Lost No More (Ghost No More Series Book 2)

by CeeCee James

  “Ever notice how Dad doesn’t try out his inventions?” I asked.

  He rolled his eyes.

  Mom bumped past me to grab her keys off the table. “See you boys tonight.” She patted my hand. “Keep an eye on Willie. There’s pizza in the oven and broken cake in the Tupperware.”

  David and I gave each other a high five and sprinted for the yellow container at the end of the counter. I pried open the lid to reveal huge chunks of chocolate cake. Whenever a cake broke at work Mom brought it home for the Tupperware, and we’d eat it all week. We each grabbed a handful and stuffed them into our mouths, trying to make the grossest grin with brown-smeared teeth.

  Our laughter woke Willie from his nap, and his little face peered over the railing at us. As soon as he saw the Tupperware, he crawled down the ladder calling for his share of the cake.

  Dad walked in a couple hours later. “What are you little hooligans getting into in here? Trouble?”

  David and Willie were playing Old Maid on the floor. I doodled in some spilled cake crumbs on the table.

  “Jim, you don’t look busy. Come on to town with me.”

  I jumped up and followed him outside, happy for time alone with Dad. I pulled opened the truck door and a bottle toppled out onto the ground at my feet. My heart dropped with it. Closing my eyes, I swallowed; please don’t be there.

  When I opened them it was still there. Dad was in the driver’s seat lighting a cigarette and hadn’t seen the bottle fall. I wasn’t sure what to do with it. With the toe of my sneaker I nudged it under the truck.

  I scrambled up into the truck seat as a knot formed in my stomach. How much had he drank? After taking a deep sniff, I thought maybe I could smell alcohol. I yanked my seatbelt across my lap and strapped it on, then bit my thumbnail.

  “What were you looking at?” he asked, his eyes squinting from the smoke cloud around his head.

  I shook my head and stared out the windshield. He shifted the truck into drive, and it purred like always, lurching forward down the driveway. Dad burped as we headed down the winding road back into town. I knew it, I did smelled alcohol.

  We weren’t on the road more than two minutes when headlights flashed in the rearview mirror. Dad cursed and flipped the mirror up as the lights blinded him. It was a little red coupe. I glanced in my side mirror and groaned.

  “What a piece of crap,” Dad growled. “What does he think, he owns the road?”

  The driver drove right up on Dad’s tail, maybe thinking he would pressure Dad into speeding up. Dad slammed on his brakes. The seatbelt locked around my waist as I jerked forward.

  The red car’s brakes screeched. It fishtailed side to side, but managed to stop without crashing in to the back of us.

  Dad started again, but kept his speed even slower than before. The red car continued to tailgate us. My heart pounded, and I stared straight ahead, afraid to even glance in the side mirror again, and set Dad off.

  Dad found a place on the shoulder and hauled the truck to the side to let the car pass. As the red car rocketed by Dad gave him the finger.

  My chest loosened, and I took a deep breath. The problem had passed. Dad was letting him go around.

  With a growl, Dad whipped the truck back on the road. He stepped on the gas until the engine roared. Our truck ate up the road until Dad was inches behind the red car.

  I saw the guy’s face peep into his rearview mirror. He looked scared. The red car sped up, taking the sharp corners at forty miles an hour trying to outrun us. Dad’s big truck rode his bumper, threatening to ride right over the top and squash him like a pop can.

  “You think you can tail-gate me,” Dad sneered. His boozy breath hit me clear over by the window I was huddled against.

  The car took a quick turn into the gas station. Dad swerved in behind him, jerked on the e-brake, and jumped out before the truck had a chance to come to a complete stop. The other guy was out of his car and backing away into the gas station, the palms of his hands up in front of him.

  “You son of a bitch!” Dad clenched his fists. “You think you own the road. I’ll show you who owns the road!”

  “I’ll call the cops!” the guy said. His face looked sickly and pale.

  “I’ll call the cops!” Dad mimicked back in a high, whiney voice. “You think I’m afraid of the cops?”

  I wanted the man to run into the store. Dad had gotten into fist-fights for less than this. In my head I whispered, “Don’t talk to him, turn and run away.”

  It’s like the guy heard me, because he spun around and scuttled through the door.

  The gas station owner poked his head out.

  “What are you looking at?” Dad snarled at him. The owner shut the door quickly.

  “That’s right,” Dad muttered. He climbed back into the still running truck, and gassed it hard, his eyebrows knotting together when we didn’t move. “Oh,” he murmured, and pushed down the e-brake.

  He turned left on the road. I wondered if maybe he’d forgotten why we’d left in the first place, because he was driving back home. At the top of the driveway I hopped out as soon as he slowed down. Dad didn’t get out, instead he threw the truck in reverse and backed away. Probably going to the bar, I thought, savagely. My time with Dad was ruined. I turned towards the house and saw the clear glass bottle sitting on the ground. In a fury, I kicked it as hard as I could. It spun a few times before it disappeared into the dark.

  Chapter 9

  November was a cold month. It was pitch black when I came down the ladder that morning. Dad was already awake and by the roaring woodstove. He was taking me hunting.

  First, we drove to another house in one of the neighborhoods across town where we met up with Todd, one of dad’s friends. Todd was a nerdy guy who worked in furniture sales, and Dad felt sorry for him. “You’re thirteen, you’ve been hunting for years. But, he’s never had a chance to hunt!” he’d told me with an incredulous tone the night before. Dad had set out to mend that.

  We drove down to forest service land and parked the truck at the entrance of the road. Dad dragged the canoe from the bed, and we carried it on our shoulders out to the river. The snow was covered with an icy layer that crunched with each step.

  It was freezing that morning. The horizon was a pale gray stripe high-lighting the black hills we were headed towards. Dad put the canoe in the river and held it steady with his hand. First Todd got in, groaning as he shifted his pack, then I climbed in, and finally Dad. He pushed us away from the shore with the oar and we leisurely floated away.

  It was peaceful on the river. Birds were waking up around us, chirruping to let each other know it was morning and this was their territory. There weren’t many that stayed in the area for the winter so their songs stuck out clear. The river rippled almost like a lullaby. I wanted to put my fingers in the water as the boat sliced through, but it was too cold. I rubbed the tops of my legs to warm them instead.

  Dad put down the oar and grabbed his binoculars. He scanned the hillside for movement. A smile appeared on his lips and he held up one finger. I felt a tingle of excitement. Dad saw a deer.

  Todd pulled his wool hat down further on his forehead and gave a little shiver.

  “How are you liking it so far?” Dad asked. All of our talk was done in hush whispers.

  “Dang cold out!” Todd rubbed his hands together.

  Dad shook his head with a chuckle. “You just wait until we get out there. You’ll warm up.”

  A few more paddles had the canoe bumping against the other side of the bank. Dad jumped out in his water proof-boots and held the boat steady in the water. I put my hand on his shoulder. It was as hard as a rock. I steadied myself and climbed out of the boat. After Todd was out, Dad dragged the boat up the bank.

  We rested for a minute. Todd opened the thermos and passed around the steaming coffee. When it came to me I took a small sip, my lips automatically grimacing at the bitter taste. Then we slung our guns across our shoulders and were off.

&
nbsp; The air was chilly, and the rising sun did nothing to dispel it. We trekked for miles through the silent woods, our feet leaving a trail in the snow. Dad found some fresh deer scat. He picked it up, rolled it between his fingers, and handed it to Todd. Todd squeezed it a few times before handing it back to me. I looked at it for a second before flinging it over my shoulder. What the heck was I going to do with it?

  The forest had a special stillness that only seemed to happen when the temperature was below twenty degrees. My breath puffed in front of me white and thick. I felt like a dragon, and experimented with making cold smoke rings. I was bummed when it didn’t work.

  The deer had left the hill by the time we reached there. Todd’s face fell when Dad said we needed to do some more tracking.

  “How ‘bout some food first? I’m starving.”

  Dad gave him a tight lipped grin, and waved me over so he could get into the backpack I carried. He pulled out some sandwiches and passed them around.

  “Aren’t we going to build a fire?” Todd asked, holding his wax papered sandwich in a limp hand.

  “Well, we could, Todd, but we really need to keep going. We’ll stay warm as long as we move.”

  Todd unwrapped the paper and took a bite of his sandwich. He looked like he was in pain that Dad wasn’t going to build a fire.

  “Ten minutes!” Dad said. “Eat ‘em up.”

  We hiked for the rest of the afternoon, until Todd complained that his feet hurt. We never could find that deer again. It was a bitter pill not to have success, but the sun set kind of early up in the mountains, so we needed to head back.

  Then Todd tripped and said he had to rest because he’d twisted his ankle. Dad gave a heavy sigh and looked at Todd as though he were sorry he’d brought him.

  Todd wasn’t moving. Dad rubbed his face and stamped his feet. “We’ve got to go. The truck’s a long way back.”

  The temperature was dropping even more. Todd sighed and stood to his feet. He took a couple of slow steps.

  “I don’t want to be stuck trying to navigate the river in the dark,” Dad warned.

  It felt like forever trying to make it back to the river. Todd trudged the terrain like a three-legged turtle.

  Once we arrived there, Dad held up his hands to make us pause. “Listen here, let me get the canoe in the water before you guys climb in. The canoe’s kind of brittle. You step in it on a rock, you’ll punch a hole right through.”

  Todd nodded. His face sagged from being exhausted.

  Dad waded out into the river, pulling the canoe behind him. The other end was only a few inches in the water when Todd stepped into it.

  Put his foot clear through the canoe.

  Dad jerked at the sudden crunch. His mouth opened in shock. “Confound it Todd! Didn’t you just hear me?”

  It was dusk now, I could barely see either of their faces, let alone the other side of the river. I shivered.

  Todd pulled his foot out with a little shake that splintered the fiberglass even more. He lost his balance and dropped the tackle bag into the river, where the current quickly snatched it. The bag held the rest of the food, but more importantly, the matches.

  “Oh shoot!” Todd said, in a frantic voice. “I’m so sorry! So sorry!” The canoe started to fill with water.

  Dad let out a stream of curse words that circled the three of us and echoed across the river.

  “Just how the hell do you expect us to get back home now, Todd?” Dad said, before cussing again.

  With a snarl, Dad yanked the boat into deeper water. “Give me your socks!” he demanded of Todd. Todd sat on the bank and peeled off his boots and socks. He threw the socks at Dad then replaced his boots. Dad balled the socks up and stuffed them in the hole.

  “We’ve got one shot at this. Climb in, Todd. Start bailing with that thermos.

  Dad helped me in. He shot Todd a dirty look as Todd grabbed the side and the boat rocked. Todd froze for a second, then carefully eased his foot into the boat. It sloshed in the water at the bottom.

  “Hurry up! We don’t have time for this.” Dad blasted.

  Todd gave Dad a nervous look and heaved the rest of himself on board.

  “Keep that hole plugged!” Dad yelled as he climbed on board. He threw an oar into the water and started to paddle.

  Todd pressed his boot over the socks forcing them down in the hole. There were already two inches of water in the canoe. Dad looked at it bitterly. There was nothing to be done. We had to get out of the river before we sunk.

  Todd bailed the water out as fast as he could with the thermos. The water crept higher and higher up my legs. My heart beat like a woodpecker inside my chest. I started throwing water out with my hands. By the time we were in the middle of the river it had already filled the boat with four inches.

  My hands were so cold, like blocks of ice. I couldn’t control my shivering. Dad was rowing like a wild man. I was rooting for him. “Go faster! Go faster!”

  At about five feet from shore Dad scrambled out and pulled the boat the rest of the way to the bank. I grabbed my gun and climbed after him. He threw me the keys and said, “Go start the truck and get the heat going.”

  He left Todd to get out by himself.

  I darted down the trail. It was dark, and the wind was already icing up my wet pants. When I saw the truck on the side of the road I nearly cried, I was so darn happy. Climbing inside, I turned the key and slid the heat on to maximum blast, holding my frozen hands in front of the vent.

  The men tossed the canoe into the back and climbed in the cab. We were all shivering, our teeth chattering. Todd never said a word. I didn’t blame him.

  About an hour later, we dropped Todd off at his house. Before he shut the car door he leaned in, “Can I just say one more time how sorry I am?”

  Dad put the truck in reverse, and it did a little jerk. “Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

  Todd nodded and slammed the door. Somehow, I didn’t think I’d ever see him in the woods again.

  Dad and I listened to the radio on the way home. The heat was on full force, and it burned my face but still hadn’t touched the chilled-to-the-bone feeling I had going on inside.

  Dad was doing some weird sing-song mumbling. I shot him a quick glance. He was singing, “Karma, karma, karma, karma, karma Chameleon,” making me burst out in laughter when I recognized it. Dad continued to bob his head to the beat. “What?” he asked. “It’s Culture Club. Haven’t you heard of them before?” He continued to bob. “I like this song.”

  “Dad, you’re not serious. Everyone knows this song.”

  Just before our driveway Dad turned the radio down.

  “Hey, you did real good out there,” he said. I smiled inside. Simple words but they made every bit of the freezing cold worth it.

  He idled at the top of the driveway. The moonlight shone through the windshield and across one side of his face. He shifted the truck into reverse. “You go on in and warm up. Bring the guns. I’m going to go out and unwind for a while.”

  *****

  That night we were all woken by a loud thump. Dad had come home drunk and hungry. He crashed through the kitchen for a while. I listened, worried that things were about to be thrown and broken. Instead I heard loud gags. Dad had apparently been hungry and grabbed a handful of cake crumbs from the Tupperware, only to spit it out. Mom had left another container there on the counter filled with manure for the greenhouse.

  She laughed and laughed.

  Chapter 10

  I crouched behind the loft railing with a BB gun balanced against the rail. David was hiding somewhere in the living room down below.

  PING! A BB hit my helmet. I fired back in response then began to pump the air rifle for another volley. It only took two good pumps to make the BB mean business when it made contact. David’s helmet surfaced from behind the back of the couch like an empty turtle shell. I lined up the BB gun for the shot. Carefully, as my breath hissed out, I pulled the trigger. David dove to the side. Just
missed him! He aimed back.

  SNAP!

  “Dude!” I jumped up, cupping my eye. “You fricking got my eye!”

  David froze for a second, unsure if I was faking or not.

  “You okay?” He ran across the living room and hurried up the ladder.

  It didn’t feel like the eyeball. I leaned forward and flicked at the corner of my eye. The BB fell out of my lid and hit a plywood board with a rat-tat-tat-tat. I looked up at the ceiling and winked my eye.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” I said, blinking a few times. Blood started to drip down my cheek in red tears. I grabbed a shirt off the floor and wiped it.

  “That was an awesome shot!”

  We gave each other a high-five.

  I was fourteen, and after a brief semester in middle school, this was my brothers’ and my first week back to being homeschooled again. I’d originally returned to public school because I missed my friends, but Mom pulled us out after a long discussion with one of her friends about the evils of the school system. In the end, David and I didn’t mind. It meant a break from the gossip of the kids talking about all the times Dad got pulled over for DUI’s.

  And, of course, it meant freedom again.

  Dad didn’t have much say about our schooling one way or another. Little by little, he was fading into the background because of the alcohol. It had been a rough year. I think he felt like everyone in the house had chosen a side, and it wasn’t his.

  I tried to take things into my own hands to keep them from fighting. I figured if I kept the kitchen spotless then Mom wouldn’t yell at Dad for being lazy. All throughout the school year, as soon as I got home from the bus, I started cleaning.

  I still kept the same schedule since being homeschooled again. Holding the t-shirt to my face, I squinted at the clock by my bed. It was time to start. I wiped the blood one more time and headed down the ladder.

  “You going to help me clean?” I called up to David as I walked into the kitchen.