Page 29 of Ghosted
At the mention of the vents in the garage, I suddenly remember the duct tape in the car. I sit up straighter on an inhale and say, “Come with me.”
I lead him back through the house and into the garage. The motion sensor light blinks on, and I point to the driver’s seat. “I noticed a small scrap of duct tape there.” I swallow around the lump in my throat as it’s finally really hitting me that Dean didn’t just die; someone hurt him. Someone played god and decided Dean’s time was up.
Jack stoops so we’re the same height and peers over my shoulder. I hear his quick intake of breath and a mumbled expletive. “I’m going to find a private investigator and see what can be found. I’ve held off until now out of respect for my wife, but I can’t anymore. Something else is clearly going on here, and I want answers.” His dark eyes, so like Dean’s, laser in on that tiny scrap of tape, and I feel a chill roll down my spine. Jack Crawford is not a man you want to cross.
EIGHTEEN
After exchangingnumbers and agreeing to keep each other updated if we found anything else, we went our separate ways. Jack gave me permission to come back to Dean’s house whenever I wanted and showed me how to disarm the security system. He also promised never to show up unannounced and armed again, which my racing heart appreciated.
It’s been a few days since the night at Dean’s, and I’ve spent most of my time after work setting up my little medium room, making it look all kinds of magical and cozy. I broke in my DIY hat and took down all the shelves and covered the ugly walls with swooping velvet fabric in different jewel tones. Then, I hung multiple strands of fairy lights beneath gauzy chiffon to diffuse the space with warm light. Finally, I put a heavy velvet curtain to separate my seating space from theirs. My side is fairly plain with a chair, a small fan, and a tall standing lamp. The customer’s side is much bigger, with a cushioned stool to sit on as well as a small table and a vintage lamp.
The first week of October blew in with a new chill to the air. Our proximity to Salem means that we get a lot of the overflow from tourists checking out the local area. We’ve already seen a huge uptick in customers wandering in. My aunt and I even hired a temporary shop assistant to help out, and Aunt C now comes in daily to ring people up.
We’re launching my service this weekend. I had put up a sign on the door at the beginning of the week reading, “Medium Coming Soon!” Every time I look at it, my stomach swoops.
“I’m so glad you’re doing this, darling. You’ll see. You’re going to help so many people,” Aunt Clarissa says, gliding out from the large supply room with an armful of moon water jars. She charged them under the last full moon, sealing them with twine and different colored wax. She plunks the jars on the counter and begins making room for them on the display shelf to the right of the cash register.
“I hope so. And I hope it helps us too,” I say, walking over to the herb cabinet and straightening the sachets and bundles. I take a sprig of rosemary and put it under my nose, inhaling the calming scent.
“Something on your mind, darling?” Aunt Clarissa asks, nodding to the rosemary I’m clutching—and crushing.
I haven’t told my family about Dean yet, including my sister. It’s not completely unusual for me to keep my ghostly appointments to myself, because they happen so frequently. It would be like telling them every time I went to the grocery store. Most of the visits are fairly quick and resolve within a few days; Rebecca and Dean are the exception, not the rule. I haven’t told them about Dean in particular because I’m still trying to wrap my mind around it. I’ve never been one to sharewhat’s going on when I’m in the thick of it. I’d rather wait until it’s all resolved so I can gloss over the hard bits. I never want to worry anyone, especially my family.
I slowly nod my head, sticking the ruined sprig of rosemary in my jacket pocket. Even though it’s out of character for me, I open up the tiniest bit and say, “Yeah, actually. The guy I went on a date with at the beginning of last month died.”
Aunt Clarissa stops her organizing, turning to me as she says “Oh no. I’m so sorry.”
I nod, gathering up courage to tell her the rest. “Well, um. He—he reappeared to me a while ago. I’ve been helping him. It’s starting to look like he was murdered, but it was staged to look like a suicide.”
She studies me for a moment, still processing before she says, “Oh. Well, that’s… inconvenient.”
“He needs to find out what happened to him before he’s able to move on,” I say, studying the scuffs and folds of my well-worn Chelsea boots rather than look at her.
“Oh, Rae. That is so much on your shoulders. Did you like him?” she asks gently, finally coming closer and rubbing my arm.
I inhale her familiar scent and say, “Yeah. Yeah, I did. I do. It was only one date, but I know it could have been more. We had this instant connection, and I felt so comfortable with him. He seems like a good guy. Even with him dead, we still have this intense chemistry. And now things are so confusing because I’m trying to help him, but I’m also kind of mourning him? It hurts to know that he’s gone, but that he’ll bereallygone as soon as I help him,” I say, surprised to find my cheeks wet with tears.
“And you feel conflicted because a part of you wishes tokeep him with you, even though your job is to help him move on,” she states, rubbing soothing circles on my back.
I blink, stunned to realize that she’s right. There has never been a spirit that I wanted to keep around. Sure, I’ve met plenty I liked, but the little bit of sadness at losing them was overshadowed by the peace I felt knowing they were somewhere better off. The satisfaction of a job well done. When Dean leaves, it will feel like losing him all over again. That’s why I have to get a handle on these stupid feelings. If I allow myself to keep yearning for a man that’s already slipped through my fingers, I’ll only bring myself more pain.
“Yes,” I admit. I brush the tears from my cheeks, irrationally angry at their presence.
“It’s okay to feel this way, darling. You mustn’t shut yourself off from these emotions, but rather let them flow through you. Acknowledge them, thank them for what they’re teaching you about yourself, then let them pass. Even if this Dean was only a part of your life for a short while, his absence can still leave a major impact. We don’t get to decide how our heart feels. The mind wants to rationalize what the heart already knows. He was—and is—special to you. That’s okay. What you choose to do with that is up to you.”
“What do you mean?” I ask with a sniffle.
“I mean, you can either keep him at arm's length, or you can enjoy the remaining time you have with him. It’s going to hurt either way, darling. But ask yourself: What will leave me with the fewest regrets? Only you can decide that.” She pats my back a final time, and places a kiss against my temple the way she’s done my whole life.
She has this tendency of dropping intense bouts of wisdom and then breezing onto the next thing. I wonder if she evertakes her own advice. She’s one of those people who can see others' situations so clearly, but has a distorted lens when it comes to her own life and decisions.
Still, I love her dearly. Even if she’sdefinitelythe cause of at least half my tension headaches since I began working here, I’m always grateful for her insight.
We say our goodbyes, and I lock up the store behind us. As I walk up the stairs to my apartment, shivering a little in the cool October night, her question rings in my ears.
What will leave me with the fewest regrets?
NINETEEN
