Page 38 of Ghosted
“When I saw you on Saturday, you were completely fine, right?”
He nods emphatically. “Yes. I was great. I ended the day with an extra pep in my step, even.” He smiles crookedly at me, making me blush stupidly.
“Yeah, me too,” I admit, looking away from him, unable to bear the tenderness in his expression. “So, you were fine the day before, your dad said you were fine the day of, but by the time you got home, you were feeling that out of it?” I ask. He nods, so I continue, “Do you remember if you stopped anywhere after work?”
“No, but I doubt I did. If I ever work—worked—on the weekends, I just wanted to get home. I wouldn’t even stop for dinner; I’d eat a bowl of cereal or a PB&J halfway to comatose on the couch. Unless I stopped for gas or something, I’m sure I came straight home.”
“Okay, we’ll come back to that.” It baffles me that he was so out of sorts by the end of a thirty-minute drive. Then I remember his words… “Restrained.”
“You said it felt like you were restrained?” When he nods, the flash of silver duct tape comes to mind, and my eyes widen. “Dean, I don’t think you were alone when you died.”
TWENTY-THREE
“Oh my god, stop,”I beg, doubled over in laughter, tears streaming down my face. My cheeks are aching from laughing so hard.
Rebecca sits on my counter, a full smirk playing on her lips. She just finished telling me about how she drew bloodied lines in red lipstick on her ex’s mirror while he was in the shower, like some B-list horror movie scene. She’d found a box of her valuables that Kyle had shoved in a corner of the closet, along with a couple of her lingerie sets (ugh). By the time he was done showering, she’d emptied the entire box and strewn the contents around the living room
He was so scared, he ran outside in only his towel, and then she locked the door behind him so he couldn’t get back in. Kyle was outside, naked as the day he was born, with nothing but a too-small towel for three hours until his new girlfriend came home and let him back inside.
She looks down at her perfectly manicured hand with agrin. “It wasfantastic.Even better, when his girlfriend finally let him inside, she saw all of my stuff. She pestered him for over an hour, and he finally gave in and told her about me. It was positively decadent to watch him flounder.”
“Please tell me she broke up with him,” I say, fetching my half-empty bottle of rosé from the fridge and a clean coffee mug. I pour myself a healthy amount of wine and lean against the counter next to her.
She rolls her eyes at me. “Duh. He told her we ‘sort of overlapped.’” She snorts and carries on, “If you consider an engagement, ‘sort of overlapping.’” Her mirth dies a slow death at that. “To be honest, I feel a little bad for her. She didn’t know, and I’ve been messing with her too, because I kind of assumed she knew. She couldn’t believe he asked her to moved in within weeks of me dying. It creeped her out on top of feeling betrayed. Now she’s back to living with her mom in a one-bedroom apartment, nursing her own heartbreak.”
“You know you did her a favor, right? Kyle was an asshole. He was bound to cheat again. Maybe scaring her wasn’t the most moral move, but it served a better purpose in the end,” I say, reaching out to touch her knee.
“What the hell?” she exclaims, jumping at my hand. “Since when can you do that little party trick?”
“Well, while you’ve been playing Amityville, I’ve been learning some new skills, too.”
“Who have you been practicing on? Don’t tell me you’re cheating on me, too!” Rebecca exclaims in mock outrage.
So, I tell her the whole story. My stellar date with Dean. How his untimely demise is maybe (probably) a murder. The way I’ve been helping him and the tenuous ground we’re walking on now. How we’ve kissed a few times, but I’m tryinghard to keep my feelings at bay. It’s cathartic to talk to someone who isn’t related to me about this. It’s odd to say, but I think Rebecca and I are friends. What is with me forming attachments to the dead lately?
“Wow,” she breathes, shaking her head in disbelief.
“I know. We figured out he wasn’t alone when he died. Someone must have come in, restrained him with what I’m guessing is the same duct tape that was used on the vents, and then cleaned it all off the car after he was gone. That way, it looked like a suicide.”
“How’s he doing with that information?” she asks sympathetically.
I tilt my head consideringly, remembering how he flickered in and out. He stuck around long enough to say that he needed time to process. He burned through his ghostly battery with the couple of hours we spent together, and then his heightened emotional state sapped the rest. Dean said he wanted to go before he was forced to, because apparently that makes it easier for him to come back sooner.
“He’s doing alright. It’s a lot to take in, but I think he’s grateful that we’re starting to get answers. He knew he didn’t commit suicide, so we’re trying to piece together what actually happened.”
“Alderwood, are you never not thinking of me?” Dean’s smooth voice teases from behind me. I fight a blush at being caught talking about him. I’m impressed with his ability to be back so soon after having to rest. He’s definitely getting stronger. I turn to face him and offer an awkward little wave that I regret immediately.
“Ah, so you’re the lover boy,” Rebecca says, hopping off the counterand circling Dean the way one might circle a prized bull at auction.
“In the flesh,” Dean responds, then scowls. “Or not. I guess. I’m not very fleshy at present.” He allows his hand to drift through the lamp on my end table as if we might have forgotten that he’s a spirit and needed a demonstration.
“Ew,I don’t want to hear about your flesh,” Rebecca says. “And on that note, let’s just avoid the word ‘flesh’ from now on.” I’m a little amazed at her ability to snark at someone she just met, but then I remember our first few interactions. I guess it’s not that surprising after all.
Dean snorts good-naturedly and comes to greet me, reaching out to brush his hand against my cheek in a now-familiar gesture of affection. “Who’s Sunshine and Rainbows over there?” he asks, tossing a thumb in her direction.
“That’s Rebecca. My friend,” I say, smiling a little at her when I see her expression warm a bit. From our few interactions, I gathered she didn’t have many friends when she was alive. No time like the present to make friends, I suppose. Even if you’re dead.
“I didn’t know you kept other ghosts around,” Dean says in a way that makes me think he actually might be a little jealous that he isn’t my only recurring ghost. Not that I’ve ever had a room full of ghosts before, but I suppose there’s a first time for everything.
