Sleep Stalker (Ghosts Beyond the Grove Book 1) (3 page)

     I hadn’t touched that drum set in over a year and a half because of a rift between my dad and me.  But once that was cleared up, I spent hours on that stool making the music I missed so much.  And Rachel was right—I knew every NeverMore song by heart.

     The band paid for my flight and everything—a room in a fancy hotel, meals at expensive restaurants and even a limo ride around Los Angeles just for the fun of it.  The only thing that would have made that week more perfect was if Ruby could have been with me.  So as I lulled myself to sleep with happy thoughts, I pictured her in the front row of the audience. 

     There she was—my own personal groupie.  She was intoxicatingly gorgeous in that tribal print dress, eyes closed and swaying to the beat of the music. 
My
music.  The beat of
my
music.  She was there for me and only me.  Slowly, I let the rest of the crowd and the band itself fade away in my mind.  Now, it was just the two of us.  My playing, her dancing—they were only meant for the two of us to see and hear. 

     She sauntered onto the stage where I could see her better.  Everything about her was sheer perfection.  Without missing a single beat of the music, she removed her braided leather sandals and began to dance barefoot around my platform.  Me.  All she wanted was me.  And all I wanted was her.  Desperately.  And forever. 

     I couldn’t even tell at what point I fell asleep.  My pre-sleep fantasy carried over into my dreams.  When we got to Liberty, Ohio—our new home for the next few years anyway—Ruby woke me up.  Waking up was a great disappointment for me.  Not just because I was still so tired but because the Ruby in the car seemed so different from the Ruby I was dreaming about.  In my dreams, she worshipped me like I actually
was
a rock star.  In reality, she was becoming a self-centered nag.

     She led me into our new apartment with over the top enthusiasm—just not the kind I was hoping for.  This was supposed to be our big night together.  Tonight was the night we said we would finally consummate our relationship.  I’d waited too long for this night already.  She needed to start paying attention to me.  She was supposed to be showering me with affection, not going on ad nauseam about all of the decorating she and Shelly had done while I was in California.

     I decided to ignore her, not reply to anything she’d said until she started talking about the
right
thing—me.  But after the third time Ruby asked me how I liked what she’d done with the place, I finally snapped.

     “I don’t really care
what
this place looks like!  You spent too much time worrying about this stupid freakin’ apartment and not enough on the important things!” I shouted, kicking off my shoes and flinging them across the living room.  “My head is pounding. 
Please
tell me you decorated the damn bathroom with ibuprofen.”

     “What the hell is
wrong
with you, Zach?  Ever since you got off of that plane, you’ve been nothing but a jerk!  I’ve been trying to keep my mouth shut and ride out this whole jet lag thing with you but it’s wearing on my nerves.  There’s something else wrong with you—what is it?” 

    
“Me? You want to know what’s wrong with
me
?  What’s wrong with me is that you’ve been nothing but a nag since I got home.  You don’t seem to care that I’ve had a headache for over twenty four hours and nowhere near enough sleep.  All you think about is yourself.”

     Ruby stormed into the bathroom and returned with a small bottle in her hand.  “Here!” she said chucking the bottle full force into my chest.  “Here’s your
precious
ibuprofen!  Take some and go to bed.  I’m done arguing with you.”

     Immediately, I tipped two pills out into my hand and tossed them into my mouth.  “Don’t tell me what to do,” I said before slamming the bedroom door behind me.

     I didn’t even bother to get undressed.  All I needed was a pillow to make me happy.  I set the alarm clock to go off extra early so I wouldn’t miss my first class then flopped into the bed with no intention of getting back up until morning.  I was completely settled in and comfortable but one thing was still keeping me awake.  Dragging myself out of bed one last time, I turned on the small window fan to drown out the sound of her crying in the living room.  Good night.

4.  Common Ground

     I curled up on the living room futon and began to cry.  This wasn’t how the night was supposed to go.  So many times I imagined how fun it was going to be once Zach and I were finally living on our own together.  Never once did I envision throwing a bottle of ibuprofen at him before settling in for a night of sleeping alone on the futon.  Not even close.  All of my hard work the week before felt like it was in vain.  I did everything I could to make this place feel like home for him. After only one week apart from each other, it was like we no longer had anything in common.

     Shelly and I spent several long hard days getting this place in order.  We cleaned from top to bottom before unpacking my stuff.  Then we made a terribly long shopping list of all of the household items Zach and I would need to get started.  Shopping for vacuum cleaners and kitchen appliances is nowhere near as fun as shopping for clothes and shoes.  In fact, it was downright exhausting.  If I never had to compare HEPA filters or toaster functions ever again, it would suit me just fine.  The day before Zach got home, we even stocked the kitchen with all of our favorite foods.  What else could I possibly have done to make him happy?  Nothing.  That’s right, nothing.

     I expected him to at least feign excitement over the little things like the “His” and “Hers” towels I bought for the bathroom.  I expected him to appreciate everything I’d done not ignore me, then yell at me and slam the bedroom door shut.  This couldn’t all be because of a headache.  Something happened while he was in California—something he refused to talk about—and I was determined to figure out what it was.

     With no inclination whatsoever to be anywhere near him for the rest of the night, I turned out the light and pulled the throw blanket down around me.  Since Zach was hogging not only the bed but the alarm clock as well, I set the alarm on my phone and closed my eyes.  Coco and Foxy—still quite unhappy with their new surroundings—settled in around my feet for comfort.  Welcome to Ohio.

     When I woke up the next morning, Zach was already gone.  I was so exhausted that I didn’t hear him leave.  The bathroom showed no signs of him having showered; the kitchen looked untouched.  All I found was a brief note scribbled on a paper towel and draped over my phone where I wouldn’t be able to miss it.

     “Let me take you shopping tonight.”

     What?  Was this his misguided attempt at an apology?  If so, one essential word was seriously missing—sorry.  While the note he left was more positive than our interaction the night before, it still wasn’t right.  It still wasn’t Zach.  I had to get him and his weird behavior out of my mind for the day.  Today was the first day at my new job—I needed to concentrate on
that
not on him.  But before I got home tonight, I needed to call Crimson.  Maybe
she
could shed some light on Zach’s odd mood swings. 

     Since Zach so thoughtfully drove our only vehicle to class without asking if I needed a ride, I walked two blocks to the nearest bus stop.  Already filled with first day job jitters, my anxiety level soared as I rode around town on a dirty bus with complete strangers until we made it to my new home away from home. 

     Poe’s Corner was a small coffee shop/used bookstore on the corner of Overton Boulevard and Rockview Drive.  I applied for several jobs a few weeks ago but this was the one I really wanted.  Since the owner was out of town at the time, he conducted an online interview with me via Skype.  Two days later, the job was mine.  Walking into my new job without ever having technically met my boss was nerve wracking.  I wanted to ride that terrible little bus right back to our apartment but I knew that I couldn’t.  What if he totally hated me in person?  What if
I
totally hated
him
?  At least I knew Rita before I took that job at her candle shop.  Ugh.  Welcome to Ohio and adulthood.  Right now I despised them both.

     As I approached the counter, I looked around for Chad Stanton, the man who interviewed me.  I had very little recollection of what he looked like.  I was far too nervous during the roughly ten minutes of awkward internet interview time.  My anxiety level was reaching near critical.  Not finding anyone who remotely looked like the man I barely remembered, I asked the girl feverishly fighting with one of the cappuccino machines behind the counter.

     “Um…today’s my first day here.  Where can I find Chad Stanton?”

     “Beats the hell outta me, girl!” she shouted in a sugary southern accent loud enough to be heard above the screeching noise emanating from the machine.  “Probably Vegas or Rio—who knows!  He only shows his face around here about once a month and only long enough to take a look at the financials.” 

     The girl released a quiet string of curse words meant for the equipment before finally getting it to stop making such terrible noises.  She filled a paper cup to the brim then made a swirly design in the cream on top.  Once she was finished with her customer, she wiped her hands on her apron and introduced herself.

     “The name’s Addie, Addie Lafay.  I’m the manager here.  You must be Ruby.  Glad to have ya.  We always get busier at the start of the fall semester.”  She extended her hand in greeting and I nervously did the same. 

     Addie was not what I was expecting.  I was expecting to be greeted by the intimidating man on the other side of my Skype interview.  Addie was barely older than me and her hair was a combination of cotton candy pink and platinum blonde, choppy and cut at an angle.  Her voice didn’t match her appearance at all.  She looked like more of an emo punk princess than a southern belle.  But so far, she seemed friendly, though, and less daunting than Chad. 

     However, what I found to be
super
intimidating was the ghost lurking near the first bookshelf, poking her head around the corner to get a better look at me.  She looked harmless enough, floating there silently in a lavender Victorian-era gown but I wasn’t about to judge a bookstore ghost by her cover, so to speak.  Innocuous or not, even good ghosts could get me into an awful amount of trouble.  I learned that the hard way with Clay.  No, another ghost was the last thing I needed—a new job and unexpected stress with Zach were more than I could handle as it was.

     Addie paused as I freaked out internally while trying to decide whether or not to run away before I got saddled with another paranormal burden.  “Wait a second…you can see her, can’t ya?  You can see Miss Mabel tryin’ to get a better look at ya!”

     Shock.  Complete and utter shock.  Shock at the fact that not only could Addie see her, but that she seemed perfectly comfortable with it.  And the fact that she seemed excited to know that I could too. Not everyone would be thrilled to talk about the semi-transparent woman lurking around their workplace. Sometimes there comes a moment in your life when you know for a fact that you are going to be friends with someone you’ve just met.  This was one of those moments.  Addie was weird like me and not the least bit afraid to admit it—to a complete stranger, no less.  I’d learned how to embrace my abnormal side along the way so I nodded my head and smiled.

     “Praise the Lord!” Addie exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air dramatically.  “I don’t mind bein’ different from most folk but sometimes it’s nice to have a kindred spirit around.  Get behind this counter, girl.  You have some trainin’ to do!”

     In between learning how to use all of the different equipment—and getting covered in espresso on my first solo attempt—Addie and I swapped stories.  We had a lot of things in common but our supernatural sides were quite different.

     Addie was twenty one and grew up in New Orleans.  Both of her parents died during Hurricane Katrina, their small fishing boat—and their bodies along with it—swallowed by the Gulf of Mexico during the storm.  When I heard that she’d lost not just her mother but her father as well, my sad past seemed a little less tragic. 

     Even though my mother was dead, at least I still had my father.  I’d never actually been to my mother’s grave—that I could remember—but I
did
know where she was buried.  Having your parents disappear without proof of their death would have to be a heavy cross to bear.  There would be so many unanswered questions in a situation like that.  What if they had miraculously ridden out the harsh waters and gotten stranded on some tiny island with no possible means of return?  What if they faked their own deaths and abandoned her on purpose?  What if they were abducted by pirates and sold into slavery of some sort?  But most importantly, why couldn’t I shut off my overactive imagination and listen to the rest of her story instead of concocting wild conspiracy theories in my head?  Why?

     The only piece of information that I’d allowed to seep into my brain during that spontaneous segue in my head was the fact that she’d lived with Queen Elva Lafay for the last few years of her life.  Assuming that an orphaned Addie had been adopted by foreign royalty, I stupidly asked what country she was from.