Ever Near (Secret Affinity Book 1)

by Melissa MacVicar

  “No. Wait. I’ll drive you.”

  I reach the bottom and stagger toward the front door. When I emerge onto the porch, it’s mercifully dark out—full dark now. Martin again tries to grab my arm, but I shrug him off. I reach his junky car and lean against the side.

  “Just get in. I’ll take you home.” He’s sort of begging and pathetic sounding, which makes me feel better. Martin being miserable is fine by me. Plus, I need to hang around long enough to get that video deleted, so I use all my energy to lift the door handle and get in the back seat again.

  Without a word, Martin gets in and starts the car. He backs out of the driveway as if getting away from Bluff House is a matter of life or death. We begin to speed back toward town, and I want to tell him to slow down. If we’re pulled over, we’ll have some explaining to do. My mom knows cops.

  “I’m sorry,” he says after a few minutes. “I didn’t know it would be like that.”

  “I told you! They freak out. Every single freakin’ time!”

  Martin exhales loudly and runs his hand through his hair. “Yeah, I get that now.”

  “Give me the phone.”

  Instead of handing me the phone, he asks, “What did he say?”

  “You need to delete that video. Now.”

  He must have the phone in his pocket because I don’t see it anywhere. He eyes me in the rearview mirror, all jazzed up on some kind of ghost-induced high.

  “I will. After you tell me what he said.”

  “He thought I was the new maid. He wanted to know where his father was, I think. He was really pissed off, but I don’t know why. He pushed me down and kicked me, and that’s all. Then I woke up.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No. Give me the phone. You had no right to videotape me.”

  “I’ll tell you about your ghost. She’s probably the spirit of Lydia Folger Chase. She killed herself in your house. You can look her up on the Historical Association website. There are letters and a diary about her at the Egan Library. She was married to a well-known whaling captain named John Chase.”

  “Who’s Eliza then? She’s always asking about Eliza.”

  “I think that was her daughter. Go read the letters. And the diary.”

  “Give me the phone.”

  “No. The video is my payment for helping you.”

  “What are you going to do with it?”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t put you online. I just want to study it.”

  “Are you kidding me? No. You have to delete it.”

  “No.”

  I realize what I have to do to Martin. I don’t hesitate, either. “Give me the phone, or I’ll tell everyone you kidnapped and raped me. That you’re a nasty pedophile.” My voice is as cold as ice—like an actress in a movie, a real calculating bitch who wants to get her way. I guess that’s what a girl has to be sometimes. Martin messed with the wrong girl.

  He stares at me in the mirror, his eyes wide and horrified. “You wouldn’t…”

  “Yes. I would. Now give it to me.”

  He digs in his pocket, pulls out the iPhone, and hands it back to me. I quickly go to the videos. I hit Play and watch myself backing down the hallway, terror etched on my face. Jean capris, Hollister t-shirt and flip flops. My mind barely registers that it’s me I’m watching. That’s another girl, one in desperate need of some help. When I fall, Martin drops the camera. After that is just a close-up of the baseboard and him begging me to wake up. I hit the trash can icon and confirm delete. Gone. Permanently.

  “You better not tell a soul about me and what I can do,” I say, handing the phone back to him.

  “I won’t. I promise I won’t.”

  I have the upper hand now, and we don’t speak again, except when I tell him to drop me back off in the town lot. I can tell he’s almost crapping his pants, and I’m glad I have him on the run.

  Chapter 16

  I smooth down my clothes and wipe at my face as I walk back toward town, but I’m not sure my efforts do any good. The thought of returning to Fair-Ever doesn’t fill me with any warm and fuzzies, either. I’d pay good money to be heading for our old duplex instead of Lacey’s spook-fest on Fair. I used to think the duplex was so lame, but now I long for it.

  One good thing is that Mom and Mike are out. They went to some fundraiser. Mom’s so high class now. She’s probably sipping champagne and sticking little pastries in a chocolate fountain, trying to keep the Southie out of her voice.

  Turning onto Main Street is like a slap in the face. People are everywhere, eating ice cream, smiling for pictures, listening to a street musician. I attempt to slide through the crowd undetected, which I guess sort of works, but I catch a few people giving more than a passing glance. Some preppy summer boys—known by us local kids as Chads—ogle me from a bench. Two local girls near the Even Keel are eyeing the boys. I stride past all of them, unwavering in my goal of getting home, and once I turn the corner at Murray’s Toggery—home of the famous Nantucket Red pants—I’m alone, protected by the darkness. Retail town ends here, and residential town begins.

  I climb the hill past the old Quaker meeting house and the elaborate Episcopal Church. Maybe I should go in and pray. Gram would want me to pray. If she knew about Lacey and Charlie and Martin, she’d be up all night praying for me.

  Charlie will still be at work, I think, so I can get myself together before seeing anyone.

  A porch light illuminates the side yard at Fair-Ever. My key slides smoothly into the lock this time, and Zeke greets me by wagging his tail and wiggling his yellow body. I take a few moments to pat the soft fur of his head. He’s my dog now, too. I always wanted a dog, but we could never have one because we lived in rentals. Now, I’m barely even appreciating his cuteness because I’m so preoccupied. Does he sense Lacey? Does he know she’s here? I wish the incidents weren’t so violent and quick so I could find out.

  I trudge up the stairs, relieved Lacey hasn’t popped up. Where is she during these quiet times? I’ve seen her in my room, the downstairs hall, and the ginormous family room/kitchen area. She doesn’t seem to stay in any one area, which is weird because movie ghosts have favorite rooms. Usually it’s the scene of some crime where they died, but Lacey rambles freely at Fair-Ever, at least as far as I can tell. What did she do for kicks before I arrived on the scene? Perhaps the Dowlers have heard things or seen things, and they just didn’t know Lacey was the cause.

  In the shower, I let the hot water pelt my skin, turning it red. Part of me feels as if I was assaulted, violated by Martin and the Sconset Maniac. I replay the evening in my head and plan how to add the incident to my journal. That ghost was all rage and almost no sadness. They’re usually at least a little bit sad, but not that one. That spirit needed more help than Lacey, and that’s saying something. The doors slammed so violently. The sheer force of him was terrifying. I know now why the homeowners went to Martin.

  “Jade?”

  I freeze. “Yeah?” I call through the door.

  “Come over? When you’re done?”

  It’s Charlie. In my room.

  “Okay.”

  Oh, God! I have to act normal. I don’t want him to know what’s happened. He might have one of his little anger management episodes. I call them that, but really, they’re like teenage temper tantrums or testosterone-fueled fits. And I don’t need to deal with one of those right now.

  Back in my room, the process of combing out my curls and making them behave takes a while. When that’s done, I don a bra, a tight T-shirt, and a pair of skimpy black shorts because there might be kissing tonight, and this seems like a good outfit for kissing. Twisted, I know, but there’s no denying that I want there to be kissing. I creep down the hall to his room and pause at the door. I take a deep breath before knocking.

  “Come in!
”

  His door hinges creak, which is good to know for future reference. Since I don’t think anyone else is home, I decide not to shut it. If someone does come home, us being alone in his room with the door shut would definitely seem suspicious.

  Once across the threshold, I sort of go blank on where to go next. Charlie’s sitting up on his bed, closing out his iPad. His hair is shower-damp and he’s wearing his favorite Red Sox T-shirt and a pair of long basketball shorts.

  “Hey,” he says, his eyes searching my face before dropping to roam over my body. “How’s it going?” His gaze ends up on the floor while he fidgets with his hands.

  “Fine.”

  “Come sit.” He pats the bed.

  I plop down beside him. What the heck is wrong with me? I’m not usually this fumbling, even around a boy I like. We haven’t seen each other since the boat and the kissing, though, so I guess it’s normal to be a little uncomfortable.

  Charlie’s room is mostly blue with a madras plaid quilt on the bed and sports memorabilia on the wall. The gallery of shelves features his trophies, photos, and game balls from all his years of playing sports displayed in elaborate fashion, a shrine to his athletic accomplishments. Brendan has one, too. I think their mother must have created them or at least started them because they’re similar to the wall of framed family photos downstairs, the Dowler Family This Is Your Life Line-Up—baby Brendan with two teeth, Charlie as a little league all-star, Mrs. Dowler hugging them both.

  “How was work?” I ask.

  “Fine. Busy. What did you do?”

  I didn’t prepare for this question. I’m already feeling like a fish flopping on the deck of the boat, and now I need to come up with an instant lie. Or tell the truth. The truth seems like the best idea because Charlie is the only one who might sort of believe what happened.

  “You really want to know?” I ask skeptically.

  His face pinches with concern, his lips pursed and his eyebrows drawn together. “Yeah, what?”

  I sigh and reach for his hand. “Promise you won’t freak out.”

  “Why would I freak out?”

  “Because I went somewhere with that Martin Fitzgerald guy. He sort of blackmailed me.”

  Charlie’s eyes widen.

  “It was awful. Really bad.” I wait for this to sink in, like sunblock on his skin.

  “He blackmailed you?” Charlie asks.

  “Yeah. Into going to see a ghost with him. And the ghost was terrible. So scary and so mean.”

  “What happened?”

  “The ghost was screaming and yelling, and Martin videotaped me. And then I passed out.”

  He pulls back and looks at me closely. “Jesus, Jade. Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. The fainting was so weird, though. That’s never happened. Like his power overwhelmed me and short-circuited my system. I got tunnel vision, everything shrinking down to a pin dot, before I went out. So strange.”

  “Thank God it was only temporary. How did he blackmail you?”

  “He said he’d tell me Lacey’s real name if I went. And he wouldn’t tell anyone about my abilities.”

  “So did he tell you anything useful?”

  “Yeah. Only cause I blackmailed him back, though.”

  “What?”

  “I told him I’d tell everyone he raped me if he didn’t help me. And if he didn’t keep his mouth shut.”

  Charlie’s face transforms into hard, angry angles. “He didn’t…?”

  I shake my head. “No, no… but I told him that’s what I’d say. To scare him. And it worked.” I reach and touch Charlie’s chest, wanting to calm the storm I see swirling on his face.

  “I’m gonna kill him,” Charlie mutters.

  “It’s okay. He didn’t hurt me. I’m fine. I was just scared.”

  He stares at me, a mix of many emotions flashing across his face. “Jesus, Jade…” He grabs me in a bear hug. “I wish you’d told me. You didn’t have to go with him.”

  “What would you have done? Beat him up?” I sort of chuckle and snuggle in closer to his chest.

  “Maybe…” His hand comes up and strokes my back, sending crazy tingles up my spine.

  “I wish I could have saved the video now. If you saw that video, you’d believe me for sure.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “So you believe me now?”

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  He guesses? What the hell does that mean? I pull away. “Not really, though, huh?” I narrow my eyes at him.

  “I do. I sort of do. I know you believe it’s real.”

  This is far from the ringing endorsement I wanted. “We can go visit Martin if you’d like. I’m sure he’d love to share the gory details with you. Not that you’d believe him, either.”

  “Jade…”

  “What?”

  “Don’t be mad. I just—”

  “Think I’m crazy right?” I jump up and storm out of the room.

  “Jade!”

  But I don’t stop. I fall on my bed. I run my hands over my quilt, finding where a soft part meets the rougher stiches. I fix my eyes on the colors. The round center piece with the patterned triangles emanates outward like the rays of the sun or a starburst. There are exactly six of them, six separate wheels sewn together into one blanket of color and movement. And for me, comfort.

  Charlie knocks. I stay silent.

  “Jade. Let me in.”

  I don’t answer.

  “I’m not going to beg.”

  “Then don’t!”

  And he doesn’t. I hear his door slam, and I allow myself to cry. A full-on, meltdown cry. Sometimes, a girl just needs to do that. Sometimes, breaking down is the only option left.

  Chapter 17

  Trees hang over the path, their branches stretching toward me like crooked black fingers. My feet pound the dirt. Ragged breaths of moist air leave my lungs. I don’t know where she is or why I’m running. I just am. My foot hits a root, and I go down. Hard.

  When I roll over to get up, she’s there, hovering over me with her face half burned off, chunks of flesh falling to the ground around me like hideous black rain drops. Tinkling laughter fills my ears, contradicting the horror before my eyes.

  I tell myself it’s a dream. Wake up. Just wake up. But I can’t. I’m paralyzed.

  Hot tears scald my cheeks. I have to get away.

  “Shh, it’s okay.”

  Charlie’s shaking me, raising me by the shoulders. I pant and gasp, nodding that I’m okay. When he sees that I’m awake, he stops and stares down at me, his face showing his apprehension and confusion. I both love and hate that he’s here again. I don’t sit up. I stay put, trying to contain my erratic breathing.

  “Sorry,” I whisper when I can finally speak. I meet his eyes, and I get stuck in them, as if they’re a murky pool of blue quicksand. Charlie has me, and I’m locked in.

  “Don’t be.”

  We stay like that, not moving, barely blinking. Then he leans closer—inches from my face. I can feel his heat and smell his musky sleep scent. I flutter my eyes closed and raise my head ever so slightly off the pillow. It’s a miniscule move, but the meaning behind it is clear. Yes. Yes, I want to kiss you in my bed. Even though we shouldn’t. Even though we are supposed to be fighting.

  His lips are soft, a pulsing perfection. My head spins as if I’m on a carnival ride, my body sending sparks of sensation to every extremity.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers, pulling away, “for last night.”

  “It’s okay.”

  He drops to lie beside me, and I flip onto my side to face him. He’s shirtless again, and being here in my bed with him is fantastic in just the way I fantasized it would be. I’ve never been in a real bed with a
boy before, and I know now what all the fuss is about. Beds are marvelous for making out.

  Charlie’s hand roams down my side to my hip and then farther to my thigh. Our lips caress, tongues tangle, arms hold. I hitch my leg around his and tilt my chin back so he has better access to my neck. During this neck kissing, which I hope doesn’t turn into hickey giving, I notice that Charlie is more than a little turned on. He’s like a lot turned on in fact, so when he moves to put his hands under my tank top, I decide it’s probably a good idea to stop. As much as I’d like to continue, it’s too soon to go this far.

  “Charlie…”

  “Yeah?” he mumbles.

  “We should stop.”

  He sighs, heavy and deep, as though this is very bad news for him. I know moments like this can be very difficult for boys, painful in fact, but Charlie doesn’t argue or complain. He just extricates his limbs from mine and drops onto his back. I do the same and stare at the ceiling, not sure what to say but glad when he reaches for my hand. I can feel his pulse pounding in his wrist. My lips still smolder from our kissing, and my heart thumps in my ears. When he raises my hand to plant a light kiss on my knuckles, I think maybe I shouldn’t have stopped him. Maybe we should have kept going.

  It’s good I’m on the pill because I can tell that things with Charlie could quickly get serious, like the downward drop of a roller coaster after that long uphill climb. Whoosh! Here we go, careening toward the next turn at the speed of light. I’m not sure how many more middle-of-the-night kissing fests I can take before I lose my will to stop him. It both helps and hurts that we’re already such good friends. I know he cares about me and that this isn’t just a fling for either of us. I have none of those nagging questions about respect and if he’ll still care in the morning. Charlie does, and Charlie will.