by Edie Claire
She poked the pliers back into the suitcase and pulled out the remaining articles of clothing, which included some casual shorts and a bunch of synthetic-type sportswear. Most of it seemed damp, much of it was moldy, and it all smelled horrible. Tara dumped some laundry detergent into the washer, closed the lid, and started the cycle. “There,” she said proudly, slapping her hands together and then gesturing with her palms in the air. “We all good, ghostie?”
Hot, red anger. And yet…
Kylee reluctantly cracked open her eyes. Her expression changed from horrified to confused.
“What’s he doing?” I whispered.
She shook her head. “He’s gone now. But he… well, he was just sitting on the washer. Staring at Tara, like right in her face. But he was… well, he wasn’t hitting her anymore.”
“How big of him,” Tara cracked. “These shoes need to be hosed off. Then I’m thinking disinfectant spray and a sun dry for them and the suitcase both. They’re still going to stink, but that’s TJ’s problem.” She picked up her tools and the suitcase with the sneakers inside, and without another word to me or Kylee, she headed out of the carport and around to the back of the house again.
“I can’t believe her,” Kylee mumbled. “If she only knew what he—”
“It’s better that she doesn’t,” I pointed out. “What were you going to say? Did something change before he faded?”
Kylee nodded slowly. “He was still furious at her. At all of us. But he seemed somehow… well, I don’t know how to describe the way he looked at her. It was almost like maybe she amused him somehow.”
I thought about the feelings I had sensed, even through my normal barrier. Hostility… and yet a begrudging sort of respect? Or was it more the sadistic thrill of a cat playing with a mouse? “Maybe,” I mulled. “Anyway, we’ve narrowed it down a little. Whatever the ghost’s problem is, his appearance must have something to do with the mysterious Mr. Tim Jones.”
Kylee made a face. “There can’t possibly be anything mysterious about anyone named Tim Jones.” She stared at the running washing machine a moment, then whirled back toward the house. “Hungry. Need nachos.”
We all needed nachos. By the time we had consumed the large, sticky pile of lime-toasted tortilla chips bathed in colby-jack, black olives, sweet cherry peppers, fresh tomatoes, and part of a mango, we were all feeling a whole lot better about life in general and scary ghost dudes in particular, and the excited text I received from Zane shortly after dark was like the icing on my cake.
Great Day! Fun-size waves, super clean — your dad did awesome. Milo’s so proud of him! Way cool to see them shredding together. Gotta work on Gen3!
“Gen3?” Kylee asked, shamelessly reading over my shoulder.
“He means me,” I answered with a grin. “He has this thing about three generations of the family surfing together. If he doesn’t drown me with his obsessive safety training first, that is.”
“Like he would ever let that happen,” Tara commented, scraping the last of the melted cheese off the aluminum foil. “We see the way he looks at you, you disgustingly lucky wench.”
My grin broadened. I knew exactly how lucky I was. A flush of warmth reddened my cheeks, and I started to say something mushy that my unattached friends probably didn’t need or want to hear, but they were spared by the sound of the washing machine alarm.
“I’ll move the clothes along,” I offered, rising from the table. “It should be safe to touch them without pliers now, right?”
Tara nodded. “Better put them on low, though. We don’t want Tarzan having a cow if any of Tim Jones’ undies shrink.”
Kylee scowled. “He does not look like a ‘Tarzan.’”
“So, what does he look like?” Tara teased. “A Vinny, maybe? How about a Clarence? A Herbert?”
I walked out the door quickly, hoping to escape before any violence started. But once outside, I realized that the dark carport was no improvement. Maybe Tara could laugh off Kylee’s descriptions of the grisly assault, but I couldn’t. Not being able to see the ghost was poor consolation when I was still able to feel him. If he did want to hurt me, the fact that he could get to my emotions made me vulnerable. Vulnerable to what exactly, I didn’t want to find out.
Wimp.
Just do it, Kali!
I forced my feet forward and up to the washer. What I needed to do was fight fire with fire — and that meant shoring up my empathic defenses. I took a breath and concentrated deeply, imagining a solid wall that surrounded me like a sphere in every direction. My wall was thick and glowing and impenetrable, and there was nothing and no one in it besides one human, a bunch of wet clothes, and two inanimate appliances.
I breathed out, slowly, and checked for any stray emotions battering around in my brain. I felt nothing out of place and smiled with relief. I was still pretty good at this stuff, even without Zane around. His presence made everything easier for me, which was nice. But I also knew that because of his effect, when it came to my own shield I’d been getting kind of lazy.
I reached into the washer and began pulling out the clothes. They didn’t smell great, and the socks would never be white again, but at least nothing reeked. I tossed the wet handfuls in the dryer, pausing when I came to a baby-blue garment with black print that looked familiar. I held it up and shook it out. It was a surfer’s jersey, made of a lightweight synthetic fabric and emblazoned with the logo of the Billabong Pro Tahiti, which as the girlfriend of one Zane Svenson I happened to know was a stop on the World Championship Tour of professional surfing. And as someone who had watched a good part of that contest — as well as every other leg that was held around the world since Zane and I had been together — I knew darn well that no guy named Tim Jones had surfed in it. So was he a fan who’d picked up a castoff jersey somehow? Or did vendors sell imitations, just like football jerseys? I shook my head and tossed it in the dryer. Zane would be amused. Where had this suitcase come from, anyway? We had all assumed it came into the Honolulu airport on Tara’s flight, but multiple flights did use the same carousels. The contest in Tahiti had ended only a few days ago. Was it possible?
I swept my hand around the bottom of the washer and pulled up the last of the clothes. This time I couldn’t help but study them more carefully. The underwear I tossed in the dryer immediately. But the boardshorts… whoa. Tim Jones was one serious fan, if not a serious surfer himself. The boardshorts were top-of-the-line AirTides.
A sharp pain exploded across the left side of my head, and the carport swayed. I reached out to brace myself, but my hands didn’t move. The air around me grew blurry and thickened, and my eyes could no longer focus. There was no sound. My feet were floating and my body was weightless. I tried to feel for what was causing the pain in my head but my arms were still immobile; my body was being carried along like a ragdoll. The carport with its bright light over the white appliances morphed and swirled into a shimmering haze of sunlight over water, and threads of aqua filtered in from below. All at once I was suspended in various shades of blue, but before my eyes ran a river of red… a wispy stream of solid I knew to be my own blood.
My eyes closed then and I couldn’t reopen them. I couldn’t move at all. But I could feel that I was sinking. I could feel the weight of the water around me, the pressure that grew stronger with every inch I dropped. I could see nothing, still, but I knew. I knew that I was going down. Going down where it was darker. Colder. Deeper. Lonelier.
Down where I would never breathe again.
“No!” I forced out hoarsely. My eyes flew open and I drew in great gulps of air. I was staring blankly at the dryer controls in the middle of my well-lit carport. I was still standing upright. Still holding the boardshorts in my hands, exactly as before. I tossed the shorts and put my hands to my head, feeling for a bump, a gash, the slickness that would mean I was bleeding. There was nothing. My skin was damp with perspiration but my curls were dry. I wasn’t injured. Shaken, disoriented, and completely baffled, yes… but not injured. I h
ad been so certain that I had passed out… yet my knees hadn’t even buckled!
I slammed the dryer door and started the machine. I walked to the front of the house, stopped, and leaned against the back of the door, still gasping for air.
What the hell?
I put my hand to my head once more. I was fine, really. Whatever I thought I felt, it was clearly an illusion. The ghost couldn’t hurt Tara, and he couldn’t hurt me, either. Not physically.
I tried to slow my breathing. But it wasn’t easy when my heart kept on pounding. I had spent most of life fighting against an irrational fear of water and drowning. Zane and I had worked so hard to get me over it. And I was over it. I was.
What had that horrible specter done to me?
How had he done it, when I’d been so sure my defenses were solid?
And why would he want to hurt me in the first place?
I felt an incredibly strong, incredibly embarrassing urge to cry, and I realized that if I’d done one thing correctly just now, it was not yelling loud enough to bring everyone in the house running. That humiliation would be more than I could bear.
Get a grip, Kali.
He’s the one who’s dead. Remember?
Good point!
I clenched my teeth. Then I clenched my fists, just for the heck of it.
I turned toward the perfectly innocent-looking empty carport and gave the space in front of the dryer my best girl-power glare. Try to mess with my head, would he? “Okay. So you surprised me that time,” I said icily, drawing up my shoulders with my best imitation of dignity. “But if the only weapon you’ve got is fear, you can prepare to lose.”
I opened my front door and walked through it. Then I closed it quietly, without a slam.
Stupid ghost didn’t deserve the satisfaction.
Chapter 8
I awoke the next morning to the pleasant sound of a gentle rain pattering on the roof above my head. The air was comfortably cool for the first time in days, and Kylee and Tara were both still sound asleep. A few moments later, Zane’s rooster ringtone sounded.
Seeing that he was calling rather than texting, I hopped out of bed and slipped out the door to my lanai. I leaned against the near wall under the eaves where I wouldn’t get wet, at least not that wet, and answered with a smile. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” he returned gaily.
The sound of his voice, as always, did something electrical to my bone marrow. I hadn’t talked to him for real since Friday night, and I was already going through withdrawal. We’d only texted a little bit yesterday, since he’d been out on the water most of the day. I had wanted to call him immediately after the ghost encounter — actually, I’d wanted to drive myself out to the North Shore and bury my head in his chest — but it had taken me nearly an hour to work up to telling Kylee and Tara what had happened. And after the three of us had talked it through and I’d dealt with their reactions and theories and suggestions and my own aggravation about leaving myself vulnerable, I was too exhausted to do anything but crawl into bed and get unconscious.
Now I didn’t want to think about it — much less talk about it — at all.
“So what’s next on the girlfriends’ agenda?” Zane asked. “You guys going to spend another day in Honolulu? You might as well, you know. Sunday traffic’s as good as it gets.”
My spirits dipped a little. “Oh. We hadn’t really planned anything yet. You’re, um… not coming out?”
He was quiet for a beat. “Well, no. I was going to hang out with some of the guys today.”
“That’s cool.” I felt so sad I couldn’t stand it. We hadn’t talked about any plans together — I had just assumed. We’d seen each other almost every day over the summer. But I shouldn’t assume. And I shouldn’t be so sad either. I was being ridiculous. I was being… that dreaded word… “clingy.”
“Kali?” he asked tentatively.
“Yeah?” I replied, faking a happy tone.
“What’s wrong and do not tell me nothing.”
I sighed and smiled at the same time. “I just miss you, that’s all,” I said with perfect honesty. “So sue me, okay? I know we just hung out on Thursday, but I’m spoiled, and it seems like longer. That’s all.”
He was quiet another moment. “I miss you, too,” he replied, his voice so warm I got electricity arcing in my spine again. “But, Kali, aren’t you, like… occupied? I mean… I thought you guys would want to spend some time alone, just the three of you. To do girl stuff. Or whatever.”
Buzzing warmth zipped through my veins. He was only trying to be considerate. In addition to avoiding the squealing, of course. “We do,” I explained tenderly. “And we’re having a blast. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful — having them here is beyond fabulous! It’s just that I’m anxious for my three best friends in the world to get to know each other, that’s all.”
“I see. Well, all right, then,” he proposed brightly, “why don’t you bring them out here tomorrow? We can spend the day on the North Shore. I’ll make you guys a picnic.”
“That would be perfect!” I gushed. “I can’t wait.”
“Don’t get too excited,” he quipped. “I’m only going to Foodland.”
I heard stirrings from inside my room. Somebody else was up. I knew I should fill Zane in on what had happened with the ghost, but I didn’t want to bring either of us down right now. “Will you have your phone with you today?” I asked. “There’s something I need to tell you, but… I’m not sure how much time I’ll have, here.”
“Oh,” he answered, a new awkwardness creeping into his voice. “Yeah, I should have the phone. Surf’s no good here. But I was hoping… I mean, that’s why I called early. There’s something I really need to talk to you about, too.”
I tensed. The tone of his voice had changed. It had that guilty ring to it again.
The door of my lanai opened and Tara’s head popped out. “Oh! There you are! In the rain, of course. Sorry to intrude.” She threw me a knowing smirk and dodged back inside. I could hear from the voices that followed that Kylee, too, was awake.
“You’re standing out in the rain?” Zane asked.
“Um… only partially,” I defended.
“Never mind then. We’ll talk another time, okay?” The relief in his voice was painfully obvious.
Now I was really tense. What exactly did he feel so guilty about?
“I’ll let you go, Kali,” he rung off. “No picking up guys in Waikiki, by the way. And don’t tell me they won’t be following the three of you around, either. You’re lucky I don’t insist on chaperoning you.”
I grinned. “You trust me.”
“I do, actually.”
“Likewise.”
There was a pause. “I’ll talk to you later, Kali. Bye.”
“Bye.” My heart took another dip into my stomach as we hung up. A pause? Seriously?
Like, a guilty pause?
No. I had only been imagining it.
***
When I pulled myself out of the community pool a few hours later, the smile on my face was genuine. First because I had gotten myself back in the water again, despite what happened with the stupid ghost. And second, because Lacey and Kylee were sitting on beach towels on the grass, laughing and talking like old friends already. I knew the two of them would get along. I had no idea where Tara had gotten to at the moment, but so far she and Lacey had hit it off, too. I was also happy because I was giving myself permission to stop this particular workout before the usual point of exhaustion. I wouldn’t have dragged Kylee and Tara out here at all if I didn’t feel so funky after missing one day’s workout already — which was entirely Zane’s fault for having trained me so consistently all summer. I still wasn’t sure what I would do when the pools closed. But coming here this morning had been a good idea all around. Not only did I feel better physically, but seeing Lacey laugh and smile lightheartedly again was priceless.
She and Kylee were in the middle of comparing scores on
some app where you listen to sound clips to pick out “guy lies” when I walked up — not surprisingly, Kylee had done much better than Lacey — but we were interrupted almost immediately by Tara. She stomped up to her towel and plopped down in a fury, her rough manner a hundred percent at odds with the sleek turquoise one-piece she was wearing, which made her look like a ballerina Barbie doll.
“Since when,” she barked with annoyance, “does ‘no’ mean ‘follow me around and put your hand on my butt?’”
Kylee’s eyes widened. “Is this guy still breathing?”
“Yes,” Tara replied darkly. “But only because I could tell where his hand was going and my reflexes are quick.”
Lacey sucked in a breath. “Where did this happen? Here at the pool?”
“Out in the parking lot,” Tara answered, making herself more comfortable on the towel. “I went back to the car to look for something that fell out of my bag, and I found it and turned around and there was this guy — a really good-looking guy, by the way — and he just smiles at me and says, ‘I’ve never seen you before.’”
“And what did you say?” Kylee asked.
“What am I supposed to say?” Tara retorted. “I mean, how many answers to that question are there? He’s cute, yeah. But I don’t know who he is, and I’m only here for a week!”
Kylee sighed. “You know, your attitude is really—”
“Kylee!” I reminded. “He was a jerk!”
Her face reddened. “Oh, right.”
“Anyway,” Tara reported, “he asked me why I was at the pool and if I wanted to go out to lunch with him instead, and I said no. Then he said, ‘Oh, come on. I think you’re hot,’ and whammo.”
“Wow,” Lacey said sympathetically. “That’s gross. I’m sorry. We can report it to the manager if you want. Did it look like he was on his way into the pool, or was he just hanging around outside?”
Tara shrugged. “All I know is he didn’t follow me in. Don’t worry about it on my account. I’m fine.”
“We’ll all walk out together this time,” I announced, toweling off. “You guys ready to do Oahu, Part Two, Southeast?”