I darted inside the diner, scurrying past customers, headed straight to the far back booth. I scooted into the seat with an irritated huff. I rested my head on the cool table and closed my eyes. My heart was beating erratically.
I was crazy believing an eighty-something-year-old woman’s tall tales about a stupid ghost. Then how the hell did she know about the faceless boy and the ring? How did Ms. Noel know about my life? She seemed to have this sick sense. Yeah, I meant sick. I had a hard time swallowing her far-fetched beliefs. What did I know? I never fretted over my lost soul or bothered putting faith in a God that I’d never met.
Then I recalled Ms. Noel rambling about some vile family coming for me. I found that hard to believe. I was a girl pushing newspapers. What would be the poi
