Chapter 37 #2
“Great. It’s not gonna happen, though—you’ve got my word.”
“And you’ve got mine,” Trey says. He shakes my hand. “May I never have to castrate you, Zeke Holloway.”
“Seconded.”
“Alright!” Benji announces, and the conversations pause. Everyone turns to look at him. “Who wants to ride the ferris wheel with me? Phoebe told me she would, but it appears that promise is null and void.”
“Well, we know Will can’t,” I say, jabbing my thumb in Will’s direction. “That thing’ll come crashing right the fuck down.”
“And you’ll blow away in the breeze, motherfucker,” Will shoots back.
“Jesus,” says Trey, laughing. “It’s a good thing those kids aren’t here.”
“Okay. Knock it off.” Benji claps his hands in front of my face, then pulls me to my feet. He points to Will. “Hulk—you stay here. Twig—you and Autumn are coming with me.”
I gasp, still laughing. “Oh my god, twig?! Fucking rude, Benj.”
Trey joins us, too, and we all head off toward the carnival rides, leaving Dustin and Lydia to gush over wedding plans, Will sitting grumpily beside them. The air is sweet with the scent of cotton candy and kettle corn, but it’s got nothing on the salty breeze coming in off the sea.
As we stand in line for the ferris wheel, I scan the crowd.
The whispers of ghosts are everywhere, as is the usual in Hawthorne Bay, but only a few have actually materialized today.
After twenty-two years of always seeing dead people, I’m kind of a pro at tuning them out.
You get used to it, you know? Seeing them, hearing them.
I just wish we’d been able to do more for Lena.
She trusted Autumn and me with her story, and here we are—still sitting on it.
But it’s hard to know what to do. Without a body, it’s not like we can call the police.
And even if we could, what would they do?
Calvin Carroway is already rotting in the ground.
But still. If I had a bigger platform…
Nah. It’s been three weeks since I submitted my entry to the pilot contest, and I haven’t heard anything back. There’s still a week until they announce the winners, but I’m pretty sure they’d let you know beforehand that you won, before they announce it to everyone else.
I’m not gonna think about it. Dwelling on what could’ve been won’t do any good. What matters now is that I—
Well, hello there, douchebag.
If it isn’t Patrick Carroway and his hoity-toity mom, standing in line for the taco truck. Actually, I’m kind of surprised. I didn’t know people like them would have to wait in line like us lowly peons.
Huh. You learn something new every day.
I can tell Autumn sees Patrick the same time I do because she stiffens a bit next to me. Her spine goes rigid, and she laces her fingers through mine. But other than that, she’s calm and collected. She’s got her shit together.
Autumn told me that, a couple days after everything went down between us, she’d been researching other spots she could move her store.
She was—duh—sick of staying trapped under her ex’s thumb.
So she marched into Patrick’s office to tell him she wanted out of the building lease, but ended up with yet another snarky, sniveling tirade about the sleazy kid she’s banging.
Which, honestly? Thanks for the compliment, bro.
A man knows when another man’s got game.
As Autumn tells it, the exchange of words ended with her telling Patrick that, in the past three weeks, alone, I’ve already given her more orgasms than he did the entire time they were married. Which has me both shooketh and smug. Suck on that, asswipe.
“You guys should really release that story somehow,” Trey notes, narrowing his eyes in Patrick’s direction.
Obviously, Autumn has filled Trey in on what happened with Lena.
“Like, I know it’s not Patrick who killed anyone, but god.
His asshole grandpa was a murderer and he just…
got away with it. And to think he had the nerve to come at you with that crap about his family’s reputation. It’s honestly gross.”
Autumn shrugs. “He probably doesn’t know.
I doubt it’s a fun little secret they’re itching to pass down to future generations.
But I agree. It’s shit. When Zeke has a little more time after his first couple work projects, we’re hoping we can put something together and get the story out there, even if it’s all just alleged and nothing’s proven. ”
Autumn and I are next in line, and the dude running the ride waves us forward.
As we step up on the platform and wait for our car, Autumn turns back to the crowds of people below.
Being up on the platform, we’ve got a better view of the scene around us, of the tents and booths and costumes and carts scattered all up and down Main Street.
The people below also have a better view of us, and as our car approaches and Autumn and I fall back against the bench, I see Patrick’s gaze land right on Autumn. His face is stony, almost immovable, as he watches us together, rising up and up and up, high above the town.
And Autumn—fiery, gorgeous, brazen Autumn—gives a toss of her beautiful, blazing hair, smiles, and flips Patrick the bird.
Yes, ladies and gents. That is my girl.
Patrick turns his head, trying to look like he’s not bothered.
And maybe he’s not. I don’t know—who cares?
But his snooty mom’s still scowling at us, so even though we’re high above the crowd and she probably can’t even see, I tip Autumn’s face toward mine, sweeping my tongue through her mouth.
I can’t resist—not when we’re on display like this.
“Get a room!” Benji calls from the car above us. We’re on the other side of the ferris wheel now, making our steady descent back around to the ground.
Autumn flips him off too, and just keeps kissing me. I think we both want Patrick and his mom to see us making out as we roll through the platform and start our ascent again. When I look back down, Patrick and his mom are gone. Good riddance.
I lean one elbow on the safety bar and turn to grin at Autumn. “You think there’s a mile high club for ferris wheels?”
“Hmm…” She says, pretending to think. Her green eyes are sparkling. She’s clearly playing along. “I don’t know. There might be. I mean, we could always start one. What would it look like logistically? Like, how would it work?”
“You guys do realize we can hear literally everything you’re saying—right?” Trey calls up from below us.
I burst out laughing at the desperate tone of his voice. I can tell he does not want me to start answering Autumn’s question about what sex on a ferris wheel might look like. He knows my answer will be extremely thorough.
“Duh,” Autumn replies, twisting around on the bench to grin down at Trey. “That’s the whole point—to gross you and Benji out.”
“Well, you’ve succeeded,” Benji says, rubbing his temples. “And once again, it’s a good thing Phoebe didn’t join and bring those little kids up here. God, you guys should come with a warning label.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Autumn, whose hand has been creeping ever closer to my junk, feels the vibration, too. She looks at me questioningly, so I fish out my phone and check the number. It’s nothing I recognize, but I answer it anyway. I kinda like messing with random callers.
“Yo. This is Zeke.”
I see Autumn stifle a laugh. I may have to field work calls now, but if someone thinks I’m going to start answering my phone like a professional, that person had better think again.
“Hi, Zeke. This is Josh Mercer, producer at SyFy. Is now a good time?”
My blood goes cold. I can tell the ferris wheel’s still spinning, but every other thought I just had in my head flies right out the window. Everything seems to stop.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat, glance at Autumn. “Yeah, it’s fine. It’s perfect.”
“Great,” Josh says. “Well, I wanted to call and personally congratulate you before we make the announcement. We loved your pilot as a concept for a new ghost hunting show, and we’ve chosen it as the winner of our competition.”
If I thought my body couldn’t get any more frozen, I was dead wrong.
As soon as I hear those words—winner of our competition—my jaw locks up and my knuckles go white where I’m clenching the security bar.
Next to me, Autumn’s face is panic-stricken, but at this second I don’t have the wherewithal to cover the phone and let her know that nobody died.
So I just concentrate on Josh’s voice. On words. On answering the poor guy.
“Holy shit,” I blurt out. On the other end of the line, Josh laughs. “Hot fucking damn.”
“That’s pretty much the reaction we had when we watched your footage,” Josh says, chuckling.
“Like, I won’t lie. We had some really well produced entries, but yours was raw.
Emotionally, conceptually. The fact that you can see and, well, judging from some of the parts you appeared to edit out—” Here, Josh coughs, and I know exactly which parts he’s referring to.
“—interact with ghosts is mind-blowing. Your vibe is fresh, and that’s exactly what we want. ”
“Wow. I mean, thank you, obviously—but wow. That’s… I wasn’t expecting this.”
Autumn’s eyes are fierce, and she’s waving her hand vigorously in front of my face, mouthing questions at me. I grab her hand and hold it tight, trying to calm her down while I listen to the rest of what Josh has to say.
“It’ll take us a bit to get things rolling,” Josh continues. “And we’ve still got to get our schedules ironed out, but we’re shooting to start with filming in about three months. Do you think that’s doable? Are you in?”
Three months? I’m surprised I haven’t passed out with excitement.
Three months will give me time to wrap up a couple projects with Carter.
If I bust my ass for the next ninety days, I can get every video campaign I promised him shot, produced, and perfected, and quit with my head held high, our rapport intact.
“That’s absolutely doable,” I say. “And you bet your ass I’m in.”
Josh chuckles again. “Awesome. We’ll be in touch.”
He’s barely ended the call before I’m on my feet, slamming the security bar into my hips and whooping at the top of my lungs. The whole ferris wheel car is swinging like crazy.
“I wooooon, bitcheeeees!” I holler, not even caring if little kids are around. “I fucking WON!”
“You what?!” Autumn gasps. She’s been trying to tug me back down in my seat, but she stops when she hears those words. “Who was that?”
“Some dude named Josh from SyFy. I won the pilot competition—and filming won’t start for another three months, which buys me time to peace out on Carter without being an asshole!”
“Daaaang!” Benji yells from the next car. “That’s amazing, little bro. You’re gonna be the next Bill Murray!”
“I am way better looking than Bill Murray,” I point out, unable to help myself.
“He is, though,” Trey agrees. He shrugs as Benji shoots him a look.
We’re on the way back down to the ground, the wheel carrying us smoothly toward the platform.
My entire body feels electric, and it’s all I can do to stay in the car as we descend.
I’ve got half a mind to jump out and swing down like Spiderman.
With this superhuman energy I’ve got coursing through me, I really think I could do it.
But for Autumn’s sake, I stay in the car until the safety bar lifts and we hop on out. Benji chokes me in a bear hug, and Trey claps me on the back, both grinning like fools as Autumn kisses me full on the mouth. They’re all as high on the news as I am.
“We gotta tell Phoebe,” Benji says immediately, searching the crowd for his twin. “And Will and Lydia—they’ll want to know, too.”
But I don’t want to tell the others. I mean—I do. For sure. I want to see Will try telling a TV star he’ll blow away in the goddamn wind.
But not just yet. Right now I want to celebrate. And the way I want to celebrate… let’s just say I doubt my siblings will want to be around for it.
My eyes scan the rows of booths and tents lining the side streets. They’ve got everything from baked goods and cheesy Americana home decor to hand-drawn maps of Hawthorne Bay throughout the years.
But I’m not looking for a freaking map of Massachusetts. I’m looking for a photo booth. I saw it on the way over here, one of those portable ones with a roll-down door, and immediately clocked it as a possible place to, you know, get down and dirty should the need arise.
And I am seriously on a roll today, because as soon as I spot the photo booth—on the other side of the taco truck we just saw Patrick at, no less—I also see there’s no one in line for it, no one manning it.
Instead, someone’s scrawled BE BACK SOON onto a sheet of paper and pinned it sloppily to the side.
Well, fuck me sideways, folks. It’s my lucky day.
I tip my head ever so slightly toward the photo booth, meeting Autumn’s eyes.
A sly smile creeps across her face, and she nudges Trey, tells him that we’re getting snacks and to go on ahead.
When she turns back to me, I grab her wrist, breathing in the warm, coconut scent of her hair, and all but run toward the booth, yanking her after me.
We duck inside and roll down the door. And the dumbasses manning this both definitely do not come back soon, lucky for them—and even luckier for us.