Ghost Hand (#Wattys2016)

Chapter 6, CPR in the Cemetery

I lay very still under the hedge watching the Dark Man search my dad's grave and the surrounding area. I couldn't see more than his legs and feet, but he kept returning to Melva's gravestone and circling around it. That must be where he lost my trail. Or he was baffled by the addition of Marcus's. Either way, something was confusing him. Something was confusing me too.

Why in the world had Marcus attacked me? How had he even found me, unless he'd been following me just like the Dark Man? Maybe they had been working together, one flushing me out and the other one grabbing me.

But if that was true, why throw me to the ground and roll me down a hill? Why not just hold me and wait for the Dark Man? Then again, it hadn't felt like Marcus had thrown me as much as it had felt like we'd fallen. Both of us tumbling backwards when he'd locked his arms around me, him gripping me and thrashing like he was having some kind of seizure. 

Oh my God! What if it had been the blades? The backpack had been pinned between us. What if the blades had zapped Marcus, just like they'd zapped me, except worse? That might explain his stop midsentence, the contracting of his muscles, the thrashing I'd felt and the choking I'd heard.

Well, it served him right. People should not sneak up behind someone at their father's graveside and grab them from behind. Still, to completely spazz out like that he must have gotten a pretty nasty zap. The blades couldn't be conducting electricity—they had no source of current. But they were definitely conducting something.

I looked down at Marcus. His bangs were tossed back off his forehead and my eyes had adjusted enough to notice strange shadows there. On impulse, I extended the tip of my ghost hand's index finger just beyond the glove. Emma called it my ET finger. Like a penlight, it bathed Marcus's face and forehead in its soft glow, revealing that his skull, just below his hairline, was dented and scarred like something that had been broken and glued back together. The scars were thin, pale and old, very distinct from several new pink scratches on his face, no doubt acquired from our recent tumble. A few of the old scars trailed up into his hair, making it fall in multiple, zigzagging parts. Whatever had broken Marcus's head, it had happened a long time ago.

Out in the cemetery, the Dark Man rose from a crouch behind Melva's tombstone and started walking toward the hedge.

I pulled my finger back into the glove and held my breath. Had he seen the glow? What would he do when he looked under the hedge and saw me stuck there? He'd pull me out, that's what. I could kick and scream and scratch and fight, but he was bigger and stronger than I was. No one was likely to hear my protests from this far inside the cemetery. If he saw me, he was going to get me. And whoever's side Marcus was on, it didn't look like it was going to matter.

I felt adrenaline rushing my body as the Dark Man's feet grew larger and larger, dominating my vision. With my left hand I grabbed the trunk of the hedge as tightly as I could. My ghost hand was on the side toward the opening, so I might be able to use it to distract him, if it came to that. Five minutes before, I had really wanted to get out from under the hedge. Now, I was preparing to fight for my life to stay under it.

The shoes stopped at the edge of the hedge, a mere six inches from Marcus's face. They were expensive shoes, maybe even Italian, with a fine stitched detailing around the edges in a grey thread that stood out in the moonlight. Did killers wear shoes like that? Did rapists? They seemed so normal, like something a lawyer or a stockbroker would wear. Why was this guy after me? Why was I hiding from him? Surely there was some perfectly reasonable explanation, and if I just showed myself, I'd find out what it was.

Something squeezed my right arm, and I barely bit back a yelp. I saw the white flash of Marcus's eyes out of the corner of mine. He was awake, conscious, staring at me; his breath puffing into my hair. I wasn't alone.