What Lies Between (Where One Goes Book 2)

by B. N. Toler

  “Damn,” I muttered, causing George to freeze.

  “Where are they?” he asked, his voice low, darting his gaze in every direction. Guilt squeezed at my insides. I hated this. Just seconds before my husband had sounded like he was on top of the world, and now he was all business.

  Glancing around, I realized we’d somehow taken a wrong turn. “Where are we?” I asked myself quietly. While walking, lost in our daydream, our group had actually gotten ourselves lost. The neighborhood surrounding us was derelict, the streets lined with half-dilapidated townhomes with broken-out windows. Most of the houses had construction signs hanging on them—maybe they were about to tear this all down and rebuild. “She’s on the steps,” I answered him as I glanced back at her. When our eyes met this time, she perked up. She knew I’d seen her. Like a bullet, she morphed in front of us causing me to jerk a little. Damn I hated when they did that. No matter how many times the dead did that to me, it always freaked me out.

  “You see me?” she questioned, her pale blue eyes wide in disbelief.

  “Yes, I see you.”

  “She’s already talking to you,” George sighed. My heart sank. However burdensome my gift could be for me, I knew it was hard for him, too. He was constantly stuck watching me talk to people he couldn’t see or hear.

  “How is this possible?” the woman asked.

  I spent a few minutes explaining to her about who I was and what I do. When I finished, she clasped her hands together and begged with desperation, “Please help me. I cannot go until someone knows the truth.”

  “The truth about what?”

  Her thin mouth tightened as she turned her head and fixed her gaze on the townhome beside us. As I looked up at the shanty of a house, a chill ran down my spine causing my skin to pebble with goosebumps. Something felt off, but I had no idea what. “What he did to them,” she murmured dismally.

  Narrowing my eyes at her, I opened my mouth to ask her what she meant when her features softened and she spoke again. “You are a very pretty young lady,” she complimented, her voice soft. “I bet your hair would look lovely braided. I was good at braiding when I was alive.”

  I closed my mouth and watched her for a moment. This woman was odd. Her demeanor had changed, her pale gaze flipping from despair to eager in just a matter of seconds.

  She morphed to the steps and looked back at me. “You must come in,” she informed me before morphing to the porch.

  I scanned the house again, dread and uncertainty blooming in the pit of my stomach. The house was enough reason on its own to feel uneasy, but add in the odd woman, and my gut instinct was screaming at me to abort mission.

  “Come in,” she persisted, gesturing her hand toward the front door. Her voice was still soft and inviting, but it was the tightness in her face that gave her away. Kindness was the persona she was attempting, but it wasn’t hard to tell that it was an act. In fact, it seemed almost painful for her to have to pretend.

  Though I found her suspicious, and my gut instinct said not to trust her, I couldn’t deny something about the house was pulling me.

  “She wants us to go in the house,” I explained to George as I moved to climb the steps. Grabbing my arm, he halted me.

  “We’re not going in there,” he scoffed like I was insane. “Who knows if it’s even safe to walk in there—the place is in shambles.”

  Glancing back at the house, I sighed. He was right. It looked like a total shit hole. Though I agreed with him, I couldn’t deny I was curious. Something inexplicable was drawing me to the house. “Well I can at least peek in and see,” I wagered. That seemed like a fair compromise.

  “Charlotte, lass,” Sniper intervened. “We don’t know if anyone is in there. What if there are squatters, or crackheads?”

  He had a good point. The place looked sketch as hell. It also looked like a perfect place for people to hide out.

  “There’s no one in here,” the lady called, having heard their concerns.

  Looking at Sniper, then at George, I relayed what the woman had said. “She says it’s vacant.”

  George shook his head, unsure. “Why do we have to go in? Why can’t she just tell you what she needs to tell you out here?”

  Again. A valid point. My curiosity hadn’t yet superseded my common sense. Though a part of me wanted to enter the house, the smarter part me was still open to reason.

  “Can you just explain everything out here, please?” I called. “We’re not comfortable entering the house right now.”

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she bristled in frustration. All the effort she’d been putting into appearing kind and patient evaporated. “I have to tell you in the house. I can’t tell you here. You must come in.”

  Narrowing my eyes at her, I studied her. Her features were tense; discomfort etched across her face. But she was dead—it would be impossible for her to feel physical pain. Turning toward the house, I scanned it top to bottom, feeling that same pull. But why would the house pull me? The thought of simply walking away didn’t set well with me.

  That’s when I saw her—a tiny, dark-haired, dark-eyed girl peering out of one of the second-story windows. Then almost as soon as our eyes met, another little girl with similar features appeared beside her. My stomach knotted as they stared down at me. They were children…just girls. And they were dead.

  “Who are the little girls?” I asked the woman, causing Anna, Sniper, and George to whip their heads toward me.

  “There are little girls, too?” George asked.

  “They’re here?” the woman gasped. “Where?” She jerked her head around as if they might be standing beside her. Her shock made sense. She wouldn’t have known they were present. For some reason souls in limbo couldn’t see each other.

  “You see children?” Anna gasped, her voice already cracking with emotion. Maybe it was because she was a mother, and the thought of a child suffering touched her heart a certain way, or maybe she just didn’t have the constitution for any of this—dealing with the dead.

  “Shh,” Sniper hushed her, knowing I needed to focus, and multiple people speaking at once wasn’t helpful.

  I ignored Anna and George, snapping my gaze to the woman, this time my mouth tight in frustration. My mind was running away with all kinds of crazy thoughts. They didn’t look like her. Not in the least. “There are two of them.”

  Morphing back to the steps, she clasped her hands in front of her. “You have to come inside.” Looking away from me, she lifted her chin in indignation. This woman was getting on my damn nerves. She wanted me to help her, but thought she was going to call all the shots. Normally, I would have put her in her place, but…there were the girls. I had to know what happened to them. I had to help them. So I bit my tongue, afraid if I lashed out at her she might withhold the information I was seeking.

  Looking down at my feet, knowing what I was about to say would upset George, I stated quietly, “I have to go in. I’m sorry, but I have to.”

  I could feel George tense as he inhaled a deep breath, while Sniper and Anna exchanged worried looks. I knew George wasn’t mad at me, we were just ready for a break. We wanted to go home and take a breath, but here I was about to take on another lost soul, or rather, several lost souls.

  When I raised my gaze back to the girls, they hadn’t moved. Their souls were merging, blurring together, neither of them knowing they were standing on top of each other. My chest ached as I wondered how long they’d been caught in limbo, both feeling alone even though they were together.

  “I’ll go in first and check it,” Sniper volunteered after a moment, moving us along. This was something I loved about him. He didn’t hem and haw about a task. He always stepped forward and worked with the situation at hand, no matter how shitty it was.

  “I’ll come with you,” George called, following behind him. As he passed by me, I seized his hand causing him to turn back and meet my gaze.

  “Thank you,” I mouthed as I peered into his dark eyes, hoping he could s
ee I knew how badly this sucked, and how appreciative I was. Giving my hand a quick squeeze, letting me know it was okay, he released it and continued to trail Sniper up the steps to the porch.

  “There’s no one in here,” the woman insisted, clearly agitated as she morphed to the porch in front of the door, as if trying to block them from entry.

  I didn’t bother telling the guys what she’d said. While the guys were busy inspecting the place from the outside, I would gather any information I could from the less-than-delightful spirit, starting with the basics. “What is your name?”

  She stared down her nose at me. “Agnus.”

  Letting that roll around mentally, I bobbed my head a few times. The name fit her well. “Agnus,” I began, walking up the steps until I was in front of her. Sniper and George peered in through the dirty windows before moving to the front door. “We’re going to check the house to make sure it’s safe. Then, if I agree to come inside, you will explain to me who those girls are.”

  Her stern gaze jerked from mine, shifting her line of sight past me, but she didn’t lower her head. She was a proud woman and knew how to maintain a confident stance—as if she believed appearing rattled made her look weak and put her at a disadvantage. I could tell she didn’t like me calling the shots, but she must have known, in her current situation, challenging me wouldn’t do her any favors, so she remained silent.

  The front door was stuck, and Sniper grunted as he jammed his shoulder against it, forcing it open. Agnus startled at the sound and morphed away from the door as Sniper pushed it open and stepped back. The battered door creaked eerily as it slowly swung open, the sound sending a shrill chill down my spine. My stare was fixed on the door, when something intense and heavy slammed into me, knocking the air out of me. Stumbling back, I almost fell, but George grabbed my arm, righting me.

  “Are you okay? What is it?” he asked as I met his concerned gaze.

  Flicking my gaze back to the house, I peered inside and sucked in a ragged breath. I wasn’t sure. Physically, nothing had touched me, but it felt like I’d been clothes-lined by a wave of immense fear and crushing despair. A hard lump rose in my throat, that hard ache you get when you want to cry but you’re fighting it.

  “I don’t know,” I croaked through the fog in my mind, an icy burn of confusion and pain circulating through my veins. Cutting my eyes to Agnus, I found her nervous gaze fixed on me, confirming what I was feeling was accurate.

  “It’s bad.” Dread laced my tone. “Something really, really bad.”

  “Hey you,” George’s deep voice startled me from my thoughts. How long had I been standing in the kitchen with the fridge door open?

  “Hi.” I shook my head, clearing it. Pressing my fingers to my temple, I rubbed slightly as another sharp pain ebbed. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “You didn’t,” he rounded the counter, wearing nothing but his boxer briefs, giving me perfect view of his chiseled body. Working out had become his new drug of choice. He loved the high he felt after torturing his body in the gym, and it showed. Grabbing my waist, he lifted me onto the counter with ease and moved between my legs. I was only wearing one of his cotton t-shirts and thong panties, so when his hands slid up my thighs it wasn’t hard to see the way my body responded when the thin fabric revealed my hardened nipples.

  “I don’t like waking up and not finding you beside me,” he mumbled as he brushed his lips against my neck. “You can’t sleep.”

  It wasn’t a question, but I felt the need to respond anyway. “No. My mind won’t stop racing.” My hands gripped his shoulders as I let my head fall back, relishing his touch, a small moan escaping me.

  Pulling away, he cupped my chin in his hand and met my gaze. “I’m going to take you back to our bed and make love to you until you’re comatose.” My breath hitched as he jerked me forward, slamming me against him, my ass barely resting on the counter as a delicious ache grew in my core. My husband knew me well and knew exactly how to distract me. When I couldn’t sleep, when my mind was running wild, he knew how to quiet the noise by wrenching every ounce of energy from my body. Fisting his hair, I kissed him hard. Breaking the kiss, he pressed his forehead to mine, groaning as he let out a ragged breath, his desire as strong as my own. “You ready, Mrs. McDermott?”

  I wrapped my arms around his neck, linking my legs around his waist as he lifted from the counter and walked us to the bedroom. “I’m ready, Mr. McDermott.”

  George

  “Still waiting on that pot pie for table ten,” Charlotte yelled. I was behind the line cooking when she entered the kitchen to refill a glass of tea.

  “Working on it,” Sniper called back.

  Charlotte rubbed her temple, her features slightly contorted, clearly uncomfortable. She had another headache. Between the headaches and the insomnia, I was surprised she could even get out of bed. Somehow she managed, and then some. Since we’d returned to Warm Springs, she’d wanted to throw herself into our former routines, hoping the familiarity of it would get her back on track. That involved me managing, cooking, bartending, and serving if needed. Charlotte also wore all of those hats when needed, though she preferred to serve. I couldn’t help but watch her while she stood in front of the tea urn. It didn’t matter that we were always together; that we woke up to each other every morning, my eyes always found her, and they always would—I couldn’t help it. Charlotte was the kind of beautiful most men couldn’t not notice and look at, even though I’d thought she was nothing but a pain in the ass when she first showed up in town three years ago; though, if you asked her, she’d probably say she’d felt the same about me. It had started as the natural instincts of a man being attracted to a woman, but her presence was magnetic, and despite not being sure I even liked her, I couldn’t fight her pull. Over the years, her pull hadn’t waned. I still watched the beautiful woman—my wife—but now I needed to see her; I needed to know she was okay. It had been months since I’d felt like she was, and it was eating me alive. My job as her husband was to protect her, to defend her, to give her peace and happiness. I’d go to battle for her, no matter who, when, or where. But how does a man fight the dead? How could I protect her from something I couldn’t even see or hear?

  “I see ya staring at her arse. Still pervy for her after all these years.” My gaze reluctantly pulled away from her as she left the kitchen and shifted to find Sniper watching me, a shit-eating grin on his face.

  I snorted. He would know. Sniper was the king of pervs. “I wasn’t staring at her ass.”

  “Well if that’s the truth, then I feel sad for ya, man, cuz her arse deserves to be stared at.”

  I threw the hand towel on my shoulder at him, hitting him in the chest as I glared, “Don’t be talking about my wife’s arse, you ass.”

  Catching the towel and flinging it over his own shoulder, he chuckled, “Well if you’re not staring at it, someone should.” Then he held his hands up in surrender and added, “But you are right. I shouldn’t be talking about your wife’s fine behind.”

  “You trying to get me to kick you in the dick, or what?”

  He chuckled before his smile faded as he leaned one hip against the counter and crossed his arms, continuing to watch me. “I know you weren’t staring at her arse,” he admitted, the humor in his tone receding. “I just wanted to get a rise out of ya.”

  I looked away as I wiped the cutting knife on my apron.

  “She’ll be alright, George,” he assured me, before returning his attention back to the orders needing to be prepared. After putting a few plates in the window and calling for pick-up, he turned back to me, his expression hesitant. “You know, I saw this show the other day—some lady-channel Anna had on,” he muttered, shaking his head as if ashamed to admit where he’d seen it. “Some wild-looking lass that is psychic and communicates with the dead.”

  Vaguely listening to him I asked, “Like Charlotte?”

  “Nah. Claims she can speak to the dead-dead.”

  I fur
rowed my brow. “Dead-dead?”

  He motioned his hand around. “Like the souls that crossed over already.”

  “She seem legit?”

  Sniper shrugged. “I guess. Someone would come in and want to know if their loved one was in peace and would want to say goodbye, and she’d connect with them. Tell ’em stuff only the loved one would know.”

  “Who knows. There are so many quacks out there.”

  “I just mean she seemed to have a good handle on it. Maybe she and Char could connect. Maybe it would be good for Char to talk to someone like her, ya know?

  “That’s all we need. Another person who sees the dead.” The comment sounded harsh, and I winced. I hadn’t meant it that way. “That was a dick thing to say.”

  He nodded in agreement. “She can’t help what she is.”

  “I know,” I acknowledged.

  I shook my head as I sliced an onion, my frustration coming out in hard, abrasive chops as I diced. “I wouldn’t change her for anything.” That was the honest to God truth. Charlotte was special, and her gift was a part of her.

  “Aye,” Sniper agreed.

  “I don’t know, man. She’s not sleeping. She keeps getting these headaches. She’s putting on a good front, but she’s off. I feel it.” It had been weeks since she’d slept—like really slept. We’d spent hours in bed the night before, kissing, rubbing, fucking—everything to exhaust her, to give her relief. Only then did she sleep, the fatigue of her body overpowering the relentlessness of her mind.

  Sniper glanced at the door that led out to the dining room. “I know you’re worried,” he pulled the towel from his shoulder and started wiping down the counter as he spoke, “but the woman is tough. She’ll get through it.”

  I chopped faster, the events of the last few months swirling in my head. The fear and uncertainty in Charlotte’s voice the day we entered the Hell House, just before we stepped inside, replayed over and over in my mind. That was the moment. As soon as I heard her fear I should have taken her and hauled ass out of there.