Page 21 of Ghosted
“It’s normal that you don’t remember it. You’ll get fragments here and there until you can piece it all together.” I look at him and wait for him to meet my eyes before I ask, “Do you want me to look you up? It might help. I have my phone right here. We can find outtogether.”
“You haven’t done that yet?” he asks incredulously.
“No! It feels like a violation of privacy. I never Google the people who come to me for help unless they ask me to,” I explain.
He purses his lush lips and says, “I guess, but you better believe I’d be Googling the shit out of anyone who suddenly appeared in my house.”
“Well, we also have history,” I reply, gesturing between us, “So that makes it more awkward. And, my Googling efforts were futile,” I admit grudgingly.
He raises his eyebrows in acknowledgement and gestures to my bag.
“Okay, fine,” I say, unzipping it to grab my phone. I swallow down the discomfort of Googling someone in front of them and type in his name. “What’s your last name, and what town are you from?” I ask, realizing we still haven’t exchanged that information. I shake my head a little at the thought because it’s bizarre. I feel like I’ve known him forever, so to think we haven’t dealt with the minutiae of last names seems ridiculous.
“Crawford. And I’m from Pittsfield.” He shakes his head. “How have we never gotten there? I don’t know yours either,” he states, echoing my thoughts.
“Alderwood,” I say with a smile, “And you already know where I’m from.”
He returns my smile and says, “Okay Alderwood, let’s do some digging.” I feel my stomach flutter stupidly at the nickname and pack that feeling away to examine later. Crushing on a ghost is a bad idea and probably a conflict of interest. Whatever spark we shared was smothered the second Dean’s heart stopped beating. Or at least, that’s what I keep reminding myself.
I type his name and hometown into the search engine and find that other than a social media profile and a local article about one of the cases he won, there’s only one other relevant article. It’s titled “Local Lawyer Dean Crawford Found Dead in Home: What We Know.” I figure that must be the one to read, so I click on it and wait for it to load. I’m lucky to even get cellphone service out here, but it’s fairly slow.
“Do you want me to read it and give you the gist, or do you want to read it together?” I ask once the page loads, figuring he might not want to read about his own death.
“Together,” he says, almost offended, “I’m a lawyer. I always need all the facts, even when they suck.”
I nod and angle my phone towards him, trying to ignore the pleasant tingling up my spine when he sidles closer. We bend our heads and read together:
Local Lawyer, Dean Crawford (33), was found dead in his own home on Bradford Street on Monday, September 7. Authorities were called to the scene when Crawford’s father, Jack Crawford, discovered his son’s body. Authorities pronounced him dead at the scene.
Jack Crawford agreed to answer a few of our questions to get more eyes on his son’s death and what he believes to be the mysterious circumstances around it. When asked why he was at his son’s house, Jack Crawford stated, “Dean was supposed to be at work on Monday. When he didn’t come in, that was an immediate cause for concern because he never misses a day, and definitely doesn’t miss a day without calling in. I decided to check on him after work because I thoughtthat maybe he was sick or hurt… That’s when I saw—That’s when I found him in the garage.”
Jack Crawford let himself inside, spent time looking around the house, and when he couldn't find his son, he went to the garage to see if his car was gone. Crawford Sr. discovered Dean’s body in the car in an apparent death by suicide. While the car had shut itself off after running out of gas, the garage smelled strongly of gasoline, and Dean Crawford appeared either unconscious or dead, according to Crawford Sr.
“I walked into the garage and was overwhelmed with the scent of gas. It was so strong it made my eyes water, and I had trouble breathing. I called 911 once I noticed Dean in the car. He looked like he was sleeping, but I knew. I just knew. He was already gone.”
He attempted to pull Dean out in order to administer CPR as directed by the 911 operator. However, when he tried to move his son, he realized rigor mortis had already set in. “...That’s when I walked outside and sat on the porch to wait for the ambulance,” Crawford Sr. states.
The ambulance arrived at 5:31 PM, and as soon as the paramedics checked on Crawford, they called the local Pittsfield Police. Detective Samuel Gains gave the following statement regarding the incident: “We arrived on scene at approximately 5:56 PM and discovered Dean Crawford dead from apparent suicide by asphyxiation using vehicular exhaust. We determined that the time of death was at least twelve hours prior by the time we were on the scene.”
While the local police have ruled Dean Crawford’sdeath a suicide, his father isn’t so sure. According to him, “Dean would not have taken his own life. He never showed any signs of depression. There was no note, no prior signs of suicidal ideation, no reason for it. I’m not sure what happened, but to rule it a suicide is a serious miscarriage of justice.”
Jack Crawford continues to seek any and all information regarding his son’s death. If you or someone you know has any pertinent information, you are asked to call the tip line below. Pittsfield's chief of police, Fred Nostrum, could not be reached for comment.
When we get to the bottom of the article, I chew my lip and look at him, not sure what to say. Does he not know that he took his own life? He seemed so shocked at his death. Every spirit who got here by their own means is never surprised. They know. Even if they don’t remember the finer details, they have an intrinsic understanding of why they’re no longer among the land of the living.
Once he finishes reading, he sits straighter and looks me square in the eye. “I did not kill myself, Rae Alderwood. I didn’t,” he finishes emphatically.
“Are you sure?” I ask before I can stop myself. I can’t help but think of the tired way he talked about his job. The pressure he was under. The way it seemed to be consuming his life.
He scoots away from me a little and says firmly, “Yes. I’m sure.”
“Okay,” I say back. Far be it from me to disagree with him when he’s so adamant. My mind is scrambling, trying to find an explanation.
He puts a hand to his head and says, “Dammit. I think I’m at my limit for today. Rae, I need to figure out what happened to me. Will you help me?” His form flickers a bit, and he goes a little hazy around the edges.
“Yes,” I say quickly, before he can disappear. “Find me when you can. We’ll figure this out, Dean. I promise.” He gives me a relieved look before he blinks out, and it’s just me and the chipmunk again, staring at the now-empty space. I don’t think I’m imagining the chipmunk’s shock, and laugh a bit despite the pounding of my heart.
THIRTEEN
