This was a strange time for him to flash that heart-melting smile at me, but it instantly put me at ease. I smiled back. Isaac bounced onto the tips of his toes and threw his arms around my neck. He was small, but he was surprisingly forceful. He almost bowled me over — although that was partly due to my surprise. Isaac’s body so close to mine gave me a headrush.
I went in for a kiss at the same time as Isaac went in for a hug. My lips caught the corner of his before I realized what I was doing. A brief and unexpected jolt of electricity shocked through me when he kissed me back. I forgot where I was. I forgot the danger we were in. All I knew was that I was kissing Isaac, inhaling the scent of incense on his clothes, savoring the taste of his lips. It was heaven.
The kiss stopped as quickly as it started — more of a peck than a real kiss — and left me open-mouthed, gaping at Isaac. His eyes gleamed. I could see that he was about to make a remark about what I’d done, but I wished he wouldn’t.
If he teased me, all I would want to do was grab him and kiss him again, more passionately this time. I wanted to kiss him so hard that it consumed me.
I couldn’t let myself lose touch with my surroundings. Kissing Isaac made everything else fade away, and now was the time for vigilance.
My lips tingled, but I brought my attention to the matter at hand. “Maybe that’s why the plumbing has been so bad here for so long,” I stammered. “Maybe the ghosts of Sandra’s victims have been trying to lead us to the truth this whole time.”
“Damn, Roman,” said Isaac. “I think you’re making sense.”
“That’s a big compliment from you.”
Isaac held his palm up for a high-five. Delighted by our breakthrough, I considered entertaining him. But before I could lift my hand, the bathroom door banged shut, loud as a thunderclap. Isaac and I leaped apart. I was acutely aware that this room had no windows.
“What the hell?” Isaac ran to the door and jiggled the handle. All the lightness had vanished from his face when he turned back to me. “The door won’t open.”
“Don’t you have your lock picks?”
Isaac shook his head. “I left it in the main room.”
Shit. I scraped my hands down my face. “Why would you do that?”
“I didn’t expect to get locked in the bathroom!”
“You should always expect the unexpected at the Cressley Hotel.”
I tried to get the door open myself, but it resisted like it had been cemented shut. No amount of kicking loosened the lock or the hinges.
This was bad. This was very, very bad. “We’re locked in,” I said.
“I know we’re locked in,” said Isaac. His voice was high and strained, his eyes bulging. “But why are we locked in? Sandra told us to get out!”
“That was before we knew how to find the evidence.”
“I guess we should try getting into the pipes ourselves,” said Isaac. He scratched behind his ear, sighed, and squeezed past me to get back to the other side of the room.
The copper tubes were narrow, barely larger than my thumb. Even Isaac, with his slender hands, couldn’t manage to insert more than a couple of fingers into the hole. He yanked on a pipe and tugged it side to side.
“Here.” I took over from him. The pipe bent, but whatever had torn it open must have had superhuman strength. I couldn’t rip the metal like that no matter how I strained.
I rapped my knuckles along the length of the hollow pipe, listening carefully. If there was something inside, it would make a solid thunk when I passed over it. But it was hard to hear with the walls starting to rattle and hiss.
Sandra was angry.
Isaac, for his part, rifled through the shards of mirror on the broken concrete floor. I didn’t know what he expected to find there, but I wasn’t sure what I expected to find here either. One of us had to find something.
Suddenly, he shouted my name, so loud it made me jump.
“Yes, Isaac?”
“The pipe fittings!” he said.
He looked like he’d had a eureka moment. I didn’t understand. “What do you mean?”
“Pipe fittings are bigger than pipes. You know, they’re those knobbly, bendy things-”
“I know what pipe fittings are.”
“You couldn’t fit very much inside the pipes. But you could definitely get something into a pipe fitting if you tried hard enough.”
“You’re right.” I held my flashlight between my teeth and leaned into the gutted wall. Gnarled metal bit through my t-shirt. If Sandra had hidden things in the plumbing while she lived in room 1205, her easiest access would have been through a loose pipe fitting. I tried to see if any of the fittings looked tampered with, but it was hard to see in here, and I wasn’t sure what an out-of-the-ordinary pipe fitting looked like. I was too edgy to focus. Was it my imagination, or were these pipes closing in, slithering around me, heading for my throat? I breathed deeply.
“Do you have your taser?” I called to Isaac.
“Um-” I heard the sound of him rifling through his pockets. “Yes.”
“Keep it ready,” I said. I had no idea how close I was to finding something. I had no idea how safe we were… Or weren’t. I felt danger around me like a shroud, and I couldn’t work out how much was paranoia, how much was caution, and how much was instinct.
My flashlight glinted off a large chunk of pipe that held two thin metal rods together. I reached for it, snagging my shoulder on sharp copper. I couldn’t reach the fitting, but I managed to rap it with the end of my flashlight. It jingled in response.
“I’ve got something, Isaac.” I was scared, but I was excited too. “There’s something in here.”
“What is it?”
“I’m trying to find out.” I stretched as far as I could. My shoulder threatened to pop from its socket. When my fingers brushed the rough metal, I realized we had another problem, too: the joint was soldered shut. What did I expect?
I extracted myself from the wall and briefly explained the situation to Isaac.
“I’ll be able to reach it, right?” he said. “I’m narrower than you.”
I gritted my teeth. I knew he would offer that, but I knew that whoever found the evidence was going to be in mortal danger. I imagined Sandra taking control of the web of rust-colored pipes and twisting them around Isaac like pythons, too tight for me to tear away. I imagined him pale, struggling to breathe. This time, I might not be able to get him away quickly enough. If he went into the wall, he might not come out.
“Even if you could reach the fitting, how would we get into it? It’s soldered shut,” I reminded him.
“Not to me.”
“You have magical soldering powers?” I raised my eyebrows at him skeptically. “Because if so, I think you should have been promoting that, not your psychic skills.”
“Was that a joke?” Isaac grinned. “You’ve relaxed a lot since I met you.”
“We can reminisce if we survive,” I said sharply. “What’s your plan?”
Usually, teamwork was a challenge for me, even with Elliot. And Elliot was my best friend. I rarely trusted anyone when I could instead trust myself. But I believed in Isaac. If he had a plan, I could believe in that.
He crouched to open the cupboard under the sink and came up triumphantly a moment later, holding a clothing iron. “Gotta love these identical rooms, huh?” he said. “There’s one in mine too.”
“I don’t want to burst your bubble, but we need a soldering iron to get in. Not a clothes iron. It won’t get hot enough.”
“It won’t get hot enough to melt the copper, I know. But it’s old metal. Maybe I can weaken it enough to yank it open. We don’t need it done pretty.”
“I don’t want you going into that wall.”
“Tough.” Isaac set the iron on its charger. “You won’t fit.”
“Do we have electricity?” I asked. I flicked the useless light switch. “That iron isn’t going to charge without power.”
Isaac’s face dropped
. “Shit.”
As much as I hated Isaac’s plan, I had a solution. I reached into my fanny pack and produced my mini hand-crank generator. “It’s okay. I have it sorted.”
Isaac gaped at me. “Is there anything you don’t have in that bag?”
“You never know what might be necessary.”
“I’m not complaining,” said Isaac. “I’m just surprised you carry a power generator with your tea-bags.”
We didn’t have the time to discuss my eccentricities. I plugged the charger cord into the crank and started turning. The blue LED lit up, indicating that it was working. Thank god this was a dry iron and wouldn’t need to be filled with water — I didn’t know if tap blood would steam.
It was too quiet. The ghost of Sandra Keene wasn’t bothering us, and I had no idea why. Was she lying in wait, planning something? Were the ghosts of her victims keeping her busy, buying us time? Was she leading the police to us?
I felt sick to my stomach. I could hear distant mumbles from the hallway outside, I couldn’t make out who they came from or what they were saying. My heart was a jackhammer, and all I could hear was my own blood pulsing through my ears. I turned the crank harder, trying to break a sweat, wishing my muscles would start aching and distract me from my anxiety.
“Are you okay?” asked Isaac. He touched my arm tenderly, and I made the mistake of meeting his emerald eyes.
“I’ve never been this scared,” I confessed before I could censor myself.
Isaac was all sympathy, tenderness. “I’ve been this scared before, and I made it through. If I can do that on my own, we can definitely do it together.”
“I’m afraid of the cops,” I admitted in a hushed voice. “As much as I’m afraid of these ghosts.”
“I know.” Isaac set his jaw. He cast his eyes down. “I think that iron is ready now.”
The red LED was glowing. It was time to let Isaac try his plan. Hopefully, this would turn out better than his last plan. Because I was terrified of losing him too.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Isaac
I couldn’t bear the fear on Roman’s face. I’d seen him cautious, wary, concerned before. But not genuinely afraid.
I had no idea if my plan would work. Roman was right; an iron wasn’t likely to melt copper. But it could soften it, make it malleable enough to dislodge.
I picked up the iron. Roman shone the flashlight over my shoulder as I carefully eased inside the wall. My nostrils flared defensively against the stench of mold. Pipes jabbed into my back.
I’d been in worse places at this time on a Friday night.
“It’s up there, to your left,” said Roman.
White light glinted off the pipe fitting. “I see it.”
I contorted my shoulder blades so I could creep deeper into the wall until I was immersed in the broken plumbing, completely surrounded by jagged pipes. Half hanging onto a frail beam for support, I reached up and pressed the iron against the copper fitting.
There was a small sizzle, but nothing happened.
“If there’s a ghost in here, now would be a good time to help a psychic out,” I muttered.
I didn’t like how silent it had become in room 1205. From inside the wall, I could more clearly hear commotion in the hallway.
If the police were looking for me and Roman, they could burst in at any time. I had no doubt Mr. Partridge would rat out where we were.
I didn’t know how much time I spent there, but I ironed the plumbing until my arm ached. All I could do was hope that this worked. Everything was riding on this plan, and we didn’t even know for sure there was evidence in the pipes.
“Is it working?” asked Roman.
“I can’t tell. Could you hold the iron for me?”
I twisted my arm around to hand the iron back to Roman. While the copper was still hot to the touch, I tugged on it with both hands. There was a little give, but not much.
“I need the iron again,” I said.
I fumbled behind my back as Roman pressed the handle into my palm.
“Have you got it?” he asked.
“I’ve got it,” I muttered.
This time, the second I touched metal to metal, a crisp breeze shot over me like a spider crawling down my shirt. I was about to pull away when the copper started to glow red hot.
Well, one thing was certain. It wasn’t my iron doing that. The hotter the metal became, the more the temperature inside the wall dropped.
If you’d told me three months ago that I would end up believing in ghost, I would have laughed in your face. I did laugh in Roman’s face. And now… Now real, dead ghosts were helping me catch a murderer.
“What’s happening?” asked Roman. He was aiming the flashlight over my shoulder, but there wasn’t enough room in here for us both to see what was going on.
“We’re getting some help in here,” I told Roman.
“Thank you!” called Roman. I knew he wasn’t speaking to me.
I handed the iron back to him after the copper began to drip liquid fire to the ground.
I wrapped my sleeve around my hand and yanked on the pipe. After a little straining, the pipe budged, and then- I had it. I leaned back with all my weight, and the pipe wrenched away from the fitting.
“Could you please aim the flashlight higher?” I asked.
Roman obliged, but he shone it too high.
“Could you pass me the flashlight?”
His hand brushed the side of my thumb, and the sensation of my skin against his immediately soothed me.
Before I could use the flashlight, someone banged on the door. “Police! Open up!”
“Shit,” I swore.
“Fuck,” said Roman.
I shone the flashlight into the wall. The pipe fitting was rusty and bone dry — terrible plumbing, but a great hiding place. I spotted a handful of glittering rings. My heart somersaulted.
“I think I’ve found what we’re looking for,” I said.
“We’re coming in!” yelled the police.
“The cops have found what they’re looking for, too.” Roman’s voice was dark, deep, and on the brink of broken.
“Do you have any gloves in your fanny pack?” I asked. I had to think of one thing at a time or I would lose control. I needed to keep my mind as clear as possible.
“Of course I have gloves. Why?”
“I need to get these out, and I’d rather not incriminate myself.”
Roman handed me a pair of disposable gloves and I hastily tugged them on, recoiling at the chalky texture. I was shaking too much to do it properly. My thumb stuck out at an awkward angle through the white latex, and I accidentally fit both my pinky finger and my ring finger into the same hole. There was no time to fix my mistakes.
The door banged.
I swallowed hard and fumbled to pick up all the rings without dropping any, flashlight held between my teeth. When I had them all clutched in my fist, I pulled myself out of the wall. My face grated painfully along a sharp slice of ripped plumbing.
“Look.” I held my hand to Roman.
He picked up one ring, and I extracted another. There was a date engraved inside — 02/03/80. I would have bet money that was the date of one of the victim’s weddings. Another one. S.K + A.P. I showed it to Roman.
“Why would Sandra have kept her own wedding ring here?” I asked, handing it to Roman. It was bright against the deep creases in his wide palm.
“I don’t know.” He frowned at the ring. “Give me another.”
There was no engraving on this ring, although it was studded with an ugly diamond pattern.
Before we could inspect any more rings, a deep voice yelled, “Get out with your hands on your head!”
The police were in room 1205.
“Follow my lead,” I said as though I had a clue how to handle the situation. All I knew was that I refused to let Roman down.
“I’m trusting you,” he said.
I nodded and swallowed. I would do my best to assur
e that trust was well-placed.
“We’re in the bathroom!” I called out.
Roman’s eyes bugged. “What are you doing?”
My heart pounded. I had no idea. “I’m taking the only chance we have.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Roman
Of all the places I’d expected Isaac’s instincts to lead me, I didn’t think we’d be surrendering to the police. I expected some kind of intrepid escape.
If this was my life flashing before my eyes, I hadn’t lived anywhere near as much as I wanted. The bad memories threatened to consume me, but I remembered the good things too.
I remembered trips to Fiji with Nana when I was a kid, and then when I was older, trips to Fiji to visit her. I could feel the sand under my feet, warm from the island sun. I could taste the papaya on my tongue, better than any fruit back home, and I could feel her hands in my hair, a reassurance I’d cherished since childhood.
And then there were my memories of Isaac. Of lying next to him, hearing him murmur in his sleep, feeling his steady breathing next to me. Of talking to him, of hunting ghosts with him, of arguing with him — and of kissing him.
There was so much more I wanted to do. I couldn’t die without seeing matavuvale again. I wanted Isaac to meet them.
I didn’t want this to be my life flashing before my eyes. I wanted to survive.
“Come out with your hands behind your head,” a gruff voice said from behind the door.
“We can’t,” said Isaac. “The lock is stuck.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem for you, Isaac Baker.”
I saw his shoulders tense in front of me. They’d researched us.
“Before we come out, I want to explain what’s going on,” he said.
“We can talk about that at the station.”
“I’d rather talk about it now. With a wall between us. It would be nice to clear the air before we see each other in person, wouldn’t it?” How was Isaac’s voice so charming when I could see how much he was shaking? How could he fake that kind of composure?
“What do you need to tell us, Baker? Is it about what your boyfriend did to Kyle Powell?”
The New Paranormal Page 28