Chapter 10 #2
Searching the room, the four ghosts were unusually quiet. Oliver looked confused, but the other three were stone-faced. “Isn’t there any other option?” Slate asked.
“I see on your face you’re not happy about this, but it’s not cruel,” Clifford continued.
“It’s necessary for the well-being of everyone—ghosts and living.
When dark spirits settle somewhere, they don’t just cause trouble.
They destroy lives. People get sick, tear families apart, good people make terrible choices.
You can’t negotiate with them because causing harm is the point. ”
“Esmerelda banished dark spirits when she was alive,” Marjorie said. “She taught your father.”
“Morten, his father, and grandfather, all banished them as well,” Millicent said. “It’s what mediums do to protect people and ghosts.”
“Dark spirits aren’t lost or mischievous souls,” Morten added.
“These aren’t spirits who need help or just want attention.
You can’t change who they are.” He paused, met Slate’s eyes.
“I’ve seen what happens when they’re left alone.
Watched families fall apart, watched people get sick for no medical reason, watched neighbors turn on each other.
It doesn’t get better. It only gets worse. ”
The way they all piled on, Slate wasn’t sure who they were trying to convince.
He understood that everyone who had done this work for decades agreed.
This was standard procedure. It also made sense.
Dark spirits didn’t deserve sympathy the way Gary or Cain did.
They’d had a tragic end to their lives, and those deaths didn’t change who they were at their core.
“Has anyone ever tried talking to one?” Dash’s voice cut through the agreement. “Tried to understand them?”
The room quieted, and everyone looked at Dash.
Slate’s parents, and the Reeves, regarded him with fond expressions, like he was a precocious child trying something for the first time.
The ghosts were a mixed group. Thomas and Cain were interested; Gary disagreed; and Oliver appeared confused. Only Meredith seemed supportive.
Dash remained seated, hands still stuffed in his hoodie pocket. He didn’t accept things blindly. Just because it had “always been done that way” wasn’t a reason to keep doing something if he thought it was wrong. It was what made him Dash.
“Experience matters when dealing with spirits, Dash.” Clifford’s expression softened slightly, but it was still paternalistic. “I know it might seem harsh, but you only learn some lessons after working in the field for years.”
“Your heart’s in the right place, son,” Morten added. “It always is, but you need to trust me. These ghosts are not like the others you’ve met. They’re not lost souls. They know exactly what they’re doing.”
Dash didn’t push back. Instead, he kept his gaze on the floor and stayed quiet. The reaction concerned Slate. Dash didn’t do quiet. If he thought something was wrong, he fought back. The only time he went silent was if he knew arguing wouldn’t change things.
The conversation moved as if Dash had agreed with the decision. Meredith kept sneaking glances at her brother, but he never looked up. Slate knew Dash was listening, but he wasn’t looking for a chance to contribute. He’d asked a question, but the others dismissed it without a direct answer.
With his focus on Dash, Slate stopped paying attention. He caught snippets about timing, setting traps, and staying ready to act if the chance presented itself. He ignored all of it and kept his attention on Dash.
His silence made everything feel wrong. It sat in the room like a weight that people walked around. For a moment, he thought Millicent had noticed her grandson’s distress. She glanced at him with a concerned expression, but when he didn’t react, she pursed her lips and rejoined the conversation.
“Excuse me,” Meredith said, interrupting Slate’s father mid-sentence. Everyone but Dash looked at her. “It sounds as if you’ve decided that Slate and Dash are going to do this, but I’m pretty sure they didn’t agree to this.”
“Of course Slate’s on board,” Marjorie said. “He understands the portal Esmerelda gave her life to bring into existence is at risk. Isn’t that right, Slate?”
The room went silent, and Slate was the center of attention. Dash lifted his eyes from the floor. He didn’t look at Slate, but he was waiting to hear his answer.
Slate’s throat tightened. His father, Morten, Marjorie, Millicent—they’d all agreed.
Decades of experience reached the same conclusion.
They expected him and Dash, as the heads of ERP, to fall in line.
Except Dash hadn’t agreed. He’d asked a question, and they’d dismissed him.
The others took his silence as tacit agreement, but it wasn’t.
He and Dash were a them. They decided things together.
The pause stretched, and he felt the eyes on him. Everyone but Dash. This felt like a pop quiz he never expected. Dash was right. No one had tried other options. His mother was also spot on. This was his family’s legacy. His great-grandmother gave up everything for the portal.
Slate glanced at Dash, who still refused to meet his gaze. He wasn’t asking Slate to agree with him. He was waiting to hear what Slate chose.
Slate looked away.
“We should banish them.” The words felt like acid burning his mouth.
“We can’t risk the portal. If we don’t act soon, those two will bring unwanted attention to Oriskany Falls.
If we had the chance, I’d want to negotiate with them, but we can’t experiment.
Getting this wrong will jeopardize Great-grandmother’s life’s work. ”
Slate hadn’t thought Dash could get any stiller, but he had. When he moved, Dash stared at Slate. Hurt showed all over his face, he held Slate’s gaze for a few seconds. Then it was gone. Dash swallowed his disappointment like he had his whole life.
Something inside Slate broke. This was the man he loved, and he’d just betrayed him. It didn’t matter that Slate hadn’t meant to hurt Dash—it still stung the same no matter his intentions.
“Right.” Dash’s voice was barely a whisper. He stood without drama and avoided looking at anyone. “I need some air.”
With calm, purposeful steps, Dash walked to the door. Slate heard each creak of the old floorboards. The door opened and then closed, its soft click somehow louder than if Dash had slammed it.
Nobody spoke—they just stared at the closed door. Finally, Meredith slapped her hands on her thighs and stood. “That went well.”
As she moved to leave, Thomas and Oliver exchanged a look. They didn’t speak—at least not out loud—and then followed her out the door.
Cain shifted his attention to Slate. It didn’t feel like a judgment, but it wasn’t support either. He left by passing through a wall.
A few seconds later, Gary stirred and locked eyes with Slate. Gone was the carefree hippie they’d all known. There was a seriousness Slate had never seen. “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t give anyone a chance to answer before he disappeared. The two words were a poignant summary of what just happened.
Slate’s mother cleared her throat. “You made the right choice, son.”
He didn’t answer because he didn’t feel right. Seeing how broken Dash looked before he walked out would haunt Slate for a long time. His expression was devoid of anger or resentment. Slate could’ve handled those emotions. The resignation born of repeated disappointments, however, was soul crushing.
“We should finalize the plan,” his father said, trying to move them past the moment. “We’ll need to set up in a place we can summon them safely.”
The conversation started again. Stiff. Mechanical. The noise numbing his ache. Slate heard all the plans, yet processed none of it. His mind stayed on Dash’s face, that quiet, “Right,” and the way the door closing sounded so final.
His mother and Millicent left after a few minutes of technical talk.
They weren’t mediums and couldn’t help with the details.
Millicent squeezed Slate’s shoulder when she passed but said nothing.
What could she say? He’d hurt her grandson, the boy she loved like a child, and she approved. It was fucked up.
When it was just the three mediums, his father put his hands on Slate’s shoulders. “I know it’s hard when friends don’t understand. But experience matters. We’re keeping people safe.”
Friend? Was that all they thought Dash was to him? “He’s more than my friend, Dad. We’re supposed to take care of each other. I took your side over his. How is that right?”
“I’m sorry, Slate. That was a very poor choice of words.” His father dropped his eyes. “I know what you mean to each other.”
“Dash will come around,” Morten said, breaking the awkward moment. “He’s a smart kid. He’ll understand there isn’t any other way.”
Slate nodded. Not because he agreed—he wasn’t sure Dash would—but because he didn’t trust his voice.
Arguing felt impossible when they’d both been doing this longer than he’d been alive.
But standing in the nearly empty sitting room, Slate knew with absolute certainty that being right didn’t matter.