Chapter 5 #2
I roll my eyes as I dig through the small front pocket. “Energy, Charlie. To communicate. I had a feeling—just a minute ago. Right after that weird sound. The battery draining isn’t a coincidence.”
“I’m sure it’s just—” He cuts himself off, staring at my hand, and blinks a few times. “That’s a . . .” He lets out a heavy sigh, dragging a palm down the side of his face. “Yup. That’s a cat toy.”
But I’m buzzing with enough excitement I’d probably set off an EMF reader myself, so I can’t be bothered to acknowledge his snark. Our investigations can be hit or miss sometimes, but the first teaser that something’s active in a location and willing to entertain us absolutely never gets old.
I know what I heard. I know my phone was charged. And more than anything, I trust The Knowing I felt in my gut. I’ve honed my intuition like the cold steel of a blade since I was a girl; it’s never steered me wrong.
Now I need to verify it.
The cat ball throws a light show in my hand as I set it on the floor several feet away. When the color dissipates, I jump. It doesn’t trigger the motion sensor. Excellent.
A small thrill races up my spine as Charlie stays silent—as he watches.
“Hello? My name’s Winona. Is anyone here with us? Anyone who’s trying to communicate?”
Silence.
Charlie ruffles his hair. “Is this—”
“Shh,” I hiss, holding a single finger out in his direction. Tipping my chin up, I say, “You can touch that cat ball if you’d like to let us know you’re here. I’m just here to talk.”
I pace to the other side of the space, careful not to make eye contact with Charlie.
I’m aware how weirded out he probably is right now, and if I catch even the slightest hint of it on his face the embarrassment will only distract me.
I’m not doing this to impress him—this is for my brother.
River would never let me live it down if I didn’t make any attempt to communicate with whatever feels like it’s here.
“Is there anyone here named James Dewhurst?” I call into the quiet room.
The next thirty seconds pass like honey, slow and syrupy off the curve of a spoon as I wait. I hear the small pop as Charlie opens his mouth to speak, but he promptly shuts up as colors flare from the toy, dancing across the floor.
Goosebumps prickle my skin.
This spirit wants to play.
Most of mine and River’s investigations it takes at least a solid forty-five minutes to an hour to really warm the energy of a space. Most spirits like a little sweet talking before they’ll agree to a full on interaction, if they interact at all.
It hasn’t even been half an hour since River left me here alone. This level of activity so soon is unprecedented. God dammit, of course he’s not even here for it. My fingers itch to pull the camera from my backpack. But filming more than just B-roll? Without him? That doesn’t make sense.
“This level of activity, so soon, is insane,” I mumble out loud, more to myself than Charlie as I pace in front of the cat ball.
“Oh, I believe it,” he responds anyway. “So a ghost set that off? Allegedly?”
“Allegedly, yes.” I scoop the ball and pop it back in the front pocket of my backpack.
“You said you have a web series. Shouldn’t you be recording”—he waves his hand vaguely in front of himself toward the spot where the cat ball had been—“all that, if that’s the case?”
I chew the inside of my cheek, wondering how much I should say. “In theory. But my co-host isn’t here yet.”
Maybe it’s my imagination, but his eyes seem to narrow at the word co-host. “So you conned another person into chasing ghosts with you?”
He has it flipped, not that he needs to know this—River is the one who conned me. Two years ago I was in Charlie’s shoes, scoffing as my brother tried to explain how a Spirit Box worked.
I need to call my brother. I hate the idea of not taking advantage of this kind of activity immediately, but we have our don’t-investigate-alone rule for a reason.
“Speaking of my co-host, give me a sec.” I pull my phone back out and dial. The line trills and I bump the volume down; I don’t want Charlie accidentally overhearing anything.
“Yo. What’s up?” River answers.
“Hey. When do you think you’ll make it back here?”
“Uhh, no idea. We just changed one tire, but turns out Payton popped two? Something about a curb . . .”
Oh my god. Teenagers. My eyes flutter shut and I count to three before I speak. “Okay. That’s not great. I’m getting crazy activity here.”
“Oh shit. No way?”
“Yes way.”
A groan burbles across the line. “You can’t miss that. Not when I’m already missing it all.”
“I can’t record alone.”
“Sure you can. If you don’t, we might not get another shot to record there.”
“But there’s so much equipment. And it’s not safe—”
“Dude. That’s why the good lord made a goddamn tripod. Actually, it was Sir Francis Ronalds. You got this.”
I exhale a heavy sigh. He’s never respected the don’t-investigate-alone rule. Teenage hubris. “Can’t you call her a tow and—”
“She’s, like, distraught, Win. I don’t want to leave her like this. She’s really bummed about the curb. Her dad’s gonna be pissed.”
First, I had to talk him into going to Payton’s aid at all, and now I can’t convince him to come back?
Everything’s out of sight, out of mind for him.
But I consider how I would feel if roles were reversed.
If it was River stranded on the side of the road, I’d want someone to stay with him until he got it taken care of. I wouldn’t want him to be alone.
“Okay. Yeah. You’re right,” I concede. “That’s the right call. You stay there. I’ll figure out how to film without you.”
“I’ll get back as fast as I can.” His voice muffles as he already moves to end the call. “Script’s in the side pocket, if you need it. We can’t take another L. Don’t let me down.”
“Sorry about that,” I mumble to the now-ended call on my screen before shoving the device away. “Uhm, I guess this—”
“You need help?” Charlie asks. “Filming?”
Dammit. I should’ve taken the call in another room.
I’m a deer in the headlights. My gut reaction yelps, “No.”
“Are you sure? Because I couldn’t help but overhear—”
“No. I’m fine.”
The bastard laughs. Laughs. “I guess it’s comforting to know you haven’t changed much. Still got your claws out, refusing to ask for help.”
I want to yell at myself for flip-flopping, but I can’t fight the flicker of intrigue about Charlie, about this happenstance meeting, about what I’ve missed since I’ve been gone.
Before the ghostly interruption, I was seconds away from asking if he wanted to catch up some other time.
But is that really a door I want to open again? Yes and no and yes and no.
And dammit, Charlie reads my mind.
“I really am offering to help, Winnie,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to make it weird.”
“Me? Make things weird? Says the guy who pops a boner over cumulonimbus clouds.” Scowling, I jut my chin toward the door he just peered out of.
“Actually, those were stratus.” A wide grin splits his face as he removes his glasses and wipes the lenses with his shirt, the edge of the tee lifting to expose the soft fawn of his skin. The line of hair trailing to his jeans I definitely shouldn’t be studying.
But when the glasses go back on, he’s all business again.
“I’m not going to stand here and act like I don’t have a lot of fucking questions, Winona.” The weight of his words sits heavy on my chest as he steps closer. “But if you need help, then yeah, Win, I’ll be a decent person and offer it.”
Every interaction is giving me whiplash.
We’re bouncing from animosity to curiosity to humor back to animosity—and maybe a tinge of disdain clinging to the phrase decent person—every other sentence.
I don’t know where I land with him. Where he lands with me.
Clearly neither of us are fully decided about how we feel about the last two years.
This could all go terribly wrong.
But, good lord, I do not want to film in this creepy place alone. The shit I do for my brother.
I cock a hip and prop my hand there. “You and me? A team?”
I can’t decide if it’s nostalgia or sadness that clings to his uneven smile. “We’ve done it before.”
What I say out loud is “Fine, okay, you can help” instead of what I’m really thinking—we did, and look how that turned out.