It was sad; it had to be done. Veronica inserted the thin sheet of plastic behind the 'Keep Out' sticker, peeled it off, and opened Heather Chandler's locker.
"Murder and theft, Veronica?" Heather Chandler played peek-a-boo behind Heather McNamara's head. "You killed me, please don't steal my precious plaid tartan earrings as well!" She burst into laughter.
"Shut up, Heather."
"Veronica, I didn't say anything," McNamara said.
The first thing Veronica saw in there was a photo roll. She and Heather, one photo booth, three poses. She remembered the day they'd taken it. First serious, then smiling, then trying for movie-star glamour. Veronica had long lost her own copy of the prints. I didn't think you liked me that much, Chandler. An ancient issue of Cosmo, with a feature story on the Guyana Massacre. An I shop therefore I am poster. With Heather Chandler, it was hard to tell if that were ironic or serious.
Heather McNamara took out a blue and red Swatch. "She'd want you to have this, Veronica. She always said you couldn't accessorise for shit."
"I want the earrings." Heather Duke helped herself to the jewellery hung in the locker door. "Now I'm red." She sat cross-legged on the floor and took another bite out of her lunchtime chicken leg.
"Careful, Heather. You might actually digest something," Veronica said.
"I remember when Heather and me met," McNamara said. "She said, you think you can fly because you're a cheerleader on top of the pyramid. I'll teach you how to really fly. You can soar with the eagles or crash like the fat dodos and die. I'm still not exactly sure what she meant, but it sounded so beautiful." She sniffled.
Duke flipped the bare chicken leg into the bin behind her. "We're going out tonight, losers," she said. She got up. "Kurt and Ram are bringing the keggers. Eight o'clock, the woods behind the school."
"I have this thing going on with J.D., Heather," Veronica said. "Kurt asked me at the funeral, but I'm so not interested."
"It's not a date, it's a kegger," Duke said. "Don't be a pillowcase, Veronica. I'll whisper sweet nothings into Kurt's shell-like ear, Heather can have Ram like she wants, and you can be the fifth wheel. But we Heathers need to ride together. Are you in or out?"
"She's right, Veronica. You're too much of a pussy," Heather Chandler said. "Isn't it so funny that doe-eyed flat-chested Mary-Jane over there wants to be me? She's like a little puppy, trying so hard not to widdle on the carpet." She reached a translucent hand toward Veronica's face. The touch of that hand could certainly hurt her; Veronica froze and stared, but Heather didn't attack. "It should have been you. You could've been a strong enough bitch to lead the Heathers, after me of course."
"Veronica, mothership calling Veronica!" Heather Duke yelled. She patted Veronica's cheek. "See you at eight."
—
Heather Duke was driving recklessly, taking the corners way too fast, jolting Veronica in the back seat of her car. Sharing the back seat with Kurt Kelly next to her and Ram one seat further on made it even less pleasant.
"Are you sure about going to the cemetery, Heather?" she asked. Don't be an idiot, she told herself. The least likely place to find a ghost is at a cemetery, since people don't actually die there, unless they get buried alive or something. "There's nothing wrong with the woods!"
"There is if you want to empty a commemorative vodka over Heather's grave," McNamara said. "It's what she would have wanted."
Is it all right if it passes through my digestive system first? Veronica thought. Never mind, that's gross.
"Dear Heather, we hope you went to heaven and stuff and we miss you. I'll always have and hold and cherish my three yellow friendship bangles and my silver slide in your memory. Look, I'm wearing them now. Amen." Heather McNamara broke open the bottle over the expensive gravestone. A cherub in a frilly dress smiled inanely above the large marble memorial dedicated to a beloved, beautiful daughter.
Veronica took a long drag of her cigarette, leaning on a nearby upright grave. She could get through this, minimal talking necessary. Ram had brought along a red Chinese lantern that lit the area with a flickering flame. Duke was smiling like a cat who'd figured out how to open a cream bottle, twirling her hair and casually touching Kurt on the shoulder or thigh every so often, like she'd promised. She wore a red Japanese shirt tonight, pretty and expensive and a bit too good for sitting on a stone slab. Ram tossed Heather McNamara a beer. "Drink up! Party's on!"
Veronica finished her shot of whiskey. It kept you warm. She was still pretty coherent, which was a good idea. Kurt and Ram, on the other hand, were long past their limits. It made her feel superior to them, and to the other Heathers. Ram had reached the stage where he was trying to pull McNamara onto his lap and grind with her. Kurt was attempting to make out with Duke, slopping his tongue all over her ear and in her hair.
"Okay - that's enough, Kurt." Heather Duke withdrew, standing and dusting off her skirt. "It's been so very, but I have an English paper due tomorrow."
"Don't go, honey! Stay with me, I need you!" Kurt flung his arms around her legs. He weighed a lot more than she did, and brought her down.
"Ow! Get off me!" Duke tried to break free.
Well, what did you expect, sweetheart, a cold part of Veronica thought, you've been flirting with him all night and you know what he's like. Serves you right for making me come and fill up your empty ego trip.
On the other hand, she knew what she should be doing. "What she says, Kurt. Get off her," Veronica said.
"Veronica! Oh, man, hot Veronica! Get over here and give me some sexual healing, Veronica!" Kurt called out to her. In the process, he let Duke go long enough for her to wriggle free. Duke stood red-faced, looking like a little girl caught out at a grown-ups' party, not sure whether to be jealous of or grateful to Veronica.
"I'm leaving too, Ram. Good night." McNamara stood up, wobbly in high heels and mostly drunk.
"You can't leave me like this! You're pinching my blue balls like crazy!" Ram said. He and Kurt both started laughing inanely. "Punch it in!"
Duke took off in the direction of her car, first walking, then running. Good plan. Veronica and McNamara followed her straight away.
"Come back ..." Kurt called. Veronica looked behind. The boys were gaining on them. Football players versus high heels. It wasn't fair. Duke ran faster.
"Do you remember how we always went with Heather to these things?" McNamara called to Veronica. "She could actually stop them!" This was true. Kurt and Ram listened to Heather Chandler's no when they didn't even listen to their coach.
"Get in the damn car," Veronica said. Her purse fell down from her shoulder - lighter, license, everything. She stooped to pick it up. Duke had already slipped into the driver's seat and started up. Heather McNamara opened a side door and thrust herself in. Veronica raced for the other side. Her fingernails skittered against the door as Duke set the car in motion.
"Heather, let me in!" She punched the window.
"Sorry!" Heather McNamara called back at her. "I'm really sorry!"
"Fuck you, Heather!" Veronica screamed at them. Then the green car disappeared around the bend.
"No," Kurt said, and giggled like a loon again. "I think it's, fuck you, Veronica."
"Veronica's gonna fuck both of us." Ram hung himself over a tombstone. "Come down, Veronica baby!"
"Go down!"
"Punch it in!"
"We can come and pick you up!" Kurt lurched over to Veronica. It would be nice to get him with a spray of mace, or a knife. Or a gun loaded with blanks, J.D. style. Too bad she didn't have any of those things. The jocks were bigger and stronger than her, they could outrun her, and nothing she had gave her the power to physically fight them.
Veronica dodged Kurt's milling arms by doing the opposite of what he expected. She walked back to Heather's grave, where Ram waited for her. She forced herself to smile at them. It felt like the grin of a corpse. "Easy, boys. There's a special ritual to this stuff. I'll do anything you want." She shaped her voice into a sex-kitten purr. "But first, you have to do something for me. Something you'll like, I promise."
"Sure ..." Ram grinned.
"We finish all the drinks first," Veronica said. "Bottoms up, boys."
Veronica dashed the contents of her glass behind her back. They were too drunk to notice. Pity that they had the alcohol tolerance levels of baby elephants. They were still on their feet, more or less, with only one drink each to go. Oh, come on, Duke, don't be a bitch. Call my parents or something, come back and pick me up, Veronica mentally begged. Or J.D., come on. Now would be a great time to come riding down to the cemetery with a gun. I'm even OK if it's not loaded with blanks this time.
"Almost there ..." Kurt and Ram clinked their glasses together. "On the count of three!"
"We're coming for you, Veronica!"
She slipped off her high heels. Three, two, one. The glasses went up and they closed their eyes as they skulled. She started to run through the woods behind the cemetery. Head start of about three seconds.
"Ronnie, baby, where are you going?" Kurt and Ram crashed through the woods like baby elephants who'd drunk a lot of alcohol. They didn't need to be subtle, and weren't.
"We're going on a nice romantic walk," Veronica teased. "Can you follow me?" She dashed to a different place under the shadows. She'd lead them with her voice without letting them catch her. It was a good plan, if it worked for long enough. "Over here, boys!"
She could orient herself by the distant street lights on the horizon. Veronica kept looking up and tried to keep to the darkest shadows. Kurt and Ram stumbled over trees and bushes, blundering and forcing their way through. They were always some distance behind, always confident that they'd catch up to her eventually. What girl could outrun or outlast the quarterback and the linebacker?
Veronica took a moment to catch her breath and check her direction. Not too far astray. The snap of a tree branch burst against her cheek, and she knew that Kurt and Ram were too close again. She ducked underneath the brush, light as a deer, and ran on. The ground was pebbled now, painful against her socks. It only meant she was coming closer to her goal.
Left, but not too far left, turn, weave, duck. Look out, Sawyer. You're nearly there. Sometimes things work out for you after all. The gleaming lights were much closer now, and she was almost out of the woods. That wouldn't be good, if she was away from cover and they could see her. Veronica looked around for what she needed. Please, let me find it. Please, let it be there tonight.
"Are you ready, Veronica?" Kurt shouted. "Don't keep us waiting!"
Finally. Veronica knew exactly where she was going. Two more turns to make. "Kurt? Ram? I'm all yours."
She sidestepped the shining translucent shape she saw on the ground. It wasn't human looking, not like Heather, a formless mass of ambiguous colors. As soon as she stood just beyond it, she called the jocks to her. They blundered straight into the ghost." I brought you food," Veronica said, and the ghost seemed to hear and understand her. "Don't eat me, but do please take them." She had managed to lead Kurt and Ram through the woods to the back of the hospice, where most ghosts were made and formed. She'd given this one a lovely meal, full of fresh blood to draw energy from. Drunk as they were, Kurt and Ram collapsed against each other, in the midst of the shimmering mass pulsing and sucking around them.
They'd probably wake up the next morning from a dead faint with a headache. Give them a lump of bloody steak and they'd be absolutely fine. Veronica turned her back and didn't look at them again. She trudged up to the road, and started to follow it home.
A few cars passed her without stopping. She frowned as she looked into the distance. There was the Snappy Snack Shack sign, garish electric blue in the dark. She could grab a turbo dog and buy some flip-flops to walk home in. She limped on, humming to herself. Nearly there, and she'd won. She'd stuck a pin in them, popped the balloon, and damn well had her own way.
She saw a distant motorcycle on the road. Well, the sense of propriety in the universe really could be just that bad, she thought. Coincidence, someone else. Don't get your hopes up. But something like her heart leapt up within her when she saw the rider's long trenchcoat flapping in the breeze.
"What is this shit?" J.D. drew up by her side, stopped, and looked down at her shoeless feet. "Veronica?"
"Your timing's so bad," Veronica said. "If you turned up half an hour ago, I'd have said, take me now on your mighty steed, Sir Galahad. And now I'm the one left standing, because I won. I goddamned won, and I don't need rescuing."
"What happened? Were you with those assholes?"
"Was being absolutely the operative word in this instance." Veronica laughed and laughed. "I got the jocks super drunk and left them passed out in a paddock. It was hilarious! I think I'm still a little drunk," she added. "Keggers with Heathers, no fun at all. Remind me next time. Other key fact, I saved myself. Who wants to be the damsel in distress when it feels so damn great to be the hero?"
"Hey, I'm all in favor of that too." J.D. blew out two streams of blue smoke from his nose.
"I don't need a ride from you, hunter of ghosts, terror of undead minions, self-appointed scourge of bullies," Veronica said. "But you can ask nicely if I want one."
"Veronica, please get on the bike."
"Okay."
—
They ended up at J.D.'s house. The lights were all off; maybe no one was home. Veronica leaned on him as they found the way up to his bedroom. She noticed there were different sheets on the bed; congratulations on a bare minimum of cleanliness and decency, she supposed. She rested on a pillow. "I think I'm too drunk or too tired or something to do anything, if you know what I mean," she said. She was a lot more exhausted than the first time she'd come in, over the elm and through the window. "Can we talk? Can you tell me about ghosts?"
"Why the curiosity? It's just a job. I might as well be making different kinds of slushies. Cherry, coke, blue cherry, pineapple, pineapple crossed with blue cherry ... Quiz me on the menu, ask about the ninety-nine artificial flavours." J.D. settled in beside her on the bed, staying dressed.
"No, I want to know. It's your life. I wanted to get a job at the mall, at the spaghetti joint, but my mom said no. Should've taken a stand," Veronica said. "Don't change the subject. Tell me how ghosts begin."
"Okay. Someone died who didn't want to," J.D. said. "Not everyone creates a ghost. Most likely, accidents, natural causes, and murders. Not usually suicides, with some exceptions, and not people who were killed by a ghost. That means we don't have to care about exponential growth, like the king's chessboard problem. If you're drained or possessed, there's not enough left of you to make another ghost."
Made sense. If one ghost killed a person and made a new ghost, then they could kill two more, then four and eight and so on. Looked like Heather couldn't build her own ghost army.
"What do the different types do to people?" Veronica said. He was sitting cross-legged, so she leaned against his thigh, drawing on his body heat.
"Feeders are the basic ones, the most likely. Find them out the back of hospices," J.D. said. "Walk into them and normal people feel a bit of a chill and need a sandwich. They're just echoes of what they were. You know you can read this stuff in a five-dollar manual, right?"
"Yes, but I've never read them. Come on," Veronica said. "What's it like to hunt them?"
"They're the hardest. I have no idea where they are, so I wander around and hit blind, or where my dad's yelling at me. Half the time they escape into the ground," J.D. said. "If they feed long enough, they start to grow more interesting powers."
"Mmm. That does sound interesting. Like what?"
"Wraiths are the ones that wear humans like tasty sausage skins, poltergeists shift buildings, Ariels make normal people see things that aren't real. Seers always see through those though," J.D. said. "Wraiths and poltergeists are easiest to fight, they have the power to hurt you but you see them coming." He untangled his legs and lay down, one hand under his head.
"You use blood to fight them." Veronica wrapped her arms around him. It was good to be warm and safe, even with someone who'd bumped off one of her classmates.
"Yeah. Only when it's close," J.D. said. "This hotel downtown, someone was murdered about ten years ago. It didn't let go. After it fed, it grew itself into a poltergeist. I think it wanted to stick with the hotel; it must have felt like home. My dad wants to blow up the place and see if that helps, since no one's staying there. And since a developer's willing to pay in cash."
"You can fight them with explosives? Does that even work?"
"It hasn't yet," J.D. said. "My dad's been trying for years. If he could control both powers, he could convince ghosts to stay in a building and blow it and them up at the same time. You should see what he's got in the basement - enough to blow us to Chattanooga. You can channel hunter powers through blank bullets, wood, and iron, but never through dynamite. He should know that's never going to work."
"Everyone's got a right to dream, I guess," Veronica said. "Do you know I've never met your father yet? Say, and what about your mom?" She was just babbling. But she felt suddenly cold as J.D. untangled himself from her, turning his back and looking in the other direction.
"She's dead. The whole crew said it was an accident, but that's not true. She was a hunter, like me. I liked her. You're never going to remember this when you're sober, are you?" he asked. "Dad was testing dynamite to work with her powers. She was supposed to trigger it and wait, but she went inside instead. I think she knew. She hugged me and kissed me before she left that day, and I was old enough that she didn't do that often. After she died, the crew was one hunter short, so I had to take her place. She should have known that would happen."
Veronica didn't like feeling cold, so she pressed herself against J.D.'s back to feel his body heat again. She couldn't think of what to say. "Life sucks," she said.
"And then you die," J.D. finished the quote.
"Preferably, aged eighty-seven in bed with someone nice," Veronica suggested, and went to sleep.
—