“Regardless of whether Grandma Maddie really talked to Echo or not, I don’t want you going back there, do you hear me?”
“Katie Lynn, it’s fine. I haven’t decided whether or not I’ll go. Even if I do…nothing’s going to happen. There’s probably just some little trinket she left there she wants me to have. That’s it.”
Pressing her lips together, I can tell she wants to continue bossing me around, but she holds her tongue for now. With a shake of her head, she changes topics. “I gotta get the baby down, so Charlie and I are heading out. Have Echo call us tomorrow when she’s ready to do some shopping.”
“I will, and thanks.” She squeezes my shoulder, stilling looking a bit worried, before stepping away to collect little Sarah Beth from Daddy. I’m forced to rouse Echo soon after.
“Is it time to go?” she asks sleepily.
“Yes it is. If I can tear Holden away from Cerise, anyway.”
Echo chuckles, but blinks away her weariness and stands with me. A few minutes later, we’re all divvied up between Kyran’s and Echo’s cars and heading back toward the girls’ apartment. As soon as we make it inside, Kyran and Zara are having an animated discussion about their current list of games. Holden disappears to brush his teeth, but Echo just leans against me.
“Does it make me sound totally lame to say I’m a little freaked out to stay here at night with just Zara and Holden?” Echo asks.
Smiling, I say, “Not at all. Truth be told, Kyran and I felt the same way our first night in our apartment, too. You’ll get used to it, though.”
Echo bites her bottom lip, which is a habit I’ve come to love. “I’ve never slept away from my parents before.” She practically whispers it, and I have to admit she catches me off guard with that statement.
“Really? No sleepovers or out of town trips?”
“Are you kidding me?” Echo asks with a sour laugh. “Who wants to be woken up by the crazy screaming girl at a sleepover? My parents never let me, and I didn’t really want to go anyway. Too risky.”
I shake my head slowly. Kyran’s was the only place I stayed over regularly, but I can’t imagine being too scared of what might happen to even entertain the idea. I’m surprised she never stayed over even with Zara. My conversation with Holden about Echo never making decisions before comes back into my mind and I begin to realize that this adjustment might be more difficult for her than I originally thought.
“Do you want me to stay?” I ask softly.
Echo’s gaze pops up to mine. “What? No, I mean, yes, I’d love that, but no. I can handle it. I have to do it eventually, right? We’ll be fine.” Her eyes widen by the smallest degree. “Right?”
“Of course you’ll be fine,” I say, “but if you’d be more comfortable, Kyran and I can stay. It’s not a big deal.”
Echo bites her bottom lip again. It’s hard not to focus on that. “No,” she says firmly. “I need to do this on my own, I think.”
“Are you sure?”
She nods, even though she looks anything but. “Maybe another time, okay?”
I laugh, because I know she didn’t think that through before she said it. “Definitely another time. More than once, even. Whenever you want.”
Faced with my teasing and my wolfish grin, Echo’s cheeks blaze red. “I’m tired and my brain’s not working.” She shakes her head, but it doesn’t soften her embarrassment.
Taking her into my arms, I kiss the top of her head. “Call me if you need anything, okay? I’m just down the street.”
“Thanks, Malachi.” She’s reluctant to let go of me, but I understand why she wants to face this on her own. I just hope she doesn’t have any uninvited visitors tonight. Knowing Holden will be here eases my mind somewhat, but I still worry. After dragging Kyran away from the games, we head back to our place, worry trailing behind us as we go.
21: Invasion
(Echo)
I can do this. I can do this. I’m eighteen years old. I can sleep without my parents down the hall. I’m sitting in the middle of my inflatable mattress with my knees tucked up against my chest when Holden and Zara appear in my doorway. Holden holds out a canister of salt and shakes it. “Just in case you need it,” he says. “Unless you want me to make a circle to keep Archer out.”
It’s tempting, but I shake my head. Pointing at the notebook and pen next to the mattress, I say, “If he tries to communicate while I’m sleeping, maybe he’ll have me write something. Now that we’re on speaking terms in the waking world…kind of.”
“Speaking terms?” Zara asks.
My arms tighten around my knees. “Before we left tonight, I asked him to not bother me until I got back, and…I think he heard me. He seemed to…”
“Touch your cheek?” Holden says.
I nod in surprise. “How did you know?”
“He did it that night in the hotel too. It didn’t seem to bother you, though, like the first time he touched you.” Holden shrugs. “I can only assume he wasn’t trying to show you anything those times, just acknowledge what you said.”
Closing my eyes, I try to wrap my head around the fact that I seem to be carrying on a relationship with a ghost while I’m asleep. That’s not normal, right? Even for someone who can see ghosts, that’s just plain freaky. What is wrong with me? Finally, I shake my head. “Well, all we can do is see how it goes. Maybe he’ll stop attacking me now that he knows I’m trying to figure this out.”
“We can only hope,” Zara says. She flops down on the mattress next to me, nearly bouncing me off the side. “I’m crashing with you tonight, roomie. Sound good? That way Holden doesn’t have to sleep on the floor.”
I suspect this has more to do with me having a panic attack than Holden’s comfort, but I appreciate the concern. “Let the sleepover begin.”
“No pillow fights or jumping around in skimpy pajamas like they do in the movies,” Holden says with mock seriousness, making us both laugh. He leaves the salt and heads across the short hall after we shoo him away. I can’t help noticing that he leaves the doors to both bedrooms open. If I start freaking out, he’ll hear it even with the doors closed, but I leave them alone.
Zara flips the light off and climbs back into bed. The dark is immediately spooky, but Zara grips my hand and squeezes it tightly before snuggling down into the blankets. I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, wanting to fall asleep because I’m exhausted, and fearing actually drifting off. How can I just go to sleep knowing he’ll probably be there waiting for me?
It’s a long time later when I realize Zara is out cold and I can’t stand lying here in the dark anymore. “Archer?” I whisper. “Are you here?”
Nothing. I wait two minutes before breathing a sigh of relief. Maybe he’s off doing whatever ghosts do when they aren’t stalking me. Speaking of ghosts, they’ve been unusually quiet lately. I look around, seeing a few of the regulars hanging around here and there, but they’re keeping to themselves. When I started doing the show, they stopped hounding me so much, but there are always a few hanging around in the wings, hoping I’ll acknowledge them.
I try not to meet anyone’s eyes, but I carefully survey the group. They all seem to be waiting for something, keeping a distance until it happens. I can’t imagine what it is until my breath turns into white mist. My eyes zip around the room frantically. When he touched me earlier, I didn’t see him, which means he can choose whether to manifest himself…which means he’s gathered up a lot of power. Usually that means a ghost has been hanging around the physical world for a long time, but for some reason that doesn’t seem to fit with Archer. He doesn’t feel like an old spirit.
“Archer?” Being in the humid South, there’s no shortage of ambient moisture in the air, but I’m still startled when a light frost forms on the ridges of my blankets. I have to force myself not to close my eyes and bury my head under my pillow. “I know you’re here, Archer. Are you going to show yourself?”
Part of me hopes he won’t. His hazy, messed up appearance re
ally freaks me out. I’ve only seen a truly vengeful ghost once, and Archer is so much worse. Meeting that one was what started the nightmares in the first place. Not good memories. I have to face this guy, though. Slowly, I pick up my notebook and pen. “You can talk to me,” I whisper. “I’ll listen.”
That seems to do the trick. A strange mixture and darkness and light springs into view. Startled, I yelp in fear. The apparition immediately begins to fade, but I reach out. “No, please, don’t go.”
The form solidifies and my heart nearly leaps out of my body. It’s difficult to look at him. The blurred lines of his spirit seem to push my eyes away, but there are brighter bits surrounding him, giving off light only I can see. I force myself to search for something that will help me identify him, but there’s nothing left of who he once was. Only anger, fear, and desperation remain.
“I don’t know who you are,” I say. Sorrow I don’t completely understand fills me from top to bottom. Ghosts only get like this when they’re trapped here and can’t resolve whatever kept them here in the first place, though Archer seems to be a special case even among those types of spirits. What’s keeping him here is me, but I have no idea how to fix it, how to stop tormenting this poor soul. Gesturing at the pencil in my hand, I say, “I’ll write whatever you need me to, okay?”
Archer shakes his head.
“Why not?” I ask. This would all be so simple if he would just communicate with me. What’s stopping him? “You don’t want to talk to me?” He shakes his head again. “You can’t talk to me like the other ghosts?” That sets his head to nodding.
Pursing my lips, I think back to that one vengeful ghost I met. They aren’t the same, but there are enough similarities to see a connection of some kind. I was only six at the time, but as I dredge up those horrible memories, I realize that ghost never communicated with me through writing either. It went straight to forcing images into my head. My throat seems to close up as I attempt to swallow.
Slowly, I set the notebook and pencil down and push it toward him. I know he can interact with physical objects if he really wants to. He shakes his head again. He’s not angry enough, I realize. Moving objects usually takes complete inner peace—which Archer certainly doesn’t seem to be capable of—or a lot of pent up anger. I know he can muster up that much emotion, but he’s not angry right now and I don’t particularly want to change that.
“Okay, then how are we supposed to talk?” I ask. I want to shake my head at this entire conversation. I’m breaking so many rules right now, but it has to be done. I have to know who he is and what he wants from me. I regret my words as soon as he starts moving toward me, one hand extended.
“No,” I beg, “please don’t touch me. Don’t try to show me anything. It hurts. Please, Archer.”
He hesitates for a second, but then shakes his head and grabs me.
I don’t know if I’m screaming. White hot, blistering pain races through my entire body, but I focus everything I can on what he’s trying to show me. Image after image flashes through my tortured mind. Every one is like a gunshot, straight into my brain. I can’t process even a tenth of what he tries to show me. Blood runs down the back of my throat, making me panic, but I keep going even though it feels like I’m being ripped apart. When I can’t take it any longer and am on the verge of passing out, he pulls back.
Collapsing to the bed, I curl in on myself in agony. The pain fades slowly. I cry silently, wishing I could make it all go away. The fact that Zara isn’t freaking out next to me is the only thing that gives me strength. If she’s not awake, I wasn’t screaming. I withstood his invasion and survived.
It feels like a million years later before I’m able to lift my trembling body and reach for the notepad and pencil. My hand is shaking so badly I can barely form letters, but I write down everything I can remember.
Trees
Hiking path
Water
Holding hands
Needle
Pain
Blood
Tent
Flowers
Cliff
I fall back to the mattress after the last one. There was more, so much more he tried to show me, but I couldn’t keep up with it all. That’s all I can remember. Knowing there’s more I need to see, my stomach turns. Finding out the rest means letting Archer touch me again. Springing up from the bed, I rush for the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before losing everything in my stomach.
When I’m empty, I slide down to the floor and press my head between my hands. Weak, clammy, shaking like a leaf, I can’t face the prospect of going through that again. I sit there trembling, wishing I could just disappear for a while. Get off the ghosts’ radar completely. Then I remember my appointment in the morning.
I nearly throw up again. Choking down huge heaving breaths keeps my stomach from betraying me a second time, but the rest of me is in pretty bad shape. Agent Morton will be there in the morning, but what will these tests entail? Will I have to let one touch me again? The prospect sends me reeling. I’m not even sure how I manage to get up, flush the toilet, and crawl back into bed. Once I’m there, I bury my head in the blankets and cry myself to sleep.
22: Enough
(Echo)
“You sure you’re up for this?” Malachi asks as we park in front of the local FBI building.
No. I’m really not, but I can’t back down now. Silently, I nod to Malachi and get out of his Jeep. He joins me a few seconds later, and together we walk up the steps to several sets of doors. Thankfully, I was prepared by Agent Morton for the process to get into a federal building. Malachi and I remove anything metal and step through the metal detectors as we’re watched carefully by the attendant. Once we’ve been proved not to be dangerous, we’re given visitor badges and directed to where we should wait for Agent Morton.
It only takes a few minutes before he appears and shakes each of our hands. “Echo, Malachi, thank you for coming.”
Malachi looks a little freaked out that Agent Morton already knows who he is by sight, but he knows a lot more than that about him. About both of us, actually. Yeah, that was a little off-putting at first. Now I actually find it kind of relieving even if Malachi doesn’t. Not much he can do about it, though, so we follow him through some halls and doors to a room filled with equipment that gets my attention. This definitely isn’t a chemistry lab.
“Now, Echo, before the rest of the team comes in and we get started, I wanted to go over some of the equipment and tests with you so you know what we’re going to do.” He looks at me expectantly, but I can only nod.
First, he points to several video cameras positioned around the room. “These are motion activated and will capture anything that moves, including interactions by spirits.”
He redirects to several pieces of equipment on a nearby table. I recognize more than one of them. Pointing to the thermal scanner, I say, “You don’t need to explain that one. I have one back at my apartment. It helps Holden and Zara know when a ghost is hanging around.”
Agent Morton looks extremely pleased by this and moves on to the EVP and EMF. “I’m going to assume you’re somewhat familiar with these as well, correct?”
I nod. “EVP is for capturing sounds, EMF for electromagnetic fields. I’ve read about them, but never really needed them, since, you know, I already know where the ghosts are.”
Agent Morton laughs. “Yes, I suppose that would cancel out the need for either one.”
He glances over at Malachi, who seems to be studying the different devices intently. I wasn’t disappointed that Agent Morton said I could bring Malachi along, but I am still curious why he invited him. I can only assume it has to do with his great grandmother. Malachi just received the message, though, so I’m not sure.
Morton points to the last device on the table and continues explaining. “This is just a highly sensitive motion detector. We have several set up to monitor the space around you to capture any movement not made by you or any of us.” He takes his
attention away from the table and its toys and turns back to me. “That’s all I have planned for today. I know the move was probably stressful, and I don’t want to push you too far today. Perhaps once you’ve had a chance to settle in, I’ll bring you back in for some of the medical tests we discussed.”
“Medical tests?” Malachi asks, his eyes narrowing.
I put a hand on his forearm, though it’s nice to know he’s ready to go to bat for me. “Just some scans and bloodwork and stuff. To see if they can pinpoint anything physical that makes me such a weirdo.”
Malachi frowns at me for my self-assessment, but I ignore him. I’m okay with being weird. I’d just like to not be attacked by Casper the not-so-friendly ghost if I can help it. Turning my attention back to Agent Morton, I say, “That sounds fine to me. I’ve got to go furniture shopping after this. I’ve been told there are some great thrift shops around here.”
Agent Morton quirks his head to the side. “Thrift shops?”
Oh yeah, he’s seen my bank accounts. “Can’t spend it all in one place, right?”
He chuckles a bit at that and calls in the rest of the team. My nerves spike as five new people come through the same door we did. Four of the five get busy setting up equipment. The fifth one comes directly to me and holds out her hand.
“Echo, I’m Dr. Rosemond. I’ll be assisting Agent Morton with your testing. I have some paperwork to go over with you before we begin.”
As Dr. Rosemond explains the risks of each test—which are minimal—and goes over some stuff about confidential information and all that, I half listen and half study her. She looks to be in her early fifties. Her glasses are trendy, but her hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail. The shoes she’s wearing are definitely built for comfort and not style. Her clothes are neither old fashion nor too modern. It’s her happy personality that sets me at ease the most. She seems to honestly enjoy what she does.
The Ghost Host: Episode 1 (The Ghost Host Series) Page 18