Foretold (A Ghost Gifts Novel Book 2)

by Laura Spinella

  Until now.

  Aubrey was drawn back to the myriad of ghost gifts and thoughts of her father. A different singular thread stuck out. It was something not even Levi could assign to a list or flesh out in his head: the burden of knowing the future. Aubrey now had a clear picture of her father’s haunted guilt; the weight of realizing how prediction A connected to tragedy B, but only after CNN had reported it. Her fingers fluttered over Levi’s companion news reports. People were dead, families devastated, and in front of her were bits of paper that foretold it all. Her hand hovered near another example: a prediction that bore a clear forewarning about a cruise ship sinking in the Mediterranean Sea. It was around the time her parents had relocated to Greece. Aubrey imagined her father’s angst. He would have been within half a day’s trip of the predicted tragedy. She rummaged through the accordion folder until she found a New York Times article on the all-too-real Greek tragedy—a bomb had been the early determination.

  Had her father attempted to intervene, one of two things would have occurred: Peter Ellis would have been labeled mad for suggesting the future, or held responsible for having known about it. None of it was too far from what had happened to Aubrey at the Prudential Tower. “Talk about a lose-lose situation.” She held on to the cruise line prediction, scribbled on the torn edge of a menu written in Greek. A solid number of prophecies had occurred after his death, and Aubrey felt reverence for the posthumous predictions. “No more responsibility, no liability.” For the first time since she was five, Aubrey had an inkling of understanding: Peter Ellis would have perceived death as more peaceful than the burden of living.

  The kitchen door opened and, of course, shut; Levi came back into the room. Distant sirens still pealed through the space, and Aubrey stood, both of them looking toward the living room windows. “I took a turn down Blakemore,” he said. “The intersection at Piedmont was blocked off. Looked like a nasty accident.” He pushed up his glasses and stared blankly. It’d been some time since Aubrey’s gift had put such a mystified expression on his face. “Am I correct in assuming that Dylan’s grandmother warned you?”

  Confirmation seemed pointless. “Could you see if anyone else was seriously hurt?”

  “The vehicles looked totaled, but no. It appeared to be cuts and scrapes, even from a distance. Answer me, Aubrey, about Dylan’s grandmother.”

  “Yes. She warned me. Begged me, actually, not to let him skateboard to the park. That if he did, Dylan would . . .”

  “He would what?”

  “Die.”

  Levi ran a hand through his dark hair, a hint of gray encroaching at his temple. Aubrey sometimes wondered about the lines on his face, if she’d put them there. “So you didn’t just decide to act out on a friendly visit from a specter, this was a prognostication like your father’s.”

  “I couldn’t help myself. Although this prediction did appear to be on a smaller scale—not some national disaster.”

  “Or it could be the entities in charge want to give you a few practice rounds first, work you up to the big-ticket stuff.”

  “I did manage to keep Dylan, maybe even Pete, from harm,” she snapped. “It wasn’t a negative thing.”

  “And so now what?” Levi frowned, his head moving in anything but an agreeable motion. “We start living our lives in fear of the future? That’s great, Aubrey . . . just great. When you call to tell me not to get on that plane or insist Pete shouldn’t go on a field trip . . . well, I suppose we could build a bunker in the basement.” He threw his car keys onto a side table, metal careening into the ceramic dish where he used to keep them.

  While it cracked in two, Aubrey didn’t react, not outwardly. “It’s not like I chose this, Levi. What do you want me to do—get a lobotomy, maybe some shock therapy, see if we can waterboard it out of me?”

  He scraped a hand around the back of his neck. Confounded was not a look Levi wore well. “No,” he said more calmly. “Of course not. Of course I’m glad you were able to circumvent any tragedy today.” He thrust his hands to his waist, his dark irises looking solemnly into hers. “I only thought when it came to your gift, at least we had that much figured out. I wasn’t anticipating a plot twist.”

  “Enter the ‘life is full of surprises’ cliché.” They were the same words she’d offered years ago, when informing a still-recovering Levi that she was pregnant. After a near-fatal gunshot wound at the hands of Missy Flannigan’s killer, she wasn’t sure how he’d take the news. His initial surprise had worked its way around to guardedly anticipatory. “I get it, Levi. It’s a lot to negotiate on top of everything with Pete.” Aubrey dropped onto the sofa.

  But as he so often had—and despite problems in play—Levi continued to support her. He sat beside Aubrey, his hand squeezing hers. “Hey, you and Pete are a package deal—no matter what. Yes. This is an unforeseen complication. But we’ll figure it out.”

  With her left hand clasped in his right one, Aubrey couldn’t help but wonder if a ceremony at city hall, a piece of paper between them, would make a difference. She sighed. What did it matter now?

  “For what it’s worth,” Aubrey said, “I told that box I’m not having any of it. I won’t let this . . . aberration of my abilities affect me like it did my father.”

  “Then that box had better heed its own forewarning. Listen.” Levi waited until she made eye contact. “With things how they are right now . . .”

  Aubrey looked away; he didn’t need to finish the “between you and me” part.

  “With everything that’s going on with Pete, I admit I don’t have an instant solution. But I’ve witnessed your command, Aubrey. If necessary, all ghost gifts will come to fear you. You are a tower of strength.”

  She wanted to tell him the tower interior was not a stand-alone structure, that contrary to his statement, Levi was a load-bearing wall. She thought better of it. At the moment, adding pressure to the delicate scale on which their relationship balanced was not a great idea.

  Aubrey looked at the culprit box, examining the last random papers, several predictions neither Levi nor Aubrey could decipher. “Did you have any more thoughts on these?”

  “A few. It’s one reason I asked Charley if I could keep the box for a while.”

  “Makes sense.” Aubrey tipped her head at the unidentified scraps of paper but didn’t pick them up. She was wary of them. This is bullshit . . . Ramping up her in-charge attitude, Aubrey plucked one slip of paper from the pile. There was definitely heat, more so than lottery expectations and real estate listing sheets.

  “That one crayon drawing,” Levi said, “it’s so detailed, but I can’t figure it out. I do see the drawn predictions as more like a puzzle.”

  They both stared at the paper, which was about the size of an index card. On it was a clear sketch of a locker, the kind you’d find in a bus station. Next to it was an even tinier but precise drawing of a bumblebee.

  “Funny,” Levi said. “It reminds me of that old game show, Concentration.”

  Aubrey offered a vague look.

  “Right. No TV.” While Levi’s childhood had been strictly monitored, Aubrey’s didn’t even include cable. “The contestants,” he explained, “revealed puzzle pieces that used pictures to represent words. If you put it together first, solved the puzzle, you might win a washer-dryer, maybe a trip to Cancun.”

  “And let me guess, you solved every one before the contestants.”

  “Not so amazing. I doubt their contestant pool was selected from Mensa.”

  An urge to laugh was derailed as searing heat ripped through Aubrey’s fingers, and she dropped the paper. “Damn it!” She shook her hand. “That ghost gift,” she said with gritted teeth, “just went from tepid to burning bathwater.” She continued to stare at the drawing. Below the locker and bee was a curious scribbling of numbers: “55 06 56 003 21 31,” different from lottery numbers. “Oh my God . . . Levi.” She touched his arm. “I know what these numbers mean.”

  He spun the paper toward himself
, taking a closer look.

  “They’re coordinates.” On her words, Aubrey’s nose filled with the smell of jet fuel, and her ears rang with indiscernible noise, then a loud pop. “There wasn’t enough time for anyone to scream.”

  It seemed to flip a switch in Levi’s head, and he pounded his index finger into the drawings. “Lockerbie,” they said simultaneously. Levi pulled out his phone, navigating to Google Maps and punching in the coordinates. He showed the result to Aubrey. Lockerbie, Scotland, the site of one of the most horrific bombings in airline history.

  “Can you imagine if my father had figured it out ahead of time?”

  “Maybe worse, put it together the day after.” He drew a breath. “Incredible.”

  “Which part?”

  “It makes me think about my father,” Levi said. “Broderick St John was—still is—a tough man who faced many a battle on a field. But at least he had a choice; at least he had some idea of what was to come. Even someone as tenacious as him . . . I can’t fathom how anybody would handle this. It’s mind-boggling . . . cruel.”

  Aubrey rose from the sofa and walked to the fireplace mantel. She reached up, her fingertips fluttering over Peter Ellis’s face. Rarely had he smiled in photographs. His blue-gray eyes appeared hollow and lost. And now, it was as if she could see the terror. “What is it they say . . . something about walking in someone else’s shoes.” She looked at Levi. “What if I’m suddenly plunged into the same fate, Levi? What am I going to do?”

  “We’ll figure it out.” In a heartbeat, he was beside her. “Like you said, this gift won’t own you. You have to hang on to that.” Her chin quivered, fingertips pressing to her mouth. She didn’t want a future filled with incoming disaster; she wanted her life back—the one that included Levi, her son, and everything she’d earned. Everything that made their home normal, such as it was.

  Aubrey was unsure if Levi tugged her to him or she reached for the safety of his hold. It didn’t matter; she just held on.

  “Maybe there’s a reason your father’s gift turned up at this point in your life,” Levi said. “For me, the timing is like a clue—your father’s predictions coming to an end just as yours kick in.”

  Into his shoulder, she absently murmured, “That’s kind of what Zeke said.”

  He let go, backing up. “Zeke said?”

  Aubrey swiped a single tear. “Uh, yeah. In our brief conversation about the predictions . . . we were at Euro, and Zeke suggested the same thing.”

  “I see.” He returned to the sofa.

  “Do you, Levi? He’s just someone close to me who was trying to shed light on a subject I can’t share with many people. Don’t read into it.”

  His glance moved between her and the bits of paper in front of him. She could see him weighing his words, seeking something that wouldn’t set off another argument. “Fine,” he said tightly. “We’ll label it gratitude, input from a third party, someone who gets you.”

  Aubrey forced the conversation elsewhere. “As for shocking predictions, let’s just hope the remainder of my father’s ghost gifts are benign.”

  “Based on recent events, what are the odds of that?” He shot a sideways glance in her direction. “Sorry.” Levi filed the Lockerbie disaster with other tragedies from the 1980s. He reshuffled the last of the unidentified ghost gifts, as if the motion might jar a thought. With the Lockerbie prediction resolved, and aside from the possible lottery prediction, three ghost gifts remained: each written on construction paper; two green scraps, one blue star.

  One green construction paper read “Springfield,” and like several of Peter Ellis’s predictions, it was written in crayon. The other green paper depicted the Santa Claus sketch and more stick houses. On this fresh look, Aubrey felt more certain that the pointy brown ridge represented a backdrop of mountains. The final prediction was cut from sky-blue paper, star-shaped. It showed off another house, this one with a red roof. Dark blue waves took up the foreground, and a giant yellow-rayed sun overwhelmed the entire scene. It was completely primitive, somewhat nonsensical. Spelled out in yellow printing was the word “SUN.”

  “Well, duh,” she said. “Now if he foretold us that the sun, along with the sky, were to fall, then at least we could all run around like Henny Penny.” Aubrey muttered this as she stared, but instead of trepidation, she had the urge to pick up the construction paper star. “Huh. This ghost gift is familiar warm.”

  “Familiar warm,” he said. “What does that mean?”

  “Best I can explain, in addition to general warmth connected to a spiritual presence, there’s also an intense sense of déjà vu attached to it.”

  “But no more than that?” Levi asked. “You can’t place the déjà vu?”

  “Not really.” She switched the paper from one hand to the other, as if this might make a difference. Aubrey concentrated on the construction-paper drawings. “Levi, do these ghost gifts stick out because they’re different than the others? On the whole, construction paper is no stranger than the torn corner of a pizza box or yellow pages torn from a phone book.”

  “True. But I’m wondering if it’s the simplicity of these drawings making them stand out, more so than what they’re written on.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.”

  Levi reached for the Lockerbie drawing again. It was a good sketch, with fine, discernable detail. “If nothing else, why is your father’s drawing here so detailed . . .” He placed it next to the construction-paper ghost gifts. “And not nearly as much on these?”

  She tipped her head, glancing between the drawings. “Well, for one, my father was heavily medicated as the years went on. It could have affected his ability to transcribe . . . capture whatever message he was receiving.”

  “Point taken,” Levi said.

  Aubrey refocused on the green pieces of paper. Another wave of déjà vu—like that oncoming sneeze—rose and faded. Boldly, she picked them up.

  “Aubrey?” Levi said cautiously.

  “They’re warm, but I’m not feeling as drawn to the green papers as the blue. The blue star, there’s just something . . .” She reached for the word that kept rolling through her head. “Personal about the star. The green papers, it’s more like they contain information I’m not getting.” She clamped her hand over her mouth, stifling a gag. “And oh my God, they stink!”

  “Stink?” he said, looking queerly at her. “Stink like what?”

  “Pete’s gym bag.” The reply was reflexive. “Not Pete’s, exactly. Any teenage boy’s gym bag. No,” she said, a tiny trail of information seeping into her head. “Make that two teenage boys.” The taste of sour apple rolled over her palate again, followed by sugary sweetness. Combined with the gym-bag stench, a hint of nausea rose, and Aubrey cleared her throat. “The green paper, it’s just like . . .”

  “Like what?”

  “The green tape.”

  “Green what?”

  She focused on the Santa-like drawing, but Aubrey found herself more drawn to the background mountains. “Levi, how many states border the Grand Canyon?” It was like asking him the weather outside the window.

  “Three. Utah, Nevada, and mostly Arizona.”

  “Arizona.”

  “A little more information, please?”

  “I don’t know if it’s information or speculation, but when I saw Piper last week, we talked about two cases on her desk. Two teenage boys; one boy was from Arizona. She didn’t think the cases were related.”

  “I’m guessing you disagreed.”

  “Nothing concrete, I just sensed a connection. The first boy was from Pennsylvania. But the other, he was from Tucson.” She ran her fingertips over the triangular mountains.

  “Okay, but what does it have to do with elementary art and your father’s predictions?” Levi pointed to the letter box and all its contents.

  Aubrey wanted to pounce on a conclusion but found she had nothing other than psychic conjecture. She sat back, slamming herself and a toss pillow into the
sofa. “I don’t know. It’s all so vague . . . discombobulated . . . old.” She looked at him, feeling oddly frustrated. But the thought faded as the sensation of being physically pulled forward dominated, an entity urging her to look at the green construction paper. A shadowy image, a specter, filtered into her head and the room. It was eerie and uncomfortable and she’d seen it before—somewhere.

  A practiced skill set allowed her to shut it down. But before she could, the specter shoved rolls of green tape into her sight line. Aubrey heard the words, “It doesn’t belong to them. Look harder. Ask the ace reporter what he knows about green tape . . .” Then the voice vanished, the pulling sensation and vision ceasing on the entity’s exit.

  “Okay, so that was truly weird.” Aubrey sat pole straight.

  “Weirder than normal or . . . ?”

  “There was a specter present for a moment.” Aubrey’s gaze darted around her living room. “It didn’t belong here, like a stranger walking through your front door—I felt it, he knew it.”

  “He?” Levi said.

  “What?”

  “You just said ‘he knew it.’”

  “Definitely a male energy—and not a particularly pleasant one. It wanted me to look at the green construction paper. It said . . .” She shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense. It sounded like total rubbish.”

  “What sounded like total rubbish?”

  “Okay, let me, um . . . let me throw this out there. The boys I was just telling you about, they vanished months and two thousand miles apart.”

  “So not exactly a ‘what do these two things have in common’ scenario.”

  “No. Not with a couple of thousand kids reported missing every day. And maybe it’s not an inference even a trained eye would make.”

  “But to your eye . . .”

  “The older case, a boy named Trevor Beane—he’s a sixteen-year-old hockey player from the Philadelphia area. The second boy, Liam Sheffield, was two years younger.”