Epilogue
AUTUMN
Four months later…
Zeke holds the door for me, and I step inside the wine bar.
As I glance around, eyes peeled for the filming crew, I give Zeke a once-over—just to make sure he’s decent.
His blond hair is so messy it’s painfully obvious that someone—ahem, me—has been running their fingers through it, but at least his fly is zipped.
And we’re not technically late. It’s seven on the dot.
“Yo! Ryan, my man,” Zeke calls, spotting someone from the crew on the far side of the bar.
A lanky guy in glasses and gelled up hair glances up from the camera he’s setting up, gives us a wave. “About time, dude. We’re almost all set up, but Jules wants to do a mic test.”
He waves at me, too, then steps forward to shake my hand. “Oh, hey! You must be Autumn. Nice to meet you, I’m Ryan.”
“That’s me,” I say with a nervous smile. “Nice to meet you, too.”
It's my first time on the set of Ghosted, Zeke’s new late night, adults-only SyFy show, and I’m kind of in awe.
Even though the crew is small and the set-up minimal, SyFy’s already been teasing insider clips on their social channels and people are going insane.
I’m sure part of what they’re going nuts over is Zeke, and hey—I can’t blame them. He’s magnetic.
And lucky me, I get to shoot an episode with him tonight.
While Zeke is obviously the star of the show, each episode features a different guest, someone who comes along with Zeke to investigate whatever location is on the books for that night.
Some guy named Jaxon Slade, another podcaster Zeke insisted on, was in the first episode they shot, and Benji and Phoebe have both been on.
Will said flat-out no, but I’m pretty sure he’ll come around eventually, once he pulls his underwear out of his ass.
Me, on the other hand? I jumped at the chance, even though I’m a little nervous. Production said they loved our chemistry in the pilot, and they thought viewers would for sure tune in to see Zeke and me interacting again—even if out of pure jealousy. Hey, views are views. I don’t make the rules.
“No problem,” Zeke says to Ryan. He runs a hand loosely through his hair, flashing a grin. “And sorry we didn’t get here earlier—Autumn wanted a snack. I was the snack.”
“Babe!” I gasp, laughing. Ryan just snorts, his mouth twitching as he tries to keep from laughing. It’s clearly not this dude’s first time hearing my boyfriend say shit like this.
“He’s used to it,” Zeke says. That wicked smile of his lights up his face. “This dude wouldn’t know what to do without me.”
“True story,” Ryan says, the corner of his mouth curling up. “Let’s get that sound check done, and you can make sure the grid’s how you want it. You sensing anything yet?”
Zeke raises a brow. “Bro. How can you not?”
Ryan and I just look at each other. Zeke told me that Ryan, the lead cinematographer, and the rest of the crew are all normies like me. And as far as I’m concerned, we’re all standing around in a perfectly normal little wine bar in Sheffield—but apparently that’s not quite the case.
“God. That is so weird,” Zeke mutters, shaking his head. “There’s got to be, like, three or four different spirits here, but one of them is whispering so fucking loud I can barely focus. She’s basically hissing in my goddamn ear.”
“At least we know we’ll get some good footage,” Ryan says.
We follow Ryan down a dark, rustic staircase leading to the basement where most of the filming’s actually going to take place.
As Ryan, Jules, and a lighting assistant named Devon get Zeke and me hooked up with mics, testing the sound and how the current lighting looks on camera, I glance around at our dim surroundings.
This building dates back to the late 1800s, and during prohibition the downstairs served as a speakeasy. Nowadays, it’s just the storage area for the wine bar upstairs, but quite a few employees and nosy patrons have reported cold spots and a general feeling of unease.
And that’s all I know of the story. For once in his life, Zeke’s been pretty tight-lipped, even though I know he and the crew have been doing their research.
But since the whole premise of the show is to give posthumous closure to spirits who were—ahem—ghosted in life, the lore around this place undoubtedly has something to do with an unfinished love affair.
I guess that’s what we’re about to find out. Directly from the ghosts themselves.
“Okay,” Ryan says, guiding us back upstairs.
When we reach the bar again, he claps his hands together.
“Thermal imaging cam’s ready to go. Static cam’s set up.
Shotgun mic’s good. Zeke, Autumn, we’ll start off outside, get a shot of you guys coming in the front door.
Zeke will give us the background on the place, start setting up context for who or what we might be making contact with.
And feel free to talk to each other during—we want things as candid as possible. ”
Ryan hoists a camera onto his shoulder and we all traipse outside.
I’m pleasantly shocked by how informal this all is—the tiny crew, the joking around, the limited equipment.
It isn’t how I imagined it, but I kind of like it.
It’s like another little family Zeke’s got here.
I’m going to enjoy it while it lasts, because I’ve got a feeling once the season airs, the show’s going to blow up and Season 2 will be boasting a much heftier budget, a much larger crew.
Zeke and I sit down on the steps in front of the bar, and Ryan counts us down.
By the time he says “rolling”, there’s a palpable shift in Zeke’s energy.
He jumps into character immediately—a character which is one hundred percent still him, only more so.
He’s larger than life. The host of Ghosted is pure, unfiltered, unbridled Zeke Holloway.
“They say love never dies,” Zeke says into the camera, flashing a sexy grin and holding some invisible viewer’s gaze.
“And they may be right. I wouldn’t know.
I’ve only been in love once—with this chick here—and neither of us are dead yet.
So I let the ghosts tell you themselves.
I let ‘em say whatever they want. Hell, I let ‘em do whatever they want.”
“Cut!” Ryan lowers the camera slightly. “Did we script that? That last part?”
“Bro, we didn’t script any of it,” Zeke laughs.
“Okay. Um… Can you try that again, only less, like, horny? You’re basically eye-fucking the camera right now—which is fine, it’s hot. But we don’t want people changing the channel to jack off.”
Zeke rolls his eyes, giving an exaggerated groan. But he starts again, his introduction a little different this time around. He’s clearly making this up as he goes, which is pretty damn impressive.
“…so I let the ghosts tell you themselves. I’m their messenger, bringing you the stories they never got to tell.
For example, there’s a sweet young lady sitting next to Autumn right now, baring her teeth, clearly weighing the pros and cons of pushing her down these steps so she herself will have a chance to be with me.
Honey—with all due respect—you’re cute, but it’s never gonna happen.
I’m taken. Let’s take that energy and focus it on getting to the bottom of what happened to you. ”
I whirl around to my other side, feeling wildly through the air. I can hear Ryan as he gasps behind the camera. Jules gives a shaky laugh.
“What the hell?” I demand, turning back to Zeke, my eyes wide. After all, Ryan said we could talk to each other like normal.
“What?” Zeke shrugs, laughing. His eyes shift between me and the invisible woman at my side. “She’s still there. But she’s looking less hateful now—she just needed that boundary. She’s tired and pissed, you know? It’s not fun having to be stuck here.”
“What’s she pissed about?” I ask, my heart rate coming back to normal. I’m studying the way Zeke moves when he knows the cameras are on him, the way he tosses his hair. He’s smooth, as always. Gorgeous. It’s weirdly calming and puts me at ease.
“Dunno. I guess that’s what we’re about to find out.
” He shrugs again, nudging me to get up.
As I stand, it’s clear his eyes are ogling my ass before he also gets to his feet.
There’s a wicked grin on his face as he moves to the door and holds it open for me.
“But we might need to take a little break behind the bar first. You’re looking like you could use a shot, baby—and I happen to be top fucking shelf. ”
I grin back at him as Ryan’s voice comes from behind the camera. “Dude. We’re rolling.”
“I know. Isn’t it fun?”
“God.”
But there’s laughter in Ryan’s eyes as he shakes his head.
He keeps the camera right where it is. Zeke winks at him behind the camera, which I’m sure any girl watching the show will think is for her, and dives behind the bar.
He comes out with a small, handheld device, which he hands to me, and something else tucked under his arm.
He looks at the camera at the same time he explains to me what the device is.
“This is a K2 meter. It detects electromagnetic fields. Autumn can’t see ghosts, so instead of only having to rely on me, she’s going to carry this thing around and it’ll light up if there’s a sudden EMF spike.
It might even be able to detect a presence before I can see it.
So don’t discount it—it’s pretty sweet.”
I look down at the device in my hands. I’ve never used one before, but Zeke explained it to me on the drive over.
Apparently, if the lights go from baseline green to yellow or red, it means there’s a spirit nearby.
I still don’t really get how it works, but…
I don’t get how Zeke and I work, either.
And we do. We totally fucking do. So I’m open to anything. I’ve got Zeke's back no matter what.
The lights are all on red already.
“Great,” I say. “Looks like the ghost chick who wanted to shove me down the stairs is still here.”
“That she is,” Zeke announces cheerfully. He looks back at the camera. “And to talk to her, we’re gonna get old school.”
“Old school?” I ask doubtfully. I have no clue what he means.
“Yeah, none of that telepathy stuff my brother, Benji, does—although these guys probably ate that right up, huh? Nah, we’re goin’ back to basics. We’re using your good old friendly neighborhood ouija board, kids. But don’t try it at home, okay? That shit could be bad.”
Zeke pulls the ouija board out from under his arm. He waves it at the camera, drapes his other arm around my shoulders, and makes his way to the top of the staircase. He looks back at Ryan and the camera as we start our descent to the basement.
“So, the lore behind this building here…” Zeke’s voice has gone into full-on storytelling mode, and I’m instantly hooked.
I can tell everyone else is, too. He’s mesmerizing.
“During prohibition, this place was a speakeasy. A lounge. According to stories passed down by family members and chronicled in a couple different memoirs from people around town, the singer at the lounge fell in love with the owner, a certain Mr. Edward Hamilton. According to what’s been passed down and the rumors that have circulated, not only did Mr. Hamilton not leave his wife like he promised the singer he would, but he also threw her under the bus to be arrested when the place was found out.
Meanwhile, he disappeared. Real gem of a dude, kind of like Autumn’s ex. ”
I snort. “I think you dunked on Patrick enough in the pilot.”
“False. There’s no amount of dunking I could do on that twat that would ever be enough.”
Ryan clears his throat.
“Anyway,” Zeke continues. “We couldn’t find any pictures of our singer, so I don’t know if she’s the one following Autumn down the stairs right now—relax, babe, I got you—or if this chick is someone else. There’s only one way to find out.”
As we reach the bottom of the stairs and I lean closer into Zeke’s side, a shiver goes through me.
The K2 meter is still going crazy, and there’s clearly a coldness here that wasn’t there ten minutes ago.
Ryan moves to the thermal imaging camera, still holding the shoulder cam steady.
He peers into the thermal, and his eyes go wide.
“Holy shit!” Ryan yells. “She’s literally there. There’s literally a human-shaped blue spot right next to Autumn. Fuck, man.”
Zeke just grins. He pulls me close, eye fucks the camera.
Then, holding his future viewers’ gaze, he adjusts his lapel mic, runs a hand through his hair, and says in a low, sultry voice:
“Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Ghosted.”
I don’t know how I wait to take Zeke up on that “shot” behind the bar, but I do.
Somehow I do. And when we finally sneak away from the crew for a fifteen-minute break, we’re a mess of breathless moans and whispered promises.
As we rearrange our clothing, the hushed embrace of our shared laughter still swirling around us, Zeke locks eyes with me.
He leans down and kisses me tenderly, not caring that Ryan’s shouting up from the basement, telling us to hurry our horny asses up.
And I don’t care either.
Because Zeke’s right.
He’s top fucking shelf, and I can’t get enough.