The Keeper (Ellie Jordan, Ghost Trapper Book 8), Page 2

  "I guess you signed up for the extended care plan," I said. "Does she cost extra?"

  Michael looked at me quietly. He hadn't even glanced at the nurse as she'd left. I was just trying to joke with him, but it fell flat as week-old Coke.

  He didn't say anything, though. His eyes went from me to the ceiling, at which he stared for a long moment.

  I recognized that spot. I'd been floating there, out of body, when I'd reached out to him mentally, trying to wake him up. And succeeded, apparently.

  He'd said my name. He'd seen me floating up there above his bed.

  The other guys followed his gaze up to the ceiling tile and the fluorescent bar, looking puzzled, since there was nothing special to see there at the moment.

  "One time, I met this hot nurse at this party—no, wait, she was a paramedic—she had zoombas out to here—" Cherry began.

  "Let's step out," Brend said. "Pete, didn't you say they refilled the Butterfingers in the vending machine?"

  "Butterfingers!" Cherry's eyes lit up and he led the way out, moving like a starving rock giant who'd just heard about some tasty limestone. Pete and Brend had to dodge aside and then follow him out.

  I moved closer to Michael. We were alone in the room except for the elderly, unconscious man on the other side of the room's curtain.

  Michael's gaze finally dropped from the ceiling to my face.

  "How are you feeling?" I touched his hand. His skin was pale and a little feverish. "You know I don't really care about the nurse, as long as you're—"

  "I saw you." His voice was rough, like gravel rubbing on sandpaper.

  "You did?"

  His eyes went back to the ceiling. "You were in a black cloud. You looked evil."

  "Oh. Well, I'm not. At least, I try not to be. I guess it's debatable. Actually, that's kind of something we need to talk about."

  "It wasn't a dream," he said. "I've been awake since then. Scared you would come back."

  "This is hard to explain. I can leave my body now. I can't control it, and I don't want it to happen, but..."

  "It was like I could see your soul." He stared at the spot on the ceiling where I'd been.

  "Yeah? And it looked...evil?" I took a breath. "Do you remember what happened at the farm?"

  "You summoned the horseman to defeat me," he said. "To kill me."

  "Yeah. You were possessed by Anton Clay. He was going to burn us all to death. Do you remember all of that, too?"

  "I've been in Hell, Ellie," he said. His hand, which hadn't responded to my touch, pulled away.

  "What?"

  "Nightmares. Fire. Pain. That's what I've been dreaming about."

  "He could still be inside you." I touched his forehead and found it warm. He drew his head back from my fingers. "We need to get Jacob to check you out."

  "Of course. Your back-up boyfriend. Bring him in here to mess with my head."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I think I've had enough," he said. "Enough ghosts, psychics, haunted houses, and graveyards. We can't all be obsessed with death, Ellie. That's just a way of avoiding life."

  "Michael," I said. "This isn't you. I think Anton—"

  "He's gone," Michael said. "This is me, Ellie. This is me telling you I've had enough." He closed his eyes.

  "Okay," I said. "I never meant for you to get involved in my work anyway. That was my mistake."

  "I need to rest. You've got me at a disadvantage right now." He kept his eyes closed.

  "A disadvantage? I'm here to help you, Michael."

  "Really? Did you bring another one of your ghosts to carve me up?"

  I stood there stunned, unsure what more to say. I wouldn't have been surprised if he was angry at me, but I'd never heard such a deep bitterness in him before. Michael had plenty to be bitter about, too, long before he'd met me.

  "I know you feel betrayed," I said. "And you're right. I hurt you. This is all my fault."

  "They called you?" Melissa opened the door and walked into the room with her arms folded. Michael's sister was seventeen but had the eyes of someone who'd lived much longer, someone who'd seen one parent choose to abandon her and the other slowly shrivel up and die before her eyes. She was a little taller than me, and athletic. She looked ready to fight. "You're not family. Why did they call you?"

  "Nobody called me. I just happened to be here when he woke up."

  "Yeah, right." She looked at Michael, whose eyes were still closed. "Did he go back to sleep?"

  "He's awake. He's just waiting for me to leave."

  "Guess you better leave, then."

  "Yep." I moved past her to the open door. Melissa was staring me down. "You can call me if you want to talk, you know. Either one of you."

  "Talk about what?" Melissa asked. "Did you need to pick up your stuff from our apartment or something? You leave some clothes in Michael's room?"

  "I'll see you later, Melissa."

  She didn't reply as I headed out into the hall, toward the elevator.

  "Leaving so soon?" Cherry called out from the waiting area. The three firefighters were back in their plaid chairs. Cherry was chomping on a Butterfinger bar and spraying fragments as he spoke. "You barely had time to kiss him."

  "I bet it got weird when his sister walked in," Pete said, and Cherry slugged him in the shoulder for some reason, without looking away from me or pausing in his consumption of the Butterfinger. It looked like he'd punched Pete pretty hard; the rookie winced and retreated to the far side of his ugly plaid chair.

  "Please keep watch on Michael," I said. "If he starts acting weird, let me know."

  "Weird like dating some girl who thinks she sees ghosts everywhere?" Cherry asked. "That is pretty weird, huh, Brend?"

  "What do you mean by weird?" Brend asked me, watching me coolly.

  "High temperature. Violent tendencies. Anything levitating or bursting into flames around him." I pointed to a built-in fire hose in a glass cabinet nearby. "I'm sure you guys know how to use that. Be prepared. He might be possessed by that fire ghost. Or he might just really, really hate me now. Hopefully it's the second."

  The elevator dinged, and I hurried inside the sliding metal doors. The interior had a mirrored wall, so I could see myself on the way down. There were huge purple bags under my eyes, and my hair was completely unkempt, my shirt half-tucked into jeans that were dirtier than I'd realized when I pulled them on. No wonder everyone was treating me like a walking nightmare.

  Michael's rejection had stung, even more so because I totally deserved it. I should have found another way, back in the corn maze. I was supposed to be the expert at dealing with dangerous ghosts. That was my job, not his.

  I didn't truly realize how badly I hurt until I was out in my car, alone, with no need to put on a tough face for anyone. I tried to tell myself there was a chance Michael was still possessed, that Anton was pulling his strings, but I didn't really believe it. Anton was boastful, proud, radiant with fiery energy. Michael seemed beaten and brittle, someone who'd just discovered the world was an even darker place than he'd imagined it to be. Someone who'd been betrayed.

  Anyway, it was also horrible to hope that Michael was still possessed. Better to hope that he truly just hated me. That was the optimistic view.

  I was crying silently as I drove home. The light had been sucked out of the day. Heavy dark clouds had moved in from the ocean, and halfway home, rain started to pound the roof of my car, and it didn't let up for the rest of the day.

  Chapter Three

  "It's still coming down out there," Stacey said, looking out the window as water flooded down the front of it, blurring the dark world outside. The reflection of her face glowed green on the windowpane, illuminated by her phone. "The weather service has bad news, too. We're looking at four or five a.m. before we get a break. There's some kind of swirling tropical storm with a lot of red in it, out in the Caribbean. Sending bad vibes our way."

  "At least we'll have plenty of cover." I unleashed a barrage
of kicks and punches on the hanging blue punching bag in front of me. We were at the little gym where I took my kickboxing lessons. There weren't any classes going, so the place was deserted, but my membership card let me in the door anytime I wanted.

  The place was narrow but had a high ceiling, the brick walls reaching into darkness above the hanging lights. Most of the lights were out now, to save power.

  At the front of the gym, two tall windows looked out on the street. The ornate streetlamps were like blurry, distant moons, barely visible through the downpour.

  I unleashed another attack on the punching bag, angrier this time, more aggressive.

  "You're just beating yourself up, you know," Stacey said.

  "No. I'm beating up this punching bag." I gave it another hard kick, sending it swinging. "Are you practicing with me or not?"

  Stacey had invited herself along, and even changed into gym clothes, but had yet to show interest in any of the punching bags or other exercise opportunities available. She was more of an outdoorsy type, preferring to get her exercise through hiking, kayaking, and climbing up rock cliffs just to rappel right back down them again. Apparently she had less aggression to get out than I did.

  "If you hadn't stopped Anton, he would've KFC'd all of us," Stacey said. "We'd all be extra crispy, including Michael. Why don't you think of it as saving his life instead of hurting him? You didn't have any choice but to summon the headless horseman."

  "He was Hessian, not headless." I grunted as I pounded my fist into the bag. "I should've come up with a better strategy. I should have led the horseman away through the maze, away from everyone else, even if that put me in danger."

  "Right. Away through the corn maze that was on fire all around us? That maze?" Stacey came over to hold the punching bag while I attacked it. "Face it, Ellie. You saved us. Corrine's just sixteen, that's an innocent life you saved. And I'm fairly innocent myself. So are you."

  "I don't know about that." I kicked the bag, then took a moment to catch my breath, resting my hands on my knees. My feet were bare on the padded floor. "I think I'm done here. We may as well check on Anton's old properties. The rain's going to keep visibility low. Should keep the cops from asking what we're doing."

  "Low visibility is good," Stacey agreed. "Unless we're screaming and waving for help. Also, Jacob told me to never go into that old theater. And he said if I went anyway, I had to bring him."

  "We're not going upstairs to see Scary Houdini,” I said. “Though we should probably try and figure out who he is. That old magician ghost really makes it hard to investigate the theater. But you can tell Jacob we're staying downstairs tonight. We'll be in and out in five minutes, as soon as we change out the batteries and the memory for the cameras."

  "Doesn't matter. I better text him."

  "All right. That gives me time to hit the shower." I launched one final, extra-hard kick at the center of the bag, lashing out with all my frustration, anger, and fear at the problems that surrounded me. I missed a little and stubbed my toe pretty badly across the surface of the bag, and I hissed.

  "Yowtch, that looked painful," Stacey said.

  "I meant to do that," I said. "That's a real kickboxing move. The, uh, Angry Toe."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Are you talking to Jacob yet?" I asked as I hurried toward the gym's showers. I normally avoid them, but there was nobody else around, and I did have flip-flops with me to block any major invasive foot fungus.

  Thunder rumbled outside, and the lights flickered off and on while I showered, the storm messing up the electricity in the old building.

  I'd hoped the workout would clear my head, but all it had done was wear down my muscles. I felt as lost and confused as I had when I'd arrived. Stacey had probably insisted on joining me to provide moral support and try to cheer me up, which was a nice gesture but wasn't likely to lead anywhere. Happiness is not my default mode in the first place.

  I emerged from the gym shower dressed for ghost hunting—denim jeans, leather jacket, turtleneck to protect against scratchers and biters. Ponytail, for a dozen obvious reasons. Boots to protect my feet from glass and nails in crumbling old buildings. My utility belt and tactical flashlight were out in my car, waiting.

  "He's coming," Stacey said. Outside, a sheet of light lit up the windows when she said that, and all the gym lights went out. "Wow, that was dramatic. Hey, I was talking about Jacob. Not Satan or anything," she said, looking out the window and up at the sky. There was another flash of light. A few seconds later, the overhead lights flickered back to life, though they seemed dimmer than before. "Wish we had more gear.”

  "We're lucky to have any." I watched more lightning outside. Kara, our new boss, had forbidden us from investigating the Anton Clay case at all, on the grounds that nobody was paying us to do it. That meant we weren't technically allowed to use any company equipment for that purpose. "I hope Nicholas and the Hoff are still covering for us. And doing a good enough job of it."

  We watched the storm for a minute.

  "So...Thanksgiving," Stacey said, as if to fill time. "You have plans?"

  "I hadn't really thought about it. I guess I just spent it with Calvin last year. We had hot dogs. I don't even know if he's going to be in town this year. Maybe I would've done something with Michael and Melissa, but now there's a lot to patch up over there...what about you?"

  "I definitely have to go back to Montgomery," she said. "My grandma's. Huge deal if I miss a major holiday like that."

  "Your grandma with the horse farm?"

  "That's the one."

  "Are you bringing Jacob with you?"

  "That's an interesting question," Stacey said. "I have to think about whether we're serious enough for him to be subjected to the full force of my family. Maybe it would be best to hold off...at least until Christmas...besides, his family does a big Thanksgiving, too. Not so much Christmas. They're more into stuff like Hanukkah. Anyway, so for Thanksgiving, he might stay here while I go home. But if you maybe wanted to come to Alabama with me, you know, as a friend..."

  "Thanks, Stacey. I don't know. I'll see what Calvin's plans are." I could only imagine being surrounded by a swarm of blond Stacey-like people, cheerfully chatting about horses and hiking while, I don't know, playing some kind of sportsball in the back yard.

  "He's probably going to Florida, right? To see his daughter and her baby?"

  "Not so fast. Calvin's been talking with his daughter, Lori, but not his ex-wife," I said. "I'm not sure those two will ever be able to sit at the same Thanksgiving table again. So he might need me here or else he'll be alone."

  "Well, maybe you can do better than hot dogs this time."

  "We had macaroni and cheese, too," I said. "It was pretty great. Cooking and clean-up took no time."

  "You're making me cry inside," Stacey said. "Oh, yippee, there's Jacob!"

  The headlights of Jacob's Hyundai swam toward us through the downpour like lantern fish in deep water. They lit up the dim interior of the gym like searchlights for a moment, then turned dark.

  Stacey opened the barred glass door to let him inside. Jacob carried a large black umbrella, very sensible.

  "Whoa, are y'all part of a fight club?" Jacob asked, taking in the row of punching bags.

  "If we were, we couldn't tell you," Stacey said. "You know that."

  "I thought about joining one back in high school," he said. "Signed up for chess club instead. Fewer head injuries, you know."

  "I've heard some chess games get pretty violent," Stacey said.

  "They're called matches, not games."

  "Do you want me to stuff you into one of those lockers, nerd?" Stacey pointed to the row at the back of the gym.

  "Just try it." Jacob raised both hands, holding the fingers flat, karate-chop fashion. "I've seen Chinese Super Ninjas more than six and a half times."

  "That can't be a real movie," I said.

  "It's more than real," Jacob told me. "It's a masterpiece. There are water ninjas
with snorkels. Wood ninjas who turn into trees. That's why the original release title was Five Element Ninjas—"

  "That's it! You're going into the locker!" Stacey leaped at Jacob and caught him in a headlock. He managed to pull free, and they circled each other like cage match combatants.

  "Can we save up all the kung fu fighting for later?" I asked. "We might need it if we run into any lurking ghosts."

  "We're not actually going into that old theater again, right?" Jacob said, looking serious again. He stopped circling Stacey and lowered his karate choppers. "With the old magician?"

  "We're not going up into his area," I said. "Just downstairs. We should be pretty safe."

  As if to prove me wrong, Stacey threw herself on top of Jacob again. She caught him completely off-guard this time and sent him crashing to the floor, where she pinned his arms down with her knees.

  "No fair," Jacob protested, trying to work his way free. Her arms had trapped him pretty solidly, though.

  "Are you guys done horsing around?" I asked.

  "No," Stacey said, her eye twinkling as she looked down at Jacob on the floor. "I want to horse a little more."

  "Ugh, I'll be in the van." I hurried out, pulling up the hood of my long black rain slicker against the torrent.

  The rain was warm and tropical, blowing up from a possible hurricane system out in the ocean. There was way, way too much of it. Rivers roared along the sidewalks and through the street gutters. The rain blew at me on a slant, hitting me in the face even when I pulled my hood forward for extra protection.

  My car wasn't far away. Our usual blue cargo van was parked at the office, under the noses of the new ownership, and we were not supposed to be investigating the Anton Clay case at all. That meant no company resources other than what we'd already smuggled out during our last investigation.

  We were taking my car since it was small and black, less likely to be noticed when parked in a dark alley than Jacob's gray Hyundai or Stacey's forest-green Escape.

  We piled in, and then I pulled out into the rain. The wipers swept at their highest speed, but still struggled to keep the water off the windshield. It was like watching a tired old man trying to paddle a canoe in a flood using only a measly pair of sticks. "Passengers, if you look ahead on your right, you'll find the overflowing lake that used to be Daffin Park...it once had a nice walking track as recently as this morning, now lost under a foot of rainwater, so sad..."