I have to ask. “Have you ever done anything like that before? I mean, picked up on that much about a person just by holding something?”
Lauren shakes her head. “That might have been a new personal record. I guess maybe it was self-preservation.”
I think back to the night at the Coffee Grounds. “What about that compass you asked me to hold? What kind of stuff do you get off of that?
“That’s different,” Lauren says. “Hey, look at that.” She points straight ahead.
I know she changed the subject on purpose. My gut tells me it was just lucky timing for her when I look to see two cop cars cruising toward us from the opposite direction. They roll past a moment later, not exactly speeding but going fast enough to suggest they’re definitely on their way to check something out.
“I honestly doubt they can do anything right now,” Lauren says. “They’ll probably assume it was just some sort of crank call. But you never know. If they weren’t keeping an eye on that guy before, hopefully they’ll start.”
“That would be good,” I say. “Let’s hope that happens.”
I pull my phone from my pocket to check the time, afraid there may have already been calls or texts from my parents. Something tells me Mr. Wilhite will at least leave a message at the house. But it’s still early in the day. My father’s at work, definitely. Who knows what my mother does during the day. I think about shutting my phone off but leave it on vibrate for now.
“I guess we should probably head back, right?”
“Up to you,” Lauren says.
Is she serious? Especially, after what just happened it seems like we should probably rethink things. “That was pretty freaking dangerous.”
Lauren nods. “Yeah, it was. But I think it’s probably safe to bet something like that won’t happen twice. Unless your guitar was just popular with criminals for some reason.”
A good point, definitely. Still, I’d assumed she’d just gotten bored and decided to take a joy ride using the Victor thing as an excuse. Why does she even want to keep trying to return the guitar to the woman I saw? Again, I think of the compass. The weight of it in my hand, those seemingly random images. Yes, a feeling. I don’t have anywhere near the level of “intuition” Lauren possesses, but I definitely get flashes of my own. Obviously, since that’s why we’re riding along together in the first place.
I look out at people walking along the sidewalk, most of them hauling beach gear of some sort. Behind the houses passing by, sunlight flickers on rolling waves and I smell salt in the air. We’ve left the darkness behind.
Part of me wants to keep going and part wants to bail. How could what we’re doing matter this much? I ask myself which feelings to trust—the fear that I’m going to get into even more trouble or the curiosity I don’t want to deny. I think back to what I definitely knew when we entered Victor’s apartment. I should have listened to my instincts. This time I do.
“How far is Charlotte?”
“So, you made up your mind,” Lauren says.
“But why are you—”
“That’s not the issue. I’m not in any hurry to get home, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Okay, Charlotte,” I say. “Why the hell not?”
“Cool. By the way, how are you set for cash? We’re going to need some gas soon.”
With all that’s happened, that aspect hasn’t even entered my mind. But it’s more than a fair question. After all, Lauren sprung me from hell on her dime. I take out my wallet and check to be sure. “About sixty.”
It’s the same every year. My parents launch me out of their lives with eighty dollars so I have money to spend at the camp store. Not that there’s much worth buying.
“I’ve got some money but we won’t be able to get back, that’s for sure,” Lauren says. “You sure that’s all you have?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
Lauren thinks for a moment, then nods. “That sucks, but there it is. We better turn this ship around. Look, it’s cool,” she adds. “Probably just means it wasn’t meant to be.”
Of course, there is the credit card but my parents would kill me. “I do have a credit card,” I say.
“Seriously, you have a credit card?”
“Well, it’s my parents’ card, really. I mean, it’s for emergencies only.”
“What do you call this?”
“Not sure.” Phrases like “irrational behavior” and “completely irresponsible” come to mind, but not exactly “emergency.”
“Maybe this is an emergency. Just not one your parents would understand,” Lauren says. “I see no issues.”
~~~
We roll toward Charlotte at sunset, all those towering buildings reflecting light, everything different and new. We have the windows rolled down and the air blows against my face, warm and moist and full of southern summer. While, technically, we really aren’t all that far from Richmond it still feels like we’re a thousand miles away.
“What are you smiling about?” Lauren says.
“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”
“To be honest, that thought occurred to me too. But, what the hell, right?”
“Exactly, what the hell,” I say, wondering if Susan Walker is the woman from my flashes and what I’ll say to her. How can I explain why we decided to go looking for her? “Hi, I keep seeing you inside my head,” seems a strange way to start a conversation. Still, there has to be a reason behind those flashes. I’ve tried to ignore my experiences in the past but the fact is I’ve been right every time I felt something strongly. And if I’m honest with myself, those have always been more than just feelings. I’ve always known.
Suddenly, Lauren pulls off the highway and the city skyline sinks out of view as she descends the off-ramp. “What’s up?”
“Didn’t you see the sign? You really need to be more observant.”
“Okay, Yoda. What did I miss this time?”
Lauren laughs and does a Yoda voice. “Dixie Inn, sign for. That motel heard of have you?”
“Not bad,” I say. “Never.”
Yoda gets replaced by a cynic. “Exactly. Which means it’s probably a total dump.”
“And we want to stay in a total dump, why?” I say, inadvertently sounding a little like Yoda myself.
“Because they need our money. Which means…now you fill in the blank.”
I consider this. “They won’t ask too many questions?”
“Exactly,” Lauren says. “Yes, I have a fake ID for all the times when I need to be technically an ‘adult’ but my guess is it will work better for us at the Dixie Inn than the Marriott. Besides, we’ll get a cheaper room out in the suburbs.”
My pulse picks up at the thought of us spending the night in a motel together. For some reason, I assumed we’d try to track down Susan Walker tonight. Probably, Lauren is just tired. After all, she’s been driving all day. And that confrontation with Victor had to have taken its toll too. Or she’s just being sensible—it really wouldn’t be a good idea to drive all the way back tonight. On the other hand, maybe she’s thinking something else. Could that be possible?
I tell myself I have no reason to think that’s the case, that I’m being ridiculous. Still, even as I try to stop, I wonder again what her lips would feel like against mine. What it would be like to touch her and have her touch me. I have some experience, but I’ve never had the experience, and we’re getting a room together. My heart beats faster and I force myself to think of something else—anything else, like being at camp, how pissed off my parents will be—before my body gives me away and she’ll be able to see what I’m thinking. I look out my window. I can’t look at Lauren right now.
A few minutes later, we park outside the motel office. Thankfully, I’ve gotten myself under control but I’ve avoided eye contact a few times. God, please don’t let her be psychic about stuff like that.
“So, who are we?” I say, as we walk toward the door.
“You are so f
ull of existential questions,” Lauren says.
I laugh and I wonder if it sounds like a nervous laugh. “No, I mean to the motel people.”
Lauren actually rolls her eyes, which does nothing to shore up my fantasy from a few minutes ago. “We’re two people getting a room. They probably won’t ask for a marriage license, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
As it turns out, the lady behind the front desk doesn’t even ask for ID. She’s somewhere in her sixties, round and gray, peering at her phone through thick glasses when we enter.
“Just for one night?” she says, evidently used to people never staying past that.
“Yes, please,” Lauren says.
“Did you two have a good day?” she says, running my credit card.
“Pretty good,” I say.
She tears off the receipt from the printer and I sign. “Good,” she says. “Check-out’s at eleven. There’s an Arby’s and a McDonald’s just down the street if you’re hungry.”
And that’s it. We have our room. But I’m not fantasizing as we leave the office. I’m thinking about the fact that I just used the credit card. At a motel. Five hours from home. While my father has never beaten me before, I imagine it as a future possibility. He’s made it beyond clear that the credit card is for emergencies only. As in, you’re on a plane that crashes and you’re the only survivor but it turns out the town you crashed in is being overrun by zombies and the only way out is by the last remaining taxi and the driver only takes credit cards. That sort of thing. Otherwise, the card is to remain in my wallet.
“You okay?” Lauren says. “Thought I felt the mood shift again.”
I vow never to think of her sexually again. At least, not ahead of time. I suppose, after the fact, it wouldn’t matter if she’s psychic. “I’m good,” I say. “How about you?”
“Fine. I think it’s cool how old ladies are all Facebooking on their phones these days. I think she was looking at pictures of her grandkids. She seemed nice, actually.”
What is it with Lauren and total strangers? Although, so far she seems to be a really good judge of character. “So, which is our best dinner option?”
“Mickey D’s or Arby’s. Awesome. Especially for a vegetarian.”
“You’re a vegetarian?” To me, an Arby’s roast beef sounds just fine.
“I make the occasional exception for sushi,” Lauren says. “I realize this is a flimsy moral argument but I’ve tried staring into the eyes of fish before. Not a whole lot going on. But otherwise I’m a vegetarian. Except for bacon. Totally hypocritical, I know. So, I’m sort of a fail as a vegetarian but I keep trying.”
“I think Arby’s has a BLT.”
“Yeah, I know. Let’s go. I’m freaking starving.”
We decide to take our food back to the motel due mostly to the light jazz background music at Arby’s and the fact that I’m worried about leaving the guitar in the bus. We sit on the bed together since the Dixie Inn doesn’t offer much in the way of amenities, including a table or chairs. There’s just the bed, a dresser holding a TV and the bedside nightstands. “Cozy” might be one word for it. “Rat hole” also comes to mind. Had I been in that room, say, with Justin or Doug, I’d be crawling out of my skin with claustrophobia. But I’m not sharing that room with Justin or Doug. So, I’m going with “cozy.”
We channel surf while we eat, then stay with one of those ghost hunter shows. I’m actually getting into it but Lauren keeps sighing like something is bothering her. When the show ends, she mutes the TV. “Here’s why these shows kind of bug me,” she says. “They always find the ghost. So, that’s great. But I really wish they could do something. I’m not saying I know what they should do—because I don’t—but the ghost is still trapped. It just makes me feel sad.”
Actually, I don’t get it. “Why do you think the ghost is trapped?”
Lauren balls up her sandwich wrapper and shoots it across the room into the wastebasket. Granted, it’s a tiny room but she makes her shot barely trying. “Well, why else would ghosts even be around if they didn’t have to be? They’d be in heaven or would have reincarnated already, depending on what you believe.”
“What about hell? Wouldn’t some people go there too?”
“Here’s my opinion,” Lauren says. “Hell is remaining here as a ghost. Maybe because of something you did or something that happened to you. Or maybe because of something that’s been left unresolved. Like you’re just stuck in time obsessing about something that happened in the past and can’t move on.”
I suck up the last of my Coke through the straw and set the cup on the bedside table. “You said before that your house is full of ghosts or something like that. What did you mean?”
Lauren reaches into her bag and gets a pack of gum. She unwraps a stick. “It’s a mother and two kids.”
“Seriously? Can you see them?”
“Every so often. But mostly I just feel them being there. I think it might also be up to a ghost when they can be seen. Or maybe it takes some sort of special effort on their part.”
“Why do you think they’re stuck there?”
Lauren holds the pack out to me and I almost pass since I don’t usually chew gum. Then it occurs to me that maybe she wants me to have minty breath for a reason. Our eyes meet and, despite my vow, my heartbeat starts picking up again. Come on, I tell myself. Really? It’s a freaking piece of gum. Probably not a whole lot of subtext there. Still, my hand shakes a bit as I withdraw a stick from the pack. I hope Lauren doesn’t notice.
Thankfully, she doesn’t, I’m pretty sure. Her mind still seems to be on ghosts. “My theory is they haven’t yet accepted being dead,” she says.
I make myself focus on the conversation. Okay, that’s new too. First, there was new at being dead. Now, there’s not accepting being dead. “Not sure I’m following,” I say.
Lauren nods. “Well, like if you’re not totally convinced yet that you are. Say, if it happened all of a sudden. Here’s the deal—you know, my mother’s place is like a million years old or something, right? Well, we heard that at one time the house that used to be on that land burned to the ground in the middle of the night. No one knows why, maybe an electrical fire or something. My guess is that the family—the mother and the two kids—were sleeping and then, wham!” Lauren smacks her palms together. “They woke up dead.”
Yet another new one, waking up dead. “What about the dad?”
“Who knows? Maybe he was in town seeing his mistress or something. It’s not like I’m going to ask about it. Just because they’re dead doesn’t mean I should be rude. Besides, it’s none of my business.”
“Have you tried talking to them?”
“Sure, sometimes I talk to them,” she says. “I’m pretty sure they hear me.”
“Don’t they talk back? Seems kind of rude, if you ask me.”
“Mostly, I’ve heard them talking to each other. Sometimes they look at me but they don’t usually answer. I don’t know—maybe they need their privacy. We are sharing a space, after all.”
Okay, sure. Maybe ghosts need their privacy too. Why not? At the same time, part of me can’t believe we’re having this conversation like it’s totally normal. “So, okay, the guy I saw. What do you think might be up with him?”
Lauren’s eyes meet mine again. “He’s your ghost. What do you think might be up with him?”
“My ghost?” What did that mean?
She laughs. “Not your actual ghost, obviously, but a ghost that’s started following you around for some reason. Why do you think that might be?” I’m about to say I have no idea, but she adds, “Of course you can’t know the specifics. At least not yet. But pick a category—something he did, something that happened to him, or something unresolved. Trust your instincts and don’t think about it.”
“Okay, something unresolved,” I say, just like that. And the weird part is I feel like I might be right.
“That’s what I think too. Something about this whole guitar thing, an
d that woman you keep seeing, feels like something left unresolved. No idea what that might be but that’s what I keep thinking.”
We sit there for a few moments not saying more and I become aware of how she’s shifted on the bed while we’ve been talking. She sits with her legs crossed, angled toward me, her knee lightly pressed against my thigh. And I’ve never been able to talk to anyone about things like this. I always thought I didn’t have to, that it would just be better off ignored, but that’s not how I feel now at all. I think about closing the remaining distance between us.
“So, blankets or bed?” Lauren says.
It takes me a few seconds before I manage to say, “I guess, blankets?”
Lauren shifts away and stretches her legs out. I still feel the warmth of where her leg had just been touching mine.
“Okay, cool,” she says. “I figured one of us would take the bed and sheet and the other would take the blankets and the floor.”
“Yeah, that works.” I feel blood rushing to my face and will myself not to run my hand across my brow. “You should take the bed, definitely. You drove all day.”
“I have to admit, that was tiring.” Lauren reaches into her bag and takes out her phone. “I’m going to step outside and call my boyfriend. I’ll be back in a few.”
She goes outside and I sit on the bed. I can’t stop the heat from spreading across my face but at least Lauren isn’t there to see it. I chew my gum and stare at the silent television.
10
Talking to a Ghost
After Lauren falls asleep, I lay stretched out on the floor on top of my blanket that I’ve folded to make a mattress. It’s not the most comfortable situation but I also know that’s not what’s left me alone in the dark staring at the ceiling. Part of it’s the calls and messages that have stacked up on my phone since I last checked it. That had to happen and I was kidding myself when I kept hoping it might be at least tomorrow before my parents found out. That should be enough but it’s not the only thing on my mind.
Streetlights Like Fireworks Page 7