Free The Soul Seekers by Amy Saia Page B

twinkling in among the waving hills of pitch-dark earth that surrounded me. I ran along the neighborhoods, past the water tower, the American Legion building. When I reached the square I slowed down, and, panting hard, walked to stand by the empty gazebo; humidity and sweat gluing the long strands of my hair to my neck like sticky spaghetti. A few people remained, tearing apart their concessions. I hung out and watched, not wanting to go home.
    I looked all around the town, starting with the gothic-looking Springvale Savings and Loan where Mom worked every day. Its white painted limestone and arched entryway threw a sheath of darkness over the street with a half-orbed moon high above its flat roof.
    The old colonial bed and breakfast held up the south corner of the square; its welcoming front porch and hanging ferns looked too homey for the severity of a town street. Sending out a warning were the high gabled windows on the roof that cut into the sky like a row of bayonets.
    A stretch of quaint-looking shops decorated the whole perimeter with bright painted signs above each entry. Then there was the square itself, now gutted like a fish, paper scattered everywhere, gazebo looking painfully empty. A glance into the alley showed the van was gone.
    My eyes moved to a tall structure of red brick with white, Grecian-looking pillars standing protectively on either side of a low flight of stairs.The library.
    I headed in its direction, stopping just short of the front railing. A cold breeze washed over me, cleansing the awful heat that had permeated and broiled my skin for the last few hours. My fingers curled around an iron slat as another wave curved around my neck in delicious flowing air.
    I felt along the wall for the loose brick Ethel used to hide her extra key. I’d just go in for a minute to sort myself out before going home.
    After closing and locking the door behind me, I felt along the wall for the switch to turn on a low set of lights by the front desk. Halogen buzzed. I threw my sandals down on the floor before moving to sit in Ethel’s chair. A leaf hung in the lower strands of my hair. I plucked it out.
    The tears started. They flowed down in unrelenting streams, joined by the occasional groan caused by the painful images being released from my mind. Dad—watching him die back in Colorado Springs. Mom and her soulless escape from reality, while I flailed about for something to hold on to. The funeral. The move. Grandmother Carrie’s face the day she saw we had nothing but a few boxes to call home.
    And there was him—every day, him. Beautiful, silent—
mine.
    I moved my cheek to rest along my forearm, and caught the time on Ethel’s little desk radio. I should probably start heading home, although walking the streets at midnight wasn’t the most appealing idea. I closed my eyes and felt my conscience sharpen then blur away into sleep.
    I awoke to the glow of daylight pressing on my eyelids, my head nestled against the soft pad of my forearm. Brushing away the hair that was stuck to my cheek, along with one of the beaded earrings, I reached up to stretch, but stopped short at the sight of a filmy shadow in the front window. I watched it grow and form; a human shape empty like a glass, filling up with the colors of the sunrise, until slowly, it became a solid being.
    I knew I wasn’t dreaming, and there was no way I was hallucinating this. It was real. He was real.
    “Amazing,” I whispered.
    His voice was soft, warm. “Emma. Do you believe now?”
    “Yes,” I answered, finally admitting it to myself more than to him. William was the one I wanted to be with; he who I was running to.

10: Dawn
    “Okay, I have a burning question.”
    “Go for it.”
    “How does one just disappear and appear like that?”
    “It’s easy when one is only half-alive.”
    “How does one become . . . half-alive?”
    “When the cult steals their soul.”
    “Oh. Yeah.” I nodded my head. “Actually,” I shook my head,