CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

On the way to school, I check the block of land. I don’t need to take more a few steps onto the grass to realise he’s gone. I’m glad that he’s left, but I can’t say it doesn’t bother me that he got away.

I shrug it off. When he comes again – if he comes again – I’ll work out what to do.  There’s no point worrying about something that I can’t help. I’ll tackle that challenge when it comes.

At school, Caden keeps his distance, except for the occasional glance in my direction. He still hangs out with Branden and his friends, but isn’t intentionally out to make me feel like shit. I know I should still be angry at him for not just sticking by me, but I can’t find it in me to care. He can do what he wants. I’ve managed on my own for most of my life and why would that change now?

When I sit down on the lawn for lunch, I’m alone. It’s not raining; it’s just cold, which I suppose, for some people, is reason enough to pack into the gym. I checked my phone earlier for the temperature – apparently this morning it was ten degrees below zero, and now it’s only five degrees Celsius.

And I still don’t feel anything.

All today I’ve been wondering how it’s possible for me to feel the cold that follows ghost’s everywhere there go. If I can’t feel low temperatures, then how come I can feel cold that ghost’s radiate, and at the same time, feel the iciness of my skin and the atmosphere? It’s like theur presence takes away whatever it is that stops me from feeling extreme temperatures. I don’t remember Caden or Rand explaining this to me.

Then I get angry at myself.

I’ve depended on myself for at least nine years, and now I can’t figure things out without the help of others? Why do I rely so heavily on them for answers? I’m old enough and capable enough to do this without anyone’s help. Besides, look at the crappy job they’re doing of finding Sarah. She’s a just a fifteen year old girl for crying out loud! How hard can it be to find her?

Just before my second class begins, I start to wonder how it is I managed to skip my last too classes on Friday without getting in trouble. Could I do it again?

The teacher has yet to arrive to class, and I take the opportunity to slip out the door and walk quickly down the hall to my locker. I’ve grabbed all my stuff and am out the front door of the school before the bell signalling the start of class goes off.

As I walk through the parking lot, I continue to convince myself that it doesn’t matter. They give me enough shit as it is. What could they possibly do that is worse than they’ve already done? Chuck me in detention with a teacher who would give anything to see me leave?

 Besides, I’ll be leaving in a week or so. They can give me all the detentions they want. I don’t have to go, and I won’t. And then I’ll be gone for good and they’ll finally get what they always wanted. I’m sure winter in this area will seem warm in compared to the temperatures I brought with me.

It’s pathetic that the only way I know how to get answers without anyone’s help is to visit Rand’s place. Here I am, preaching about doing things for myself, and I still need him to gain access to the only source of knowledge I know.

I knock on his door and he looks marginally surprised to see me. “Um, aren’t you meant to be in school?”

“I skipped,” I say shrugging, then step into his house. “Can I use your library?”

He nods. “What do you intend to use it for?”

“Answers,” I say, and when he gives me a pointed look, I roll my eyes. “I’m fully capable of reading and you have a whole library of knowledge just waiting for someone to come along and pick up a book. So, do you mind?”

He steps out of my way and I head for the stairs under the staircase. I’m thankful when he doesn’t come down the steps after me. I don’t need an old man looking over my shoulder while I read. At the bottom of the stairs, I shut the door behind me and start scanning the shelves for titles that spark my interest.

I don’t know why exactly I skipped school to come here, but I think it had a lot to do with avoiding Caden. I’m done with him – with everyone for that matter. It’s a just a pity that I have to come here to do my own research.

After a while, I settle down at the wooden table with a stack of ten or more books and start scanning the pages for information I could use.

In my head, I make a list of questions that I want answered, and then work my way through the list, one at a time, scavenging for bits and pieces of information from all the books and putting to rest majority of the nagging problems in my mind.

Why can I feel the cold that a ghost radiates but not low temperatures?

I find the answer to the first question on my list in the third book of the pile.

‘Ghosts are spirits trapped in a ghostly form. Like someone who has been swapped, their ghostly body doesn’t adequately contain the cold, and because they don’t have skin to keep it confined, it flows out into the surrounding air. The cold, however, isn’t able to be felt by those who can’t see the ghost, meaning that in essence, the cold they radiate isn’t actually real. Because of this, we know that it can’t be our bodies feeling the cold; it must be our spirits…even those who can’t feel temperatures can feel the freezing air a ghost radiates.’

My second question takes a little longer to answer, and it’s not until book number eight that I find what I’m looking for.

How do you control when you get a vision?

 ‘The ability of visions is more of a gift than an actual power or ability. A person who receives visions cannot control when they will receive it, where they receive it, or what it will be about. They can only interpret their meaning and spread the message.’

I find the answers to my next two questions easily.

How long does it take to freeze to death after being swapped?

‘Ten to fifteen years.’

How do you swap two people’s spirits?

‘In order to swap two spirits, you must find a way to remove the spirit from the body without killing them. Usually, the only way to for a spirit to leave is if it’s body is dead, but some people have found ways of removing it without killing its holder. However, these ways remain largely unknown.’

Why is it always cloudy when the effects of being swapped only include taking the heat from the air?

No answer.

Who is the head of the council?

No answer.

Where can I find the council?

No answer.

I slam the books shut in frustration and then take in a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself.

A lot of the answers I’m looking for, I won’t be able to find in books, which means that for now, the questions, Who are the people that swapped me? Why am I a threat to them? How does Patrick know me? Who is he really? Where is Sarah? and so on, will have to remain answerless.

Which also means that all the things I really need to know, I’m not gonna find out anytime soon.

It’s late afternoon when I finish in the library and ascend the steps. I can’t see anyone in the house, so I let myself out, assuming that no one’s home. The walk home takes an hour – an hour in which I’m constantly looking over my shoulder, checking for threats. I don’t’ feel anyone watching me today, but that doesn’t necessarily mean nobody is.

When I reach my place, there’s a car I don’t recognise parked in our garage. Cautiously, I reach for my keys in my bag and unlock the front door to my house.

“Hello?” I say as I walk in.

“In here!” comes the reply, and I relax, dropping my school bag to the ground and shutting the door behind me. It’s my father. He must have rented a new car in order to get here.

He’s sitting in the lounge room, sipping at a mug of coffee.

“You feeling alright?” I ask.

He nods. “I’m feeling fine.”

I can only hope the purple bruises on his legs, arms and forehead don’t last too long. Every time I look at them, I cringe, remembering all I’ve done to him.

“Can you give me a lift to the hospital? I want to visit mum.”

He nods, and I rush upstairs, lugging my school bag behind me and quickly change into casual clothes, grabbing my phone.

At the bottom of the stairs, I discover my dad already waiting for me by the door. “Let’s go,” he says, and we leave the house before hopping into the new rental car – a white Mazda.

As we drive, I ask, “What day are we moving?”

“Not this Saturday, but the Saturday after.”

“And we’re moving to California in America, right?”

“Yes, Los Angeles.”

I nearly laugh is disbelief. “Los Angeles is letting me in? They’ve never let us live there before.”

Dad shrugs, but doesn’t say anything.

At the hospital, we’re taken straight to my mother’s room by a nurse who doesn’t seem even slightly perturbed by my existence. Maybe she doesn’t know who I am.

I sigh at my trail of thought. It doesn’t matter if she knows who I am, or if she secretly hates me, or even if she’s the nicest person in the world. I don’t know why I worry myself with thinking about these things.

The first thing I notice when I reach mum’s room is that she’s awake, and I hurry to the seat by her bed, wanting to reach out to hold her hand but knowing that I’ll only hurt her.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m alright.” The words are soft, and I know that she is definitely not alright. I swallow the guilt.

She and my dad talk for a while, and I just sit and listen, feeling very grateful. It could have been much worse, and I’m lucky that both my parents – fake or not – are still alive.

Dad and I leave late that night after bringing food to the hospital and eating dinner with my mum. She smiles at me as I walk out, and it sparks a chain of memories from when I was young and she’d smile like that all the time – no sadness, no hidden grimace, no feeling of it being forced, just a genuinely happy and loving smile. 

I have to hold back tears as I leave her behind.