Spirit Legacy Page 8

  “Jess, come on, let’s go.” Tia’s voice suddenly sounded in my ear. I looked around. Everyone was getting up and packing their bags; Professor Marshall must have dismissed the class. I shoved my notebook back in my bag and joined the queue to turn in my paper.

  “Ti, will you wait for me? I just need to talk to Professor Marshall for a minute,” I said.

  Tia nodded. She plopped her paper onto the pile and loitered in the doorway.

  Professor Marshall smiled politely as I turned in my paper. “Thank you, Jessica. I look forward to reading it.”

  “Looks like you’ll be doing a lot of reading,” I said, waving a hand at the formidable stack.

  “Occupational hazard. I’ll survive.”

  “Um, Professor Marshall, I just wanted to tell you something.”

  “Sure, Jessica, what is it?” she asked as she started to pack up.

  “Well, I just wanted to let you know that Evan wrote his paper.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Evan. He wasn’t in class today, but I know that he wrote his paper. We were both in the library last night and we were talking and he was almost done. I don’t know why he isn’t here, but maybe he fell asleep in the library or something.”

  Professor Marshall looked puzzled. “I’m sorry Jess, who did you say?”

  “Evan.”

  “Evan who?”

  “Evan Corbett. I only really met him last night and I know he misses class a lot, but I didn’t want him to get in trouble. I …” My voice faltered and died in my throat.

  Professor Marshall’s usually friendly face was suddenly shocked. All the color had drained from it, leaving it drawn and pale. Her hand moved convulsively to her throat, shaking as she clutched at the collar of her blouse.

  “Professor Marshall? I … are you okay?” I reached a hand out toward her instinctively; she looked like she was going to faint.

  She leapt away from me as though I had extended a weapon instead of a helpful hand. Her voice escaped her lips in a breathless whisper. “I … Jessica, why would you … Is this supposed to be some sort of joke?”

  “What do you mean? Is what a joke?”

  “If this is your idea of a joke, I don’t think it’s funny. Not funny at all,” Professor Marshall continued, her expression transforming from fear to anger.

  “I’m sorry, Professor, but I don’t understand—”

  “—Neither do I, Jessica. I would never have expected this of you.” Professor Marshall seemed to be pulling herself together, but she still appeared deeply disturbed. I was still scrambling to understand what she was talking about.

  “Professor, if I said something—”

  “—Jessica, please go to Dean Finndale’s office.”

  “Huh?”

  “Just go. Now!”

  I turned automatically and walked out the door. Tia was standing by the doorway, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. I walked past her and headed toward the elevator.

  “I’ll see you back in the room,” I told her.

  I waited for the elevator in silence. I went over the conversation with Professor Marshall in my head and struggled to make sense of it, but I just couldn’t. Was she angry that I was trying to make excuses for another student? Did it sound as though Evan and I had been cheating? Had something I’d said somehow reveal a breaking of a school regulation? The gears in my head were whirring, but no matter how I considered it, I just couldn’t see how anyone could take offense to what I’d said.

  I got out of the elevator and turned right along the third floor corridor. I knocked lightly on the open door to Dean Finndale’s office and her secretary looked up expectantly.

  “Can I help you, dear?”

  “Professor Marshall just told me to come up and see the Dean.” I tried to keep my voice casual, so I didn’t look like the naughty kid who’d been sent to the principal’s office. I’d never even had a detention in my life.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, she just told me to come straight up.”

  “And your name is?’

  “Jessica Ballard.”

  “I see. Let me check if the Dean is available now. You can have a seat right there till she’s ready for you,” the woman said, bustling out of her desk and around the corner. I’d barely sat down when she reappeared. “You can go right in.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered, feeling slightly ill as she ushered me through the door.

  Dean Finndale was sitting behind her desk, scanning a pile of papers from over the top of pointy, red-framed reading glasses. I recognized her from an address she gave to the freshman class during the first week of classes. She looked up as I entered.

  “Jessica, right?”

  I tried to smile in greeting. “Hello, Dean Finndale.”

  She nodded toward a chair facing her. I dropped into it obediently.

  She smiled at me. “We haven’t met before. How is everything? Are you settling in okay?”

  “Yes, I am, thank you.”

  “And what can I do for you, Jessica?”

  “I’m not sure, actually. Professor Marshall sent me up here.”

  Dean Finndale’s forehead was creased by the tiniest of frowns. “And why did she send you?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Still frowning, she reached behind her and rifled through a filing cabinet until she found a manila filing folder with my name typed onto the colored tab. She laid it open on her desk and scanned it quickly.

  “Is there something you want to talk to me about? Are you having trouble in her class?”

  “No! I like her class very much. I really don’t know what I’m d—”

  “—Dean Finndale?” The secretary poked her round face around the corner.

  “Yes, Linda?”

  “Professor Marshall is here. She’d like to have a private word with you.”

  Dean Finndale nodded. “Thank you Linda. Please tell Professor Marshall I’ll be right out.” She turned back to me. “It sounds like Professor Marshall is here to explain. Would you excuse me for a moment, Jessica? Perhaps she can clear this up for us.”

  “Sure.” What else could I do?

  Dean Finndale smiled at me again and left, leaving me sitting alone, stewing in my own frantic thoughts. She’d only been gone for five minutes, according to the clock above her window, when she walked back in. It may have been my imagination, but she seemed to approach me warily as she sat back down. When she spoke though, her tone was even and calm.

  “So, I just spoke to Professor Marshall.”

  “And?”

  “Would you like to explain yourself, Jessica?”

  “I’d love to, if I knew what it was I was supposed to be explaining,” I replied, starting to feel annoyed now.

  “Professor Marshall says that you told her you saw Evan Corbett in the library last night?”

  “Yes, I did. We were both working on our papers for her class. It’s the first time I’ve ever really spoken to him.”

  “You spoke to him?” Dean Finndale’s eyebrows disappeared into her hair.

  “Yes. What, am I not supposed to talk to people now? Is that against some sort of college regulation, no talking in the library?”

  “You are claiming that you saw Evan Corbett in the library last night and that you spoke to him?” she repeated blankly.

  “Yes! Now will you please explain to me why I’m being treated like some sort of delinquent? I talked to a boy in the library. I don’t think that’s really such a big—”

  “—Jessica, please listen to me. You could not have spoken to Evan Corbett in the library last night. Is it possible you got the name wrong?”

  “No, I’m positive that was his name. He introduced himself, he … what do you mean I can’t have spoken to him?” I stopped short, completely wrong-footed.

  Dean Finndale didn’t answer right away. She was watching me through narrowed eyes and seemed to be sizing me up, coming to some sort of conclusion. Finally her expression soft
ened into gentle, almost fearful disbelief.

  “You really don’t know who he is, do you?”

  “What do you mean, ‘who he is?’” My mind was racing. Was he some sort of criminal? Was he banned from the campus?

  Dean Finndale reached across the desk and placed her hand on my clammy one.

  “Jessica, listen to me. It’s impossible that you spoke to Evan Corbett last night. He’s dead.”

  5

  WHISPERS AND MESSAGES

  IT FELT LIKE I WAS TRYING TO THINK THROUGH A FOG that had suddenly risen in my brain. I heard the words, but they seemed unrelated, a random grouping of sounds that had no direct correlation to me or to each other.

  “Jessica? Did you hear what I said?” Dean Finndale’s voice drifted toward me. I nodded, and then shook my head to clear it. “Evan Corbett was a freshman last year. He did take Professor Marshall’s class, but he died before the end of the first semester.”

  I said nothing.

  “So you can see why Professor Marshall was so disturbed when you said his name. Naturally she was upset.”

  I nodded absently.

  “Where did you hear about Evan Corbett?”

  I focused on her. “I’m sorry?”

  “Where did you hear about Evan Corbett? Did one of the upperclassmen tell you about him?”

  “I’ve never heard of him before last night. I don’t really know many upperclassmen.”

  Dean Finndale leaned forward. “Think Jessica. You must have heard of him somewhere. How else could you mistake the name like that?”

  “I didn’t mistake the name. That was the name he told me. I’ve never heard of him before,” I repeated.

  “Jessica, listen to me. Whoever you met in the library last night was not Evan Corbett.”

  I just stared at her. I didn’t know what to say, what to think.

  “I’ll speak to Professor Marshall. It’s clear to me that you did not do this on purpose. I will explain that it was unintentional,” she continued briskly.

  I nodded again. Why couldn’t I formulate a complete sentence to respond to this?

  “I’m going to call Dr. Leahy down in Health Services. I think he should be able to give you the name of someone you can talk to.”

  “Someone I can …?”

  “Yes, Jessica. A professional.”

  That did it.

  “You’re sending me to a shrink?”

  “If by shrink you mean a licensed psychiatrist, then yes, Jessica. I think it’s a good idea if you speak with him, in light of … recent events.” Her eyes flicked almost imperceptibly to my file, still open on her desk. Recent events. My mom. She thought I was some sort of ticking mental time bomb because of my mom. Anger shot through me like a current. I couldn’t stop it.

  “I’m not crazy!”

  “I never said you—”

  “—You’re sending me to a psychiatrist aren’t you? Isn’t that what you do with crazy people?” I asked, my voice rising.

  “Jessica, please calm down.”

  I stood up involuntarily. “No! I’m not going to calm down! I’m not a liar! I’m telling you the truth!”

  “I’m not calling you a liar. Sit down, Jessica.” It wasn’t a request.

  I perched unwillingly on the end of the chair. “But you don’t believe me.”

  “I believe that you believe what you’re saying. I don’t think that you’re being deceitful. I think that you made an honest mistake because you’re tired and confused. Now, I want you to go back to your room and have a rest. I’ll email your professors to excuse you from the rest of your classes today. Get some sleep and call Dr. Leahy when you are feeling more rested.” Her voice had an unmistakable note of finality. I was dismissed.

  I stood up. I opened my mouth to speak and quickly closed it again. I was lost for words. I turned to leave.

  “Jessica.”

  I stopped, but didn’t look at her.

  “I’ve asked Professor Marshall not to mention this to any of the students. I am asking you to do the same. We don’t want to scare anyone with a simple misunderstanding.”

  I turned my back on her and walked out the door into the hall, ignoring the cheery goodbye from the secretary. Professor Marshall was nowhere to be seen, thankfully.

  I let my feet carry me automatically back to Donnelly. I was trying to put together the pieces of everything that had happened in the past twelve hours.

  I was sure of one thing. I had talked to Evan Corbett last night. I hadn’t been asleep. I hadn’t been dreaming or hallucinating. He had been standing there beside my desk, talking to me.

  But if Evan Corbett really was … I could barely force myself to think the word … dead—then how had I spoken to him? There was only one explanation. I hadn’t seen Evan Corbett. I had seen Evan Corbett’s ghost.

  I rejected the word as soon as I’d thought it. It didn’t fit what I’d seen. I ran through all the images I had of ghosts in my mind. Glowing white figures. Floating translucent beings. White sheets with eyeholes cut out of them. Casper the friendly ghost. All of them taken from movies and fiction because that was where ghosts belonged; I didn’t believe in any of this stuff! None of them had any relation to what I had seen. Evan had been … well, solid. I hadn’t been able to see through him. He’d been standing firmly on the ground. There was nothing ghostly about the way he’d sat in my chair or shook my hand.

  But even as I thought it, I knew it wasn’t true. I remembered the intense chill that filled my body when he touched my hand. At the time I had chalked it up to a poorly-heated library and my own giddy reaction to his touch- but now….

  I had read somewhere that ghosts were cold, that touching them was like dousing yourself in icy water. Where had I read that? I couldn’t place it. I tried to compare my own experience to this description. There was no doubt about it. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that what I had felt when Evan had touched me had been no normal chill; it had been much too cold for that. And what about the strange rushing in my veins? It certainly wasn’t a normal physical response to a human touch, no matter how attractive the human.

  My thoughts carried me in a fog all the way back to Donnelly. Tia had already gone to her next class, but our white board shouted that her thoughts were still with me. “TEXT ME WHEN YOU GET BACK!” it insisted in bold red letters. I pulled out my phone and sent her a quick message: “In the room,” and then sank onto my bed and tried to catch up on my sleep, but it was no use. My brain wouldn’t shut off.

  By the time Tia rushed breathlessly through the door, I had thought myself into a pounding headache. She threw down her bag and perched on the end of my bed, her face all crinkled with worry. “Are you okay? What happened?”

  I hesitated. I had been considering what I would tell her since I had arrived back to the room. My initial reaction was to make something up, to tell her nothing of the bizarre reality I had landed myself in. But the fact was that she already knew too much. I’d told her every detail of my encounters with Evan and she’d seen Professor Marshall flip out at me. I could think of no explanation I could give her that she would actually swallow; she was one of the most observant people I knew. No, I would have to tell her the truth. The whole truth. Every ridiculous, unbelievable word of it. And then I would have to wait and hope that our new friendship was strong enough to stop her from running screaming from the room.

  “Well, I went to see Dean Finndale.”

  “Yeah, I saw you get in the elevator. But why did Marshall send you up there in the first place?”

  “She … thought that I was playing some kind of cruel joke on her.” Even though it wasn’t true, it was hurtful to imagine that Professor Marshall would think me capable of that.

  “What kind of joke? I don’t understand.”

  “Neither did I. So I went up to the Dean, and she, um … explained to me why Professor Marshall was so upset.”

  “And?”

  I panicked. “Tia, I’m going to tell you everyt
hing, but I need you to promise me something before I do.”

  “Okay,” she said at once.

  “I want you to promise me that … that you won’t look at me any differently.” My voice cracked. Tears of fright were clouding my eyes, but I couldn’t stop them. I rubbed them away with the back of my sleeve.

  “What do you—”

  “What I’m going to tell you is going to sound really crazy. It happened to me and I still don’t think I believe it.” My voice went up about an octave as I fought for control. Was this what a panic attack felt like? “I just—you’re my best friend here and I really don’t think I could handle it if you ….”

  “Jess, calm down! Take a deep breath! Now I promise you, whatever it is, we are still friends, okay? We will deal with it, and you will be fine. I’ll help you. Just tell me what’s going on.”

  I swallowed and caught my breath. “Dean Finndale told me that Evan Corbett isn’t in Professor Marshall’s class this term, but he was last fall. He was a freshman here last year. But he … died. He’s dead.”

  I have to hand it to Tia; she took it well. Her face certainly betrayed shock, but she recovered quickly. She just closed her eyes and seemed to be thinking hard, her head nodding slowly. After a few seconds, she opened her eyes and said, “Well. That explains Professor Marshall’s freak-out.”

  I burst into relieved laughter. “So you believe me? That I really saw him?”

  “Of course I do! Jess, you’re not a liar, I know that! And the look on your face when Professor Marshall started shouting—I knew something was seriously wrong and it was pretty obvious you had no idea what she was talking about.” Tia slid off the bed and started pacing. “So what they’re saying is that you … saw a ghost or something?”