Читать книгу Raising The Dead - Mara Purnhagen - Страница 6

I was not morbid, but I had already written my epitaph: Here lies Charlotte Silver, who died at 17 from excruciating boredom. Composing an appropriate epitaph was an old trick I used to keep myself awake during one of Dad’s lectures. The historical ones were particularly painful, even when I was supposed to serve as his assistant and had little jobs to perform, like setting up the PowerPoint presentation and making sure we had enough copies of his book for the signing afterwards.

I looked out at the eager crowd. The ancient auditorium was filled to capacity, people drawn in by the allure of listening to a semifamous paranormal investigator despite the raging weather outside, which the local meteorologists said was an effect of the latest hurricane to batter the South Carolina coast. Dad had been speaking for almost an hour, and the mostly middle-aged men who comprised his core audience were still dutifully taking notes and nodding in excited agreement.

“Originally, it was not pumpkins that were carved for Halloween, but the more plentiful turnip,” Dad said.

That was my cue. I retrieved a tiny turnip from our box of props and handed it to him, then sat back down. A few cameras flashed. The audience liked to take pictures of Dad, and I knew they liked to get me in the shot, as well. We looked so much alike, both of us tall and with the same straight, dark hair. There was no mistaking that I was Patrick Silver’s daughter.

“You may ask how it was possible to carve such a small gourd and insert a candle into its belly.” Dad held up the withered vegetable. More nodding from the audience. “The answer is simple. Europeans used to grow much larger turnips.”

I handed Dad a bigger turnip, this one made from papier-mâché. He lifted it up and the audience applauded. They actually applauded. I felt sorry for them. Then I remembered that I was the girl spending a Friday night listening to her dad’s stock speech on the history of Halloween and handing out turnips. I had no right to judge others.

“Now,” Dad said, clapping his hands together. “Who wants to talk about ghouls?”

After the lecture, Dad signed copies of his books while I packed up our props and shut down the computer. Once everything was packed, I sat on the edge of the stage. Through the auditorium’s open doors I could see the long line for Dad’s book signing and knew I was stuck for a while. I let my legs dangle off the stage. Thunder rumbled outside, the lights flickered inside, and I hoped the auditorium was equipped with a good backup generator. As the daughter of paranormal investigators, I wasn’t scared of the dark—or much else. But the thought of sitting in a vast, windowless room with a crowd of anxious people made me uneasy. How would I find my dad in the dark? I was identifying the nearest exit when I heard a familiar voice.

“Nice job.”

“Noah?” He was standing near the back of the huge room, but his voice echoed towards me. My heart beat a little faster. “What are you doing here?” I asked as he walked down a side aisle.

He hopped up onto the stage and sat next to me. His khaki rain jacket was covered with dark patches of water and his brown hair was spiky from the rain. “How could I pass up a chance to hear about the true origins of Halloween rituals and traditions and their impact on modern society?”

“So you read the flyer. Why are you really here?”

He sighed. “We lost power at our apartment. My mom decided we should go to Shane’s place. I knew you were here, so I asked her to drop me off. Can you give me a ride later?”

“Sure.” I suppressed my inner urge to squeal. Noah came here because he knew I was here? That was positive. Although his only other option was to hang out with his mom and her new boyfriend, and I knew he’d rather pour Tabasco in his eyes than watch the two of them swoon over each other. Shane was like an uncle to me, and while I thought his new relationship with Noah’s mom was wonderful, I could see how it might bother Noah. A week earlier he had walked into his living room to find Shane and Trisha locked in a passionate embrace, and he said he still had nightmares. Noah believed that moms should wear loose-fitting jeans and kiss on the cheek only.

Another growl of thunder caused me to flinch. “I can’t believe this storm is getting worse. I thought hurricane season was almost over. How bad is it outside?”

Noah swung his legs in rhythm with mine. “Lots of downed power lines. There’s a flash flood warning, too.”

“I wish I was home.”

“You don’t like thunderstorms?” He sounded surprised.

“No, I do. But I like to enjoy them from home, where I can curl up on the sofa in my pajamas and keep a flashlight nearby.”

Noah laughed softly, a sound that warmed my stomach and caused it to flutter at the same time. “I know what you mean. When I was a kid, my brothers and I would turn the dining room table into a fort whenever there was a bad storm. We’d sit underneath it and Mom would bring us cookies.” He smiled wistfully. “Nothing scares them, though. They’re both serving in the military now.”

The lights flickered again. I clenched my fingers on the edge of the stage. Noah noticed.

“Hey. If the lights go out, don’t worry, okay? I’m right here and I won’t leave you.”

Now I was hoping the power would go out. Immediately. Noah and I had been friends since my family had moved to town over the summer. He was with me in Charleston a few weeks earlier, when I’d experienced the most surreal moment in my life, the moment I made contact with a girl who’d been dead for a century. And more recently, he’d been my date to homecoming.

Through all of this, my feelings for Noah had grown. There were nights when I would lie awake just thinking about him, imagining him in his own bed and wondering if he was staring up at the ceiling, thinking about me. But he’d had the perfect chance to reveal his feelings at homecoming, and instead of trying to get closer to me, he had pulled away.

Maybe he needed me to be more direct. Maybe I had unintentionally sent out mixed signals. If we were suddenly submerged in pitch blackness, I could lean over and accidentally let my lips brush his neck. If he responded, great. If not, then I could pretend that it was a colossal mistake due to the fact that I couldn’t see.

More thunder growled outside, this time so close that I was sure the storm was directly over the building. The lights blinked but stayed on.

“Charlotte?” Dad stood in the doorway. He was putting on his trench coat. “We need to go. It’s really coming down.”

“Sure.” My hopes of a possible kiss and a romantic beginning to a new relationship officially dashed, I hopped off the stage. “Can we give Noah a ride?”

Dad was examining his cell phone. “I have a text here from Trisha. She’s with Shane at our house. Noah’s coming with us.”

Noah lowered himself from the stage and stood next to me. “Great,” he muttered. “More quality time with Shane.”

“It’s fine,” I said as we began walking down the aisle. I carried the box of props while Noah held the computer. “I doubt they’ll be making out with everyone around.”

Noah snickered. “You underestimate them.”

I laughed, but when Dad held open the doors leading outside, I stopped. Rain slammed the ground as if it was being fired from a machine gun. “I’ll get the car!” Dad yelled. He darted toward the parking lot and disappeared in the wall of water gushing from the sky.

“Have you ever seen anything like this?” I had to practically scream at Noah so that he could hear me over the roar of rain.

“Welcome to hurricane season in South Carolina!”

Dad pulled the car around a few minutes later. Already the water was several inches deep. Noah opened the back door and I dove in. He tucked the computer under his jacket and followed. Inside the car, it was quieter, but Dad had the wipers going at full speed and they were barely clearing his window.

“We don’t need a car to get home,” I joked. “We need a boat.”

Dad didn’t even smile. Around us, people raced to get to their cars. “I can’t believe this,” Dad said. “We were only in there for three hours.”

He drove slowly, stopping several times when he couldn’t see the road. Our house was less than five miles away, but it felt like a hundred. I held the wet box of props in my lap and tried to look out my window, but the streetlights were just a blur against the rain.

Dad’s phone rang. He handed it to me.

“Charlotte, where are you?”

“Hi, Mom. We’re in the car. It’s taking a while.”

“Tell your father to drive slowly.”

“He is, don’t worry.”

Dad stopped again. I automatically looked behind us to make sure no one was driving too close. I couldn’t see any headlights. I couldn’t see anything.

“Mom? I’ll call you when we’re close, okay?” I snapped shut the phone. Dad was staring out his side window.

“Do you see it?” He pointed.

I leaned over Noah to look out the window. Something was in the road, bobbing along the water.

“Looks like a little canoe,” Noah said.

“That’s not a canoe,” Dad said. “That’s a coffin.”