Wallflower

By Jennifer B. Fields

For Connie Boyle, a job at the Hayfork, Kansas library was just an excuse to get away from her abusive husband. But when she learns that she’s the only one who can hear the not-so-dead specter haunting her workplace, she vows to find out what happened to the ghostly teenage Wallflower.

Working in secret, Connie and Wallflower find strength in their unorthodox friendship as they track down leads to Wallflower’s identity. But the answer is closer than they realize when Connie inadvertently uncovers the bloody wake of a serial killer. Allies become suspects and suspects become allies as everyone in sleepy Hayfork has murderous potential.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rogue Phoenix Press
• Release date: Dec 31, 2013
• ISBN: 9781624200885

Book preview

Wallflower

Jennifer B. Fields

Published by Rogue Phoenix Press for Smashwords

Copyright © 2014

ISBN: 978-1-62420-088-5

Electronic rights reserved by Rogue Phoenix Press, all other rights reserved by the author. The reproduction or other use of any part of this publication without the prior written consent of the rights holder is an infringement of the copyright law. This is a work of fiction. People and locations, even those with real names, have been fictionalized for the purposes of this story.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Dedication

To my husband, for enduring all the punishment.

And to Anne for making the impossible possible.

Prologue

Where am I? Oh, God! Where am I? a young lady calls out in terror. Distraught, she spins in circles, trying desperately to take in her blurry surroundings. Where is this place? How did I get here?

Please, someone help me, she whimpers. The sound of her own voice is a strangled echo in her head. Between a blinking strobe of darkness and reality, she sees people, lots of them, and books, rows and rows of books. She knows it's a library, but how? How did she get here?

Her vision ripples and warps, but her hearing is keen, every sound around her magnified. Whispers trumpet in her ear, footsteps clang.

An old woman passes close. In pure reaction, the girl reaches out an unsteady hand to touch the woman's shoulder. Please, can you help me? The old woman shrieks, dropping her books, and swipes at her shoulder.

For a long-lasting moment, they stand eye to eye, but the old woman looks right through her as if she's not even there. Please, the girl begs again, but the woman says nothing, simply gathering her books and walking away. The girl's vision blurs again behind a surge of frantic tears. Help! she screams. No one turns. No one listens.

Help! Louder this time, but to the same effect. Everyone continues about their business. The sound of crinkling pages and shuffling feet is nearly deafening.

I'm dreaming. I'm having a nightmare. Her weak knees buckle and she crumbles to the floor. People pass around her in all directions, never stopping, never slowing.

Just as her hearing begins to level, every odor in the room fills her nostrils in one crashing tidal wave. The punch of people's perfume and cologne pitch her stomach. She leans on her hands as musty books and smelly feet assault her. Fighting the nausea, she forces herself to breathe through her mouth. Slow breaths, she says. Slow, calming breaths. Focusing on her hands, she rubs the matted brown carpeting, finding it as gritty and hostile as sandpaper. My hands, she thinks. What's wrong with my hands?

With a curious cock of her head, she turns her hands over, examining them and wriggling her slender fingers. Youthful and smooth, she knows them to be her hands, but they are as gray as a London winter fog, stale and hazy.

Pushing up her sleeves, she finds she is wearing a fuzzy white bathrobe. This has to be a dream, she says aloud. There's no way she would go out in public with nothing but a bathrobe on.

All at once, staring at the oddity of her colorless skin and bizarre attire, she realizes not only does she not recognize where she is, but she doesn't know who she is. Oh my God! Oh sweet God! What's happening?

Pushing up from the floor, she forces her quivering legs to stand and staggers to the nearest person. Who am I? she cries and hangs on an unsuspecting woman's arm.

The woman screams in terror and lurches backward, knocking over a small stand of paperbacks. Please help me! the girl begs.

People come to help the panicked woman, but she breaks free of them and runs out the front door without saying a word, leaving everyone looking at each other in bewilderment.

Nearly hyperventilating, the young girl approaches the group. Can someone please help me? I don't know what's happening, but I don't seem to remember who—

That's the strangest thing I've ever seen, an employee interrupts. Did you see that? She acted like she saw a ghost.

Yes, an older woman replies as she bends to gather up the scattered books. I don't know what could have happened.

It was me, the young girl offers, raising her hand. I'm sorry. I must have startled her. I was just…

I'll help you pick up this mess, the employee says as she squats to lend a hand.

The young girl stares at them, unsure of whether to be offended or frightened she's being so blatantly ignored. She turns, taking in the busy library. No one, absolutely no one, has noticed the panicked girl in the gleaming white bathrobe.

Either I'm having a nightmare or… Her head whirls as the clash of noises return. Every aroma assaults her and her bathrobe becomes an unyielding constrictor. Oh god, I'm dead, she whispers. The word is a canyon echo all around her: Dead, dead, dead. She feels herself falling, first in her legs, then in her mind. With the wind of gravity, all falls silent.

Chapter One

Was it days or weeks? She didn't know how long she had been out. From the moment her eyes blinked open, she knew the nightmare was real. The strange library remained, and she still wore only a bathrobe.

Recalling her earlier horror, what was she supposed to make of her new existence? She was dead. That was the only explanation. If no one could see or hear her, that must mean she was dead, a ghost. That was the definition of a ghost, after all. And yet…

Her arms shook as she lifted herself to sit up. She had fallen against the back of a wooden display rack, obscured from the more high-traffic areas of the library. Being a ghost, she wondered how many people had walked through her while she was out cold. The thought made her feel violated. She leaned against the rack and ran her fingers through her long dark hair. Like her hands, her hair was a vague color. Black? Brown? She couldn't tell. It was almost as if she were a traced copy of herself, but she didn't even know who herself was.

Wait a minute, she said suddenly, looking back to the area where she had encountered the woman earlier. I touched her.

Reaching a hand up, she gripped the top of the display and hoisted herself from the floor. She felt heavy, heavier than she expected. She looked at her gray hand, closed around the brightly polished corner of the rack. She gave the wood a squeeze and contemplated her situation.

On a hunch, she walked over to a college-age man reading intently at a nearby table. A brass desk lamp illuminated several open chemistry books and countless pieces of crumpled binder paper scattered around him. Clearing her throat, she first decided to try the polite approach.

Excuse me.

The man continued reading, biting on the end of a pencil riddled with teeth marks. Strike one. As she had established before, no one could hear her.

Feeling a bit more brazen, she leaned in front of the man and waved a ghostly hand inches from his face. He didn't even blink, his eyes continuing the rhythmic motion of reading line by line, left to right. Strike two. No one could see her either.

A foreboding chill crept up her spine. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms to warm them. Her skin sliding against the terrycloth robe sounded like prickly thunder in her ears. Pulling up her left sleeve, she gave the skin on her arm a sharp pinch. Ouch! Okay, that hurt. She rubbed the self-inflicted sting.

She looked again at her hands and seized fistfuls of her downy robe. She gripped her hair then her face, feeling her own hot breath on the palm of her hand. Leaning against the corner of the man's table, she got another idea. She didn't want to startle the man. She just wanted to prove a theory. With her index finger, she tickled the tip of the man's nose.

Torn from his riveting chemistry books, the man wriggled and scrunched his nose, blowing air through his nostrils in an effort to evict the irritant. Sitting back in his seat, he rubbed his nose and let out a great sneeze. "Whaaaachooo!"

His papers went flying. The woman next to him gave him a dirty look, but the girl got the answer she was looking for. She could touch people. Now to test another theory.

This experiment required privacy so, careful to avoid touching anyone, she found an unoccupied aisle, appropriately part of the mystery section.

Concentrating, she focused for the first time on the sheer number of books that surrounded her. Her heightened sense of smell must have calmed, since the robust scent of dust and aging paper made her feel warm and comfortable rather than queasy. She felt the corners of her mouth turn up in a sentimental grin. Whoever she was, she enjoyed libraries.

Pursing her lips, she eyed the rows of books in front of her. It stood to reason if she could feel her own clothing and touch other people, then she should be able to touch objects as well.

Bracing herself, she blew out a quick breath and reached out, running her slender, blanched fingers along the spine of a sizeable novel. She hooked a finger along the top to tug the book out of its long-standing home and held it in both hands as if it were brittle glass.

Gaining confidence, she opened the book and flipped through a few random pages. The binding and paper crackled. She smiled a short smile of relief as she squeezed the book, bouncing it a little to feel its weight and substance in her hands. She wouldn't be able to do these things if she was a ghost, she reasoned. Ghosts, by definition, are spirits, transparent and formless. But if she could touch things, why couldn't anyone see or hear her?

A woman gasped behind her. The girl jumped and instinctively dropped the book to the floor. Frozen for a moment, the girl backed away as the woman looked right through her. The woman's narrowed, steely glare made the girl feel dreadfully guilty.

The woman hesitantly bent to retrieve the book, looking around to see if anyone else saw what she had just seen.

It must be freaky to see a book floating in mid air, huh? Of course, she didn't get a response.

A blank look of terror filled the woman's eyes as she backed out of the aisle, clutching the book in question. Linda! Linda! The revered silence of the library was shattered as the woman bolted to the front counter.

No, wait! Please don't be afraid! The girl chased after her, but when she emerged from the aisle, she saw every eye in the place was turned toward the ruckus, toward her. She froze in mid-stride. If she'd had a tail, it would have been firmly tucked between her legs. Even though she knew they couldn't really see her, she suddenly had the urge to crawl into a corner and hide.

Maryanne, what's wrong? asked a middle-aged woman with a permanent frown, reaching out to the woman who had thrown herself soundly against the counter.

Maryanne sputtered and pushed the novel across the counter. There was…I saw…This book was…

Slow down, Maryanne. Stop this foolishness. Now, speak.

Maryanne's ample chest heaved with every breath. She swallowed hard, trying to gather herself. Something is going on in your library, Linda, she said, jabbing a chubby finger on the book. I came around aisle 'H' and, I'm not kidding you, I saw this book floating in the air. No one was touching it. And when I made a noise, the book just fell to the floor!

Linda the librarian sharply crossed her arms, her frown somehow growing deeper. That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. It's simply impossible.

Maryanne stood tall and rolled her broad shoulders back indignantly. Call it whatever you want, but I saw a ghost, and you can be certain I will not set foot in this library again until it is gone!

Linda's mouth dropped open. Maryanne!

Without another word, Maryanne flounced out of the double entrance doors.

Every whisper ceased within the busy library as the patrons stood riveted by the action at the counter. Both Linda and the ghostly girl watched as a few of those patrons dropped what they were doing and hastily followed Maryanne's exit. Well, I never! Linda said.

Well, I never either, the girl concurred. At least, I think I never.

With the commotion over, everyone returned to the business of ignoring her. Her shoulders slumped as the sadness returned; she was invisible again. She hung her head in defeat. None of these people could help her.

The desperation she felt earlier turned to hopelessness as she dragged her heavy feet to the front counter. It was full of pamphlets and information: a puppet show on Thursday, sign language class on Friday. Free bookmarks and quarterly newspapers were crammed together side-by-side, but stacked neatly to conserve space.

The Norman Rockwell calendar on the wall revealed the date was May 12, 2007. At least she knew that much, whatever good it would do.

She meandered along the counter, taking in the content that was easily visible. She didn't want to move anything and have a repeat of the Maryanne incident.

A newspaper with a bedraggled family of farmers on the front page revealed her location: Hayfork, Kansas.

She traced her finger along the words and the picture. Where the hell is Hayfork Kansas? she muttered as tears began to sting her eyes. And why am I here?

She turned to take in the aging two-story library. The center of the bottom floor was an open expanse with tables and cozy chairs placed in welcoming arrangements. An older man sat at one table feverishly pouring over a five-thousand-piece puzzle, for which he had only managed to find the edges. His salt and pepper hair was unkempt and unwashed, as was his clothing.

The entire library was round, with bookshelves jutting from the outer walls. Looking up, the girl felt as though she were in a grand cathedral. The dome above the second floor made her feel small and insignificant. Far above her, crescent skylights ushered in warm beams of sunlight from an electric blue sky. Upstairs, she saw a wrought iron railing circling above the library's open center. There were many more books to choose from up there. Perhaps I'll take a look sometime, she thought. At the moment, exploring was not her top priority. If her purpose didn't become clear soon, she had a feeling she would have a lot of time to kill. Is that what happened to me? she wondered. Did some abrupt fate shock her body into this limbo she currently found herself in? She couldn't imagine a person's whole life could be wiped from their memory upon death, and she had never heard of a ghost that could physically touch things and people at will.

As she ambled around beneath the rotunda of the old building, she watched people go about their humdrum lives, as she was sure she must have done when she was alive, or visible, or whatever she had been.

They have no idea, she thought, her chin quivering. They have no idea I'm here, or that this could happen to them at any moment.

Nearby, two old ladies chattered about quilting in an excited whisper. At a small table, two young men stared each other down over an intense game of chess. For such a small town, this library struck her as being quite the popular hangout. I suppose there's nothing better to do in a small town than read and gossip.

A gravelly voice spoke from behind her. It was Linda. Something about that woman's tone made the girl's teeth grind.

Her nametag said she was the head librarian, which meant this library was Linda's territory. She was probably here all the time, and if that was the case, the girl would have to get used to that voice and despicable attitude.

Watching Linda help the customers and stack books behind the counter, the young girl wondered if the woman ever smiled. It seemed smiling was a foreign expression to her. Everything about Linda's face was downturned. Her form was tight and compact. She stood straight as a nail, but her mouth and eyes appeared to be magnetically pulled toward the floor. She wore a brown, no frills, short-sleeved business suit. The girl couldn't help but notice the highly toned biceps that tested the fabric of those sleeves. Logically, the muscles were probably the result of a lifetime of lifting heavy books and boxes, but the girl snickered at the image of Linda earning her stripes in a boxing ring. It seemed so apropos.

If she's so miserable, then why is she still here? the girl wondered. Linda wasn't wearing a wedding ring, which didn't surprise the girl at all. It would take a hell of a man to fall in love with the likes of Linda. Maybe she's just lonely, the girl reasoned.

Another library employee burst through the door of the back room and promptly dropped a tall stack of books, a few of them striking Linda from behind.

The look on his face said he knew what was coming for him before the last book even hit the floor. The ghostly girl gasped when she saw a blue-flamed anger fill Linda's eyes.

The man who had dropped the books shriveled before Linda as she seemed to grow taller and larger.

He was a mousy man in his mid-forties, tall and painfully thin, with a receding hairline and glasses so thick he could use them to burn ants on a sunny day. Finding himself the focus of Linda's fury, the girl feared he might crumble to bits.

Arthur, you nincompoop! Linda fumed as she gripped her back in melodramatic pain. You could have killed me.

I-I'm sorry, Miss Linda. I didn't see you there, Arthur fussed as he fumbled for the fallen books.

"I'm surprised you can see anything with those glasses of yours. I hope they've revoked your driver's license. You're a danger to society. Clean up this mess and stay clear of me for the rest of the day. I'd like to make it home alive."

Y-Yes, ma'am. I'm so sorry.

Linda stalked away, mumbling curses under her breath. The young girl had to stop herself from bending to help Arthur with the mess. He was obviously shaken by Linda's venom, and she felt for him. He didn't deserve such treatment.

With softness in her heart, she watched as he heaved a sigh and picked the books up one at a time. He gently examined each one for injuries and brushed it off before placing it on the top of the stack.

Watching Arthur work, the girl felt as though she could relate to him. Perhaps she was the subjugated underdog in her lifetime. Perhaps she was picked on or bullied. She wanted to walk right up to Linda and give her a piece of her mind. In her ghostly state, she could pummel that woman before she even knew what hit her. The girl entertained the thought for a moment, but the nerves that began to quake with the idea told her fighting must not be her style.

What am I going to do? she said looking around hopelessly. "What am I supposed to do?" Without trying, the tears flowed freely as the loneliness welled within her.

Loneliness quickly morphed into anger, anger that had every muscle in her thin body clenching. She looked around for something to take it out on, something close at hand, anything. With her hands fisted, she stalked over to the rotating stand of paperbacks that had been knocked over earlier and stared at it.

Blowing out a huff of hot, angry breath, she took one book out and pitched it to the floor, then another. With no fear of repercussions, she screamed at the rack as loud and long as she could, and shoved the entire rack over with all of her might. The force of the act sent every book on the rack fanning across the floor.

Amidst the gasps of startled patrons, Linda watched the whole thing, stone-faced. Any hint of emotion or fear was quickly repressed as she gave the new mess a weary glare.

The girl marched right up to the cruel librarian and stood inches from her face. There! she exclaimed. "Clean that up."

Suddenly, the girl spun around, looking with terror in every direction. Desperation and frustration bubbled and churned inside of her, clawing to get out. It was too much for her to take. She wanted to hide and cry. She needed to. But where? Where could she go?

Through watery eyes, she spied a door marked, 'Basement, Keep Out.' She ran for it. What better place for an outcast? She stopped in front of the counter full of pamphlets and papers. She had been so careful not to touch them earlier, but she no longer cared what these people thought. With a wicked grin, she flicked and tossed each stack with a careless finger, sending showers of paper flying up and around. She didn't care about the mess or who had to clean it up. She was angry, angry and terrified.

For a moment, she delighted in the fluttering chaos and commotion that ensued. People ran up trying to catch the papers. Some tried to find the source of the disturbance, checking doors and windows, finding them all secure.

Backing out of their way, the girl gave a low, maniacal laugh until her back bumped against the basement door. No one seemed to notice the door opening all by itself. They were too busy with a torrent of papers.

The room was dark. It took her a moment to process before she looked up and tugged at the pull chain above her head. The metal chain clinked against the light bulb as the basement lit up with a dull, shrouded