Mary Lindsey - Shattered Souls

Table of Contents

FOR FIG

PHILOMEL BOOKS

A division of Penguin Young Readers Group. Published by The Penguin Group. Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014, U.S.A. Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.). Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England. Penguin Ireland, 25 St. Stephens Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd). Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd). Penguin Books India Pvt Ltd, 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi110 017, India. Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd). Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty) Ltd, 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa. Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England.

Copyright 2011 by Mary Lindsey. All rights reserved.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, Philomel Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014. Philomel Books, Reg. U.S. Pat. & Tm. Off. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the authors rights is appreciated. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content. Published simultaneously in Canada.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Lindsey, Mary 1963Shattered souls / by Mary Lindsey. p. cm. Summary: When a Texas high school student starts hearing voices, she assumes she is schizophrenic like her father, but instead she finds out that she is a Speaker who can communicate with the dead in order to help their troubled souls find resolution. [1. GhostsFiction. 2. Future lifeFiction. 3. SupernaturalFiction. 4. Interpersonal relationsFiction. 5 Galveston (Tex.)History20th centuryFiction.] I. Title. PZ7.L6613Sh 2011 [Fic]dc22 2010044251

ISBN : 978-1-101-53813-5

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I couldnt have asked for a more professional or supportive group to guide me through my first publishing experience than the amazing folks at Philomelespecially Jill Santopolo, who pulled out her editorial defibrillator paddles and shocked additional life into my story. Thanks (also) to Julia Johnson, Ana Deboo, and Cindy Howle for helping to get my novel in gear with their keen observations and smart copyedits. I also owe a special shout-out to the Penguin art department for creating the most beautiful cover Ive ever seen.

This book never would have happened without Wonder Agent Ammi-Joan Paquette. I appreciate your unwavering optimism and confidence in me and your rare ability to deliver the killing blows as skillfully as the roses.

Thank you to my QueryTracker family, especially Patrick McDonald, brainstormer extraordinaire and ever-present shoulder-to-cry-on; to H. L. Dyer, M.D., Carolyn Kaufman, Psy.D., and my sweet sis Suzette Saxton for reading and critiquing countless versions of this story; to my lovely, patient friend Jennifer Hunt, who endured many miles and hours with Lenzi, Alden and me (are you sick of us yet?); to Lynn Lorenz for the lightning-quick, sometimes middle-of-the-night emergency rescues; to Stephanie Pickett for loving me no matter how obnoxious I got; and to Suzanne Semans and the studio girls, who provided more encouragement and enthusiasm than a pep squad.

Most of all, I want to express my gratitude to my family, who endured all manner of inconvenience while I struck out in a new direction. Robert, you kept me laughing. Emily, you kept me going. Hannah, you kept me real. Laine, you kept me happyyou always have. I love you guys.

True love is like ghosts, which everybody talks about
and few have seen.

Franois, duc de La Rochefoucauld, 16131680

ONE

T he voice of a small child called out from somewhere behind me. Please. I need your help.

I twisted around, heart pounding in my ears, and stared at the empty row of bathroom stalls.

I couldnt be like him. I refused.

Flipping on the sink faucet, I splashed water on my face and took some deep breaths to calm down. This was my imagination, nothing more.

The water dripping down my neck made me shiver. I yanked out a few paper towels and dabbed myself dry, then tossed them in the trash bin. Shaking, I rubbed my arms.

Why was it so cold in here? The bathroom had become a freezerI could see my breath. Puffing little clouds, I turned around to check the long bank of stalls again.

Nothing.

Its your imagination, Lenzi, I whispered, trying to calm my heart.

Help me, the voice of the child begged between sobs.

This is not real, I chanted. Im not hearing anything.

Please, please, the voice cried.

Maybe there was someone there?

I walked slowly down the length of the bathroom toward the crying, which was coming from the handicap-accessible stall at the end. It was like I was in one of those slasher films where the characters cant resist finding the source of the scary sounds. Only, in the movies, this kind of thing always happens in the dark with no one around. The girls bathroom was flooded with light, and I could hear students outside in the hallway.

I gently pushed the stall door open, but no one was there. I stepped inside. Maybe someone was crouching behind the door.

The second I let go, the door slammed shut behind me with a metallic bang.

I need your help, the same small voice cried, now from right next to me.

I flinched so hard I smacked my head on the steel stall divider. Fear masked the pain from the lump rising on the back of my skull. There was no one there. I was hearing things, just like he did.

I had to get out. Now!

I yanked the door handle to escape. It wouldnt budge. My fingers fumbled with the lock, but it was stuck. Gripping the handle, I tugged hard.

Oh, my God! I yelled. Let me out!

The main door to the bathroom rattled like someone was pulling on it, and I heard shouting out in the hallway. It was Ms. Mueller, who taught eleventh-grade history. Her voice cut through my terror.

Miss Anderson! How did the door to this restroom get locked?

Too freaked out to even answer, I slapped the stall door with my hands. Get me out of here! The temperature dropped again, and my teeth chattered.

Help me, please, the child whispered in my ear.

I screamed.

Miss Anderson! Open this door! Ms. Mueller shouted from the hallway.

Let me out of here! Please help me. I dropped to my hands and knees and wiggled under the stall door, clambering to get away from the voice. I jumped to my feet and bolted toward the exit. I jerked the handle of the door to the hallway, but it didnt open. I yanked again. Nothing. I twisted with all my strength on the knobstill nothing.

I need your help.

Please, I whispered. Please go away and leave me alone. I slid down the door and curled into a ball, shivering. Clamping my eyes shut, I prayed it was a waking dream that would end any second. That I wasnt crazy. That I wasnt hallucinating like he did.