Haunted Chemistry

by Lindsey Loucks

  He must sense it, too, because he pulls back, his hand at my elbow, and looks down at me with his lips parted. He brushes a strand of hair from my eyes, blazing a trail of heat with his fingertips. “Alexis?”

  His breath sighs over my mouth. My lips tingle. The rest of me aches. “Huh?”

  “I want to—”

  Something crashes from the back of the apartment, a familiar sound that means Tri probably bumped something off the headboard.

  I pull away, my head swimming with the sudden absence of Ian’s touch. “It’s Tri. I have to find him.”

  Tri’s eyes glow in the near dark under my bed, a mix of yellow and green and pissed off. No amount of kissy noises will coax him from hiding. He’s seriously freaked out, poor guy. I can’t blame him.

  Ian stands in the doorway as I push myself up on the bed. One more step, and he’d be inside my room. A flush creeps up my cheeks. My head and body seem to be reacting to Ian in two totally different ways.

  “Is he okay?” he asks. Worry creases his forehead.

  I right the vase on top of the headboard. “I think he’ll live.”

  “That’s good.” He glances around my room, at the overflowing bookcases and the pictures of family and friends on top of the dresser. When his gaze lands on the bed, he bites his lip. It makes me wonder what just went through his head. “I’m sorry about not showing up that night. I’d like to explain everything to you if you’ll give me a chance.” A grimace washes over his face, but he tries to hide it with a quirk of his mouth.

  I have a feeling whatever he wants to tell me has hurt him. Maybe this isn’t a simple case of I-had-better-things-to-do-with-my-time. Maybe we were both hurt that night. It surprises me how much I don’t like the thought of him in any kind of pain. I step toward him and touch his shoulder. “Okay. But only if you have a beer with me.” I could use something to calm my nerves.

  He nods. “I could probably be talked into that.”

  I push him out the door in front of me, using that as an excuse to feel the ripple of muscle under his shirt. He doesn’t seem to mind my hand on his back, but I pull my fingers away before either of us can get used to the connection.

  In the kitchen, I keep an eye on the cupboard as I near the refrigerator. How many times have I opened it and Tri had no problem with it at all? What changed? Nothing inside the cupboard. I don’t have any new appliances that are particularly frightening.

  I grab two beers and hand one to Ian. They’re Elizabeth’s, but she left them behind at our old apartment when she moved out. Ian opens it with his fingers. I’m about to reach for an opener because I’m not as cool as him, when he takes my bottle and opens it for me.

  “Thanks,” I say. “Let’s sit.” I gesture to the table against the wall. It’s close to the cupboard, which fills me with unease, but I want to see if it opens again.

  We sit across from each other. Ian busies himself with spinning the bottle cap, but his eyebrows are bunched together as if he’s trying to find the right words. I stroke off the condensation beading from the bottle while I wait for him to start.

  Tri slinks across the living room carpet so low his belly touches the floor. He lies like a sphinx, front half on the kitchen linoleum, back half on the carpet—his usual spot while I’m cooking. He thrusts his head out, sniffing the air as though he doesn’t trust it. I wish I knew what spooked him.

  “That night was going to be amazing,” Ian says and sits back in his chair. The bottle cap dances under his expert fingers. “I was going to see One Blue Chuck with my lab partner, who happened to be the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.”

  “Wow.” A nervous chuckle trips out of my mouth, and I take a long swig. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he says with a faint smile. He leans forward and cups his hands around his beer. “I got a call from my mom that night. She was crying, and I could barely understand her.” He rubs his hand up and down the top of his buzz cut. “After I calmed her down some, she told me my sister was dead.”

  My mouth pops open. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” He was in pain that night. He’s still in pain from the looks of him, and my selfishness and narcissism made me think his no-show all had to do with me. I shake my head at my own stupidity.

  “We were close, you know? Me and my sister.” A sad smile drifts over his mouth. “We used to watch The Princess Bride every weekend before I left for college. We had the entire thing memorized, forward and backward.”

  I nod. I want to reach out and take his hurt away, but I don’t want to interrupt him.

  “She fell in with a bad group of friends, and drugs just wasted her away. She didn’t have her shit together like I do.” He gulps down half his beer with a few bounces of his Adam’s apple. “When I hung up with my mom, I threw my phone across the room and it shattered into pieces.” He fixes me with his blue eyes and pins me to the spot with how sad they are. “That’s why I couldn’t call you.”

  His words have tangled a knot in my throat. I try to swallow past it. “It’s okay.”

  “I should’ve come by the club to explain everything to you.” He shakes his head. “I wasn’t thinking straight, though, and my mom…wasn’t handling it well. So I went home to her.”

  I reach my hand across the table. “I’m really sorry.”

  He takes my hand and squeezes it. “I spent the summer with my mom just to make sure she was okay. I just got here last night and was planning to stalk you at the bookstore tonight. Which would explain the need for clean clothes.”

  “No need for stalking.” I smile. “I’m right here.”

  “You’re right here.” His gaze searches my face for a long moment, kicking my heart into double time. His thumb caresses mine. He runs his teeth over his bottom lip.

  A powerful urge to kiss him swells through me. The idea pools heat in my stomach. I shift in my chair as I imagine his lips molding with mine, his hands sliding up my shirt, over my breasts. “Maybe we should check our laundry,” I say before my mind takes it any further.

  “Good idea.” He pulls me to my feet, eyes locked on mine.

  We step closer to each other, as if laundry is the last thing we’re thinking about. The room spins with my need, and I touch my hand to his chest to anchor myself to something solid. His fingers graze my elbow and skim up my arm, my neck, my cheek. Every nerve in my body comes alive.

  Thunder booms. Rain starts a steady beat on the roof. The lights dim, then blink back to life.

  I pull away, suddenly grateful for the interruption. We can’t do this, or rather I can’t do this. I’ve already set myself up to be a crazy cat lady. I’m through taking risks with people who will only leave me heartbroken and alone. “We should go before the power goes out.”

  Ian glances up at the ceiling with a sigh. “Right.”

  We step past Tri, who hasn’t moved from his half-in-the-kitchen, half-out sphinx perch. Worry gnaws at my feet, and I stop. I’m not sure I want to leave him alone if something really is in the cupboard.

  “Hey,” Ian says. “There’s nothing in the cupboard, remember? He’ll be fine.”

  I nod. Of course he’ll be fine. He’s a cat. Cat-slash-dog. But animal instincts are better than ours, and his are obviously telling him something’s wrong. “Tri?” He barely twitches an ear at the sound of his name. I purse my lips. “We’ll be right back, buddy.”

  Outside, wind whips through the trees and flings dirt in mad whirls. Stinging raindrops zip through the rumbling clouds and pelt my skin. We dash down the stairs to the laundry room door.

  Raindrops bleed over the red sign. The painted snake scales on the ground float in a small puddle, pushing into one another to form one long line against the edges.

  Ian opens the door, and I follow him through. The lightbulb stutters and buzzes. If it gives out, so will my heart.

  “Alexis?” Ian stops. “The cupboard is open.”

  I curl my fingers into his arm and peer around him. The black mouth of the cupboard
yawns open. “Did you close it?”

  “Yes.”

  A cold dread needles up my spine. “Maybe someone else opened it. Or the wind. It has to be a broken latch, like you said.” None of these possibilities make me feel any better.

  “I’ll close it again.” Ian starts down the stairs.

  I follow, my gaze aimed straight ahead at the cupboard. Boxes are piled inside, some marked Christmas and Books in black marker. Ian reaches for the cupboard door. A deep chill threads through the cracks between the boxes and sweeps goose bumps over my arms. My next breath catches in the air, then slips away into the darkness.

  “It’s so cold.” My voice trembles. I wrap my arms around myself.

  Ian closes the door, and the latch clicks. He secures the padlock and gives it a good tug before turning to me. His eyes widen. “Are your lips turning blue?”

  “P-Probably.” My whole body quakes so much, it’s hard to get the word out.

  He folds me into a warm hug and rubs feeling back into my body. “Come on. Let’s hurry, and then I’ll get you under a blanket.”

  I nod while his promise brings a welcome flush to my skin. He puts a hand at the small of my back and guides me to the washers and dryers. The heat radiating from his strong fingers helps quiet my chattering teeth.

  The washer is finished, but Ian’s dryer still hums. He helps me transfer my clothes to the other dryer.

  I scoop up the last handful and drop it in the dryer along with the stashed dryer sheet in my pocket. “You got to touch my underwear after all.”

  “Not all of it.” He runs a finger across his lower lip and smiles at the floor.

  I dig for the quarters in my other pocket and throw him a wicked grin. “How would you know if I’m wearing underwear or not?”

  His gaze wanders down my body and up again, lingering on my chest. I squirm in all the right places while he takes me in. “Underwear. No bra,” he says.

  I gasp and look down my front. My face ignites into a blush. “You can tell?”

  “I can—” His gaze ticks to the left. The naughty glint behind his eyes fades.

  I spin around. The cupboard door swings open and knocks against the one next to it. The hair at the back of my neck spikes alert.

  “Start your dryer,” Ian whispers, “and let’s get out of here.”

  He must feel it, too, the dread that crawls from the cupboard and speeds through my heart. With shaky fingers, I push my quarters into the slot and start the machine. Something rattles inside like loose rocks. I slip my hand into Ian’s, and we step toward the stairs.

  The lightbulb swings harder in a gust of freezing wind that comes from the cupboard. Another step closer, and the light blinks out. Darkness chokes off my next breath. I crush Ian’s hand. A scream climbs up my throat. The light flickers back on.

  I scream anyway. A pale gray hand grasps the lower ledge of the open cupboard. It’s reaching through the side of one of the boxes. Not out of the box. Through. Like the boxes aren’t even real. Blackened fingernails claw at the wood, dragging the rest of whatever it is forward. A fountain of dirty blond hair spills out of the box next, followed by another hand. Terror nails me to the floor. I can’t look away.

  Ian tugs on my arm. “Let’s go.”

  Just as we reach the first step, the light snaps off again. I cry out. Glass shatters and rains onto the concrete floor.

  Ian trips up the stairs. That thing, it’s behind me. A rush of icy air glides fingers over my back. Something snatches my foot, and I fall. My knee smashes into the stairs. An iron grip clasps my other ankle and yanks me to the bottom of the steps.

  “Ian!” But he’s already there, pulling on my arms. I kick out with my free leg and connect with something solid. The grip around my leg loosens, enough for Ian to heave me to my feet and push me in front of him. We’re almost to the top. Lightning flashes and reflects its brilliance in one of the remaining glass squares in the door. I see my face, then Ian’s, in the reflection. But nothing over his shoulder.

  I rip open the door. As soon as Ian throws himself out, I slam it closed again, then take his hand and race for my apartment.

  It’s pouring. Wind bends the rain into a diagonal sheet. Ian shouts something, but the storm drives his words back into his mouth. Rain stabs cold needles into my skin. I’m drenched before we reach the stairs.

  The storm has thrust the evening into night, and even in the glow of nearby apartment lights, it’s hard to see anything. I glance over my shoulder anyway to see if that thing is chasing us, but the rain blinds me. I race forward by touch alone. The slick banister, the vibrations of the metal staircase, and Ian’s hand in mine all convince me I’m headed in the right direction. When I think I see number twenty-six on a door, I blink the rain from my eyes and unlock it.

  A terrible yowling and hissing comes from inside. The sound sends a violent shudder through my bones. “Tri!” I sprint into the kitchen, Ian at my heels.

  A girl. A girl with filthy blond hair. She’s leaning out of the open cupboard. Her hands are wrapped around Tri, who’s clawing and fighting and biting. She jerks him to her chest and turns her head toward us. One milky blue eye peers through the dirty curtain of her hair while she drags herself and Tri into the cupboard. The door slams shut behind her.

  Tri’s gone. The silence and his absence kick into my stomach, doubling me over. But instead of buckling to the ground, I’m running forward. I tear open the cupboard. Behind all the appliances is a large hole, and behind that is a tangle of pipes over a brick wall.

  “Tri!”

  A faint meow answers my call from deep inside the hole. I heave a choked cry and fling a toaster and blender out by their cords.

  Ian’s by my side, tossing everything out, then he climbs into the cupboard and peers into the hole. “Do you have a flashlight?”

  I nod and search the hall closet for one that works. What just happened? Did a girl really just crawl through the cupboard and take my cat? A sob shakes through my shoulders. Tears slide down my face, mixing with the rain that streams down my body and puddles at my feet. I hand Ian the flashlight, and he shines the beam down into the hole.

  “I can’t see a thing,” he says. “It’s too dark down there.”

  “We have to go to the laundry room. The cupboards,” I say between sobs, “they must be connected somehow. That girl…”

  Ian climbs out, face pale, eyes wide, and folds me into his arms. “Who was she? Have you seen her before?”

  I crumble against him, but there’s no time to mourn the loss of my best, most loyal friend. I pull away. Tri would never willingly abandon me, and I would never abandon him. “I don’t know who or what she is, but she can’t have Tri.”

  “I think I know what she is, but we have to be sure.”

  “What is she?”

  He pulls a phone from his back pocket and taps his fingers across the keys. “A ghost.”

  “What?” The logical part of me screams there’s no such thing as ghosts, but the broken, Tri-less part demands I listen. Besides, what else could climb through boxes and disappear through cupboards? “What would a ghost want with a cat?”

  “Life force.” He shakes his head at his phone. “The more they feed on, the stronger they’ll get.”

  Life force. Does that mean the girl is going to kill Tri? No. No, no, no. I can’t think that. Tri is the only thing I can depend on to be there for me. A cat taught me to trust again after Mom, Ian, and Elizabeth left. Sad, but true. Ghost or no ghost, I have to get him back. I fist my hands and glare at the cupboard. “I’m going down there.”

  Ian grabs my wrist. “Alexis, wait. We have to be sure the girl’s a ghost.” He shows his phone to me. “That’s her, right?”

  A picture of a blond girl fills the screen, maybe just a few years younger than me. Her eyes are a dark blue and filled with sadness despite her half smile. The caption underneath reads “Reagan Chain, age 18.” “I think so,” I say.

  “The newspaper archives show t
hat she was murdered in 2009. Her body was hidden inside the basement of…” Ian’s gaze tracks over the screen again and again. “Inside the basement of Heartland Apartments.”

  My stomach rolls. I press a hand to my mouth. The kitchen walls press in. The cupboard in the laundry room is where she was hidden. It makes sense. I knew it when I first saw those cupboards. They’re perfect for stashing bodies in. I choke on a gag.

  “Richard Donovan, later accused of Reagan’s murder, was found dead inside…” Ian stares at me, eyes wide. “His kitchen cupboard.”

  Everything clicks into place. I shrink away from the open cupboard in my kitchen. The murderer Richard’s old kitchen.

  “Apartment twenty-six,” we say together.

  “It must’ve started out as a vengeance thing with Reagan, then it morphed into gaining more power from people’s life forces because…” Ian glances at me, his forehead wrinkled.

  “Because what?” I ask, not at all sure I want the answer.

  He winces. “Because in June 2011, another girl was found dead—”

  “Inside her kitchen cupboard,” I finish for him and swallow. Of all the apartments to rent in Lawrence, I had to choose one haunted by a serial killer ghost. And one that a corporeal killer had lived in. Just my luck. No wonder the girl at work gave me an odd look when I told her I moved here in July. No wonder the rent was so cheap. But this is where the haunting ends. Right here, right now.

  “Friends said this girl was doing laundry, and then she stopped texting them.” Ian blinks up from the screen, the light casting a strange glow over his face. “It must start in the laundry room then, and when someone from apartment twenty-six goes down there…”

  “I’m never doing laundry here again,” I say through gritted teeth.

  Ian stashes his phone in his back pocket. “At least now we know Reagan’s not a demon.”

  “What?”

  “After my sister died, my mom thought she was a ghost. She wasn’t, but I did a lot of research on ghosts and demons to make sure. It was my mom’s grief. Guilt, maybe. She was haunted by all of it. Not my sister.” He frowns. “My mom wasn’t ready to let go.”