* * *
Hours later I woke abruptly — startled because I hadn’t expected to fall back asleep.
Someone was tapping at my door. The journal! I had to hide it. Shoving it under my pillow, I called out, “Who’s there?”
“Who else?” Angie said impatiently as she strode in waving a sheet of paper. “I brought your schedule. It’s almost time for your morning swim.”
Schedule?
Alarm raced through me as I realized what would be on that printed sheet after the routine things like swimming, exercise, and lunch. There would be a notation about tonight’s society reception — where I had promised to dance with Congressman Donatello.
But I couldn’t go. In my dream conversation with Grammy, she’d said I had to be close to my real body, in the hospital, at six o’clock. Not at some fancy event. Or Leah would never get her second chance, and I’d be stuck in her body forever.
“I’m not feeling well today,” I faked to Angie.
“You don’t look sick.” Angie regarded me skeptically.
I nodded, sinking into my pillow. “I ache all over,” I said with a dramatic groan. “Could you tell my father that I won’t be able to go out tonight?”
Angie frowned. “I’ll tell him — but he won’t like it.”
“I know … sorry.” I coughed for effect. “But I can’t help being sick.”
“Jessica shouldn’t have pushed you into helping her yesterday.” She switched her suspicion to concern. “You needed more time to recuperate. I’ll have Luis fix you up some hot chicken broth.”
While I waited for her to return, I watched old reruns of
Thinking about this gave me an idea, so I pulled out the journal again and wrote on a blank page in the back.
I skimmed the list again, smiling as I imagined Leah reading my words and (hopefully) taking them to heart. Grammy said that Leah had already spent some “heavenly” time reflecting on her life. I hoped she’d figured stuff out and would treat her friends, family, and herself better.
As I shut the journal, another paper fell out. Not one paper, but several stapled together. The cover sheet had business letterhead from Congressman Donatello. I expected it to be a letter to Leah, but it was to Mr. Montgomery. Nothing exciting. Only a blah-blah boring “thank you for your generous donations” letter. The attached papers looked like the ledger I made in accounting class. I’d always liked how the debits and credits made tidy rows and balanced out figures. But these figures were confusing: rows of percentages, amounts and long number sequences connected by dashes.
The numbers triggered a memory, but I couldn’t place it. The oddest thing was that on the top of the second page was the name “Leah Ashland,” followed by a series of numbers. I knew from Leah’s driver’s license that her middle name was Ashland, but something about this bothered me.
There was a sound at my door.
Quickly, I tossed the papers back into the journal and hid the journal under a pillow — just as Mr. Montgomery strode into the room.
His scowl was my first clue that he wasn’t happy.
“I heard you’re sick?” he asked suspiciously.
I nodded, coughing and trying to look ill.
“Rather convenient timing, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know—” cough, “—what you—” cough, cough, “—mean.”
“Nasty cough.” He bent over the bed, studying me. “You don’t look sick to me. You look lovely … positively glowing with health.”
“But I feel awful.” I added more coughs and rolled my eyes as if I might pass out.
“Sounds serious. So serious I think we should bring in a doctor.”
Doctor? Oops … not part of my plan.
“I–I just need to—” small cough, “—rest a while. But I’m sorry about the dance. I don’t think I’ll have the energy to go.”
He reached out to touch my chin so that I had to look in his eyes. “Oh, I think you will.”
Afraid and dizzy, I stared at my white knuckles clutching the blankets. My chin throbbed where he had touched me, and when I rubbed the sore spot, my fingers came away with a sticky cream-colored smear. Makeup.
“Ohmygod!” I gasped at his hand’s shadowy aura. “You really are a—”
“A what?” He sounded amused.
“A … a Dark Lifer. You’re wearing makeup to hide your hands.”
I expected him to lie, but he merely shrugged. “So what? It’s your fault, you know. Your glow brought me here. I was enjoying the lecherous body of a security guard at the hospital when I sensed your delicious energy. I became your father to get close to you.”
“Well, get out of him!”
“Not quite yet. When I switched into this body, I tapped into your father’s memories. He’s not a very nice man — which I’m enjoying.”
“You’re not my father!”
“Who would believe you?” he asked. “I can make your life miserable if you don’t obey me. So be a good girl and let me touch your sweet glowing skin. I thought you had stopped glowing, but it’s back again … so irresistibly.”
“Stay away!” I tried to hide behind my pillow. “Don’t touch me!”
“You can’t stop your dear old dad,” he threatened. “I control you.”
I couldn’t get to the door without getting by him — and his cocky smile showed that he knew this. He was playing with me, like a spider spinning a web around a trapped fly. Suddenly he lunged for me. I rolled across my mattress and jumped up — but found myself in a corner. Nowhere to go.
Trembling, I clasped my arms behind my back — and with all my heart — I touched my rainbow bracelet, turning it twice, then once, whispering the lucky chant, then kissing it.
“Come kiss your dear old dad.” The Dark Lifer reached out ominously. “Come closer, sweet Leah. I’m tired of games and can’t wait to—”
But before he could finish, there were two bright flashes. Two translucent figures solidified into a man and woman in business suits. They appeared ordinary, except for the fact that their feet didn’t touch the floor and ropes of silver draped over their arms.
The Dark Disposal Team! Thank God (and grandma).
“Stay Away!” the Dark Lifer posing as Mr. Montgomery shrieked.
“We’ve been searching for you for a long time,” the woman said, smiling.
“Noooo!” The Dark Lifer threw up his hands protectively. But the two figures advanced, casting coils of silver
