CHAPTER FIVE

At breakfast the next morning, my father puts down his steaming mug of coffee and newspaper to tell me that the flights have been booked. It's official – we'll be moving in just under three weeks. I only nod and finish up my food before hurrying out the door, in no mood to discuss relocation plans.

The rain from yesterday has yet to pass, but it's lighter now, and I walk to school without an umbrella, enjoying the feeling of the rain in my hair and on my arms. I take my time, not wanting to face the scene that will surely await me at school. I can already imagine their faces now: some will be horrified, some will shoot me accusing glances and others will confront me with angry faces, ready to tear me apart.

I don't feel ready to face up to any of those right now, and I especially don't want to see the look on my teacher's faces. That's what hurts the most: when those who are here to help don't want to have anything to do with you, let alone give you an education. I'm not wanted anywhere; not at school – not even at home.

When I near the front gate, I lower my head and stare at my feet, praying to get by unnoticed. Of course, it doesn't work, and the whispers drift over to me the second I walk through the gate. I focus on my feet and the sound of rain, drowning out everything else.

"Hey," comes a voice from behind me. My heart rate spikes and I fight to keep my breath even as I come to a halt and turn around to face the owner of the voice.

It's Caden, and I relax instantly.

"Hey," I say, filled with relief. I really hadn't thought he would still want to speak to me after what happened last night. In fact, the moment I saw the report on the news, all thoughts of him and his strange ability to see the spirits – as he calls them – left my mind. He was the last person I expected to see today.

"Are you okay?" he asks, picking up on my mood.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" I say defensively and turn around, continuing on my way to the front doors of the main school block.

He shrugs, matching his pace with mine. "I just thought you'd be unwilling to come to school today since that report on the girl's death broadcasted last night."

I look away, afraid he'll see the self-loathing scrawled across my face.

"It's not your fault, you know? No matter what everyone says, you weren't the one to rob her. It wasn't you who knocked her unconscious in a park in sub-zero temperatures."

I shake my head. "But I'm the reason she's dead. It was the cold that killed her, not the robbery. It's my fault and I deserve everything I get."

"You don't really mean that." Caden looks me in the eye with a hopeful and determined expression, as if he's trying to convince himself as much as he's trying to convince me.

I don't respond, but he gets the idea. I mean every word.

We're walking down the path that runs alongside the lawn when a breeze tickles my arms, leaving a trail of goose bumps. While I'm terrified of what I know is about to happen and what that means for me, a part of me sighs and I think, Here we go again.

The moment another breeze comes, Caden comes to a halt, and as the freezing air sweeps over me, I find myself focused on his paling face rather than the cold.

"What is it?" I ask, hiding my goose bump ridden arms behind me back. I'm not going to give myself away – not yet.

His face fills with light fear as he too starts to shiver, the cold seeping through his thick hoodie. "You feel that?"

I decide to play it safe. "Feel what?" I frown up at him.

"Like it just got twenty degrees colder." Upon hearing his words, something in me jumps, but whether that's because I'm elated, terrified or because I'm hoping that he's in some way like me, I don't know. 

"Yeah, I feel it," I say, keeping the plethora of emotions from my voice.

I don't know how I expect him to respond, but when he starts scanning the surrounding area, I feel disappointed. Surely he has something to say to that?

All this time I've thought that my sudden ability to feel the cold has something to do with my disease – that it is possibly signalling the end of my thirteen years of abnormality. But now I know it can't be that, not if Caden can feel it too.

When I look back at him, he's staring at a single point out on the lawn. I'm tempted to ask what in the world he's doing, but my curiosity causes me to follow his gaze, and I peer off into the distance, searching for the something he's looking at. It's been a few long seconds when I finally spot the man dressed in grey tones, leaning against the school fence on the far side of the lawn. His clothing blends in so well that I looked over that same spot numerous times without even realising he'd been there.

Now, a feeling of fear swirls in the pit of my stomach, even though I have no idea why I'm afraid.

"Who is that?" I ask Caden, masking the trembles in my voice.

He swallows. "He's a ghost."

I don't believe him. At least, that's what I tell myself.

I gaze over at the man again, whose black eyes are fixed solely on us, and a new wave of icy air sweeps over me. This time, I can't hide the shiver that rolls through me, nor can I hide the terror that hangs over my face.

Questions pound at the walls of my mind, but I can't find the words to ask them. The terror holds me prisoner and both me and Caden remain rooted to the spot even after the bell has gone.

And then suddenly, the ghost gets up, takes a step, and disappears.

We're late for class, and so we have to dash down the pathway to our lockers. I head off to history alone, as Caden's locker is in a different part of the school to mine, but when I near the class door, Caden appears at the other end of the hallway.

Being late to class means detention, and I don't really feel like staying back after school with a bunch of people who hate my guts.

We burst into the classroom mere seconds before the second bell goes, signalling the start of class. The teacher gazes at us unapprovingly but says nothing, and looks back down at whatever it is that she was doing. I take my seat near the back and Caden sits at the desk next to mine. When the teacher begins talking, I finally give a voice to the questions in my head.

"Aren't ghost's the same thing as spirits?" I ask, still sceptical. I keep my voice to a whisper, not wanting to get caught by the teacher for talking twice in the same week, especially after keeping my track record spotless all my life.

Caden gives a subtle shake of his head, keeping his eyes focused on his textbook. "Spirits only pass through the living world on their way to wherever it is they go. Ghosts, however, are the souls of those who aren't ready to move on, and so they remain on earth until they fulfil whatever it is that's keeping them here."

I become aware of my face, which I'm positive is displaying my emotions like a power point presentation, and rearrange my features back into a neutral expression. Stunned, I move on to the next question.

"So what does the ghost we saw today have to do with the temperature drop?" I ask, making the connection between feeling the cold and seeing the man on the field.

"Ghosts radiate freezing air, and depending on how long they've been stuck on earth, you can usually feel it if you're within a hundred metres of them," he whispers.

I'm still not sure if I believe him yet. I'm sure some part of me does, but there's a big portion of my mind which thinks he's a loony from the mental asylum. I mean, seriously – ghosts radiating freezing air?

I cast a glance over at the teacher, who is thankfully oblivious to our murmured conversation, before speaking. For now, I'm just gonna pretend I believe him and see where it takes me. "If it was just a ghost that we saw today, then why were you afraid? They can't hurt or kill us, can they? And why couldn't anyone else feel the drop in temperature?"

"I don't know why others can't feel it," he says, and instantly I know he's lying, "but I do know that most ghosts mean no harm. The only problem is that being stranded on earth can take its toll and so they tend to be...troubled, crazy even. Some lose sight of what they have to do to 'move on' and start terrorizing random people. But they can't – or won't – physically hurt anyone. Well, most won't."

"Most?" I parrot weakly. I have to remind myself again that I don't believe him, but the doubt is weaving its way through my thoughts, overtaking my rational mind.

"Yeah. There are ghosts who have purposes, who are – you could say – hired to do specific things by people who are still living. Most of the time, they're hired to kill, and they'll spend months watching their victims, waiting for the perfect time." He stops, and my heart beat echoes loudly in my ears. This is getting ridiculous, I think. Ghosts hired to kill? I don't think so.

But my attempt at assuring myself that this is all nonsense is half-hearted. My whole life has been based around a 'rare undiagnosed disease' – a disease where my insides are as cold as ice and I steal heat from the air to stay alive. Is what I'm hearing now really much crazier than what I've already known for over a decade?

"What do they get in return?" I ask, curious.

"A way back in. There are people out there who can...remove people's spirits from their bodies and put other spirits or ghosts in. So they offer the ghosts life – a second chance."

I suck in a breath, in disbelief of what I'm hearing. Is that even possible?

"Ghosts can kill," Caden says in answer to my original question, "but if they're crazy, they won't know how to, nor will they want to. And you've got to piss off the right people to have a ghost hired to kill you."

I hold my breath as I listen for his next words, knowing instinctively that I'm not gonna like what I hear.

He swallows. "That man we saw on the field today. He...he's been following me for a month." His words hang heavily in the air, robbing me of my ability to speak.

He doesn't need to explain further – I get the idea.

That ghost we saw has been hired to kill him, which can only mean that Caden has pissed off the right people and now they want him dead.