She cuts off abruptly, piquing my interest. “Promise what?”
Sighing, it takes her a minute to answer. “Promise me that if you decide to go back to the estate, you’ll tell me first.”
“Why?”
If we were in the same room, I’m positive she’d be shrugging her shoulders, looking annoyed at being questioned. Her response pretty much confirms it. “Because I want you to, okay? Maybe I could get in touch with Madeline again, get more details or something. Maybe just so I know whether or not you’re running off into something dangerous. I don’t know, Malachi, but this whole thing feels…scary.”
Surprised she honestly seems concerned, I decide not to tell her how right she is. Instead, all I say is, “I promise I’ll tell you if I decide to go.”
She starts to say something else, but two shrieking voices break in, yelling about cleats and soccer and water bottles. Echo growls into the phone before muffling it and yelling at her sisters to be quiet and get ready to leave. I have to bite back a laugh, thinking of how much they sound like my own sisters. It makes me want to call one of them…kinda.
“Sorry, I’ve got to go help Mable find her cleats or we’re going to be late.”
Knowing she’s about to say goodbye, I take a risk and cut her off. “Echo, before you go, would you mind if I called you…not about ghosts or anything, but, uh, just to call you?”
It’s only then that I notice Kyran has abandoned the game he was playing and is now standing next to me, grinning like an idiot. It must be time to get going and he came down while I was too distracted to notice his approach. I shake my head at his reaction and focus on Echo, waiting for a response.
“Holden is gonna kill me for this, but yeah. I’d like that,” she says.
Not breaking out in a grin is only possible because Kyran is shaking his head at me, gloating. “Thanks, Echo. I’ll talk to you later. Have fun at soccer practice.”
“Not likely,” she grumbles. “Bye, Malachi.”
The line goes silent right after a high pitched voice screams her name impatiently. I shake my head, almost laughing before I remember Kyran. When I force myself to face him, he’s still got that stupid look on his face. “What?”
“Calling her had nothing to do with the fact that’s she hot. Yeah. Right.”
The desire to punch him in the arm as hard as I can is almost too much to resist. I almost do it, before thinking of something better. Standing, I shove my phone in my back pocket and fold my arms across my chest. “Not only is she hot, she’s smart, and she’s a gamer. Even knew what a Forerunner was, though she prefers role playing games.”
“Seriously?” Kyran asks, his eyes filling with excitement.
Now I do punch him. “You’re too late, man. The sexy gamer chick is all mine.”
“Ghosts and all?” Kyran asks.
Shrugging, I say, “Would it stop you?”
“Are you kiddin’ me?” Kyran scoffs. “Ghosts are more than welcome if she can help me beat that a-hole who keeps killin’ me online. Please tell me she lives close by.”
I want to laugh at his eagerness, but I settle for dashing his hopes instead. Consoling Kyran after I tell him Echo is from California takes some effort, but as we get into the car and head out to meet a few friends, I realize it’s a good thing there’s some distance between us. Something about her draws me in. If she were here, resisting the urge to be near her would be awful difficult.
5: Madness and Meatloaf
(Echo)
My mom owes me big time. I pull into the driveway as I listen to my two little sisters screech at each other about whose fault it was they got their soccer balls taken away during practice and had to sit out for twenty minutes. I love my sisters. I love my sisters. I keep repeating that to myself as I shift into park, which unlocks the doors automatically. The little banshees burst out of the car and race toward the house. No doubt they’re each trying to beat the other one to my mom so they can blame each other for the trouble they caused.
I shake my head, knowing it won’t do any good. Their coach promised to call my parents to set things straight at my insistence. I learned a long time ago not to get stuck in the middle of my sisters and my parents. Any time I tried to explain what really happened, I ended up with both my sisters making my life hell for weeks on end. You’d think just one of them would get mad but, inevitably, the one who actually got in trouble would be ticked because I didn’t lie for her and the other one would be mad on her twin’s behalf. Those two have an unending bag of tricks when it comes to making a person miserable. Lesson learned.
My approach to the house is much slower. I drag my feet getting there, but rush past the kitchen where a monstrous fight is brewing. I make it to the living room unscathed. So did my dad, apparently. I flop down next to him and smile when he puts his arm around my shoulders and gives me a hug.
“Avoiding the mayhem, too?” I ask.
He shakes his head wearily. “When will those two learn?”
“My guess, when they’re twenty-five.”
My dad looks appropriately horrified, though I know he’s only joking. He laughs a second later and shakes his head. “I swear, I don’t know why we let them sign up for things like this. It’s a nightmare every year. They always find a way to cause trouble.”
“Did Coach Vince already call?”
He laughs. “Called the second practice ended.” Leaning his head back against the couch, he asks, “Did they really start intentionally kicking their balls at all the other girls and yelling out how many points they gave each other for a hit?”
“Do you really have to ask?”
We both know that’s fairly mild for the twins. Really, the worst thing was how they came up with the point system. The slowest girls were worth the least amount of points. The, uh, bigger targets, didn’t get much points either. Highest points went to the wiry little speed demons who started kicking balls back at them after a while.
“I suppose you tried to stop them,” my dad says.
“Tried,” I say, “but you know them. They ran around me, screeching at the top of their lungs about points and whose turn it was to take a shot. I was mortified, Dad. Seriously, there’s no way I’m taking them to practice anymore.”
I say that, but we both know there isn’t any other option. Both my parents work full time. The twins’ soccer practice starts at four-thirty, so I’m the one stuck babysitting and chauffeuring. I’d almost rather get an afterschool job. My parents probably wouldn’t let me even if I really pressed them. I know they need me here looking after the twins, but that’s not the biggest reason they would say no. I don’t know what they’ll do when I’m not here. If I ever leave. Right now, my prospects for escaping aren’t looking so good.
Neither of my parents has pressed me about post high school choices, but mainly because they see it as their decision to make, not mine. I know they’re both planning for me to stay close by and take a few classes at the community college. Only as many as I can handle, though, like I’m so fragile I might collapse under the pressure of a few essays.
The local community college is a good place to start, and in-state tuition makes it cheaper than many of my other dream options, but the cost isn’t really a problem thanks to the money I’ve made off The Ghost Host show. I’ve always just accepted the fact that I’ll be staying here in California for college so I can be close to family and have them nearby as a support system in case things get bad again, but all through the twins’ practice—well, up until the chaos started—I couldn’t help thinking about what it would be like to actually leave…to be on my own.
The sudden buzzing in my back pocket makes me jump, startling my dad. He looks away from the basketball game he’s watching to glance down at me as I extract the phone. “Zara or Holden?” he asks.
It’s kind of sad he knows those are really my only two friends. I’m expecting to give him one of those two answers, but neither of their names comes up. I start to smile before I think better
of it and tuck away my delight.
“Who’s Malachi?” my dad asks.
Silently, I curse myself for programming his name and number into my contacts. If I had left it alone, it would have just come up with a number and I could have claimed I didn’t know. Instead, my dad is waiting patiently for an answer with a very curious expression. “Uh, just a friend.”
“A friend from school?”
I don’t like lying to my parents because it only causes more trouble, but if I tell him Malachi’s a college guy I met through The Ghost Host show, a.k.a. online, he’ll flip. On the other hand, if I say yes, he’ll wonder why he’s never met him or he doesn’t come over. “He’s from one of the colleges I thought about applying to, you know after a few semesters here where I can get my grades up. I had a few questions and he was trying to answer them.”
“You gave some random person at a college your cell phone number and they’re texting you at night?”
“No,” I say quickly. “It’s a friend’s cousin or something. He goes to the college and was just telling me about what it’s really like there, you know? All the college reps make their colleges sound like four-star hotels.”
“Even still…”
“Dad, seriously, it’s not a big deal. I doubt they’d even take me anyway.” I hold my breath, hoping he’ll just go along with this. I mean, it’s not exactly a lie. I have been thinking about what it might be like at Georgia State…you know, for the last couple hours.
“What does he want?” The way his eyes narrow doesn’t look promising.
“I just asked him about the town, how safe it is. Stuff like that.”
My dad looks far from convinced. He hasn’t thought to ask what school Malachi is from, and before he does, I take the chance to run. Standing up, I shove my phone back into my pocket without reading the text and excuse myself with the reason of needing to do a little homework before dinner. Dad grumbles a bit, but doesn’t stop me from going. Not making a mad dash for my room—ala twins’ style—is difficult. The second I make it to my safe haven. I shut the door and whip my phone out.
Hey, Carrots. Have time to talk?
Instead of answering, I tap his name and the phone starts dialing. He picks up on the second ring. Before he can even say hello, I break in with, “Are you going to call me Carrots all the time now?”
He laughs, making me smile uncontrollably. Which is stupid, I know, but I can’t help it. “I am indeed,” he says. “You have a problem with that?”
“That depends. Can I call you Gil?” I tease.
“I look nothing like Gilbert Blythe.”
I start laughing, getting a kick out of the fact that he knows the story well enough to know Gil’s full name and what he looks like. “No? What do you look like then? I’m somewhat disappointed you aren’t tall, dark, and handsome.”
“First off, Gil was not all that handsome. He was pale. Everyone was pale on Prince Edward Island.” He must move or shift, because I hear muffled noises through the phone. After it settles, he says, “I am tall, though, but my hair is more of a medium brown, not black like his, and kinda long.”
“Hmm, no claims to being handsome, though. I think I may have to google you to see if you’re lying.”
“Google all you want,” he taunts. “In fact, you can find me on Facebook.”
“How will I know it’s you? I’m sure there are a billion Malachi Fields on Facebook.”
“I already sent you a friend request.”
“You did?” I squeak.
I nearly fall off my bed trying to get to my computer. The screen lights up a few seconds after I lift the lid and I scramble to bring up my account. Sure enough, waiting in my notifications is a friend request from a Malachi Fields. I hesitate clicking on the icon. What if he really is a weirdo? I’m not talking about looks. What if I accept the request and then find out he’s a perv or some creepy guy who stalks social media hitting on girls. I can almost hear Holden barking at me to ignore it, to back off and not get involved.
He’s gonna be so mad at me tomorrow, I think as I hit “accept” and click to see his profile. It takes a second to load, but when it does, I sit back against my chair and stare helplessly at the sweetest, most yummy looking guy I have ever seen. He and some other guy—his roommate, maybe—are sitting in some kind of Jeep as they lean toward each other to take a selfie. The other guy is dark-complected with curly, jet black hair, so Malachi must be the tanned, longish-haired guy with the smile that makes it impossible not to stare. Yikes.
“You know, these long silent moments really leave me hangin’ sometimes,” Malachi says.
The sound of his voice not only makes me jump, it sends blood rushing to my cheeks. I’m at a total loss for words. What do I say aside from how absolutely delicious he is? I have to say something, though! I’ve already been sitting here like a mute for way too long. Scrambling, I say the first thing that pops into my head that doesn’t have to do with how gorgeous he is.
“Is that your roommate in the picture with you?” I breathe a sigh of relief as the words slip past my lips. That sounded halfway intelligent, right?
“Uh, yeah,” Malachi says. The odd tone in his voice makes me think maybe I didn’t sound as casual as I thought I did. “Yeah, that’s Kyran. We took a road trip to the beach a few months ago over spring break before spending the rest of the week with our families.”
“Looks like you guys had fun.” I bite my lip, wondering if I somehow offended him when I asked about Kyran. My thoughts race as I try to change the subject. “I love the beach, though I’m pretty terrible at surfing. Holden has tried to teach me a million times, but I can’t stay on the board for more than a few minutes.”
“Do you live near the beach, then?” Malachi asks.
I start nodding before I remember he can’t see me. A random thought makes me wonder if next time maybe we could Skype each other, although me being able to see him while we talk might really send my brain on vacation. It would at least confirm this isn’t a fake picture or some forty year old creep. I’ll have to suggest it later.
“Yeah,” I say, “I live in a little town outside of Santa Barbara, not far from the UCSB campus.”
“No surfing, though.”
“Nope. Body boarding, swimming, hanging out. Holden’s big into marine biology, so we look for tide pools with critters. I’m pretty sure he thinks he’s going to find a beached whale someday and become famous for rescuing it. Zara teases him about it all the time.”
I almost laugh at the memory of Holden sprinting down the beach one day because he thought he saw a seal. It was just a really hairy guy out sunbathing. Zara and I nearly died laughing. Holden can be a stick in the mud at times, but he sure makes things interesting.
“So,” Malachi says almost hesitantly, “this Holden guy, is he your boyfriend?”
“What? No.” I shake my head. I mean, I love Holden, and he’ll always be one of my best friends, but kissing him would be like kissing my brother. It’d just be…weird. “Holden’s just a friend. A really bossy, overprotective friend. I’m gonna get it from him tomorrow.”
“Why? For talking to me?”
I swear he sounds like he’s smiling about that, though I can’t imagine why. “Yes, for talking to you.”
“What’s so bad about talking to me?” Malachi asks.
No doubt he’s thinking it has something to do with him being in college, or a stranger, or just being a guy. That’d be my dad’s reason. It isn’t any of those things. “Because of the show. When Holden agreed to help with the show, he made the rules about how much contact I could have with anyone connected to the show. I’m breaking more than one of those.”
“You let this guy dictate what you can and can’t do?” Malachi asks. He doesn’t say it like an accusation, but more out of confusion. There’s no way he could understand, not without knowing what led to the rules.
For some reason, I want him to understand. So I decide to break just one more rule for tonight.
“When I was ten, this ghost started hanging around all the time. I knew it wanted to send a message, but we hadn’t started doing the show yet, and I was having a lot of problems, so my parents had me on a pretty tight leash. Delivering any messages wasn’t easy, so I’d been trying to ignore the ghosts as much as possible. This one…it got tired of being ignored.
“At first, it was just a bad dream here and there. Then it got worse. I could barely sleep. As soon as I closed my eyes, I started seeing what had happened to this guy. It wasn’t pretty. He wasn’t trying to hurt me, but he wanted me to understand how suddenly he had been ripped away from his wife and how much he needed to tell her he loved her before he could move on.”
“That was all he wanted?” Malachi asks, his voice subdued. “To tell his wife he loved her?”
Sighing, I stare at Malachi’s picture, the bizarre desire to be near him making my mood dip even further because of the impossibility. “That’s what he wanted me to believe…and I did.” Propping my chin up on my hand, I shake my head, wishing I could take it all back. “I finally gave in and told him I’d help him get a message to his wife. I started writing, but it was more than just telling her goodbye. He told her she needed to avenge him.”
“What did you do?” Malachi asks.
“I freaked out,” I admit. “I tried to back out, tell him I couldn’t send the message, but he made sure I knew the nightmares wouldn’t stop if I didn’t help him. Plus, he convinced me that his wife could help get him justice. She’d go to the police and point them in the right direction. He just wanted the guy to be stopped, right?”
Malachi’s voice is hesitant as he speaks, as if he knows what’s coming next won’t be pleasant. “Yeah, I guess.”
Tears well in my eyes as I look up at the ceiling, trying to control my emotions. This time, Malachi doesn’t pressure me to fill the silence. “I really thought it would be okay. I had no idea his wife would go to her husband’s best friend’s house and unload a whole clip.”
The Ghost Host: Episode 1 (The Ghost Host Series) Page 4