Page 38 of Ghosted in Arkadia
Looking at her headstone, I wish I could see her face, her reaction. Silence fills the air, but my mind envisions her with an overly excited grin while she attempts to hold back something I’m sure would irritate the shit out of me.
“It’s complicated,” I amend before the mental apparition can do just that before tossing the thornless rose back to the ground. “This is stupid,” I grumble to myself before pushing off the ground to get back to my feet.
I take the other roses with me while I search the mateless section for Calvin Ledger. I find him a few rows over and up, using death years as a general guide. Few mateless graves are visited, and Calvin’s has moss creeping up from the bottom. I place a rose on the ground, a stark swatch of white nestled amongst the greenery.
“You don’t know me, but apparently I should have married into your family.” This feels even more awkward than talking to Cathy. “You probably don’t know what I’m talking about.”
I rub my hand across my forehead before reaching around to grab my phone from my purse. It only takes a moment to pull up the cemetery website and navigate to the directory. I type Ledger into the search bar.
I hope to find more members in the family tree.
Three results pop up: Anthony, Eden, and Calvin Ledger. All with the same date of death, because they were all in the same car. No other members of the Ledger family rest in this cemetery.
Fuck.
I make my way through the headstones, following the sun as it dips below the horizon. Darkness creeps through the world, seeming to advance with every step I take. Looking to the side to check the death year of the closest headstone, I freeze, staring directly at the grave of Todd Angler. The headstone next to him readsMargarete Angler. She died three months before Todd.
I stand for a silent moment, waiting to see if the ghost of Todd will appear to accuse me of killing him. The moment passes and I figure Todd isn’t angry. After all, he’s with his soulmate now. Just like he wanted. I leave Todd’s headstone and continue until I find Mr. and Mrs. Ledger buried side by side. I place a rose on top of each of their headstones, knowing this will at least send a message to Ghost.
It might be enough to get him to have a conversation with me. One rose remains, and an idea sparks for the last location to deliver my message. I head for the car while pulling up Calvin’s death report. His home address is listed and since mated housing is passed to the next of kin, there is a chance Ghost owns it now.
Sir, this is an Emotional Crime Scene
I’m thankful for the authority the Hellcat gives me. Her beautiful light rack and reflective text label me as a police officer while I drive through the unfamiliar mated housing section. Unlike the free mateless accommodations, these homes vary in style and size. Some have sprawling front yards and others have purple picket fences. I drive for nearly an hour; the homes getting further and further apart until the navigation insists I have arrived.
The headlights illuminate the gravel when I slowly turn into the driveway and start toward the house shielded behind large trees up ahead. The path curves around before revealing a two-story home in need of serious repairs. Vines grow up the side of the once-white siding. It’s more of an off-putting shade of gray with decaying brown shutters in various states of clinging, and some have already fallen to the ground below.
Everything about the place screams creepy abandoned haunted house, then a light turns on in one of the upstairs windows. It’s missing a shutter while the other hangs askew,partially blocking the view. Despite the obstruction, the dark silhouette of a person appears.
I press a button to turn off the engine before twisting the keys free from the ignition. The headlights cut off, plunging me into an eerie darkness. The house is faintly lit in the moonlight, surrounded by the pitch-black of the trees’ shadows.
There is a slight tremble in my hand as I reach into the passenger’s seat and grab the remaining rose. I might be delivering this message to the source. Either that or I am about to scare the hell out of some stranger. I open the door and get out of the car under the full guise of my police officer persona, shutting the door with extra zest. The sound echoes through the trees, earning a moment of quiet before the birds resume their nightly chatter. I glance at the window, but it’s dark.
The stone gravel crunches under my boots with each step I take up the driveway until I see the cracked sidewalk leading to a door on the side of the house. A few feet away from the door is a dark shape and I turn on the flashlight on my phone, shining it in the direction. It’s a black motorcycle.
I found him. I must have.
With a surge of determination, I turn and stride towards the door, straightening my spine before knocking loudly three times. Then I wait, acutely listening for a sound other than the pounding of my heart. Several minutes drag on, but all I can hear is the chatter of wildlife discussing the fact that there is a strange person on their property. Or at least I imagine that’s what they are talking about. City birds aren’t as chatty.
Impatience gets the best of me, and I reach out to grab the handle of the door and give it an experimental twist. It opens easily, but groans as I push it inward.
“Arkadia police,” I shout into the darkness.
A set of light switches sit on the wall just inside the door and I flick them both but remain in darkness. The house is silent, and I strain to hear any movement from the floor above.
“I’m coming in,” I yell before taking a cautious step inside.
Once I make it past the threshold, I shut the door behind me and shine the light from my phone. The surrounding space illuminates into an antiquated kitchen. It looks like a larger version of the one I had growing up with my parents. There is a countertop to my right with a sink in the middle, just beneath a window looking out toward the motorcycle. The counter continues in an “L” shape.
I place the rose next to the sink then turn the light around the room. A small round table meant for four, with matching wooden chairs, fills the middle of the space and I skirt around it with cautious steps on my way deeper into the house.
Since the light originated from an upstairs bedroom, my top priority is to locate a stairwell. As I explore the house, memories of my childhood home flood back. The similarities in the layout are striking, except for the absence of a second floor in my memories. I find the stairs where I expect the guest bathroom and place my hand on the wooden railing. I wait, hoping to hear any sound at all. If I hadn’t seen the shadow, I wouldn’t know that I’m not alone. The house is quieter than the graveyard.
A faint creak sounds above, and I race up the steps.
The moment I reach the landing, a door shuts to my left. My head turns toward the sound and my feet follow with confidence despite the thrumming of my heart. Tingling sensations race across my skin as if it expects the rush of my kit. It’s like my entire body knows I am close to the other part of my soul, and it aches to be reunited.
“I know you’re here,” I call out, but my voice wavers. Goosebumps cover my arms, so I hug them to me, needinga sense of warmth. The light from my phone directs a beam toward the far end of the hall to guide my steps.
