hide behind the black makeup?"

She nods her head. "I don't deserve to be looked at admiringly anymore. I'm a freak who killed her grandmother. I'll keep piercing body parts to punish myself for the pain she went through."

"Oh, Becca..." I glance at the apparition that watches with such concern. "Speak to her. Let her hear you. Use my energy if you have to."

Granny smiles. "You tell her for me, child."

I listen to the woman, so full of love for the granddaughter she raised.

"Becca, Granny Gama is here and she wants you to know that she's so proud of you. You had nothing to do with her death. She had a weak heart and had had 'episodes' early in the week. She knew she needed her medicine and shouldn't have put the responsibility on you."

"I let her down."

"No, you didn't."

"She's still here, though. She's not at rest. Not at peace."

"Yes, I am," Granny says. "I just check in on my precious every now and then. I'm so proud of her grades and how she helps her father, and I know she's going somewhere with her music."

I relay this to Becca, who sits up and listens. "Really, Granny Gama?"

"Tell her I'd forgive her, but there's nothing to forgive."

My voice catches before I can repeat everything. "She says that she died in the arms of the person she loved the most."

"Oh my God." Becca puts her hands to her heart. "I loved her sooooo much. I still do!"

"Tell her I love her too," Granny says. Then she moves forward and lays a see-through hand against Becca's cheek. My friend startles, like she can feel the touch.

"I miss her more than she can ever know," says Becca.

"I know, Becky."

A tear slips down my cheek; I'm missing my own grandmother. "She wants you to continue being you and doing what makes you happy. Most of all, she wants you to forgive yourself and live life to the fullest, like she did."

Becca cries again, only this time, it's happy tears. "I will, Granny Gama! I promise."

And then the spirit vanishes—just like that.

Becca slumps against the door and reaches out for the used Kleenex I've been holding. "Holy crap. Where did that come from?"

"She came when she thought you needed her the most."

Blowing her nose, Becca says, "That was remarkably intense."

"Welcome to my world," I say, laughing.

She wipes at her eyes again. "Don't tell Celia and Taylor anything. We'll just tell them I'm on my period or something."

"Whatever you say." Then I add, "So much for not investigating in your house, huh?"

Becca takes my hand. "It wasn't an investigation, Kendall. It was an intervention. I think you just saved me."

"Anything for a friend. And you're one of my best."