by Sarah Wynde
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Akira and Zane kayaked.
Eventually.
Akira didn’t see an alligator on their first trip, but she did on their next, three weeks later.
Grace researched ghosts. Or rather Grace hired a researcher, who spent days poring over books of ghost stories and wrote concise reports of everything she’d learned for Grace at the end of every week. Grace brought the reports to Akira and they went over them line by line, Akira highlighting any kernels of information that fit with her experiences, crossing out those that didn’t, and putting question marks by the ambiguous. The question marks always outnumbered the rest.
Akira and Zane played pool. And Halo. Also Skyrim, Mario Kart, Asteroids, Legend of Zelda, and even some Ms. Pac Man.
Grace hired a team of paranormal investigators to come investigate the house. They were thrilled with their energy readings, and excited about the EVP recordings they captured, but their suggestion to Grace that she firmly tell the ghost to leave was met with polite derision from Akira.
“Was your mom the kind of person who would have responded well to that?” she asked. “I mean even before she became a psychotic ghost?”
Zane snorted, Grace sighed.
Akira and Zane went to the beach. They splashed there, and swam at the springs, and floated in the pool in Akira’s backyard, which was only three strokes across, even for Akira.
Grace interviewed mediums.
Of the three she found, two were actually sensitive enough to know when Dillon was around. Akira was impressed. Unfortunately, neither could communicate with him, even with the full trappings of a séance held in an office at GD headquarters.
“I’ve never really understood the séance thing,” Akira mused from an adjoining office. There was no way she was opening herself up to ghostly possession, but she’d agreed to stay close enough that Dillon could attend and she could talk to him. “Why does lighting a few candles make a difference?”
“What am I supposed to do?” Dillon asked. “I don’t see this spirit guide that’s supposed to be talking to me. Do you?”
“Nope.” Akira shrugged. “Maybe just try to knock on wood or something? Let me know when you’re ready to quit,” she added, as she opened up her Kindle. She’d just read a good book while she was waiting.
Akira and Zane went to Disneyworld. Akira screamed on Space Mountain, got wet on Splash Mountain, and shot more aliens than Zane on the Buzz Lightyear ride. They spent the night at the hotel that the monorail ran through the middle of, and watched the fireworks from the restaurant on top.
Grace searched for a priest willing to perform an exorcism. Apparently, though, the modern church required a bishop to grant permission to perform the rites of exorcism, and bishops preferred not to get involved with rumors of ghosts, especially non-Catholic ghosts. Akira was relieved: her memories were cloudy but she had a vague sense that exorcisms posed more risks than benefits.
As spring turned into summer, Akira got less enthusiastic about doing anything outside. She’d known Florida was going to be hot, but she hadn’t expected Florida heat to be so very different from California heat.
“It’s like living in a sauna,” she said, watching the fan over her bed spin. It was so humid that she could almost see the blades of the fan slicing the thick air.
“You should let me get you a new air conditioner,” Zane mumbled. “The one you have is crap.” He was lying face down next to her.
“It’s a rented house. The landlord is the one who has to buy a new air conditioner. Besides, I don’t want an air conditioner.”
He turned his head, opening his eyes lazily. “What do you want?”
Mischief glinted in Akira’s eyes as she answered without looking at him, “Guess.” She loved this game, mostly because he was so good at it. She was sure that quantum physics could explain his gift somehow, but it still felt almost magical when he used it on her.
He reached to touch her hand and she quickly pulled it away. “No touching,” she said, laughing. “You have to get it without.”
“Hmm.” He squeezed his eyes closed and made a show of thinking hard. “Nope, no idea,” he said, as he rolled over, tugging her until she was securely under him, his long legs tangled with hers, his hand stroking up her side.
She let herself be captured, lifting her lips to his, opening her mouth as he took her and tasted, lingering in a long, slow, languorous kiss, before pulling his head back and saying, tone almost startled, “Lemon Italian ice? From Jeremiah’s? For breakfast?”
“Mmm,” she murmured her agreement, eyelashes fluttering open. He felt so good, but it was so damn hot. “Wouldn’t it taste amazing? Cold and tangy and perfect?”
“It would be good,” he agreed, sitting up and looking around for his clothes.
“I didn’t mean we had to go right now,” Akira protested. What was his rush?
“We’re not going.” He grabbed his shorts. “I’m going. You’re staying there. Right there. Exactly like that.”
“Oh?” Akira smiled and stretched, loving the way his eyes followed her movement.
“The only thing better than lemon Italian ice on a too hot day,” he murmured, leaning over her for one last hard kiss, “is lemon Italian ice in bed.”
“It’ll get all sticky,” Akira objected, but not very seriously. She was already imagining his clever tongue cleaning up accidentally-on-purpose drips.
“Exactly.”
Akira laughed as Zane grabbed his keys and wallet from the bedside table. He was so much fun. He had his moments of serious, of course—they’d had a few deep conversations late into the night, although there were certain subjects, like his ghostly mom, that they both avoided—but she’d never met anyone who enjoyed life like he did. Playing with him over these last few months had been amazing, the best time she’d ever had.
“Wait, take Dillon,” she said as he turned to go. “He’s been complaining that we’re getting boring.”
“Okay,” he said agreeably, turning back and scooping up her keys from her dresser. “Back soon.” As he headed out the door, she heard him calling, “Yo, Dillon. Mini road trip, bud.”
Akira shook her head, still smiling. He was so accepting. It must have come from growing up in his family: if your older brother could read your mind and your older sister could tell your future, maybe you just became imperturbable from an early age. Zane talked to Dillon as if he was a physical presence, albeit one who couldn’t talk back, and Dillon loved the company and conversation.
She turned onto her side and looked at the clock. Jeremiah’s was over by the highway, at least twenty minutes away. And Zane might want her to wait right here, but she wasn’t going to spend forty minutes in bed staring at the fan. She’d just do a quick load of laundry, she decided, and maybe make some iced tea.
With the washer running, she put the kettle on to boil, humming softly.
“Now there’s a cheerful sound,” Henry said from his seat at the table. “It’s a fine day, isn’t it?”
“It sure is,” Akira agreed, turning to face him and leaning back against the counter while she waited for the water. She loved chatting with Henry. He was such a kindly presence, always pleasant, always warm.
But her smile faded as she looked at him, really looked at him. Was it the light? She glanced at the window, at the sunlight streaming in. She was usually at General Directions during the day, of course, and Zane was an annoyingly early riser: they were often out of the house by this time. But she’d never noticed the light making a difference to how she perceived other ghosts.
“Something wrong?” Henry asked, noticing her expression and looking concerned.
“No. No.” Akira shook her head, and turned back to the tea. But her hands fumbled as she put the leaves into the strainer.
She could see through Henry. Not a lot, just a little. But he was definitely translucent.
And he’d never been translucent before.
Outside
the kitchen window, she could see the boys, faint and almost transparent, running over the pool as if it didn’t exist, playing in the heat as if it was spring instead of midsummer.
They were faders. Just memories of the people they’d once been.
She glanced over her shoulder. Henry had turned back to his newspaper, the ghostly paper that he read over and over again. And yes, she could definitely see beyond him to the wall on the other side of him.
That meant that Henry . . . Henry was a fader, too.
