Lost No More (Ghost No More Series Book 2)

by CeeCee James

  “I hope they catch him!” David’s eyes shone bright with anger. I nodded. My youngest brother grabbed another sandwich and sat eating it by the window.

  Chloe stood by Mom. “It’s just a shame this happened.” She patted my mom’s arm. Mom’s eyes were squeezed tight, wet, and her lips twisted into a trembling frown. She sniffed, then looked for my little brother.

  “Willie! Come here, honey,” she called to him. Willie ignored her.

  “Willie!”

  “Leave me alone,” he said, “I want to sit here.” The curtain draped across his shoulders like a cape as he looked out the window.

  Mom watched him for a minute, biting her lip.

  “If he only knew what he was doing to his boys,” she spoke softly to Chloe. We all heard her.

  He had to know what he was doing, I thought.

  The phone rang again. We stared at it like it was on fire. This time Mom went to answer it.

  “Hello,” she paused. “Yes, this is Pearl.” She twirled to face us. “What? You can’t be serious. He escaped?”

  There was droning on the other end for a minute, while Mom sank to the couch with her mouth hanging open.

  “Okay, thank you for letting us know.” She got up and walked back to the wall receiver and hung up the phone. Turning toward us, she said, “They said he got away from them. Somehow, they lost him in a field of corn.” Her eyes creased with worry. “He has a rifle in the back seat. They told us to be careful; he might be on his way here.”

  I jumped up. My arms and legs tingled, and I spun in a circle, not sure of what to do or where to go.

  That electrified Mom. “Quick! Turn out the lights!” she yelled. We raced around the house flipping the light switches off. I heard “Ow!” in the dark hallway as my two brothers careened into each other.

  When the lights were all out we gathered back together in the living room. Chloe flipped off the TV. The thick darkness wrapped us as though it had real weight. We stumbled through it to our spots on the couch.

  My brothers sat together and whispered back and forth. My heart was about to beat out of my chest. I wondered if they could hear it.

  The open window brought no relief. It was pitch black even outside. Up the block the orange street lamp flickered, and then snapped out. Even the moon had given up its fight against the overcast sky.

  Silently, I prayed. Don’t look for us, Dad. Get away from here!

  I heard the roar of his truck burning up the road before anyone else did. The sound hit me like a knife. His headlights splashed against the back wall of the living room, making a macabre shadow puppet show as we ducked down out of sight of the windows. The truck’s tires spit up Chloe’s gravel driveway when he skidded to a stop.

  The heavy door slammed. I held my breath, I think we all did.

  His footsteps crunched through the gravel and thumped up to the front door.

  Then nothing.

  My pulse beat double time in my throat.

  In the distance a dog barked.

  BAMBAMBAMBAMBAM! The door shook as he beat against it in fury. We all jumped. Mom squealed, and then muffled her mouth with her hand.

  “Pearl! I know you’re in there!”

  My breath rushed in and out like I’d just raced up a mountain. Willie scuttled over to be close to me. I patted him on the head.

  “Shhh,” I whispered into the top of his head. “It’s gonna be okay.”

  BAMBAMBAMBAM! Dad pounded on the door again. Around the neighborhood porch lights flicked on. Now we could see him out there.

  A rifle was in his hands.

  “Dammit! I know you’re in there! Come out! You think I’m a piece of crap! Get out here now!” We could hear his breathing on the other side of the door. Deep breaths, then a cough.

  “Hell no.” he muttered. “You ain’t going to ignore me tonight.” We heard more crunching as he walked away.

  Mom straightened a little to take a quick peek outside. Her head bobbed as she looked one way, and then the other. “Where’d he go?” she hissed.

  The adrenaline was making me shake. I squeezed my hands into fists to keep them still.

  Then we heard the brittle smash of glass breaking. Mom peeked again.

  “Oh my word! Your father’s kicking out the headlights of my car!” In the glow from the porch light I could see Mom shiver. I scurried around the furniture to the window and sat up on my heels to watch him from below the window sill. There was a metallic crash when he threw back the hood of her blue Datsun. He leaned over and messed with something deep in the engine. He gave a mighty jerk. When he stood up a bunch of ripped out wires dangled from his hand like old dandelion stems. He flung them to the ground.

  Mom crept to the phone. She pulled it down to the floor and dialed the police.

  “He’s here,” she said in a furious tone. “He’s outside right now! Where are you?” There was a pause.

  “Yes, I’ll stay on.” she put her hand over the mouth piece. “They said they’ve already sent police here, and they’re just up the road.”

  It wasn’t but a half a minute later that we heard the police car’s sirens blaring. Dad ran for his truck, scrambling in his coat pocket for his keys. Three police cars turned down the road. Dad revved his truck up, reversed hard, and sped away. Two police cars followed him. The chase was on again.

  The last police car pulled into the driveway. The siren flipped off, but the lights still flashed their strobe pattern. Mom walked outside to greet them, the colors splashing across her face and body.

  I followed right behind. Along the street doors popped open one by one, with nosy neighbors coming out to gawk at us. I cringed and went back into the house, ramming into David on the way.

  “What’s with you?” he asked

  “Everyone’s staring at us!”

  David didn’t say anything, just watched me for a moment before going out to Mom. I sat alone in the dark living room with my head in my hands. I wanted to run away from my whole crazy family.

  The squeal of tires forced me to look up again. I hurried outside just in time to see Dad backing down the road towards the police in the driveway. He parked the truck and sat there with his hands held out the window.

  The police man rocketed away from Mom and pulled his gun from the holster. He cautiously walked closer. “Get out of the truck!” the cop yelled. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  Just then the other two cop cars came flying down the road. They screeched to a stop behind Dad’s truck.

  Dad cracked open the truck door. He looked straight to the porch, straight at me, and his eyes bore into mine. I saw shame and regret. My heart ached and I had to look away, feeling like I had betrayed him. Family is supposed to protect family, not let them get hauled away by the police, even when they deserve it.

  “Get on the ground! Get on the ground!” the cops yelled. Dad dropped down to his knees when the cops rushed him.

  They grabbed Dad by the arms and threw him up against the side of the truck. His body made a loud smack when it hit the vehicle, and he cried out when they sharply twisted his arms behind his back to cuff him. Then, they dragged him to the cop car.

  Dad wouldn’t look at me again as they drove away.

  I watched the fading tail lights of the cop car take my dad, and the dark silhouettes of the neighbors talking to one another. One of them had a phone to his head as he stood on his porch.

  In that instant something inside of me snapped. I wasn’t going to let him do this to me anymore. I wasn’t going to feel guilty about not taking his side. I was done taking sides, unless it was mine.

  Chapter 12

  It was the next Monday at noon that Dad was released from jail. Mom’s co-worker, Betty, lived across from the jail house, and had called to give her the heads up.

  We lived in a good ol’ town and a gun charge never came up against him. Instead, Dad was cited with yet another indictment of driving under the influence. He’d already been hauled to jail so m
any times through the years for DUI’s that he was on first name basis with the jailers.

  He went back to our home on the hill. But this time we weren’t there.

  Years later, when I look back at my childhood I believe this was the point when my dad gave up. I think part of him died when we weren’t there. He’d known he’d gone too far, and lost any hope to be able to fix it. He just didn’t want to try any more.

  During that time we continued to live at Chloe’s. It was a little crazy in her house. I claimed the long couch, which meant my brother had to sleep curled up on the love seat. Willie had a sleeping bag on the floor. Every morning it was a fight for the bathroom since Chloe didn’t feel quite as free as Mom did about us boys going outside.

  Later that month, I went back with Mom to the house on the hill. We’d had word from the neighbor that the coast was clear, and with Dad gone, Mom wanted to pack up some of our stuff.

  My muscles felt tight as we rattled up the driveway. We pulled up to the top, and I could see for myself that Dad’s truck wasn’t there and gave a deep exhale. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath. But, I still wanted to hurry and get the heck out of there in case he came home.

  Mom fiddled with her keys to unlock the door, but it opened the moment she touched it. As we walked in the house a gust of wind banged the door behind us.

  The hair on my neck stood up. The house didn’t smell right, didn’t feel right.

  It only took about two more steps to see the carnage. Glass lay sprayed across the concrete floor, crunching under my sneakers as I eased over to the kitchen. Next to the kitchen table rested a rusty wheelbarrow, flipped upside down. The kitchen window was just a frame with sharp jags of broken glass after the wheelbarrow had been chucked through.

  The refrigerator door was wide open. Its light was on and it smelled like hot rubber from running non-stop. Plastic shelves inside were knocked askew, and the bottom half of the fridge was filled with sand. There was so much that it had spilled out into a pile on the floor. The vibrations of my steps made even more trickle out.

  “Oh my word, Jim. Look at this.”

  Trying to be watchful of the glass, I spun to look. Mom pointed to the wall opposite the kitchen. It was covered in slabs of something pinkish brown. I edged across the floor carefully to investigate. Dad had thrown hotdogs so hard that they’d exploded and stuck to the plaster.

  I could imagine the look on Dad’s face when he threw them. Red fury.

  I was stunned, surrounded by the evidence that Dad had given up on his family. Dad had been so proud of the house he’d built, even if it originally had been a garage. Every action screamed, “Screw you!”

  The smell of smoke drifted through the broken window. I opened the back door to look. Smudgy embers still burned in the skeleton ashes of an old bonfire in the back yard.

  My stomach churned with bile. I didn’t want to know what Dad had burned.

  Mom pushed passed me with her lips pursed tight. She snatched a stick up from the wood pile and marched over to the fire. Sifting through the ashes she flipped out a charred red corner of a book with the tip of the stick.

  Our family photo album.

  “Oh my gosh! How could he do that? How could he?” She stirred the ashes with frantic motions scattering the embers, but there was nothing more in there. I had to look away before her tears came.

  Our photos, gone. I’d never felt such a loss, so broken, and yes, steaming anger.

  I grabbed on to the anger as soon as I sensed it. It was a relief. Anger made me strong. This is what the love of a father looked like? Embarrassment, humiliation, fear, destroying everything I cared about? Well, screw him too.

  Anger made me not a victim.

  I walked out to the fire and put my arm around Mom’s shoulder.

  “Come on, Mom. Let’s go get our stuff and get out of here.” She rolled in to me and started to cry. I patted her back. “It’s okay, Mom. We’ve got this. We’re going to be okay.” After a minute, she snuffled into a corner of her sweater and then gave me a wet face smile. My shirt was damp from where she’d rested her head.

  We packed up two suitcases and headed back to Chloe’s. We didn’t tell my brothers what had happened at the house. I didn’t talk about Dad at all, never wanted to again. I wasn’t going to think about Dad after all he did to us.

  I didn’t need a father. I was almost fifteen, I guess I was old enough to take care of myself. How much worse could I possibly do?

  Chapter 13

  “Hey Ma! Where’s my socks?” I dug through my duffel bag looking for my clothes.

  “I don’t know. Check the laundry basket!” Mom called from Chloe’s kitchen. She was packing lunches for us. We’d been at Chloe’s for a few months now. After everything going on with her work, and our living arrangements, my butt was back in public school as a sophomore.

  I walked down the hall to the laundry room, bumping into David on the way. Already, a change was happening, and we weren’t seeing much of each other anymore. It’s like my parents split had cracked the bond between all of us.

  David had a toothbrush in his mouth as he waited for his turn in the bathroom.

  “Hey!” I yelled. “That’s my Stryper t-shirt!”

  “I found it in my pile.” David shrugged at me. “Mine now.”

  “Aww this is bull crap. You have my socks on too?”

  “If they’re in my pile, they’re mine.” He pushed past me and banged on the bathroom door. “Hurry up, Willie! You can’t take all day!”

  I flipped on the laundry room light. The wicker basket sitting on the washing machine had already been dug through. What was left was Mom’s shirts, a couple dish towels, and a twisted pair of blue jeans. No socks.

  “Hurry up boys! The bus is coming!”

  I slammed the top of the washing machine with my palm. Great, day old socks, I felt like a scum bag. I could already tell it was going to be a horrible day.

  *****

  I hated school. I tapped my pencil against the side of my notebook and watched the clock, just waiting for class to end so I could get a cigarette. Earlier that morning one of the teachers had patted my arm and asked me about Dad. Made me sick. What was I supposed to say? Yeah he’s a drunk. Mom and Dad are getting a divorce and I heard he has a girlfriend now. Even though it was old news, people still talked about his drunken night on the town. Screw them. I didn’t care anymore.

  I was just here at school to do the time so I could graduate. Still two years left to go, though. Felt like an eternity.

  A balled up piece of paper hit me on the back of my neck. I glanced back and Thomas waved at me with a goofy grin on his face. We’d met my first day in mechanics class, and had been good friends ever since. We also worked together in the kitchen of the local truck stop. I examined him now. His curly hair looked like a mess of dandelion fluff on top of his head. I had to laugh.

  “What?” I asked him.

  “We have a new kid to initiate tonight,” Thomas said. I arched my eyebrow.

  He jerked his thumb in the direction of a scrawny kid sitting two rows away. I nodded in the kid’s direction.

  “Him?”

  “He just got a job as a dishwasher.”

  Ahhh, I smiled, then straightened back in the seat. Anticipating tonight’s fun was a good distraction.

  When the final bell rang I threw my books in my locker and hurried outside. I didn’t care about homework. I’d worry about that tomorrow. Thomas was already waiting for me in his black GTO. We’d spent hours after school and on the weekend restoring that car. It purred like a kitten. He took off as soon as I jumped into the passenger seat, roasting the tires and leaving two black stripes in the parking lot.

  I rolled the window down and stuck my head out into the wind. The spring sun was hot on my face. “WOOOOHOOOOOO!”

  We squirreled around a bit on some back roads, then drove to an empty church parking lot and spun donuts. Afterwards, we headed to work.

  Tr
uck Depot was a dive that all the truckers loved. The restaurant did have a mean breakfast buffet, as long as you avoided the biscuits and gravy. I had no idea what the gravy was. It looked like astronaut food and came in powder form in a can, before we hit it with boiling water to make it gel up. Anyway, the dinner crowd was already in, all rowdy and wanting their hamburgers and fried chicken with a side of steak fries.

  We went through the restaurant to the back where the kitchen was. The sinks were overflowing with pyramids of crusty plates, pots, and cups sitting in grey water. The new kid stood next to the counter, being trained. He looked nervous, dressed in a clean white apron, his bony arms dangling by his side. Thomas elbowed me and we both snickered. We knew the apron wouldn’t be clean for long.

  When Alice, the head cook, saw us she waved us over. She said to the kid, “I’m turning you over to these guys.” Then, jabbing her thumb in the direction of the kid, “This is Eric.” Pointing at us, “This is Thomas and Jim. Don’t let them push you around.” With that she gave us a wink and walked to the double burners on the other side of the kitchen where hamburger fat was spitting.

  Eric nodded at us. “Hey.”

  We nodded back. I wandered over to the sink, waving for him to follow along. Together, Eric and I sprayed down and washed the racks of dishes, while Thomas scraped the plates. I watched Thomas out of the corner of my eye. He was surreptitiously removing the little unused pats of butter from the plates and set them out of sight. We worked for a few hours and pretty much busted our butts keeping up with the dishes. It was hot in the kitchen, with only one grime covered fan spinning lazily in the corner, and soon sweat was trickling down our backs and making our hair wet.

  Finally, Alice told us we could take a break.

  Eric, Thomas, and I got cherry sodas at the fountain and went outside behind the restaurant. Leaning against the brick wall, I lit a cigarette.

  “So,” Eric bit his fingernail off and spat it, “you guys finish your economics homework?”