White Spirit

by Amy Ravenel

  White Spirit

  Restless Spirits Book 1

  Amy Ravenel

  To Mom and Dad for letting me follow them around the house, asking how to spell different words, and for reading (or trying to read) my first efforts. Thank you, and I love you!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Acknowledgments

  Falstaff Books

  About the Author

  Thank You For Your Support!

  1

  The suitcase flew out of nowhere. Tristan Johnson ducked as it sailed across the hallway, missing his head by inches. When he didn’t hear it crash into the wall behind him, he turned. The suitcase vanished without making a sound.

  “I told you to leave.” A young, blonde woman with pale skin gripped the open doorway. She glared at him, her anger permeating the air. Her voice echoed throughout the building.

  Tristan straightened, his heart beating a mile a minute. His hands tightened on the heavy box in his arms. “I’m sorry. I must have the wrong…”

  Her light brown eyes flashed before she, like the suitcase, disappeared into nothing.

  A cold chill slid down Tristan’s spine. He sucked in a breath as his whole body shook. The box wobbled, but he kept it from toppling to the hardwood floor.

  “Damn it. Not again,” he muttered under his breath.

  He jumped when someone yelled at the other end of the hall. The box wobbled again. A young man with a head full of dark hair raced towards him, determination on his face.

  “I’m going to kill you, man!”

  He picked up speed and charged. Tristan braced for the impact, but the man ran straight though him. He whirled around to see nothing but the window at the end of the hallway. He set the box on the floor before he dropped it for good. Gritting his teeth, he sat and slowly breathed in and out.

  Every. Damn. Time.

  Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. Stay calm. Focus on the here and now. His father’s advice rang in his ears. “Picture a high wall built with bricks. Surround yourself with it. It’s your shield, your sanity. Wrap yourself in it.”

  “Shut them out. They’re not real,” he whispered.

  Voices from the past overlapped each other in a cacophony of noise, each one vying for his attention. It surrounded him, squeezed in, and left his ears ringing.

  Tristan imagined his inner wall strengthening around him. He mentally placed red bricks on top of each other, building the structure layer by layer. As each piece settled into place, the buzzing in his brain died down. A few sounds from the past whispered in his ears, but the majority drained away.

  He opened his eyes. No one was standing in the doorway of the apartment. No one ran down the hall. No echoes, no shadows. Tristan was alone.

  Blessed, blessed silence.

  “Is the box too heavy for you, Johnson?”

  Tristan stood and nodded to the white, blond man walking towards him. At least he was real and solid. Zack Beckett sauntered down the hall, his arms full of two medium-sized boxes.

  Tension eased off Tristan’s shoulders. The corner of his mouth quirked in a half-smile. “Shut up, Beckett.” He lifted his box off the floor, thankful that nothing breakable was in it. He entered the open apartment, now clear of angry women from the past.

  “I’m only saying if you need help, you should let me know.” Zack followed him and set the boxes on the bar separating the living room and the kitchen. He ran a hand through his damp, sweaty hair.

  Tristan rolled his eyes. “Is that why you’re carrying the smaller boxes, Shorty?”

  “Conserving my strength, Jolly Green Giant.” Zack rolled his shoulders.

  “Tristan slacking again?” Drew Keane walked into the apartment after them. He deposited his boxes in the back corner of the living room with a loud grunt. The grunt turned into a groan that increased in pitch as he stretched and popped his back.

  “Man, I carried most of this up here without you.” Tristan punched Drew in the lightly tanned arm.

  “You were sitting in front of the door with your eyes closed,” Zack pointed out.

  Tristan shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I was getting used to the place.” He tapped his temple.

  All the joking left Zack’s face. “You okay, man?”

  Tristan waved him off. “I will be.”

  Drew wiggled his blondish-brown eyebrows. “See anything interesting?”

  “A pissed off woman who threw her luggage at me, and a guy who wanted to kick my ass. Nothing special.”

  Drew dropped down on the fluffy beige couch. His shoes landed on the coffee table with a thud. “You always get the boring visions. No hidden treasures? No major make-out sessions? No…” He paused for emphasis and lowered his voice, drawing out the word. “Muuurdeeer?”

  Tristan rolled his eyes. “I hope there’s no murder. Those are the worst.”

  Every place had a different psychic energy, and Tristan never knew how it would affect his ability to see the past. Sometimes the past nudged against his mind, presenting transparent images, like the woman in the doorway. Sometimes it charged through like an elephant, knocking him back against the wall. In those, he not only saw but also touched and felt the movie playing out in his mind. In the worst moments, the vision took him over. When that happened, he had no idea what was real and what wasn’t. It took days or months to get used to a new place.

  “What is this? Are you guys taking a break on me?” Kayla Collins pushed into the room, sweat glistening on her dark brown skin. Her gaze swept over them, a smile on her face. “Am I the only one around here who can handle the work?” She placed her boxes on the kitchen table.

  “Why do you think I want to marry you?” Zack moved behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her off the ground. “Man enough for you?”

  She smacked his arm. “You’re crazy, you know that?” She laughed as he set her down. Her dark brown eyes sparkled. “Alright, guys. Let’s keep moving. The rest of that junk isn’t going to move itself.” She jerked a thumb at the door.

  “Aw, come on, Kayla. One break. We’ve been moving all morning.” Drew pulled up the bill of his Duke cap and scratched his damp hair. “And some of us have to work tonight.”

  “Drew, quit whining. Everyone knows all you do is sit around old houses and wait for ghosts to show up.” Kayla pointed to the door again.

  Drew groaned as he walked out. “It’s important work. I have to keep alert all night.”

  Zack followed him. “Aw, poor baby.” He pushed his friend forward, and they both stumbled out of the apartment laughing.

  Kayla tossed her hands into the air with mock exasperation as she trailed after them.

  Tristan shook his head as he watched them go. How had he survived those two years in Wilmington without them? More importantly, he was grateful they were there the whole past year when he thought he was losing his mind. He had known Drew since they were kids and Zack and Kayla since college. No matter how crazy he sounded, they always had his back.

  He pulled off his light blue University of North Carolina baseball cap and pushed back the
curls that fell into his eyes. He took in the small dining room/living room combination. Light brown hardwood floors and white walls waited for him to put his mark on them. A sliding glass door that led to a balcony stood across from him. He turned into the kitchen on his right and ran a hand over the smooth off-white counter tops. It was a good place. Despite the visions, it had a good energy. He could learn control here.

  Originally, Tristan hadn’t wanted to leave his parents’ house. After everything that happened in Wilmington, he wasn’t sure the real world was for him. Then Zack and Drew suggested he move to Asheville, a city nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains, and finish his master’s degree. He was hesitant, but he trusted them. Zack and Kayla lived down the hall. Drew was a quick phone call away.

  It was a place where he could forgive himself. Even though he missed the crash of the ocean and the salty, humid air, he was glad to move back to the crisp and cool mountains. His family and friends didn’t blame him for what happened, but he blamed himself. His cousin Karie’s screams still haunted him. Details of the vision that almost destroyed them both played over and over in his mind. Flashes of anger and intense rage. He still felt the solid wood in his hand.

  He pushed it away. It wasn’t going to happen again. He refused to let it. Control. He had to learn control.

  As Tristan ambled back to the door, a cold breeze brushed his cheek. He shivered. A quick glance around the room told him no windows were open. He started to walk again.

  A woman’s laugh rang in his ears, and he froze. He took a deep breath. He didn’t acknowledge the breeze or the laugh. It was probably some remnant of the past, begging to be let in.

  The air cooled. The temperature on the air conditioner control panel dropped from seventy degrees to forty and kept going. Tristan’s breath made white circles with every puff. Chill bumps formed on his sweat-soaked arms as he folded them. His shoulders hunched as his body shook. He lifted an eyebrow. It was the end of the summer in the mountains. Temperatures were cool, but they didn’t drop that fast. And definitely not on their own.

  The front door slammed, loud enough to cut through the eerie silence.

  Tristan’s heart jumped into his throat. Just the wind. That was all. He glanced at the sliding glass door that led to the balcony and noticed it was closed. No wind, then.

  He grabbed the doorknob, his breath sucking in as he touched the cold metal. Fighting the stinging iciness, he wrapped his hand around it and pulled. The door wouldn’t budge. He yanked and turned, but it stayed closed. Tristan’s calm melted away as his heartbeat picked up. Panic rose, swift and all-encompassing. His mouth dried. Rattling the door, his stomach rolled and threatened to sour.

  The cold kissed his skin as he continued to work the knob. No movement. Not a creak. He was stuck in his apartment. His ever-increasingly cold apartment. Was it possible to freeze to death in an apartment in the summer? Why didn’t the stupid door open? He banged on it with his fist.

  “Zack! Drew! This isn’t funny! Open the damn door!”

  The woman laughed again next to his left ear. Something cold and soft trailed down his neck. He held his breath, but his heart continued to pound. What was that?

  He stood still while every cell in his body told him to run. But where to? He was stuck inside his apartment, and he wasn’t alone.

  What the hell was going on?

  A light glow appeared in the corner of his eye. He pivoted to face it, and his jaw dropped. The ghostly shape of a woman wearing a simple white sundress stood in the middle of his living room. A nonexistent wind lifted her long, white hair off her shoulders. Her piercing green eyes were the only spot of color on her. She studied him for a moment before gliding toward him, a hand outstretched. Her feet never touched the floor.

  It took him a long moment to find his voice. “Who the hell are you?” It came out as a whisper, as if a louder volume might cause her to attack.

  She cocked her head to the side, studying him as if he were a specimen. Her eyes held no life.

  Tristan’s muscles refused to move. He barely even breathed. It’s another vision, he told himself. But deep inside, he knew this woman was not in his head. She was too transparent. Tales of Drew’s ghost hunting ran through his memory. Ghosts pulled energy from the room, making the air colder than it actually was. But didn’t they show up at night? The day was bright and warm outside the windows.

  He shut his eyes and counted to five before opening them again. He dug his fingers into his arms as he jerked away. She had moved closer; an inch or two was all that stood between them.

  Fascinated and terrified, he watched as she lifted her hand. She touched his cheek with icy, hesitant fingers. Wanting to back away, he told his feet to move. They were planted to the floor. Her fingers traced a freezing line down his jaw. She seemed to glow brighter the moment she touched his skin. A few seconds later, his body relaxed, and he sank into the nearest chair.

  The fear and panic eased away, leaving a floating sensation. The cold no longer bothered him. Instead, peace spread through his limbs.

  Someone jiggled the doorknob. “Tristan, you going to let us in?” Zack knocked on the door.

  Tristan opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came out. His eyes were glued to the ghostly girl caressing his cheek. If he could stay there forever, he’d be content.

  And then she was gone, disappearing as quickly as she appeared.

  The door sprang open, banging against the wall. Zack walked in, his eyebrows turned down in confusion. “Tristan?”

  Tristan blinked a couple of times and shook his head. Everything was fuzzy. His brain was sluggish, thoughts forming slowly. He wiped his face with his hands, jumping when Zack’s warm hand shook his shoulder.

  “Tristan? Did you turn up the air in here?”

  More boxes thudded on the floor. “Oh, my God! Is he okay?” Kayla knelt in front of him. “You’re pale. Zack, he’s pale. Get him some water.”

  Everything swam into focus. “I’m okay. I promise. I just…I don’t…” He glanced from Kayla to Zack. “There’s a ghost in my apartment.”

  The couple exchanged a knowing look.

  “What?” Tristan kept his gaze on Zack. “What is it?” His skin warmed as the room itself did. “Did you know about this?”

  Zack set a bottle of water on the table. “Don’t tell Drew, okay? We’ll explain everything tonight.”

  “Were you planning on telling me?” Tristan gulped down the bottle as if he hadn’t had water in a month. “I feel like I ran a marathon.”

  Everyone went quiet when Drew ambled through the door. He peered around the box he carried and the humor left his face. “What’s wrong?”

  Zack gave Tristan a slight shake of his head.

  Tristan forced himself to smile. “Another vision, man. This one was a doozy.” His voice was too high, his breath too shallow. He hated lying to Drew.

  Drew’s greenish-hazel eyes lit up. “Murder?”

  “No, only a hot chick coming on to me.” Not far from the truth.

  Drew relaxed and set his boxes on the edge of the table. “Well, at least this one wasn’t throwing a suitcase at you.”

  Tristan met Zack’s eyes. “Yeah. Thank God for that.” His friend had a hell of a lot of explaining to do.

  “Anybody want to tell me what’s going on?” Tristan sank into his chair with a cold beer. He studied the two friends sitting on his couch. “And maybe why they didn’t tell me before I signed a contract?” The bitter taste of beer was welcome.

  Zack shrugged. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.” He studied his bottle, avoiding Tristan’s eyes.

  Drew had left for his job an hour ago, and Tristan was ready for answers about the mysterious haunting in his apartment.

  “You didn’t think it was a big deal?” Tristan leaned forward. “You talk your psychic best friend into moving into an apartment with a ghost, and you didn’t think it was a big deal?” His bottle clinked on the dark cherry wood coffee table.

 
“Look, The White Lady is a part of this place. A feature. I think she’s harmless.” Zack flashed him a grin. “I’ve seen her in the hall and my place, too.”

  Tristan fought to remain calm. “A feature? How long has she been here?”

  Zack sighed. “I don’t know. Since before we moved in. She doesn’t do anything but float around and laugh. She’s harmless.”

  “According to the legend, she’s not harmless.” Kayla sipped her beer, her voice flat.

  “Kayla, not this again.” Zack sighed. “It’s a legend, a story. It’s not real.”

  Kayla narrowed her dark eyes. “She sure as hell is.”

  “The legend?” Tristan’s stomach dropped. How could this possibly get any worse?

  “Ten years ago, three guys committed suicide in this building. Some people say The White Lady made them do it.” Zack set his drink on the coffee table. “‘If you see The White Lady, you die.’” He made air quotes. “It’s bullshit.”

  Kayla shot him a look. “It’s not bullshit. Three different men all decide to kill themselves at the same time?” She turned to Tristan. “I’ve been trying to get him to tell Drew, maybe get an investigation going around here, but he won’t do it.”

  Zack shook his head. “She’s a ghost. She can’t hurt anybody,” he insisted. “There’s no point in having cameras all over the place. I don’t want Drew watching me sleep.”

  Kayla groaned. “We don’t have to stay here while they investigate, stupid.”

  “Still. Having people walking around our apartment and filming is creepy.”

  “Not as creepy has having a ghost haunting us.”