Free Ghosting by Edith Pattou Page B

wound,
    on the side of his head,
    where his right eye
    was.
    Feel for a pulse.
    It’s there.
    Thin and thready,
    but there.
    Call 911,
I say to Maxie.
Now.
    I tear off my shirt.
    Wad it up. Gently press it
    against the wound.
    Felix groans.
    Looking into his other eye,
    I see immense pain.
    Sorry, Felix. Hang in there,
I say, trying to keep my voice calm, reassuring.
    4. Maxie’s hands are shaking,
    but she’s got 911 on the line.
    Someone’s hurt. Shot, I think,
she says, her voice surprisingly steady.
    Can hear the crackle
    of an answering voice.
    Near Walnut Creek Cemetery,
Maxie says.
    McKinley Road . . . In the head . . . Might be more than one person . . .
    She’s looking out the window
    at Emma, who is crouched
    beside a still figure
    sprawled on the sidewalk.
    Hurry please,
Maxie says.
    Chloe hovers beside me.
    Can I help?
    Hold this,
I say.
    And without hesitating,
    Chloe puts her hand where I guide it,
    to the wadded-up shirt
    quickly filling up
    with blood.
    5. Gently I begin lowering the back
    of Felix’s seat.
    I’ve got to go to Emma,
Maxie says.
They want to know . . .
    No, Maxie,
I say, urgent,
a shooter’s out there.
    I know,
she says.
But it’s Faith.
    She squeezes by, out of the car,
    and disappears.

MAXIE
    I spot the bike first,
    the front tire
    blown out,
    spokes bent
    and twisted.
    Faith is lying half under it,
    Emma bent
    over her.
    Faith! Faith, can you hear me?
Emma is saying.
    Faith’s eyes are closed.
    There’s
    blood
    on her face,
    and more,
    a lot more,
    on the leg that’s pinned
    at an awkward angle,
    under the bike.
    Brendan is beside Emma,
    his body taut,
    alert.
    She was awake, talking to me,
Emma is saying to Brendan,
and then she just sort of stopped, and her eyes closed . . .
    We need to get the bike off her,
Brendan says.
    There is no trace of
    slurring
    in his words.
    And in one easy movement
    he lifts the bicycle off
    Faith,
    as if it’s no heavier than
    a feather.
    Then he turns back to
    Emma.
    Emma,
he says,
get back to the car. You, too,
he adds, looking in my direction.
    The drunken, slack-mouthed
    evil Brendan
    is gone.
    In a matter of moments,
    he has changed into
    the lacrosse team captain.
    Strong.
    In charge.
    I turn to go back to the SUV.
    But Emma isn’t moving,
    focused only on
    her sister.
    I think I feel a pulse,
she says.
But there’s so much blood . . .
    I’ll stay with her. Go back to the car,
Brendan repeats.
    Emma shakes her head,
    refusing to leave.
    I notice she is holding something
    tightly in her hand.
    Something dark,
    covered with
    blood.
    It looks like
    a toy.
    Brendan crouches down,
    beside Emma,
    looking her straight in the eye.
    Despite the faint ringing
    still in my ears,
    I can hear
    every word.
    There’s someone with a gun, at the ghost house,
he says deliberately.
You and Maxie need to get back to the car.
    No,
is all Emma says.
    An ambulance is on the way,
Brendan says.
    And it’s then that I notice
    the sound of
    sirens
    in the distance.
    Emma stays where she is.
    Faith, you’re gonna be all right. I’m here,
she says.
    Brendan looks at me,
    his face
    dead serious,
    and makes a gesture
    with his hand
    toward the SUV.
    I go,
    but looking behind me,
    I see Brendan,
    with that same easy strength
    lifting Emma
    into his arms.
    She flails against him,
    though it’s clear that her own
    right leg is
    badly hurt.
    Suddenly she jerks so hard
    he can’t hold her,
    and she’s
    on the ground,
    then up again,
    hopping on her good leg
    back to Faith.

EMMA
    I am squeezing the rubber crow,
    Polly’s favorite chew toy,
    tight in my hand.
    It’s smeared with blood, Faith’s blood.
    Oh please God,
    let Faith be okay.

BRENDAN
    I start to follow Emma,
    then hear Anil calling out to me.
    Brendan, watch out,
is what I hear.
    I spin toward the ghost house and see
    the figure of a man moving toward us.
    Or maybe it’s a boy.
    With a rifle in his hands.
    Emma,
I call instinctively, to warn her.
    She turns, then freezes,
    staring at the