“But?” Griffin asks.
I put my sandwich back down and stare at it. “But I wouldn’t have moved out here after a few weeks after having only met him once. There was definitely an other factor that pushed us together so quickly. Same as with Archer. Does that make it wrong? I don’t know. Could we still make it work? Possibly, but at what cost? What felt so right in the beginning now makes my skin crawl. The bond is coercive enough. The bond and a romantic relationship? That just feels wrong now.”
I know I’ve said a lot, but the time it takes Griffin to respond surprises me. I’ve almost started to worry I upset him before he finally speaks.
“How much of that wrongness is influenced by the fact that you’re falling for Kyran?”
I was about to take a drink of my water, but I wisely put it down. Falling? Who says I’m falling for anyone? Do I like Kyran? Sure. More than just a friend? It’s hard to admit, but yes. Is that the only reason I think being with Malachi romantically is a bad idea? That doesn’t even scratch the surface.
“It’s as much about Archer as it is Kyran,” I say quietly.
“How so?” Griffin asks.
Looking over at him, I try to corral my thoughts into some sense of coherence. “Archer fell in love with me. Stayed with me for over five years while he was slowly driven mad because he loved me. He was murdered and nearly obliterated into nothingness because he loved me.” I shake my head in disbelief. “All after a week. One week. Can you imagine what will happen to Malachi after years of being with me?” I shiver, so disturbed by the thought I can’t stop it from manifesting physically.
Griffin’s next questions surprises me. “Kyran’s not a Keeper, so is it loyalty to Malachi that keeps you from entertaining the idea of being with him or fear that he’ll be destroyed because of his involvement with you, too?”
I fall back against the booth and toss my hands up weakly. “Both?” I say, more question than answer.
Nodding slowly, Griffin falls back into silence. He goes back to work devouring his sandwich, and after a few minutes of watching him, so do I. I get the distinct impression all the questions he asked were for my benefit and not his. He always seems to know the answers to those types of questions before I do. If only he were as talented when it came to Timothy…or Francis.
“Will you stay with me at night until you leave?” I ask quietly.
Griffin nudges me with his elbow. “Do you really have to ask?” He pops a few more fries in his mouth and smiles. “I’ve got your back, sis.”
The nickname makes me laugh just a little. What am I going to do without him when he leaves?
“Could you look into Francis? See if there’s anything weird about…anything?”
“Sure,” he says. “Not sure what I’ll be able to find that might explain him going after you, but I’ll check.”
“I know why he’d go after me,” I say. “That’s not hard to figure out. It’s that conversation I had last night. Something isn’t right.”
Griffin nods in agreement. I can’t imagine what he’ll be able to find that might explain some of the things I said last night, but it can’t hurt to try digging into things. Which are probably famous last words, but whatever. I’ve already got a ghostly death squad on my tail. Which reminds me…
“Would you mind taking me to the training gym again?” I ask.
Without batting an eye or asking why, Griffin nods. “I’m happy to work with you, but you know you can go in there any time you want, right? You don’t need a babysitter.”
Actually, I didn’t know that. I nod like I totally did, though, to which Griffin only smirks.
Taking another bite of my sandwich, I push away thoughts of Griffin leaving eventually. I can’t handle considering how much I’ll miss him in the midst of everything else. Besides, it will only be temporary anyway. I have no doubt his dad will find a way to get him transferred back here. For my benefit and his.
Buzzing from my phone draws my attention, and I admit I flinch a little when I see Kyran’s name filling my screen. I shoved a lot of the blame of my newfound fear of obliterating relationships off on Archer, but Kyran is just as big of a player. Even so, I slide my phone closer and bring up his text.
Any chance I can see Robert Bridger’s body?
Unsure of how to respond to that, I slide the phone over to Griffin. He doesn’t hesitate to grab it and tap out a reply. I don’t see what he says until he sets the phone back down on the table.
Will an autopsy report do? If so, I can have it in hand this afternoon. ~ Griffin
That comes with pics right? Kyran asks. Then he follows that up immediately with, Where’s Echo? Everything okay?
Echo’s fine, he replies. Eating. Yes to the pics. We’ll drop them by your place around 3. Taking her to train first.
Good. See you then.
Griffin pushes the phone back toward me and slurps the last of his Coke from his cup.
“Why do you think he wants to see Bridger’s body?” I ask.
Griffin shrugs. “Hopefully because he found something about the key and wants to see if he’s right.” He wipes his hands off and pushes his plate away. “You almost done? I want to work on takedowns before we meet Kyran.”
Between the nervous energy sparking in my stomach over going back to the FBI gym and anxiety over what Kyran might have found, I’ve lost my appetite. I shove the plate away and dig some cash out of my purse. Even though Griffin invited me to lunch, I appreciate that he doesn’t balk at letting me pay outside a raised eyebrow. If he has a problem with it, he can always help me with my French homework later. Isn’t that what friends are for? Teaching you to take down assailants and conjugate verbs. What more can I ask?
18: Well Past
(Echo)
Thick file folder in hand, I gingerly get out of my car and curse Griffin for pushing me so hard and then abandoning me to face Kyran—and possibly Malachi—on my own. Did his dad really need him to track down some information? Seems doubtful. Did he really need to put me through that intense of a training session at the gym? Almost definitely not. I’m going to be in so much pain tomorrow. My muscles are already stiffening up as I hobble up the stairs toward the guys’ second floor apartment.
When I finally make it and knock, Kyran’s shout to come in isn’t surprising. I’ve only been to their apartment a couple of times, for what are probably obvious reasons, but let’s just leave it at way too much awkwardness. The few times I have visited, though, Kyran yelling through the door because he’s playing a game and can’t get up has happened more than once. So I let myself in and look to the TV. Surprised to find it off and the couch empty, I pause.
“Over here,” Kyran says from the corner of the room where a little table sits. He’s scribbling notes and doesn’t stop to look up at me.
After closing the door behind me, I pick my way toward him. Dodging the basket of laundry and shoes scattered around the room makes my tired muscles whine at me. “You guys really need to clean up a bit.”
Kyran snorts and continues to write. “Got more important things to do.”
“Homework?”
He shakes his head. “Research.” He pauses, then, and looks up at me. “Did you bring the copies of the book and autopsy report?”
I hold up the file and say, “Yeah, but there aren’t any marks on Robert’s body like Timothy’s Feather.” I toss the file down on the counter. “Nice to see you too, by the way. What happened to all that Southern charm you’re supposed to have around here?”
I’m clearly just teasing, but Kyran tosses down his pencil and stands as a slow smile settles on his lips. “Southern charm, huh? That’s what you were expecting?” His smile widens and I begin to think I should have just kept my mouth shut as my pulse rate jumps. “What exactly would this Southern charm entail?”
Not moving an inch, I do my best to pretend at indifference as he saunters toward me. “Well, answering the door for one. Saying hello. Asking me if I need a drink of water after G
riffin nearly worked me to death. That’s not asking too much, is it?”
Kyran settles against the bar dividing the kitchen from the living room, elbows on the surface casually. “Not at all.” He takes in my appearance, which makes me squirm despite my best efforts. I’m sweaty and gross and trying to keep my weight on one foot because my knee hurts from landing on it during one of Griffin’s many takedowns. Judging by the expression Kyran is wearing, he doesn’t seem to mind my lackluster presentation. He meets my gaze and asks, “Would you like some water?”
“Do you have a Coke?”
Chuckling, Kyran pushes away from the bar. “Sure. What kind?”
“What kind?” I ask. How many varieties of Coke do they keep on hand?
“What kind of Coke do you want? Coke, Sprite, Dr. Pepper? We might have an orange soda of some kind.”
“Sprite and Dr. Pepper are not Coke.”
Kyran gives me a funny look. “So you want Coke?”
“Isn’t that what I said?”
“You said you wanted a Coke. That could be any soda.”
Too tired to argue with him about that, I give up for the time being. Georgians are weird at times. What else can you say? “Yes, I’d love an actual Coke.”
Kyran shakes his head at me, but heads for the kitchen to fulfill my request. He’s back a moment later with a large glass filled three-quarters full with Coke and ice. “You could have just given me the can,” I tell him as I trade him the file for the glass.
“I didn’t want to be accused of being a poor host again,” he says with a laugh. He gestures toward the table. “Wanna sit? You look beat.”
I nod and start toward the table. I only get two steps in that direction when something weird happens. My hands go numb and feel sort of floaty. The glass slips from my fingers, and I think I hear it shatter, but it’s hard to tell in the middle of losing consciousness. Everything disappears in an instant.
A second later, it reappears. Except, it doesn’t. Kyran’s apartment is gone. Bleak, fog-encased trees surround me. For a terrifying two seconds, I can’t seem to move or breathe. Then something grabs my hand and I scream.
“Shh!” Timothy begs as he yanks on my arm.
My scream cuts off and I gasp in a frightened breath. Understanding is slow, my thoughts scrambled after being yanked out of consciousness and slammed into another realm. He keeps tugging on my arm, trying to get me to follow him, but my knees buckle and I sink to the ground.
“We can’t stay, Echo,” Timothy pleads. “Please, we have to run. They’re too close. They’re going to find me again. I tried to get Malachi, but—”
That snaps me out of my fog. “No!” I whisper-shout. “Don’t, Timothy. You can’t!”
“But, we need him.” Tears cascade down his face, no longer able to contain his terror.
“It’s too dangerous,” I tell him. “Malachi might be driving. You can’t just pull people here without warning.”
He’s already so scared, but his eyes widen even more. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I was just so scared. One of the monsters almost got me.” His body quivers, then breaks down in full-body sobbing.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” I tell him, even though I know it’s anything but. “I’m here, okay?” I can’t imagine that’s much comfort since I can’t really do anything. He’s not alone, at least.
Timothy pulls back and sniffs several times. “I tried to stay awake, but I got so tired.”
“I know, sweetie. It’s okay.” Slowly, I push myself back up to standing. Something still doesn’t feel right. Probably just being forced here straight from full consciousness. I have to shake my head to clear it, and it only partially works. It’ll have to be good enough. “We need to hide somewhere.”
Timothy nods and squeezes my hand. “I think I know somewhere good, but it’s scary to get there. We have to be fast. The monsters aren’t very far away.”
Great. I take a step forward and stumble a little. Timothy glances over at me, but I smile and urge him onward. I know he’s freaked out, but he can’t do this again. I’m not even any help to him like this. The weakness I feel is disturbing and, I realize after a minute or two, getting worse. “How far away is this hiding spot?”
Timothy’s face scrunches. “Um, I don’t know. Time’s weird here. Not too far, I think.”
I want to push him to go faster, but I can barely keep up as it is. Anxiety and paranoia makes the hairs on my arms stand up. The forest is silent, even our footsteps, but I swear I can hear something else, a weird thudding that’s somehow dull and annoyingly sharp at the same time. “What’s that sound?” I ask Timothy.
“What sound?” he asks. He looks back at me and his eyes go wide, two bright orbs of fear in the creepy dark of the forest.
Sure something gruesome has snuck up behind us, I attempt to spin around, but lose my balance and fall before I get a quarter of the way through the motion. The thudding is getting louder. Timothy practically jumps on top of me, his little hands grabbing my face.
“What’s happening?” he pleads. His face is going paler by the second.
“I…don’t…know.” My words are slurred, slow, hard to form.
“Don’t leave me here,” Timothy begs. “Take me back with you. Go back, Echo. Go back, right now!”
It’s not just my fuzzy thoughts that make me confused. He’s the one who brings me here and we both go back when we wake up. I try to ask him what he means, but the words won’t come out right.
“You can’t die here!” Timothy shrieks. “Go back, Echo! Go Back! Take me with you. I’ll tell someone you’re hurt, I promise! Go back, now!”
Go back?
I don’t understand.
Timothy is scared, though.
Why does he think I might die here?
Go back?
He’s so scared.
I reach out and pull him to my chest.
I’m so tired.
Go back.
Hurt?
Kyran would know.
Maybe.
Kyran.
Go back where?
Home?
Kyran.
***
Something is beeping. It won’t stop. I want to throw something at whatever is making that obnoxious noise, but it’s too hard to make myself wake up all the way. My eyes feel glued shut and my body is heavy. I just want the beeping to stop.
My thoughts swim. There’s a vague sense in the back of my mind that I need to remember something. Something important. I’m not sure what. I don’t remember going to bed, either. What happened last night? The last thing I remember was going over to Kyran’s…no, I think I went to see Timothy maybe. That doesn’t seem right, but I remember him being there. He was scared. He wanted me to take him with me. Where?
Back.
Go back.
My eyes snap open and I gasp as memory’s come flooding back.
“Echo!” someone shouts. Then hands grab my face and a split second later someone is kissing me. It takes me a moment to realize it’s Kyran, which only serves to freak me out even more.
“Enough,” a familiar gruff voice barks.
Kyran breaks off the kiss and I stare up at him in shock. Why is he in my bedroom? Why is Morton is my room?
“You’re awake,” Kyran breathes. “You’re okay. You’re okay.” He seems to deflate then, and I realize his hands are shaking. All of him is shaking.
“What…happened?” I try to ask. It comes out scratchy and ragged sounding, but mostly understandable.
Morton steps closer. “What do you remember?”
When I try to swallow so I can wet my dry throat, Kyran pushes a big plastic cup with a straw into my hands and motions for me to take a drink. When I do, my throat feels a million times better. I try again to speak, and still sound scratchy, but am able to form my words more clearly. “Going to Kyran’s, having some sort of weird out of body thing happen, then appearing in the Field of Reeds with Timothy. Pulled me in without me being asleep. I fe
lt weird, though, collapsed. Timothy kept telling me to go back, but…” I shrug when I run out of explanation. Fear sets in a second later as my own words hit me. “Is he okay? Did he get out?”
Morton reaches forward and settles a strong hand on my shoulder. “Timothy is fine. You brought him back.”
I shake my head. “I…passed out again, or something. It wasn’t me.”
Morton shrugs. “From what Timothy said, you pulled both him and yourself out of the Field of Reeds and back to the waking world. Almost too late, though.”
“Too late for what? You said he was fine!”
Kyran and Morton exchange a look, one which makes me eye them both warily. It’s Morton who answers my question. “Almost too late for you, Echo, not Timothy.” He makes a wide gesture, taking in the whole room. The room I don’t realize until that second isn’t my bedroom.
Sinking back against my pillow, I scowl at the monitors and stupid curtain thing that never really gives you any privacy. “Dammit,” I snap, “how’d I end up in a hospital?”
Morton glances over at Kyran, who suddenly looks sick for some reason. Morton reaches up and grips his shoulder tightly. “I’ll give you two a few minutes while I go get her parents.”
“You called my parents?” I shriek. “Why would you call them? They’ll try to make me go home!”
Morton ignores me and disappears out the door. Kyran, approaches my hospital bed hesitantly. Almost guiltily.
My eyes narrow and fix on him. “Did you call my parents?”
He shakes his head. “I was too freaked out to call anyone but 911.”
“911?” I ask.
Pointing at my arm, he keeps pointing until I stop glaring at him and turn to look at my biceps. I’m startled to see it heavily bandaged. I try moving it and immediately wince in pain.
“Before you fainted,” Kyran begins in a shaky voice, “you dropped the glass. It shattered. Then you collapsed and…there was a big piece of glass, curved upward from the way it was laying, and when you fell…” He chokes up and brushes at his eyes. “There was so much blood, Echo. I panicked. I should have called that very second but, all the blood, it was so much and it was just pouring out of your arm. It was just a few seconds before I snapped out of it and called, but…”
The Ghost Host: Episode 2 (The Ghost Host Series) Page 16
