Fathom L. Standage (books for 8th graders .TXT) 📖

had been so earnest, afraid, and beseeching. “She looked so desperate. But then again, I thought I was dreaming.” I looked up, as if the answers to all my questions would be written on the ceiling.

“What should we do?”

I looked back at the seashell glistening on my bed.

Keep it safe at all costs. Why, though? What was so special about a seashell with a lamp inside it? The lady had to have been crazy. Maybe on drugs.

“Nothing. It’s probably just a weird novelty lamp.” I opened the drawer in the nightstand and put the clam inside.

“Okay. You still want to go shopping?”

I shook my head a little to clear it. “Yeah, of course.”

Samantha went back to her room. I sat on the bed, staring at the nightstand.

Keep it safe at all costs. I heaved a sigh, got up, and tried to ignore it as I finished getting ready.

Problem was, glowing seashells aren’t easy to ignore.

Shopping: just what the doctor ordered. I needed plenty of distraction to get my mind off the seashell. Why did it frighten me so much? It was probably just a weird battery-operated toy a crazy lady had given me. Still, I couldn’t settle down. Samantha wasn’t much help. She had gotten over the freakiness of this morning faster than a wipeout on a surfboard, so she made fun of me.

“I was just popping my gum, Liv. Get a grip.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just jumpy,” I mumbled, bending to pick up the house keys, which I had dropped trying to lock the door.

“Just because some nut job dropped off a little glowing seashell, it doesn’t mean the world is going to end.”

“That’s not what I was thinking. Don’t blow it out of proportion.”

“I’m not the one blowing it out of proportion.”

“Just forget it, okay?”

Sam quieted. My conscience stung, but I kept quiet. She had forced me into a mermaid costume. She’d shoved me toward every guy we’d come across. She hadn’t been the one in the tabloid pictures—she just got to laugh it off.

We walked toward the nearby shops in silence. But just as we turned the corner to the shops, the flash of red and blue lights drove my bitter thoughts from my mind.

A crowd of people milled around, but neither they nor we paid any further attention to stores or souvenirs. Halfway down the street, where the crowds stood behind police barricades, news vans with big, colorful numbers on them sat haphazardly around the T junction of a side lane. Camera crews filmed the scene, their reporters talking with rapid enunciation into their microphones.

“What happened?” Samantha asked in astonishment.

“I don’t know. Maybe there was a car accident.”

“I doubt it. News crews wouldn’t show up for something like that.”

“They would if it was a movie star,” I said.

“Let’s see if we can get a closer look.”

I was kidding about the movie star thing, but I followed her. We weaved through the crowd, toward the epicenter of the scene.

“No smashed cars,” I said. “There’s an ambulance, though.”

But was it an ambulance? We drew closer and the sign on the side of the huge white van came into view: San Diego City Morgue.

“Whoa, Samantha, someone died!”

“Must’ve been something crazy or the news stations wouldn’t care. I wonder what happened.” We joined the crowd around the barricade. The police attempted to get the crowds to clear, but their efforts failed. Every wide eye stared at the center of the scene where several uniformed people gathered. A man near the edge of the barricade, wearing a gray polo shirt and a badge on his belt talked on a cell phone. He looked like the guy in charge. He seemed kind of familiar, but I couldn’t think of where I’d seen him before.

“Hey,” Sam said to him. “What happened?”

He looked down at us, did a double take, then looked away quickly. “I’m busy right now, Miss. Please clear the area.” He put his phone in his pocket and walked away from us. Meanwhile, a reporter, one hand on a microphone and the other on her earpiece, spoke into a camera nearby.

“…quiet community is shocked by the incident. The body was found in the bushes along this residential street earlier this morning. Authorities say they’re unclear on the cause of death, as there are no visible signs of foul play. The identity of the victim is unknown but is described as a Caucasian female in her mid-twenties with long red hair. She was found carrying only a gallon-sized water bottle. Police are encouraging anyone who may have information on this tragedy to please call the San Diego Police Department.”

“Red hair?” asked Sam.

“Gallon-sized water bottle?” I replied.

She exchanged a glance with me, then looked back toward the huddled group of cops and coroners in the middle of the barricade. I followed her gaze. A break in the group of people revealed a gurney between them, a black body bag on top of it. I placed a hand over my open mouth as numbness slipped down my throat and settled in my gut.

“You don’t think it was that lady, do you?” asked Sam.

“I don’t know. We don’t actually know her. It’s not like we can demand to see her face.” I shivered as dread stole over me. I’d just seen her a few hours ago. “I wonder what happened to her.”

“We don’t know for sure it’s her. It could have been anyone. Lots of people have red hair and carry water bottles.” But the worry in her brow and biting on her lower lip reflected the worry in my own heart.

“Let’s get out of here.”

She nodded in agreement and we hurried away from the flashing lights. We soon found the gift shops, but I stared past the knickknacks, engrossed in my own horrified thoughts.

The image of the body bag remained fixed in my head. What if it was the same woman? Her last act could have been giving me the clam. But why? Why me and why a glowing clam? Who was