Brandon Sinclair
Chapter four
Alex
Jake has been MIA for the last day. It’s a little after midnight now, and I’ve been lying on the bed of room twenty-two, throwing myself a pity party.
I’ve never been so glad for such a massive house.
This house usually feels so grand, but right now it feels like the walls are closing in.
I think about Jake and his parents again.
I can see where he gets his winning personality from.
I’m staring at the far wall, trying to imagine what it would be like for him to look at me with something other than derision in his eyes, when I hear a loud thump come from the ceiling.
I’m on the second floor of the house, so that can only be the attic.
Could be a mouse. I hear another loud bang and quickly sit up, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about every horror movie I’ve ever seen.
That would be a big mouse. What if the big Russian guy came back?
And what, crawl around the attic? I’m being silly.
The banging continues for a few moments, sounding like it’s getting further away from my room.
I get up off the bed and decide to investigate.
It’s not like I can be killed again, right? What’s the worst that could happen?
I exit my room with trepidation and try to follow the noise.
It leads me down the ever-winding corridor of the east wing.
One could almost get lost in here. I turn a corner and find myself looking down another hallway, one that dead ends about ten feet in front of me.
There is nothing here but a door to the attic.
I let out a squeak and quickly cover my mouth.
I am not about to get axe murdered. You’re already dead.
I try to calm my nerves by reminding myself of that.
Before I can work myself into true hysterics, I hear another loud bang, and the attic door bursts open.
Brandon Sinclair stumbles out, landing with a loud thud at my feet.
I screech. “MOTHER FUCKER! Brandon? What the fuck are you doing in the attic? You’re not supposed to be here still! The manor is shut down!”
He stands up, dusts off his pants and shakes a bit of insulation out of his shaggy blond hair. It doesn’t look like it’s ever met a brush. I try not to smirk at his tie-dyed shirt with a giant pot leaf on it. Of course.
“Chill little dude, I’ve been secluded. I’m on a writing retreat. What did I miss?” Standing straight, he’s about a foot taller than my five feet and a quarter inch. Yes, the quarter inch counts. God dammit, why am I cursed to have to look up at everyone? I glare at him.
“I don’t know how to tell you this, dude, but you’re dead. Is your carcass in the attic?” I ask, maybe a bit rudely. But this guy is testing my patience. I have murders to solve and a hotel to run.
He looks at me quizzically. “Um, not to get too philosophical with you dude, but I’m not dead.
My spirit has never felt more alive. This retreat has been the best thing that has ever happened to me!
” He gives me a dopey smile. “I’m almost finished with the first draft of my book!
How cool is that? I’ve been working on it since I was eight.
Hey, do you mind if I light up in here?” He pulls a blunt from behind his ear and looks at me expectantly.
“I’m sure you have a best seller on your hands.” I dismiss him with a wave. “What do I care if you smoke in here? We’re dead. No one will know.”
He lights his blunt, takes a drag and blows a puff of smoke my way with a laugh.
He’s got a good smile. Not as nice as Jake’s.
I think I’m staring a little. “Have you been toking up too? Must be some good stuff.” He passes me his blunt, and I stare at it for a minute before I shrug.
What, I’m dead. I can indulge, can’t I? I reach out to grab it, and my hand falls right through his. What the fuck?
I gasp. “You’re not dead! How can you see me?”
He shrugs. “I dunno. How can we ever really see anyone, you know? Hey, are you good, dude? You look a little pale.”
“I’M DEAD! Deceased! No longer on this mortal coil! Jake’s dead too! No one else can see us. How the fuck can you see me?” I demand.
“Who’s Jake?” he asks, blowing out another puff of smoke. He leans against the wall and puts his foot up behind him for balance, the epitome of calm.
“Oh my god, I don’t have time for this.” If Brandon really is alive and can see us, we have a solid connection to the living world. This is huge. I glance at Brandon again. Well, maybe. “Follow me.”
“But what about my writing retreat?”
“Fuck your writing retreat! We need to find Jake. Now!” I yell and make a mental note to ask him later just what the fuck he was doing in the attic.