A Strange There After Page 7

  No, concentrate, I chided myself.

  Finding out more from Catherine wouldn’t be easy. I wanted to know if she truly felt remorse, if she ever regretted taking this entity up on his offer. Was living my life worth all the pain and misery she’d caused? Did she ever get scared, like me?

  My attention wandered to the shards of glass littering the countertop and the floor. I did it. It made me happy to finally be able to manipulate objects, but the way it happened scared me. I didn’t like tapping into my desire to harm others. I wasn’t a violent person, and I sure didn’t want to start being one now. If giving into sinister urges allowed me to interact with the living, then I wasn’t interested. I’d find another way. One that didn’t frighten me.

  Tearing my gaze from the broken glass, I wandered out of the kitchen in the opposite direction as Catherine. My previous task was not forgotten. I needed to find George. Maybe someone in this house would have the decency to give me the truth.

  Chapter Nine

  It surprised me to find my ability for sensing ghosts crossed over to the other side with me. The familiar ones, like George and Jackson, stood out. I tracked their energy easily, a bloodhound with a scent.

  My super senses led me to the laundry room, with its high priced appliances and organizational bins. The space never used to spook me. I enjoyed my quiet time in here, doing laundry away from the step-monsters, but these days, I tended to be a glass half empty kind of gal. I kept expecting the freaky faced woman to leap out of the shadows or from every corner I turned.

  I heard voices before I even entered.

  Jackson knelt before the tiny space between the dryer and the wall, trying to coax a terrified George from the space. When he heard me, Jackson glanced over his shoulder.

  “Maybe you’ll have better luck.” He moved out of the way, and I took his place.

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “No idea. I found him in here talking to no one.”

  George had wedged himself into a gap barely a foot wide. I peered in at the terrified little boy. His wide eyes tracked my every movement, but he didn’t come over to me like usual. I crouched down and tried to lure him out.

  “George, it’s me, Quinn. Come on, sweetie, I’m not going to hurt you.” He didn’t budge, only stared at me with suspicion. I tried again, “George, please. Jackson and I are lonely.”

  It worked. The boy inched forward, and I was able to take his hand. Slowly, I managed to maneuver him into the center of the room, and his little shoulders relaxed. I drew him over to a shaft of sunlight streaming in the narrow window. Neither of us would be able feel the warmth, but it was the bright, comforting light I desired. Jackson remained near, leaning against the countertop, arms folded over his chest. He offered me an encouraging smile.

  The second I sat, the entire atmosphere darkened, a sensation I remembered from my ghost hunting days. It was a feeling of not being alone, an oppressive air pushing from all sides. I kept the open door at my back, wary of shadows. Just because I couldn’t see the threat didn’t mean it wasn’t there. No wonder the poor child trembled continuously.

  I kept a hold of his hand. “Are you okay?” He nodded quickly. “What’s wrong, George. You can trust me,” I soothed. “Is something here?”

  He trembled harder, his entire body jerking. Nice, Quinn, scaring him won’t get you information. Instead of demanding once more to know what frightened him or checking to see if Jackson noticed it too, I moved past it, hoping to find out more about his childhood.

  “Where were you born?”

  His gaze searched mine, the deep pools of his irises full of gut-wrenching grief and weariness. It always killed me to hear of children trapped in this world after they died. They deserved to be someplace they were loved, not left to wander a house full of strangers. I’d heard EVP of kids asking where their mama went and doing anything to been seen. It broke my heart, more so after experiencing how hard it was to attract attention and the aching frustration when it didn’t work.

  Eventually, he answered. “Right here, Miss Quinn, only two months after they finished settin’ up house.”

  “And your mama worked here?”

  “Yes’m. She a house slave. Workin’ in the kitchen. We lived out in them small buildings. Six a us ta one room.”

  This part of my heritage made me uncomfortable—being involved with the slavery movement. While researching my family, I discovered the Roberts had owned over a hundred slaves between the house in Savannah and the cotton plantation across the river. Compared to other local families, it wasn’t the worst numbers, but still horrible.

  “Tell me about growing up with my family.”

  He tilted his head, a far off look in his eyes. “Mostly, it be fine. There some other young ‘uns, or I’d sneak out and play with kids from other houses. Missus Regina, she a nice lady, so’s her daughter, Margaret. They let me help with things.” His expression clouded. “Master Amos, he a bad man.”

  Amos Roberts would have been Margaret’s daddy, and my great, great, great grandfather, probably one of the most successful members of the family. I had to ask, “How was he a bad man?”

  “He beat his slaves, Miss Quinn. Sometimes, he beat ‘em so bad they died. Then he take ‘dem young girls out to the carriage house. I heard the screams.”

  I shivered, imagining the hell these poor people lived in. A change came over George. His expression flickered and became harder.

  “He got what coming to him when he messed with stuff he know nuttin’ about. My mama make sure a that.”

  Agitation pulsed off him in waves, so I navigated to safer waters. “I met Margaret. She’s a nice lady.”

  Affection pushed his tone up an octave. “We same age, and she used ta bring me sweets from the kitchen, cakes an’ honey. Margaret was kind. Made me laugh with her church stories from Sunday school.”

  “I was about your age the first time I saw you,” I recalled. “You were standing at the entrance of my bedroom, staring at my toys.”

  “I ‘member. Ain’t never seen so many things!”

  I grinned. “I tried to chase you away, thought you were there to steal them all.”

  George giggled, joined by Jackson, and I wished he wasn’t stuck here. He didn’t deserve this kind of eternity. I was about to ask more when George’s eyes focused over my shoulder, then widened in terror. A presence pressed against my back, thick and cloying, along with the realization if I turned, something terrible would happen.

  Swallowing my fear, I rose to confront whatever had joined us.

  In the far corner, opposite the one George had hid in, a black mass appeared, growing denser by the second. Jackson stepped up beside me as I angled my body to protect George. Two amber eyes opened, narrowing and icing my skin instantly.

  Dis boy ain’t no concern a yours. Leave ‘im be, filthy Roberts murderer.

  Whoa, murderer? Obviously, this was the crazy lady. My chest tightened, entwined with anxiety.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I haven’t done anything to you,” I said with more courage than I felt.

  I will make you suffer, child. Blood always tell. Yours is as tainted as the others’. Leave dat boy alone.

  All of a sudden, a whirlwind of darkness burst into the laundry room surrounding us. Preparing for the pain I knew was coming, I pulled myself up tall and stared it down. “I’m not afraid of you,” I said.

  You should be.

  I flinched, bracing for the attack. Instead, the darkness parted, whooshing around me. Confused, I let in a moment of relief, until I heard the screams behind me.

  I spun, only to see Jackson completely enfolded within the inky mass. His cries escalated into shrieks filled with so much pain tears formed in my eyes. George backed away, sobbing, his face wet with tears. He crouched, then vanished.

  Reaching out to Jackson, not sure what I expected to accomplish, my arm merely sank through the cloud. Frigid pin pricks assaulted my skin, and I snatched my hand b
ack in shock. I stared at it, noticing red angry welts that grew redder by the second. Jackson’s cries escalated, the sound inhuman.

  A hot burst of rage came to life, alive and ugly. It built and roared inside me, to the point I had to let it out or else explode with the force of it. Focusing all my hate and emotion on the black entity torturing my friend, I clenched my fists.

  “Stop it!” I shouted, the timbre of my voice reverberating throughout the room. An invisible wave of energy shot out from me, slamming into the woman’s black mass and within seconds, it dispersed, leaving behind only a trace of charged air. My body hummed with darkness, but slowly it began to subside.

  I stared down at my hands, shocked at what I did. Where the heck had that come from?

  A grunt captured my attention, and I spun. Jackson slumped to the ground, shaking. No longer held back by the unseen force, I rushed toward him. A gasp escaped me when I saw the dark blisters dotting his skin. The angry red spots looked like burns, as if he stuck his hand in a pot of boiling water and got scalded. His body was rigid with pain, and I wanted to cradle him but feared hurting him more. Instead, I tried to soothe him with words.

  “It’ll be okay. Just breathe.”

  Panic clawed at my throat. I wasn’t entirely certain if it would be okay. What kind of power did it take to hurt a spirit this badly? My thoughts ran in a million different directions. I didn’t know what to do. I hoped Abby and Boone found something useful soon. This couldn’t happen again. I didn’t want my friends harmed because of me. Although, it seemed I had the ability to protect them. The bad news was I didn’t like the way it made me feel afterward.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmured.

  “You...have...nothing to apologize for.” The words wheezed out of his mouth as he tried to get comfortable on the floor. Amazingly, the wounds were already beginning to fade. “I could try and salvage my manhood by saying I’ve felt worse, but it would be a lie.”

  “The blisters are going away.”

  Jackson stretched an arm, flexing his fist and watching his skin return to normal. “So they are. I expected to look down and see all my skin flayed from my flesh.” He tilted his head to stare up at me. “What did you do?’

  “I have no idea. I got really mad, and it flew out of me. I’ve never done anything like that before. Protecting you and stopping your pain were my biggest concerns.”

  “Well, you have my undying gratitude,” he said with a smirk. “Although, I don’t believe I have done anything to annoy that particular spirit.”

  His attitude baffled me. While he still moved gingerly, he appeared to be pain free and back to his normal self. Relief loosened the knots in my stomach. Some remained. The ones struggling to figure out how I chased the woman away. The amount of energy it took to accomplish was unfathomable. It went against every truth I knew about ghosts. At least, things I thought I knew. This spirit business, being on the other side, was a whole new cup of tea.

  “She didn’t hurt you because of anything you did. She did it to teach me a lesson. It had to do with George. She wanted me to leave him alone. Called me a murderer, with tainted blood or something.”

  “There were a few unsavory Roberts as the years passed. She could mean any one of them.” He brushed his hair from his face. “Instinct tells me it has to be around the time of Amos Roberts. There were some dark stories about him killing a slave girl.”

  “That’s what I’ve been thinking,” I explain. “Her accent is pretty heavy, so I can’t help but think she may have been a slave here.”

  “And you heard this in your head?”

  “Yep. The chick speaks to me with her thoughts. Or my thoughts. However it works. Kind of annoying.”

  “I think I would have gone mad by now.” Jackson pushed to his feet and rolled his shoulders.

  “The sooner I can reclaim my body, the better it will be for all of us.” Catherine. I needed to concentrate on her, regardless of this strange tug-of-war these two entities were having over my soul. One wanted to help, one wanted to batter me. But if I righted the wrong Catherine did, problem solved.

  Spinning on my heel, I prepared to leave, planning to seek her out and somehow making her pay, but Jackson’s fingers wrapped around my wrist. “Where are you going?”

  “I have to put a stop to this. Standing idly by and letting those I care about get hurt is unacceptable. Catherine is the key.”

  He increased pressure on my wrist. “Do not go after your enemy when they are heavily armed and expecting you. You wait until the opportune moment.”

  I hated it when he made sense. The secret to beating Catherine didn’t lie in an all-out assault. I had to be patient, pick my battles.

  “Waiting is hard when I have to stand around and suffer this stupid link we share.” He stared at me in confusion. “I’m serious. We have this strange connection when we’re close to each other. I feel exactly what she does. If Jason kisses her, my lips tingle. Her affection and smugness are transferred to me.”

  “How can that happen?”

  “Brilliant question. When I discover the answer, you’ll be the first one I tell.”

  He kept sneaking quick glances of his arms, as if reassuring himself his wounds were gone. A couple minutes passed until he lifted his head to look at me, his blue eyes twinkling.

  “Have you considered what it means? This connection?”

  Hearing Jackson further the conversation stunned me. Little by little, he seemed to be warming up to me, showing interest in my situation. Of course, it might have something to do with the fact I just saved him a world of hurt.

  “No,” I grumbled. “Another one of Catherine’s endless methods of torture.”

  “This so-called link may be important. Think about it. You are feeling traces of what your body is. It could mean there is still a connection.”

  His statement hung in the air between us, heavy as the Georgia humidity. My brain worked it over, letting it take root. It sounded too tempting to believe.

  “Is that possible? I mean, you’ve been a ghost longer than I have.”

  “I don’t know. This is uncharted territory. She pushed you out of your physical form, the body you inhabited for eighteen years. Why do ghosts linger in the places they died? There must be some relationship between spirit and flesh. An imprint.”

  Desire thrummed through me. “Can I test it?”

  He shrugged. “I figure so. Force yourself into her space. If you can occupy the exact same position, something might click.”

  A memory hit me. The day I walked through her to break up the kiss with Jason there was a pinch, just for a second, but at the time I attributed it to my actions, not anything more promising. Joy soared, taking flight inside me. Had I been unconsciously trying to get where I belonged?

  I leapt and threw my arms around his neck, pressing my lips to his cheek. When I separated, he appeared dazed.

  “What was that for?”

  My cheeks flamed over my uninhibited action. “No big deal. I know you’re not the biggest fan of getting involved in drama, so it means a lot to me when you help.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not very busy at the moment.”

  “Now, jokes? Careful, you might have fun.” I beamed at him. “I’m going to try tonight!”

  “Since you will likely ignore all my arguments about being rash, there is only one warning I can give—be careful.”

  “Yes sir!” I saluted him and skipped out of the room, high on the chance this might work and the exhilaration of having a plan.

  Then, a voice broke through my optimism, right inside my head and doused my optimism. It was the man.

  Impressive display earlier. You, my dear, are much more interesting than I imagined. We’re going to do great things together.

  Chapter Ten

  It took forever for night to arrive and Catherine to fall asleep. Certain she’d guess what I intended to do, I avoided her, deciding space meant safety. She might have been able to read the intent on my face or, f
or all I knew, she actually felt my feelings the way I could with her. Scary thought. The desire to test it tempted me, but not enough. It would have really tripped me out.

  I snuck upstairs, carefully putting one foot in front of the other then nearly burst out in hysterical giggles. I was a ghost, which rendered tiptoeing obsolete. Before stepping through the door into Catherine’s bedroom, I muttered a quick prayer to let this work.

  Sure enough, she was sound asleep, sprawled across the king size bed on her stomach. Huh. Jackson might be on the right track. I always slept in that position. If my body remembered something so trivial, it quite possibly could recognize its correct inhabitant.

  “Don’t leave me.”

  Freezing in place, I craned my head frantically to see who spoke.

  “Please.”

  Oh, Catherine. She continued to sleep, her eyes flicking back and forth rapidly behind her closed lids. I watched her body twitch from her dream, fists clenching and unclenching. Her breathing sped up, and, out of nowhere, grief punched through me. It must have been the trusty link we shared. The sadness grew, stealing my breath and causing me to gasp out loud.

  “I don’t want to be alone.”

  As much as it disturbed me to feel her angst, I also wished I had the ability to crawl inside her head, to spy in her dreams. Discovering a weakness might be the key to unraveling her cavalier attitude. But as hard as I strained my mind, I couldn’t do it. Not to mention, I felt like an idiot staring at her and funneling my thoughts so intensively.

  Gradually, Catherine stilled. Her movements became less jerky, and I sensed myself relaxing with her. Did she dream about Jackson? Maiming puppies? Ugh, Jason? Shrugging aside the disturbing images each of the possibilities presented, I drew in a deep sigh.

  “Alright,” I whispered. “Let’s do this.”