Spirits Read online

  So, the phone call was true. And it made no sense that it could be true. Had she spoken to her mother? It seemed nearly impossible that her mother would’ve been able to reach her on some rusted-out, sand-strewn payphone hundreds of miles from her home in New Hampshire.

  She snapped out of her stupor and realized she was making crazy-assed theories about her father’s death based upon a vision that might not have even been real. She shut off the faucet.

  She dried herself, but the thought of going back to her room made her shudder. She’d have to face reality sooner or later, even if that reality meant jail time for walloping Amelia over the head, but now she was naked and growing colder by the minute.

  Tori walked upstairs and grabbed the same gin bottle she swore she’d hit Amelia with and took a drink.

  CHAPTER 13

  Chris looked out over the crowd. It had been a good day. He’d sold all of the rarities he’d brought with him, plus some of the most recent issues of Thor, Old Man Logan, American Gods, Monstress, and Dark Nights: Metal. A mom came in and snapped up all of the Wings of Fire graphic novels for her kid, who offered Chris a lecture on why the ice dragon was the coolest one of all without the slightest hint of irony in his voice. Chris chuckled thinking about the kid. The collectible figures did well, too.

  He couldn’t shake the guilt of hitting that jerk the night before. Oh, there was no doubt the asshole deserved it––and worse. But, boy, did Chris feel it today. His knuckles throbbed, and there was a persistent, angry ache in his thigh. His back creaked when he stood.

  Doug charged through the crowd, jolting around people and clearing a path toward him. The sight startled Chris.

  “Man, you gotta pack up and get out of here,” Doug blurted breathlessly.

  Chris furrowed his brow. “What on earth is going on?”

  “Security’s looking for you. I heard them talking to some kid in the hallway. He described you to a tee and gave them the name from your nametag. Dude! The guy said you beat the shit out of him last night. What the fuck?”

  Nausea washed over Chris.

  “I can explain,” he said, aghast at the look on Doug’s face. “This kid was being very aggressive to a young woman, and he looked like he was going to get physical, so I …”

  He stopped short of telling Doug that he transformed into QuickSilver, and that the transformation is involuntary and so seamless, most people wouldn’t be able to discern it. He couldn’t control it any more than he could control breathing.

  “I just had to. I had to step in.”

  Doug pressed his lips together and nodded. “I get it. Hey, I would’ve done the same thing. But, listen, this is serious. I think the fucker is going to press charges. I’m just giving you a heads up. You might want to start packing your shit. Here, I’ll give you a hand.”

  The cold reality that he could go to jail settled over Chris. Doug had already started grabbing comics and putting them into boxes.

  “Hey, careful with those. Here, these go in this box.”

  The two sorted through the merchandise on the table and loaded up the boxes onto the dolly in the corner. They made a few back-and-forth trips to Chris’s car and loaded it up. Once the table was cleared, Doug stood, hands open, and said, “Nothing but respect, man, but you need some help.”

  Help? Chris knew what he was getting at.

  “I’m not crazy,” Chris asserted as they walked out of the dealers’ room to the bank of elevators so he could retrieve his overnight bag.

  Doug put his hands down and shook his head.

  “You can’t do stuff like that, man. You’re gonna end up in jail. If this asshole chooses to push things, he could probably get your address from the hotel and track you down. Get on out of here, and, if you’re lucky, he might drop it. If you need a witness, I’m here for you.”

  Doug tucked a hand into his back pocket and retrieved a business card.

  “If shit gets real, give me a call.”

  Chris took it and nodded. He appreciated the gesture, but the last thing QuickSilver needed was a sidekick. The elevator dinged, and he extended a hand and shook Doug’s. Doug pulled him in for an embrace.

  “It’s been so good to see you,” Doug said. “I’m serious about getting together soon. Let’s make a plan. You call me, y’hear?”

  Chris smiled and said, “Yeah. Of course.”

  He genuinely liked Doug, and he appreciated that he might be a witness if anything did come of last night’s fight. Being a superhero made it hard to form real friendships, and he knew their plans to meet up would probably go unfulfilled.

  He made it to his room and threw a few clothing items from the night before into the overnight bag. He gave the place a once-over to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything and hauled ass to the lobby where he hastily handed his key over to Jessica, who looked frazzled and overwhelmed. She gave a weak smile as she handed over his receipt.

  “Hope you had a pleasant stay,” she said before turning back to her computer.

  He hefted his bag to the car and headed off for the highway, checking his rearview on the way out.

  Bracken watched Andrea sip a cup of tea and read her Facebook newsfeed. Her thumb flipped against the screen every few seconds. She never looked up to catch his gaze, and it made him sad.

  Tori had seen him. And she’d heard. A nervous knot built in his stomach. He’d never meant for anything to happen. He loved his wife. Still, some fucked-up white knight syndrome wormed its way through his veins. It was the same compulsion that drove him to move all the way across the country to save his online girlfriend/now wife’s home from foreclosure. It was the same compulsion that compelled him to plead and beg her to get help for her drinking problem. He wouldn’t even drink at home. Maybe he saw parallels between the two women, but he knew Tori’s problem was far worse than he could handle. Andrea’d had a binge-drinking problem. Tori might just be losing her grip on reality. He couldn’t be sure just what had been going through her head the other night. He just couldn’t stand to see a woman suffer.

  He’d kissed her under the gazebo after neglecting to tell her he had a wife. And now she knew. An overwhelming urge to explain and fix things seized him. He stood up, and for the first time all morning, Andrea looked up.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” she asked.

  “I … I have something I need to do. I’ll be back in a little while.”

  He stuffed his keys in the pocket of his jeans, put on his sneakers, and opened the porch door. He felt Andrea’s eyes on his back as he walked out.

  Bracken put a hand to his eyes to block the sunlight. It was bright but not warm, and he wished he’d brought a flannel shirt or the cardigan that dangled by a thick cable of wool from the coatrack.

  The southbound trip along a cracked and root-jumbled sidewalk took much longer than usual. Maybe it just seemed that way. Something hung in the air. It was thick and menacing. It threatened to eclipse the sun itself and cast the trees, the Victorian homes lining Perry Street, the beach, and even his soul into darkness. He couldn’t see it, but electricity sizzled down his spine, and the feathery brown hair on his arms stood on end.

  The house near the intersection of Beach loomed taller than he remembered.

  I’m being ridiculous, he thought. I’m just nervous. This is awkward. Beyond awkward.

  He sucked in the briny sea air and clomped up the front steps. The front door was unlocked, so he walked on in.

  Amelia wasn’t at her post at the front desk.

  “Amelia? Hello?”

  Silence hung heavy in the air. His footsteps echoed as he moved up the stairs. A piece of wallpaper unfurled from the wall, and the rustle it made sent a jolt through his belly. His elbows snapped out in preparation for a fight. He almost laughed at himself when he realized it was only the wallpaper. Man, Amelia had really let this place go since Bill died.

  It had never been the nicest place on Beach. They allowed dogs, and the whole place smelled like soggy canines and milde
w from the water stains they just couldn’t pull from the carpets. It was a popular choice for college kids who were happy to share a hall bathroom with ten strangers. The price reflected that. It may not have been nice, but it certainly was cheap.

  It seemed those tight margins were so paper-thin, Amelia couldn’t pay for repairs. He flipped the wallpaper back up and continued up to the second floor. A thud from above cracked the silence. It anchored him to the second-floor landing. His ears perked as he sought out a source for the sound. A door slammed open. Feet pounded against the wooden steps.

  The rustle of cloth became more distinct as someone rounded the banister.

  Tori stomped down the last few steps, wrapped in a down blanket, hair frizzed in all directions, face drawn and concrete white. Alcohol fumes wavered off of her.

  A growl rumbled from deep within her. Bracken clutched the banister.

  “Tori? Are you okay?”

  Her gaze was intense, like a sniper coolly watching a target, determining how much time she’d need to squeeze the trigger and blast his guts all over the floor. Her pupils blacked out most of her irises. She took a few steps forward and her lips curled at the corners.

  “Oh, hey.”

  Her hollow eyes flickered. A rosy glow spread across her cheeks. She looked almost normal.

  “Didn’t hear you come in. I’m guessing we have a lot to talk about, huh? Like the fact that you invited me out and kissed me and left out some important information?”

  Bracken considered bolting for the front door, but he knew this had to be done.

  “Come downstairs. Let’s sit down, and I can explain.”

  A faint, humorless smile stretched broadly across her face. Her eyes were wild and angry.

  He started down the stairs first, and he heard the bedlinens draped around Tori scratch against the wallpaper. It hissed all the way down the stairwell. A cold sweat gathered at the base of his neck. Tori’s presence behind him felt ominous. He half expected to turn around and find Count Orlok hunched and claws raised, ready to draw blood.

  Bracken led her to the front parlor to the left of the front door. They sat on an overstuffed sofa. Tori’s blankets took up about a third of the cushion.

  “Hey, listen. I just wanted to say I’m really sorry you found out I’m married the way you did. I should’ve been a hundred-percent honest from the get-go. There was something about you. I felt I needed to reach out to you. I’ve been married for fifteen years, and this is the first time, I swear, the first time I’ve ever done anything like this.”

  Bracken paused a moment, gauging her reaction, studying her face for some sign of grace or forgiveness or anger.

  Tori sat stiffly, a hand clenched against the cloth of the comforter. Her eyes were focused on the picture window. He wasn’t sure she’d even heard him.

  “Tori? Are you okay? Do you need help?”

  She turned her head slowly until her ink-black eyes connected with his. She stared, boring into his soul for a few moments. Then she leaned forward and a bony, veiny hand poked through from the comforter. She clutched his knee bone until pain shot down his thigh. He jumped up and backed to the door. Her other hand produced a bottle of clear liquor from beneath the comforter. She uncorked it and suckled deeply. When she came up for air, she laughed.

  “Help? Do I need help?” she asked. Her voice was metallic and hoarse.

  Her gaze went beyond the picture window to the shore.

  “There’s no help for me.”

  Bracken rubbed his knee and hobbled to the front porch. Then he shambled all the way back home, eyes scanning from time to time to make sure he wasn’t being followed.

  CHAPTER 14

  Bilious fluid gurgled in Tori’s throat. She tried to open her eyelids, but they were so heavy, the simple act seemed impossible. The floor was cold. She still clutched the empty bottle in her right hand.

  A shadow crossed her face. The pressure of someone standing over her made her hands twitch. She pried open her eyes and saw the blurry outline of a face. A low, soft voice spoke, but the sound was muffled. Tori swallowed the large, sour lump in her throat. She licked her dry lips and tried to sit up. Something shoved her back down, and her head thudded against the floor.

  The sensation of someone straddling her sent goosebumps across her chilled flesh. A sharp slap stung her face, and she bolted up. Stringy hair brushed against her skin as she sat.

  Tori blinked a couple of times and let the bottle slip from her grip. Her knuckles ached. Something breathed softly inches from her face. The features of a face appeared. A bushy eyebrow. A doe-brown eye framed by a fringe of lashes. A soft, pink cheek. The curve of a smile materialized. Tori scrambled backward.

  A teenage girl sat in front of her, knees tucked into her chest. She smiled. The stench of decay billowed from her.

  “Surprised to see me?” the girl asked. Her grin broadened.

  A writhing tangle wriggled in Tori’s guts. Was she awake? She felt awake, but it was hard to tell.

  The girl crawled on her hands and knees to Tori’s face, close enough that the jagged pain of farsightedness shot through her eyes. The stale breath hovered like the stink of an open sewer.

  “You haven’t had enough to drink,” the girl whispered, feather-light, just next to Tori’s ear, a friend sharing a secret. It was intimate enough to blow back the hair at her ear. “It’s time to have more.”

  Tori lifted her gaze to the writing desk above her. The bottles were gone, even the airline bottles.

  The girl––was her name Lexie? For some reason, Tori thought the girl’s name was Lexie––shook her head and held up a bottle. The liquid inside was brown, but it had no label. Tori shook her head. She didn’t believe she could stand up on her own. Her eyes sagged under the weight of the liquor she’d already consumed. Lexie twisted the bottle open with a click-click and fumes rose up into Tori’s nostrils. The fragrance was sweet and delicate, like rose petals and sugar cookies. Innocuous. Comforting. Smooth on the way down. The mellowest booze, like suckling mother’s milk. Tori couldn’t stop guzzling it. Warmth spread down her limbs and faded into a pleasant numbness. It was like taking a punch from a prizefighter. Tori slumped backward and found herself freefalling into a black pit.

  Was this death? This black pool of nothingness? Tori didn’t strain against it. She wondered if she could even fight it if she tried. It was the first time in days she felt sane. It was the first time in a long time when she felt peace. She was suspended in a room so dark she strained to make out corners and walls. She rolled her head to the side in the hopes of seeing something. Lexie’s soft breath was the only sound. A hand clutched her arm. Pain shot down her elbow.

  The love you need ain’t gonna see you through.

  “No one loves you,” Lexie sing-songed. “No one loves you, no one loves you, no one loves you. And no one ever will.”

  A deep, low laugh followed, one incongruous coming from a giddy, mocking teenage girl. Tori tried to talk. Her voice cracked, and the syrupy, metallic taste of blood flowed from her throat.

  “Help. Me.” Tori choked out the words.

  A chorus of hoots and hollers rose up from the empty room, echoing in some cavernous chamber. Something white fluttered in the distance and broke through the darkness. A small child dressed in a white gown rounded the corner, strawberry blonde curls bouncing as she moved, humming a nursery rhyme song. The cotton of the gown puffed out slightly in a silent breeze. Goosebumps perked up on Tori’s skin at the sight of her.

  “Miss Tori?” the small child cooed. “Why did you kill Lexie?”

  The child extended a hand and smoothed Tori’s hair. The touch felt ephemeral and sticky like a spiderweb. Tori stared, unable to speak. The little girl’s bottom lip puffed, a prelude to tears.

  Voices echoed beyond them.

  “Get away from her,” a woman’s voice scolded, severe and angry. “We don’t associate with people like that. She’s evil. A murderer.”

  The little girl
recoiled, walked backward, and slid back into the nothingness. The chorus of voices rose up, accusatory and angry. A sound, like rain pattering against the window pane, started up, and Tori listened, confused about the source. An explosion of orange and black butterflies swarmed toward her. They hummed and zigzagged out of the ether like irritated bees, and instinct compelled her to protect her face, but she couldn’t move. They fluttered at her, beating against her face. Her mouth opened in shock and revulsion, and a butterfly slipped inside, its papery wings flapping against the roof of her mouth. Its spiny, hairy legs tickled her tongue and gums, and she choked. Her eyes bulged, and her hands closed into ice-cold fists as it worked its way down her gullet.

  “We don’t want her here,” a voice rang out above the constant thrum of wings. “Why did you bring her here? She hasn’t learned anything. She’s a snotty, selfish, two-faced bitch. She doesn’t belong here. Send her back.”

  Tori’s heart raced. She felt pressure closing in around her. The butterfly crawled out of her mouth, and its brethren scattered away in a brilliant explosion. She stared for a minute, unable to speak, but rage bubbled up.

  “Why are you torturing me?” Tori shouted, entangling her fingers in her hair. “Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough? Yes, I killed that kid. And I live with that every fucking day. All day. Why are you judging me for the way I live with it?”

  Burning tears built in her sinuses and snot flowed from her nose. She swiped at the gunk with the back of her hand and pressed her eye sockets with her fingers. When she looked up again, she was sitting in the bedroom. Had she ever left? She’d never felt happier to be alone.

  The empty bottle on the floor gleamed in the lamplight, and she clutched it. She shook the final drops onto her tongue. The dregs settled on her mouth and tasted like creamy, sweet mocha.

  Tori had to do something. They were getting to her, worming their way beneath her skin.

  She couldn’t shake the vision of the woman who had attacked her at the bar, that Perez woman. She tortured Tori, and she couldn’t even begin to imagine what she might be capable of. Tori didn’t even know what was real anymore, but she believed this was the goal of the slithering being that lived in her head. She closed her eyes and saw two red, glowing orbs, like twin cigarettes burning, and she knew it was this woman.