Chapter 20
Present Day
I gasp, sitting straight up. Something is wrong. I can feel it.
And by feel it, I mean the temperature in my bedroom has dropped to artic levels.
I immediately search for Jimmy, prepared to tell him to get out before some ghost—is it Koda?—tries to go all Redrum on us. But he’s gone, not even an indent present on the side of the bed where he’d lain while I passed out on an orgasm high. A pang of hurt flows through me before my eyes drift to the paper left on the pillow where his head should be.
I didn’t want to leave you, sweet girl, but didn’t want to break my promise that Rhea wouldn’t catch us if I fell asleep. Sleep well. See you soon. — J
The last line jumps out at me, making my lips lift into a smile before a shudder rocks through me, reminding me I’m not alone.
Clearing my throat, I clutch the blankets to my naked chest. “Koda?” I call, but my voice comes out in more of a timid whisper. When there’s no response, I slowly creep out of bed, yanking the blanket so I can wrap it around me.
I’ve just got the edge of the blanket tucked into the layers of wrapping over my boobs when I hear the scream start. I freeze at the sound full of grief and rage, echoing around me like surround sound. My instincts beg me to flee, to run and never look back, because whomever the voice belongs to is furious. The way it builds into a crescendo reminds me of Dad and his escalating blows.
Also, whomever the voice belongs to, I can say with certainty, is not Koda.
Flickers of a man’s image start in front of me, all gnashing teeth and reaching hands. His eyes are abnormally wide, rolling wildly in his head. A shriek tries to tear out of me at the sight, morphing into a squeak of fear because I can’t breathe. My hands clutch at the blanket tightly, like holding onto it will shield me from whatever is coming next.
I don’t have to wait long to find out what that is. Still blinking in and out of existence, the man barrels toward me.
Do I run out screaming? No.
Do I pee myself? No. I want to—but no.
Do I yell back at him, a la Jack Sparrow circa Dead Man’s Chest? No.
What do I do?
I close my stinking eyes.
I squeeze my eyes like doing so will make him go away; like children do when they think they hear things go bump in the night and hunker under the security of their blankets; like people do when something terrible is happening in front of them and they just want it to stop.
My air whooshes out of me in a croak as I’m thrown back, slamming into the wall, my brain rattling around in my head. I crash to the floor, hitting the nightstand on my way down. My ears ring and my vision swims as I attempt to push myself up. My arms give out and I fall back flat, smacking my already sore head on the floor.
I can sense the commotion around me, but my bell has officially been rung by being picked up and tossed like a rag doll. More than one voice is shouting, mingling with that inhuman scream full of pain. All I want to do is cover my ears with my hands and ignore everything until it all stops. Maybe take a nap.
My eyes are so heavy. I’m so tired.
The realization that I probably have a concussion slams into me when a wave of nausea washes over me. I need to get up. I need to stay awake. I might even need a hospital.
Not that I can afford that.
With a distressed groan escaping me, I press my palms against the floor and shove myself upright, wincing when a jolt of pain sears through my hip. If I’m already this sore, I’m going to need a dang wheelchair to get around tomorrow.
“Get her out of here!” a voice commands, full of pompous authority.
I recognize the one who answers. “Fucking how? We can barely hang onto numbnuts, here.”
Koda.
Digging deep and finding my resolve, I crawl to my feet, trying not to trip on the blanket tangled around me and fall on my freaking face again. Every one of my joints sing with aches I didn’t have earlier today and I will probably never know which are from doing it with Jimmy and which are from being assaulted by a dead person.
I manage to get on my feet, swaying unsteadily and using the bed to try to find balance. As I work on making the room stop spinning, I realize I must have hit my head harder than I thought.
Because, there, in agreement with Koda’s observation about the ghost who, I assume, attacked me, is Jimmy’s voice.
“Theodore, I can’t drain him,” his voice says frantically.
But that can’t be true. Jimmy left. Jimmy can’t see ghosts. Only I can see ghosts. A lightning sensation shoots through my brain.
I probably need a doctor, stat.
“That’s because Chris is draining us,” Koda grunts.
A horrifying thought hits me. What if I’m already dead? What if I was slammed so hard into the wall that I died?
I spin around to search the spot I got up from for my body and wobble. I crash down on my butt, on the edge of my mattress, eyes scanning.
There’s good news and bad news at this point.
The good news is that there’s no dead version of me at my feet.
The bad news is my new seat has graced me with the ability to see the riot happening not two feet away, and a plethora of unknown ghosts are brawling in the middle of my bedroom.
No. A plethora of ghosts, including Koda, and Jimmy.
I gape at the scene. There’s no more flickering. No, the ghosts are all here and easy to see. Several ghosts are simply spectators, just like me, stoically watching with arms crossed and a bored expression. The rest are actively trying to pin down the one I saw rush me; the one who threw me against the wall. Jimmy is trying to help, holding on for dear life to his arm.
Despite the throbbing mess my head is, I feel a pull to the man they’re holding—Chris, I think they said? I shake my head slowly as I try to make sense of the urges that are burning through the fog of pain and confusion.
“Wait,” I breathe, my face pinching as pain wars with whatever the heck is happening with me now. “Wait,” I repeat, louder.
It catches Koda’s attention, distracting him as his head swivels so he can look at me. In a swift move I don’t have time to warn against, Chris strikes at Koda. He flies backwards and then disappears from my view in mid-air. The loss of him allows Chris to lunge forward toward me, breaking free of the others’ restraint.
This time, I don’t close my eyes when I see him coming. Impulse has my arm shooting up so as he rushes toward me, my hand touches his chest before he can lay me out.
I just watched several grown men struggle to hold Chris, so my mouth drops open in my response when the second my fingertips make contact with him, he stills. Sort of. He’s still trying to come at me, but it’s like my touch has him shielded from me.
My mind wanders for a brief second, wondering if ghost men are just as strong as alive men, or if dying gives them less strength.
Focus, Nova.
I study his face as his screams cause his mouth to misshapen into a long ‘O’ as it stretches. “Chris,” I say sharply. I shake my head at Koda, who reappears to this man’s side when he tries to grab him again. “Is that your name?”
Chris is huffing and puffing like he ran a marathon, his eyes flashing wildly, but his body remains still. “Yes,” he answers finally, his voice a whine.
And then he breaks down sobbing.
“Oh. Uh. Okay.” I say with a pained wheeze as Chris collapses, throwing his arms around me. I awkwardly pat his back, silently praying that my blanket stays snug against my body.
My new ghost friend bawls on my shoulder and my eyes wander across the room, stopping when they get to Jimmy. He’s real. He’s standing here. He looks two seconds from trying to rip Chris away from me.
He’s a ghost.
I let my mind sort through every run in I’ve had with Jimmy and, by the time I’m done, I realize how stupid I’ve been. It was so obvious the entire time, and I just ignored every waving, red flag that crossed my vision.
He pales—is it even possible for a ghost to pale?—and takes a step toward me. I give him the same shake of my head I gave Koda, clenching my jaw as I look away from him toward an older man with salt-and-pepper hair. My brow furrows as I look him over. He seems so…out of place.
“I miss them,” Chris blubbers, stealing back my attention. “I miss them so goddamn much. I fucked up so bad. She was giving me a second chance, and I chose to fuck around. I’ll never see her again. I’ll never see my kids grow up.”
I’m not an expert when it comes to ghosts. Shoot, I’ve been avoiding them for more than a decade. Or…at least I was until I came here. Now, apparently, I just make out and make love with them. Anyway. There’s always a common theme in ghost stories—the ghosts can’t move on because they have unfinished business, right?
Chris sounds like his unfinished business might be his family.
“Maybe I could get them a message?” I suggest, trying to shift under his weight to relieve the pressure on my back. “You could tell me what you want to say and I’ll make sure they hear it.”
He jerks away from me, his eyes large and round with shock, and I sigh with relief that he’s not crushing me anymore. “You will?”
“Yes?” I answer with a nervous chuckle. “I can try, anyway.”
“Please,” he whispers, getting to his knees in front of me. He grasps at my hands, jerking me enough that I wince. “I just need them to know that I didn’t abandon them.”
I let out a long breath, accepting my fate to go tell some stranger that a ghost has a message for them, and nod. “Tell me.”
Falling silent, Chris looks down at the floor. I can almost see the thoughts flowing across his face as he composes himself. Shuffling in the room lets me know we still have an audience, but I don’t remove my gaze from the ghost clinging to my hands. There’s a distinct sense of finality in the air when he finally looks up at me again.
“Tell Courtney that I love her,” he whispers. “And that I was stupid. I was so stupid for everything I did to us. Tell her that I hope she remembers me as the kid who won her a giant teddy bear at the fair, and not the man who threw away everything that mattered. And that I hope she finds someone who will make her happy.”
I realize he has no tears, despite the crying he’s done, as I watch him take a breath, which instantly makes me wonder if he needs to breathe or if it’s only out of habit.
“Tell my kids…tell Nick and Reina that their daddy loves them so much.” His voice breaks. “That no matter what, no matter where I am, I will always love them. And tell them if I could, I would let them listen to Trolls music all day long without a break, if I could just see them again. I would give anything to hold them tight and give them lots of sugars.”
His voice trails off on the end and gut wrench sobs tear through him, shaking his frame. I patiently wait as he takes a moment to pull himself together. When he’s quieted, his shoulders no longer shaking with his mournful cries, I squeeze his fingers lightly.
“I need to know where to find them, Chris,” I say softly.
He shakes his head. “It’s been over a year. I’m not sure if they would still be at the same house. Our last name was Bailey. Christopher and Courtney Bailey. The address used to be…”
I pull my hands out of his, snatching up my notebook and pen so I can jot down the address as he rattles it off. He falls silent as I add the names he listed. Hopefully, that’s enough to find Courtney and the kids.
I gingerly set the notebook and pen down on my bed, then meet Chris’ eyes. “You have my word. I’ll do as much as I can to find them and relay your message.”
There’s profound relief on his face. “Thank you,” he breathes, his expression peaceful, and my eyes widen as he begins to glow. An electric blue light surrounds him, dim at first, but growing bright enough that I have to shield my eyes when it becomes too much.
“Nova!” Jimmy shouts from across the room.
I ignore him. I feel, more than see, Chris stand. A slight breezes ghosts through the room and then I’m plummeted into the dark again. Before my eyes can adjust, I lean over and turn the switch on the lamp.
Chris is gone, but most of my other visitors are not—there seem to be a few missing now who were watching the chaos earlier. I avoid looking at Jimmy, instead turning to the older man who looks like he’s in charge.
“How many of you are there?” I ask calmly.
He studies my face, his arms crossed. “Assuming whatever you did to Chris freed him, there are ten of us now.”
Ten seems about right, from what I saw a few minutes ago. “How?” When he doesn’t answer, I lift a brow at him. “How did you all die?”
His mouth opens and then closes. “Not important,” he answers after a stare off between us.
I furrow my brow. Maybe this house was built on graves or something? As I’m about to ask when they died, Jimmy moves in my peripheral, stepping toward me. I turn my head to watch him, refusing to meet his eyes.
“Nova, please,” he pleads. “Can I just talk to you for a minute?”
But I barely hear him. Because when he moved, he revealed someone else behind him.
I lurch to my feet and nearly double over at the rush of adrenaline that floods my system, my stomach plummeting like I just crested the highest peak of a roller coaster. My legs wobble like they might collapse out from underneath me. My hands clutch at the blanket edge along my breasts, shaking.
I’m not shaking from fear or nerves.
I’m shaking from how I’m resisting the compulsion to reach out for the man across the room. It’s taking everything in me to not rush to him. As if he can sense the war within me, he edges forward, a cautious sort of light in his eyes.
And then Rohan Desai’s lips part, his voice reverent as he utters, “Nova.”