Grave Wrong (Lost Souls Society Book 1)

by Kate Allenton

  Mr. Floyd shot him. The cop fell to the ground, the sight making Ryley’s fingers tremble.

  “You know what to do and where to meet!” he yelled, and they all ran off. She’d wanted to follow her daddy but was tuned into Marty’s memory. Tendrils of electricity skyrocketed through her body from just the touch as she watched his memories.

  She watched as he crossed the road and hopped in his car. She blinked and was in the same warehouse where they were standing. Marty walked through the door, straight into the back room. He crossed to another door and stepped inside a bathroom without pause, where he stepped up on the toilet, flicked his knife, and removed the ceiling vent.

  Her eyes flew open, and she pulled her hand away. Her ice-cold body shivered from the connection. Marty was staring at her as if she’d violated his personal space.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered as the bright light appeared behind him and engulfed him.

  She knew her touch moved the spirits along. It didn’t give them any choice to stay where they were. It was forceful, and it looked as though it hurt.

  “Well, kid, where are they?” Mr. Floyd growled, pointing the gun harder into the side of her daddy’s head, making him cringe and squirm.

  “They’re—” Ryley said when the door behind them busted open. Shouting started, and men with guns ran into the room. Gunfire erupted, and Ryley dropped to her knees and covered her head with her hands.

  When the room got quiet, she lifted her gaze to find her father lying on the ground with his hands sprawled out to the side.

  Mr. Floyd’s white shirt was covered in blood, and so was his white pants with the new gaping hole in the fabric near his thigh. He’d began inching away from the police officers, leaving a trail of blood on the floor. The chill settled into her bones when the darkness sucked her into a void.

  Her father lied that night. He lied to the cops, claiming they’d been kidnapped off the streets. He lied to Eli Floyd and lost his finger. And worst of all, he lied to Ryley’s momma when she’d arrived at the police station to pick them up.

  Ryley lay awake, huddled in her bed with her hands over her ears, trying to block the screaming. Her mother’s high-pitched, angry voice was screeching to the point her voice was turning hoarse. Then there was banging and her mom screaming in pain.

  Ryley slid off the bed and tiptoed to the door. She eased it open in time to see her father standing over her mom huddled in the corner with her arms over her head. Her father’s fist came down hard.

  He held a gun pointing at her prone body. Rage and evil filled his eyes.

  “Stop! You’re killing her!” Ryley screamed as she ran toward her father with a balled fist and pounded on his leg. He shoved her off, and she ran at him again, unable to stop the anger boiling up inside.

  Her mom was trying to stand and holding her bleeding head when he shoved Ryley clear across the room. Her head hit the table and made stars appear in her eyes.

  He picked up the gun again when the door flew open, and Ryley’s brother stepped inside. Tucker looked at their mom first and then Ryley before dropping his things and tackling their dad to the ground with the same force he used on those boys on the football field.

  The gun flew from her daddy’s grip as he tried to fight off Tucker. Ryley scrambled to it, grabbed the gun, and scrambled back in front of her mother.

  Tucker and her daddy threw punches at each other until their dad flipped Tucker on his back and hit him harder. One punch after the next until Tucker wasn’t moving anymore.

  “Stop it!” Ryley screamed through the tears pouring down her face. “Stop, or I’ll shoot you.”

  Her daddy climbed off Tucker, leaving his battered and broken body on the ground.

  “Please don’t come any closer,” Ryley said, her voice shaking along with the grip on the gun.

  “I knew I should have fucking killed you,” he growled and lunged.

  Ryley clenched her eyes closed and pulled the trigger, waiting for the creepy crawlies to come and collect her soul when her father beat her to death. There would be no stopping him this time.

  Her eyes flew open when he didn’t grab the gun from her. He was holding his arm. Blood was seeping down his shirt.

  “I’m sorry, Daddy. Please don’t die.” Ryley dropped the gun, unable to believe what she’d done.

  Her mother picked up the gun and wiped the blood from her lip as she pushed to stand up. “Get out or so help me God, I won’t miss.”

  Her father’s gaze narrowed just as two police officers arrived at the open door.

  “Drop it,” one of them yelled, and her mother dropped the weapon out of their reach.

  “He was trying to kill us,” Tucker said, rolling onto his side and holding his ribs.

  Ryley learned a hard lesson that day. Not only was her daddy a monster, but there was such a thing called witness protection. Ryley would be taken to court and have to tell a bunch of people about how Mr. Eli Floyd shot that poor man in the head. Her daddy and the devil’s spawn had taken more than just her childhood that day. They’d taken her complete identity.

  She, her momma, and her brother were each getting new names, in a new town, far-far away from Mr. Floyd and their daddy, and she had only to tell the truth.

  Well, sort of. Her momma tried to tell her everything would be all right. It was Stretch who’d claimed the opposite. Eli’s mother had followed her home that night, and she’d warned Ryley that if she talked about the ghost, they might consider her the crazy one.

  So, for once, she followed a ghost’s suggestion and walked in her daddy’s footsteps—Ryley lied.

  Chapter 4

  Present Day

  Dying is easy.

  It’s living that’s hard.

  Stretch, the first ghost that had followed Ryley home had once made that comment, and it stuck with her over the years. The meaning was playing out before her eyes.

  The funeral procession was fast. It should have been. Ryley was the only one sitting at the gravesite.

  Nine empty chairs surrounded her. This was a first.

  The deceased didn’t have a single family member or friend in attendance that cared enough to say goodbye.

  What kind of man had Mr. Wilson been? There wasn’t even a single friend to shed a tear.

  The answer didn’t matter. It was too late for the poor bastard to figure out the meaning of life.

  The heat from the sun beat down on Ryley’s wide-brim hat. The muggy air lacked a single breeze. She dotted a handkerchief at the perspiration beading on her neck and fought the urge to tug at the sleeveless black dress sticking to her skin.

  When Ryley died, she would leave the attendees little misting fans to wear and demand an attire of shorts and tennis shoes. The exact opposite of how she’d dressed today.

  Flowers cascaded like a waterfall over the expensive mahogany casket. Too bad the person who’d sent the flowers hadn’t bothered to show.

  The expensive casket was the crème de la crème. Ryley would know. She’d seen them all. The wood box suggested that the deceased had money, or at the very least, had spent years saving and planning for the event.

  Funerals brought out the best and worst in people. The smart ones were thankful it wasn’t them in the box. Those people hugged their loved ones a little longer and tighter.

  The other type knew how to take family squabbles to new heights.

  Poor Mr. Wilson didn’t have anyone alive who wanted to take part. He only had Ryley to witness the last resting place of his mortal remains.

  The minister presiding read a few passages and closed with a prayer.

  Ryley rose and moved to the casket. She rested her hand on the wood and closed her eyes. She was met with a void. No energetic markers of Mr. Wilson’s lingering soul nearby. No pull of a spirit fighting the light. This one had gone home. Ryley smiled and opened her eyes. She rested the white rose on top of the casket and turned to step back.

  A flash in the distance blinded her for a split s
econd—possibly something shiny sitting on top of a gravestone that the sun had hit just right.

  “Ryley, we need to quit meeting like this,” Father James said pulling her attention toward him.

  Ryley knew most of the presiding clergymen. It didn’t matter what religion they represented. Death didn’t discriminate, and neither did she.

  “Father James, that sounded like a pickup line.”

  His cheeks reddened against his pale complexion and graying hair.

  “You’re always a breath of fresh air.” Father James gently squeezed her arm.

  A guy about Ryley’s age dressed similarly to Father James approached. He was a good-looking guy. Strong and tall. He had a peaceful air about him. Something calming and out of place, she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” the Priest’s new assistant said as he neared, leaving the workers he’d been talking to, off in the distance.

  The workers always waited silently in the background, and most of the time out of sight where the head guy would check his watch impatiently like a mother of five waiting on her income tax refund.

  “My loss?” Ryley asked.

  “Mr. Wilson,” he said, glancing at the coffin. “It’s always hard to lose someone you care about.”

  Ryley raised her brow at the new guy. He hadn’t been warned, like the others that came before him. Most assistants steered clear of Ryley, and rightfully so. Most people didn’t know what to say when they learned the truth.

  “I didn’t know Mr. Wilson. I’ve never met the guy.”

  “I…” the assistant stammered. “I don’t understand.”

  “Henry, Ms. St. James, is one of our regular mourners.”

  “Come again?” Henry asked. The perplexed look on his face was one she often met when someone discovered her hobby. Well, not all of her hobbies. She’d be committed to a psych ward if they knew.

  “Everyone should have a witness at the last goodbye, and today I’m here for Mr. Wilson. May he rest in peace,” she answered with a smile.

  Today she was just a witness; other times when ghosts didn’t want to go, she was the two hands that shoved them into the light.

  “You go to funerals of people you don’t know? Why would anyone want to be a funeral crasher?”

  “No one comes into this world alone. They shouldn’t go out that way, either,” she answered. She’d given up on trying to make anyone understand something she didn’t understand herself. But she knew the consequences of trying to deny her gift.

  Henry tilted his head and frowned.

  Ryley liked Father James the best. His prayers and eulogies were on point and with just enough depth that made Ryley feel like she knew every one of the deceased.

  “Today must be a light day, Ryley. There was only one funeral listed in the paper,” Father James announced.

  “The reapers must be on vacation,” Ryley teased

  “Reapers don’t take vacations,” Henry replied beneath his breath.

  Before she could reply, her phone vibrated. Her brother’s name popped up with a text message.

  Call me.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I have family matters to attend to.”

  “Of course.” Father James clasped his hands together.

  Ryley crossed the cemetery toward her car. A weeping woman was bent over a grave. Her gray curled hair matched the collar on her 1840s dress. She reminded Ryley of her grandmother; what she remembered of her, anyway.

  The woman looked like she’d had a good life, even if she didn’t want it to be over. Her ghostly apparition would make any sane person pause if they could see her.

  A child-sized ghost hid behind a large oak tree, peeking at Ryley as she approached. A stone bench sat facing older headstones in the shade of overhanging branches.

  She met the child’s gaze and pointed from her eyes to his and winked. “I’ll be back soon to talk to you.”

  He vanished just as quick as he’d appeared.

  Earth-trapped restless spirits were hard ones to help and often remained in the static if they were lucky to avoid the creepy crawlies.

  Creepy crawlies were no joke.

  Not all souls were ready to quit mourning or fighting for the life left behind just like the one spirit that called Ryley her best friend.

  Catherine Floyd, also known as Stretch, was a constant reminder of the night Ryley’s father almost killed her.

  Ryley slipped into her car and dialed her brother’s office. Janet answered on the first ring.

  “St. James, Thompson, and Davies.”

  The logo on the company letterhead had the initials, STD. Her brother and his buddies hadn’t thought that one through. Or maybe they had, knowing those three. After testifying in a murder trial against her father’s criminal boss, she, her mom and her brother had been sequestered away by Witness protection. Just as they got settled into a new life, her father had found them again and they’d been reluctant to settle into any one place much less make friends.

  Until this town where they’d finally settled and put down roots. It wasn’t a matter of choice. It was a matter of necessity when their mother fell ill.

  Tucker was a popular kid and could fit in anywhere. He’d bonded with his two new best friends over girls and football. All three had gone to college and then law school, even if their reasons had been misguided.

  Making more money meant better arm candy had been the excuse Thompson and Davies used. Tucker’s had been more straight forward. This was his way of fighting the demons from their past.

  “Hey Janet, this is Ryley. Is Tucker around?

  “Sure. Hang on.” The phone beeped twice before he picked up.

  “Hey, where are you?” Tucker said instead of hello. His grumpy voice held a tinge of annoyance, as if someone had shorted him an extra pump of expresso.

  “Well, good afternoon to you too, Tuck. What has your panties in a twist?” Ryley asked with a grin as she started the car and turned her air conditioner on full blast.

  Her brother’s sigh earned Ryley’s grin.

  “You were supposed to be here an hour ago. My client has already left.”

  “Damn.” She cursed beneath her breath, forgetting she’d agreed to a meeting. “Sorry. I had a funeral, and I totally forgot that I promised to meet with your killer.”

  Chapter 5

  “He’s not a killer, or I wouldn’t be helping him,” Tucker said.

  “Yeah, I hear you,” Ryley answered, knowing the aggravation probably deepened on her brother’s face. She’d eventually be the one he blamed whenever he got his first premature gray hair.

  “I told him he could find you at the bar tonight and that you’d talk to him there.” The clicking of computer keys in the background reminded Ryley her brother was multitasking, always working. “And I thought we decided you would stop attending strangers’ funerals?”

  “You decided that. I never agreed.”

  “Ryley, you promised me after what happened last month.” Tucker’s voice lowered to that of an agitated parent whose rules she’d broken.

  “It wasn’t my fault. I can’t help that the husband and the ex-husband threw punches. The lady ghost wouldn’t cross over until they stopped, so I didn’t have a choice.”

  “You’re lucky they dropped the charges after you Tasered them.”

  Ryley could just see the shake of Tucker’s head as he complained.

  “If they wouldn’t have, I’m sure you would have found a creative way to get me off the hook. You know it’s easier on me if I catch the spirits early and move them on. Sooner rather than later means I get to keep all the feeling in my fingers and toes.”

  “Always with one foot in the grave,” Tucker groused.

  “Well, at least there weren’t any creepy crawlies this time.”

  “True.” Tucker chuckled. “So, have you given any more thought to my offer to stay at my house for the next two weeks?”

  Ryley’s heart clenched at the reminder. I
t was always in the back of her mind, like a bad memory she couldn’t shake. The yearly anniversary of when she’d shot her father wasn’t one she could or would ever forget.

  “You know Dad is still out there somewhere. He’ll try to find you again.”

  “So far it’s just been letters.”

  “Ryley, he tried to kill you when you were five. Hell, he tried to kill all of us.”

  “There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t remember that I missed, Tuck. Had I not, we wouldn’t have to be looking over our shoulder every day.”

  “Ryley, there aren’t many five-year-olds who know how to shoot a gun, much less be prepared to pull the trigger when aimed at their dad.”

  “I only slowed him down.” The bullet hadn’t hit any main arteries.

  “It was enough. You saved us; now let me return the favor.”

  Of course, she didn’t kill her dad, but she sure wished she would have. He’d been sending her threatening letters on the anniversary every year.

  The memories of the blood shed still caused Ryley’s nightmares. No amount of therapy could make them go away.

  “I’ll be fine. Besides, I’ve moved again, and I’m not listed in the phone book or online. I’m cautious about keeping off any radars.”

  There was a hesitation. “At least let me send someone to watch you and your apartment. It will make me feel better.”

  “No,” she grumbled, feeling her good mood dissipate as she sat in the parking lot. The blast of cool air from the AC offset the simmering anger bubbling up, just thinking about her psychotic dad. “You ask me every year. What makes you think my answer will ever change?”

  Her brother sighed. “You’re stubborn, but I at least have to try.”

  “Yes, well, I may be stubborn, but I have better aim than when I was five years old. Quit worrying about me.”

  “You should be used to it by now, I’m going to worry about you for the rest of your life. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to run this year like when you were eighteen and stole Mom’s car. Are you ever going to tell me where you went?”