“Glim?” I ask.
He approaches the driver side window. “Yes?”
“Do you know how to drive a manual?”
“Yep. But all three of us are not fitting in there, and I’m sure you don’t feel like stuffing yourself in the trunk.”
“No way. Can you give me a quick lesson?”
He points at the clutch and goes through a rudimentary overview.
Since the cops are probably on their way already, I grind it into reverse, bounce over the curb onto the road, and hunt around for first gear. Of course, it stalls. I do, however, get it going and leave the area before any signs of blue and red lights appear.
Glim clings to the door, flying along beside us while offering me pointers on how to drive a manual. At least he’s a Shadow.
No one sees him.
Pretty sure a dude in a black trench coat adhered to the side of a little car would attract cops.
Or at least cell phone cameras.
11
Old Ellensburg Jail
Our nefarious plan to determine the true intentions of the guy Michelle is interested in comes to fruition two days later on somewhat short notice.
Speaking of guys, Aurélie had a rather easy time making Alex forget the vampiress who made such a mess of his life. It’s scary how strong she is. She even erased his addiction to heroin. Not that I have any personal experience with drugs, but I’ve heard people say it’s a hard one to kick. Unfortunately, he’s still going to have to deal with the physical withdrawal. No idea what the doctors will say since he doesn’t remember ever doing drugs. As far as I know, he went home and plans to ‘get serious’ about his guitar playing.
So, anyway, my friends got the idea for tonight and committed to it mostly while I was dead to the world. Hmm. That phrase is a little too on point these days. Maybe I’ll stop using it. Anyway, Ashley pitched it to me as soon as I replied to her barrage of text messages. She does know me well enough to figure I’d be into a ‘haunted tour,’ and she’s not wrong.
So, on a somewhat overcast Wednesday evening, we mostly pile into Hunter’s Buick land boat and drive to the Old Ellensburg Jail. River, the boy Ashley’s currently seeing, is evidently ‘too good’ to ride in an older car and decided to follow us in his silvery-grey Camaro. I shot him the look of death when he ordered Ashley to get in his car, but that didn’t bother me as much as her quietly obeying him.
Ooh. That’s not Ashley. And I already don’t like this guy.
Hunter blew it off when River asked him what poor old lady he stole the car from. Corey, Michelle’s date, didn’t say a word until we were in the car out of earshot. Apparently, he thinks the way River talks to her is no way for a guy to speak to his lady, but not so much he wanted to start an argument.
At least looking at Corey with my sun-dampened senses, I don’t read a bad vibe. Though, he didn’t get the memo they cancelled Miami Vice like forever ago. Suit blazer over a logo T-shirt with jeans and penny loafers. Yikes. Enough daylight remains that I can’t poke him in the brain just yet, but it should be dark by the time we get to the place.
I am worried about Ash though since River seems committed to proving his car is faster than Hunter’s. Like, how insecure is this dude? No sooner do we hit the freeway than he takes off so fast it’s like we aren’t even moving. I picture Ashley squeezing her fingers into the seat, terrified while watching cars in the right lane blur by.
The ride’s a little more than two hours, mostly on Route 80. By the time my phone’s GPS leads us right to the place, it’s nice and dark. We find the Camaro, fortunately intact, parked in the lot, River shooting a cocky grin over his roof as we roll by. His hair is thick, chin length, and draped half over his face. With that white T-shirt and jeans, he’s gotta be shooting for a James Dean bad boy look, but he misses. And I probably shouldn’t make James Dean comparisons with a guy driving a sports car that my best friend is in.
Hunter parks three spaces away, as close as he can get.
I barely wait for the Buick to stop moving before leaping out and rushing over to Ashley, who’s leaning against the Camaro’s passenger door, arms folded. She looks about ready to throw up.
“You okay,” I whisper.
“Yeah. Just, you know, little fast for me.”
I narrow my eyes at River.
Hunter, Michelle, and Corey walk up behind me, boots and sneakers scuffing on the paving.
“What took you so long?” asks River, grinning. “Did you even try to keep up?”
“You’re seriously proud of yourself that a new-ish Camaro can go faster than an old Buick?” I ask. “Like that’s even a serious question. Are you hoping the car takes the focus off something else that’s inadequate?”
River scoffs at me. “Ash, your friend’s got a bad attitude.”
“You haven’t seen my attitude yet.”
Hunter rests a hand on my shoulder, trying to calm me down.
Corey positions himself in front of Michelle, whispering, “Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.”
“Oh, really?” River saunters around the hood of his car and gets in my face.
I smirk at him. “Are you trying to be intimidating, or just close enough for that bucket of Walmart cologne to knock me out?”
Ashley’s eyebrows beg me to stop.
River fake laughs, pointing at me while looking at Hunter, Michelle, and Corey. “I like her. She’s funny.” He faces me and winks. “Don’t worry, babes. I don’t hit girls.”
I look him up and down. “Neither do I.”
A note of genuine anger flicks across his eyes at that, more so when Ashley forces herself not to laugh. The whisper of “oh, dayum,” from Corey doesn’t help. River blows me off with a forced chuckle, grasps Ash’s arm, and pulls her with him toward the jail entrance. I really don’t like that he’s dragging my best friend around. Okay, I admit this guy rubbed me the wrong way from the start and maybe I’m just looking for an excuse to start some shit with him… but I have a feeling he isn’t going to last long. At least as far as dating Ashley goes.
Tension simmers as we enter the lobby and deal with the ticket purchasing. The tour group is about fourteen people plus three guides, so we have a little while of sitting around waiting for other people to show up. These waiting area benches aren’t the most comfortable things, made of repurposed wood planks that used to be shelves or pallets or something. But then again, this is a prison. These probably qualify as ‘nice’ here. Pictures of former inmates cover the walls, each with descriptions of their crime, sentence, and fate. Evidently, all these men died while in custody, everything from executed in the chair to fights to food poisoning. The staff seems to have focused on the most ‘interesting’ cases, inmates who committed suicide or were murdered by other inmates. Can’t blame them much. ‘Did his time and went home’ doesn’t put tourists on edge right before a ghost tour.
To my left, River and Ashley get into a whispered argument. He’s upset at her for laughing at him and not ‘controlling her friend.’ Ashley’s true self makes an appearance. She says I had a point and that he drove like an idiot for no reason. It doesn’t impress her that he can outrun ‘grandma’s old Buick.’ And she tries to warn him not to mess with me since I’m ‘a black belt or something,’ but he only laughs at that.
I pretend to be reading inmate bios and walk by them. When I get close, I mutter, “If I see you grab Ash like that and drag her around again, I will shove your head up your ass. And I’m not being metaphorical.”
Ashley covers her mouth.
River scoffs and chuckles. “Yeah, sure, babe.”
“Sare…” Ashley begs me not to start problems with a stare.
Reluctantly, I give them some space. Since we’re stuck sitting around, I decide to proceed with my mission. The whole point of this triple date (other than having fun, but that’s already kinda ruined) is to sniff out Corey. I spend a few minutes staring at him, rooting around in his thoughts, and wind up shocked. He really is what
he appears to be. Total straight-laced dude, and a bit of a nerd if I’m honest. But, technically, so are we. Michelle’s probably the most book smart of our trio. Ashley’s no slouch either. Probably smarter than I am. But we’re all geeks.
Maybe that’s why Ash has the stupids for River. She thinks she’s got the interest of a ‘bad boy,’ and is surprised he’d pay attention to her. Before my reawakening as a vampire, she used to be the ‘cute’ one of our group. Blue-eyed redhead with a strong girl-next-door game. Chelle’s the closest any of us comes to being ‘hot.’ Me, I think I’m the queen of average. Though, my supernatural nature has made me the human equivalent of a kitten everyone just has to pick up and squeeze.
Sigh.
Still, I can’t complain too much. Could’ve been way worse.
And I don’t necessarily mean Shadow. I’m not sure I could’ve handled the way some of the Old Guard ooze sexuality. I’d make myself uncomfortable with that. Totally not who I am. Maybe that’s why the magical gnomes that spun the carnival wheel to sort me into the vampire bloodline landed on Innocent.
“Hi everyone,” says a middle-aged guy in a grey polo shirt. “Welcome to the Old Ellensburg Jail tour. I’m Mark, and I’ll be one of your guides tonight. This is Vicky and Brad.” He gestures at a pale gothy girl who looks about my age and a skinny, dude beside her with dark skin and a big, friendly smile. “Looks like everyone is here, so if you’ll follow us, we’ll get started.”
We stand and shuffle into a mostly single-file line. I catch Michelle’s eye and telepathically say, He’s exactly what he appears to be.
She blinks at me, thinking, Wow, really?
I nod. And I’m totes jealous. Cute, smart, and into you.
Michelle had apparently worried he was too good to be true, but I guess sometimes lightning does strike a blind squirrel. Or whatever that phrase is. She grins at me. Of course, she knows I’m teasing about the whole jealousy thing. Maybe I’ve kinda gushed just a little bit to both of them about how sweet I am on Hunter.
The tour guides lead us through the ‘intake processing’ room, and describe every step of the way they used to deal with prisoners back in the forties. This place hasn’t been an active prison since 1962, and sat abandoned for thirty years before the paranormal tour company bought it.
Worse, this place does have a creeptastic vibe to it. I’m getting that same feeling of being watched as I had when Alex’s grandfather scoped me out. Great. There probably are real ghosts here. I wind up clinging to Hunter’s arm.
He looks at me, surprised, but doesn’t question it, taking on the role of protective boyfriend in stride. From the processing area, they usher us into a room they call a ‘sally port,’ which is basically like an airlock for prisoners. Once we’re all inside, they lock the doors behind us.
Vicky describes how the prisoners could wind up waiting for hours in here while their paperwork got processed, remaining in handcuffs with no idea how long they’d have to wait. Mark adds that they didn’t have computers back then, so all the paperwork had to be done by hand.
After only a minute, another tour employee unlocks the inner doors, admitting us to the prison’s main building.
A few hallways later, they bring us to an enormous corridor full of small cells. There, they pair us off and give us a taste of being locked in. A few people hesitate at first, but eventually relent and allow the tour people to close the sliding barred doors. Hunter and I share a cell. Ashley and River are on our left, Michelle and Corey to our right. Ashley presses herself into the bars like she’s trying to get as far away from River as possible.
“Hey, c’mere,” he whispers. “Don’t be like that.”
Like a scolded child, Ashley hangs her head and shuffles over beside him before whispering, “I don’t like being locked in here.”
“It’s just a spooky ghost thing,” says River. “Relax.”
“Wow, they really locked these,” says a woman a few cells over.
“Something touched me!” yells a guy.
Another woman laughs. “Yeah, right. This ghost stuff is all BS.”
“Shh,” says a man next to her. “Let people enjoy things.”
“You believe that stuff?” asks the woman.
Her probable husband shrugs. “No idea. I don’t not believe it.”
Meanwhile, as we’re stuck in these cells, the tour guides stand out in the hallway explaining how inmates would sometimes spend twenty-three hours a day locked in them.
“Eep!” yells Ashley. “Stop that!”
I whirl to face her and lock stares with a fiftyish guy in a drab grey jail uniform. He’s shimmery and translucent—and has a handful of Ashley’s rear end. She squirms away from the grabbing hand, scowling at River.
“What?” He holds his arms out to the side. “Why are you freaking out?”
“Not funny,” says Ashley. “Sneaking up and grabbing my butt.”
The spectral inmate steps through the bars into our cell, eyeing me warily. “Wish they brought us women back when I could still enjoy it. How ’bout a little show, mama? Let’s see them tits.”
“I didn’t grab your ass,” says River.
Ashley shivers.
I frown at the ghost. “Sorry. Not in the habit of flashing random strangers.”
He glares at me and rakes at Hunter, who twitches and slaps a hand to his shoulder.
“Ow. What the hell?” He sucks air in through his teeth. “Shoulder’s like on fire.”
The ghost walks through him and tries to grab the chest of a blonde three cells away, making her shiver.
“Ghost,” I mutter. “I’ll explain later.”
“What?” Hunter gawks at me. “My shoulder’s burning and you said a ghost did it?”
“Yeah. You’ll probably have a scratch.”
I listen to the overacted scary-gloomy narrative from the tour guides for a little while, mostly about how seventeen inmates lost their lives in these very cells over the years. After a total of about ten minutes, they open the doors and we file out into the corridor again before heading past more cell blocks and into a cafeteria. The room is unnaturally dark, even to my eyes. A cloud of shadows in the distant corner by a long opening on the wall, presumably where workers handed food trays to prisoners, slides around as if alive.
Within seconds of me staring at it, the blackness rises and coalesces into the shape of a giant of a man. He’s bald, deathly pale, and has at least ten inches of blade sticking out of his chest, the handle of the prison shiv that killed him. Lifeless grey eyes fixate on me. Despite his size and intimidating appearance, I get more a sense of loneliness than menace.
He knocks a chair over as the tour group navigates the room. The sharp, metal crack of it hitting the floor makes almost everyone jump. A few people yell. I don’t, since I saw him moving toward it and expected something. Hunter squeezes the hell out of my arm. Ashley about faints. Michelle stands rigid, whimpering. I think she’s holding Corey up or he’d have been flat on his back.
The woman who previously said the ghost stuff is BS stares wide-eyed at the fallen chair, but dismisses it to her husband as ‘probably something electronic.’
Mark whistles. “Wow. That doesn’t happen too often. Looks like the ghosts are in a mood tonight.”
Tour Guide Vicky shivers like a frightened schoolgirl. “It’s different in here tonight.”
“There’s another energy here,” says an older woman with long, blonde-silver hair. She’s easily past sixty, thin, and has a far-off look in her eye. “I’m sensing a source of paranormal energy close by that’s not a spirit. I can feel it. The spirits feel it too, and they’re drawing power from it.”
Everyone gets quiet, staring at her.
“Umm,” says Brad, our third guide. “Feels like there’s someone in here with us.”
Most of the tourists shift uncomfortably. The woman who thinks it’s all made up rolls her eyes. River tries to act tough, but it’s pretty obvious to me he’s on edge. Ashley shivers,
gazing around the room. More than a few people are amped up. To me, the air is full of the scents of various foods, no doubt what their blood would taste like. The same way Sierra threw off the smell of candy when her heart raced from anger, these people are radiating.
After a few seconds, Ashley hones in on the general area where the giant inmate is still standing, glaring at us all. Whoa. She kinda sensed Daniel Parrish in the restaurant, but couldn’t see him. I wonder if she’s got a little psychic ability or maybe she’s so sweet and nice she still counts as a child.
The ghost hauls off and kicks another chair. Based on his size and how hard he punted it, that thing should’ve gone flying across the room, but the chair only falls over sideways where it stands. Again, most of the tour group screams. A few guys taking cell phone video cheer.
“I got it on video! The chair fell over and nothing touched it,” yells one, bouncing up and down like he won a new car on Wheel of Fortune.
The skeptic woman mutters, “It’s got motors in it to make it fall over.”
One of the amateur videographers runs over to the chair, unaware he’s like three feet away from perhaps the scariest inmate ever to set foot inside this place, and picks it up. “Nah. It’s a plain, steel folding chair.” He opens it again and sets it on its legs. “If you’re here, can you knock the chair over again?”
The ghost scowls at him, but makes no move toward the chair.
Mark, the only tour guide composed enough to stick to the script, tells us about a few riots in here as well as a handful of deaths.
“Was one of the inmates stabbed in the chest with a sword?” I ask. “Real big guy, bald? Looked like a pro wrestler?”
The ‘psychic’ older woman looks at me intently.
“I think so,” says Mark. “Earl something…”
Vicky gawks at me, mouth open. “Are you a medium?”
“Nah. I saw his face on the wall out front. Just remembered reading it. What happened to the guy who killed him?”
“They transferred him to a different prison. Warden figured he killed that guy trying to get executed on purpose to ‘escape’ his life sentence. Far as I know, he spent the rest of his time in solitary.”
The Artist of Ruin Page 10
