Part 3 (1/2)

JoJo.

OMG, he really thought the call was from JoJo.

Dead JoJo.

How flipped-out was that?

Chapter Three.

The road to insanity takes twelve minutes. Ive timed it.

Thats how long it took to get from Petes to my house, charge up the stairs and dive into my room. Twelve minutes before the first strangled scream was ripped from my throat.

Contrary to popular belief, the air in h.e.l.l is freezing because surely thats where Id somehow landed. My breath caught; my heart jerked . . .

My body froze.

My brain shut down.

I clutched at the doorframe.

But still she stared at me.

Her . . . A dead person. In my room.

Let me clarify: not a body, a dead person.

An already-buried, dead person.

Call me nave, but never once had I asked myself what Id do if I found a dead person in my bedroom. Or anywhere for that matter.

Now I knew. Scream, then bolt.

I bolted straight out of the room and was halfway down the stairs before I realised that I was being crazy; that buried, dead people cannot just turn up in your room. That JoJo was an illusion; she wasnt real.

Still, I didnt barge back in, I kind of slid my head around the door, ready to run again if I had to.

'Are you through playing hide-and-seek? JoJos bored voice reached over and froze me to the spot. 'If you are, perhaps you could come in and tell me what Im doing here.

I shook my head and remained right where I was. 'Youre not real. You dont exist. Im just seeing things. It had to be a stress-induced hallucination.

She flicked imaginary lint oh wait, this was my house, it was probably real lint off her hot-pink top and frowned at me like I was lower on the food chain than the dust she was picking off herself. I was still staring. I recognised that top. Shed been wearing it that last day . . .

She spoke again. 'When youre finished talking to yourself, Id like some answers. She tossed one leg over the other, jangling the designer chain belt that looped through her low-cut jeans. A candy-striped slip-on stiletto dangled off one foot; the other foot, bare, tapped on the carpet impatiently. 'And I cant seem to find my car keys, or my phone. Or one shoe for that matter so youll have to call me a cab.

Oh my G.o.d . . . She sounded so real.

I darted one look towards Dad and Mimis suite; the good news was that their sixties music was blaring down the corridor which meant I wasnt alone. The bad news was that their sixties music was blaring down the corridor which meant theyd probably never hear anything over that racket. Namely me.

Still struck dumb, I slowly took one step into the room. Then another. Heart thumping, I moved towards the image on my bed. I figured the only way to get past this hallucination was either to prove to myself it wasnt real or throw up. Maybe itd take both . . .

Her eyes still had me pinned. Her eyes? Should that be its eyes, considering this thing wasnt real and therefore shouldnt be personified? And could someone please explain why my mind was focussing on grammar right when it was about to explode? Because if I was crazy wasnt that what was going to happen?

Then it hit me. Maybe I was whacked. Maybe Pete Hamill had slipped something into my mineral water?

Before I could focus on that for too long, it spoke again. 'Youre Willow, right? That weird, nerdy chick who always has to protest about everything? Okay that I get. But what I dont get is why Im in your house. This is your house, right? I mean, your stuff is all over the place in here. All these books have your name on them so I guess this is your room. So Im only asking once more. Why am I here? Did you bring me here? For the first time, the thing before me looked uncertain. Could hallucinations do that? She ran perfectly sculptured nails across her forehead. 'I dont seem to be able to remember anything. Have I been drinking?

'Not unless someone slipped a bottle into the coffin. My words were whispered as I slowly moved towards the target. It was easier to respond at this time than try to convince myself it wasnt happening. 'Or maybe you werent in the coffin at all . . .

Id reached the end of the bed now and got ready to lean in. To touch whatever it was that was there. To touch nothing because that was what was there. Nothing! Then I would go and quietly puke and everything would be normal again.

But first I just had to . . .

'Eeek! What are you doing? Do you know that this top is an Alexander McQueen original? Its woven from pure fibres that react to oils in the skin specifically the hands! Do not touch!

I wasnt even going to argue the fact that it was hanging off her skin, therefore absorbing oils by the second, because by now there were lots of other bodily juices on my own skin that were probably a lot more unpleasant than a few natural oils! The river running down my back was about to break its banks and cause a very nasty sweat-flood, and lets not even talk about my face and hands.

I dragged in a deep breath, my hand shaking as it reached out again. 'No, you are not real and I will prove it by touching you. I can do it . . . I need to touch you . . . I will touch you!

The thing jumped and skittered off the bed. 'What are you? Some kind of sicko? Some kind of d.y.k.e whacko? Get off me! Im outta here.

For a second the words rattled me. Why would my hallucination be calling me a lesbian? But then why was there a hallucination at all? Shaking my head, I could almost feel the fear drip away and determination take its place. 'Stand still. You are going nowhere till I prove to myself that you do not exist! Right? Till I prove to myself that you are really dead. Stone-cold, laying-in-a-grave dead!

The weird thing was that my words stopped the thing. It spun and strode right towards me, I swear it did. Though if they asked me these questions in the asylum later I would probably deny this part.

'Excuse me! the voice screeched, sounding not-very-dead at all. 'Just who are you calling dead? And what exactly do you mean by that?

'You . . . I mean . . . Oh my G.o.d, I dont know what I mean . . . Because you cannot be real. You cant . . . My voice kind of spiralled into a squeak. 'And yet, youre so pale . . . And youve got a blueish tinge around your mouth . . .

I reached my hand out again. Id aimed for her top the designer one that reacted to body oils but that wasnt what was bothering me. Nor was I bothered by the fact that my fingers were hitting air. No, what bothered me was the fact that those very same fingers were so cold, like they were hovering over dry ice. Then I remembered all the chills Id been suffering for days . . .

That was the moment my second scream hit the air; a scream that outsized the fifteen hundred watts of stereo speakers and a.s.sorted subwoofers in the next wing and brought my dad running. Bare-chested and all.

A scream that for once shook that sleepy grin off his face, and left a totally freaked expression in its place. Especially when we collided in the hall and I added the words, 'JoJos fricking ghost is in my room!

Mimi was staggering behind Dad, but it was after nine pm and her prescribed herbal calmative would have kicked in by now, so shed be no use.

Dad held me by the upper arms. 'w.i.l.l.y-Babe? You having a bad dream? You know, I cant remember that ever happening before. What do I do, Mim? Wake her up?

If I wasnt so freaked I would have reminded him there was a lot of stuff hed missed, but of course so much was spinning through my brain I couldnt have if Id wanted to. Basically I just wanted to get to the now-problem. The one that involved a ghost-type being that was making my heart beat so fast that I was probably going to explode and become one myself any second!

I simply dragged at his hand and raced back to my room.

'See! Its her ghost! Its JoJo!

My dad stared into the room, his head swaying slightly like it always did, and I knew he could see her because his eyes were looking totally s.p.a.ced out; way more than usual.