Chapter 9
NINE
Jobs often devolved quicker than an RV barreling downhill.
One minute, the monitor picked up subtle movement; the next minute, we were in a full-blown crisis.
Though ghosts were always in the business of working on their own time, they sure loved an audience.
The more people watching, the more emotion could be fed on.
Octavia’s tossing and turning turned concerning a half hour after I’d left her bedroom.
Just as I was about to suggest Jonah lie down for a few hours of sleep before he started a watch shift, the closet door opened.
A slow, creaking hinge revealed the same shadow that stalked Octavia nights before.
Our thermal imaging picked up a large, bulky figure making its way to the end of the bed.
The video blinked out once. Twice. Three times.
Each blackout hid the entity’s steady progress underneath Octavia’s sheets.
“Wait,” Jonah said when I had popped out of my seat. “Don’t we have to wait a few more seconds? We…need as much footage as we can get. She should be fine for the first few minutes in—”
“We have enough.” I was already halfway out the door because that was what I’d promised her. Octavia was in her nightmare. I hadn’t realized how far she’d gotten until I entered the room and found dirt on the ground. I flicked on the lights, revealing her thrashing and trying to breathe.
When she finally woke and clutched me, I held on just as tight. My brain ran through an endless list of everything I could have done better. What could I have done to prevent this from happening to her in the first place.
Octavia pressed her nose against my neck, breathing in deeply as she attempted to cement herself back into this reality. Her being taken so far into a nightmare was confirmation of a powerful and vengeful ghost. This job would take more than a couple of days, and I’d need my entire team to do it.
“Wilson says it’s ready,” Jonah spoke softly in respect of Octavia’s lingering panic. She hadn’t let go of me for a second since we’d embraced. Fifteen minutes passed with me rubbing her back and whispering promises of safety in her ear.
“Let’s go downstairs.” I pulled back to meet her gaze. Octavia stared back, unmoving.
“You and me,” I tried. “Let’s go downstairs together and regroup.”
She took a breath, climbing out of whatever daze she’d fallen into before saying, “Okay.”
Her eyes were vacant as her hands fell from my waist. I offered my hand to help her up. Octavia surprised me by taking it. We walked downstairs, fingers interlocked. While she seemed steady enough on my end, her free hand trembled on her opposite side.
“Here.” Wilson scrambled to clear a spot near the fireplace for her. It was unlit. Octavia stared into it as if the flames were bright and welcoming. “I’ll grab the tea.”
“I’ll help.” Jonah hurried into the kitchen after him.
Octavia sat down on the couch. I pulled a wooden footstool in front of her so I could sit.
I covered her hands with mine, squeezing gently.
Octavia didn’t respond. Didn’t bother meeting my gaze.
We hadn’t known each other long enough for her look of desolation to pierce my chest this deeply.
And yet, I was burned straight through with the need to set things right.
“It’s storming again.” I massaged circles on the back of her hand. “Quieter this time. Do you guys get this a lot this time of year? Seems strange for the season.”
“Global warming,” she murmured. Octavia blinked, dragging her gaze from the fireplace to the window. The curtain was half-closed, but we could make out a bit of the rain. The pitch-black sky held a plethora of clouds and silence.
“Sucks,” I said.
Octavia looked at me then, brow furrowed as if I’d hissed an insult. One second, her eyes were empty; the next, colored with amusement.
“Sucks,” she repeated. “That’s an understatement.”
“I was trying to keep things light.” I matched her smile, releasing her hands to accept the tray of mugs Wilson balanced in his lap.
Octavia shook her head when I tried to pass her a mug. “The other one is mine.”
“It’s her favorite,” Wilson explained as I picked up a cream mug with horses and fall leaves painted across the sides.
“Of course.” My fingers got trapped under hers during the handoff.
She didn’t linger above my grip, and, in fact, seemed in a hurry to break contact.
Octavia was coming back to herself. Quiet and independent.
I was happy for it…even though the slight ache in my belly swore touching her was as natural and necessary as breathing.
While I’d stabilized her, she’d nudged me off axis.
Wilson offered me the rejected gray mug. It was a bumpy, handmade ceramic that was perfectly warm. I held it against my chest, breathing in the mellow caramel apple.
“Are you okay?” Wilson asked his sister. “Can you tell us what happened? That’s the first time I've heard you scream.”
Octavia’s neck bobbed, and her knee bounced in quick succession.
“Give her a second,” I instructed. “She needs time to catch her breath.”
“Right.” Wilson shrank in his seat. “Sorry.”
Octavia didn’t acknowledge us. She sipped her tea, gaze not straying from the cup.
I looked for Jonah. He lingered in the doorway, fumbling with a tape recorder. Perfect. He’d been one step ahead of me.
I cleared my throat twice before getting his attention. When he finally caught on, he hurried to my side, offering me the device. Jonah bent down, knowing I also had something to tell him by the slight tilt of my head.
“Can you do a post-activity sweep on your own?” I whispered.
“I’m on it.” He hurried to get his gear, the staircase groaning under his weight.
I turned on the recorder and set it on my lap.
“What’s that for?” Octavia nudged her chin toward the device.
“It’s helpful for the investigation to record conversations after something like this happens.”
“Right,” Octavia tapped her fingers on the mug.
I offered her a small smile and resisted the urge to reach for her hand. Wilson didn’t, though. Before he could make contact, Octavia stood abruptly. She paced the living room, barely lifting her feet across the hardwood.
Octavia pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes red from interrupted sleep.
Her fingers tapped against her forehead, an anxiety trick I’d learned on a job with a therapist. I paid close attention to the speed of her movements.
There was a slight chance of possession because that happened with the strongest of entities.
And now that this was a category five, I couldn’t be too careful. Couldn’t afford to overlook a thing.
“There’s dirt in my mouth,” Octavia finally spoke as she continued to pace. “During the dream. Under my nails…maybe in my lungs. I was asleep, and I felt…like how I’d been in Kansas.”
“Kansas?” Wilson’s brow furrowed.
“There was a storm and…” She laughed dryly and brushed the back of her hand across her mouth.
I leaned forward, nodding for her to continue.
Octavia closed her eyes. “You guys being here really messed me up. All this ghost talk made the nightmare…more…”
Octavia reached for her tea, taking a big gulp. The wrinkle in her brow revealed it provided little to no comfort.
“What did you see in the nightmare?” I tried to get her back on track.
She laughed again; this one came out stronger, more assured. “I couldn’t see anything. I felt a shoe. Your shoe…I think.”
My fingers went numb. “My shoe. From earlier?”
“Exactly.” Octavia nodded and wore a look that said, See, you get it, it’s ridiculous. “Because I was with you and we’ve been talking about ghosts all day and you were the last person…you were the last person I saw before I went to sleep. So, I dreamed about you and your shoe.”
“Via—” Wilson started.
“She was the last person. That’s why the nightmare changed.” Octavia stopped pacing, ready to stand on what she believed in. Or maybe it was what she needed to believe in.
I wiped my palms on my jeans. “Alright, I think that’s enough questioning for the night. We’re not going to get anywhere when you haven’t slept.”
Despite the dismissal, Octavia’s posture grew rigid. Her jaw became even tighter when Wilson told her, “I’ll get you a couple of blankets. You can sleep out here tonight.”
Octavia watched her brother leave before she settled down on the couch. She sat on the cushion’s edge, her nail between her teeth.
“Ghosts”—I paused for when she flashed a hard look at me—“rarely become this level of active again in one night. Like us, they need to build up strength. You’ll be okay to get some rest down here.”
If a ghost used its power to simulate burying Octavia alive, it’d have to replenish it somehow.
It’d probably taken weeks to hoard the energy for the attack.
Fed on the fear, anger, and confusion of Wilson, Esther, and Octavia.
With two extra people in the house with varying degrees of emotion, it’d have plenty to feast on once more.
The recovery window would be shorter, but not short enough to rehash tonight’s show.
Octavia’s fingers shook as she readjusted her silk headscarf, tucking her locs underneath the fabric.
“I’ll stay with you,” I said. “Post monitoring. I have to make sure nothing touched you long enough to take root. Is that all right?”
“Of course.” Octavia’s gaze landed on mine, shoulders relaxing.
Wilson came back with blankets and pillows. He helped her make up the couch before watching her get settled and squeezing her hand goodnight.
As he passed me, he whispered, “You’ll stay the rest of the night?”
I nodded and smiled as he murmured a thank-you. Once Wilson’s door clicked shut, Octavia turned on the couch, her back to me. I grabbed a seat in a worn, plaid recliner. It squeaked when lifted. My ankle rejoiced for a moment of reprieve.
The ticking clock echoed through the living room, making it seem as if we were lost in a dark cavern. Jonah texted me,
everything’s okay up here.
I replied,