The Vardo

By Kimberly J Smith

Death is so boring. At least that's how fifteen-year-old Callie finds being stuck "in between," until the day she discovers someone has left a newborn baby in the old gypsy wagon (or "vardo" as it's also called) in Wailing Woods. Determined to save the child, she tracks down Laney, the girl who barely survived the same car wreck that took Callie's life three years earlier (and whose mother's recklessness caused the accident in the first place). A mysterious connection between the two girls allows Callie to lead Laney into the spooky forest to save the baby. Laney hopes the newborn will finally help her family heal, but when Callie's grieving parents end up with custody, emotional wounds are deepened. Callie pieces together the mystery connecting the baby, the fleeting psychic powers Laney has had since the accident, and the too-good-to-be-true new guy in town. Could there be a reason Callie hasn't moved on to whatever comes next? Could she be the only one capable of putting things right?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Dec 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781387459568

Book preview

The Vardo

The Vardo

By Kimberly J. Smith

Copyright Information

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are use factiously.

Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead,

is entirely coincidental.

2017 Montage Books for Children – Paperback Edition

Copyright ©2017 Kimberly J. Smith

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Montage Books for Children, Dallas

ISBN 978-1-387-45956-8

Printed in the United States of America

Dedication

For Steven. I wouldn’t want to creep through graveyards with anyone but you.

Three Years Ago

I need to call 911.

The thought repeated in Callie’s mind as she stared at the mangled wreckage of the two cars. The big green sedan’s nose T-boned into the passenger door of the blue Honda, smashing it so hard that the door had crumpled inward, shattering the window.

Not just any blue Honda. Her mother’s blue Honda. Her mother’s blue Honda that … wait, that didn’t make sense. Callie had been riding in that car just moments before. Hadn’t she?

How could that be?

Callie stood in the street, studying the eerily quiet scene like it was something on TV or in the movies. Not like something that had actually happened.

Except that it had, because she remembered—

Mom?

The voice broke into her thoughts. Callie turned to find a young girl standing beside her. Her skin was much lighter than Callie’s, her reddish-blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail. She was probably in middle school by the looks of her. She wore denim shorts and a red tee shirt. Where’d she come from? Didn’t matter. There were more important things to think about right now. Like if anyone had been hurt in this car accident.

Callie ran over to peer through the broken side window of the big green car. It was the kind of car Callie’s dad called a classic, which meant it didn’t airbags or even seat belts. Callie’s dad had wanted to buy one a few years ago, but Callie’s mom killed that dream, and fast. Callie realized that the passenger in the green car had clearly hit the windshield. So yeah, no airbags here. The girl’s face was covered with blood but Callie couldn’t keep from moving closer to the window.

Wait. Whaaaa—?

Callie jumped back, startled. The girl in the passenger seat looked exactly like the other girl who was standing beside Callie. Whirling to look back at the girl, Callie confirmed her suspicions. Yep, same face; well, other than the blood. Same hair. Same red t-shirt, with the same gold design on the front of a Chinese dragon chasing its tail. The girl’s gaze locked on the green beast as she moved toward it, stepping over tributaries of broken glass and fluid that bled from the the car’s pierced innards.

You’re a twin? Callie asked as she approached. The girl didn’t respond. An angry blast of steam spewed from beneath the crumpled hood. Watch out, that’s hot! Callie warned, but the girl kept on ignoring her.

She must be in shock, Callie thought, as the girl bent down to peer through the passenger window. With a harsh gasp, the girl stumbled back, sucking in deep panicked breaths. Oh, my God, she keened, hands covering her mouth like she was trying to hold in a scream. It didn’t work. The sound was horrifying.

Callie tried to calm her. She’ll be okay, don’t worry. I’m sure the ambulance is on the way. Seeing her sister injured would be horribly traumatic. Twins could be very close.

But … why hadn’t she been in the car with her sister? Why was she standing out here in the street? And, now that she thought about it, how had Callie herself gotten out of Mom’s car so quickly?

Callie tried to remember the accident, or moments before the accident, but couldn’t. Everything was a blur. Maybe she was in shock, too. Could she have hit her head and blacked out or something? A chorus of sirens rose in the distance. See? Here they come.

A moan reached Callie’s ears. Her stomach lurched.

Mom!

Callie scrambled to her mom’s car as the moan became an anguished wail. The tortured sound sliced through Callie’s confusion like an executioner’s blade, dissipating the fog in her mind like the steam seeping from under the crumpled car hoods. Callie knew what she would see when she looked in the window, or more importantly, who she would see. The astounding truth attacked Callie’s mind with sharp claws, drawing blood with each piercing swipe.

Oh God. No, no, this can’t be true. It just CAN’T!

Callie looked back over the top of her mom’s car at the younger girl. She hadn’t moved an inch from where Callie had left her, as still as a photograph staring into the camera lens of Callie’s eyes. As their gazes met, the girl’s expression shifted from shocked to surprised.

Another agonized wail came from inside the car. Callie bent down again. Her sobbing mother fought the seat belt, pulling the girl in the passenger seat closer to her.

This girl’s hair hung in long, tight, dark curls. Just like Callie’s.

She wore the same green and grey sundress.

This is impossible.

Callie’s mother finally unlatched the seat belt and as the harness released, the girl flopped into her lap. Callie couldn’t look away as her mother moaned again, her gaze locked on the girl’s creamed-coffee skin, the trickle of blood snaking from one ear.

There was no life left in that body.

No, let’s be honest here. That was her body. At least, it was the body that used to be hers.

I’m dead. I’m dead. I’m dead!

Callie stumbled away from the car, searching for the younger girl. Was she coming to the same realization that neither of them had survived the accident? It hadn’t made sense that they’d escaped the crash so quickly and now Callie knew why. At least she wouldn’t have to face what was to come next all by herself. There were two of them. And Callie needed that girl to confirm what was happening. So Callie would know she wasn’t losing her mind. They were really dead.

Except … the girl was gone.

Callie raced over to the green car, peering in at the unconscious driver. The girl must be her daughter. Their faces looked so similar and they both had the same reddish blonde hair. The woman stirred, blinking her large blue-gray eyes. She groaned, raising a hand to her forehead before snapping her head toward her passenger. She sucked air, reality slapping her to full consciousness, her face ashen. Laney! No! Oh God! she screamed. The girl, while obviously wounded and unconscious, didn’t have the same look as the girl in Mom’s car did.

That would be you, girlfriend. You have that look of death. But this girl, she’s still alive.

Was Callie really dead? She needed proof. Callie faced the green car’s crunched front end, the post-collision metallic pops and creaks mingling with sirens. Were those ambulances ever going to get here?

Closing her eyes, Callie took two big steps forward. When she opened her eyes again, she was standing in the middle of the wreckage. Her top half stuck out of the green car’s crumpled hood.

Screeching in horror, she leaped to the other side.

You wanted proof, well, there ya go.

A living person couldn’t walk through a solid object. Being in two places at one time wasn’t possible either. She couldn’t be standing here AND lying deathly quiet in her wailing mother’s arms.

So, yeah. I’m dead. Literally dead.

Suddenly, Callie realized she wasn’t breathing. How could she have not noticed that before? She consciously sucked in a breath and held it, waiting for that lovely self-preservation instinct to kick in and force her to gasp air like a landed fish. But it never came. No sense of suffocation. No sense of need.

The truth settled in Callie’s heart—not the physical organ that once occupied her chest cavity, obviously that had pumped its last pump—the part of her soul that still felt like her heart.

So what do I do? Where do I go now? Callie looked around for some kind of bright light or a tunnel, maybe a few angels on the sidelines waiting to usher her into Heaven, but the only arrival was that of an ambulance and two fire trucks. The only lights she saw were the spinning red ones on their roofs.

As Callie watched three paramedics race toward her mother’s car, she considered the possibilities. Maybe the angels don’t come right away. Maybe I’m not completely dead. Yet. Maybe there’s still a little life in that body. Maybe there’s still a chance!

But she already knew that wasn’t true. She sensed that the body in the car, the one that used to be hers, would not ever turn sixteen. All those hours in driving practice meant nothing; she’d never get her drivers’ license. Wouldn’t graduate from high school or go to college or get married or have babies.

A second team of paramedics worked frantically, removing the other girl, Laney, from the green beast. They gingerly placed her on a stretcher, strapping her down. A white-shirted male paramedic coaxed her mother out of the car. Callie’s body was left behind, because the nose of the green car kept them from opening the passenger side door and really, why go through all that trouble? Prying open a mangled door was a lot of work.

A lot of work for nothing.

Her mother got out, but kept carrying on like some kind of wild animal. It was a horrible sound, that scream, one Callie had never heard come from her mother before. It was just too much. Callie covered her ears, trying to drown it out, trying not to see the scene in front of her, but on both counts, she failed. Her hands did nothing to block the sound, and she couldn’t look away. Every time she turned, she saw the same scene in front of her, like whoever was in control now insisted she look.

Laney’s mother followed her daughter’s stretcher to the ambulance, ready to climb in, but Callie’s mom yanked her arm free from the paramedic trying to take her blood pressure and rushed at the other woman.

YOU KILLED MY CALLIE! YOU KILLED HER! MY BABY! CALLIE!

Eyes wet and wide, Laney’s mother shrunk back against the side of the ambulance, a trembling hand over her mouth. A mournful pleading seeped between her fingers. No, I didn’t … no, no, it was an accident! I didn’t mean to … I swear … oh Lord, no! It was an accident!

A young paramedic, a woman with kind eyes and short black hair, helped Laney’s mother into the back of the ambulance as her male counterpart gently pulled Callie’s sobbing mother away, whispering soothing words Callie couldn’t make out.

This would be a good time for those darn angels to show up, Callie thought. She didn’t think she could take another moment of this scene. Thankfully, the ambulance sped off, lights flashing, siren spinning to life.

The ambulance’s departure drained the urgency from the scene as if everyone left there realized there was no need to rush Callie’s body anywhere. No one could fix her kind of broken. A police officer asked Callie’s mother if he could call someone for her. Her husband, maybe? The response was a fresh wave of moans and tears. She sank to the ground, wrapping her arms around her legs as if that would hold her together.

The policeman stayed with her as one of the other officers searched for her cell phone in the car. Callie appreciated the kind and calm way he told her father there’d been an accident, how they both stayed with her mom until her dad’s black car came into view down the block.

Guess those angels had something better to do since they never showed up.

Callie turned and walked away.

She didn’t know what was next. She didn’t know where to go. She only knew there was no way she could watch her father realize his little girl would never come home again.

Today

Chapter One

LANEY

As soon as my parents enter the bookstore, I can tell the procedure didn’t work because Mom is crying. I’d been so sure it was going to work this time. All morning I’d been positive Mom and Dad would burst through the door, bubbling over with joy and admiration for the wonders of modern medical science, gushing about the second time being the charm because the crazy expensive procedure actually did what it was supposed to do.

But my psychic powers failed me. It happens. Okay, it happens a lot. But sometimes they’re right. And those times ... goosebumps.

I grab a pair of scissors and try to look busy, hiding my disappointment. I slice through the tape on another box of books, splitting the mailing label with Book Stacks in the address space. That’s the name of our store. Dad won’t let me use box cutters until I’m sixteen, and that’s still almost a year away. I can’t use the register until I’m sixteen, either. Why sixteen is such a magical age, I have no idea, but there are lots of things my parents think I’m not ready for at fifteen-and-a-quarter. The only valuable thing I’m entrusted with is the store iPad, but I can only use it to do inventory (no games), and only because I promised on my allowance I would be super careful.

I’m also not allowed to read on it, as I am surrounded by books.

Mom heads for the stockroom without looking at me. She never wants me to see her cry and since she does it quite a bit, it’s like she’s constantly avoiding me.

The door shuts behind her with a depressed whisper.

Dad flips the sign in the window from CLOSED to OPEN, then goes to the register. He sets a zippered bank pouch on the counter and glances over at me. Everything go okay while we were gone? he asks in a quiet voice.

Sure, I answer. I want to ask, Everything go okay with you guys? but it’s pretty clear everything didn’t go okay or he wouldn't be acting all weird and Mom wouldn’t be bawling in the backroom. I scan a few numbers off the inventory sheet with the iPad as Dad puts money from the pouch into the register. I wait for him to tell me, to just say it, but he doesn’t. Get your chores done? Now he won’t look at me.

I eye the box of books. Almost finished.

That is a bit of an exaggeration, but it wasn’t completely my fault. The first box I was supposed to inventory this morning happened to be filled with a dozen copies of the next book of one of my favorite series. Dad should have known how distracting that would be.

The way things feel in this room right now I wish I could take my book, climb up the circular staircase to the reading loft, curl up on the window seat beneath the big bay window, and disappear into its pages. Instead, I set the iPad on the bookshelf and head for the stockroom. I push open the swinging door just a crack and peek through. Mom's back is to me, her shoulders shaking, her sobs muffled and deep. The sound of her pain is a butcher knife through my heart. It’s funny that Mom never wants me to see her cry because it’s when I do that I remember how much I love her. If she knew that, maybe she wouldn’t hide. But it’s not like I can tell her or anything.

Mom slowly folds over on herself, clutching her stomach as if someone punched her. She sinks to the floor, a short stack of boxes hiding her from view. Sweat slicks my skin as the truth settles over me.

I’ll never be a big sister.

** ** ** **

My parents have obsessed about having another baby ever since Mom got back. At least Mom has. This was the second time Mom had this special procedure to help her get pregnant and it will be the last time since we don’t have the money for a third attempt. After I overheard them talking about it, I told them they could use my college fund, but Dad said no way. There isn't much in there anyway. And that’s just four years away now. Yeah, don’t remind me.

I’m pretty sure Grandma Greeley gave them the money for this second try, but I’m not positive.

Blinking away tears, I know I should go to Mom, but I just can’t move. I should give her a hug or say something that will make her feel better, but the thought of putting my arms around her kind of paralyzes me. It’s like I’m afraid if I get too close, her pain will splash onto me and, if that happens, I’ll just tear apart.

I head back to the front of the store. Dad continues messing with the register. See, this is what he does. He avoids. My stomach twists into a tight ball. I can practically feel the angry red blotches popping up under my freckles. I’m disappointed and mad and frustrated, with both of them which probably isn’t fair but I can’t help it. Dad looks up at me, wincing at the icy blue lighting in my eyes.

She’s crying, I say, in probably a more accusatory way than I should.

He looks back at the register. Yes.

So, it didn’t it work?

He swallows hard. No. It didn’t.

Well, there it is. The confirmation I wanted. Except I don’t want it. I hate the words. I will be an only child for the rest of my life. I try to soften my voice, but that only makes it tremble more when I ask, Are you just going to let her cry in there all by herself?

Sweetheart, you don’t—

I do too understand, I interrupt. I know exactly why a new baby is so important, at least, why it is to Mom. Second chances, getting back the time she lost with me, blah blah blah. I’ve been hearing about it all year long.

The bell above the door jingles again. The image of a face pops in my mind, and I know just who is about to walk through the door. I glance over to make sure I’m right. I’m not always, but this time I am.

The rightness makes goosebumps ripple along my arms. After having failed to predict the procedure’s success, my psychic powers must want to prove themselves.

It’s Halloran. Or as he is more frequently called by the kids around Rosemary Bluffs, Voldy. Named for a certain villain in a certain story about a world of wizards. Trust me, the guy earned the nickname. I’ve never met anyone so rude. If you held a contest for meanest person in town, Voldy would win every time. Even most adults don’t like him.

Good morning, Mr. Halloran, Dad says, his voice flat. He has to be polite, of course. That’s what good business owners do, even to people who treat everyone