Ghosted

Chapter One

Pain sears through my cheek, my shoulder, my back.

I’m sprawled across the floor, my face pressed to the boards and my hip lodged painfully against the fireplace.

I wince at the pounding in my head, so furious it’s like a tiny person’s inside there, attempting to jackhammer their way out.

My eyes cautiously flicker open, and I blink, trying to focus.

The last thing I remember is hollering a string of Latin at a pissed-off ghost as it heaved me skyward and tossed me across the room. After that, nothing.

‘Ms Daniels, are you with me?’

The voice oozes into my consciousness as if filtered through pudding. I will my mind to clear, squinting against the stabbing in my eyeballs, and take a quick mental sweep of my body. Feet, legs, arms, hands. It all hurts, but it all seems to be working.

‘I’m fine, Mrs Tyler.’ I wobble as I stand, barely containing a groan. It’s not as if it’s the first time I’ve been thrown into a wall by an angry spirit. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.

Mrs Tyler puts a hand to her heart. ‘For a moment there I thought you were dead.’

‘I’m not that easy to get rid of.’ I offer what I hope is a reassuring smile and not the pain-filled grimace I suspect it is.

‘I’m glad to hear it, dear.’ She grips my arm. ‘But did your spell work? Is the spirit gone?’ Then she whispers, ‘Did you see it? Please tell me it wasn’t my darling Alfred.’

This is the part of the job I hate the most. The part where I lie. The ghost was Mrs Tyler’s darling Alfred; I recognised his leering face from the photo beside the older woman’s bed. His suit was even the same.

Most people think ghosts are vaporous and floaty, or that they glitch like the spirits in horror movies.

But for me, that’s not how they present.

The ones that I confront, the ones that don’t move on after death, just look like humans.

Humans with something a little off about them.

Something in their appearance that looks… well… dead.

Mrs Tyler’s husband – or rather, his spirit – has been tormenting her for months. But there’s nothing to be gained by telling her that; it would only break her heart even more. So instead, I squeeze her hand and tell her what she wants to hear.

‘No, it wasn’t him. And yes, it’s gone. I sent it on to the next plane. It’ll be at peace now.’

That’s what I tell all my clients because it seems to comfort them.

It could be true; honestly, I don’t know.

I have no idea where the spirits I rid the world of are sent.

Heaven, hell, outer space – I really don’t care.

One less dead person hanging around past their use-by date is all that matters to me.

‘Do you have someone you can call to come and sit with you, Mrs Tyler? You’ve had a bit of a night. Or I can book you an Uber if you’d rather stay somewhere else?’

I pull my phone from the pocket of my backpack.

My eyes flutter closed at the text message that greets me.

The one that came through just as I was heading out tonight.

The one that’s probably responsible for the break in focus that sent me into a wall.

The one from Callum Jefferies. Paranormal investigator, podcast host, and – what was he?

Ex almost boyfriend? I press my lips together, take a deep breath and turn back to Mrs Tyler with a smile.

‘Don’t worry about me, dear,’ she says, ‘I’ll be fine. There’s no one to call anyway. My family moved upstate some time ago, and my friends are all dead, or so old they wish they were.’ Her face crinkles with a resigned smile.

I study the woman smiling at me. She’s immaculate.

Despite everything we’ve just been through, her silver bun is still neat as a pin and her pants as crisp as if they just came off the hanger.

Wealth practically drips from her. Her apartment on New York City’s Upper East Side is so large my tiny East Village condo could tuck inside it three times over.

But Mrs Tyler doesn’t have a single person she can turn to. Not a living soul.

The shock of realisation hits me so hard I wobble on my feet. This is how I’m going to end up – completely alone.

I try to recall the last time I spoke to someone other than a client, the barista at my favourite coffee spot or the Uber driver who delivers my pho.

If I dropped dead tomorrow, would anyone notice?

Weeks could pass before my body was discovered rotting on my apartment floor, my bones gnawed on by rats.

And that is all on me. What else can I expect when I shut everyone out?

I take a breath. If I don’t make a change, my existence will be reduced to…

well, this. I’m going to have to rejoin the world of the living, no matter how frightening that prospect might be.

Mrs Tyler clutches my arm again, and I’m so lost in my thoughts I jump.

‘Sorry dear. We’re both a bit jittery.’ She laughs lightly. ‘I just want to confirm that you’re absolutely confident the spirit is gone.’

I pat her hand. ‘I promise it’s gone. That ghost won’t bother you again. Trust me – this is what I do, and I never fail.’

Back at my apartment, I stare at my phone on the coffee table, Callum’s message staring back at me.

I need do something about it, because apparently frowning at it won’t make it go away.

I could ignore it, I’ve done that before, or I could delete it – I’ve done that too.

Or I could be a professional and answer him.

It’s not like he’s just saying hi. He’s messaging me about a job.

I press a pack of frozen peas to the bump on my forehead, hoping it’ll quell the jackhammering in my skull, and read the message one more time. My nose scrunches up at his easy tone.

Hi Holly. Hope you’re good. I have a job you might be interested in. Feel like teaming up again? I could do with your help. C

Callum and I haven’t spoken for nearly two years. What could possibly be so compelling that he’d ask for my help after all this time? Especially given how whatever it was between us ended. I sigh. I guess there’s only one way to find out.

What’s the job?

Three dots appear as he types a new message. Then disappear. Then reappear. Then…

Can we discuss over coffee? There’s a lot of detail.

My stomach lurches. Coffee?

Seeing Callum is not something I’d intended to ever do again. Sure, I’ve wondered what it would be like to see him. I’ve rehearsed what I would say to him over and over. I just didn’t think it would happen. At least, I knew I wouldn’t be the one to make it happen, so…

I tap my finger on my phone as I think.

If it’s a real haunting, I should probably look into it.

If he’s asked for my help, there must be a good reason.

Tap. Tap. Tap . We can meet, talk over the job, then I can decide what to do.

Tap. Tap. Tap . And if someone is being harassed by a ghost, I should help, regardless of my feelings about the situation.

That’s my job. I nod to myself. Right. I’ll meet with him and see what he has to say.

Anxiety quickly takes hold making my whole body clench. I exhale a breathy groan. I’m being ridiculous. Why am I the nervous one? He’s the one who screwed everything up. I tap out a frustrated message.

Can meet at my office tomorrow, 10 am. Do you need address?

I put my phone on the coffee table and try not to stare at it. When a new ding comes almost immediately, my stomach lurches again.

I’ve got the address.

Another ding.

I’ll bring coffee. See you then.