Chapter 6 Dove #3
“Quiet!” I snapped, rising to my feet and turning to face her, only to find Liv suddenly standing right beside her, eyes wide with curiosity.
“From this moment on, I want zero questions. I don’t want to hear a sound out of either of you.
This is supposed to be a quick in-and-out, and you’ve both already made it take longer than necessary. ”
I turned away from their matching looks of protest and slid the key into the lock. With a soft click, it opened.
Liv slipped past me before I could even take a step, practically vibrating with excitement. I rolled my eyes and ushered a cautious-looking Ellis through the door before following after them, shutting it softly behind me and pocketing the key.
“From this point forward,” I muttered under my breath, “no commentary from either of you.”
I took a calming breath, wrinkling my nose at the familiar scent. Wood polish, expensive air freshener reeds, and that vaguely haunting blend of Catholic guilt and generational repression.
“You said we weren’t doing anything illegal,” Ellis whispered, immediately breaking my no-commentary rule. I closed my eyes for a beat, summoning every ounce of restraint not to murder her.
“It’s not technically illegal if you have a key,” I hissed back. Still, my heart was pounding so loudly I swore it echoed through the room. “Don’t touch anything.”
Liv danced through the kitchen as if she owned the place, her boots echoing against the hardwood floors.
She somehow headed in the right direction without needing guidance, so I let her lead.
We followed as she craned her neck at the family portraits lining the wall, examining them with amused interest.
“This place is giving major Stepford energy,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “What a load.”
“Liv!” I hissed.
“What?” she said, eyes wide and innocent. “I’m just saying this guy here looks like the kind of guy who calls a woman ‘sweetheart’ and means it as an insult.” She jerked her head at a picture of Uncle Bill, dressed in a three-piece suit and posing for his own self-important portrait.
I mean... she wasn’t wrong.
Liv began humming a funeral march as we continued through the house. I took the lead now, guiding us toward that dreaded room, my sneakers whispering against the carpeted halls, the tote bag clutched in my sweaty palms, my stomach churning.
The door was open.
I took a breath, stepped inside, and tried to ignore the memory of the last time I’d been in here. Without hesitation, I made a beeline for the cabinet and yanked the doors open.
There she sat, right next to the world’s most unwelcome plus-one.
Graham.
Margaret’s urn was a cream-colored thing, with delicate blue flowers around the rim of the lid. It looked regal and pristine and terrible, all at once.
I swallowed.
“This is a horrible idea,” Ellis murmured beside me, rubbing her face. “You know that, right?”
“Which part?” I muttered, setting the dustbuster-filled bag at my feet and tugging the empty ziploc from my waistband. “The breaking and entering? Stealing someone’s ashes? Or being on the worlds most fucked up road trip, haunted by a glitter-loving ghost with serious boundary issues?”
Liv gasped dramatically, slapping a hand over her chest. “Excuse me, I have amazing boundaries. You’re the ones who invited me into your lives!”
“We did not invite you,” Ellis grumbled sourly, watching me shake out the empty bag.
“I mean, you sort of did,” Liv said with a smirk. “You know, with the whole heart transplant thing. Plus, Dove, I’m not haunting you, silly. I’m haunting Ellis. ”
The look Ellis shot her was so sharp it could’ve drawn blood, if Liv had still been alive. Her cheeks flushed crimson, and Liv let out a cackle, clearly enjoying herself in the most unhinged, possibly deranged way imaginable.
I ignored them both. I was on a mission.
If I had to be dragged across the country by a ghost with unfinished business, then I needed something in return.
Margaret was owed closure. She was owed her last wish. And she was going to get it.
“Okay, Ellis,” I said, deciding that if she was here, she could help. “Grab the empty bag and hold it open for me.”
Ellis blinked. “W-what?”
“Hold the bag open,” I repeated, drawing out the words like I was speaking to a toddler. “Or do you just want to stand there and make this experience even longer?”
She made a strangled noise in the back of her throat but crouched beside me, reluctantly pulling the bag open with trembling hands.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she all but wheezed, her eyes clamped shut.
“Trust me, no one hates this more than me,” I said. “But she’s not spending eternity in a cupboard next to a man who beat her and bullied her. She deserved more than this. Not to be some trophy in my uncle’s display cabinet of morality.”
Carefully, I twisted the lid of Margaret’s urn. I could feel Ellis’s gaze on me, but I kept my eyes forward. The faint scent of ash reached me before I saw it, dry, powdery, clinging to the rim like it didn’t want to let go.
Inside, just visible at the top, was a clear plastic bag.
Relief rushed through me.
Exactly what I’d hoped for.
I grabbed the ziploc bag from Ellis and pulled it over the edge of the urn, tugging it about halfway before flipping the urn upside down. The plastic casing filled with the dust of Margaret as it sifted into the bag. I set it gently on the floor and removed the urn.
A rogue puff of powdery air drifted between us, and Ellis squeaked, clapping a hand over her mouth and nose, shaking her head in horror.
“Oh God!” she choked.
“Keep it together,” I snapped, sealing Margaret away safely.
I tucked the bag between my knees and pulled out the vacuum ashes, a smug smirk forming on my face.
Uncle Bill would never know that the woman he hated would soon be flying free over the Pacific, while he kept her dust bunnies in his cabinet.
The irony.
“… I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you since she left.”
My blood ran cold. Ellis looked at me in alarm as a man’s voice echoed down the hallway, followed by a feminine giggle. I could physically feel the blood drain from my face, my head swimming with sudden dizziness.
“Uncle Bill,” I mouthed to Ellis, terror rising like a wave in my chest.
Horror curdled in my stomach, and I had to resist the urge to break down crying.
“What do we do?” Ellis whispered, barely audible. Her hands had started to shake.
Suddenly, Liv appeared in the doorway, and I nearly screamed at her sudden reappearance. Her eyebrows wiggled as she jerked her head toward the hall.
“Looks like Billy has a girlfriend,” she snorted. “And she definitely doesn’t look like his wife, you know, the one from the pictures who looks like she’s fighting off anal fissures.”
“Mmm, Bill,” the woman moaned.
I resisted the urge to die on the spot, knowing I would never be able to unhear his throaty chuckle or that girlish giggle.
“I’ll handle this,” Liv said, clapping her hands. “I’m going to create a diversion. You fill that urn with dustbuster Grandma, and then we hit the road. Ready? Go.”
The second she disappeared from view, a loud crashing sound came from upstairs.
I sucked in a breath, my eyes locked on the door, terrified Bill would run in and find us crouched over his mother’s urn.
The pounding of drawers being yanked open and slammed shut sent a jolt through me. And then... was that Phantom of the Opera? The overture echoed through the house, followed by Bill’s voice shouting, his footsteps thundering up the stairs.
“What the hell is she doing? Can she physically touch stuff?” Ellis hissed.
“No idea,” I said quickly, before stuffing the tip of the dustbuster ziploc into the urn and shaking it in. Puffs of dirty, dusty air flew out, but thankfully, none spilled on the carpet. “We gotta move.”
I clapped the lid back onto the urn and placed it in the cabinet, heart racing, hands shaking. Then I stuffed the empty bag—along with the one now filled with Margaret—into my tote bag, adjusted the strap, and grabbed Ellis’s arm.
“Stay on my tail. Do not deviate.”
Upstairs, Liv had gone full horror movie, and I could hear Uncle Bill and his girlfriend thundering around, the lights beginning to flicker.
“Run,” I hissed. “Go. Go, go!”
We took off the way we’d come. Ellis ran a little more gracefully than I did, but I was carrying a bag full of actual human remains, and I wasn’t about to spill a single atom of her.
We burst into the kitchen, and I skidded, smashing my shin into the table. I cursed under my breath, wincing, ears straining for the sound of Uncle Bill’s feet on the stairs in case Liv’s diversion was failing.
“Who’s in my house?” he suddenly bellowed, loud enough to rise above the still-blaring music.
Ellis yanked open the back door, and I followed her out, shutting it quietly behind me.
I hurried to the terracotta pot, lifted it awkwardly, and dumped the key beneath it.
Our sneaker-clad feet slapped against the concrete as we ran down the side of the house, slipped through the gate, and tore across the front lawn.
Neither of us looked back. We just ran, lungs heaving, adrenaline pounding.
Behind us, glass shattered.
Liv appeared at my side, running alongside us, laughing gleefully and shouting, “This is so much more fun than being dead!”
“You’re psychotic!” Ellis panted as we reached the car.
I fumbled with the passenger-side door before sliding in, landing heavily in my seat just as Liv dove through the back window—her body passing through the glass like it wasn’t even there—then sprawling out across the back seat, snorting with laughter.
“That was some serious poltergeist shit I just pulled!” she wheezed.
Ellis slammed her door shut and dropped her forehead onto the steering wheel.
I found myself laughing too, despite everything. I turned to glance behind us and froze.
Uncle Bill’s head was poking out of his front door, scanning the street.
“Oh shit. Drive!” I yelled at Ellis. “Go, go, go!”
There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation. The Mustang roared to life, like it had been waiting for its own Bonnie and Clyde moment.
The tires screeched against the pavement, the scent of burnt rubber filling the air, and another hysterical laugh escaped me as Ellis fishtailed around the corner and flew down the road.
I held on to Margaret’s ashes for dear life while Liv whooped loudly in the back seat, slamming her fist against the roof before howling like a wolf.
“You’re both batshit crazy!” Ellis screamed over the noise, gripping the steering wheel like her life depended on it, eyes fixed on the road, as if turning her head might somehow drag her into the madness. “A pair of absolute fucking menaces!”
“Margaret would be so proud,” I said with a laugh, blinking back the sting behind my eyes as I turned to grin at Liv. “We’re doing this. West Coast, here we come!”
“Officially?” Liv asked, wide-eyed with hope, as if she hadn’t already strong-armed us into this with the threat of eternal haunting.
“Well,” Ellis barked, her voice shrill with disbelief, “we’re already halfway into a federal crime spree, so why not transport a ghost across the country?”
Something settled deep in my chest as Liv cheered again from the back seat, and for the first time since Margaret died, I didn’t feel helpless. No, something had shifted. I was in control. I was deciding what happened next. Life, for once, seemed to be moving forward.
Margaret sat nestled in my lap while Liv began to call out, “So a ghost and two girls walk into a bar…” and Ellis muttered curses under her breath, checking the rearview mirror like she half expected to see red and blue lights behind us.
Honestly, she would’ve been pulled over for reckless driving at the speed she tore out of Uncle Bill’s street.
“West Coast, here we come,” I whispered to Margaret’s ashes, tears pooling. I swallowed and stared out the window, taking a long, grounding breath. “I won’t let you down.”
It was wildly inappropriate, slightly illegal, and completely off script, but it felt right.
The Mustang thundered beneath us, the windows down, warm air rushing through the car. And in the middle of all the chaos and the erratic pounding of my heart… I smiled.