Reach For Me

by Elizabeth Cole

  “The term is drapery. It’s easier to render in wood than in stone.”

  He snorted. “Easy. Sure.”

  “Go home, Mal. I’ll show up when I’m done, ok?”

  “Not too long.”

  “You’re not the boss of me. In fact, I’m the boss of you. Go home.”

  He left, and she heard the rumble of all the guys’ cars starting and then fading down the drive. Then it was quiet.

  She turned up the volume on her phone speaker and returned to work. A little while later, she had to turn on another floodlight. The sun was going down earlier and earlier, and she walked across the hall to a room with a view to the west. The sky was already bleeding into those intense sunset colors—orange, red, purple—gorgeous right now, but only until darkness swallowed up all the light.

  Cara was just turning around when she saw the faint outline of a little girl pass by the doorway. Cara froze for a second, and then moved to follow the shape.

  The girl had just reached the turn in the hallway when Cara got to the door. She went left, and Cara followed.

  The ghost walked, or seemed to walk, all the way to the basement stairs. Cold crept up Cara’s spine, but she pursued the shape down there. She’d been in the basement plenty of times. The crew spent a whole day reinforcing beams in one corner. There was nothing frightening about the basement. Right?

  When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw a filmy shape illuminating the space. The ghost was in the corner of the basement, near the wall close to the large, sagging back porch. It seemed to be looking up, trying to see something. But whatever ghostly powers it had, levitation wasn’t one of them. It was too short to get whatever it wanted.

  “Hey.” Cara tried to sound friendly but forceful.

  At the sound of her voice, the ghost froze and blinked out.

  Cara then heard a strange sound, like a baby whimpering, or a mouse squeaking.

  She walked closer and heard the weird sounds again. Frowning, she decided to find out what was causing the sound and fix it. No way was Cara going to pull late night shifts when the stupid house was squeaking and moaning at random, making even ghosts get out of Dodge.

  She grabbed a stepladder. Beaming her flashlight at the wall, she studied the rough surface and knocked on the crumbling plaster. “Hello?”

  Scratch, scratch.

  What could be scratching like this? Rats? Someone buried alive, trying to claw their way out of a grave…

  “Wow, slow your roll, honey,” she told herself.

  A thin, high-pitched sound emanated from the hollowed-out spot. Cara jumped, nearly falling from the ladder. The flashlight wobbled and caught a reflection where the wall met the joists of the flooring. There was a gap, and whatever was making the sound was on the other side.

  Cara leapt to her feet and stormed up the stairs and out the back door of the house. The night air was cool and dry, a welcome change from the musty, dust-choked atmosphere inside.

  She heard the sound again, high-pitched and pitiful.

  Cara crawled into the space under the porch steps, crouching down to get a better angle. The damn shrubbery was thick as chain link over here. Something smelled nasty too.

  She pulled the flashlight up, but before she could switch on the beam, she saw two glowing spots right in front of her. Eyes.

  Chapter 10

  Cara threw her hand in front of her face to protect herself, and hit the switch of the flashlight to high.

  The bright white beam illuminated a tiny kitten. The glowing eyes squeezed shut and it emitted a mewl of protest.

  “Oh, sorry!” Cara said. The kitten was worse than scrawny. It was starving. Its fur was matted and mud-coated. She couldn’t even tell what color it was. It wobbled as it took a few steps toward Cara’s beckoning hand.

  But there was a deep gouge in the ground here, like a miniature canyon, and the kitten would fall in if it kept coming toward Cara. She beamed the light around and saw that the only safe path was to enter the porch from the short side, way on the end of the house, and army crawl next to the foundation wall to reach the cat.

  Then she beamed the light back to where the kitten sat and realized that the situation was way worse than she thought.

  Bile rose up in her throat. “Hold on,” she told the kitten. “Don’t die. I’ll be right back.”

  She crawled out from the porch and ran down the hill, nearly losing her footing in her haste. She crossed the road and pounded on the front door of the Salem house before she noticed the doorbell. She knocked again anyway. “Mal! Open the door!”

  It seemed like forever before a shadow moved behind the curtained window, and then Mal’s bulk filled the doorway. “It’s not locked. Did you even try the knob?”

  Cara didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “I need cat food and a shovel.”

  He raised his eyebrows but otherwise seemed unmoved. “That sounds dark.”

  “Not for the same cat!” she sputtered.

  Behemoth appeared behind Mal, as if summoned by the mention of its kin.

  Cara took a breath. “I found a kitten under the back porch, and it really needs food, like now, and you’ve got a cat, which means you have cat food, so can you please help me out?”

  “Why the shovel?”

  She closed her eyes at the grisly image she’d seen. “There’s one kitten alive, and some others that…aren’t.”

  “Oh.” Mal cast a glance at the black cat, then back to Cara. “Stay with Behemoth,” he said abruptly. “I’ll be back in a second.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting a shovel.”

  She squatted down to look the cat in the face. “I’m sorry to talk about cat death in front of you,” she apologized. “I’m sorry I have to talk about it at all, actually. Like, what else on this job can go wrong?”

  Behemoth’s tail lashed a few times, and Cara took a step back. “Are you in a bad mood?” she asked.

  “Are you talking with the cat?” Mal asked, reappearing with a heavy shovel gripped in one hand.

  “I asked if he was in a bad mood. And he is. I mean, I assumed based on body language that he is.”

  “Behemoth is almost always in a bad mood.” Mal looked at the cat. “We’re going over there to take care of this. You stay here. No, we’re not discussing it.”

  Cara stood up, realizing that she’d have to confront the scene she’d just left. At least she wouldn’t be alone for round two.

  Cara led Mal around the dark, looming bulk of the house.

  “It was just under here,” she said, pointing to the half-destroyed back porch. She flicked her flashlight on. “We have to go the long way. Let me go first. And watch the branches so they don’t whip you in the face.”

  Cara pursued a tortuous route into the dense shrubbery and then to under the porch itself, moving slowly to avoid getting scratched. Behind her, Mal followed, moving with surprising stealth for a guy built like a bulldozer.

  “Should have brought a chainsaw,” he muttered.

  Once under the porch, the going was a lot easier, though the passable area was really narrow. It looked like years of water erosion took its toll. One more task to add to the to-do list.

  At last she saw the kitten, hiding in the deepest corner. “Hey, I’m back,” she told it.

  Mal scrambled up beside her.

  The tiny kitten wobbled on its feet. “Come on over here,” Cara urged, trying to exude gentleness and love. “You can do it.”

  “Aquí, gatito,” Mal murmured. He was stretched out on his belly to fit under the half-collapsed porch, and he was only inches from her. His voice was mellow and warm, and Cara was distracted from the kitten for a moment, thinking of the last time she’d been this close to any man in the dark.

  “Come on, sweetheart,” Cara cooed, refocusing. “We won’t hurt you. We’re here to help.”

  The kitten paused. Then, with effort, bounded once to reach Cara’s outstretched hands.

  She gently
grasped the ball of fluff, feeling just as much mud as fur. “Ok, I’ve got him.”

  “I’m going to deal with the other ones. Can you shimmy out without the flashlight?” Mal asked. “I’ll shine it to light your way as much as I can.”

  Cara nodded. She carefully extracted herself and her precious burden, crawling back the way she came. On the lawn, she cradled the kitten close to her chest, hoping it wasn’t too late to save him.

  Moments later, Mal emerged from the shrubbery, now holding a heavy-duty garbage bag containing something very upsetting. He picked up the shovel in his other hand. “Come on, let’s get back to the house.”

  “What about…those?” Cara indicated the garbage bag. “We should bury them.”

  Mal shook his head. “Later. We take care of the living before we take care of the dead.”

  He said it like a mantra, or a rule he knew so well he didn’t have to think twice.

  Cara blinked, again trying to realign her assumptions about this guy. “Um, how often do you do this?”

  “Save tiny kittens? Hardly ever.” Mal smiled then, a flash of white teeth against the darkness of the night. “Come on.”

  They returned to the Salem property, but before Cara could walk up the front path, he stopped her. Behemoth sat there like a bouncer, his tail lashing to and fro.

  “Hold on,” Mal said. He bent down right at the edge of the yard, dropping the shovel. Then he took the kitten from her and put it in front of Behemoth.

  “What is this, a job interview?” she asked. “The kitten is cold and starving.”

  “Just wait,” Mal said softly, his gaze locked on the cats. “This is important.”

  Cara was struck by something in his voice, a seriousness that seemed out of place for Mal. Not that she knew him that well. Maybe she wanted to know him better.

  She shifted her attention to the black cat, who was examining the tiny, pathetic lump of kitten with what seemed like extreme judginess.

  Then, just when Cara was losing patience, Behemoth bent his head, took the kitten up by the scruff of the neck, and spun about, heading for the house.

  “All right,” Mal said with a relieved sigh. “Let’s get this orphan cleaned up.”

  In the kitchen, Mal filled the kitchen sink with an inch of warm water and gestured for Cara to lower the kitten into it. “Keep hold of the little guy. I’m not sure how he’ll react.”

  It barely twitched as its paws got wet, and only mewed a bit in protest when Cara started spooning the water over its back, soaking its fur. She rubbed her fingers into the kitten’s coat, trying to loosen the caked mud and the debris that had got stuck to it. The water quickly turned brown, and the kitten slowly grew less brown.

  “I think he’s orange,” Cara said.

  Mal reached for the sprayer, tested the water pressure, and held the sprayer over the cat like a tiny shower. It meowed louder, and started to wiggle more, almost getting free of Cara’s grasp.

  “He’s not loving this,” Cara said.

  “Yeah, he’s too young to appreciate getting into a shower with a hot girl.”

  Cara blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry. Woman.”

  That wasn’t the word that startled her, but Cara was suddenly way too aware of Mal to discuss it.

  Once it was clean, she wrapped the kitten in the towel and gently rubbed him dry. He started purring, and her heart melted completely. “I’m going to call him Pumpkin,” she announced.

  “Good name. Does that mean you’re keeping him?”

  “I want to,” she said, more hesitantly. Keeping any pet was a big responsibility, and she had a lot on her plate already. “I should take him to a vet before I get too attached. Who knows what condition he’s in?”

  “I know a vet who’s really good. Dr. Amber. But tonight, let’s see if he’ll eat.”

  Mal made a disgusting slurry using milk and canned tuna, then put a small amount in a shallow bowl and placed the kitten in front of it. “Behemoth, show him how it’s done.”

  The big black cat was extremely interested in the new arrival, and he took a bite of the food, then waited for Pumpkin to imitate him.

  After a second of sniffing, Pumpkin took a bite. Then another. And another. Then the kitten just jammed his snout into the bowl.

  Cara was delighted beyond words. “He’s eating!”

  “Now he just has to keep the food down,” Mal said. He looked over at her. “Speaking of food, you need anything? I was going to make dinner right when you came over.”

  He was probably hungry, and Cara had distracted him with her mission of mercy. “I’m good,” she demurred. “Remember when I said I can take care of myself?”

  “Sure, but now you have to take care of Pumpkin, so how about you let me deal with dinner? And in the morning I can drive him to the vet.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I know I don’t. I’m offering. Besides, what are you going to do? Skip work? Do you know how to skip work?”

  Good point.

  “Besides,” Mal said with a grin. “I think my boss will understand if I show up late when I tell her I was literally saving a kitten.”

  “Ok, but that excuse only works once,” Cara warned.

  Mal turned the oven on and then started pulling items out of the fridge. “How’d you find the cat?” he asked.

  Cara sighed, unhappy that she had to confront the reality. “A ghost led me to the kittens. The ghost of a little girl.”

  Mal paused. “It led you there?”

  “Well, I saw it out of the corner of my eye and followed it. I don’t think it was deliberate. For all I know, the ghost girl was interested in the dead cats, because maybe there’s ghost kittens there now? Oh, how horrible.” Cara hated the thought of little ghost kittens.

  “It’s pretty rare for animals to be ghosts,” Mal said.

  “You say that with a disturbing amount of confidence. You’re going to have to explain how you know all this.” Cara stood up. “I should bury those poor cats. The sooner the better.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “It’s not your job,” Cara said, feeling like she’d really taken advantage of him. Lord, a tiny kitten and the damsel in distress. “I can handle it.”

  Mal shook his head. “You focus on Pumpkin. I know what to do. If it makes you feel better, I’ll be saying a prayer for them. Santa Muerte is fond of cats.”

  “Who?”

  “Santa Muerte,” he repeated, more cautiously. “Let’s just say Death.”

  “There’s a saint of death? Is that Catholic?”

  “Sort of Mexican and sort of Catholic but also some other traditions and it’s kind of not important now.” He gestured toward the living room. “You could light a candle for the cats, if you want. That’d be good.”

  Cara looked over at the shelf she hadn’t noticed until now. “Is that an ofrenda? Is it for Halloween?”

  “Yes, but it’s year round.”

  She walked over to check it out. The ofrenda was chock-full of pictures and candles and little knickknacks, some of them pretty random. Kwan Yin? An elephant? She looked at the photos, some black and white, some very recent.

  “Your family?”

  “Family and friends, yeah.”

  “Who’s the couple?” She regarded the central photograph in a silver frame.

  “My parents.”

  Cara went still. “Your parents? But they’re so young!” The couple was in costume, as if for a Halloween party. She couldn’t date it by clothes. But Mal wasn’t that old himself. Maybe late twenties?

  “It was an accident,” he explained, not looking at her. “Years ago.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Mal shrugged, obviously not wanting to talk about it. Cara got the impression that whatever happened, it was still raw, no matter how many years it had been. He’d mentioned once, casually, that he’d spent a lot of time with his mom’s side of the family growing up, a statement that took on new
meaning now. He wasn’t just talking about his grandmother as a distant relative. She must have raised him and his brothers.

  Cara lit a candle, thinking of the kittens that didn’t make it. She didn’t feel comfortable praying, since she wasn’t particularly a believer in anything. Although now she knew that ghosts were real, maybe she should rethink her assumptions.

  “Mal? I have questions.”

  “I bet.” He smiled a bit, and it made her feel better to know that whatever had happened to him, he could still smile.

  “What’s real?” she asked. “I mean, if ghosts, then…”

  “Sit down,” he said, indicating the stool by the kitchen counter. “I’ll explain while I cook.”

  She sat, and wordlessly accepted a bottle of beer Mal slid toward her. After a long sip, she said, “Ok. I’ve never believed in ghosts. But that house up there is legit haunted.”

  “Yes. Ghosts are real, and at least one is up there. Possibly more than one, I’m not sure. And ghosts aren’t the worst part of that house.”

  “What’s the worst part?”

  He chewed his lower lip, obviously thinking hard. Just when Cara was about to retract the question, he said, “There’s more than one world. There’s this world, what we think of as the real world. But there are hundreds of others. Call them different realities or dimensions or whatever. It’s like they’re separate, but also all sandwiched next to each other, and sometimes they can overlap, and sometimes things can pass through the barriers between them.”

  “Is this like the Copenhagen Interpretation but with ghosts?”

  Mal frowned. “You’d have to ask Lex. He’s the smart one. And Dom is the powerful one.”

  “What are you?”

  “The tough one.”

  She believed that, after seeing him fight once. But she didn’t like the way he said it, like it was unimportant. “You’re a superhero team? You and your brothers?”

  “Basically. Demon-hunting is the Salem family business. Has been for generations. My brothers and I just made it a bit more like a…business. People get in touch with us and we help them solve whatever supernatural problem they’re having. That’s why Dom is gone now—he’s off to break a curse. Should be back by next week.”