Chris Green - Only the Good Die Young

Pieces flew off the balcony, but that wasn’t good enough for him. He crushed the rest of the phone under his bootheel, backing off when he thought that was sufficient.

But was it? Hmm. I don’t think so. I put all my strength into trying to make it ring again. It wasn’t hard, either, thanks to his fear.

The remnants of the phone rang, weakly, like a woman crying out during her last, blood-soaked moments.

He picked up what was left of the phone and, in a fit of fury, chucked it so far that it arced over the edge of the property and into oblivion.

Well. Someone had a temper. And I’d seen signs of guilt and torn emotion that were undeniable. All of those were just pieces of his puzzle, though, and I still had to fit them together.

As he leaned on the balcony railing, his head down, I checked myself. He’d shut off his fear, just like that, and a bit of energy leaked out of me. Was it because I’d exerted myself so much and, without his fear, I got sapped?

My ghost friends had been right when they said that communicating was a bruiser. The first time I’d whispered in Elizabeth’s voice to Gavin a few nights ago, I hadn’t been very loud, and a phone hadn’t been involved. But tonight had been Advanced Ghost Trick Time, and my essence had paid a small price.

Yet no matter how much gas I’d burned, this was the perfect time to get into Gavin’s head. He wasn’t sleeping, so I couldn’t go dream-digging, but I’d already worked him up enough so that I didn’t need a hallucination, either.

So I went for empathy.

He was still on the balcony, grasping the stone railing. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled to his elbows, so I could see the veins standing away from his skin.

I touched his cheek softly, taking care that I didn’t go into hallucination territory, and after tumbling into his thoughts, I got my bearings, joining the stream of his consciousness.

Elizabeth laughing, just as she had been on the phone tonight, but now her blue eyes were sparkling as she looked at the diamond ring on her finger. “It’s beautiful, Gav. Just as pretty as the rest of our lives will be…”

A crash of emotion, the sight of Elizabeth on another day, giving that ring back. Then her piercing words, running into each other: “Fell out of love… Someone else… A woman…”

Another stab of emotion, a cut to darkness, the sound of Elizabeth crying…

The sudden sight of Elizabeth desperately hitting him, the bruises she left on his arms, his chest, his face. Elizabeth, accidentally scratching her face as she flailed.

Rage building up, up, more and more—

Then there was nothing, because Gavin had pulled away from me, alert now, going back inside his room with his hands fisted by his sides.

I barely made it inside before he forcefully shut the glass door.

He glanced at his computer, where the final picture Wendy had taken was still on-screen amid static. But in that photo, I’d already gone under the door.

“Elizabeth?” he asked, turning away from the table. “Is it you?”

The fear was back. I had him halfway to where I needed him. Maybe a confession would even be around the corner. I thought of materializing to him, seeing if I could pull off looking like Elizabeth, but then he started talking.

“God, what I am saying? There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

Parrying, I conjured her perfume, just as I’d done that first night, and that jolted him, all right.

“Why’re you here?” he asked, his voice a wreck.

“My death…”

I’d spoken like her, but it was harder to do now, after expelling energy on the phone call and then the empathy. He wasn’t so scared that he could fill me all the way up with his fear again.

He was shaking his head, fixing his gaze back on the computer. He even sat heavily in his chair, and when he accessed the keyboard to flip back to the picture where I was hovering near the ceiling—the best view of me—he kept shaking his head.

“It doesn’t look like you. Your hair wasn’t long like this.”

He turned around in his chair, like he was seeking me out in the room. But I’d shifted to the right of his desk and he wasn’t even looking in my direction.

Yet I could still see how this man had ice in his veins, how he forced himself to calm so very quickly.

He scanned the vicinity, gaze narrowed. “You didn’t expect to be on film. You had no idea that Wendy was one of those kids who’s addicted to the strange. She watches things like ghost programs on cable channels, and that’s where she got the idea to grab a camera and capture your image. I didn’t believe her at first, but now… ?”

I didn’t let his taunting stop me.

“Murderer… ,” I whispered.

In my quickly climbing weakness, my voice didn’t quite sound like Elizabeth’s anymore, and he noticed that, finding me with his glare, locking me into his sights, just as he’d done in the study during his dream.

“I don’t know who you are,” he said, “but you’re wrong. I didn’t kill her.”

I stayed silent, and that seemed to be a very effective haunting technique, too.

“Elizabeth…” His voice got tight. Then he took a moment, his jaw clenching, before he tried again. I could feel the turmoil in him, but I couldn’t identify what it was about exactly.

“Elizabeth tore me apart,” he said, “but when she broke off our engagement, that was nothing compared to what I felt when she was murdered. I’ve wanted to go after whoever it was for years. I hired private investigators, and they’ve come up as empty as the police. I’m not—”

He stopped. But had he been about to say that he wasn’t a killer?

He leaned back in his chair, and by the light of the computer, I could see how weary he was. It looked like he hadn’t been sleeping very well.

Haunted , I thought. But that was the goal.

The thing was, my vibes were telling me that he was unloading the truth right now. Sure, he was a rage-filled guy—in private, it was like he was set to explode at any second—but had he murdered his ex-fiancée?

There was something about him that I couldn’t put my finger on.

I went back to him for more empathy, but when I touched his cheek and swooped inside this time, there was only blackness.

An utter and complete blank.

The son of a bitch had shut me down, and he seemed to know it as I pulled out and he fixed a lethal stare in front of him, right at invisible me again. He might not know just how I worked, but he knew enough to turn off his fear and also block me.

As I stood there, toe-to-figurative-toe with him, that heat from his body, his life force, trickled into me. I hated that he could make me warm. Why was it that the only entities that could do that were two guys who should leave me cold?

Gavin looked extrapugilistic as he got out of his chair, walked over to an end table, grabbed a remote, then clicked on the TV. A program with a bunch of talky doctors came on, but he didn’t seem to care. He just sat at his desk in front of the computer again, and it was like he made a big show out of not giving a shit that there was something with him in the room.

Ignored.

Randy had said ghosts hate that, and for the first time, I understood a hundred percent. Being ignored like this sucked the big weenie from hell, but as Gavin kept doing it, I didn’t give up like some ghosts might. I stuck around, waiting for him to go to sleep, so I could reach into his dreams and see what was playing inside his head that night.

It was a battle of wills as he stayed up. He even went into his bathroom to pop a few antisleeping pills, which was cheating, if you ask me.

Thanks to those, he stayed up all damned night.