Chris Green - Only the Good Die Young

A loud, long meow.

Electricity pumped through me, because I knew what she was up to. She was luring Farah into the pool house with the bait of her missing phantom pet cat.

Twyla slipped under the door just before Farah tried the knob. But the door was locked.

Picking up where Twyla had left off, I threw sound toward the door.

Meow .

The night seemed dead as I waited for Farah to either stay or go.

Just come in, I thought. I only want to invade your mind for the good of the world.

I heard a scraping sound, like a pot being moved over concrete. A spare key?

When the tumble of the lock rang through the room, I hovered. The plan was working.

With a long groan, the door opened, and Farah stepped inside, almost looking like a ghost herself, wearing a spaghetti-strap nightgown with a coffee stain marring the white material. Her long dark hair was in a side braid, dipping over her shoulder, and she was carrying a phone in her hand, like she was still worried about what was out here… and a phone was going to help.

Just her presence gave me a rush of trembling energy.

“Rum Tum Tugger?” she whispered. “Is this where you’ve been hiding out?”

Perversely, in anticipation of her fear, I meowed again.

“Tugger?” she asked, leaving the door open a crack behind her.

Pretty, but not very smart. In Friday the 13th , she’d be toast by now.

I projected a purring noise to a dark corner where the slats of light from the shutters and the sliver of illumination from the door didn’t bleed into the black.

Farah laughed nervously. “Tugger, Mama’s missed you. Just come out now. Come here, kitty kitty.”

A trace of fear had started to hum inside her, and I reveled in it. Her fear even made me forget that I liked to take it easy on the innocents, and I went a little further than usual.

I threw another purr to the corner as Farah sauntered toward that darkest part of the room. I eased my essence over there, too, as more energy rustled through me, making me light-headed and greedy from her growing fear.

As I got closer, closer, still redirecting those purrs, I smelled her soft perfume. Jasmine. Saw how her pale skin darkened in the shadows.

“Tugger… ?” she said as I came up behind her.

She reached toward the wall, obviously for a light switch. I kept purring.

Her growing fear had put ideas into me: I needed to do more than just look into her mind. The Edgetts were such a cold, unfeeling family that I had to get a rise out of them to get information.

They needed to remember Elizabeth, needed to think of her death so I could tap in to any memories they might have of what Gavin could’ve done to her. And they needed to be scared enough to do that.

I cut off the purrs and sprang at Farah, skipping the empathy reading and going straight for a hallucination as I pressed against her cheek and, not knowing what kind of images would come, brought her to a scene that would definitely make her think of the night Elizabeth had died…

Cold. Shivering.

We have to find Tugger.

Darkness in front of us. Can’t see the cat.

Can’t see anything.

Still reaching for the light switch, we feel the wall under our fingertips. Paint, bumpy and smooth at the same time.

We run our hand over the wall, trailing our fingertips, grasping for the switch that we know is there.

Then we feel… something.

We don’t know what it is at first. Smooth, but not like the wall. Bumps, but not like the wall, either.

When we realize that it’s skin under our hand, we can’t even scream. We can’t do anything but drop our phone.

Slick, wet skin, like there’s something all over it.

God, there’s a nose… a mouth… and the mouth’s open because we feel the teeth, like something’s smiling—

As our hand pulls away from the wall, the lights flash on by themselves for an icy, thrusting instant.

Then we see it.

A face.

A woman with red-matted blond hair, wide blue eyes, and a grotesque smile.

Elizabeth?

We scream as the lights go out. We fall to the floor, scrabbling backward, full of coldness, away from the face as the lights go on again, showing only a head mounted on the wall.

As the lights slam off, it’s not our screams we hear now, but Elizabeth’s—

Farah’s mind went blank.

Stuck in sheer blackness, I jammed out of her, then floated above her body, seeing her lying like a used rag doll on the carpet. She’d fainted, for God’s sake.

I gave myself a quick check, too, but instead of being drained or scared by that awful, uncontrolled hallucination, I was fizzing, nearly giddy with the rush of what I’d been able to do.

Mainly, though, it’d been her fear that pumped me up.

But damn it, I couldn’t get an empathy reading from her now. Would I be able to get inside her subconscious for a dream, though? Or for anything since I’d gotten her mind on Elizabeth and could now witness what Farah might know about her?

I didn’t have the chance to find out, because the door opened wider behind me, bringing slightly more light into the room.

Noah came in, dressed in boxers and a T-shirt. “Farah?”

I zoomed toward the corner, letting him run to her and get to his knees. As he shook her, Scott and Twyla entered, floating near the doorway.

“We didn’t stop him,” Scott said casually. “We thought you might want an interview, but I have to say it looks like the last one didn’t go that swell.”

Twyla hopped up and down. “Check you out, Murph! You made that chick faint! What did you do to her, you exquisite bitch of terror?”

Twyla’s excitement gave me a reality check. As the high from Farah’s fear mellowed in me, I looked at her splayed on the floor, looked at Noah lightly slapping her face. Maybe I shouldn’t feel so good about doing this to anyone but a real suspect… .

“I’ll tell you the gory details later,” I said. “Just keep an eye out for Gavin. I suppose Noah heard Farah scream and that’s why he came.”

“We saw him rushing out of the house when she started up,” Scott said. “He must’ve come downstairs for a glass of water or midnight snack or to see if Farah was still up.”

Twyla said, “Any way you slice it, Gavin wasn’t with Noah. But I volunteer to try and go in the house to see if he’s there, you know?”

“No.”

Scott was shaking his head, but Twyla simpered away from him.

“I already know the layout, loser,” she said, “and I couldn’t care less if I get belted out of there because of that cleaner’s incantations or purified water or… whatever. They’re not directed at me, like, anyway. You can come with me if you want, but you’re not keeping me out.”

Twyla was unstoppable, and telling her no just made her determination flourish.

Scott sighed. “Just don’t go overboard in there. You remember what happened a couple years ago when we came across that converted church… .”

“Oh, eat my shorts,” she said, turning on her heel and swishing out the door.

Noah was still trying to awaken Farah, and he’d started to panic. His fear warped me, addicted me. And I couldn’t resist it.

“Just keep an eye on Twyla,” I said to Scott.

“Roger that.”

He paused, giving me a welcome-to-Boo-World-for-real look, then grinned. But there was more to this for me than just being a ghost and amusing myself.

Elizabeth needed this. I needed this.

The door stayed gaped as Scott flew off, leaving me with Noah.