As soon as they crossed into the grounds of the Fallen Cemetery, a big gust of wind slammed the gate shut behind them.
Kylie started. Della jumped and growled, exposing her elongated canines. Burnett didn't move, but his eyes glowed a bright yellow.
"Don't worry," he muttered. "I can knock the gate down if I have to."
Della looked at Kylie. "I do not see why you feel compelled to do this."
Kylie looked from Della to Burnett. "Can I have some space? I need it to communicate with them."
She hated having to lie, but she hoped the offer of space would alleviate the hardship of their having to accompany her into the graveyard. She knew they didn't want to be here. It seemed crazy, but supernaturals hated all things related to ghosts. At least maybe the coldness she always felt when a ghost was present wouldn't bite into them the way she knew it would take a chomp out of her.
"Yes, go ahead, but don't go so far that we can't see you," said Burnett.
Considering that Kylie had yet to tell Burnett about Miranda's "little feeling," she didn't mind him keeping a close visual on her. Not that right now she worried about Mario and his grandson. Right now, it was the whispered voices Kylie heard that concerned her.
Looking at the graveled paths between row after row of graves, she let her eyes shift from tombstone to tombstone, hoping one of them would call out to her. Some graves had small concrete or marble markers with just names and dates inscribed on them. Others were ornate statues. Some looked new; others were painted with mold and time. Some had vines clinging to the arms and legs of angel and saintlike figures, as if trying to claim them from deep beneath the earth where only the dead lived.
She couldn't see any of the ghosts yet, but she could hear them. They all talked at once. Chattering. Like two or three radios left on at the same time, but with tons of static. If they were speaking to one another or to her, she wasn't sure.
Some of the voices felt as if they were a block away, others felt as if their owners stood so close that Kylie could touch them if she moved her hand. Not that she wanted to touch them. Their cold already surrounded her, reaching for her like hands trying to warm themselves against a fire.
Kylie realized in a way that was what she was to them. She was like a fire, something that drew them. She was life. Probably the only life that they had been able to feel in a long time. Or maybe the only life that could feel them.
Footsteps sounded and Kylie looked to her right down the opposite path. An old man, his cane in his hand, shuffled between the row of grave sites. For a second, Kylie didn't know to which world he belonged.
But then she noticed Burnett and Della twitching their brows at him. Kylie did the same and was not surprised when his brain pattern revealed he was human. All of a sudden, an elderly woman of the same age appeared behind him. Her gray hair was long and thin and hung without luster at her shoulders. She wore one of those housedresses Kylie's grandmother had always worn. This one was a blue paisley print. On her feet were a pair of baby blue slippers.
It took only a second for Kylie to realize that she was not of this world.
"You're not taking your meds like you should be, are you?" she said to the old man. "I can tell because your ankles are swollen. You're supposed to take the little red pills twice a day, not the blue ones. What are you trying to do? Kill yourself? You promised me you'd take care of yourself. Why won't you ever listen to me?"
Then the woman shifted her gaze and stared right at Kylie. Her aged gray eyes widened, then she vanished. Kylie hadn't taken her next breath when the woman materialized inches from her. Her skin was a dead gray color that matched her eyes. Her hair, only a slightly different shade of gray, got caught in the wind, and it swept up and floated almost motionlessly in the air around her head.
"Mother of God, you can see me," the elderly woman said.
The spirit's nearness brought more chills running down Kylie's spine. But the drop in temperature wasn't nearly as disturbing as the sudden silence.
The chattering of spirits had stopped. The only noise in the cemetery was the sound of the old man's footsteps. His shoes scrubbed against the gravel with his faltered steps while his cane tapped down on the earth, searching for a steady spot to rest his thick stick to support himself.
Tap, tap. Shuffle. Tap, tap. Shuffle. Tap. Shuffle.
Kylie sensed more than heard Burnett and Della move back. She'd asked for this space, but now she regretted it. Maybe she didn't want to be alone. But did she regret it enough to admit her fear? She knew someone like Burnett respected courage, and Kylie didn't want to come up short.
"Answer me, girl! You can see me, right?" The old woman waved a hand in front of Kylie's face.
She held her breath. The silence seemed to grow louder. The lack of chatter meant something. It meant the spirits were listening. Waiting for her to answer. Waiting to see if she admitted to being able to see one of their own.
Suddenly the air she pulled into her lungs grew so cold that it hurt. They, the silent spirits, were moving in. She couldn't see them, couldn't even hear them, but she could feel them. The cold increased tenfold.
Fear turned her stomach hard. She felt the thinnest layer of ice form on her lips. For a second, she questioned the wisdom of being here. Could she pretend she hadn't heard the woman? Was it too late to look away from the desperation of the elderly spirit?
"Tell him he needs to take two of the little red pills."
Kylie still didn't speak. Frost formed on the tips of her eyelashes, blurring her vision.
"He's going to get to meet our first great-grandchild. For years, all he's talked about was living until he saw his third generation make it into the world. But if he doesn't start taking his pills right, he'll never make it."
Suddenly, the other spirits started materializing around her. Ten, then twenty. Then more. And when they slowly inched closer, Kylie's heart raced with panic. She considered running, but could she outrun them?
"Can she hear us?" asked an older-sounding male spirit.
"Can she see us?" added a younger female spirit, crowding closer.
"Y'all are being silly," came another male spirit's voice. "The living can't see us no more."
"But this one can," argued the younger female spirit. "Look at her."
The spirits started to move closer.
"Do you think she can help us?" a female asked.
"Maybe," someone else said.
The older male spirit peered into Kylie's face. "What is she?"
The spirits crushed closer. A barrage of new questions started spilling out of their mouths, each talking so rapidly that it was hard to distinguish one voice from the other. The sound was so loud, Kylie fought the need to cover her ears. She couldn't remember what Holiday had said about the rules of shutting out the voices. Was it too late to attempt to shut them out?
"You looking for a particular plot?" The words seeped into Kylie's hearing and bounced around her panicked brain. It took a minute to realize that this male voice was different from the rest. The words were not from the dead, but from the living.
Kylie managed to look over and saw the old man walking toward her between two large tombstones. His cane pushed holes through the green grass into the moist dirt. Each time he pulled the tip of the walking stick from the ground, it created a squishing sound that seemed too loud.
Remembering she wasn't completely alone, Kylie glanced around and spotted Burnett standing at the end of the row, watching, ready to pounce in case the elderly gentleman posed any danger.
Little did Burnett know it wasn't him she feared, but all the others he could not see. The old man continued toward her. His presence brought a wave of calm that lessened the chaos sizzling in her blood. The closer he came, the farther back the spirits moved.
Kylie touched the tip of her tongue to the melting frost across her bottom lip and blinked away the shiny crystals of ice from her lashes.
"You look lost," he said again, coming to a stop a few feet away from her.
Thankful his presence had brought her some reprieve, she tried to smile, but the gesture seemed to fail.
"Cat got your tongue, child?" he asked.
"No," Kylie answered. Realizing she hadn't answered his initial question, she searched for a believable-sounding lie. "Yes, I'm looking ... for my aunt's grave."
"What's her name? I should be able to point you in the right direction. Lord knows I've walked these grounds enough. I'm here daily, visiting my Ima."
"I'm Ima," said the man's dead wife, and she came closer and peered into Kylie's face.
Kylie hesitated and then glanced to her right and read the tombstone. "Lolita Cannon. That's my aunt's name." She still didn't know if she should acknowledge the dead man's wife or not. Kylie's heart beat around in her chest with indecision. But if she didn't tell the man about his medicine, he could-
"Why, I think that grave is right around here somewhere." He turned and started looking, pointing his cane at the markers as he read.
"Are you sure she can see and hear us?" Another spirit appeared. Kylie glanced at the newcomer briefly, trying not to give away that she could see anyone. This spirit was another woman, younger, late twenties, wearing a dress that looked like something popular in the 1970s.
"I'm pretty sure," answered Ima, and then she leaned so close that her icy presence burned Kylie's arm. "Tell him about his medicines," she pleaded. "If not, he's gonna pass without ever seeing his third generation."
"Here, right here." The old man pointed with his cane and waved for Kylie to follow him.
"Thank you," Kylie said, stopping at his side and still wavering on what to do.
"It's a nice marker," the old man said, and had to use his cane to get his balance. "Well, I should be going. Enjoy your time with her." He started to take a step and then paused. "You know, I somehow feel my Ima can hear me, so go ahead and talk to your aunt if you have anything you want to say to her."
The man's wife held up her hands as if frustrated. "I can hear ya, old man. But it's you that don't listen to a word I say. Don't know why it surprises me." The woman looked back at Kylie again. "The ol' fart never listened to me when I was alive. And he's talked to me more since I've been dead than when I was alive. But I love the ol' coot. And you gotta help me help him. Please, missy. I don't know what you are, or how come you can see me, but I'm begging ya."
Kylie watched the old man take a few steps away from her. If she told him, she knew the barrage of spirits would return, but if she didn't ... Kylie wouldn't be able to live with herself if something happened to the old guy. "Wait, sir. I..."
He turned around.
Crap! How was she going to tell him? "I ... I couldn't help but notice you're a little shaky. You know, this happened to my aunt and it was caused by a mix-up in her meds. She was taking the wrong pills twice a day. The blue ones instead of the red ones."
The man's dead wife let out a victory yelp. The younger woman beside her stared at Kylie with complete awe. "She can hear us. Jiminy Cricket. She can. My name's Catherine. What's your name?"
The same look of amazement flooding across the younger ghost's face now filled the old man's expression. "Why, child, I ... I swear you might have ... I mean, Ima was always telling me to be careful. And I have been feeling not so good lately. I think I'll go home and check my prescription." Then he turned and headed toward the gate.
Kylie forced a smile, even though the chatter was now louder than ever since all the spirits knew the truth. Knew she could hear them. Knew she could help them. But could she? So far all the spirits came to her for help, but could she help those she accidentally came into contact with?
Just as the old man turned to leave, another wave of cold landed beside her. Jane Doe's ghost materialized. She looked at Kylie as if confused. "What are you doing here?"
"Isn't this where you are buried?" Kylie asked, struggling to ignore the cold and the noise.
"You say something?" The old man turned back around. His words were almost lost in the loud chattering again.
"Just to myself," Kylie answered, and prayed he'd turn around before she ... A wave of dizziness almost overtook her. She struggled to remain standing.
The spirits had moved in again, surrounded her, all talking at once. Wanting her to do something for them. Asking her questions. Her gaze flipped from one dead face to another. Her heart felt heavy with sadness for them. It made her realize how insignificant she was-one person and so many souls needing something.
The wave of dizziness crashed over her again, only harder this time. Her head started pounding-pain exploded behind her eyes. Hugging herself against the cold, she lowered herself onto the green grass, wrapped her arms around her shins, and dropped her forehead on top of her knees.
"I can't do this," she muttered.
"Move back," Jane Doe said. "You are hurting her."
Kylie felt some of the cold begin to ebb, the pain behind her eyelids lessened, and she could only assume the ghost had been talking to the other spirits. The noise level lowered almost to the point where it didn't hurt to listen anymore.
"Are you okay?" Burnett's deep, concerned voice came at her ear.
Kylie raised her head and saw the only spirits remaining were Jane Doe, the old man's wife, and the other younger spirit.
Kylie looked at Burnett. "Yeah. I'm fine. Or getting better," she said.
Burnett nodded and then backed away. Kylie stared at Jane Doe and waited a few more seconds before she asked, "Isn't this where you're buried?"
Jane's brow wrinkled in that confused way of hers. "I ... don't know."
"Oh, phooey!" said the younger woman who'd said her name was Catherine. "Of course you're buried here. Your grave and marker are right over there. You were put in the ground by the Texas prison system. You'd been given life for killing your own baby."