Chapter Eighteen
Ghosts stood at the end of the driveway in a crowd, watching him. They stared at him in confusion as he drew near. A guy who looked like a computer nerd looked at him in growing anger.
“What did you do that for? That’s why ghosts have a bad name, buddy; that right there.”
Jace looked at the guy and grinned. “Sorry, but he murdered me. Guess you could say I was still mad about it. Sorry.”
The ghosts all looked at him in growing understanding and commiseration then. They gathered around him, all talking at the same time.
“He’s going to get us in trouble!” the nerd whined.
“Shut up, Artie,” a lady who liked like a librarian from the 60’s snapped. “You’re not the boss here.”
“Do you want us to give him the treatment, kid?” an old man named Sal with a Brooklyn accent asked and chuckled. “Reminds me of the old days. Too bad I don’t have a piano wire.”
“What’s the treatment?” Jace replied with a pleased expression. “Can you make him wish he were dead?”
“We can do better than that, kid,” Sal replied and chuckled. “Happy to help. Makes the time go by faster.”
“Make his life a living Hell,” Jace ordered and was pleased when they all nodded and agreed to torment his murderer.
“Hey, how did he kill ya, kid?” the old man inquired.
“He stabbed me sixty-seven times when I wasn’t looking,” Jace told them and they looked outraged, even the nerdy-looking man. “Then he tried to steal my girl; even stole all my money too.”
Gasps and outraged comments flew. The ghosts looked fit to be tied to hear about what happened to him.
“Do you know this guy?” another female ghost asked in an angry tone.
Jace frowned and felt his anger diminish. “Yeah, he was my best friend at the time.”
More gasps and swearing flew at his words. He could see Cameron’s fate was sealed the minute the other ghosts knew the facts. He could look forward to them driving him crazy on a daily basis now.
The mutterings grew louder; the expressions angrier. Jace was assured Cameron would never have another peaceful night with them on watch. They worked this neighborhood, all having lived here when they died over the last century or so.
They were bound here, unable to leave. He wished he could tell them why. He didn’t even know, feeling such empathy for them he wished he could tell them something. Daphne was right. He couldn’t help anyone. But he could get even.
Oblivion Page 47