Foretold (A Ghost Gifts Novel Book 2)

by Laura Spinella

  “Kind of amazing, isn’t it? Seeing how something my father wrote down years ago played out today.”

  “Kind of?” Levi said.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know, Aubrey. Kind of makes your ghost gifts seem sort of pedestrian.”

  She smirked. “Very funny. Of course, let’s not forget—”

  “That you’ve exhibited the same penchant for future predictions. I haven’t forgotten. Not for a second. We just got sidetracked.”

  “Sidetracked for a good reason.”

  “I’d say so. Listen, when we get back to Surrey, maybe I could give Pete a nudge, suggest the three of us have dinner together. How does that sound?”

  “Like the best thing you could have said to me.” Aubrey smiled wider and reached for the radio, turning it on. Instead of music, the only sound that rose was a familiar ping. She furrowed her brow and changed the station. Again, a soft but distinct ping vibrated through the car’s stereo system. “Weird . . .” She shut it off. Levi didn’t say anything, though he glanced between her and the highway. Aubrey’s phone dinged, the sound muffled. “Where is my . . .”

  Levi flipped open the center console. “I tucked it in there.”

  She rolled her eyes at perpetual tidiness and stuck her hand inside. Instead of her phone, she came up with a roll of Hubba Bubba Sour Green Apple gum. “What the . . . did you take . . . ?” Levi shook his head. Aubrey closed her eyes and laughed softly.

  “A ghost gift from Eli?” he said, his eyes on the highway.

  “How thoughtful.” Still shaking her head and smiling, Aubrey reached back into the console and came up with her phone. Aubrey clicked on her messages. “Oh my God.”

  “What? Say something.”

  “This text. It, um . . . it says, ‘My first message from here. Thanks for the assist.’” Then her brow pulled tighter. ‘Don’t forget—you two work best as a team. You’ll need to.’”

  Levi’s dark gaze made a skeptical shift between Aubrey and her phone. “You don’t really think that text was from . . .”

  She blinked at the phone and held up the gum. She pondered the passing scenery, her fingertips dragging through a slightly fogged side window. “Well, if they can write on a mirror . . .”

  “Or project enough influence to make a person take notes . . .”

  “Communication from the other side goes beyond my breadth of knowledge. Which, based on this”—Aubrey held up the phone—“does seem a little like last year’s psychic technology.” She turned to Levi. “Okay, regardless of Eli’s choice of conduit. What does he mean?” She read the text message again. “We work best as a team . . . and we’ll need to.”

  “Aubrey, I am flat-out done dissecting Eli Serino. We got those boys back thanks to him. Let it go at that,” Levi said. “I really just want to pick Pete up and—” The thought was interrupted by Levi’s phone, the dashboard display lighting up: Diane Higley. Levi hit the audio button on the steering wheel. “Sorry we’re running late, Diane. We’ll be back in Surrey shortly. I hope Pete’s not giving you a hard time.”

  “Uh, Levi. It’s not that. I have to tell you something.”

  Aubrey was suddenly hyper-tuned to the woman’s voice, heavy with motherly concern. Background noises clarified, the static of a police radio and the wail of a siren.

  “Levi?” Diane said. Her voice and the sounds, they lit a full-on panic inside Aubrey. “I’m sorry . . . so sorry—I thought they’d be fine.”

  “Piedmont Street.” Aubrey clamped her hand around Levi’s arm. Instead of darting to the emergency lane, Levi pulled right onto the highway median.

  “What’s wrong, Diane? What’s going on?” he said. Aubrey’s fingers were firm on Levi’s wrist, and through his suit jacket, she felt his pulse pound. “Is Pete all right?”

  “That’s just it. I don’t know.” The woman’s voice wavered, sobs echoing. “He and Dylan left the skate park. I told them not to; I told them they didn’t have permission to go anywhere else.”

  “Diane,” Levi demanded, “where is my son?”

  “Dylan told me they were skating behind the abandoned rubber-processing plant,” she said, gulping frantic breaths. “There’s a bunch of ramps back there. Dylan said he got thirsty and went to the 7-Eleven a block over. When he came back, Pete was gone.”

  Levi dove at reason. “Maybe he got bored, went home. It’s not that far, or went off to skate somewhere else.”

  “I don’t think so, Levi. Dylan found Pete’s skateboard behind the factory . . . and his cell phone. We’ve been to your house, the condo . . . we’ve been everywhere. I called the police over an hour ago.”

  “And you’re just calling us now!” Aubrey looked in her side-view mirror and slapped her hand on the car door. “Go, Levi! Just go!”

  They sped off toward Surrey, tires screeching onto the highway, solid black lines in the pavement snaking toward the unknown.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Forty-Eight Hours Later

  Upon their return to Surrey, a hysterical Diane Higley and Detective Espinosa had met with Levi and Aubrey. Since the Missy Flannigan story, and during his tenure as Surrey City Press editor in chief, Levi had kept in contact with Surrey’s lead detective. Aubrey was grateful for this, as the detective was inclined to share all aspects of the investigation into Pete’s disappearance. But as the first twenty-four sleepless hours came and went, Detective Espinosa had gravitated toward a scenario both Aubrey and Levi were dreading: finding themselves in the same hellish predicament as Barbara Flannigan and Connie Beane—the parents of a child gone missing.

  While the Surrey Police Department did their due diligence, speculating and investigating common avenues, Pete’s parents were considered ethereal possibilities. This wasn’t an ordinary twelve-year-old boy who’d vanished, but one with a mysterious gift. A gift not even his parents understood. A confounded Levi and Aubrey weighed various theories, a range of risks: Pete hitting a wall of anger and taking off on his own. Option B, a more worrisome scenario—an abduction that had nothing to do with Pete’s gift. A third thought finally wove its way into the conversation, something beyond Pete’s anger or a criminal mind. What if Pete’s disappearance was tied to his inexplicable gift?

  It was a hypothesis they didn’t dare share with Detective Espinosa.

  Late into the second afternoon, a police car was stationed outside the house on Homestead Road. Dan Watney had been by to hear the details, offer his support. Piper remained in Washington, DC, coordinating the Suzanne Serino investigation. She’d listened intently on speakerphone, stunned that such a fate had befallen Aubrey and Levi. Naturally, both Dan and Piper pledged their considerable resources and help.

  At the moment, only Detective Matthews, an underling of Detective Espinosa, remained inside the house. She’d been assigned the task and given permission to look through the personal possessions in the Ellis–St John home, including the master bedroom. Aubrey didn’t like the invasion of privacy but understood the necessity. Ordinary possibilities couldn’t be dismissed. After an hour of rummaging through their upstairs, the female detective returned to the living room. In her arms were Aubrey’s journals—the ones where she’d recorded Pete’s precarious dreams. Aubrey swallowed hard and hung on to a thread of composure. Detective Matthews wanted to know more about the peculiar handwritten notes, and Aubrey was obligated to say something. Exhausted and terrified, she was unable to grasp at a quick lie. Levi answered, the threesome standing awkwardly in the living room. “They’re idea journals.”

  “Idea journals?” Detective Matthews narrowed her eyes at his explanation.

  “Idea . . .” In her frightened and fatigued state, Aubrey almost mirrored the remark of disbelief.

  “Uh, yes,” he said. “Not so much journal writings, but story ideas. Aubrey’s been putting together notes for a Harry Potter–type of series. The journals, they’re like an artist’s sketchbook.”

  “Uh-huh.” The detective offered a curious look
. “And you planned on naming the main character Pete, just like your son?”

  “What?” Aubrey’s gaze ricocheted between the windows and the detective. Levi shot her a coaxing glance. “I’m undecided.” She was engaged enough to realize a deep inquiry into Pete’s dreams would not be a productive path. She shrugged. “Would it be so out there to model an adventurous boy after my own son?”

  The journals were tight in the detective’s grip, and Aubrey fought the urge to snatch them away. “I don’t know about that, but this is some seriously inventive thinking.” The detective flipped one open. “You’ve covered history like a time machine. Do you have a degree in history, Mrs. St John?”

  “Miss Ellis.” Her correction was swift and sharp. Aubrey didn’t want the woman anywhere near her son or his dreams. “Why don’t you get the parties who are present straight before questioning my creative writing habits? And why would you ask about a history degree?”

  “I just found your notes interesting . . . surreal. Why do you find my question so upsetting? I’m a bit of a history buff. Your idea journal appears to be factual . . . and yet imaginary. Biographical fiction anchored to real events.”

  “Again, I’m not sure as to the relevance of your question.”

  “I’m just here to collect puzzle pieces, Miss Ellis.” She held up the journal. “This seems like one. At the very least, it shows incredible imagination laced with an air of . . . spookiness, the things you’ve written about your son.”

  “You mean the things Aubrey wrote about the character in her story,” Levi said.

  “If you say so. The writing is intense. Hence my question about having a degree in history.”

  “No, Detective, I don’t have a degree in history. But there isn’t anything in those journals a library card or Google search can’t produce. I do have a nonfiction book to my credit. My turn. How does your question help find my son?”

  “I can’t answer that, Miss Ellis—not yet. I’m sorry if I further upset you. I’m only exploring all realistic possibilities as to how or why Peter St John might have vanished into what appears to be thin air.”

  Levi shut the front door and flipped the dead bolt. As far as he was concerned, there’d been enough police input for one day. Aubrey stood by the fireplace, her thumb running over the edge of a silver frame that held a picture of Pete. Levi’s recollection of the photo was vivid.

  His son had been four when the photo was taken, Pete seated on a spotted pony. Of all things, a carnival had come to town. Aubrey had coaxed until Levi caved. “Oh, come on. It’ll be fun,” she’d said to him. “I’ll show you how to win at the milk bottle game. You have to know which bottles are weighted.”

  That day at the carnival, the games were quickly forgotten. Aubrey’s fascination appeared to go far beyond the glitz of blinking lights, air scented with funnel cakes and popcorn, the whirling crank of carnival sounds. She’d been caught off guard, and her introspection was obvious to Levi. Wandering a straw-covered maze of memories, he’d followed her rapt attention, her mind clearly snagged on the past. Pete, on the other hand, had been terrified of the giant slide, even while riding in his father’s lap. But the pony—Pete had loved the pony, sitting tall and fearless, like a soldier on its back.

  On the ride home, Pete had fallen asleep in his car seat, his face sweaty and his head filled with dreams—Levi knew this from the way his son had thrashed restlessly, even though he’d been exhausted. At the time, an unsuspecting Levi had blamed disquiet on too much sugar. Another year or two would pass before Pete began to verbalize his dreams and lash out from a deep sleep. As for Aubrey, she’d sat so quietly beside Levi, staring out the passenger window. He’d wanted to ask what she was thinking of but didn’t. For the first time in their relationship, Levi had been fearful, concerned about what her answer might be.

  In their living room, Levi was confronted by the current silence, which reminded him of the carnival aftermath. But this deafening hush was removed from Levi’s memories and so very different. Their life and home, it hadn’t been this way, filled with raw emptiness and soundless air. Levi sat, suddenly aware that this silence was the sound Aubrey had been living with, listening to, in recent months—since he left, since Pete left. He thought about pouring himself a drink; then he thought better of it. He needed to be sharp; he needed to be present. Where the fuck had it all gone so wrong? And now this.

  “We’ll find him, Aubrey.” He rushed into the statement with the force of a tourniquet, wanting to cut off her pain. She didn’t latch on to his attempt to soothe, not even turning from the mantel.

  “Detective Matthews, did you hear her tone? She thinks I have something to do with Pete’s disappearance.” Her voice shook. “We’re not new to this, Levi. We can’t count out all the horrible ordinary things that might have happened to Pete. We’ve seen too much. Sadly, we know too much.” Misplaced laughter sputtered from Aubrey. “We both know I didn’t go all Suzanne Serino on you.” She faced him. “I haven’t lost my mind. I don’t have Pete holed up in an indoor ice rink, nor did I steal him from you because I felt you were keeping him from me. So we can erase those possibilities. But it’s small comfort, isn’t it? We’re erasing the easy stuff.” Tears ran in tiny tributaries down her face.

  “Of course I don’t think anything like that. Aubrey . . .”

  She closed her fingers around the photo and backed away from the fireplace, from him. Learned behavior, heightened self-awareness, told him this was wrong. She should be moving toward him.

  “What if it’s something worse? What if it’s beyond insane, and Pete’s disappearance is nothing that can ever be solved like Missy Flannigan or Trevor Beane? What if it’s what you said the other day? What if Pete’s vanished to wherever his dreams take him—dreams that are nobody’s fault but mine.”

  “That’s not what’s happening here. You—” He clenched his fists; Aubrey swiped at her tears. Levi wanted to tell her it was incomprehensible—like traveling to whatever existed beyond the farthest star. He was too cognizant of facts to do this. Levi had experienced enough of the implausible, been privy to enough ghosts. He couldn’t assure Aubrey this wasn’t the case. He moved closer; the photo rattled like a Halloween skeleton in her hands. He eased the frame from her grip and looked at his son, smiling atop the pony, the thick of carnival crowds surrounding him. Aubrey had preferred the black-and-white image, and it was the one she’d chosen to display on the mantel eight years ago.

  Through his own glassy gaze, he looked at Aubrey—a woman who’d not been overcome but taken steady control of her life. Yet in this moment, everything trembled: her hands, her chin, and, he guessed, her heart. His own heart began to race, and he was left with two options: panic, or default to his comfort zone—steadfast logic.

  He tugged on Aubrey’s arms until she was in his. “Listen to me. We might not know the exact scenario, but I believe Pete is out there, within our grasp. It’s not what you’re thinking. He hasn’t tumbled off into some parallel existence. Even for you, that’s a big leap. Pete didn’t go from detailed dreams to something so . . .”

  “Outrageous?” She pushed away from him. “Don’t look now, Levi. But it wasn’t so many years ago I brokered a conversation between you and your own dead brother. At the time, it was exactly what you labeled it—an incomprehensible, impossible thought.”

  “That was different.”

  “How?”

  “I might not have been on board, not right away, but you knew precisely what was happening. We’re not going to lose our son to such an unknown. Something neither one of us can define. Pete isn’t going to simply vanish off the face of the earth.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because . . .” Levi’s flapped his arms against his body. “Because he’s got too much St John in him—we’re more earthbound.”

  “Oh really? Want to ask your brother about that?”

  “Stop it, Aubrey—just stop. Don’t do this to us. Don’t head down a path that—”

&nbs
p; “A path from which we’d have no hope of recovering our son.” She narrowed her teary gaze. “At least admit it’s in the realm of possibility.”

  Levi refused. Instead, he took a lost turn around the familiar living room. Neither intelligence nor reason would allow him to argue her point. Then he sat on the sofa and placed the photo on the coffee table; Levi trailed his fingertips over Pete’s face. Then he retrieved his phone, his brain frantically grasping at straws of logic.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “Dan Watney. When it comes to the unsolved and the missing, we do have a huge plus in Dan and Piper. Maybe one of them has come up with a lead we can follow up on. I’m sure as hell not waiting on the Surrey Police Department and Detective Matthews.” He glanced between the phone and her. “We know their track record on missing children.”

  Aubrey moved to within his sight line; she stood with her long arms folded, her face red, and her nose runny. “You do that, Levi. And I hope Dan has avenues we haven’t considered—whatever they are. At least they’ll be tangible options. But just like our son’s dreams, I’ll be the one left here, understanding, accepting that Pete’s life is full of unknowns. They’re possibilities that all the Dan Watneys and Piper Sullivans of the world can’t do a damn thing about.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Aubrey tried to anchor herself in the surroundings. The garage of the Homestead Road house was set to the rear; behind it was the nature preserve. A massive oak tree served as the border between the field and yard. Years ago, Levi had hung a tire swing from a sturdy branch. Pete had quit coming back there and swinging from it about the same moment he had permission to leave the yard. In the approaching dusk, Aubrey had wandered out, looking for her son, searching for hope. Standing near the tree, she dug the toe of her shoe into the soft earth. Pete and her life, they both were so absent. It seemed like the past was the only thing that came with clarity right now, the only thing she could grab on to.