Rebel Spirits Read Online Free Page B

stream. Heavenly. The creek’s so pure and clean that I can see every movement of my face. I stick out my tongue, cross my eyes, suck in my cheeks.
    Then I see another face.
    A handsome, familiar one. The same face I saw in the Skype video feed.
    I whip around, and there’s no one behind me. What is the story here? Am I going crazy? I feel a … how do I describe it? A thickening of the air behind me. Dumb, Lori. What are you thinking? Air isn’t thick.
    Okay, a density? A vibration? It’s like a magnet has drawn a zillion molecules into something invisible. Something that has a face that reflects in the water.
    “Who are you?” I whisper, not that I expect an answer. “Are you a Battle reenactor?”
    Silence.
    “Who are you?” I repeat. “Because you’re really spooking me.”
    And then I hear it: a reply, hovering in the air just over my head.
    “I am Na-than-iel-Pierce.”
    My imagination playing tricks again? I whistle for Gertie to come for protection. She scrambles out of the creek and shakes off water in a wide arc. The reflection in the creek disappears as the air behind me slackens off. Whoever it is doesn’t like to get wet, or doesn’t like dogs. Gertie sniffs the ground and yelps a little, but she’s no guard dog, just curious.
    “Is that your name?” I call out, still looking in the creek. “Nathaniel Pierce? Why are you doing this to me? Tell me right now.”
    No answer. Well, did I expect someone who isn’t there to answer? But he did give me his name, and he knows mine.
    Holding Gertie’s wet body like a shield, I get real brave. “Okay, if you’re not a reenactor, if you’re a ghost or something —I can’t believe I’m saying this — you might as well let me see you. This hide-and-seek isn’t working for me.”
    The dense air shimmers. Right in front of my eyes, the molecules — or whatever — form themselves into a shadowy image. A young man, maybe two years older than I am, wearing that same blue visor cap. For one crazy moment I think he’s my mirror reflection. I reach up to see if there’s a cap on my head.
    He’s still in that ragged military uniform, which maybe used to be navy blue, and one scuffed boot. The other foot’s bound in filthy rags. His eyes capture me; obsidian-black pools. His lips move, but no sound comes out. Is he mute? Am I deaf?
    Gertie sits peacefully on my lap, soaking me to the skin. She doesn’t seem to see the boy at all. This is weird beyond disturbing, and yet something tells me it’s okay, that I’ve been down this road before.
    “Why are you here, Nathaniel Pierce?”
    Gertie looks up, but realizes I’m not talking to her.
    The soldier’s heard me. He shakes his head from side to side, me following those black eyes. He turns all the way around. That’s when I see the torn fabric and dried blood of a gaping hole in the middle of his back. As if someone had aimed for his heart.
    My own heart thuds, then sinks. Ever since the crystal-ball scare, I’ve tried to be a rational person, so I scan through possibilities. Theory One: He’s really that gardener kid, Evan, in a wig and vintage uniform, playing a nasty trick on me. Evan seems like the kind who’ll do anything for attention.
    But no, the truth’s in the eyes. This guy has those black, mesmerizing ones. And — whatever he is — he sends a warm feeling through me. My face flushes, as though there’s a strong tug between us. The lawn-mower guy just makes me smile at his cute arrogance.
    Theory Two: Nathaniel Pierce is a ghost, and I knew him in a past life. How bizarre is that? I don’t believe in reincarnation. This is my first time around, for sure, and my last. Come on, if I’d lived before, wouldn’t I have picked someplace more exotic for my next life than Gettysburg, Pennsylvania? I mean, really.
    Okay, new theory. Maybe he’s just a disturbance in the atmosphere. Weather patterns can do all kinds of crazy things, right?
    Yeah, but what about the wound in his back? I