A Strange There After (5 page)

“He’s here, too?” I didn’t remember ever
picking up any children, either in our evidence or from my
abilities.

“He has to be.” Aching need filled her
whispered words, and I pitied her. I was about to tell her he
probably passed on to someplace better when her expression changed.
It grew fearful, and she began to fade. “Someone is coming.”

She disappeared before I managed to ask her
who. Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and I crept into one of the
far rooms. It had to be a team of investigators. No one else would
really venture to the upper floors. A figure came into view,
darkened by the lack of light. I noted a slim frame, broad
shoulders and a video recorder. A ghost hunter, flying solo.

And as he stepped into the sliver of light
from the street below, I groaned.

Boone Ravenwood. Notorious paranormal
investigator. He annoyed the crap out of me with the videos he
posted on YouTube. Crazy, never-before-seen footage of him going
into abandoned buildings and encountering life beyond the grave. I
hated how he showed no fear or respect for the entities who lived
among us. His methods were controversial, on the aggressive side,
and boy oh boy, did he like to think he knew it all.

“Jackass,” I muttered.

He pivoted, pointing his camera in my
direction. “Hello?”

My jaw dropped open. Did he really hear me
that easily? I studied his face, which was almost as annoying as
his personality. Dark eyes, dark hair shaped into a faux-hawk,
chiseled cheekbones, hipster glasses and a frigging dimple. Cocky
and good-looking, he’d become a bit of an internet sensation,
mostly with thirteen year old girls. Needless to say, I despised
him.

So, I decided to have a little fun.

Ducking behind the nearest wall, into a room
with two doorways, I concentrated as hard as I could, like I did in
Abby’s room. When my hand felt strong enough, I raked my nails down
the exposed wood, adding in a bang here and there.

Boone cursed under his breath, and when I
heard him walking toward me, I used the other doorway right as he
came in. Out in the hall again, I bent and picked up a piece of
broken board, chucking it through the entrance he’d just passed
through. Apparently, mischief was the key to manipulating objects.
Or, maybe the longer I am in this form, the easier it becomes. I
really had no clue.

“Quit playing games, and show yourself,” he
demanded, but I detected a slight waver in his voice.

My energy sapped, I didn’t think I’d be able
to do much more. Moving as quietly as I could, I snuck up behind
him and blew on his neck. He jumped and spun, but I’d already
stepped to the side, deeper into the shadows. From my vantage
point, I noticed his wide eyes and how his camera shook the tiniest
bit. Not such a hotshot now. Probably wasn’t used to having so much
activity this soon into an investigation.

That said, it appeared as though he heard my
breath. Maybe I could use him. Nearly every episode of his web
serial, Ravenwood Hauntings, he boasted about being highly
sensitive to ghosts. It gave me a bit of hope. Luckily, it was easy
to find out the truth.

“Can you hear me, Captain Ego?”

It surprised me to see him flinch, but he
held his ground, taking a cautious step in my direction. “Come on,
is someone messing with me? They told me no one would be up
here.”

I rolled my eyes. “Right, nobody but us
unruly ghosts.”

He shook his head. “Speakers. There have to
be speakers.”

His attention diverted toward the walls, and
he switched on a small flashlight. He examined every inch of the
landing, poking his head into the other rooms. Dust motes swirled
in the beam, illuminated snow falling from the ceiling and kicked
up by Boone’s shoes. He walked by the doorway I stood in, and the
beam of light flicked over me. He froze.

Slowly, he retraced his actions, and when the
flashlight passed by me again, he cursed. Startled, he retreated a
foot or two, fumbling to get his video recorder into position.

“Who are you?”

“You’re not near as good at this as you
pretend.” I paused, as the full weight of the encounter hit me with
the force of a speeding bus. “You can see me? And hear me?”

“I can, but you’re, I mean, you look...this
isn’t how it usually works.”

I advanced on him, humming with excitement
and backing him into a corner. “Awesome. Tell me what I look
like.”

“Faint on the camera, but nearly solid when I
look straight on. Modern clothes, long black hair, milky skin,
green eyes, beautiful.”

“I know all that,” I said in exasperation. “I
mean, am I solid? No, I must be translucent. Right? I mean, like, I
look kinda transparent to myself, but I’m not sure what I see
counts.”

“Yeah, faded and a little see-through.” He
lowered his camera, and a scowl twisted his features. Pushing at
his glasses, he asked, “You’re a hologram, aren’t you? Someone
trying to prove what I do is fake? Well, it’s not. I am a
professional.”

“Professional jerkwad, maybe.” I tried really
hard not to laugh. Honestly, I did, but it bubbled out of me
anyway. “Look, if I were a hologram or whatever, would I be able to
do this?”

Reaching out, I passed my fingers through his
arm, causing him to yank it away from me. I stared at my digits. An
odd static sensation lingered, making them tingle.

“Did you feel it?”

Anyone who’d been touched by a ghost
recognized the feeling. In reaction, he examined me closer. After a
few long minutes, he drew in a deep breath and resumed recording,
the tremor gone from his voice replaced by a firm, business-like
tone.

“I’m at Moon River Brewing in Savannah,
Georgia and have just encountered a surprisingly vivid entity of a
young girl, late teens, I’d guess. Hot, but you all can see that
through the lens.”

“Hot? Really? Don’t be lame.” Although, some
part of me flushed at the idea of him describing me as attractive
twice in the last couple of minutes.

“What can I say? I am a seeker of truth.”

“I won’t let you use me for one of your
stupid videos. Turn it off.”

“No, this is unprecedented. Imagine all the
hits I’ll get off this.”

A flash of anger flared inside me. Without
thinking, I reached out and swiped at his arm hard, knocking the
camera out of it. The device bounced across the floor, coming to
stop a few feet away. Boone only showed a second of shock, with
saucer-sized eyes and an open mouth. Then, he recovered and
regained his air of confidence. Tucking his hands in the pockets of
his jeans, he leaned against the wall.

“Okay, you have my attention.”

This was my worst nightmare as a ghost, or
whatever I was. Being caught in some strange interaction with a guy
I had zero respect for. It hammered home how screwed up everything
was. I came to Moon River intent on tracking down Abby, but after
stopping to consider it, what did I expect to happen when I found
her? She couldn’t hear me, and obviously EVPs—electronic voice
phenomenon—weren’t reliable. Boone offered a different option. For
some reason, he saw me. The worst part? I liked that he saw me.
Finally, I felt normal, more so than I had with Abby and despite
the fact Boone flinched every time I lifted my hand. For now, I was
just Quinn—not sad ghost Quinn or angry vengeful Quinn.

“Did you die in this building?” To himself,
he mumbled, “Recently I’d say, based on your clothes. It would have
been in the news, though.”

His question startled me out of my wandering
thoughts. “Your detective skills are astounding,” I drawled. “And
why would you assume that?”

“Uh, because you’re here? Most spirits tend
to haunt the places important to them, a place they died,
especially if it was a traumatic death. The violent energy traps
them in the location.”

“I know all that,” I snapped. “But I’m
different.” Unfortunately, I knew if I wanted his help, sooner or
later I’d have to dig into the pile of reasons the ghostly rules
didn’t apply to me.

“You’re a grouchy ghost.”

“I’m not a ghost.”

“It’s okay. I’ve come across plenty who
believe they’re still alive.”

I crossed my arms. “Oh, yeah? And what do you
call it if my body is running around, inhabited by someone
else?”

“Delusional.” He smirked, flashing the dimple
in his left cheek.

“You really are a jerk.”

He laughed.

“This is not something to laugh about!” The
timbre of my voice danced around us. “I’m telling you the truth. I
was ousted from my body by a maniacal spirit who is currently
taking up residence there. And I can prove it.”

“Look,” he began, the patience leaving him.
“You’re obviously new, so I can’t explain it any better. What
you’re suggesting is not possible. Never, in all my years
investigating, have I come across someone claiming to have been
forced out of their body. Sharing it with some kind of possession,
yes. Eviction? No way.”

“All your years? What is that, like two?”

“I’m twenty-three and I’ve been doing this
since I was sixteen, when I finally realized what it was I’d been
seeing and hearing all my life. Seven years in some of the scariest
places you can imagine, cupcake.”

“Are you trying to impress me?” I really
couldn’t figure him out. Other than the fact my fingers quivered
with the urge to throttle him.

“No. Either you want my help or you don’t. At
this point, I am kind of hoping you don’t.”

“Well, I do. Nobody has been able to see me.
You can’t imagine how nice it is to finally be seen, to have a
conversation with someone living.” Inspiration struck. “Go
downstairs, into the kitchen, ask for Abby Gatlin. She’s my best
friend. I told you, I can prove this.”

“Fine.” He stalked over to where his camera
landed and picked it up, testing the buttons. “If you ever get your
body back, you owe me a recorder.”

“Whatever.” I brushed past him, the same
static feeling shooting through my arm as I did, and headed
downstairs.

“Something is different, though. Most ghosts
kind of float. You walk, unless it’s because you’re so new. And
you’re so vivid,” he observed behind me.

“Because I’m not dead, dummy.”

A snort was my only answer. I began to wonder
if I actually was dead and being stuck with Boone Ravenwood as my
only earthly contact was my hell. We bypassed the bustling
restaurant, the faint scent of fried chicken teasing my stomach. I
led Boone through the swinging doors and searched for Abby.

She came in after us with a bin full of dirty
dishes precariously balanced on one arm. Her gaze landed on Boone
and narrowed, but she ignored him and went about her job.

“That’s her,” I told him.

He sighed and moved in her direction.
“Abby?”

She set the dishes down with a little more
force than needed. “Get out. This is the kitchen, no poor ghosts to
provoke in here.”

“Now I can see why you two are friends,”
Boone said softly to me. Then, he glanced around the kitchen and
asked, “Can I talk to you? Outside?”

“What is this about?” She propped the fist of
her unbroken arm on her hip and frowned. “If you want to interview
me about this place, forget it. Our investigations will not be used
on your silly little webcast.”

“Investigations?” He snuck an interested look
in my direction. “That’s not what this is about. Do you have a
sec?”

“For you? Nope.”

“It’s about a mutual friend. Trust me.”

After a few second, she blew out a breath.
“Fine. Whatever.” She called out to one of the chefs, telling him
she was taking a quick break and led Boone outside. “But if I find
out this is a trick, or I end up online, I have ways to make you
regret it.”

“I do not doubt you,” he chuckled.

“In case you care, my name is Quinn
Roberts.”

He glanced at me with a sheepish grin. Of
course he didn’t consider asking something so personal. He was only
interested in sensational facts—ones he could use for entertainment
value.

Wow, I needed to chill out. Boone didn’t have
to be doing this.

“Okay, what’s up?” Abby asked once we were
outside.

“This is kind of strange,” Boone hedged. “Do
you know someone named Quinn Roberts?”

“She’s my best friend.” A trace of sorrow
laced her answer. “I already told you, we won’t let you use our
evidence.”

“You’re ghost hunters?” He directed this
question to me.

“Why is it hard to believe?” I asked.

But Abby presented her own inquiry. “Isn’t
that what this is about? What else could you want with her? She’s
kind of spoken for.”

He scratched his left shoulder awkwardly. “Is
she...is she alive?”

I watched my friend try to decide if he was
serious or not, but her visit to my house earlier, and mine to
hers, must have been fresh in her mind.

“Why would you think she isn’t?” A trace of
suspicion remained. “I saw her three hours ago.”

“You’re pulling my leg.” Boone didn’t sound
as confident as he probably intended.

“Do you know about what happened at the
cemetery?” She advanced on him, peppering him with questions. “Can
you help us? What do you know about ghost possessions? Can a person
who is possessed by a spirit, like, astral project to a place
blocks away and give me an EVP? Wait, how in the earth did you find
out about this?”

“Oh, sweet Jesus. You’re serious?” I smirked
at Boone’s outburst, enjoying seeing him off balance. He turned to
me. “You were telling the truth!”

“Who was?” Abby asked.

“I told you,” I said. “What happened to me is
different.”

He shook his head. “But this would mean
something out there has the power to force you out of your body.
That doesn’t happen.”

“Why is it so hard for you to accept?
Paranormal investigating requires an open mind. It’s an exploration
of the unexplained.”