No matter how I rationalized, the thoughts haunted me. Another ghost for my collection. What-ifs threatening to tear me apart as my mind turned them over and over again like playing cards. Each one promised something more. Something fouler. Crueler than I could bear after everything.
A chill passed through me. Up to the elbow, Rory buried his arm inside me, pulling it free when I looked down at it. "Stop panicking. It doesn’t help."
"I’m a guy - haunted by actual ghosts - going back to a haunted manor to see if I can get in contact with...ghosts." Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I sighed. "Can you even interact with physical objects?"
Gritting his teeth, Rory swiped his hand across my desk. Nothing moved. Not even a single paper fluttered. "Maybe your friend is actually psychic."
"You were standing right beside me, and she didn’t seem to be able to see you," I pointed out.
It would be easy enough - wouldn’t it? To see Rory if she could have. Cheyenne hadn’t said a thing though. Nobody had noticed Gray either. Only me. Otherwise, they would have said something.
"Or she thought you’d think she was insane?" Rory suggested. "If you couldn’t see me, what would you think if she had mentioned a strange guy following you around? I mean, obviously, I look pretty fly, but you already think she’s annoying. Crazy is just a step away."
"You’re making this more than it is."
He cocked a brow, crossing his arms over his chest. "And you’re crazy if you think some board game is the way to talk to Gray."
"Then what would you suggest?" I demanded. My fingers curled into fists as I glared at the phantom. Paler than when he first came, Rory stared back. His nails clawed at his forearms through the leather of his jacket. "Not like I can just call him up."
"Maybe if you slept -"
"When I sleep, I either don’t see anything, or I’m jacked by that gaslighting lunatic."
Madness circled in his eyes. Like sharks, the insanity loomed closer, smelling the blood in the water - released, leaking from him until he would return to the man I had first met. The monster who writhed, tethered and bound in stained white canvas.
My stomach rolled. Churning in my guts, it urged me back. The same nerves alit beneath my skin. A flare of panic. Run-run-run, my mind screamed, but I held my ground, staring him in the eyes. Holding onto the man behind the madness. The man who had died trying to save Gray. Just like I would.
"Do you honestly think she could see you?" Spoken aloud, the words hung between us like frost painted on a glass. Somehow emphasizing the gap between us - living and dead.
Bowing his head, Rory retreated. He stumbled back into himself until the back of his legs nearly touched Tom’s bed, but the opposing sides of a magnet, he bounced away, repelled until he collapsed upon my own. Electricity coursed, pulsating in the air. Leather jacket - straitjacket - hands clawing at his forearms - hands hidden by thick white fabric, stained from inside out with rusted red. Black lines gathered up around his neck. Ink stains climbing, animated serpents made of half-formed runes - too strong to be born of temporary measures.
"Maybe."
I didn’t believe him. He didn’t believe him. His eyes shifted back and forth. A strange waking sleep, but the longer I watched, the less he seemed to see me.
"Rory?"
No response.
A monstrous shadow loomed. Where no glass stood, a divider formed between us, and though my mind knew it couldn’t be real, I had no way to fight against the way it bloomed, taking every inch it could to push me back and silence the yawning fear clawing its way to the surface of my mind.
Then he seized.
His body tensed. Teeth slamming together as the muscles in his jaw jumped. Left and right, he rolled, shaking and sinking. Vanishing into the mattress below as if vanishing through a portal to another world.
"Rory!" I screamed, throwing myself forward - through the barrier that didn’t exist to reach out - to grab at his body. No other thought than to roll him onto his side. As if he might choke. As if he could die again. "Rory! What’s going on?"
His pupils constricted to pinpricks. The smooth curls of his hair matted, knotting around each other as he clawed. Tears poured down his face. Rivers formed through dirt which hadn’t been on his face before, and when my hand touched him, cold burned at the tips of my fingers.
How could someone like you save anyone? You can’t even save yourself. Look at you - the world was better without you. Your brother - you’ve seen him - look how much happier he is without you? Better without you. Stronger. Happier. You just brought him down.
Soft and deep and endless, the voice spoke - words shifting in the shadowy cold which gathered like a blanket around Rory’s form. Sending a fog of cold dread - tension to pain. Out of the dark, a man formed. Leaning forward. Looming. Hands steepled - pressed against his lips. The long coat of his gathered about his knees, shifting even as he stood still. Silhouetted, he pulled away. The sharp ridge of his nose - gentler than I might have expected. A slope which seemed almost spritely in its upward turn, but the way those lips pressed, quirking toward one side as he shifted, the darkness stared right into me. His tongue traveled the course of his bottom lip. Smirking. Meeting my gaze and dragging me inside the darkness of his empty soul. A black hole. Empty and hungry and feasting.
Hello, James.
Turning to face me, he tilted his head back, showing off the scars across his throat. Lumps and curving bumps - like someone had cut and cut, but unable to stop him, they finally held him down, pressing and squeezing until his throat collapsed, vocal cords and trachea smashed, and now he stood here. Haunting me. Haunting Rory. Tormenting a ghost.
Such a pleasure, I’m sure. We haven’t yet met, but I’m quite the fan. Rather impressive - all this mess. Few handle such stress well. How have you been feeling? You look…tired.
And I felt it. The weight of exhaustion fell upon my shoulders, heavier than it had already been until my knees buckled, but my fingers held fast. Knuckles white as I curled them into Rory’s jacket as he stilled, panting and paler than the phantom had ever been.
"Get out!" I commanded. "You aren’t welcome here."
Tilting his head, the new spirit smiled softly. As if he cared. Gently. Kindly. Why did he look like Gray in that moment? Not everywhere. His hair - pale blonde - grew long on top and kept short upon the sides. Slicked back, his hair fit better on a model than on a doctor - even one as monstrous as this. He looked too young - too modern to be a ghost from the manor, but when he moved, the air rippled, showing something darker underneath. A shadow of a man. Darkness curling like smoke. For all the youth of his face, Dr. Carreau’s age shows in his eyes. Bits of chipped ice. Muddled and too pale a hue.
Unwelcome? But you invited me?
When I lunged toward him, my hand outstretched, the shadow of his existence shimmered, and an implosion stole away his face, leaving over the shadow.
If you insist…
And fingers wrapped around my wrist. Rory rolled, curling around my hand and groaning. "He’s not gone. Not really."
"Well, maybe Cheyenne can banish ghosts," I grumbled.
He weighed nothing, shifting between standing and sinking through the arm where he leaned on me. Grabbing my coat, we left the room behind, but the chill remained. The weather taunting me.
"As long as I’m around, we can’t - you can’t…" Rory panted, his breath unnecessary and invisible even as white mist curled from my lips. "He’ll be back. Carreau always knows where I am."
"How about some holy water? Salt?"
His bright eyes jumped to meet mine. "None of it worked. There was a priest who came around on Sunday afternoons. Offered service. I asked - but he couldn’t do anything. None of the prayers helped." His lips quirked into a rueful smile. "Maybe I didn’t believe enough."
"Guess I’m screwed," I joked, but the words fell flat.
Rory pulled away, stumbling a few feet away. His body drained but already growing stronger once more. "I can’t go b
ack to that room. That’s got to be where he’s set up camp. If I stick around, he’ll have a straight line to your head. You’ve got Zeke. Three more weeks, and you’ll be ready."
"You said there’s a ritual I have to start six days ahead of time. The one with honeyed water…" even the idea of it left my stomach churning.
"It’s straightforward," he assured. "No food for six days beforehand. Just water and honey."
It seemed counterintuitive. Right when I had to be strongest, I had to fast. Empty my body out to avoid getting sick. I could risk it. Eat up. Argue it was for my strength, but the idea that my inability to keep my feet under me and my stomach from emptying itself onto my feet might prevent me from saving Gray, I can’t. Anything that could help. Anything that might give me that extra inch - that edge I need.
"Tattoos and fasting. Check."
With a cut nod, Rory fell into step with me. "Next sleep, I’m gone."
"Who knows? Maybe you’ll be able to slip back when we go the manor," I said, but he didn’t acknowledge.
Shoulders slumped and dark circles cradling his eyes, Rory watched the people walk around us. His fingers twitched. Dancing across his thighs, they lurched forward, falling back as the desolation within his eyes grew greater. When a crowd pushed me further aside, he vanished - invisible and insubstantial. A coloration of light they could neither perceive nor touch. In that moment, the ghost seemed smaller. A young man closer to my own age than either of us likely cared to admit, yet for the years which would never touch his face. Aged only by death and addiction.
But when the crowd cleared, he shook his head. The dimming light of a November day passing easily through him as he straightened his spine and swallowed. Whatever he might have said died in his throat as he looked up - Professor Haggard of Psych 101 headed toward me. His usual double espresso in his hand and a small smile on his face as he marched straight ahead. His eyes on some journal article held in his hand; the front cover folded back.
Rory's eyes widened. His lips parted as he listed to the left, aligning their paths. Though he didn't need to breathe, the phantom's chest swelled, rising as if he might float off the ground with hope.
Head popping up, Professor Haggard stared straight at Rory. Their heights were similar enough that their gazes seemed to meet. A spark of recognition. Small but potent.
Then his head turned, and with a small wave of his journal, Professor Haggard said, "Hope you're making the most of your break, James. We're having unusually nice weather for this time of year," and walked right through Rory.
And like an idiot - that was when it finally clicked. How many lecture had Rory spent following me around the last three weeks while avoiding one particular class? Not once had I made the connection. I'd only heard Rory's surname the one time when I first met Zeke, but that didn't seem good enough.
"I'm so sorry."
Rory shook his head, rubbing his hands over his face. "Don't say anything." Tears poured down his face, and in the afternoon sunlight, he shimmered - less and less there as he whispered, "Please don't say anything."
Chapter Twenty-Three
Side by side, we sat, letting the roar of traffic talk over us. Engines churned. Exhaust curled and rose before spreading clear, leaving only the taste of it in the air. Once or twice, a bus rumbled up to us. Brakes squeaked. I waved each one on until I lost count. All my senses honing in on the phantom sitting beside - curling further and further into himself as he shut himself off from the world.
With his elbows on his knees, Rory ducked his head. His fingers knotted in his long dark hair, but he kept silent, and I didn't have the courage to push him to speak. Up and down, his back rose. Breathing though he had no need. Perhaps the motion ingrained itself. Burned into his memory. A reflex not even death could steal away from him.
What could I possibly say? I hadn't even realized my professor was his brother. Once I knew, I didn't have the courage to add anything else. To tell Rory he was my advisor too. Tell him we could schedule something. Find a way for him to communicate. Because there had to be a way. Zeke believed me. Maybe Professor Haggard would too.
But I could see it. The way he slumped, caving in upon himself. Knew it before - respected it once. Professor Haggard was a skeptic. He believed in the power of the mind, including its ability to trick us, so how could I explain Rory without suspicion? Surely someone better than me -smarter, more talented could have found any information Rory might tell me to identify himself to Professor Haggard, and with every risk I already took, how could I add another? I needed Harvard. I couldn't go back. Not with Gray coming. If I saved him - I couldn't go back to pretending I was someone else. I wanted to be me. Wanted to be me with him. Finally free.
With a shaky exhale, Rory sat up, leaning back against the back of the bench. "He's happy, right?" It wasn't actually a question, but I nodded quickly, recognizing the sort of affirmation he wanted when his eyes slid to me. "Good. That's...that's good. He deserved - I'm - I wasn't the best brother. Six years difference."
He rubbed his palms across his thighs, pressing the heel of his hands into his jeans as if he might resist the urge to claw himself apart. Closing his eyes, he inhaled slowly. Gradually, the transparency of his body darkened, fading until he seemed as real as he had the first time we had met. His breath even curled - white vapor - from his cracked lips.
"It's good. I'm glad he's happy now," Rory murmured, and a weight shifted around him.
I swallowed my questions. Nothing gave me the right to ask them. We were allies of sorts. Thrown together to save Gray because he had failed, and I was his last hope of success before they knocked the house down, forcing the die cast all that time ago to finally fall - and not in Gray's favor.
So I reached out. My hand took his, and as our fingers entwined, tears gathered, rolling down his cheeks as he stared up at the sky as if he could see some sort of answer there.
He held tight. His grip almost broke my hand, but I bit my tongue, refusing to flinch away from him when he needed such a simple thing from me. An anchor from the storm in his mind. The nightmares which likely haunted him even when Dr. Carreau wasn't there to speak the words. A monster made of half-truths. Fears he knew. Potents of a future which he hadn't intended but unfolded regardless of his best intentions.
"If you want - after it's all done, I could introduce him to Gray...if you think that might..."
"No." Rory shook his head. "If he's happy, I don't want to bring up the past."
"Okay, but if you change your mind..." I murmured, letting the promise lay unsaid between us.
I meant it. Even though standing before anybody with Gray seemed impossible - a dream. An impossibility that I tried so hard to believe could happen when everything about my life had become surreal. But Gray had to be real. His face hung heavy in my heart. The soft curve of his smile. Eyes - bright and clever and soft - gentle with me in a way I never expected. His long fingers - hand in hand with me. Every detail hung around me - another link in the chain which bound us two together, and the feel of him in my arms - my cheek against his smooth dark hair, and the stuttering anxiety of his shaky breathes against my skin - an anchor which would keep me safe or drag me down.
Either way - I didn't care. I wanted to live with him or drown with him. A madness, perhaps, but I existed in the dramatics of a romance I hadn't thought I would ever have a right to claim as my own. Maybe someday someone would label me insane. Call me asocial, dissociative, or simply delusional, but whatever sort of romance this ghost story became, as long as Gray was free, nothing else mattered. If we could be together, all the better.
"Hey, eager beaver, what's got you glum?" Cheyenne demanded, bouncing over to slide right through Rory and sit beside me.
At the intrusion, the phantom sputtered and shattered like a cloud of smoke dispersing. He wasn't gone. I could feel him - a shifting presence stretching out from me like a shadow.
Fighting the urge to grimace, I told her, "Just got some cabin fever."
> "Man, you could've come with us and Leilani to breakfast this morning before she had to head off," Maddix suggested, adjusting the backpack over his shoulder. Tracking my eyes, he smirked. "Thought the ghosts might be a bit friendlier if we brought some snacks."
Cheyenne scoffed and rolled her eyes. "While Maddix stuffs his face, we can respectfully make contact."
Glancing around, I frowned. "I thought you said Chad was coming."
"As if I'd want that jerk to come," Cheyenne grumbled. Jumping up, she held her head up high. "Let's do this!"
We trailed after her, letting Cheyenne forge the path. I had spent the last few days memorizing the best routes. Studying every street between my room and Crables manor. In case something happened, I could find my way there in my sleep.
From the outside, the manor rose like a tombstone. The architecture was so unlike everything surrounding it. Cast iron wrapped around. A fence of black spikes covered in vines and overgrown bushes. Even the trees curled, gnarled by association though it seemed tall and the same as every other tree in the area. Nothing special in the fogged glass. Dusty and dirty and dilapidated - warnings strewn to scare those like us away. Caution tape. Bright yellow. Posters hung, warnings of construction to come, but we ducked them easily enough.
"Can you feel it?" Cheyenne asked. Her lips stretched in a manic smile.
Reaching out, Maddix set his hand on the wooden frame of the collapsing porch. "It's like the house is vibrating with energy."
"Should be," Rory scoffed, an invisible whisper in my ear, "with how many people died here."
Suicide, sacrifice, massacre, flames, pills, and pain - a stench of desperation and agony seeped into the pores of the wood. Leaked through the gaps in stone. Burrowed into the earth, thick and cloying as blood. Dark storm clouds hid the sunset. Not a single star lit the path, but it was better this way. No lightning either. Nothing to frame the already horrifying history of the house.
All That We Say or Seem Page 12
