White Spirit

by Amy Ravenel

  “Thank you for believing me.” He stood. “I hope you can stop it from happening again. Nobody deserves to die like that.”

  McKenna placed her phone back into her bag. “No, no one does.”

  Tristan studied the notes he had taken. Cory, Keith, and Jason had all died the same way as Zack. There was a connection, but damned if he knew what it was. All morning, he and McKenna pored over the reports, the article, and anything else they could find.

  After McKenna started scheduling interviews, Tristan pulled out the pictures of each guy. Why these three? What was the ghost searching for? He compared the pictures to one another. Zack and Jason resembled each other. They were both tall, lean blonds. But did that mean anything? He studied the other two victims. Keith was stout with short dark brown hair while Cory sported a softer body type and long ash blond curls. They didn’t seem to fit any kind of type and certainly didn’t match Zack and Jason.

  You could open to the past, a small voice in the back of Tristan’s mind said. It could be so easy. He pushed away the uncomfortable feeling. Not now. Besides, he only saw the past of the building he was in. And he was planning to try it that night in Zack and Kayla’s apartment.

  Coming out of his apartment that morning, he had seen the police clearing out of his friends’ place. They ripped the yellow tape off and packed it away. His grip tightened on his door. He had a promise to keep, and he intended to go through with it. No matter how much it scared him. Maybe if he kept everyone out of the room, nothing would go wrong.

  He hoped he would find something about the ghost during the research session so he wouldn’t have to try. If he could give Kayla a solid piece of evidence, his own sanity would be saved. But the reports and the article didn’t offer much. McKenna said that she wasn’t sure where to start digging for The White Lady, either. Dead end after dead end. Maybe McKenna would have more information after her interviews.

  He shoved his phone into his back pocket. As much as he wanted to know the truth, he had to focus on his actual job. He heard voices coming from his office as he turned the corner. Was Jaime meeting with a student? He stopped right outside, giving them some privacy.

  “He teaches a class at two so I’m sure he’ll be here soon.” Jaime had on her “professional” voice. He? Were they talking about him? Tristan inched closer to the open door.

  “Is it okay if we wait for him here?” A familiar deep male voice asked.

  “I guess, but I have a lot of work to do.” Jaime’s tone was clipped. Barely working together for two weeks and already she was protecting him. He smiled to himself. He’d have to thank her later.

  Chairs scraped against the hard floor. “We’ll stay right over here.” A different voice spoke this time. At least two men were in the room.

  Tristan braced himself for whoever was waiting for him and stepped inside. Detectives Needham and Morgan stood and adjusted their suit jackets.

  “Mr. Johnson, do you have time for a few questions?” Needham asked.

  10

  “I don’t know what more I can tell you.” Tristan dropped his satchel on his desk. “I told you everything I remember.” He ran a hand through his hair.

  Jaime moved between the two detectives. Tristan didn’t miss her glare at each of them. “I’m going to get some coffee. Do you want anything?” she asked him.

  “I’m good. Thanks.”

  Jaime narrowed her eyes at the detectives one more time. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and headed out of the door like a woman on a mission.

  Morgan smiled, holding out his hand. “We’re sorry to barge in on you like this.”

  Tristan shook it. “That’s okay. I’d love to help, but I don’t know how.” Judging by the scowl on Needham’s face, he figured Morgan was playing good cop. Why did they need to act out the roles? He kept his guard up, ready for anything.

  “We want to clarify a few things about Mr. Beckett’s death.”

  “Okay.”

  Needham cleared his throat. “Let’s review, Mr. Johnson. You said you saw Mr. Beckett fall from his window while you were on your balcony, right?”

  “Right.” Tristan crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Can someone confirm you were on your balcony?”

  Tristan didn’t miss a beat. “No, I was alone. What are you getting at?”

  Needham gestured to the chair across from him. “Why don’t you sit down, Mr. Johnson?”

  “I think I’ll stay where I am.”

  Needham stood as well. He seemed to be a man who didn’t like people towering over him. Tristan was still taller by several inches. “Johnson, we did some research on you. You left Wilmington rather quickly, following your cousin’s hospital visit. And you stayed with your parents for a year after that?”

  Tristan opened his bag and pulled out his lesson planner and other materials. He refused to let Needham intimidate him. “What does that have to do with anything?” His voice was nonchalant. “I had some personal issues to work out.” He didn’t like where this conversation was going.

  “How did your cousin wind up in the hospital? You were the one that brought her in, weren’t you?” Morgan’s tone was more casual than Needham’s, as if they were having a conversation while watching a ball game.

  Lost in a violent vision. Karie screaming. Tristan shoved the memory away. “I was, but I don’t see how any of this has to do with Zack.” He faced the two men. His jaw tightened.

  “You wouldn’t know what happened to her, would you?” Needham hedged.

  Morgan put a hand on Needham’s shoulder. “Bill, this isn’t how we’re going to approach this.” He gave Tristan another reassuring smile. Tristan was anything but reassured. “Let’s all sit down.”

  “Am I a suspect?” Tristan gripped the edge of his desk.

  Morgan answered before Needham could open his mouth. “No.” He sat down. Needham grunted, but followed his lead.

  Tristan relaxed and lowered himself into his chair. Needham and Morgan wanted the answers as much as he did. Arguing wasn’t going to get them anywhere. He took a deep breath. “Karie, my cousin, and I were in her house. She’d just bought an old Victorian, and she wanted me to see it. I did. She hadn’t moved in yet, but renovations were going on. She tripped over a stack of wood, fell, and hit her head. I took her to the hospital. That’s it.” Short, simple, and leaving out any psychic details.

  “How did you feel about Zack?” Needham’s voice was softer but kept a steel edge.

  “He was one of my best friends, Detective. If you think I killed him, you’re wrong. I had no reason to hurt him.”

  Needham and Morgan exchanged a look.

  Morgan rested against the back of the chair. “What about Kayla Collins? How close are you two?”

  Tristan hunched over his desk. “I’ve known her since college. She and Zack hit it off the first time they met, and she’s always fit right in. I count her as one of the best people I know.”

  “No romantic feelings?”

  Tristan laughed. He and Kayla would never work as a couple. They would wind up killing each other. “No.”

  “Your fingerprints were in that apartment,” Needham said.

  “Because I visited them. I bet our other friend Drew’s fingerprints are there, too. I promise you, I didn’t kill him.” Tristan’s gaze was level with Needham’s.

  “All right. Thank you for talking to us again.” Morgan straightened his suit. He replaced his smile. “You still got my card?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t hesitate to call if you have any new information.” Morgan nodded and walked to the door.

  Needham lingered, continuing to glare at Tristan. “Wait. One more question. Why did your father request copies of the suicide cases ten years ago?”

  Tristan tried to hide his surprise at the question. “Kayla still believes The White Lady killed Zack. She hired a paranormal investigation team, and I’m helping them with research.”

  Needham’s laugh reverb
erated off the walls. “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Johnson.” He joined his partner. Without another word, they left.

  Tristan blew out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He sagged in his chair.

  Jaime and her rich coffee with a hint of vanilla strolled into the room. “What was that about?”

  “They wanted to ask me more questions about last Friday.” Tristan rested his forehead on the desk. “I think they think I did it.”

  “Do they have any proof?”

  “I don’t think so.” He looked up. “I don’t see how since I wasn’t in the apartment.”

  Jaime set another cup of coffee in front of him. “Have some. It’ll make you feel better.”

  “Thank you.” He sipped the hot liquid gratefully.

  WE’RE AT KAYLA’S PLACE. COME ON IN WHEN YOU GET HERE.

  Tristan stared at the text until the letters didn’t make sense anymore. With the research and the detectives, he had forgotten about his promise to Kayla. He had seen the police tear off the yellow tape that morning. He had jogged past a couple of policemen on his way out of the building. But things didn’t connect until he saw Drew’s text.

  Anxiety rolled in his chest. He stopped dead outside of Hidden Forest, his heart racing. What if it all goes wrong? What if I hurt someone? What if I lose my sanity altogether? He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. The memory of Karie’s wide eyes flashed into his mind.

  Everyone said it wasn’t his fault she was hurt. He didn’t remember everything that happened, but his cousin’s terrified face was etched in his brain. She never told him what she had seen when she looked at him, but he knew it had been bad.

  His phone dinged. Another text from Drew.

  WHY ARE YOU STANDING OUT IN THE PARKING LOT? GET IN HERE.

  Screwing up his courage, he put one foot in front of the other. He would be fine this time. He would keep his shields in place and not let too much in. Control. Focus. He’d worked on it with his father for a year. He could do this.

  His courage faltered when he heard her voice as he sauntered into the apartment.

  “This place is so pretty.” McKenna was there, in the same building, in the same apartment. He hoped Drew had a plan to get her out of there. He didn’t want her to see any of this. Oh, God. What if he wound up hurting her? The thought chilled him to the bone.

  “Thank you,” Kayla said. “They opened up the apartments to all residents, not only students, nine years ago. I heard they were having trouble renting to only students. Now I know why.”

  Drew was the first to see him. “There you are, man.”

  Tristan waved, moving all the way into the living room. “Hi, everyone.”

  The room was full. Kayla and Drew claimed opposite ends of the couch while Tabitha lounged in the recliner. McKenna perched on the arm of the couch. He wasn’t prepared to explain his powers or share them outside of his immediate circle. A spark of hope flared. Did this mean Kayla had changed her mind?

  “What are y’all doing here?” he asked.

  Tabitha struggled to her feet, the chair threatening to hang on to her. “Preliminary interviews with the residents. McKenna and I ran into Drew and Kayla so we’re taking a break before hitting the bottom levels.”

  “I thought the big ghost hunt was this Friday.” Drew had told him Mr. Martin had given Aaron the go ahead to prepare a hunt. Tristan planned to be far away from his apartment on that night.

  “It is,” McKenna said. “But we wanted to lay the ground work before we started setting up equipment.”

  Tabitha glanced at her watch. “We need to finish, Mac. Aaron promised to have dinner ready for me when I got back.”

  Tristan set his bag on the kitchen table. “You’re welcome to stay. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” The longer they stayed, the longer he could put off using his powers.

  McKenna waved away his concern. “You aren’t chasing us off. How about I meet you for dinner?” She stood. “We’ll probably be done by seven.”

  “Yeah.”

  Drew cleared his throat. “Are we all invited?” Kayla kicked his leg. “Never mind. I’m sure Kayla and I can find our own dinner.”

  Tabitha rolled her eyes. “Let’s go, Mac.”

  “Right behind you.”

  Tristan moved closer. “Oh, did you find out anything else at the other interviews?”

  “I did. Justin, Will, and Selah all described The White Lady the same way you and Kayla did. That’s not definite proof she killed them, but all of the victims saw her. We’ll see what the residents have to say tonight, and then on Friday, we’ll see what Drew’s equipment has to say.”

  Tristan relaxed his shoulders. It felt like they were closer than the police were. “Where do we go from there?”

  “If she’s real…” Tabitha began.

  “She’s real,” Tristan interrupted.

  “Then we try to find out who she was, what she wants, and how to banish her.” She continued without acknowledging the interruption.

  “How do you do that?”

  “It’s different with every case. We’ll have to see how this one plays out.”

  “Good.” Kayla stood. “The sooner you get rid of her, the better.”

  “We’ve got you covered.” Drew touched her lightly on the shoulder.

  McKenna and Tabitha agreed, then made their way out of the door. As soon as they were gone, Kayla beamed at Tristan.

  “Are you ready?”

  The hope in her voice caused Tristan’s nerves to rattle. He wiped his hand on his jeans again. “I don’t know.”

  Before Kayla could respond, someone knocked. She opened it to find Paul Martin, the building’s owner, on the other side.

  “May I come in?” He was a short, robust man with close-cropped dark hair. His dark brown eyes glanced from one person to another.

  “Yes.” Kayla took a step back. “What brings you here?”

  “Two paranormal investigators dropped by my office today. Said they think a ghost killed Mr. Beckett.” He nodded to Kayla. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you. You could’ve sent a card.” The confusion was evident on Kayla’s face.

  Paul chuckled. “I know.” His eyes darted around the room as he shuffled from foot to foot. “I thought something like this wouldn’t happen again.” He rubbed his hands together. “It’s been ten years.” He sighed. “It’s like my building’s cursed.”

  Tristan exchanged a look with Drew. “Can we do something for you, Mr. Martin?” He asked as he crossed to the older man.

  “No. No.” He shook his head. “But I do want to know why you hired paranormal investigators without talking to me. Some of the other residents are a little spooked.”

  Tristan and Drew closed in on Kayla like two bodyguards. Tristan leaned on the edge of the door. “Are you saying she can’t do that?”

  Paul straightened to his full height, which only reached Tristan’s chest. “I’m saying she should’ve spoken to me first.”

  “She is standing right here.” Kayla’s voice held an edge to it. “I can’t explain what I saw when my fiancé died, Mr. Martin, but I do know it wasn’t normal. Something is in this building, and I want to know what it is. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

  “Ms. Collins, maybe we can work something out.”

  Goosebumps traveled the length of Tristan’s arms. All of the fine dark hairs stood on end. Something rattled behind him. A vase on the left end table rose on its own. It sailed through the air as if thrown and crashed into the opposite wall.

  Paul’s cheeks paled. “Just talk to me in the future.” He scurried out of the apartment as fast as a rabbit.

  Kayla slammed the door shut. “That was my grandmother’s vase, bitch!”

  The air warmed around them.

  She rounded on Tristan. “What do you need to do your thing?” Tristan stumbled back at the fury in her eyes.

  “I need you to stay out here.” He glanced at Drew. “Both of you.”


  Kayla softened. “Are you sure?”

  “I’d feel a lot better.” He swallowed. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, or if I’ll even see anything we can use, but I promise I’ll try my best. I may lose it, though. If that happens, I want you as far away from me as possible.”

  “But you only see the past,” Kayla pointed out.

  “If he’s in too deep, he starts channeling it,” Drew said. “And there’s no telling who lived in this apartment before you.”

  Tristan walked into the bedroom. Since this was the last place The White Lady had killed, he hoped he could connect with her there. One sliver of her past might help them learn who she was. Granted, he had only read buildings and living people up until that moment. Trying to pick up the past from an actual ghost could be a completely different experience. Or it might not happen at all. Sitting on the bed, he pushed his worry aside.

  “You ready?” Drew asked.

  “As I’ll ever be.” Tristan held up a hand, palm out, when Drew stepped into the room. “Stay out there, man. Please.”

  Drew backed up. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

  Tristan took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He pictured his shield, the thick red brick wall that only a few glimpses could get through. He imagined the wall sliding down halfway. He opened his eyes. Incorporeal images of the past overlapped each other. None of them had defining characteristics. It was like watching several different movies play at once with the sound off.

  He concentrated on Zack first. The room around him transformed from day to night. The goosebumps were back as the temperature in the room grew colder. He was no longer on the bed, but in it. He was no longer Tristan.

  Zack sat up in bed and peered down at his girlfriend. No, fiancée. Kayla was going to be his in a few more months. God, how could one man get so lucky? She rolled over, snuggling under the covers.

  The room was too cold. Icy. He knew he had set the thermostat at seventy. Why was it freezing? He crawled out of bed and planted his bare feet on the cold floor. It wasn’t busted, was it? That didn’t make any sense. If it weren’t working, then it would feel like an oven in here. He groaned.