Ghost Whisperer

by Serena Akeroyd

  “We do?” Drake bites out. “All we know is that the bastard who killed my nephew is untouchable.”

  “No one is untouchable. It doesn't take jail to ruin someone's life, Drake. For God's sake, we live in the age of the media. We just need to manipulate that to our benefit.”

  “What? And bring a libel suit against my family?” David shakes his head. “I don't want that. I'd prefer to exist here than ruin the people I love.”

  “There are ways and means, kid. Just leave it to me.”

  The hope in his eyes, I won't lie, makes me feel nervous. I don't give promises I can't keep. Never have done and never will do, but I've just broken that steadfast rule. I've no guarantee of making Nate Cambright pay for his wicked doings. I've nothing concrete to pass on to David, nothing that will make him feel better.

  And of all the things that have sucked in my life, somehow, that's up there on the top ten.

  “You haven’t been taking my calls.”

  “Shit.” Mumbling the curse under my breath doesn't make me feel better, if anything, it just makes me wish that I'd asked who was at the door before I stupidly opened it. What is it with this guy that makes him pop up at my place when I look like shit warmed over?

  And that I even care is the most perplexing thing of all.

  “I haven't been taking anyone's calls. No offense.”

  “None taken, but I'd have preferred to have called you. It saves me dropping in on you when you're otherwise busy.”

  “Busy?” I squint up at him in confusion.

  He points to the tub of Cherry Garcia in my hand. “Eating ice cream is a task that needs appreciation time.”

  I chuckle at that, surprised he's relaxed enough to even joke a little. Waving the aforementioned tub of orgasm-in-a-carton, I beckon him in. “If you want to just wait in my office for ten minutes while I freshen up?” I ask him awkwardly. “You can have the rest of the ice cream if you want?”

  His smile is sheepish. “Okay.”

  I pass it over and say, “You know where to go, right? I won't be long.”

  “No problem.”

  I study him for a second, taking in his patrician features, wondering what it is that's so attractive about the man. I've had hunkier clients, bulkier muscled ones, Hollywood heroes have even graced my door, and yet, this one man, with his somber eyes, chatterbox eyebrows, and stern lips, does something to me that I've never experienced before.

  Puzzling that out, I wave him ahead, and watch as he goes to my study. When the door closes, Kenna pops up at my side. “You're attracted to him.”

  The statement makes me frown at her. “How do you know?”

  “Anyone else and you'd have seen them as you are. A shower? Now that means business, honey.”

  “You make me sound like such a dirty bitch,” I complain as I make my way past the study and to my bedroom.

  “You aren't exactly that, but you've no interest in other people. It means your standards are different to everyone else's.”

  “Ugh, is that supposed to make me feel better?” As I pull off my bra, a faint hint of silver catches my eye over by the laundry basket. “David J Edwin! What the hell do you think you're doing?”

  Kenna winks out of existence only to return a second later with David's ear clutched firmly between finger and thumb. “I've warned you about this,” she growls at him.

  “What?” I squawk. “You mean he's done this before? When?!”

  Kenna waves her free hand with such laissez-faire disregard it makes me wish I could smack her. “A few times. It's part and parcel of being a ghost, honey.”

  “Well, maybe it is, but not in this household, especially when I'm helping your sorry behind!” I glower at David. “You just wait until I tell your uncle. He's out there, eating ice cream. Don't you think I won't make that Cherry Garcia curdle in his gut.”

  Sheepishly, David looks up at me from under his lashes.

  “Don't think the puppy dog look works on me either!” I snap. “Now, get the hell out and leave me in peace.” He blinks out of existence, leaving Kenna to lean against the door and study me like I was bacteria on a petri dish. “What do you want? If you're going to lecture, get the hell out.”

  She sniffs. “I know what's got your panties in a twist.”

  “Don't start, Kenna.”

  “Don't start,” she mimics. “You're horny, that's what.”

  “No, I'm not. Me and BOB had a nice time last night, thank you very much. I'm fine for another month.”

  “Well, sweetheart, I'm worried for you if you'd prefer silicone to that luscious piece of patootie out there.”

  “What the fuck does that even mean?”

  “You know I hate the word ass.”

  “Tough, use it to avoid confusion, dammit.” I strip down and jump into the shower. The instant the water hits me, Kenna joins me. She hasn't moved from her disapproving position, but she's getting splattered with water which distorts her shape. She hates that, but her anger with me must be bad enough for her to endure it.

  “Why don't you go out there and ask him on a date?”

  I scowl at her as I scrub my armpits. “Are you being serious? The man's here to help resolve his nephew's murder, Kenna. He's grieving and you want me to come onto him?”

  “The oxytocin from a good orgasm might cheer him up.”

  “You're screwed up, you know that? It's been too long since you were human.” Her sniff tells me she's offended, but as I carry on soaping myself over, I continue, “You think we don't hurt when people die, but of course we do. That guy more than most. It would be more than tacky to make a move.”

  “Men think with their penises, whether those penises are grieving or not. And I saw the way he looked at you. Honey, let me put it this way, it wasn't like you were wearing panties from two days ago.”

  “Shut up, I changed them last night.”

  “No, you slob, you didn't.”

  “I did.” I bite my lip. “Didn't I?” When she shakes her head at me, I sigh. “Fuck. What the hell's the matter with me, Kenna? I'm just...it's like I've given up, but I don't even know why.”

  “You're lonely, Jason. Dammit, I've been trying to tell you that for the last two years. No man is an island.”

  “I'm an archipelago,” I retort. “I have all you lot.”

  “Yeah, you do, and we keep you company but it doesn't replace affection or tenderness. You're surrounded by death, and the bad things humans do to each other. You need to be reminded of the good in the world, not just the bad.”

  Rinsing off, I ponder her words, and when I shut off the water and reach for the towel to dry myself, I tell her, “I still think it's tacky to ask him out when he's grieving.”

  “You know David died seven months ago, don't you?”

  That has me frowning. “Seriously? And he only just came to you?”

  “Yeah,” Kenna admits. “I don't know why some come sooner and others later, but if Drake is grieving, then it's part of the process. Parts of him will have moved on, even if he's in denial about it.”

  Pursing my lips, I wrap the towel around my breasts and tie it into a knot. “What are we going to do to get justice for David?”

  “How come I'm the one having to come up with all the ideas?”

  I sniff. “Because you’re the one who gets us into these messes, that's why.”

  “Charming.”

  “It's the truth.” After climbing out of the shower, I grab my hairbrush and start to comb through the tangled knots. On my way out of the bathroom, the door opens to reveal Drake standing there, looking shaken. I'd have been worried about the fact he was stood outside the bathroom door while I showered if it wasn't for the look of sheer terror on his face. I know exactly what's happened, and I know the pain he's currently enduring.

  “Come on, sit down on the toilet,” I instruct him, grabbing him by the arm and gently steering him until he takes a seat. I nudge his knees wider with one of my own and urge his head down. “I told you
it hurts.”

  He gasps in a deep breath, and releases it on a slow, shuddery wave. “I didn't…realize...it...w-w-would...”

  I sigh, then holler, “David J Edwin, get your butt in here now.”

  “I thought I wasn't allowed in here,” he snipes, immediately popping into the bathroom.

  “You're not if I'm naked, or getting naked,” I retort. “Did you really think that was the best time to touch him?”

  His shoulders are on the brink of slumping when he suddenly jerks upright, and with a defiant stare, states, “I love him. He's my uncle.”

  “What? So that makes it okay to hurt him?”

  “I didn’t realize it would hurt like this.”

  “Bullshit. The others will have warned you. Don't lie to me.”

  He toes his foot into the ground, looking like a six year old who has been caught with his hand in the snack cupboard. “I wanted him to hug me like he always used to.”

  Kenna slides up close to him and wraps an arm around his shoulder. “I told you it wouldn't be the same, and all you've done now is set yourself up for disappointment.”

  He looks like he wants to shrug off her arm, but instead, he curls into her, letting her embrace him. Leaving David to Kenna's warm hug, something I've longed to experience a million times over my years spent with her, I get down onto my knees so I can stare up into Drake's terrified eyes. “It will be okay, I promise,” I whisper, reaching up and cupping his jaw with my hand. As my fingers scrape against his cheek, he shudders. “It's alright, Drake, it's okay. It's over now.”

  His lower lip trembles. “I guess that's proof he really loves me, huh?”

  That his voice is stronger fills me with relief. “Yeah, he does.”

  A shudder racks through him, and I have to admit, I'm hard pressed not to pull him tight and hug the shock right out of him. I've seen this before, dealt with the side effects before, but I've never been the one affected, not enough to want to embrace a stranger!

  Drake breaks my concentration by gasping out, “That has to be the worst thing I've ever experienced. And I did LSD in college.”

  Brows lifting at that confession, I turn to look at David to see if he's as astonished as I...Drake is far too buttoned-up to take drugs, especially a trippy one like LSD. I imagine, if it were possible, he'd have come out of the womb wearing brogues. It's a relief to see my impression isn't altogether incorrect, because David is gawking at his uncle's words, and he squeaks, “Uncle D did Angel Dust?”

  “You've just appalled your nephew.”

  At my comment, Drake flushes. “It was just the once, and I did it to impress a girl. It was a moronic thing to do, and I never did it again.”

  Ridiculous as it is, David looks appeased by that—either it's the fact Drake didn't do drugs again, or he did them to impress some chick...I've no idea which is more acceptable—and shaking my head at the two of them, I ask, “Do you feel well enough to stand? You looked like you could have fallen over any second.”

  “He did,” David murmurs, his turn to confess. “Twice, in the hallway. Took him about ten minutes to reach the bathroom door.”

  I roll my eyes at David. “Listen to the others when they give you advice. They've been through it all. More than once, some of them.”

  “I'm sorry. Tell Uncle Drake that. I never realized how much it would hurt.”

  I nod, but I'm still skeptical as to whether David is actually listening to me or not. Ghosts can be impulsive and rebellious, especially at first. He's bound to be worse because of his age. Still, my patience can only last so long. “He says he's sorry,” I tell his uncle, hoping he doesn't pick up on the blandness of my tone.

  Drake's smile is as weak as he is. He didn't notice jack. “It's okay, buddy, I love you too. B-But please, don't do it again.”

  “He just nodded,” I remark, then say, “Come on, let's get you something to eat. Coffee will warm you up.”

  “Yeah, it's freezing in here. Aren't you really cold?”

  “No. If anything, it's too hot. It's just your body reacting to David's touch. He's fried all the electrical circuits in your brain. It's only natural it takes a while for it to reboot and get back on track.” I heft him up to his feet and together, we stagger through my apartment and toward the kitchen. As we do, ghosts pop up out of the floorboards to watch us, some eyeballing us with distrust, others amused as news of what David did spreads around.

  I swear, my place is like Grand Central Station for ghosts.

  Some of them I don't even know, they just pop in to meet with the ghosts I do know and generally clutter up my space.

  I've long ceased getting annoyed over it. The lack of privacy is just one part of the hellhole that is my life.

  “Take a seat,” I tell him as I help him onto the stool.

  Over in the corner, I have the coffee machine with all the bells and whistles that a New York socialite, Natalie Jensen, gifted me three months ago. It makes barista style coffee in less than a handful of minutes. Not that I drink coffee, but I didn't want to hurt her feelings.

  It's been on sale at Craigslist for a while, but I'm asking a lot for it. I want what it's worth and not a dime less.

  Eying all the knobs, I try to remember the tutorial she gave me. I actually wish she hadn't tried to show me how to work it. Had the damned thing been new in the box, I'd have been able to ask more for it. As it is, it's been used. People don't seem to like things when they've been used, even if it's a handful of times.

  The human race never ceases to astound me.

  My memory clicks into gear and I recall how Natalie made the coffee. Two minutes later, we're both drinking hot cafe lattes. Drake's hands are still shaky as he cups the glass, and even though it's hot enough to sting, he's so cold it doesn't penetrate.

  Grimacing, because I've been there a time or ten myself, I murmur, “Start sipping. I added a dash of cold milk, that should make it easier to drink.”

  He nods, but the quiver to his movements hasn't gone away. It's like watching a man in slow motion, every single move takes three times as long as it should.

  I stare down at my cup, content to let him recuperate, my brain fixated on nothing in particular. Well, okay, that's a lie. It's focused on what Kenna was lecturing me about in the shower, but again, inappropriate isn't the word.

  Dammit, why is it always complicated with the guys I find attractive?

  Drake breaks my thoughts by snorting into his cup. I frown at him. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I was just t-thinking. That's all.”

  “About what?”

  “About the fact I came over here to ask you out, and instead, I end up in the kitchen quivering like a leaf.”

  “You're not quivering as much,” I point out. “And you didn’t stutter then.”

  “Thanks, Jason. My ego appreciates your efforts.”

  Despite myself, I grin at him. “You really wanted to ask me out?”

  As he takes a sip of coffee, he nods. “This is good coffee,” he compliments me. “But yes, I did. I know it's weird, and inappropriate, but I haven't been able to get you off my mind these last two weeks.”

  I bite my lip. “That could be because of the situation. It's not exactly normal what we're doing together.”

  “No, but I wasn't thinking about that.” He shoves a hand through his hair, inadvertently snagging my attention as the kitchen light captures the faint strands of silver at his temples, as well as augmenting his natural coloring, turning brown into a rich sable. “Going to that store, it gave me a closure I needed. Just talking to you did. Nobody was listening to me. I kept on telling them David would never take drugs. That he'd never put himself in a position to OD.” He shakes his head in irritation at being ignored. “Finding out a sliver of the truth just made me feel better.”

  I reach for his hand, the gesture hesitant but well-meant. “I'm glad it did. Some people find peace when they come to me, others don't. I'm relieved it's the first with you and not the second.”
/>
  He shrugs. “I want to help David. I've spent his lifetime doing everything I can to get him where he needed to be to do whatever he had to do. That's not going to change now.”

  “No, I know. That's probably why he wanted to touch you in the first place. Gratitude...it makes them forget themselves.”

  “Is he in here now?”

  “No. But he's in the apartment somewhere.”

  “Thank you for bringing him back here.” He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “I know that place is a haven for his kind, but I'd far prefer him to be here. And I saw how much it drained you to get him to attach to you.”

  Feeling a blush crawl over my cheeks, I duck my head. “It was nothing.”

  “No, it was everything. Thank you.” He reaches forward and chucks my chin upward with the gentle press of his thumb. “I'm sorry you had to cut yourself.”

  “It's a small sacrifice,” I tell him. “It's one I've made quite often.”

  That's nothing but the truth, but still, I didn't do it for David. I did it for Drake, and what that means...well, I know, I'm not stupid but I'm not certain if I want to admit to anything just yet.

  That being said, I didn't really do anything special. Not for my world, anyway. Every ghost is different, just as their passing was unique. But at the start, they're all weak. They anchor to certain places that hold no meaning to them, like the bookstore, and they can't get out. That's why Kenna goes there, to check up on the new arrivals for me. Others attach to family, and either stay with them or, as they grow stronger, go on their less than merry way.

  I performed a simple ritual, one I learned early on. Kenna taught me it after a ghost with more than a millennia on his shoulders had passed it on to her. Blood is a tie. By pressing a bleeding cut to David's forehead, I created a connection between the two of us. It's only loose, because we're not related, and it's only a temporary fix, but it strengthened him enough to make the move to my place where he's been pestering me ever since. Apparently perving over me too.

  “That doesn't mean I shouldn't thank you for the sacrifice, as small as it may be.”

  My lips twitch at that. “Are you always such a gentleman?”