Ghost College (9 page)

And all hell broke loose.

Chapter Twenty

I woke up on the floor of the music room with a sore throat, a bellyache, and an angel leaning over me.

“
I must be dead,” I said.

“
Not yet, hero,” Ellen said. “We’ve still got a few dances on the card.”

She helped me sit up. I patted the vinyl flooring. “Is it real?”

“Yep. Good old Twenty-First Century Earth.”

“
The one with chocolate pancakes?”

“
You bet your life.”

“
That’s not funny.”

As I recovered, I looked around. Everything looked much the same as it had during the beginning of our investigation. Except for one big difference.

“The piano’s gone,” I said.

Ellen smiled, and it was a glorious thing. “Yep. When the floor collapsed, the piano fell. Not just into the basement, but lower. Like, way lower.”

I blinked some more, trying to get used to skin and floor and oxygen and all those little things we take for granted. “Where did he go?”

“
He followed the piano. That little silver cord of yours? While he was busy cutting, I was busy tying it to the flaming piano leg. He was dragged down by his own possessiveness. I’d call that divine justice, wouldn’t you?”

I wasn’t sure what hell was like, but if it had people like the Dark Master sitting around playing for tips, I’d just as soon try to live right.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “How did you know that would work?”

“
I didn’t. But his little slogan, ‘Not all of me will die,’ must have meant his Earthly connection was the piano. That’s all that was keeping him in both worlds.”

“
So, you risked my eternal soul on the off chance that he’d be dragged to hell by my lifeline?”

She shrugged, and even the gorgeous swish of her hair against her shoulders couldn’t completely absolve her. “Hey, I was desperate. Next time,
you
do all the thinking and
I’ll
do all the fighting.”

“
There’s not going to be a next time.”

She smiled, and goddamn it, I couldn’t help but forgive her. Partly because if I died, I knew a little bit of her would die with me.

There’s a different twist on the little saying “
Non omnis moriar
,” one that the selfish likes of Mr. Sigmund would never understand in a million eternities. The surest way to live on is to be in love, to surrender to something bigger, to trust that maybe Good is always going to be just a little bit stronger than Evil when it counted.

Ellen helped me to my feet. I was a little woozy but, all in all, I couldn’t complain, considering I was more or less in one piece.

“Sophia?” I asked.

“
Home in time for dinner.”

I nodded. I might not be much, but I know what’s worth fighting for.

“Sounds good to me. Let’s go get some pancakes,” I said.

She helped me into the hall. Dawn was breaking through the windows. Outside, Faith University glowed with a radiance that was a little more than the sun could have managed all by itself.

We made it down the elevator and were nearly to the front door when Headphone Boy came out of a classroom, dragging his mop bucket and bopping to no-doubt-awful music. He removed the headphones when he saw us.

“
Whoa,” he said. “Rough night?”

“
Hey,” I said. “You try moving a piano and see how it feels.”

Confusion crossed his face, and the expression seemed at home there. “Like, did you bust some ghosts?”

“Put it this way,” Ellen said. “Any voices you hear from now on are completely in your head.”

“
By the way,” I said, nodding at the mop. “You might want to check that music room. I saw a few spots you missed. And there’s some broken glass down the hall for you.”

We went into the sunshine, and I realized I was now entering a world in which I accepted ghosts as real, though I had even less proof than I did before. Except for one thing.

“So,” I said, putting my arm around my wife. “I guess Dr. Stevens will bill us for the piano, and we end this job in the red.”

“
Maybe we banked some gold in a higher vault.”

“
Denny’s is heavenly, but it isn’t free.”

“
I’ll put breakfast on the credit card.”

As we headed for the car, I voiced a concern that I’d wanted to keep to myself, but what was the point of being in love if you had to be worried?

“This lifeline thing. I’ve lost mine, so what happens if I ever need it again?”

“
Good question. But first, do you remember when I said everything comes back threefold?”

I thought back. “Yeah, but we only conjured Sophia and the Dark Master. Who’s the third?”

“You, you dolt.
You
were the third spirit.”

“
But for me to be conjured, my lifeline had to be severed.”

“
In short, yes.”

“
Then why am I not dead?”

“
Who says you’re alive?”

“
Are you trying to freak me out? Because you’re doing a damn good job of it.”

She giggled a little and patted my arm. “Oh, relax. You’re fine, aren’t you?”

“Maybe. Depends on where my soul is.”

“
Your soul is where it should be.”

“
What about all that severing and dying business?”

“
You don’t honestly believe in all that mumbo-jumbo do you?”

But, for the first time in a long, long time, my wife didn’t sound entirely sure of herself. To say that made me nervous as hell would be an understatement. Still, I was here and I was flesh and blood. At least, I thought I was.

She reached over and kissed me very deeply and very passionately and what happened next was fully flesh and blood. My wife noticed it, too.

“
I think you’re gonna be fine,” she said, smiling.

Easy for her to say. She hugged me closer and gave me a kiss that was the golden, glowing, feathery tips of an angel’s wings.

“Chocolate pancakes are waiting,” she whispered.

I patted my belly button. Or maybe just my gut. “Heck. I believe I’ll have some bacon on the side.”

Live a little. Why not?

The End

Monty and Ellen return in:

Ghost Soldier

The Ghost Files #2

by Evelyn Klebert

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Audio Book

Also av
ailable:

Bad Blood

The Spider Trilogy #1

by J.R. Rain, Scott Nicholson and

H.T. Night

(read on for a sample)

Chapter One

Class was over.

I was making my way to my car in the dark, my backpack slung over my shoulder, when the girl came running up behind me. We had exited class together, junior year United States history, when I heard her fall into step behind me. I didn’t have to turn and look to know I was being followed. I didn’t even have to turn and look to know who it was, because I could smell her.

It was the new girl. Well, new as of two weeks ago. And she smelled of flowers and shampoo and clean clothing. She also smelled of curry, which is why I knew who she was, since most girls smelled of only flowers and shampoo.

I’ve always liked unique girls, as much as I can like anything.

I had just clicked my car door open, using the keyless remote, when I heard her footsteps pick up their pace. She was moving faster, coming up behind me. I heard breathing now—
her
breathing, and I might have heard something else, too. I might have heard, mixed with the sounds of cars starting and our classmates talking and laughing, I might have heard her heart beating.

And it seemed to be beating rapidly.

It should beat rapidly,
I thought.
Here be monsters.

My back was still to her as she stopped behind me. Her scent rushed before her, swirling around me like a dust devil, and I inhaled her deeply and spun around.

Her face was a little orange under the cheap streetlights. She had opened her mouth to speak, but instead she gasped. She hadn’t expected me to turn on her. Heck, maybe she even thought she had approached quietly.

Maybe she wasn’t sure she had wanted to talk to me. Maybe, just prior to my spinning around, she had decided to do the smart thing, turn herself around, and leave.

Maybe she had heard stories of me. Maybe she had heard that I was different from other students. That there was something odd about me.

I heard the stories, too. Mostly, of course, I overheard the whisperings behind my back. They didn’t know I could hear them. They thought they were being discreet. But I heard their harsh words. I heard their hateful stories. I heard them speak ill of me. I heard their laughter, but mostly I heard their fear.

I heard everything.

Her gasp hung in the air, much like her mouth hung open. She was a pretty girl. Long, blonde hair. Brown eyes impossibly round. She was small but curvy. She looked like a doll all grown up into its teen years.

“You are following me,” I said.

She closed her mouth. Some of the students spilling out into the parking lot watched us. In fact, most of the students were watching us. I ignored all of them. All of them, that is, except this new girl.

“Yes, sorry,” she said.

“
Why are you sorry?” I asked. I turned and opened my car door. I tossed my backpack into the backseat.

“
I don’t know,” she said.

“
You look like you saw a ghost,” I said.

I heard her heartbeat clearly now. It thumped rapidly. It even seemed to labor a bit, which might mean she had some sort of heart condition, surprising for one so young. She looked once over her shoulder, and I could almost hear her thinking, although my hearing isn’t quite
that
good. She was thinking, and I would have bet good money on this,
I can still leave now
.
Make up a good story, or even a bad one. Anything. Just leave. They call him a freak for a reason.

But she didn’t leave, and I knew why. Because they don’t just call me a freak.

They also call me Spider.

“
You need help,” I said, draping an arm over my open car door, letting it support some of my weight.

She quit looking around and now she held my gaze, and as she did, her heartbeat steadied. She was no longer afraid. Then her eyes pooled with tears, but she did not look away even as the tears spilled out.

“Yes,” she said.

“
Do you have a ride home?” I asked. I’d learned to never trust tears.

“
I walk.”

I motioned toward the passenger seat. “Get in,” I said, “And let’s talk.”

Chapter Two

Seattle at night is beautiful. Seattle at night with a beautiful girl is even better.

We drove in silence. My car is an old Mustang, not a classic, but old enough to give me problems. That night I had no problems with it. The windows were down as the cool air whipped through the interior. I glanced to my right once and saw the new girl was huddled in the center of the seat, hands in her lap, looking straight ahead. I sensed her fear, or at least trepidation. Serious trepidation. I’m good at sensing things. I’m good at sensing emotions in others. It’s a survival mechanism, one of many.

I think, probably, anyone could have read her emotions. She would have looked nervous to any observer. I don’t know how it works for other people, I only know how it goes for me.

And sometimes I’m not even sure of that.

And I probably should have said something to help her relax. Perhaps something funny or sweet. But I didn’t
feel
funny or sweet. I felt angry and bitter, and it was all I could do to not pull over somewhere and tell her to get lost so I could be alone with my miserable thoughts.

I reminded myself that there were far worse things in the world than sitting next to a beautiful girl.

Far worse, and I’d experienced most of them.

She sensed me looking at her and huddled deeper into herself, wrapping her arms tighter around her body. I looked away, focused on driving. Lately, it seemed I had forgotten normal social etiquette. Or, more likely, it was that I didn’t give a damn about social etiquette. It was hard to care much about anything anymore.

Then why did you offer to help her?

Good question. I thought about the answer as I drove through the streets of downtown Seattle, past piercing skyscrapers and glitzy restaurants, past the many homeless and the many more tourists. It was late, sure, but it was also Friday night. Seattle was hopping.

I knew that mostly I
didn’t
want to help. Mostly, I wanted to be left alone. And for the most part I was alone. Perhaps too alone. To say that I was in a strange place in my life would be perhaps the understatement of the decade.

Mostly, I sensed a darkness filling my heart, filling my insides, and it scared the hell out of me. Helping others, even when I didn’t want to, seemed to keep the darkness at bay, or at least slow it down. And it helped fight off that creeping loneliness that was the eternal plight of my kind.

“Where are we going?” Her voice was small and whispery.

“
Get you some food,” I said.

“
I’m not hungry.”

“
I disagree. I know you’re hungry.”

She looked over at me and I felt her eyes studying me closely. “Why do you think I’m hungry?”

“We were just in class for three hours. And, besides,” I said, looking at her, “it’s either that or you have a small alien inside you trying to get out. I can hear your stomach growling from here.”

She actually looked down at her stomach. Her brows knitted in a brief display of confusion. Finally she shrugged. “I didn’t hear it growl.”

“It’s growling now.”

She put her palms over her stomach. “How do you know that?”

“Not only are you hungry,” I said, whipping past a slow-moving scooter. “You haven’t eaten all day.”

“
How do you—”

“
Your stomach is completely empty.”

“
But how—”

“
How do I know your stomach is empty?”

“
Yeah, how? Like you can read my mind?”

Actually, I knew her stomach was empty by the sounds it wasn’t making. Sure, it would growl every once in a while, but mostly there was no indication of any digestion going on at all. I decided to keep some secrets to myself. “Call it a hunch,” I said. “So do you want something to eat?”

I knew what her answer would be. “I’ll pay you back.”

“
Don’t worry about it,” I said. “It’s only money. There’s plenty of it out there for everyone.”

She looked at me and she might have smiled. “Thank you.”

“No worries,” I said, and was pleased to feel the darkness within me subside a little, loosen its hold on my heart. Just a little. “What’s your name?”

“
Parker,” she said.

I almost laughed. “Is that your first or last name?”

“First, and don’t laugh.”

“
I didn’t, did I?”

“
No, but you almost did.”

“
What’s your last name, Parker? Wait, let me guess...Cindy?”

“
Ha, ha. It’s Cole.”

“
Parker Cole, huh?” I said. “You sound like a child TV star or something. Ever had your own show? ‘Parker With a P,’ maybe?”

“
I can’t tell if you’re being funny or mean,” she said after a moment. She had gone back to sitting in the middle of her seat, shrinking in on herself a little.

She wasn’t in my car for me to make fun of, or even hurt her feelings. A part of me didn’t care about her feelings. A part of me didn’t care about anyone’s feelings. But I was forcing that part of me to take a back seat. With some effort, I said, “I was just being stupid. Actually, you have a very nice name.”

“Thank you,” she said, but I had scared her off a little and she still sat closed on the seat. “Why do they call you Spider?”

“
It’s a new nickname,” I said. “I’m not sure why.”

Actually, I knew damn well why they called me Spider. I heard the whisperings behind my back. I was creepy. Spiders were creepy.

I turned right up Denny Street and headed toward Capital Hill, which is an unofficial “district” of Seattle. Capital Hill is also known as the “Freak District,” and there, as we passed the homeless and junkies and fellow creatures of the night, I made a right onto State Street and soon turned into Dick’s, Seattle’s infamous burger chain.

Dick’s only served burgers and fries and Cokes and so I didn’t need to take her order. I told her to wait in the car and a few moments later, I returned with a single order of food. I gave it to her as I sat back down in the front seat.

She looked at the meal, then looked at me. We were sitting under a parking lot light and her face was glowing palely. The oddballs and freaks were consuming their hamburgers nearby, since Dick’s didn’t have any indoor seating, and were laughing and talking and sometimes arguing. I caught one or two of them looking our way, sort of like a wolf might that had observed some sheep that were almost within range.

“
Nothing for you?” she asked.

“
I’m not hungry,” I said. Which was a lie. I was very, very hungry, and I was watching some of the lost souls sitting on curbs just outside the glow of the parking lot light. They should have been in shadows, but to my eyes, they weren’t. They were clear as day, and the darkness in me wanted to do something very bold and very stupid. The darkness in me wanted to hurt and kill and suck and drink. I closed my eyes, and did my best to ignore the darkness.

“
I can hear
your
stomach growling,” said Parker, and I knew she was teasing me.

“
Ha, yeah. I’ll eat later,” I said, and decided to change the subject. “So tell me why you need my help, and why I’m the guy you picked.”

She took another bite, chewed slowly, and washed it down with some Coke. She set the Coke carefully in the cup holder, then turned and faced me, tucking one leg under her as she did so. Girls can do things like that. I couldn’t tuck my leg under me like that to save my life.

If I had a life to save, that is.

“
They say you like to help people,” said Parker. “But most are afraid to ask you for help.”

“
Afraid of me? That’s hilarious. I’m a buck forty, dripping wet. Who are these people you speak of?”

“
Well, maybe not people, just the guy I asked about you.”

“
Well, don’t believe everything you hear.”

“
I heard what you did to those bullies. It didn’t make the papers, but word on the street says you’re either a hero or a lunatic.”

“
Maybe a little of both,” I said, not even bothering to lie about what really happened. Word on the street trumps the truth, anyway.

“
If people are afraid of you...why do you still like to help?”