Spirits of Spring (The Haunting Ruby Series Book 4) (23 page)

“No, they don’t.” I glanced at Clay and saw that he
looked like he was about to cry. He wanted to come see her but
I don’t think he ever thought about how hard it was going to be
on him.
When I left, he would be leaving with me and she
would never know that he visited. I would have to bring him
back again someday soon but for now, I could tell that he’d had
enough. “Well, it’s been nice talking to you. I’ll stop by again
another day.”

Clay reached out to her again but retreated when she
pulled her sweater closer around her chest. He may have been
afraid of the things that he did when he was still alive but I no
longer had any doubt. He had a warm heart and I believed in
him even if he didn’t believe in himself.

“It’s been a pleasure talking to you, too, Rosie! Make
sure to take care of those Scarlets for me.”

I nodded and waved as I walked out the door.
Clay
lingered for just a second and then followed me out onto the
sidewalk.

“Are you okay?” I asked, knowing that deep inside he
really wasn’t.

 

“Yeah, I really don’t want to talk about it, though. Let’s
go back to Royal Oak now.”

He chuckled ever so lightly over the misnomer but we
both knew there wasn’t anything funny about it. His
grandmother wasn’t doing well—it was obvious.
How she
managed to keep that business going all by herself with a
memory like hers was beyond me.

“There’s one other place I want to go before we head
home. Which way to Spring Avenue?”

“That way,” he replied, pointing toward the far end of
Main Street. “But trust me—there isn’t anything I want to see
over there and it’s a rough section of town. A beautiful girl like
you could get herself into a heap of trouble driving around
alone in a neighborhood like that.”

Beautiful.
Clay thought I was beautiful.
The word
rolled off his tongue so nonchalantly that he didn’t even realize
he’d said it. It was nothing like the many times that he’d
lightheartedly flirted with me. This felt real, like he didn’t say it
to be flirty—he said it because he meant it. Was it better for me
to come right out and
address
the
issue
or to continue
pretending that there wasn’t an issue to address? Better or not,
I knew which choice was the easier of the two.

“But I won’t actually
be
alone, now will I?”
I said as I
fired up the Neon and pulled out onto the street. I wasn’t good
with
confrontation,
not
good
with
it
at
all.
Difficult
conversations were simply just too difficult for me sometimes.
If I could find out exactly how Clay died, he would be able to
move on and there would be no need to have “the talk” with
him. Once again, I asked, “Which way to Spring Avenue? And
be specific—I’m not so good with directions.”

“Girls,” he mumbled not so quietly to himself. “They
never listen to anything you tell them, do they?”
Without
missing a beat and acting like his previous comment couldn’t
possibly have been audible to anyone but himself, he replied,
“Go straight through this light until you get to the intersection,
then make a left. Follow the road for about three quarters of a
mile then make another left. At the top of the hill, make a right
and you’ll be on Spring Avenue. Go down the hill and my house
is the third one on your left.”

“Boys,” I quipped back sarcastically, “They never listen
to anything you tell them, do they?” Acting like I had no clue
that he heard that question, I then said politely, “You need to
give me the directions one step at a time—navigating while
driving is almost as impossible as parallel parking in my book.”

Clay cracked his first real smile since walking into the
flower shop. “And you wonder why I call you Dominatrix?
Right there is a
perfect
example of why!
You are not the
average teenage girl, Ruby.
You
—”
he said then
paused
thoughtfully before finishing his sentence, “are dangerous.”

While describing
me as
dangerous
could
mean
any
number of different things, my gut reaction was to not inquire
as to what he actually meant by it. “If you don’t want to see
how dangerous I can
really
be, you’ll hurry up and tell me
which direction to go before this light turns green.” Honesty
was
not
the
best policy
in
these awkward situations—
avoidance was.

A few minutes and multiple sarcastic comments later, I
finally saw the sign for Spring Avenue. As soon as I made the
turn, it became obvious to me that this part of town definitely
qualified for the title of Wrong Side of the Tracks. The houses
were all of decent size but in various states of disrepair. When
I saw couches on nearly every front porch, I shook my head in
disbelief.
About every other home had tires or some other
random automotive part placed as strategically as most people
planted garden
gnomes.
No wonder his
mother drank to
excess.
If I lived in a neighborhood like this one, I would need
some sort of escape from reality, too.

“Which one is yours?” I asked without acknowledging
the fact that he had already told me twice in the last few
minutes.

Clay sighed heavily and gave me an eye roll that, if it
hadn’t been directed towards me, I would have been proud of.
He pointed toward a green two story house with a tattered
NASCAR flag hanging from its cluttered front porch. “That’s it
right there. And there’s my mom passed out on the couch as
always.”

There was so much junk scattered about on the porch
that I didn’t even notice that a woman was indeed lying face
down
amongst the rubble with
an empty
beer bottle still
clutched in her hand. I knew what his answer was going to be
but I asked the question anyway. “Do you want me to go wake
her up? You know, just so you can hear her voice again?”

“Hell no! Waking her up when she’s in this kind of state
is dangerous, Ruby. Especially since she’s been drinking beer
this early in the day.
My mother
hates
beer. The only time she
drinks it is when she hasn’t made enough tip money down at
The Crow Hole to buy anything better. Trust me—if you try to
wake her up, you’ll take a mean right hook to whichever body
part is closest. I learned that lesson the hard way years ago.”

The Crow Hole? I wasn’t even going to ask. I assumed
it had to be a bar. No one in their right mind would name a
restaurant that.

“Oh.” How else could I reply to hearing that his mother
was physically abusive to him when she was drunk? Saying I
was sorry felt lame and he probably didn’t want to hear an
apology from me anyway since I wasn’t the one who
should
be
sorry.

“So now that you’ve seen my crappy house and my
drunk ass mother, are you ready to go now?
It looks like
there’s trouble brewing up the street.”

I tore my eyes away from the hot mess sprawled out on
her front porch to see what he was talking about. Three men in
their early twenties were arguing in the front yard a few houses
down from Clay’s. Even though it was late March and the sky
was decidedly overcast, two of them were wearing nothing but
baggy jeans and a bad attitude. The third was fully dressed and
seemed to be the one on the defensive end of the altercation. I
didn’t care if they were only arguing over whether or not to put
garlic powder in the spaghetti sauce—the dispute was intense
enough that I didn’t want to be within one hundred miles of it.

“Yeah, I’ve definitely seen enough.
I was hoping maybe
we would run onto Jeremy but we’ll have to come back some
other day. Let’s get out of here.” I attempted to swing the car
into reverse and head back out the way we came but a beat up
Chevy
pickup pulled up behind me and
honked its
horn
impatiently. I had two options—try to parallel park to get out
of the truck’s way or barrel forward down the street and past
the ensuing brawl. Severe driver’s anxiety made the decision
for me. I put the Neon back into drive and stepped on the gas
despite Clay’s fervent objections.

“Ruby, what do you think you’re doing? You don’t want
to get caught in whatever is happening down the street—trust
me on this one. The two big guys are Shane and Dylan. I have
no idea who that other guy is but I feel sorry for him. You do
realize that you’re probably about to come face to face with my
killers, don’t you?” he said in a panicked tone.

“I know!” I sputtered back at him in frustration. “But if I
don’t get out of that truck’s way,
he’s
probably going to kill
me
!”
I took a deep breath and reeled myself back in. “They have no
idea who I am or that I am connected to you in any way. When
you panic, I panic—you got that?
Stay calm and just let me
drive us out of here, okay?”

“Fine,” Clay replied while nervously running his hand
through his hair. “Just whatever you do, keep your eyes
forward and don’t make eye contact.”

“I can do that,” I said as I made my way down the street
with every intention of following Clay’s instructions. But as
often happens with my intentions, something went dreadfully
wrong.

The largest of the three men suddenly lunged at his
target and shoved him hard in the chest, knocking him straight
into my path. I stomped on the brakes—my heart
pounding
in
my chest—and prayed that I wasn’t about to run him over with
my car.

I got the Neon stopped just in time—sort of.
While I
didn’t hit the unidentified victim, he did fall backward and
straight onto the hood of my car.
I had no choice but to sit
there and wait for him to get up. I had no choice but to be a
sitting duck.

As the man on my hood struggled to regain his footing,
his
attacker approached,
grabbed a fistful
of his
shirt and
yanked him forward. I sat there paralyzed with fear. The only
thought that ran through my mind was that I wished that Zach
were with me instead of Clay. Zach was capable of protecting
me, Clay wasn’t. Then I saw it—the one thing that made me
grateful that Zach was nowhere near.

The
man
looked
nothing
short
of
psychotically
dangerous. A thick, black tribal tattoo started at his fingertips,
ran the full length of his arm, and wound around his back to the
other side of his neck.
His eyes were as dark as his hair,
brooding and full of anger. As scary as he looked though, his
appearance wasn’t what made me glad that Zach wasn’t
around. It was because now with a clear view of him, I could
see that the attacker had a handgun tucked into the back of his
pants.

With all the countless times that Zach had nonchalantly
declared that he would take a bullet for me, guns were higher
on my fear list than ghosts were these days. Clay sat beside me
repeatedly warning me not to make eye contact but it was too
late. I’d already seen his face and his weapon and he knew it.

Feeling the urge to start hyperventilating, I began to
breathe in and out slowly to try to stay calm. It wasn’t working
very well for me.
By the time he approached my window, I
must have looked like I was nine months pregnant and wildly
trying to adhere to my breathing exercises.
I kept my head
down until there was a sharp rap on my window.

“You saw nothing!” he snarled and pointed at me with a
menacing, tattooed finger. “Nothing! Now drive!”

I nodded enthusiastically, hit the gas pedal hard, and
squealed tire out of there. Yet again, danger found me when I
wasn’t even looking for it. And as always, I made the mistake of
looking it square in the eye.

15. Dream a Little Dream with Me
“OMG, Clay! You don’t think they’ll try to follow us, do
you?” I asked as I glanced frantically into the rearview mirror.

“Stop that! If Shane sees you looking back at him, he
definitely will!” Clay exclaimed as he turned around in his seat
to get a better look at what was going on behind us.

“Well?” I prompted impatiently, “Are they coming after
us or what?”

After a few seconds of excruciating silence, Clay finally
settled back into his seat and answered me. “No, they aren’t
worried about you.
Whatever they were arguing about seems
more important to them right now. Us driving through there
when we did distracted them long enough for that other guy to
get away. They got in Dylan’s truck and went the other
direction. Didn’t I tell you we shouldn’t come down here? Why
don’t girls
ever
listen?”

Giant eye roll. Really?
I almost get killed just driving
down his street and he’s going to spout that tired old line back
at me? Boys! Why do they always have to prove that they’re
right?
If I could have kicked his sorry ghost behind out of my
car, trust me, I would have. Scout’s Honor.

“Save your monologue about the ineptitude of the
female species for some other time, Clay. I’m tired and I’m
hungry. I simply don’t have the will to argue with you right
now. I’m driving us back to Rosewood.”

“No, you can go home if you want to. As a matter of fact,

I think that’s the safest place for you to be. But I need to be
alone tonight. I’m spending the night at the lake so I can do
some thinking. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

There wasn’t even a chance for me to try to convince
him
otherwise.
As
soon
as
the
words
left his
mouth,
he
vanished.

I debated long and hard about whether or not I should
tell Zach what happened on Spring Avenue. Lying to him didn’t
feel right to me anymore—not that it ever
really
felt right in the
first place.
But telling him the truth meant that I was going to
start worrying that he would insist on being by my side at all
times. I couldn’t shake the terrible thought that entered my
mind when I saw that Shane had a gun.
Flashbacks to that
night in the theater bell tower had me terrified that Zach might
end up getting shot because of me after all.
For his sake, I
decided that it was time to stop putting myself into dangerous
situations.
No danger to me meant no danger to Zach.
As long
as I kept my nose out of Shane’s business, I was probably safe.
Decision final. If I stopped playing amateur detective, Zach and
I would
both
be safe and he would never need to know what
happened tonight.