Ghost Trackers

by Grant Wilson Jason Hawes

  Drew and Trevor looked at Amber.

  She drained the last of her wine in a single swallow. “Are you kidding me? As often as I visit the damn place in my dreams, I’m in no hurry to see it again for real.”

  “There’s nothing to see,” Trevor said. “The only indication that a house was ever there is the sign: ‘Lowry Recreation Center.’ The place is about finished, and it looks like any other modern building, the kind of anonymous place that might house a dentist’s or doctor’s office.” He looked at Drew and smiled. “Probably like the kind of place where you work.” He reached into his jacket pocket and removed a digital camera. “I took some pictures while I was there. If you guys want to see . . .”

  “Sure,” Drew said, although inside he recoiled at the thought. He glanced at Amber, and she looked even paler than before, and from the panicked look in her eyes, he thought she might bolt from the table any second. But she stood her ground as Trevor turned on his camera, pulled up an image of the Lowry Recreation Center, and held it out for Drew and Amber to see. It was, as he had already told them, almost disappointingly normal, and although Drew felt a slight chill upon reading the word Lowry, all in all, the picture did little for him. He looked at Amber and saw the same lack of reaction on her face. He remembered something Rick had said during their last session.

  You miss both of them but especially her.

  And this was followed by a memory of hearing her speak, the memory so vivid it was almost as if he were hearing her now.

  Drew? Trevor? Why is it so cold?

  It was so real that he was only able to convince himself that she hadn’t spoken because he hadn’t seen her mouth move.

  When they finished looking at the pictures, Trevor turned off his camera and put it away. Drew thought then that they might begin talking about that night, now that they’d broken the ice, but they fell into an uneasy silence. Their server came by and asked Amber if she’d like another glass of wine, but she declined. Although he knew it was none of his business, Drew was glad.

  He didn’t know how many prescriptions Amber was on, but the last thing she needed was to add too much alcohol to her system. Drew understood the urge to self-medicate. It was one reason so many people with psychological problems also had issues with substance abuse. But self-medicating only made things worse.

  There are lots of ways to self-medicate, he thought. Some people drank or took drugs. Some people smoked. He glanced at Trevor, who’d told them earlier that he was trying yet again to break his nicotine habit. And some people threw themselves into their work to the exclusion of everything else. He had no illusions; he knew he was guilty of the latter. But at least his self-medicating helped others, right? So it wasn’t entirely selfish.

  Way to justify an unhealthy lifestyle, he thought, and took a sip of his own drink. He knew he was only exchanging one compensatory habit for another, but right then, he didn’t care.

  “I think I’m going to call it a night,” Amber said. Trevor started to protest, but she held up a hand to cut him off. “I know it’s still early, but I think I’ve had enough for one evening. It’s been great to see you both. It really has. I was worried that being in your presence would make me remember things I didn’t want to remember, but it’s been nice. I just don’t think I can take much more right now. I don’t want to talk about the Lowry House, I don’t want to look at pictures of it, and I sure don’t want to begin comparing scraps of memory with you two in an attempt to piece together what happened that night. I don’t care what happened. I just want to forget about it and get on with my life, you know?”

  “Amber, it’s important that we remember,” Trevor said. “We experienced something paranormal that night. I’m not talking about a mysterious thump coming from another room or a shadowy figure glimpsed out of the corner of your eye. I’m talking the real shit, and it’s important that we try to understand it.”

  She scowled at him. “Why? So you can write a fucking book about it and get famous?”

  At first, he looked hurt by her accusation, but then he got angry. “Back in high school, you were interested in the paranormal as much as Drew and I. It’s what brought the three of us together. Or have you forgotten that along with everything else?”

  Drew remembered. It was one memory that remained intact. They’d been juniors in high school, enrolled in the same science class. They hadn’t known one another at the time, but their teacher assigned them to work together on a group presentation. The topic was up to them, and they’d discovered after a bit of conversation that all three of them were interested in paranormal phenomena, specifically in scientific evidence of life after death. They did their report on that topic, researched it scrupulously, even performed an investigation at Trevor’s grandmother’s house, which she swore was haunted by the spirit of one of the previous owners.

  They’d gotten an A for their presentation, and after that, they’d continued investigating paranormal phenomena, most often reading books and magazines on the subject or watching documentaries on TV, but from time to time, they performed field research, investigating reports of ghostly apparitions that fellow classmates and even teachers would pass along to them. They got a reputation for being a bit weird because of their hobby, but they also gained a certain coolness factor from it, so it all balanced out.

  But no matter how many dusty attics, moldy basements, or cold, dark cemeteries they visited, one place stood above them all as the most haunted in town: the Lowry House. Drew, Trevor, and Amber researched everything they could about the house’s history, even interviewed some local residents about it, but it took them some time to work up to physically investigating the house. None of them had ever discussed their reluctance to go there, but it was as if they realized, on an instinctive level if nothing else, that the Lowry House was the real thing, and they wanted to be as prepared as possible before going in.

  Whatever had happened the night they’d finally worked up the courage to go in, they hadn’t been prepared enough, Drew thought. Not by a long shot.

  “I’ve told you before, and I’ll tell you again. I’m not going to help you write about the Lowry House,” Amber said to Trevor.

  He turned to Drew, a pleading look on his face. “Help me out here.”

  Drew had to suppress a smile. Even before he’d become a psychologist, his friends had turned to him to mediate any conflict between them. “It’s important that we respect Amber’s feelings,” he began. “If she doesn’t want to talk about the Lowry House, that’s her choice. But,” he hurried to add before Trevor could say anything, “I think you should reconsider, Amber. There’s a reason you’ve come here this weekend, and as much as Trevor and I might like to believe that it was so you could reconnect with a pair of old friends, I suspect it was something more. Have you noticed the people around us? All of them talking and laughing, sharing photos of spouses and children. Catching up on the different paths their lives have taken over the last fifteen years. How much progress have we made in that time? How much have our lives changed since we graduated? Since that night?”

  “What are you talking about?” Amber said. “You’re a psychologist, and Trevor’s a published author. You’re both doing pretty well for yourselves, I’d say.” She paused and looked down at her empty wineglass, as if regretting not ordering a refill. “Not like me. I can’t hold down a job for more than a few months at a time. If it wasn’t for disability checks, I’d be homeless.”

  The pain in Amber’s voice prompted Drew to reach across the table and take hold of her hand. “I’m not talking about careers,” he said. “I’m talking about how our personal lives have developed. Or, rather, failed to. None of us has been married or had children. For that matter, we haven’t been able to hold on to any of the relationships we have managed to form. Do either of you have any lovers, or even close friends?”

  Neither Amber nor Trevor said anything.

  “It’s the same for me,” Drew said. “I have my work, and while I get along well
enough with my coworkers, it would be a stretch to call them friends.”

  “And I don’t have coworkers,” Trevor said. “Unless you count my literary agent, and I’ve never even met her face-to-face. I travel so much that I’m hardly ever home. I mostly live in cheap hotel rooms and eat too much fast food.” He patted his well-padded stomach.

  “In a very real sense, the three of us have been frozen in time since that night in the Lowry House,” Drew said. He gave Amber’s hand a last squeeze before releasing it. “Trevor and I are still looking for answers to what happened, though we’ve taken very different routes in our search. And you struggle with nightmares. Your subconscious mind is fighting nightly to force you to remember what happened, and your conscious mind fights just as hard to keep those memories suppressed. The conflict wears you down to the point where having a normal life is impossible for you. I think deep down, all three of us are tired of spinning our wheels.”

  Trevor nodded. “I know I am.”

  Drew continued. “We want to move on with our lives, and this reunion has provided a handy excuse for us to do something about it. You must recognize that on some level, Amber, or else why would you have come?”

  Although she didn’t say anything right away, she looked thoughtful, and Drew took the fact that she didn’t get up and leave as a good sign.

  “So what should we do?” she asked, her voice soft.

  Before either Drew or Trevor could respond, a voice cut in. “How about saying hello to an old friend?”

  They all turned to face the newcomer, who was standing next to their table, smiling at them. Drew hadn’t noticed the man’s approach, and he found that puzzling. He was a trained observer, and it wasn’t like him to miss an important detail like a man walking up to interrupt their conversation. It was almost as if he had materialized out of thin air, a ridiculous thought, of course, but one that Drew couldn’t shake, especially given what the three of them had been talking about when the man arrived.

  He was their age, medium height, with a trim physique like that of a runner or a tennis player. His facial features were more distinctive than handsome—he had the kind of face with a lot of character, as Drew’s mother might have said—but he wasn’t unattractive. He seemed genuine, a regular guy, the kind of man who engendered automatic trust with a ready smile and a warmth-filled gaze. Like a salesman practiced at hiding who and what he really was, Drew thought, surprised a bit at his own cynicism. The man wore a navy-blue suit, black shoes, and a white shirt without a tie. He looked well groomed but relaxed and at ease, as if he owned the place and had come over to see if they were having a good time. But there was something familiar about him, about his voice and lopsided smile, and there was something about his eyes . . . they seemed to sparkle with amusement, as if he were enjoying a private joke.

  It was Amber who recognized him first.

  “Greg,” she said, and that single word triggered Drew’s memory.

  Drew, Amber, and Trevor might have been the Three Musketeers in high school, but there’d been a d’Artagnan as well, a fourth sometimes-member of their group: Greg Daniels. He hadn’t been in the science class where the three of them met, but he got wind of their interest in the paranormal, and that had attracted him to Drew and the others, as he was also interested in strange phenomena. And it hadn’t hurt that he’d had a crush on Amber, although it had gone unreciprocated.

  Greg had hung around the three friends from time to time and even invited himself along on a few investigations. He’d been something of an outcast in high school—overweight, acne-plagued, socially awkward, and just plain annoying. Plus, he had a bit of a temper and a cruel streak. Drew and Amber had felt sympathy for him, which was why they’d allowed him to tag along sometimes. Trevor hadn’t liked him one bit, but he’d put up with him for the sake of his two friends.

  There was one thing more, Drew remembered. Greg had been with them the night they’d gone into the Lowry House. He frowned. No, that wasn’t quite right. He hadn’t gone in with them, had he? The three of them had visited the Lowry House alone that night, he was certain of that. But Greg had been inside the Lowry House with them at one point, although the details weren’t clear.

  Drew was stunned by this sudden inrush of memory. How could he have forgotten Greg? The trauma that Drew, Trevor, and Amber had suffered the night the Lowry House burned down had robbed them of many memories, but they’d never forgotten one another. But he hadn’t thought about Greg Daniels once in the last fifteen years. It was as if the man had been erased from existence for the last decade and a half and now, miraculously, had been resurrected.

  “What’s wrong?” Greg said. “The way you three are looking at me, it’s like you don’t recognize me.” He paused and then let out a small laugh. “I suppose I do look a lot different from the last time you saw me.”

  His smile grew wider, and a dark cast came over his eyes. Looking into those eyes, Drew experienced a moment of vertigo, as if a pit had opened beneath him and he was falling . . . falling . . . His nasal passages were clogged with thick smoke, and he felt intense heat sear his skin. He coughed and fought to keep his eyes open in the superheated air. The sound of crackling flames filled his ears, but the noise was almost drowned out by someone close by screaming in agony. A wall of flames stretched before Drew, and as he watched, Greg staggered through the fire, mouth open wide, and Drew knew then where the screams were coming from.

  Greg—the adult version of him—was wreathed in fire. His skin was blistered and blackened, and his hair was ablaze, making him appear to be wearing a halo of flame. His eyes were wild with pain, and Drew wondered how he managed to remain conscious, let alone stay on his feet.

  Greg’s gaze fixed on him, and he stopped screaming. A terrible calm came over him, even though the fire continued consuming his flesh.

  “You did this to me,” Greg said, his voice thick, as if his throat were filled with bubbling fat. “The three of you. It’s your fault. All your fault . . .”

  He laughed, flames leaping forth from his mouth as if the fire had eaten its way into his body and was now devouring him from the inside out. He extended his blackened hands toward Drew and stepped forward. Drew recoiled from the flaming apparition, making a small sound in the back of his throat like a tiny animal terrified at a predator’s approach. This wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real!

  And then, just like that, Drew was sitting in the bar once more, looking at a whole, healthy, unburned adult Greg. He realized that Greg was talking, and while his words were nothing but meaningless noises at first, they eventually became clear.

  “—started working out in college and lost a lot of weight. I don’t manage to get to the gym as often as I should. Busy-busy, you know? But I still try to take care of myself.”

  Drew sat and stared at him for a moment, the smell of smoke lingering in his nostrils. He glanced at Amber and Trevor and saw that they looked as shell-shocked as he felt.

  Greg continued talking as if he didn’t notice anything wrong with them. “I’d love to stay and catch up with you three, but I volunteered to help the alumni committee, and there’s lots to do to get ready for tomorrow night. You’ll all be at the banquet and the dance afterward, right? I’ll make sure to carve out some time for you then. In the meantime, keep having fun.” He gave them a last smile and started to go, but he stopped and turned back to look at them once more. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see the three of you.” His smile widened, and a look came into his eyes that Drew couldn’t read. “I’ve waited a long time for this. A very long time.”

  Then, with a last wave, Greg departed. Drew watched him as he headed toward the bar’s exit, nodding to other reunion attendees at other tables as he passed. When he was gone, Drew turned to Amber and Trevor. He intended to ask them if they’d experienced the same strange vision of Greg being burned in the Lowry House, but then he stopped himself. People didn’t share hallucinations. What he’d experienced was some kind of flashback, if a weir
d one that was a combination of memory and present sensory input. Unsettling, no doubt about it, but nothing supernatural.

  Drew glanced at his watch, and even though it was only a little past ten, he said, “It’s getting late. I think I’ll turn in. Maybe we can get together for breakfast tomorrow? Say around eight o’clock?”

  Trevor and Amber agreed. They exchanged cell numbers and room numbers. They left the bar together, saying little as they headed for the lobby and the main elevators. As they walked, Drew did his best to ignore the smell of burning wood and cooking flesh that seemed to follow them the entire way.

  SIX

  Amber showered twice before climbing beneath the covers of her bed, but despite her best efforts to rid herself of it, the smell of smoke lingered on her skin—which made sense, since it hadn’t been real smoke, had it? After drying off, she’d donned a pair of comfortable panties and a cozy oversize T-shirt, but they felt scratchy on her skin, almost as if she were suffering from a sunburn, which was a ridiculous thought. As rarely as she left her apartment, she got about as much sun exposure as one of those blind albino fish that dwelled in caves.

  Not a sunburn, she realized. A heat burn, as if she’d stood too close to a fire for too long.

  Despite that, she shivered and burrowed deeper beneath the covers.

  At home, she normally lay in bed with all the lights off, but she’d turned them all on the moment she’d gotten back to her hotel room. Even so, it still seemed too dim in there—shadows pooled in the corners, the darkness seeming to watch her as it gathered . . .

  Stop it! she told herself. It’s just your imagination.

  And was that her explanation for the vision of Greg burning that she’d experienced at the bar? Imagination? Her throat was still raw from inhaling too much smoke, her skin hot and tight from exposure to the flames’ heat. Her body was reacting as if what she’d experienced had been real.