Page 51 of Waysider
As she went through the motions of helping her roommate, Cass’s mind began to race. Instead of her humiliating rejections, she just kept feeling the girl’s death. She didn’t care about Sinister and Teddy, Cass decided as she dabbed at Finch’s damp cheeks with a washcloth.
She didn’t know the revenant’s name, or what the dead girl wanted, but one thing had become abundantly clear.
Cass was being haunted.
On Monday morning, Cass walked into Hauntings 101 with hunched shoulders and a heavy heart.
Campus was buzzing with the news—the Chapel Victim had been officially identified. Her name was Karen Watkins. She’d been a student at Else & Bellows, a Pennyseeker on the verge of graduating when she disappeared. Foul play had been suspected, but no evidence was ever found.
Until now.
Cass felt like shit. Not just because she’d spent the past two days holed up in her room, afraid of encountering Karen’s traumatized revenant again, but because of the dreams. Or, more accurately, the nightmares. The few times she’d actually managed to fall asleep, Cass had kept jolting awake, clawing at her throat.
Cal had been there every time. He’d refused to leave her side after he witnessed the first one, and for the rest of the weekend, her twin watched her the way he used to watch her. Back when everything was fresh and awful, and Cass was drowning in the pain. He looked at her as if she were broken. As if she were hurting him.
Cass loved her brother, but her room was too small for the two of them. By the time Monday came around, she was almost relieved to leave for class. Then she’d reached the paths and started hearing all the conversations, the whispers, the tears. Crossing campus had been hell. It had taken everything Cass had not to turn right around and go back to Wayside.
“I hope she was able to move on,” she heard a girl say as she passed, walking down the center aisle of the classroom. The girl sniffled and leaned against her friend, who rubbed her arm comfortingly and made a sound of agreement. The rose pins on their blouses glinted—Dreamwalkers.
Cass slid into her usual chair on the far side of the room and thought about those big hands wrapped around her throat. She remembered the man’s strength as he squeezed tighter and tighter. Yeah, she didn’t think Karen was doing much moving on. Cass felt her heart accelerate and shied away from the memory, focusing determinedly on the textbook in front of her. Relief expanded in her chest when Professor Harkens swept into the room a moment later.
Professor Harkens was one of the senior teachers at the school, according to Sinister and the intel he’d given Cass on Friday night. Unlike Professor Green, who practically vibrated during her lectures, Professor Harkens was a force of calm. She reminded Cass of Headmistress Crane in how she spoke, her tone always firm and impassive. Cass supposed you sort of had to be detached, when you were filling your head with so much death and tragedy. Professor Harkens was like an encyclopedia of every terrible event that had ever occurred in the world.
“Today we’re going to talk about the reasons revenants get tied to sites or people,” she told the class by way of greeting. As the professor rummaged through her bag, her cool eyes moved over each of them. “There are six. Can anyone tell me the most common one?”
Hands shot in the air, and Professor Harkens pointed at a guy in the front row who’d used way too much hair gel that morning. “They died as a result of a traumatic event,” he declared.
“Very good.” The professor set a book on the desk and flipped it open. Cass caught a glimpse of neat handwriting on the page. “Events such as?”
Hair Gel Guy fell silent, and a girl near the middle spoke up. “Murder or suicide.”
“That is correct, Miss McDonald. What is another reason that prevents the dead from moving on?” Leaving the desk, Professor Harkens put her hands behind her back and started to walk down the center aisle. Her heels made a no-nonsense sound against the wooden floor.
“The revenant has unfinished business,” a boy from House Timekeeper volunteered.
“Thank you, Mr. Morrison. It should be noted that ‘unfinished business’ is a loosely-defined term. Documented Hauntings have proven a revenant’s unfinished business can range from an undelivered letter to a dream unfulfilled. As with most cases, it’s entirely contingent upon the individual revenant. What else?”
A student with blond ringlets and an Airweaver pin spoke up. “The revenant doesn’t realize they’re dead.”
Another nod from Professor Harkens. “This is common if the death was sudden or painless. These revenants also seem to be more prone to devolution, resulting in the violent or strange forms we’ll be discussing later in the semester. Does anyone know the fourth cause of a revenant?” she asked.
“The revenant is emotionally connected to their loved ones,” someone behind Cass answered.
Their teacher reached the back of the room, and everyone else turned in their seats to watch her. “Another widely-known phenomenon,” she agreed. “This is a tether we often see portrayed in media, and there is some validity to it. The bonds to our friends and family are powerful. However, it is not always love that causes a revenant’s energy to attach to someone. It can also be anger, or even hate. Unfinished business can coincide with an emotional connection, which makes untethering even more difficult. What is the fifth reason someone might resist moving on?”
There was a pause. Professor Harkens waited patiently, still standing with her hands behind her back. Eventually a voice piped from the edge of the room, “Fear of the other side.”
“Yes, very good. Many people believe judgment waits in the afterlife. A deep-seated terror of the unknown can also be a factor.” Professor Harkens scanned the room again, and her gaze landed on Cass. She felt her heart sink at the same moment the professor said, “Miss Ryan. Can you tell me the sixth and final reason that keeps a revenant in limbo?”
Cass felt the others looking at her. She lowered her gaze to her notes, but she didn’t need to read them to know the answer. “The living can’t let go,” she said.
“Excellent, Miss Ryan. You’ve obviously done the reading.” Professor Harkens shifted her focus to the next row and kept walking. As she started talking about Wednesday’s quiz, Cass absorbed the warm, fluttering sensation inside her—pride, she realized. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten praise from a teacher.
After that, Cass barely heard the rest of the lecture, and the next thing she knew Professor Harkens was saying, “Class dismissed.”
There was a collective burst of movement as everyone rose from their chairs or started to gather their belongings. Cass put her books away, pulled her jacket on, and threw her bag over one shoulder. The rest of the class began to file out the door, but Cass lingered at her desk, hesitating. After a moment, she forced herself to move into the center aisle and approach the woman at the front of the room.
“Professor Harkens?” she said.
