by S. E. Harmon
She spoke before I could even say a word. “This is Chevy, aka Chevrolet Sullivan, guru of all things internet related. How can I further your criminal activities?”
“I was only on for five minutes.”
“Because I let you. And it was more like ten. Stop hacking me.”
“Stop using Taylor Swift songs as your password and I will. I need your help.”
“Of that I have no doubt.”
God I missed that evil little Napoleon, and not just for her wicked fast search capabilities. I explained the situation as concisely as I could—Chevy’s skills might be legendary, but her patience was not. “Do you think you could run this down for me? Maybe come up with a list of missing men that match those specific parameters?”
“I could,” she said noncommittally.
“Chev—”
“I don’t work for you anymore.”
“Come on Chev,” I wheedled. “One last time.”
“Graycie won’t exactly be thrilled with me using agency resources to help you. Especially since you quit.”
That point of view was slanted as a pitched roof. “Is that his take on things?” I snorted. “Because that’s not how I remember it. I was encouraged to quit or be fired.”
“That’s not the way he tells it.”
“Then he’s telling it wrong.”
She sighed and I could see the victory line in the distance. I pressed on. “Besides, this isn’t a favor for me. I’m trying to bring these guys home. They’ve been lost and forgotten for far too long.”
“Not the greater good argument,” she groaned. “Fuck me.”
I knew when a win was at hand, so I just waited patiently.
“You can’t use that for another year at least,” she finally groused.
Damn. I’d just have to come up with something else. Maybe I’d just attach my request to a clip of an ASPCA commercial. Nothing worked better than puppy eyes. “Done,” I agreed. “Can you get it to me by tomorrow morning?”
“Once again, I do not work for you.”
I opened my mouth to retort, but she was already gone. There was nothing else to do but chase down other leads. My eyes landed on the picture of Ironcrest Bridge. A quick internet search showed the bridge was about an hour away. I grabbed my keys. No time like the present to find out if Samuel was the cause of its haunted reputation.
I stopped by Danny’s office, only to find it empty. Undaunted I rerouted toward the elevators, dialing as I walked. I called him back three times, barely pausing to hear the first word of his message before I pressed his number again. He finally answered as I was approaching my car.
“You’re not doing something dangerous, are you?” he asked in lieu of greeting.
“One day you’re going to say a proper hello to me.”
He chuckled. “Hello. Good day. Buenos dias. Now, answer the question.”
“No, I’m not doing anything dangerous,” I huffed as I got in the car. “But I need you to meet me at Ironcrest Bridge.”
The car’s hot leather and wood-grain accents delightedly burned my everything. Even my scalp prickled in the stifling heat; I almost expected my follicles to start popping like hot popcorn. I started the engine and pressed max on the AC. I stabbed the button again even as I heard the air kicking on.
“Text me the address.” He might still be asking questions, but I could already hear him moving about and the jingle of his keys. “You have a lead?”
“I’m not sure. But I know it’s the place where Samuel died, and I think he wants me to go there.”
“I know I’m going to regret this, but who the hell is Samuel? And why do you keep finding dead people?”
“It’s what I do, Irish. Now hop to it.”
He hesitated. I knew him well enough to know why. He wanted to warn me to be careful again but didn’t want to start shit. Sure enough, he muttered something that sounded like, “Fuck it.” Then louder, he said, “Rain—”
“I won't do anything until you get there,” I said.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
I felt an overwhelming surge of love for him. No one cared about me like he did. No one. And I suspected no one loved me like he did either, although my mother would probably have something to say about that. Something loud.
For that, I could forgive him for being the most overprotective protector that ever protected. “I love you.”
He grunted. “Don't get soft on me, Christiansen.”
I knew even without visual confirmation that his cheeks were probably quite pink. God, it was cute when a big, gruff guy blushed. I only wished I could be there to see it. He’d probably be sending me a stern look, daring me to comment.
Challenge accepted.
“Ah, I get it,” I teased. “You really love me.”
“Shut your face, Moonbeam.”
“That is not my middle name, and I don’t care what my mother says.”
I hung up on his chuckle.
Chapter 22
I arrived long before Danny. I made my way down the narrow dirt road that led to the bridge until I reached a blockade of sorts. Someone had closed a gate and nailed wood over it. There was a faded and graffitied No Trespassing sign tacked up on the wood. I could see the bridge dead ahead, so I pulled to the side of the lane and got out of my car.
I stood there for a minute, eyeing the bridge uneasily. No longer maintained by the entities who built it, foliage and moss grew on and around the bridge, almost like the woods was trying to reclaim it. I couldn’t see much other than the outline of the bridge and the river that ran underneath. The water was dark and murky.
I didn’t know if it was haunted per se, but I could feel… something thrumming through the air. It almost felt like energy, right at my fingertips. I felt drawn to it and repelled by it all at the same time. I ignored whatever it was firmly, and the strange energy crackled louder, plucking at my nerves.
I hadn’t intended on breaking my promise to Danny, but those odd vibes certainly made it easier to wait for him. I decided to use my time wisely and pulled out my phone. No time like the present to do a little research on the bridge. If I was lucky, I might even find something regarding its spooky history.
Ironcrest Bridge had been built in the 1920s, a convenient pathway to transport logs to the main highway. It was a big construction project at the time that left people awed by human ingenuity. As time went on, better, bigger, more efficient highways relegated the small bridge to a forgotten relic. The bridge was shut down and forgotten for all but bored teenagers and thrill seekers looking for something to climb. It was now a literal bridge to nowhere.
I can do better. I can be whoever you want me to be.
I looked up from my phone, startled. The voice called to me, desperate and laced with fear. The words echoed in my head, almost like they were my thoughts. Like they were inside me. A drunken laugh came from somewhere behind me and I whirled.
Nothing.
I turned back toward the bridge, squinting in the sunlight. Another laugh came to my left, but I didn’t turn—it sounded close, right near my ear. My skin prickled.
And then I saw him, walking through the overgrown brush in ill-fitting clothing, like they didn’t belong to him. “Samuel,” I whispered.
His intense gaze landed on me as if I’d shouted his name. I can do better. A slurred voice filled my head. Even though his lips didn’t move, I knew it belonged to him. I can be whoever you want me to be.
“Rain?”
At the sound of my name, the vision disappeared. When I turned, Danny was standing there, his brow furrowed in concern. His car was parked slightly behind mine. I hadn’t even heard him pull up, and considering how loud and throaty his engine was, that was saying something.
I blinked. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, of course.” I realized I was still gripping my phone tightly, and loosened my grip before I cracked it, à la Incredible Hulk. I slid the device in
my pocket and then rubbed damp palms down my slacks. “How long have you been here?”
“Only a few minutes.” His voice sharpened. “Did you see something?”
When I looked back at the bridge, Samuel was gone. “I thought I did.” I knuckled both my eyes until hazy kaleidoscope patterns spiraled on the blackness behind my eyelids, forcing me to stop. “Maybe we should take a look around.”
He didn’t question it. We picked our way down the overgrown path, searching for clues. In our search, we stumbled across enough junk and discarded trash to make an environmentalist scream for mercy. I poked around the few damp, torn, corrugated boxes with one finger, until a pair of black gloves appeared in my peripheral.
My guy. More prepared for any eventuality than a Swiss Army knife. I blew hair out of my eyes as I took them. “Thanks, Boy Scout.”
Danny looked amused even as he pulled on his own pair. “You’ll need me in a zombie apocalypse.”
“Yeah, I will. I plan on making a fucking beeline to your house.”
“I’ll keep the storm shutters up for an hour. Then I gotta close them and lock the house up tight.”
“One hour? That’s it?” I snapped the gloves over my fingers. “Don’t I deserve at least two? I’m the love of your fucking life.”
“Facts not in evidence,” he said. “Besides, it’s too risky.”
“Your conscience will eat you alive long before a zombie harvests you for brains.”
He chuckled as we continued to search boxes. “You wish. I’ll rest easy, safe in my stronghold, secure in the knowledge that you’d want me to be happy.”
“What if it’s past an hour and I’m banging on the door?”
“I can’t risk it. You’re sneaky enough to hide a bite. I mean, really, what if you turn?” He shook his head as he tossed a box aside. “It would kill me to hit you in the face with a shovel. I’d do it of course, because it’s the right thing to do, but how would I live with myself?”
“I didn’t want to be in your damn bunker anyway,” I informed him snootily.
He barked out a laugh as he tossed another box into the heap.
I felt a soft whisper next to my ear, too soft to discern the words. When I turned, I drew in a breath. Samuel was right in front of me, closer than he’d ever been. Soulful brown eyes seared into me.
“Hi,” I managed. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“I can do better,” he said in a stilted voice, as if he really wasn’t present at all. “I can be whoever you want me to be.”
“You’re Samuel Abbot, aren’t you?”
“Help me,” he said in that same wooden voice. “I don’t want to die.”
I’d seen several ghosts stuck in a cycle, but I wasn’t sure he was. It was like he was willfully ignoring the present. Unlike other ghosts I encountered, most of whom were chatty enough to go on a daytime talk show, he didn’t seem all that interested in unraveling the mystery of his death. I wasn’t sure whether that was because he was afraid of the answers… or because he already knew them.
“I want to help you,” I said gently.
He looked at me with something akin to confusion, delicate brows drawn together in a vee. Just when I thought I might’ve broken through, his face smoothed. “I can do better. I can be whoever you want me to be.”
He reached for me, looking disappointed as his hand passed through mine. He beckoned me forward anyway. “Come with me,” he said.
I lurched forward, even as I opened my mouth to say no. It was almost like being drawn forward by a string. He didn’t look back to make sure I was following as he walked down the middle of the trestle bridge, surefooted as a cat. I made the trek more carefully, picking my way across the rusted metal. Every time I tried to stop, something pressed me forward.
I stumbled on a particularly gnarly piece and grabbed for the railing instinctively. I didn’t breathe again until I was sure I wasn’t going to fall. I peered over the side into the river below, my heartbeat hammering in my ears.
Christ. This ghosting shit wasn’t good for the prospect of longevity.
When I glanced up, Samuel was even farther away than before. “I need to talk to you,” I called out. “You brought me here, so talk to me.”
“I can do better. I can be—”
“Whoever I want you to be,” I muttered in annoyance, inching forward a bit more. “I know, I know.”
“That’s far enough.” Danny’s firm voice made me jump a little. I’d almost forgotten he was there. I turned to find him still at the start of the bridge, his face strained with anxiety. “If he wants to talk, he will. We don’t know the integrity of this structure.”
He wasn’t wrong—the bridge looked pretty rickety in places. But it wasn’t like I had much of a choice. I sent an anxious glance toward Samuel. He was much farther down the bridge, now occupied playing with fireflies. If I was perfectly honest, my motivation was mostly selfish. I wanted to help him, yes, but I also wanted him out of my dreams. My nightmares.
Samuel looked back at me, realizing I was struggling against his hold. His head tilted to the side, much farther than he should’ve been able to. His neck looked broken almost and then I realized it was. His smile fell. His beautiful countenance began to change—clothes growing torn and dirty and ragged, his skin starting to darken. Some of it began to fall off his face, leaving stark bone below.
I was winning the battle against his supernatural hold by sheer force of will, and I backed up at a snail’s pace. His mouth tightened in anger and he was on me in a blink. His hands were bony claws as he reached for me. Instead of going through me like we both expected, he held on tight, jerking me to a stop.
I don’t know which of us was more surprised. Something shifted in the depths of his gaze as I tried to pull back, and he held on determinedly. He was unexpectedly strong… unnaturally strong even. A grip I should’ve been able to break with little to no trouble was vise tight.
“I can do better,” he said again, his face blank. “I can be whoever you want me to be.”
“Samuel—”
“He pushed me over the bridge, you know. I did everything he wanted, and he pushed me to my death.” Samuel’s brows furrowed. “He said I’d been a very good boy, but it was time to say goodbye.”
“And you told him you could do better,” I said, connecting the dots. “That you could be whoever he wanted you to be.”
“Help me,” Samuel said, eyes stark in a face gone even whiter than before. “I don’t want to die.”
“It’s already too late,” I said firmly. Reasoning with a ghost was difficult in the best of circumstances—reliving the last moments of your life was far from the best of circumstances. “Samuel, you have to let me go now.”
He didn’t seem to hear me. Even without the terror in his eyes, I knew he was stuck reliving this memory and was determined to make me relive it with him. Unfortunately for me, falling off the bridge was a big part of that memory. I clawed at his hands, but it was no use. He cried out and I closed my eyes instinctively. Then we were airborne and falling… falling… falling….
Samuel lost his grip on me. I opened my eyes quickly only to see the surface of the water rushing up to meet my face. Oh fuck, this is actually happening.
The feeling of weightlessness ended abruptly as we hit the water with a splash. My mouth moved to form the word “no,” but no sound came out. All sound ceased as I sank beneath the surface. My arms felt strangely heavy, and I realized Samuel may have lost his grip on me physically, but I was still under his control.
A curious fish circled around my sinking body, tracking my progress with those strangely flat, dark eyes. Even as that thought drifted through my panicked mind, I neared the end of my threshold. Soon the air would run out. Instinct would win out over intelligence, and I’d have to take a water-logged breath. In an almost detached sort of way, I realized I was detailing my own drowning.
Samuel’s head was tilted at that sick angle as he reached for me. Even thoug
h his neck was clearly broken from the fall, I reached too, struggling to make that contact. I didn’t know what I thought would happen… I just knew I wanted to save him. Change things. It defied logic, but what would be the point of showing me his death if I couldn’t fucking change anything?
My fingers reached his and I grabbed his hand, just as it went limp in mine. We stared at each other. It seemed like an eternity, but it was probably only a few seconds until his gaze went flat and lifeless. I knew then why he’d brought me here. He knew it was too late to be saved. He just wanted to be found.
I pulled him into my arms anyway and gave an experimental kick. Whatever supernatural hold he’d had on me was gone, and I kicked for the surface even as spots started to appear in my vision. My lungs struggled for air and my throat worked as I swam. I couldn’t think of anything other than the need to breathe. I knew I would lose the battle in a few seconds. It wasn’t going to be an easy way to die, and it wasn’t going to be painless, but at least it would be quick.
A hand locked on my arm and started to pull, and suddenly I was being propelled upward faster than I could swim myself. Danny. I kicked furiously to help. I had a second to process that he’d jumped in after me… another second to realize he might be too late as I reached the limits of my endurance. Not a moment too soon, we broke the surface.
Air.
I gasped. Sweet air. Sweet, life-giving air. I didn't even bother to wipe the water out of my eyes as it streamed down my face. I just closed them and concentrated on treading water and breathing, my two newest favorite activities. Air sawed through my lungs as I breathed frantically, to the point that it actually hurt my chest.
I felt hands on my face, wiping at the water. Strong, sure hands. They settled at my jaw, gently. "Open your eyes," Danny demanded.
I had no choice but to comply. I was almost surprised to find I was still alive, and I took another frantic breath just because I could. Danny’s face was concerned and worried and oh, so dear. “You're okay,” he murmured. He tried to pull my bundle from my arms. “You can let that go now.”