Returning to the frustration I felt in the kitchen, I struck out at the person closest to me. “I’ve got to stop her. We need to come up with a plan of attack.”
His steely glare didn’t change as he regarded me. His strong, tan hand flexed into a fist, the only indication he heard me. Finally, he said, “I cannot assist you. It’s impossible and pointless.”
The statement fell flat between us, void of emotion, and only stoked the fire of anger living under the surface of my skin lately.
“How can you say that? I don’t deserve to be here!”
His eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. “Many of us don’t belong here. The sooner you let go, the sooner you can move on.”
“Right,” I snorted. “Great advice coming from someone who’s been stuck in this house for over a century.”
“I have my reasons for staying.”
“And you keep those locked up pretty tightly,” I muttered, crossing my arms.
“They are mine. As you said, I’ve been in this form for a long time, close to a hundred and fifty years. You’ve been here for sixteen days. My perspective is a little more accurate than yours.”
It was the most I’d heard him say in a while, since the night he told me about Catherine and how they were plotting to run away together before her husband killed her.
Something snapped as a flash of Jason kissing me—no, her—danced through my mind with the grace of a wrecking ball. I latched onto the heat and shoved Jackson with so much force he actually stumbled backwards. The truth was, I wanted to hurt him, to show him the pain I felt.
“I don’t want to be like this anymore,” I yelled as I continued to pound against his strong chest.
Either my attack surprised him too much to fight back or he didn’t really care, but it took him a while to trap my wrists in his hands.
“You’re so pathetic! She’s the devil! I hate her! I hate Jason! He can suffer right along with her. They deserve each other as they rot in hell!”
There was no reining my rage in.
Until, a small voice called out. “Quinn, stop.”
And I did.
Glancing up, I saw George standing at the top of the stairs, looking down on Jackson and me with sadness in his little face. The urge to snarl at him burned bright. It didn’t matter the boy was a companion growing up, dressed in slave’s rags and always so friendly, a confidante who listened to my hopes and secrets. In my grief-stricken moment, he became the enemy. Like everyone else.
“Anger ain’t helpin’,” he added.
His simple statement stole some of the bite from my attack. “It’s the closest I’ve come to being alive.” I stared at my hands as if they didn’t belong to me. “I used to never get mad. Not even after all the terrible things Marietta and the twins put me through. I don’t feel like myself anymore.”
George shook his head, and Jackson released my wrists before lecturing. “What you want might not be possible. You won’t get it by giving in to darker emotions. They’ll trap you in a vicious cycle of reliving everything you’ve lost. If you want to beat Catherine, you must be smart and patient.”
He had a point, and I ducked my head in embarrassment. Of course I’d never tell him how much his words humbled me. He and George helped me some, but it was hard to trust anyone. Especially when they lectured me to accept my new status and move on. Not happening.
“How do I control my emotions? They take over, and I can’t stop,” I asked, shifting the conversation to a more neutral subject.
Jackson reached out to raise my chin until I stared at him. “You let go.”
“Sure, forget about the life I had. I’ll find a way to get it all back. I’d take a hundred years of the crap Marietta and her evil spawns dished out over this.”
I didn’t mean to stomp my foot, but I did. Of course, Jackson noticed.
“Acting like a child won’t accomplish anything.”
“A-a child?” I sputtered. “How dare you!”
“All I’m suggesting is to keep a level head.”
“Don’t tell me what I can’t do!”
It would’ve been nice to have someone in my corner, coaching me. There was nobody to tell me where to start or what I needed to do. Figuring this out on my own intimidated the heck out of me. I didn’t have anyone on the other side fighting for me. Not yet. Suddenly, I wanted to be alone, to be anywhere other than the one place that gave me comfort.
I spun on my heel and stalked to the front door.
“Where are you going?” Jackson asked, his tone impatient, indicating he still thought I was being immature.
“Out.”
“You tried that yesterday and came back after sunset, having gotten lost and frustrated.”
“Only because I got distracted by this really big dragonfly.” I hated feeling like a complete airhead. It didn’t happen every day. Sometimes, I woke up and remembered what I was, each maddening detail. Then there were mornings, like this one, where I thought life was normal, that I still had a heartbeat. Distractions were worse. I’d catch the scent of a flower and spend the afternoon trying to recall what kind. “Why am I so forgetful?”
“You’re not human anymore.”
“Shut up. I am. I am human.” I enunciated the words, as if saying them forcefully enough made them true. “I don’t care. I’m going.”
“What good will leaving do?”
Stopping mid-stride, I glared over my shoulder at him. Ugh, he made me so flipping mad.
“I’m leaving because you suck. This ghost crap sucks. The whole situation...sucks!”
Okay, not the best approach to prove I wasn’t being childish. Too late to take it back now. I reached out, suddenly wishing I was solid enough to grab the handle as I had before in the bathroom. I needed a good door slam.
Except, right before I bounded through the two-inch thick wood, the doorbell rang, freezing me in place. I studied the entrance for a half second, confounded by who might be on the other side. Sensing someone behind me, I peered over my shoulder to see Catherine approaching, wet hair brushed back and her face a mask of weariness. Her hesitation made me suspicious. Who did she have to be afraid of?
“Check who it is,” she ordered in a hushed tone.
“No,” I scoffed.
This time our visitor pounded on the door, and Catherine tiptoed over to the side window.
“It’s that friend of yours. So annoying.”
She flounced off, leaving me gaping in her wake. Abby! Holy crap. I forgot about her, as impossible as it sounded. She’d help! She’d know I wasn’t acting normal. Surely, Catherine would let her in, if only to continue her idiotic ruse. Pressing my ear against the wood, I listened closely and heard a familiar sigh. Oh my gosh, I was the worst friend ever for letting her slip my mind.
As Abby’s footsteps retreated, I leaned through the door, nearly collapsing in a fit of giggles when I imagined what it looked like—a head sticking out, nothing else. My mirth doubled when I noticed a couple random paparazzi across the street. Imagine the picture they’d get! Then my mood soured. Apparently, Catherine was a hot ticket these days because of Jason. I didn’t like that one bit.
Abby turned down the sidewalk, a defeated gait in her step and her pink tipped hair swinging behind her. My heart went with her, but a smile also bloomed on my lips as I jumped through the wood to follow.
Chapter Three
Jackson’s words festered and boiled as I stalked Abby across town. In my mind, this battle wasn’t a lost cause, not when my body walked and talked. I figured if anyone might be able to help me it was Abby. Due to my gaps in time, my forgetfulness, I didn’t even know if she’d been to visit me before today. I assumed she had. Why wouldn’t she? And had Catherine ignored her more than once?
The day was bright and beautiful. Wispy clouds were painted across the sky. Savannah glowed in all its old glory. Many referred to it as a city built upon its dead. So many battles were fought here over the years, and corpses had often been buried where
they fell then covered further with houses and businesses. Appropriate place for me, I reckoned. Luckily, I didn’t have to worry about getting lost. My eyes rarely strayed from my best friend’s back.
“All those times we worried something would follow us home from one of our investigations and here I am, stalking you,” I teased, not caring she didn’t hear me. “Funny how things turn out. From a sensitive who can see ghosts to a ghost who is a sensitive.”
It wasn’t until she stopped at a crosswalk, and I almost ran into her, that Abby suspected she might not be alone. Her blue eyes peeked over her shoulder as she scanned the empty sidewalk. Well, empty except for me. My lips twitched, begging to be let free in a grin, and I complied. Especially since she kept glancing behind her with a panicked expression as she picked up the pace the closer she got to her home, her long legs lengthening the distance between us.
I easily recalled Abby’s house, her bedroom with the dark purple paint on the walls and a UFO poster sporting the words “I’m a Believer”. I used to spend so many afternoons there, avoiding my step-family and the salon where Marietta overworked and underpaid me. Almost more than the attic in my house, I considered Abby’s a sanctuary. I used to sit at the table and eat with her and her mama and roam freely through their house as if it were my own, without fear of repercussions.
Abby practically rushed up the front steps and dashed inside. I paused before going in, nostalgia washing over me. With her mother working night shifts, I knew Abby would be alone, so I stepped through the door. Upstairs, at the end of the hall, I paused in front of her bedroom door. Pictures of us greeted me, pulling an ache from my motionless heart, and I slipped into the room.
A sigh of relief escaped me. I was here. Now what?
Abby hunched over her computer, already plugged in and scanning through pictures from our last paranormal investigation. Tears pricked my eyes when she paused on a photo of the two of us laughing, camera held at arm’s length in front of us. Her finger touched the screen.
“What is going on with you, Quinn?” Her full lips pursed into a scowl.
I took a moment to recover, soaking in the sight of her. Round cheeks, blonde hair with just the ends tipped pink, a new piercing in her ear. She wore her favorite Paramore sweatshirt, our favorite band, with a pair of black cargo shorts as well as her hot pink Converse shoes. And a cast on her arm? Wait a second. Shifting closer, I studied the purple cast on her forearm. From the frayed, dirty edges, she’d been sporting it for a while. Skulls and flowers decorated the hard material, courtesy of Abby’s own hand. I recognized her artwork anywhere.
“What in blue blazes happened to you, Abby?”
She didn’t reply. Not that I expected her to, but secretly, I hoped. Once in awhile, she detected spirits when we investigated places.
“Oh my gosh, you have no idea how happy I am to see you. Wait until you find out what I’ve been through,” I babbled on. It felt normal. And I didn’t realize until then just how deeply I missed my best friend.
Surveying her room, I expected something to be different, but realized it was me who’d changed. She had her favorite candle burning in the corner, next to her bed, bought from Element, a funky store downtown. The scent barely penetrated the fog messing with my senses. Outside her window, night began its slow crawl across the city, but only one person reflected in the glass—Abby.
Once I felt strong enough to attempt reaching out to her, I ambled to her desk and stood a couple feet from her left shoulder. I chewed on my lip as I searched for a way to let her know I was there.
“You have to work with me on this,” I explained before taking a deep breath and shouting at the top of my lungs.
The only response I got was Abby scratching her ear and humming as she opened another file and flicked through a new set of images, which appeared to have been taken during a solo investigation. It felt wrong to know she went out on her own, without me. Another burning hole of jealousy formed inside me, adding to the list of things I missed out on.
I tried to whack her upside the head, hoping the movement at least disrupted the air nearby. It didn’t work. My palm passed through her skull, which grossed me out.
Dancing in place, laughing, I shook my hand out and repeated, “Gross, gross, gross.”
Then I froze. Finally, I was acting like myself. Ever since the night in the cemetery, I’d been so angry and hurt, flipping from one mood to the next. In this familiar space, with my best friend, I was a normal teenage girl, not a freaky misplaced ghost. Well, apart from probably touching her brain. I reveled in the rightness of the moment before frustration came crashing back in.
“Great,” I growled at Abby. “Some paranormal investigator you are.”
Something clicked. Of course, I needed more energy! I scoped out the area, looking for anything to draw from, but all her cameras and stereos were off. I might be able to use her computer, but I didn’t want to corrupt her files and accidentally delete her work. My gaze landed on the lamp sitting on her desk. Worth a shot.
Stepping closer, I concentrated on the small aura of energy pulsing off it, pulling it into me. It wasn’t much, but eventually the light began to dim and flicker. Abby glanced up, her thin brows furrowed in confusion. Excited, I also drew on the air around us, praying she’d feel the cold spot it created. Due to all my sulking I hadn’t really experimented with my abilities as a ghost. Feeling stupid over waiting so long I focused harder, determined to draw a reaction from Abby.
Warmth spread into my limbs chasing away the constant cold. I glanced down. My arms looked solid, real. The sight pulled a smile from me. Then I tuned my attention on my friend, willing her to sense me.
Finally, she pushed to her feet. “Holy crap, is someone with me?”
“Yes, you dork,” I mumbled.
Abby scrambled into action, digging into her desk drawer and coming up with a silver digital recorder. She punched record and set it on the end of her desk.
“Oh, boy. Okay. Something must have followed me home. Where is Quinn when I need her?” My heart soared. “If you can hear me, speak into this red light.”
Feeling mischievous, I lowered my voice and growled, “I’m the ghost of Christmas past.”
She didn’t respond, just pushed her hair from her forehead and stared through me. Unfortunately, my stupid joke used up a lot of my valuable energy. The warmth began to fade quickly.
“I can help you. Tell me what you need.” She picked up a small digital camera and snapped a picture in my general direction.
Rolling my eyes, I leaned closer to the recording device. “It’s your best friend, Quinn Roberts. Don’t believe Catherine. She stole my body.” I was growing weaker, my voice coming out quieter with each word. “She’s not me. I’m stuck, Abby. I’m a ghost.”
I sounded so far away, even to myself. I noticed my feet becoming translucent again. Crap. With the window of opportunity closing, forced pleas clawed from my throat.
“Come find me!”
Abby’s wide eyes stayed fixated on the space next to me.
My energy evaporated, the warmth along with it, and any chance of being heard vanished. The atmosphere in her room returned to normal. I could only hope my voice imprinted on the digital recorder. Abby reached over and switched the device off, fumbling with the buttons at first. It startled me to see her affected by the encounter. Apparently, she didn’t get many ghosts in her room. Lucky girl.
She glanced at the bedside clock. “Crap. I’m gonna be late for work. Stupid late shift.”
Flinging the recorder into her cavernous purse, she flipped off the lights and rushed out the door. I stood rooted to the floor and gaped after her. Not exactly the reunion I dreamed of.
Around me, the room faded. Actually, it was me who became nothing. Slowly, more and more of me disappeared. Darkness encroached, beginning at the edges of my vision and enveloping me. The thought crossed my mind to be scared, but I’d sapped my energy by trying to communicate with Abby.
When I opened my eyes, I found myself in the attic, exactly where I started my day. Confusion knotted my brows as I sat up and glanced out the window. To the east, the sky was beginning to lighten, indicating dawn. Somehow, I missed an entire night. It didn’t seem possible. I rose and went to look outside, hoping to clear some of my muddled thoughts. At least I remembered I was a ghost this time.
I wondered why I ended up here of all places. True, it’d always been my sanctuary, more so the last five years. When my stepmother, Marietta, forced me to move up here, not long after Daddy died, I discovered I felt at home in the cluttered space dominated by boxes and furniture, relics of generations of the Roberts family. Through the years, I carved out a living space and managed to sort through decades of history. Tucked away, ordered to live in a dusty attic—another similarity I used to joke about sharing with Cinderella.
As the shadows lightened, I thought about Jason. His complete acceptance of Catherine tore me apart. Granted, she was good. When I watched her, it was like seeing a movie with me as the star. I forgot it was her. How could I blame him for caring about me? I had to cling to that truth, or else I’d go mad with jealousy and hate. I’d find a way to show him who she truly was. I had nothing but time.
Movement from the rear of the huge yard caught my eye. I strained to see what it was, and the hair on my arms pricked, telling me it wasn’t natural. The shape was distorted, definitely inhuman. Its gait not smooth. It loped and limped along, large and hulking. Amber slits cut through the opaque figure. The gaze was chilling, invisible daggers reaching toward me, focusing with intensity. The longer I stared, the more its shape shifted to resemble a person.
The figure terrified me, and I knew without a doubt it was evil, but at the same time, I desired to know more. Maybe it could answer some questions, give me insight. The twisted body passed behind a tree and disappeared. I pressed closer to the window, so close I practically hung through it and scanned the grassy area. Nothing. I blew out a breath in frustration, an action that should have fogged up the glass. What was the figure? I’d never noticed it, in all my years growing up here, and instinct warned me to fear it.
A Strange There After Page 2
