The Misplaced: An Angel Falls Novella - book #3.5 - Ghost Hunting with Chris Abeyta

by Jody A. Kessler

  She moaned and came to. A good thing, he thought, although gently nudging her would have been a nicer way to wake her. Her eyelids flickered and then spread wide with fright when she saw Talks to the Wind sitting beside her.

  “No more screaming,” he said as her mouth dropped open with a little pop.

  “I don’t bite,” Talks to the Wind assured.

  Her mouth shut, then opened again. Repeatedly.

  “Let me give her a new name. Fish Face suits her,” Talks to the Wind said. “Look at those lips sucking air.”

  Chris saw the resemblance. This was not the clarity he asked for from Great Spirit. He’d been referring to a clear understanding of why he was led to the construction site, why the land was so off balance, and how to bring harmony back to his mountain town. The way Naomi’s eyes bulged with fright, she resembled one of those goldfish with protruding eyes.

  Chris gave Talks to the Wind a shrug. “Fish Face.” He tried the name out for himself. He didn’t agree or disagree aloud. Although, it did fit. “You should leave now. You’re scaring my guest. If you get rid of my tail, I’ll let you name her whatever you like.”

  Talks to the Wind glanced over his shoulder. The workers continued to hound them.

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Chris didn’t count on him being of much help regarding the thugs. But his spirit guide leaving would help improve Naomi’s color and overall health.

  In the rearview mirror, he watched the truck come to an abrupt stop. The driver’s side door flew open, and the driver jumped out and appeared to be smacking himself. Chris thought he saw smoke and caught a glimpse of Talks to the Wind in the cab with the other man. He lost sight of the trio as he turned right on another back street.

  “You lost them.” Naomi finally found her voice.

  “Maybe,” he said.

  “Can we go to Jack’s Corner Pocket now?”

  “That’s where I’m headed.”

  * * *

  The truck lurched as Chris turned into the parking lot of the billiard hall. The high speed wouldn’t have been as much a problem if not for the car and mini camper blocking half the driveway.

  Naomi sat with her neck craned around on the lookout for their pursuers. She bobbed up and down hanging onto the emergency handle as the pickup bounced across the lot.

  “Whoa there, cowboy!” she whooped as Chris swerved around the camper trailer and hit a pothole roughly the size of the Grand Canyon. “Professional ghost hunters should know how to drive, don’t cha’ think?”

  He slid her the side eye. “My driving is fine. I can't say the same about the parking abilities of Ms. Green Subaru back there.”

  Naomi scratched her head. “Hey, I drive a green Subaru,” she said sounding offended. “I’m sure bouncing around has nothing to do with the color green.”

  She glanced back. Chris had already wheeled around the building and steered into a parking space out of sight of the road and the green Subaru wagon and trailer. Parking in the back was all he could do for now. He would just hope he’d lost the men in the pickup truck for good. He wondered if, or when, Talks to the Wind would return with an update. Chris never knew when his guide would make an appearance. He often called to his other spirit guides when he wanted help. Talks to the Wind was unpredictable and sporadic at best.

  “I’m assuming you can get us inside,” he said as they hurried to the back door of Jack’s.

  “I guess I can,” she said with a shrug.

  “I don’t have a key,” he said flatly. “And I do not think anyone would be inside at this time of morning.”

  “Right, but I do have a key.”

  “How come I did not see you last night?” he asked.

  “I was hiding from you. I’m not a fan of ghosts and the like.”

  “I noticed. You realize the irony don’t you?”

  “Hush,” she scolded and narrowed an eye at him. “I can’t help myself.”

  “I would bet against that statement.”

  “Do you want to go inside or not?” she said, still huffy about him pointing out her personality flaw of being overly sensitive towards members of the non-living. Naomi turned the knob and pushed the door open but didn’t enter.

  Chris reached forward and held the door. “After you.”

  “No thanks. You go ahead of me, champ.”

  “Scared of ghosts,” he mumbled and gave a not quite concealed disapproving shake of his head. He walked in and flipped the light switch.

  “The lights aren’t working?” Naomi’s panic made her voice go up an octave.

  “Electrical disturbances are common in circumstances like these.”

  “I don’t bloody care. I’m out of here.” Naomi made to retreat even though she’d only stepped one foot inside the door.

  Chris debated with himself. Was it better to let her remain outside and out of his way, or did he need her to stay close by? “You came to me for help. If you want it, you need to stay with me.”

  The internal battle registered on her stricken face. Chris reached into his vest and pulled out his keychain flashlight.

  “Please tell me that’s a ghost zapping laser?” she asked hopefully.

  Why did he suddenly think he was the butt of some cosmic joke orchestrated by Great Spirit? He blinked at Naomi, clicked on the flashlight, and proceeded down the dim hallway. Daylight streamed in from behind them until the door swung closed. Naomi practically landed on top of him after the loud bang. He cleared his throat and glanced over his shoulder. She clung to his vest and became the monkey on his back — literally. As much as he wanted to, he did not insist she give him some space. The woman would probably pass out again, and he didn’t need the holdup. Chris directed the beam of light down the dark hallway until it reached the filtered light coming through an open doorway on the right.

  “The kitchen,” she breathed in his ear.

  “Whispering is unnecessary, Naomi. We’re alone. If we aren’t, we don’t want to surprise anyone — living or nonliving,” Chris said in his normal voice.

  What he refrained from saying was that the vibrational shift inside Jack’s was significantly different since he had been there last night. Chris ventured forward seeking out the cause of the change. He felt the energetic vacuum all the way to the marrow of his bones. He reviewed the events of the previous night and realized how focused he had been on removing the impish spirit. What he neglected was the foundation and the grounds around the pool hall. He turned into the kitchen and had a moment of clarity. The offending spirit had purposefully distracted him from a more complex case.

  “I missed something last night,” he murmured to himself.

  Running on little sleep and having a woman clinging to his back, Chris realized his focus was not as sharp as it should be. He tried to pull himself together and only half succeeded. The entire aura of Jack’s had shifted in only a few hours. This disturbed him even more than the thought that the ghost tricked him. Jack’s Corner Pocket did not have the feeling of a bottomless chasm last night. He would have noticed. Not only did it feel like the ground was sucking him down, but a slight sense of vertigo hovered in the periphery. His personal energy level was too high to be consumed by the negativity of the building. A layperson or average Joe — someone who knew nothing of energetic protection — would become ill if they spent more than a few minutes here. Chris couldn’t ignore the situation to go catch up on sleep and come back later when he was refreshed.

  Jack needed an update. Chris pulled out his phone and tapped the power button. The phone didn’t wake up. He tried a second time and the screen remained black. Electronic devices couldn’t handle the frequencies overwhelming the building. As strong as it was, he would be surprised if his phone ever worked again.

  “That’s not good,” Naomi pointed out over his shoulder.

  “Everything will be fine.” Chris deposited the phone back in his pocket.

  “Did you say you forgot to do something last night?” she asked
.

  He shone the light around the darkened kitchen. One high narrow window along the sidewall provided daylight. The stainless steel countertops and appliances blended in with the gray light turning the room into a nondescript and dreary box.

  “Yes. I’m not sure what it is. I spent most of my time in the billiard room, smoking room, and the attic. I saw the kitchen briefly. Is there an office?”

  He made his way around the kitchen shining the flashlight over every surface, including the baseboards, ceiling, and walls.

  “There’s an office by the front counter, and there are two storage rooms. One for kitchen and restaurant supplies and one for billiard and janitor supplies.” She continued to whisper.

  “Show me where they are.”

  Naomi shook her head, refusing.

  “The sooner we find the source of the problem, the sooner we solve your mystery.”

  After what felt like hours had passed, she averted her gaze to a short hallway in the corner of the kitchen. A restroom sign hung next to one door, but he made out another closed door.

  Where other people would be repelled, Chris was drawn to the back of the kitchen like iron filings to a magnet. His intuition flared. He found what he sought.

  “I’ll wait over here,” Naomi said.

  Chris swung the door open and leaned in, but didn’t enter the storeroom. Something akin to trepidation rose to the forefront of his awareness. A rare occurrence for the normally unflappable shaman. A frisson swept over his skin raising the fine hairs on the back of his neck and arms. “I thought this might be the case.” He stared at the unstable energetic mass. “Jack’s pool hall is located in direct opposition to the vortex on Hermosa Ave.”

  The energy vortex definitely had not been inside the storeroom last night. It had to have formed after he left. As he stood there, the vortex expanded. Its spiraling center lay well beneath the floor buried within the Earth. In his mind, Chris visualized the underground rivers and passageways of the water table. Jack’s Corner Pocket had to be located on top of, or very close to, potent geothermal activity. Chris would bet money that the coordinates of this vortex aligned with the vortex on Hermosa Ave. Naomi edged closer, straining to see around Chris.

  “Do you think this has anything to do with your confusion?” he asked.

  Energetic fields aren't always visible. Some adepts feel them. Some only sense them with their third eye, and some people, like him, see them just as clearly as the shelves lined up against the walls.

  “I think we’re in deep doo-doo,” Naomi said, retreating from the storage room.

  “That did not go as well as I planned,” Talks to the Wind said behind her.

  Naomi whirled around. Chris reacted before she had a chance to scream or pass out.

  He clapped a hand over her mouth. “Don’t scream. He is with me. Just like you are.” He strategically placed himself between Talks to the Wind and Naomi.

  “Fish Face is still on the nervous side. Haven’t you figured out her deal yet?”

  Staying focused on Naomi required most of his attention. If she passed out again, he would be stuck in the kitchen until she regained consciousness. They didn’t have time for that. He removed his hand from her mouth. “Take deep breaths and keep looking at me. Talks to the Wind is my spirit guide, and he’s here to help… if you can call it helping. That point is debatable.” He said this last bit more to himself than her. “Can you hear me, Naomi?” He gave her a little shake.

  She nodded almost imperceptively but continued to stare into his eyes. Chris boosted her energy level by sending some of his life force energy into her through eye contact. He breathed deep and adjusted his energetic vibration to be calm and centered. The method worked, and her panic subsided.

  “What is going on?” Chris asked his guide.

  Talks to the Wind leaned out the kitchen door and peered down the hallway. “I came ahead of them to give you some time, but your woman is high maintenance. Now there is no time.”

  “I know there is not enough time,” he said, frustrated. “What are you talking about, Talks to the Wind? In case you do not feel it, there’s a cataclysmic energetic void that must be dealt with.”

  “They’re here. The two uglies and a boat load — well, it is actually a truckload — of displaced spirits. I gotta get out of this weird place. It’s sucking me in,” Talks to the Wind said and disappeared.

  Chris grabbed Naomi’s hand and pulled her out of the kitchen. “Time to go.”

  She gasped with surprise when he yanked her across the room. They dashed into the hall just in time to see the back door of Jack’s swing open and hear Todd and Marlin arguing.

  “What the hell is happening?”

  “They’re freaking dead! All of them! Just do what they say!”

  “I don’t believe in ghosts!”

  “Ow! One just hit me.”

  “This is crazy. It’s not possible!” Marlin argued.

  “I don’t know, man, but they brought us here, and that’s our guy’s truck in the parking lot. I’m going to find him and wring the bastard’s neck. He’s doing this. I'm sure of it. And I’m not getting busted for a mistake.”

  “Your dad is going to fire your ass, and mine too.”

  “Shut up, man. Let’s just find him.”

  “Look! The ghosts are leaving us alone now.”

  Naomi darted in front Chris and started dragging him farther into the building.

  “Where are we going?” Chris whispered as they entered the nearly pitch black pool hall.

  “I’m getting you out of here.”

  “How?”

  They zigged and zagged around the pool tables, cue racks, support beams, and chairs. Chris could barely see Naomi in front of him, but he trusted that she knew her way across the large room. They veered left, and he spotted an emergency exit sign. Chris reached out to push the door open, but as soon as daylight streaked inside, he saw a throng of ghosts waiting for someone to open the door. They sneered at him with distorted faces. These were not garden-variety lost souls. They appeared demented and full of malice. He slammed the door and threw up a wall of spiritual protection by raising his hands and saying a prayer in his native tongue.

  “More friends of yours?” Naomi said as she started in another direction.

  With the flash of daylight, he got a glimpse of the billiard hall. They could skirt down the length of the room toward the smoking lounge. If he remembered correctly, the smoking club had its own exit.

  “Not this time,” Chris said as they hurried across the room.

  “He’s in here!” Todd called out.

  “Who? More ghosts?”

  “No, you idiot. Our escape artist.”

  Chris wouldn’t turn his flashlight on. The dark gave him a better chance of getting out unnoticed. Plus, he was proficient in moving without making any sound. That is until he collided with a chair.

  A grunt of pain erupted out of him as he cracked his shin, stumbled, and went down in a tangle of wooden legs. Back on his feet in the next second, he heard Todd or Marlin catching up with him. He silently cursed himself a thousand ways to Sunday as he hopped on one foot and continued to move forward.

  “Over here,” he heard in his ear.

  Without warning, Naomi grasped his arm and pulled him aside.

  Stunned by her maneuver, he didn’t make any real attempt to free himself. Her hand was on him and making him move. The reality of her action didn’t sit well with him. Not that anything that happened this morning did.

  Naomi shoved him against the wall, but there was no wall. He stumbled into a closet or cubby space. They sunk into soft coats and jackets and she arranged them as a screen. Before he had the chance to orient himself, Naomi pressed her lips to his. What? Not only did she put her hands on him, but now she was kissing him. Chris yanked his head away from her extraordinarily warm and soft, but intrusive, lips to gawk at her. Did Chris gawk? He couldn’t remember ever doing so before. Not that she could see him in the
dark, but gawking?

  “Play along, Silly-Billy, or they’re going to see you,” she murmured.

  “They are going to see us anyway.”

  “No, they won’t. Trust me on this. No one will see you around this massive set of curls. And all the coats.” He heard the smile in her whisper.

  She had a point, he thought. Her hair could shield just about anything smaller than a Mack truck. Before he came up with an alternative plan to hiding behind Naomi’s 'fro, she laid her lips against his again. The magic she threw around them was unlike anything he’d experienced before. He instinctively knew she created a shield of protection around them. He suspected she used a type of projected camouflage to distort and hide them. The air vibrated and shimmered. Chris went with it.

  He didn’t comprehend the impulsiveness. Impulse control was something he excelled at since the day he was born. It might have been the taste of her, apple with a hint of spice. The woman definitely knew how to cover up the tobacco from the cigarette she smoked in his cabin. Not that tobacco really bothered him. He grew up using a ceremonial pipe. Prayers were sent with the smoke for just about any reason his father could come up with — to end the drought, to heal the sick, to ease the passing of a soul, to help his father’s cousin Edna win at bingo. Tobacco had a unique sweetness in the medicine pipe, and now it had a unique flavor on Naomi’s playful lips.

  The cramped closet turned quite cozy as Chris closed the gap between them. He palmed her back and pressed her body against the length of him. A sound resembling a purr vibrated out of Naomi. Teeth grazed his lower lip, and she leaned hard against him. Primal urges came few and far between for Chris — at least where his sex drive was concerned. His abdomen clenched all the way down to his groin. He ran an exploratory hand along her spine, over her shoulder, and cupped her head in his hand as he deepened the kiss. Their tongues met and twined. Her hands trailed down his sides and gripped his waist. Naomi’s heartbeat picked up, beating against his chest like a drum.