“Ok. What am I looking at?”
“It’s what you’re not looking at.”
I scan the photo again, noting the large yard with lots of green grass and a bit of the stone patio in the corner. As the resident know-it-all, I’m a little ashamed to admit that whatever he’s seeing, I haven’t found it yet.
“Look to the left. What’s missing?” he helpfully suggests.
I look again, and then I see it. Well, actually, I don’t see it. That’s his point.
“There’s no willow tree. When was the photo taken?”
“October 5, 1920. Right before a big party celebrating some dude whose name they mentioned at the beginning of the article, but I can’t remember now. Figured it wasn’t important.”
“Ok, but what does this tell us?”
“Now look at this photo. It was taken two years later.”
I look at the new photo and realize what he’s getting at. A willow tree can reach full growth in roughly fifteen years. At only two years old, this willow tree looks as though it’s fully grown already. This is an anomaly worth looking into.
I quickly do a mental scan of anything else I know about the willow on the property and come up remarkably short. I know it sits toward the far back corner and has an old swing that sways in the breeze. Not very technical, but it is what it is.
“That’s not normal, right? I’m no tree expert, but even I know a tree takes a while to grow. What do you think it means?” he asks. Again, I notice him touching the tattoo, as if being away from her for this long is starting to get to him.
His obsessive need for her is concerning. I make a mental note to ensure he’s putting some real space between the two of them starting as soon as possible. Maybe I’ll have a talk with Fate, though that brings about some dangers of its own - mostly to my diminishing self-control.
“I’m not sure. It’s definitely suspicious since there’s a huge gap in the timeline. We didn’t appear until 1970, forty-eight years after this last photo. Forty years after that, so 2010, Fate appeared but spent another ten years on her own here. Not to mention, willow trees typically only live an average of fifty to seventy-five years if given the right conditions. That tree is roughly a hundred years old. How does this all tie together?”
“Mate, that’s on you. I’m just the manual labor. You’re the architect behind this little operation.”
“Hmmm...that’s starting to grow on me. So, what does that make Cole?”
“He’s the foreman - keeping all the working parts in order.”
“And the twins?”
“They’re the green guys. The newbies. They get the shit work - like fetching us water and cleaning the tools.”
I chuckle at that. Pretty sure neither Thad or Levi would approve of his analogy.
“Let’s see if we can get this evidence in a to-go package so we can get back.”
We quickly print off the photos and any other supporting documentation we can find and pack it up to head home. Odd that I would refer to the old house as home when we’ve lived there less than a week. Makes me wonder if it’s not so much the house but the occupant that has prompted that noun to be replaced for the first time in our existence. She’s effecting change within our group, and she has absolutely no idea. That thought is as troubling as it is exciting.
The moment she enters the command center, the aroma of freshly baked cookies fills the room and my senses are on high alert. She’s never sought me out before. Then again, maybe she’s looking for one of my brothers. Knox, most likely. I throw the hint of disappointment that sneaks through my shield right back where it belongs - in the box labeled Don’t Go There.
I turn away from the evidence I’ve been organizing to see her hazy form wandering around, her fingers drifting over the numerous pieces of equipment stacked on the tables. She’s not looking my way, and I use the opportunity to catalog every detail.
She’s only a few inches shorter than my own six feet, putting her roughly around five-eight, give or take an inch. She’s slender, but with delectable curves my eyes can’t help but trace over. Her hair is a mass of dark waves tumbling down her back, and I wonder what it would look like spread across my pillow.
The way she holds one arm behind her, while her other hand whispers over each piece like it’s a priceless treasure, alludes to simple sophistication. She’s a walking contradiction. Her inherent grace is something I haven’t seen in someone as young as she appears to be, yet her style is that of someone that could blend in with today’s twenty-somethings with no problem.
The dark-colored shirt she’s wearing reads #GhostGirlGoals in white letters. Her sense of humor I can appreciate, as it resonates with the nerd in me. Simple jeans and light-colored Converse complete her look. The blend of the modern elegance she wields so effortlessly and the street style she pulls off with ease somehow makes her that much more interesting.
When my eyes come back up, I realize she’s been watching me, watching her. I blush a little, feeling like a fourteen-year-old boy caught ogling his crush.
“Hi,” I say awkwardly then grimace slightly. Now I sound like a teenage girl. Great.
I watch as she waves, a small grin on her gorgeous face. She knows she unnerves me, and she likes that. And I like that she likes that. What is wrong with me?
“Are you looking for Knox?”
She shakes her head then points one beautifully manicured fingertip at me. Do ghosts get manicures? I mentally add that to my growing list of questions to ask her.
My pulse is racing. I adjust my glasses, though they were already as straight as can be, but it helps me feel in control. What can I say? I’m living up to the quintessential nerd stereotype - minus the suspenders.
“You’re here...for me?”
She nods, a hint of her tongue peeking out before biting her bottom lip.
That small action awakens a need in me that’s so strong I have to clench my hands into fists to stop myself from reaching for her.
“Oh. Well...sure.” I clear my throat before mumbling, “Um...what can I help you with?”
With one finger, she points to me, then taps her lips.
For a brief moment, I think she wants me to kiss her, and my eyes widen and meet hers. They’re beautiful in an ethereal sort of way.
She simply smiles, her lips quirking up on one side. I’m amusing her. Usually, the embarrassment I’m feeling would be enough to have me hightailing it in the opposite direction, but with her, it feels like this is something that’s completely normal for us. Second nature. Me being awkward and her loving my awkwardness.
Whoa! Love? Slow down, buddy.
She points to me again, then brings her finger up to her eye, then down to tap her lips again.
“Oh! You want to talk?”
Right. Lip reading because we can’t hear her. Get your shit together, Mack!
She nods again.
A mixture of relief and disappointment whirl through me before I can tamp it down.
“That I can do. I’m ready when you are.”
I watch her lips form the first word.
“Do.”
A quick nod before she’s moving on to the next word.
“You.”
Nod.
“Have.”
Nod.
She signs the letter A.
“A.”
The next word is a little trickier. The distraction of her pouty lips getting the better of me.
“Goat?”
She laughs silently while shaking her head. Watching her lips forming the word again is the sweetest kind of torture - my jeans suddenly a little tight. My imagination, which I didn’t even know still functioned, is suddenly running wild with all the other things those lips could be doing.
I must have been staring a little too intently, as she starts waving her hand in front of my face to get my attention.
She tries the word again.
“Ghost?”
She nods, then she holds up her hands in the
shape of a square and mouths the next word.
“Box? Do I have a Ghost Box?” Surprised, I ask, “You know what that is?”
She nods, excited now, and moves a little closer.
“I do. Just let me find it.”
Her sexiness just increased ten-fold. Beautiful and smart? Yes, please!
I head over to the far wall and begin to hunt through the cases we have yet to open, quickly finding what she’s asking for. I have a system. Everything is put into groups by use - sound, video, tools, accessories - and then placed alphabetically by name. The guys say I’m OCD, but I think it’s called organization. A Ghost Box Ovilus III is a small handheld device that has a built-in database of over two thousand words. In theory, a spirit can manipulate the environment, selecting the words needed to answer questions which are displayed on a small, simple screen. Sort of a high-tech ouija board, minus all the demon summoning. It could be a tremendous help in communicating with her, and I should have thought of this before. I’m blaming the sweet little ghost for my inability to think straight. That’s the only possible explanation.
“Found it. Just let me get it fired up.”
Walking over to the table with the chargers and spare batteries, I feel her come up next to me, watching me intently. I spare a sideways glance and note that she’s focused on each step, each part of the process, taking it all in. The academic in me appreciates that, and the man in me appreciates the way her chest gets pushed out when she moves her arms behind her back so she can lean in. Her hair falls forward, and if she weren’t an apparition, it would be brushing my arm right now. Would it feel like silk against my skin?
“Uh...it’s ready. Want to give it a try?”
She gives me a thumbs up.
“Okay, let’s see…” I pause and try to think of innocuous questions I could ask, but my mind keeps circling back to her.
Are your lips as soft as I’ve imagined they are?
What would your body feel like against mine?
What sounds do you make when you…
Jesus, Mack! Get your head out of the gutter!
“So...uh…” I clear my throat again, my face probably beet red. “Let’s start with, where are we right now?”
I watch as she looks at the Ghost Box intently, and then a word crosses the screen.
Room.
She claps excitedly and motions for more.
“What color is your hair?”
She grabs a hold of the long locks and then looks at the box.
Dark crosses the screen, followed closely by Brown.
“Do you know what day it is?”
She appears to think for a second.
June.
Sixth.
“Wow! That’s impressive. For a spirit, you’re very aware of your surroundings. Hmm...how about this one. Where do you go when you’re not here with us?”
Attic.
“What do you do all day?”
Her head tilts to the side, and her eyes wander around the room. Her pouty lips are pursed in thought, and I’ve never wanted to kiss someone so badly in my life.
Wander. She shrugs. Then a mischievous grin lights up her face.
Spy.
“Spy? On us?”
She holds her thumb and index finger just a bit apart, scrunches up her adorable nose, and shrugs again.
“A little?” I laugh. She is the most intriguing woman I’ve ever come across, and I find myself wanting to learn everything about her. Her likes and dislikes. Her fears. Her desires. What she wants for her future.
Then I remember that she doesn’t have one. Her time for hopes and dreams has ended. She’s not meant to be on this plane, and there can never be anything more between us. The laughter slowly dies off, leaving us caught in each other’s gaze.
I’m the first to break the silent stand off.
“I’m sorry you’ve been alone for so long,” I practically whisper.
The light leaves her beautiful eyes, and she looks at the floor as if the hideous gold and burgundy pattern of the carpet is of significant interest.
“But you have us now, and I promise we’ll help you. I know that’s probably not enough…” I trail off. What does a man say to a stunning, ghostly female standing right in front of him looking so damn sad that his own heart is just seconds away from breaking?
“So sorry we can’t give you your life back?”
Or maybe, “At least you’ll be in a better place.”
There’s always, “Hopefully you’ll end up in Heaven, not Hell!”
Dammit, pull it together man.
Then an idea strikes. Wanting to do something that will take that sad expression off her beautiful face, I’m opening my mouth before I can think it through.
“I know you want answers, but there is another option. Thad and Levi have these...abilities. They could help you cross over, and you wouldn’t have to be stuck here anymore.”
The minute the words leave my mouth, I regret them and want to take them back. I don’t want her to choose that option; I want her to stay with us for as long as she can. The guys will hand me my ass when they hear what I’ve offered. Except Cole. He might actually approve.
She looks up at me then, her heart in her eyes. She takes a step closer, so we’re almost chest to chest. The lights in the room begin to flicker a little, and my heart starts to pound. I briefly wonder if Knox is going to come flying through the door but remember he ran out to grab dinner. She lifts her right hand and places it over my chest, right on top of my heart. It sort of hovers there, not exactly touching, but it’s as close as she’s able to get without putting her hand right through me. I feel a tingle at the connection. Like that feeling you get when you shake someone’s hand, and there’s a jolt from the static electricity, except this is all pleasure and no pain and doesn’t disappear. The longer her hand rests there, the more the sensation starts to slowly expand across my chest. It feels amazing, and I totally understand Knox’s obsession now.
She starts to talk, but she’s going too fast for me to make out what she’s saying. I’m watching her lips move until sound abruptly breaks the silence like someone just unmuted a TV.
“...a good man. I’ve been alone for so long that I’ve forgotten how nice it is to be noticed. To be seen. Thank you for giving that to me again and for offering to help me, but I can’t leave without knowing why I’m here in the first place. I need answers.”
I’m still staring into her eyes, but the sudden sound has rendered me incapable of speech. Her voice. It’s...like the sweetest honey or the richest whiskey. Smoky, mysterious, alluring, and the hottest damn thing I’ve ever heard. Before I can find my own voice again, she’s stepping away, wandering back through the room while she continues on.
“You guys were so unexpected. I had accepted this solitary life I’ve been forced to live, and then you guys came barreling in and shattered it all to hell. I was confused. On one hand, I was excited that this might be my one opportunity to figure everything out. But on the other hand, I wasn’t exactly thrilled that I’d have to share my space with a group of hot guys. I’m not gonna lie, ghost girls have needs too, ya know. Imagine watching the hottest porn and not being able to jack off to relieve the pressure. Yeah, one word. Torture. Right?”
She spares a glance in my direction before continuing on, not waiting for my reply. Completely unknowing.
“This thing with Knox. Matching tattoos? Seems a little much if you ask me. I mean, I just met the guy. Then he rubs his damn wrist and BAM, I’m sucked through some vortex and placed right in front of him. What the hell is up with that, anyways? Then you have to go and be all sweet and stuff. Offering me help and telling me I’m not alone. You have this whole sexy nerd thing going for you. That was my nickname for you that first day, by the way. The twins...well, Jesus. They’re just as dirty as I am. Or, at least that I assume I am, because let me tell you, my mind is a scary place to be. And Cole, what is that dude’s problem?”
I watch as she paces i
n front of the table full of cameras and REM-pods. Her heartfelt words quickly turning into a ghostly rant that is, admittedly, as adorable as it is amusing. This isn’t the first rant I’ve witnessed, but it is the first one I’ve had the pleasure of watching up close and personal, so I lean back against the table behind me and cross my arms over my chest. Just taking in all of her ghostly glory. She doesn’t realize I can hear every word out of that gorgeous mouth now, and I’m not about to tell her yet.
“Oh. And what the hell was that while you were at the library? I kept feeling the tug of Knox summoning me, which, by the way, I absolutely abhor, but since he wasn’t here, I would get sucked into the vortex and spit out in random locations throughout the house. Face first against a wall. On my back, out on the front lawn staring up at the sky. Once, I even appeared right in front of Levi on the toilet. Can you say awkward? Was Knox doing that on purpose? Did he forget I’m confined to this damn place?”
She releases a heavy sigh like she just can’t deal with it before turning and facing me head on, placing her small, elegant hands on her hips.
“One more thing. What is this about abilities? Do you all have one? That’s not normal, right? I mean, I’ve seen a lot of people come through this house, but none of them could do what you guys apparently can. So, let me guess. Knox feels or senses emotions; that one is obvious. You said the twins have some sort of power that could send me to the afterlife. What about you? You seem to be the techie of the group. Is there more to that? And what’s Cole’s super power? Being an asshole?”
She chuckles at that, and the sound is like nothing else.
“Fate…”
She throws her hands up and her head back in obvious frustration.
“Ugh! I know. You can’t hear a damn word I’m saying. What the fuck does a ghost girl gotta do to be heard around here?”
I let the silence linger, wanting to draw out the moment for just a second longer.
“So...sexy nerd, huh?”
Her head snaps back down, and her eyes go wide.
“You heard me?” she whispers.
“Almost every word.”
“You can really hear me?” she asks, a little more enthusiastic now.
A Fate Unknown: A PNR, Why Choose Novel (The Ghost Girl Series Book 1) Page 7