by Edie Claire
After a few seconds’ more surveillance, my dad and his service pistol — which my mother never allowed him to keep loaded in the house — disappeared again.
My mom opened my door and stepped out on the lanai. Dogs were barking everywhere. She turned on the light outside. “It’s all right,” she called after a moment. “Everyone’s fine. My daughter’s friend just had a nightmare! Thanks!”
Just barely, over all the other noise, I heard Zane’s rooster ringtone. No doubt my ears were attuned to it. I reached over and pulled my phone off its charger and into my lap. A text from him glowed on the screen.
Is everything okay over there?
O.M.G. How did he know?
We’re fine. Why?
My mom stepped back inside and closed the door. I slipped the phone behind me and out of sight.
“Oh, Mrs. Thompson,” Kylee said weakly, wiping a hand across her sweating forehead. “I’m so sorry. I don’t… I didn’t mean to be so loud.”
My mom smiled at her. “I know. Don’t worry. I think we got to Mrs. Alonso before she called the police. That’s something we can’t always manage, believe me!” she laughed under her breath.
“Thanks, Mom,” I said. “I forgot about the neighbors.” I didn’t want to think about them now, either. Mrs. Alonso could be a real pain.
“Try to get some sleep at some point, okay?” my mom advised us unnecessarily, in true motherly fashion. Then she followed my father downstairs.
Tara came and sat down on the other side of Kylee, who was shaking like a leaf. Tara looked at me. “What was it?” she whispered.
“She must have seen a ghost,” I explained. “I didn’t see anything. But I could feel it. It was… not the happy kind of spirit.”
Kylee’s dark eyes shifted toward mine. “That,” she said through chattering teeth, “was the understatement of the year, Kalia Thompson.”
“Well, at least she’s still got her sense of humor,” Tara quipped, pulling a blanket up around all three of our shoulders as we huddled. “So what did this ghost look like? Was he tall, dark, and handsome?”
Kylee’s moist brow furrowed with thought. “Yes, yes, and only to his mother. I swear, I thought he was real. I thought he’d snuck up the staircase and was going to kill us in our beds.” She turned to look at Tara. “He was so close to you. When you stood up, your arm actually passed through part of him. Until then, I had no idea he was a ghost. I mean, I’ve only seen a couple, and… well, what do I know?”
“What did he look like, Kylee?” I asked, having a feeling I already knew.
“He was huge,” she answered. “Tall and broad. With a big belly, but strong, too. And mean looking. He wasn’t wearing much. Shorts, I guess. And he had all kinds of tattoos. He just looked so angry. And menacing. I swear he glared at me like I’d just run over his dog or something! He was scowling and flexing his muscles and trying to intimidate me!”
Kylee’s breathing was still ragged. “I was so scared. I mean, he was right there! Out of nowhere, with no warning. I was sure he must be some deranged maniac but, still… I couldn’t just do nothing while he started attacking us, you know? So I picked up—” she glanced around in confusion. “What was it?”
“My laptop,” I answered.
“Oh,” she said, embarrassed again. “Sorry. I didn’t break it, did I?”
“Its fine! Go on.”
“Well,” she continued, “that’s what was so strange. When I picked that up and acted like I was going to throw it at him, he… well, his expression changed. Like, he actually looked surprised. And then he started to fade out really quickly.”
I heard the rooster ringtone again, faintly, from somewhere in the tangle of bedclothes.
“Do you think the Colonel scared off the ghost?” Tara asked.
Kylee shook her head. “He was gone already. I really only saw him a couple seconds. It was so weird!” She turned to me with a wounded look. “Why would a ghost be mad at me, Kali?”
I had no answer for her. Never mind that it was the second time today I’d been asked that question. I was fishing around behind me for my phone, but couldn’t find it. The rooster crowed once more.
“Did you text Zane about this already?” Tara asked disbelievingly.
“No!” I defended, perhaps a little too quickly. If I was determined not to be a creepy-controlling girlfriend, I was doubly determined not to be a clingy-dependent one.
Of course, the truth of the situation was pretty disturbing itself. “I think he already knew,” I admitted. I got up and turned around so I could see where my phone was hiding.
They stared at me as I finally found the phone and sat back down. “How could he?” Kylee squeaked.
I braved a glance at Zane’s text. They both leaned in and read it with me.
Would you believe I saw a flash of your dad packing a pistol in his pajamas?
Holy crap.
“What does he mean he saw a flash?” Tara questioned. Then she groaned out loud and fell back on my mattress. “On second thought, don’t tell me. I am so unqualified for this.”
“What does he mean, Kali?” Kylee asked more quietly. “Tell us.”
I took a deep breath and spilled it. I spilled it all. I described the ghost Zane had seen earlier by the car, and I explained about the new ability he seemed to have, but that we didn’t completely understand yet. They listened to everything without interrupting, although once or twice I was afraid Tara might need to be sick.
Poor logical, scientifically minded Tara. She accepted me and all my weirdness. She pretty much had to, after seeing my gifts in action. She had even helped my equally stubborn and like-minded father to deal with me. But that didn’t mean she enjoyed it. She was far happier sitting behind a nice, safe computer somewhere doling out advice to the rest of us than she was experiencing anything remotely… unusual herself.
Kylee’s mood, on the other hand, improved steadily. The more I talked about Zane and his visions, the less she dwelt on her own fear of the menacing ghost.
“It sounds like it could be either astral projection or remote viewing,” Kylee told me confidently, using terms she had learned from her ba noi (her Vietnamese grandmother, Joan) and her ba noi’s social network of psychics and psychic wannabes in San Jose. “And it makes perfect sense, really. Zane’s already shown the ability to travel outside his body when he was a wraith; it would be easier for him to do something similar now, even if he wasn’t consciously trying. The flashes are pretty common, really. But this whole moving through a scene, thing… wow. That’s pretty powerful.”
“That’s only happened twice,” I explained. I hoped. I was trying not to think too much about Zane being able to spy on my dad in his pajamas. Zane had insisted he only saw flashes at my house, not whole scenes. Of course, he’d also told me that up until tonight, he’d only seen empty rooms.
I really didn’t like where this was going.
“What’s interesting is the perfect timing of his vision, coming in the middle of the night like that,” Kylee mused. “It’s almost like he has a sixth sense for danger where you’re concerned.”
“That would make sense,” I debated, “if I was actually in danger. But I wasn’t. None of us were. Remember?”
Kylee frowned. “Speak for yourself. You didn’t see the guy.”
“But he wasn’t real!” Tara insisted, sitting up again.
Kylee glared at her. “He wasn’t living. And he wasn’t solid. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t real.”
Tara sighed and moved back to her own mattress. “Look, if he comes back again, just tell me where he is, okay? I’ll kickbox his ass — no problem. For now, I need sleep. In Wyoming, it’s like tomorrow already. Goodnight.” She yawned, pulled up a sheet, and rolled over to face the wall.
Kylee’s dark eyes caught mine and held them. “I know most ghosts are harmless, Kali,” she whispered so low I could barely hear her. “The ones who come back from the other side are only here because they want to
help someone. And the others, the ones who can’t cross — they’re just troubled souls who need some kind of help themselves. But my ba noi has told me that every once in a while, the kind of help they want…”
Her voice dropped lower.
“Well, it isn’t always something you’d want to give.”
Chapter 7
“You guys can either make yourselves some nachos or some spaghetti,” my mother suggested, rubbing her temple like she always did when she was fighting a migraine, “or you can order pizza. I’m going to take a shower and turn in early. Kali, your dad says he’s staying over at your grandfather’s place tonight. So lock the doors before you go upstairs. Okay?”
“Right, Mom.” I looked up at her from the heap on the carpet into which Tara, Kylee, and I had collapsed after returning from our full day out on the town. We were hot, tired, hungry, thirsty, and painfully sore in the ribs from laughing so much.
It had been fabulous.
We’d gotten off to a late start, for obvious reasons, but we’d all perked up as soon as the sun hit our faces. I had driven them straight to Waikiki, making sure they got the token tourist experience out of the way early. They’d taken off their shoes and splashed in the Pacific a bit, but as expected, Kylee refused to “do” any beach for real until Tara had a swimsuit, so all too soon we were off the sand and hitting the shops. After multiple hours and several epic battles, Kylee at last emerged triumphant. Tara not only had another new one-piece, but Kylee insisted it was even sexier than the first one.
The rest of the day had been consumed with driving around aimlessly in a sea of Saturday afternoon traffic. I’d taken them past the Iolani Palace and the Punchbowl and Diamond Head, and we’d threaded our way up the hairpin turns of Tantalus Road and roamed around the lookout to admire its sweeping views of the city. Just like me — and despite the traffic — they were already hopelessly in love with Oahu, and I still hadn’t shown them any of my most favorite places on the island.
The only disappointment of the day was that the hours had flown by so quickly. Not seeing Zane all day was another bummer, but at least I had expected that. My grandfather Emilio had called during dinner last night and invited both my dad and Zane to go surfing with him today, and I knew that nothing — and I do mean nothing, including me in a sexy new swimsuit — would keep Zane from jumping on that offer. Zane practically worshipped “Milo,” as he preferred to be called, and although my grandfather was well beyond prime surfing age, he knew every break on the west side like the back of his hand. Not only that, but he was a fixture of the surfing community there, and he always made sure that Zane as well as my dad got treated like family.
So, my dad was fleeing the house tonight altogether, was he? What was up with these men and their fear of estrogen?
Kylee squealed and sat up. “Ew! Tara! I can smell that wretched suitcase from here!”
“Oh, you can not,” Tara grumbled.
“I’m afraid she can,” my mother deadpanned. “When the breeze blows just so, the smell comes right in that window. I’ve been noticing it on and off all day.”
I sat up and sniffed. Then I grimaced. “Oh, yeah. Got it. Did anybody from the airlines call the house while we were out?”
“No,” my mom answered. “Were they supposed to?”
“Not unless they found my suitcase stuffed in a closet somewhere after all,” Tara sighed. “Or if Tim Jones only just now reported his missing.”
“We were hoping he made the same mistake Tara did and took her bag,” Kylee explained. “Her cell number was on her ID tag, though, so you’d think if he did, he would have called her by now.”
Tara sat up and pulled her phone out of her back pocket. Her eyes went wide. “Crap! I did miss a call! It looks local, too.” She jumped up and held out her phone while Kylee and I crowded around her.
The voice mail message began with a long, breathy pause. When we finally heard a voice, it was masculine, relatively young sounding, and completely distracted. “Yeah… Um… Hey. I think I got… something of yours. Um… call me back, okay? Um… Bye.”
We all exhaled simultaneously. “Oh, yay!” Kylee exclaimed. “Now you’ll have two sexy swimsuits!”
Tara called the number back, but her call went straight to his voice mail. “Yeah. Leave me a message,” the same voice said lethargically.
“Loquacious fellow,” Tara mumbled sarcastically.
“Nobody normal even knows what that means!” Kylee scolded.
Tara rolled her eyes again and gestured for Kylee to hush. She turned aside and left a detailed message for Mr. Jones, including my parents’ landline number, just in case. Then she turned back to us with a smile. “Well, that’s a relief!”
“Glad to hear it,” my mom acknowledged. “Goodnight.” Then she went into her bedroom and closed the door, shutting out both the noise we were likely to make and the smell wafting in the front window.
“Ugh,” Kylee said again, waving her hand in front of her face. “Can’t we close the glass louvers on that window or something?”
“We can,” I answered, “if you want to sweat to death. We really need it open for the breeze. But we can move the suitcase.”
Kylee recoiled in horror. “You touch it. I’ll start dinner. You guys want nachos or—”
“Move it, nothing!” Tara interrupted. “I’ve had enough of smelling Tim Jones’ stink. Who knows how long it’s going to take for him to pick that thing up?” She turned to me. “Where does your dad keep his tools, Kali? Like his pliers?”
I blinked at her. “All his tools are in that little shed out back.” I gave her the code to the shed’s combination lock, and she nodded and took off.
Kylee and I stared at each other. She shrugged. “I’m thinking nachos,” she announced.
I headed after her into the kitchen and started pointing out where we kept everything, but when we heard strange sounds out front I left again to see what Tara was doing. I walked to the carport to find the lid of our washing machine standing open. Tim Jones’ black suitcase was laid out on the floor next to it, still zipped. Tara stood poised over the case like a surgeon, her brow creased with concentration as she held a pair of pliers in each hand. I laughed out loud. “Are you serious? You can’t wash that stuff!”
She seemed angry with me. But no… Tara wouldn’t be angry! She was looking back at me with a good-natured smirk.
“Believe it or not, Kali, I’ve washed worse than this,” she insisted, affixing one set of pliers to each zipper pull. “I’ve been a professional laundress since the age of thirteen, remember?”
“I know!” I argued. “But these aren’t your clothes!”
“Well, they’re at your house,” she insisted, pulling back the zippers an inch at a time, rather like she was defusing a bomb. “You didn’t ask to have custody, but now you do, so hey… somebody’s got to change the baby’s diaper, you know what I’m saying?”
She pulled the flap fully open. The smell that wafted out was beyond foul.
So angry…
“Tara,” I said, thinking quickly. “Wait a minute.”
“Not on your life,” she argued, poking around in the suitcase’s contents with the pliers. “I may not be conscious that long.” She threw her head to the side a moment and took a breath, then dived back down. “Hmm… looks like the usual recipe for man stink. Nothing dead, here. Just some seriously gnarly foot odor on these water shoes… stowed dripping wet, no doubt, tossed with sweaty clothes and baked till done.” She grimaced again. “No valuables, at least. Just laundry and the shoes. Okay, watch out. Heads up!”
I heard the front door open. “Kylee!” I called, scrambling in her direction. “Don’t scr—”
Kylee stopped dead at the entrance to the carport, swayed dangerously for a second, then clapped her own hands over her mouth.
“Yes, I know!” I said, wrapping my arms around her shoulders. “The ghost is back. Maybe if you just don’t look at him this time?”
Kylee sq
uinched her eyes shut tight. “Tara!” she squeaked in terror. “He’s right on top of you! He’s… he’s pounding you over the head!”
In one hand, Tara held the cuff of a gnarly, balled up, disgustingly dirty crew sock in the jaws of a pair of pliers. With the other hand, she used a second set of pliers to grip the toe. She pulled her hands apart, unrolling the ball, then dropped the sock in the washer before bothering to glance in our direction. “Yeah?” she said with disinterest.
“The suitcase,” I murmured. “Kylee, weren’t we talking about the suitcase when the ghost showed up last night?”
She opened her eyes and looked at me. “I think so. We were joking about—” She turned her gaze back toward Tara. “Oh!” She shook herself and plastered both hands over her eyes. “I can’t look!”
Tara pulled out a grungy tee shirt and a pair of men’s underwear, holding them at arm’s length with the tools. The tee shirt was speckled with gray spots of mold. “Nice,” she commented.
“Tara!” Kylee squealed again. “Can’t you tell he’s hurting you?”
“Nope!” Tara answered jovially. “One of the benefits of being an ordinary human, I guess.” She unrolled another sock.
“Kylee,” I pressed. “I know this is going to sound stupid, but does it seem like he’s attacking for no reason or is, well… does it seem like he’s trying to protect what’s in the suitcase?”
Tara snorted. “Tell him I’ll use the delicate cycle.”
“This is nothing to laugh about!” Kylee exclaimed, her voice close to breaking. She seemed like she was about to cry.
Tara’s expression softened. “Look,” she cajoled. “It’s almost loaded, and nothing’s going to get damaged.” She looked up at the air around her. “You hear that, whoever you are? I know how to do a friggin’ load of laundry, okay? I have five brothers whose odor-production capabilities can take on this Tim Jones dude any day, so chill out. I’m going to wash this stuff and dry it all nice and fluffy and then I’m going to give it all right back to his majesty. Okay? Sheesh!”