by Eliza Lainn
I caught up with him just as he was headed into the main office. Miss Gibbons rose to greet us, coming over to the counter that separated the check-in area from the offices. She still wore the same knit sweaters and flowy skirts from when I’d attended.
“Miss Harbon isn’t in her office, I’m afraid,” she said, digging through the files on the counter. Finding the one she wanted, she pulled it out and handed it to us. “But she did want me to tell you, if you came in, that the police sent over a report.”
Noah took it from her and flipped it open. How he held it prevented me from reading over his shoulder, so I waited for a ghost to clue me in.
“The other driver was texting,” Oliver summarized. “Scott didn’t seem to be at fault.”
“Is this the official report?” Noah asked, holding up the folder.
Miss Gibbons nodded, and once Noah had finished, took it from him. “Anything else I can do for you?”
“We were wondering about Scott’s grades.”
She bustled back to her computer. As she plopped down in her seat and rolled to her computer, some of her kitsch items wobbled. She typed a few things, waited a moment, and typed some more. The printer under her desk warbled to life.
“Fairly decent grades,” she said, reaching down to grab the paper. She brought it over and handed it to Noah. “Exceptional, when compared to most of the football team. But you didn’t hear that from me,” she added with a wink.
This time, I waited until Noah had skimmed it before yanking it from his fingers. He allowed me to, turning to Miss Gibbons as I read through his report card. “Did you know him?”
Miss Gibbons shook her head. “Not particularly. Never really had much need to see the principal. I only ever see the bad eggs, really.”
His grades weren’t bad. Mostly Bs, a few As, Cs in science. It didn’t look like he was struggling any more than what was to be expected.
“Thank you,” Noah said, putting a hand on my shoulder and nudging me toward the door. “We really appreciate your help.”
She gave us a slight wave before the phone rang and she bustled off to answer it.
Outside, I handed the report card to Noah. “I think we should check out Junior Hall.”
He tensed at my voice but took the paper from me. “I think so too. We might be able to perceive something.”
We headed toward the Junior Wing, Noah a step behind me as he folded the paper and slid it into his back pocket.
Junior Hall looked like it had the last time I’d seen it. Old navy lockers, the kind that reached from the floor up to about six feet, lined the walls. Some had locks, bright flashes of color left behind when they’d abandoned the hallway, and a few had graffiti scratched into the metal. Above the lockers, the cheer squad had painted massive banners celebrating the junior class and screaming school spirit.
Unlike the other halls, the lights on this one had been turned off. It sunk the hallway into a deeper darkness, especially without any outdoor windows to let sunlight in. An air of vacant abandon hovered over everything. The space felt still, yet electric. Though that could have just been my apprehension.
As we moved down the hallway, I made sure to listen intently, trying to pick up something unusual.
Bubbles of activity from the other hallways leaked into this space. The classes in the other halls were in full swing, and every now and then, a teacher’s voice carried, or laughter sounded through the walls.
But it all sounded normal. Expected.
There weren’t whispering voices, unearthly and ethereal. No pinpricks of cold as we walked.
We made it to the end of the hall and turned around.
“I don’t see anything,” Noah whispered, forced to keep his voice low so as not to greatly disturb the silence. “Do you hear anything?”
I shook my head.
“I’m not sensing anything, either,” Oliver added.
“Me neither.”
I glanced at the lockers to my right. It felt like a creepy kind of empty. Like a space where there should be people, should be sound, but wasn’t. But not haunted.
As I turned to look to Noah, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.
Turning toward it, I saw a figure standing at the other end of the hallway. In the doorway we’d left open from the main hall, the connecting door between the school’s main lobby and Junior Hall. From this distance, I couldn’t see anything but shadow, but there was definitely someone there. Slight, rail-thin, on the petite size.
They watched me for a moment, then walked past the open door and out of sight.
I shivered, drawing Noah’s attention to me. “You ok?”
I nodded and started marching for the other end of the hall. “Let’s get out of here. This place gives me to creeps.”
“Which is ironic, once you think about it,” Oliver’s voice held laughter as Noah and I moved faster than normal for the door. “This place gives you the creeps, but not the two ghosts haunting you.”
Chapter Ten
Four living people, two ghosts, and three boxes of pizza crowded around the coffee table. I sat beside Noah on the ground while Rose and Bronte dominated the couch. Whether they did that on purpose, I have no idea, but I strongly suspected it judging from the way Bronte had stretched out like a cat, touching as many couch cushions as possible.
That suited me just fine: I felt as if I owed Noah a sitting-buddy after he hadn’t jumped at the chance to tell them about how I’d nearly shouted at the guidance counselor today. The ghosts, too, were playing fair. Though I knew all bets were off when Oliver and Bronte got together. That boy would move heaven and earth for her or, you know, snitch on me.
Rose alternated between flipping up lids on two of the boxes, debating between pepperoni or spinach and tomato. “We mostly spent the day shadowing the maintenance tech,” she admitted.
“Exciting stuff,” Bronte grumbled. The words were barely out of her mouth before pink stained her cheeks and she mumbled an apology to thin air.
“He can’t hear you, Bronte,” I chuckled.
“She, you sexist pig,” Rose chuckled. Settling on pepperoni, she slid a slice out and dropped it onto her plate. “And she was completely at a loss. We combed through nearly every inch of that school. The classrooms, the locker rooms, the sheds, the storage rooms, the maintenance rooms—nada. Nothing at all out of the ordinary.”
“How long has she worked there?” Noah asked, eyes fixed on the plate balanced in his lap.
“Coming up on five years. So long enough to recognize something hinky if she saw it.”
“Hinky?” I asked, arching an eyebrow.
Rose shrugged and bit off a bite. Chewing, she shrugged again. “I mean, I believe her when she told us that nothing was out of sorts in her building.”
“She said that a lot too,” Bronte chimed in. “Her building. She was proud of her work. I’m with Rose. I believe her when she says everything looked ok.”
“Well, that puts us back to square one then, considering we struck out too,” Oliver grumbled, his voice floating from over near the sofa.
I half expected Cyril to chime in with something, but he remained silent.
Glancing around, I realized neither one had their figurines either. Oliver was always forgetting to pick his up, but Cyril tended to be better about it. He knew I hated being unable to see them and generally tried to give me something to look at. “Where’s Cyril?”
“Over in the kitchen,” Noah nodded that direction.
What was he doing all the way over there?
“What did you find out?” Rose asked.
My gaze lingered on the kitchen for a moment before I refocused and answered. “We talked with Scott’s friends and family. His former friends were a bit resentful of him jumping ship and hanging out with a new group, but that new group seemed to welcome him openly. They played Dungeons and Dragons with him after learning he missed doing it, so I think he had solid support from them.”
“His mother
is taking his death hard,” Noah offered. “Fair grades. Not a troublemaker. Aside from the problems with switching friend groups, he seemed to be quite happy. Or content, at least.”
I nodded along to Noah’s report. “There is a bit of oddness about who, or rather, who isn’t, getting sick. None of Scott’s new friends are ill while two of his old ones are.”
“Think there’s a connection?” Rose asked.
“I think so,” Oliver said.
“Could be,” I admitted. “Oliver agrees with me. Cyril?”
It took him a moment to answer, and when he did, it sounded resigned. Forced. Like he didn’t want to talk. “I suppose so.”
My brow furrowed, I turned to Noah and raised a questioning brow. But Noah continued to stare down at his plate, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.
I rolled my eyes. Because heaven forbid he glance up and accidentally catch a glimpse of the woman he’s in love with. The horror.
Then I cringed, eying the two of them again. I hadn’t thought about how deep their feelings for each other ran. What if they did love each other?
God, where you stood on ghost murder seemed like a way bigger concern than the typical partner blues like leaving the toilet seat up or whose turn it was to do the dishes.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I think, tomorrow, we should follow up with the group of former friends,” I told Noah and Rose, my eyes bouncing between them. “I want to hear about this illness from someone who has it. And I want to talk to one of the kids without Ryan present.”
Noah nodded at his plate. “Good call. Out of everyone we talked to today, they seemed the most guarded. It would be good to talk to one of them outside of school grounds.”
“Think you can swing it?” Rose asked softly, looking at me.
I glanced between the two of them again. “I think so,” I shrugged, realizing Noah didn’t intend to answer. “Maybe. We’ll see tomorrow.”
“If all else fails, you can just compel them to answer you,” Oliver suggested playfully.
“That’s enough,” Cyril snapped, the words so pointedly sharp even I jumped.
Noah’s head snapped up too, his eyes glaring into the kitchen.
Cyril let out a tired sigh. “I didn’t mean—”
“I’m done, for the day,” Noah interrupted, rising to his feet. He took a step to the kitchen, plate in hand, but thought better of it and dropped it on top of one of the closed pizza boxes instead. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow, Stella, same time.”
“Sounds good. See you tomorrow. And thanks for today.”
He jerked to a startled stop, blinking in surprise at my niceness.
I shrugged under his startled gaze. “Well, you were a big help. Especially in the cafeteria. And with Scott’s mother. So, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. Then he gave me a slight smile and left.
Rose’s eyes bore into me. And I pointedly ignored her while digging out another piece of pizza. Finally, she let out a huff. “I half expected you to kill him out in the field.”
“Did you want me to?” I asked between bites. “Is that why you paired us together?”
She shrugged in answer then rose to her feet. “I’m going to study more exorcism practices. Bronte, we’ll meet tomorrow. Talk with the nurse, take the medical angle.”
“Ok. Have a good night, Rose.”
After a bevy of farewells, Rose slid out the door. It barely clicked shut before Bronte rocketed to her feet and darted for her bedroom. “Goodnight, Stella,” she called over her shoulder.
The room felt empty. I picked up the pizza boxes, consolidated the leftover slices down to one box, and tucked that into the refrigerator. I stowed the plates in the sink, discarded the napkins, and stood in the still silent space.
“Cyril?”
He didn’t answer.
“Oliver?”
Him I really didn’t expect to answer. No doubt he’d trailed after Bronte like a puppy. But Cyril, on the other hand, usually spent the evening with me. We’d talk, watch movies, maybe play a game.
I had wanted to talk about earlier, his admission outside of Scott’s house. About his brother. And his thinking he was being punished. About the self-loathing I’d heard in his tone. And how he’d been snappish and distant since earlier today at the school.
Something was eating him. And I wanted to help him through it, if I could.
“Cyril?”
His voice came out as a whisper, so soft, just like when this had all began and I could only hear the stirrings of a voice. “Not tonight, Stella. Just…I just want to be alone for tonight.”
More distance. It felt like it had grown since even before dinner. Did I push against it? Or let him be? “Are you sure? If you want to talk—”
“You need a break from ghosts, if only for an evening, Stella. Please. I wish to be alone and your perceptions could use a break.”
I shuddered, remembering how close I’d come to ordering Ryan. “R-right. Yeah, you’re right. But only if you’re sure.”
“I am,” he said bitingly. Then he sighed. “I’m sure. Goodnight, Stella. Sleep well.”
Chapter Eleven
“Well, this is awkward,” Oliver tried to smother his laughter, but it still leaked out in his tone.
I rolled my eyes. Having to get up in the unholy hours of pre-dawn to meet with a sick, potentially haunted high school boy was bad enough. Having to do it with Noah and Rose was worse. Way, way worse.
They’d shown up just as we’d piled into Noah’s car. Though hesitant, Rose admitted that learning more about the disease could help with her side of the investigation. And, to that end, she decided to join us in talking with Walter Reese—Scott’s former friend and the Game Master for their group. Because, in her mumbled words, she couldn’t justify bothering a sick kid twice just because she was fighting with her boyfriend.
Noah had deflated at hearing that. Oliver had roared with laughter, earning a nasty glare from Noah and a wearied sigh from Cyril.
I’d almost thought the wearied sigh had been a good thing. Normal-Cyril sighed at Oliver’s antics all the time. But then he’d lapsed back into silence, refusing to speak or sit near me, judging from Bronte’s confused glance into the bed of the pickup as we’d all climbed inside.
Now we stood in Walter’s small bedroom, four adults, two ghosts, and one eager but nauseated kid stretched out on his queen-sized bed. A humidifier pumped warm steam into the room, wedged between overflowing stacks of comic books and Pop Vinyl figurines from fandoms such as Doctor Who, Avatar: The Last Airbender, and Kingdom Hearts.
Walter sat upright in bed, resting his back against the headboard-less wall, the poster paper of more sci-fi movies crinkling as he moved. “Yeah, I was friends with Scott. Until the traitor ran off and joined the jocks.”
Rose opened her mouth to ask a question, but before she could get it off, Walter held up a hand sharply. He snatched a small plastic Star War trash can from beside the bed and positioned in in his lap. Eyes fluttering closed, he leaned over it, braced to vomit. After a moment, when he didn’t, he leaned back against the wall and gave us a sheepish look. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Rose answered with a warming smile. “But I was wondering if you could tell us about your symptoms. Vomiting, I take it?”
Walter gave us a pitiful nod. “Fever. Headaches like you wouldn’t believe. They came on really quick. Boom, boom, boom, one after the other, like freaking automatic gunfire. My mom’s mostly freaked out by the fever, though. It won’t go below one hundred, no matter what she tries.”
“I’m surprised she isn’t here,” Noah commented.
“Had to take my little sister to my grandparents,” he answered with a shrug. Then immediately regretted it, judging from how he pressed his fingers against his temples. “Luckily, she hasn’t caught whatever this crap is. But my parents are worried she might. She’s only six.” He eyed us expectantly. “You guys really hunt ghost?
”
“We do,” Rose answered, pointing at her jacket logo. “AI. Apparition Investigations.”
He grinned tiredly. “So cool. And you think Scott is somehow connected to this?”
Rose and Bronte shared a quick, surprised look.
“What makes you think that?” I asked.
His shoulder barely inched up. “Not hard to figure out. Scott’s the only person I know of that’s died recently.”