Only the Good Die Young

by Chris Marie Green

  Giving slow chase, I left the study behind. I didn’t like it in there anyway, mostly because of Gavin’s dream. But also because of how Wendy, Noah, and Farah had left the room with that dysfunctional vibe that seemed to be the hallmark of the Edgett family.

  Where was Daddy when you needed him?

  It occurred to me that I would have to find another computer to use, instead of Amanda Lee’s, if I wanted to research the man. Would a library have one?

  Anyway, I’d see about that later. Right now, though, Farah was still close by.

  Flying out of the room, I heard her down the hall, and as I passed the game room with all the high-tech equipment, I saw her pacing, her cell phone to her ear.

  “James,” she said. “Please tell me you’re home. Call me right back. Or I’ll try you again, just in case you couldn’t get to the phone.”

  She was leaving a message. I knew all about these new phones and how they worked, thanks to Amanda Lee.

  After redialing, Farah paced, her fingers playing with her ponytail. Then a man’s faint voice came on the other end of the line. I focused my energy on James, hearing him loud and clear in the air. He sounded put out that Farah had called.

  “What’re you doing right now?” she asked. “I need to see you so badly.”

  The boyfriend she’d been arguing with the other night said, “Jesus, then just come over. You don’t need an invitation.”

  “Be there soon,” she said, either totally missing his impatience with her or ignoring it.

  He hung up, and she didn’t go anywhere . . . until she looked around, like she felt me nearby.

  “Rum Tum Tugger?” she asked.

  Huh? Oh yeah. The cat.

  “Tug . . . ger . . .” I could tell she was hoping it was her pet she felt in the room.

  When the animal didn’t show itself, Farah scuttled away, and I got another rush of energy from her unadorned fear, then went after her.

  As a fancy glass grandfather clock downstairs struck nine o’clock, I flew behind Farah as she ascended the grand staircase. She kept looking around for whatever was probably sending bumps over her flesh.

  And I kept buzzing with the rush.

  In her room, she grabbed her purse and keys as I prepared to corner her for an empathy session.

  But then a visitor showed up at her door. Guess who.

  Every time I saw Gavin—the rich guy with the face of a fighter, a face that didn’t belong in this mansion—I paused, struck by his life force.

  “You were supposed to stop by my room,” he said. “That was a half hour ago.”

  “I got sidetracked.” She tucked her prim little purse under her arm. “And I’m busy now.”

  He nodded slowly, and I got the feeling he wasn’t happy with her.

  “When will you not be busy, Farah?”

  She hadn’t looked at him since he’d come in. “I can’t say. Tomorrow morning. Afternoon.”

  He made a dismissive motion and started to leave her room.

  She went after him. “Don’t act like that, Gav.”

  “Like what? Like you have no interest whatsoever in helping me with Noah and Wendy?”

  “You’re mad at me?”

  “I’m just . . .” He laughed a little, then gritted his jaw. “I’m done with even asking you. Go to James or whatever his name is.”

  She lifted her chin, and as Gavin walked away, it trembled.

  “Don’t you care that you’ve never met him?” she asked.

  “What you do outside this house is your business, Farah. Have fun with him.”

  The air just hung there, heavier than I was.

  “You bet I’ll have fun,” she finally said. “A lot of it.”

  When he didn’t even offer a backward glance, she hurried toward the staircase, like she was desperate to leave the House of Usher.

  As for me, I forgot all about Farah and went after Gavin, my main target. I tracked him to his room and whooshed by his boots just before he closed his door.

  He went to sit at that big marble desk by the ocean-view window, where a laptop computer waited. His blue eyes were even paler in the glow of the screen, his features rough as he gazed at wherever he was seeing.

  I flowed behind him, already knowing what would be capturing his attention.

  Me.

  And I’d bet the shirt on my back that he’d only been wanting to show Farah Wendy’s camera work, then discuss either the fact that (A) their house was haunted or (B) Wendy had some issues.

  He was inspecting the computerized photos with such intensity that I suspected he was taking proof of a ghost seriously. And why wouldn’t he after I’d already been at him with the knocks on the wall and my shady voice?

  He clicked on to another picture and a zap of worry flicked through me, causing the computer screen to blink. I’m not sure it was even something the human eye could catch, because Gavin didn’t seem to notice. But there I was in one of the pictures Wendy had taken, a cloudy shape hovering near her ceiling. A faint outline of a faceless woman who looked as if she was suspended in a pool, floating facedown, her hair spread out.

  Almost . . . angelic. Me.

  I couldn’t help myself—I curved around, to the front of the computer as it fritzed, wanting to see what his expression looked like now.

  Was it right to say that he was . . . taken with the image in the photo? Enthralled?

  It was like a bunch of shimmers rained through me, but I told myself not to get excited. I wouldn’t be asking him to be my sweetheart anytime soon just because I’d seen him looking at me with the kind of glance that said he was a little fascinated.

  A little . . . No, not smitten. Fascinated was a much better description.

  Those shimmers stayed with me as I moved in back of him again, while he checked his computer connections because of the fritzing, then switched to another picture. This one was more of the same, except it was taken when I’d clearly decided that having a camera aimed at me wasn’t a good thing and I was heading for the exit.

  The last one showed my essence halfway under the door. Subtle. Yup, that’s what I was.

  “If you’re going to haunt, commit to it.”

  I didn’t like Twyla much, but she was right.

  I flattened my essence like a hand, then leaned down, hovering only a micrometer away from Gavin’s skin, letting him know I was here.

  The fine hairs at his hairline prickled.

  He stood, and I eased away from him, stretching myself so that I was as tall as he was, mocking his shape. I was in his face, staring right into those eyes.

  I dare you to say something, I thought.

  “It’s you, isn’t it?” he asked between his teeth.

  Yeah, he was a brave one, wasn’t he? I could feel only a trace of adrenaline from him, but not exactly fear. Mostly, I could vibe that he was on an edge, like he was clinging to it before losing his grip.

  Was he remembering the dream he’d had yesterday at the office? Or did he at least know, subconsciously, what had happened in it, and he was carrying around a deep, dark feeling of dread because of my visitation?

  Inspiration filled me as I saw the cell phone he’d set on the far side of his desk. I smiled, even though he couldn’t see my face. Then I extended myself toward the phone, sending my energy to it, making it ring.

  Easy peasy.

  Instead of a regular ring, the song from Peter Gunn played. Dun-dun-dah-dun-dah-dun-dah-dun . . .

  Just as I thought Gavin might reach out to feel the air in front of him, confronting his invisible tormentor, he backed off, getting the phone without even checking the ID screen.

  Concentrating, I thought of Elizabeth’s laugh—what it had sounded like, clear and musical.

  It echoed over the static on the phone.

  He pulled the device away from his ear, terror etching itself into his expression. Now there was some fear in him, and I ate it up. Wanting more, I made the phantom voice speak.

  “Gavin . . . ?�
� Elizabeth sounded warped, utterly inhuman, like she was talking from under the dirt of a grave. “Why, Gavin?”

  He turned off the call.

  Yeah. Good try, babe.

  I made the phone ring again. Dun-dun-dah-dun-dah-dun-dah-dun . . .

  He merely stared at it as the music wore on. But I just knew he wouldn’t let it go.

  He turned it on, and before I could start in, he said, “Who the fuck is this?”

  His tone was jagged, and I liked that, too. I shivered with his rising anger and fear.

  “Tell them the truth,” I had Elizabeth say in her cemetery voice. “Please.”

  “Whoever this is, the joke stops now. Fuck off.”

  I made Elizabeth weep, long, drawn-out sobs that caused Gavin to close his eyes and cover his face before he clicked off the call again.

  This time he shut off the phone altogether.

  Undeterred, I made it ring once more.

  He stared at it like it was an intruder, shadowing his every move. Then he walked away from the desk, toward the sliding glass door, running his hand through his short hair.

  Dun-dun-dah-dun-dah-dun-dah-dun . . .

  He darted over to the phone, picked it up, went to the sliding glass window, opened it, then hurled the phone to the balcony floor.

  Pieces flew off the balcony, but that wasn’t good enough for him. He crushed the rest of the phone under his bootheel, backing off when he thought that was sufficient.

  But was it? Hmm. I don’t think so. I put all my strength into trying to make it ring again. It wasn’t hard, either, thanks to his fear.

  The remnants of the phone rang, weakly, like a woman crying out during her last, blood-soaked moments.

  He picked up what was left of the phone and, in a fit of fury, chucked it so far that it arced over the edge of the property and into oblivion.

  Well. Someone had a temper. And I’d seen signs of guilt and torn emotion that were undeniable. All of those were just pieces of his puzzle, though, and I still had to fit them together.

  As he leaned on the balcony railing, his head down, I checked myself. He’d shut off his fear, just like that, and a bit of energy leaked out of me. Was it because I’d exerted myself so much and, without his fear, I got sapped?

  My ghost friends had been right when they said that communicating was a bruiser. The first time I’d whispered in Elizabeth’s voice to Gavin a few nights ago, I hadn’t been very loud, and a phone hadn’t been involved. But tonight had been Advanced Ghost Trick Time, and my essence had paid a small price.

  Yet no matter how much gas I’d burned, this was the perfect time to get into Gavin’s head. He wasn’t sleeping, so I couldn’t go dream-digging, but I’d already worked him up enough so that I didn’t need a hallucination, either.

  So I went for empathy.

  He was still on the balcony, grasping the stone railing. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled to his elbows, so I could see the veins standing away from his skin.

  I touched his cheek softly, taking care that I didn’t go into hallucination territory, and after tumbling into his thoughts, I got my bearings, joining the stream of his consciousness.

  Elizabeth laughing, just as she had been on the phone tonight, but now her blue eyes were sparkling as she looked at the diamond ring on her finger. “It’s beautiful, Gav. Just as pretty as the rest of our lives will be . . .”

  A crash of emotion, the sight of Elizabeth on another day, giving that ring back. Then her piercing words, running into each other: “Fell out of love . . . Someone else . . . A woman . . .”

  Another stab of emotion, a cut to darkness, the sound of Elizabeth crying . . .

  The sudden sight of Elizabeth desperately hitting him, the bruises she left on his arms, his chest, his face. Elizabeth, accidentally scratching her face as she flailed.

  Rage building up, up, more and more—

  Then there was nothing, because Gavin had pulled away from me, alert now, going back inside his room with his hands fisted by his sides.

  I barely made it inside before he forcefully shut the glass door.

  He glanced at his computer, where the final picture Wendy had taken was still on-screen amid static. But in that photo, I’d already gone under the door.

  “Elizabeth?” he asked, turning away from the table. “Is it you?”

  The fear was back. I had him halfway to where I needed him. Maybe a confession would even be around the corner. I thought of materializing to him, seeing if I could pull off looking like Elizabeth, but then he started talking.

  “God, what I am saying? There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

  Parrying, I conjured her perfume, just as I’d done that first night, and that jolted him, all right.

  “Why’re you here?” he asked, his voice a wreck.

  “My death . . .”

  I’d spoken like her, but it was harder to do now, after expelling energy on the phone call and then the empathy. He wasn’t so scared that he could fill me all the way up with his fear again.

  He was shaking his head, fixing his gaze back on the computer. He even sat heavily in his chair, and when he accessed the keyboard to flip back to the picture where I was hovering near the ceiling—the best view of me—he kept shaking his head.

  “It doesn’t look like you. Your hair wasn’t long like this.”

  He turned around in his chair, like he was seeking me out in the room. But I’d shifted to the right of his desk and he wasn’t even looking in my direction.

  Yet I could still see how this man had ice in his veins, how he forced himself to calm so very quickly.

  He scanned the vicinity, gaze narrowed. “You didn’t expect to be on film. You had no idea that Wendy was one of those kids who’s addicted to the strange. She watches things like ghost programs on cable channels, and that’s where she got the idea to grab a camera and capture your image. I didn’t believe her at first, but now . . . ?”

  I didn’t let his taunting stop me.

  “Murderer . . . ,” I whispered.

  In my quickly climbing weakness, my voice didn’t quite sound like Elizabeth’s anymore, and he noticed that, finding me with his glare, locking me into his sights, just as he’d done in the study during his dream.

  “I don’t know who you are,” he said, “but you’re wrong. I didn’t kill her.”

  I stayed silent, and that seemed to be a very effective haunting technique, too.

  “Elizabeth . . .” His voice got tight. Then he took a moment, his jaw clenching, before he tried again. I could feel the turmoil in him, but I couldn’t identify what it was about exactly.

  “Elizabeth tore me apart,” he said, “but when she broke off our engagement, that was nothing compared to what I felt when she was murdered. I’ve wanted to go after whoever it was for years. I hired private investigators, and they’ve come up as empty as the police. I’m not—”

  He stopped. But had he been about to say that he wasn’t a killer?

  He leaned back in his chair, and by the light of the computer, I could see how weary he was. It looked like he hadn’t been sleeping very well.

  Haunted, I thought. But that was the goal.

  The thing was, my vibes were telling me that he was unloading the truth right now. Sure, he was a rage-filled guy—in private, it was like he was set to explode at any second—but had he murdered his ex-fiancée?

  There was something about him that I couldn’t put my finger on.

  I went back to him for more empathy, but when I touched his cheek and swooped inside this time, there was only blackness.

  An utter and complete blank.

  The son of a bitch had shut me down, and he seemed to know it as I pulled out and he fixed a lethal stare in front of him, right at invisible me again. He might not know just how I worked, but he knew enough to turn off his fear and also block me.

  As I stood there, toe-to-figurative-toe with him, that heat from his body, his life force, trickled into me. I hated that he could make
me warm. Why was it that the only entities that could do that were two guys who should leave me cold?

  Gavin looked extrapugilistic as he got out of his chair, walked over to an end table, grabbed a remote, then clicked on the TV. A program with a bunch of talky doctors came on, but he didn’t seem to care. He just sat at his desk in front of the computer again, and it was like he made a big show out of not giving a shit that there was something with him in the room.

  Ignored.

  Randy had said ghosts hate that, and for the first time, I understood a hundred percent. Being ignored like this sucked the big weenie from hell, but as Gavin kept doing it, I didn’t give up like some ghosts might. I stuck around, waiting for him to go to sleep, so I could reach into his dreams and see what was playing inside his head that night.

  It was a battle of wills as he stayed up. He even went into his bathroom to pop a few antisleeping pills, which was cheating, if you ask me.

  Thanks to those, he stayed up all damned night.

  I think the contest would’ve lasted a lot longer, too—past dawn, past the breakfast that he had brought up to his room—if Constanza hadn’t knocked at his door a second time, announcing that the family had a visitor. A woman named Alicia who said that she was hand-delivering a parcel of vintage clothing for Farah, and she insisted on giving it to someone in the family before she left.

  Knowing deep inside that something was off, I went downstairs before Gavin did.

  And when I saw Amanda Lee sitting in the parlor, my ghost mouth almost hit the floor.

  15

  “Hello,” she said softly to me, just like we’d agreed to meet here and everything was copasetic.

  I was still gaping as Amanda Lee folded her hands in her lap. She was wearing a smart linen business suit and tasteful bronze jewelry that looked antique-y. But her totally not Amanda Lee clothing wasn’t what really caught my attention. She’d done something to her face with makeup, and her flat cheekbones seemed even higher, her nose longer, her eyes bigger. And she was wearing fashionable thick-rimmed glasses. She’d even dyed her hair a dark brown and pinned it into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. She was a businesswoman who faded into the woodwork.