by Amy Ravenel
Kayla nodded, but no words came out of her mouth.
Tristan stepped forward. Someone had to answer the question. “She’s his fiancée, and I’m his friend.”
Lopez studied him with compassion in her light brown eyes. “Can I ask you a few questions?”
Tristan agreed.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
He took a deep breath, his hands fidgeting with the end of his shirt. “I was on my balcony when I saw him crash through the window.”
Lopez raised an eyebrow. “You were awake at this hour?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” Tristan shrugged.
“Ma’am, what happened in that room?” Lopez asked Kayla.
Kayla looked at the officer with empty eyes. “The White Lady pushed him.”
Lopez’s pen stopped writing, and the officer lifted her head. “The White Lady, ma’am?”
Kayla nodded. “The ghost that haunts our building.”
“Are you sure you didn’t touch him?” Lopez kept her voice gentle.
Kayla’s eyes flashed with anger. “No, I didn’t. How the hell could I push him out a window? He’s bigger than me!”
Lopez jotted down her answer, not bothering to react. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I had to ask.”
“I didn’t kill him.”
Lopez never indicated she heard Kayla. Instead, her face remained impassive. “Stay here. The detectives will want to talk to you.” With that, she walked back to the crowd.
Kayla gripped Tristan’s shirt. “I’m telling the truth. You believe me, right?” She met his eyes. “You can see it. You can see what happened. You can see the truth.” She loosened her fingers and slid down the brick wall into the cool, damp grass.
Tristan crouched beside her. “I believe you.” However, he didn’t know what to believe. He had seen and felt the ghost. The legend echoed in his brain. If you see the ghost, you die. Zack was dead, but Tristan wasn’t. Why? They had both seen her. He remembered the pain when she touched him, like she was yanking everything out of him. But he was still alive, and Zack wasn’t.
Another car pulled into the parking lot, a red light blazing on top. Two men in suits climbed out of the unmarked vehicle and made their way to the scene. They spoke with Officer Lopez before walking in their direction. Tristan roused Kayla from her spot on the ground.
The detective on the right smiled as he approached them, “Hello. I’m sorry for your loss.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Detective Bill Needham, and this is my partner, James Morgan.”
Detective Needham was taller than Tristan and didn’t seem that much older, maybe five or six years. His dark hair fell across his forehead and his hazel eyes appeared to take in everything. Detective Morgan was a little shorter, but not by much. He had black, curly hair and his dark brown eyes regarded Kayla.
Tristan shook Needham’s hand.
“Mind if we ask you a few questions?” Needham positioned his pen over his notepad.
Kayla nodded as she wrapped her arms around herself.
“Okay, walk me through this. What exactly happened?”
Kayla took a deep breath and repeated the whole story. Tristan worried when she mentioned the ghost again, but he had no way of stopping her from talking about it. She was calmer this time, as if this whole incident had happened to someone else. Needham took it all in as if she were sharing a homemade recipe with him.
“Are you sure it was a ghost?” Needham raised an eyebrow.
Kayla’s eyes widened. “I know it sounds crazy, but that’s what happened. I swear.”
Needham exchanged a glance with Morgan. Tristan placed a protective hand on Kayla’s shoulder, a muscle in his jaw twitching.
“Ma’am, did anybody want to hurt your fiancée? An ex-girlfriend, maybe?”
Kayla shook her head. “No.”
“Did anyone break in? Did your fiancée catch them?”
“No. I told you what I saw. I told you everything.”
Needham focused on Tristan. “Officer Lopez said you saw the victim fall from the window?”
“Yes, sir.” Tristan took him through everything he saw.
“Did you see a ghost?” Morgan asked.
“No, but I saw it at a different angle. I didn’t see anybody at all.”
“Kayla! Tristan!” Drew ran towards them, a woman with long, dark hair on his heels. He hugged Kayla. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, but Zack.” Kayla’s voice cracked.
Drew let go of her and the dark-haired woman embraced Kayla.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Oh, McKenna. I’m so glad you’re here.”
Needham cleared his throat as he and Morgan closed their notebooks. Needham handed Tristan a card. “Call me if you remember anything else.” He focused on Kayla. “Ma’am, can you please go with Officer Lopez down to the station? We’d like to ask you a few more questions and contact your family.”
Kayla nodded. “Anything I can do to help.”
McKenna kept her arm around Kayla. “Can she get dressed first?”
The detectives nodded. McKenna led Kayla back to the building with Lopez walking behind them.
Needham nodded to Tristan and Drew. “Stay in touch.” He and his partner followed the women.
Tristan fell back against the wall, all of his energy gone. The ghost had been there. She wasn’t a dream. She had been in his room. She had touched him. He crumpled the business card in his hand. She had taken something from him. He was sure of it. What was it? And did it connect to Zack’s death?
Zack’s death. Zack was dead. His best friend was dead. He took a shuddering breath. What was he supposed to do now? He looked at Drew, who leaned against the wall next to him.
Drew’s gaze was level. “You going to tell me what happened?”
“Kayla said The White Lady killed him.” Tristan didn’t want to go through the story again.
“The White Lady?” Drew pushed away from the wall.
“The ghost that haunts the building.”
“A ghost haunts this building? And no one told me?” Drew’s voice grew louder with each word.
“Zack said she wouldn’t hurt anybody. He didn’t want you poking around.” Tristan slumped against the prickly brick wall. “Fuck!”
The police blocked off the scene and pushed people away. The detectives hovered over the body while people in white coats scoured the ground.
“I think this might be my fault.” Tristan’s voice sounded hollow to his own ears.
“Dude, what are you talking about?”
“She was in my apartment tonight. I think she took something from me, something that helped her kill Zack.”
“What did she take?”
Tristan wiped his face. “I don’t know. I was tired afterwards. I thought it was a dream.”
Drew narrowed his eyes. “Come on. We’re going to do something about this.” He stalked off to the building before Tristan could answer him.
He followed Drew inside and climbed the stairs. This time they moved with the traffic instead of pushing their way through. They stopped in front of Zack and Kayla’s apartment. Yellow tape blocked the open door and more people in white coats milled about inside. Kayla and McKenna had probably already come and gone.
Drew turned to him. “See what happened.”
“What?” Tristan blinked, unsure he had heard right.
“See what happened.” Drew tapped his temple. “Use your power and look into the past. Find Zack’s energy or whatever and tell me how he died.”
The panic bloomed in Tristan’s chest. “I can’t.”
“You can. I’ve seen you do it before.”
Tristan’s breathing picked up as he stared at the open apartment. “There are too many people inside. They won’t let us in.”
“You can do it here, can’t you?” A camera flashed against the back wall, lighting up the living room for a second.
“No. I have to be in the roo
m to get a vision.” He kept one eye on the apartment. “What if I tried and the vision took over?” Tristan stepped back. “What if I connect with the ghost and tried to shove you out the window?”
“How do you know you’ll see it from The White Lady’s point of view? Maybe you’ll tap into Kayla or Zack.” Drew talked faster as the idea took hold.
“It’s not worth the risk. Zack is already dead. We can’t help him.” He winced at his own cold words, but the panic was already deeply rooted. “Besides, you’re forgetting one thing.” He indicated the door. “We can’t get inside.” And then he noticed it. The entire night, he hadn’t seen or heard one shade of the past. Nothing pushed against his shields. He wasn’t even struggling to keep them in place like he usually did.
Reaching out, he searched for something, anything. All he saw was a few people going back their apartments and the officers searching his friend’s apartment. He pushed a little harder, his brow wrinkling in effort. He didn’t hear or see anything. Confused, he looked up and down the hallway. Even with his shields down, he didn’t see or hear any echoes.
“Something’s wrong,” he said.
“Tristan?”
He faced Drew, gripping his upper arms. He mentally dropped his shields and braced for the onslaught of Drew’s past to bombard his brain. Nothing happened. “I can’t…I can’t read you.”
Drew’s eyes widened. “What?”
Tristan let him go and backed away from the apartment. “It’s gone. Just like that.”
Drew approached him in a slow and gradual way. “You messing with me? Is this your way of getting out of using your powers?”
“No. I wouldn’t lie about this.” He leaned against the wall and rubbed his face. This was what he wanted. His curse was gone.
“Maybe you need to get some sleep. We’ll try again in the morning.” Drew’s voice softened.
No! No, no, no! Tristan rubbed the back of his neck, his hand shaking. He stumbled away from Drew and into the nearest wall. He pressed his hand against it, keeping himself upright. His mind felt empty, a part of him gone. Sweat prickled his hot skin.
He always wondered what it would be like without his psychic ability. He used to imagine how nice normal would be. But he wasn’t prepared for it to ever happen.
Too shocked to argue, he let Drew take him back to his apartment. Sleep. Yeah, maybe he only needed sleep.
5
Pain filled Tristan’s head when he woke up Saturday morning. Opening his eyes, he saw visions of the past occupants of his bedroom lapping over one another. Some were more solid than others. All of them were doing and saying different things. It was like having a marching band play in his head.
He cried out, closing his eyes to block out everything. It didn’t work. He smelled thick vanilla perfume. Shouting matches echoed against the walls. He swore his head split apart in that moment.
His power was back in full force. Either that, or he was losing his mind.
Fighting for concentration, he rebuilt his imaginary brick wall. Everything vanished layer by layer. When he felt steadier, he opened one eye to test the room. No shades or shadows remained.
He lay in his bed, letting the headache recede. Apparently, whatever had happened to him the night before wasn’t permanent. Sighing, he sat up. The memory of the night before hit him hard: the ghost, the sirens, Zack lying dead on the ground. Zack was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. A ball of dread sat like lead in the center of his chest. He fought back tears. It still didn’t feel real yet.
Tristan stumbled out of bed. Coffee. Coffee was the answer.
Something that sounded like a buzz saw rattled his living room. He walked in to find Drew stretched out on the couch, snoring away. Tristan shook his head; he remembered that, too. Drew had left his car at work and needed to crash at the apartment because his ride had gone to the police station with Kayla. Tristan shoved him on the arm.
Drew rolled over. “It’s not time to go to school yet.”
Tristan shoved him again. “Making coffee, man. You want some?”
Drew mumbled and went back to snoring.
Tristan made a pot of coffee and drank his cup before Drew stirred. The warm, rich smell of the fresh black brew filled the room. The caffeine swam through his brain, helping him think clearly. What was he going to do? He relied on Zack and Kayla being there for him, but now, neither one of them would be. Could he do this without one of his best friends?
He got dressed and headed out of the apartment, leaving the rest of the pot for Drew. He had to get out, to do something, had to clear his head. A drive in the mountains would help. He turned away from his door and started when he almost ran into the woman Drew was with the night before. The woman who had gone to the police station with Kayla.
She jumped. “I’m sorry.” Her big blue eyes looked up at him, and some of his sadness eased. Dark brown hair fell past her shoulders to the midpoint of her back. She smoothed it down, a smile on her elfin face. Her pale skin glowed in the hallway light. “I didn’t expect anyone to come out at this hour.” She blushed. “I’m McKenna Ellison.”
Tristan dipped his head. “Tristan Johnson.”
Her face brightened. “Drew’s other friend. He’s mentioned you.”
“All good things, I hope.” He stuffed his hand into his pockets. “How’s Kayla?”
“Better now that her sister’s with her.” Her face darkened. “I think the police suspect she did it.”
Tristan shook his head. “No way. I’ve known the both of them since college. Kayla wouldn’t do something like this.”
“I don’t think she would either.” She touched his arm. “How are you doing?”
He tried to ignore how his skin tingled from her touch. “I’ll be okay. It’s still a shock.”
“It usually is.” She walked around him. “Is Drew up yet?”
“He was moving around when I left.”
“Good.” Another smile. “I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Tristan walked to the top of the stairs and glanced back. She was pretty, this McKenna, but the timing was way off. Regretting it, he jogged down the stairs.
The door of his truck creaked as he opened it and climbed inside. He avoided looking at the spot in the parking lot where Zack’s body had been. He wiped his face and turned on the engine.
Rock music roared through his speakers as he drove away from Asheville. Turning north onto the Blue Ridge Parkway, he felt the tension ease from his shoulders. The truck rumbled along the narrow, tree-lined road as Tristan relaxed against the back of the seat. Few buildings dotted the parkway. Mostly, overlooks and nature itself greeted him. Outside was the best place for Tristan to be. The past didn’t push as hard against him when he was out in the open, and it gave his mind a much-needed rest. He could even handle a battlefield easier than an old house. Neither he nor his family knew why; he simply accepted it.
He pulled to the side of the road and climbed out. The sun warmed his face as the view of Mt. Pisgah rose in the distance, a tall, blue point. He slid onto the warm hood of his truck, not caring how uncomfortable it was. The last time he had been there was when his dad took him camping as a teenager. No one else was around, and he welcomed the quiet. He let the tears come.
Could he have saved Zack? Maybe he should have told Drew? He remembered The White Lady’s cold, impersonal touch. She touched him, but she hadn’t killed him. Why? Why Zack? Was Kayla right? Had The White Lady done it? Was that even possible? Was there truth to the legend? The questions piled one on top of the other. He stared out at the mountains, trying to find answers.
If you see The White Lady, you die. That was the legend. Had anyone else in the complex seen The White Lady? If she had been around all this time, Zack wasn’t the first. So, other than the three suicides ten years before, why wasn’t anyone else dead?
Tristan’s phone buzzed, reminding him he hadn’t turned the ringer on. He dug it out of his back pocket and answered it.
> “Tristan, honey, what happened?” His mother’s worried voice comforted him.
“Did Drew call you?” His throat was dry.
“No. Your father saw something happen to Zack last night. Woke him out of a sound sleep. I’ve been trying to call you all morning. Is he okay?”
He told her all of it, including Kayla’s suspicion about the ghost. His mother listened and didn’t interrupt once.
“Do you need me to come down?” she asked once he finished.
“No, I’ll be okay. I just need some time.”
“Oh, mijo.”
Tristan chuckled. It didn’t matter how old he was, his mother loved to use the term of endearment. He never had the heart to ask her to stop.
“Tristan, your father wants to talk to you.” Rustling came from the other end of the line and then a deeper, booming voice replaced his mother’s.
“How are you doing, son?”
Tristan straightened his back at the tone. “I’m okay.”
“Your mother said Zack is dead?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How are the police handling it?” Matthew Johnson had retired two years earlier from the Boone Police Department, but he would always be an officer.
“I think they’re exploring every avenue. I told them everything I knew last night.”
“Did anybody want to hurt him?”
“Not that I know of.” Tristan lay down on his hood, the cell cradled in his hand. He knew the beginning of an interrogation when he heard one. He let out a breath, grateful for the distraction his father provided. Think things through, remember the details, and understand the events. That was his father’s motto, his way of controlling his ability. Unlike Tristan, Matthew saw what was happening somewhere else in the present.
“Tell me everything again, from the beginning. I want to know all about this ghost.”
Tristan took a deep breath and spent the rest of the morning taking his father through the events of the night.
The sunlight sparkled through the branches of the trees, casting shadows on the curvy mountain road. McKenna knew the road like the back of her hand and made the turns automatically. The quiet was welcome since her head still hurt from the night before.