Greg Weisman - Rain of the Ghosts

“Gladly”—from Ramon, and he led the way back to the gate.

This time, Rain got into the backseat with Charlie. Marina was trying to be supportive. “It helps to see something concrete sometimes. To make it real, you know?”

Charlie nodded. Rain just sulked. “Can you take me home now,” she said. Marina looked at Ramon, who nodded and turned the car around. They drove past me without noticing. Turned off Old Plantation Road and drove past Maq on his bench, without seeing or waking him. If nothing else happened, they’d be back at the Inn in less than five minutes.

Five minutes for Rain to stew in her own juices. There’s no such thing as ghosts. You’re a dope. Or a nutcase. Marina would periodically turn around to look at the younger girl. Ramon was quiet, but even he was checking his rearview to see if Rain was okay. Charlie, who wanted to hold her, tried desperately to not even brush against her. Rain noticed none of it.

Trouble is, I saw them. I know I did. The Dark Man. The Eight. I saw them.

She remembered Charlie’s words: It’s grief. Playing tricks on you. It has to be.

In the backseat, she nodded absently to herself. That’s right. I’m grieving. I—

But a new thought occurred, or rather an old one resurfaced. She stopped nodding and raised her eyes to meet Charlie’s. She spoke aloud: “You said I was messed up because of ’Bastian. Grief was playing tricks on me, right?”

Marina practically turned around in her seat. Charlie answered carefully, “Yeah. That’s right.”

“Except I saw the first ghost before I started grieving!”

Marina said, “Excuse me?”

Charlie held her gaze. He recognized this expression. He’d just told her to turn right, and she was determined to go left.

“What if I’m not crazy?” she said. “What if it’s all real? This started before I knew he was gone.” He could see her searching her memory, see the lightbulb click on. “The night he gave me the armband! When I first put it on, I felt…” She struggled to remember, but the sensation slipped away, like water, like smoke. So she shook off memory to focus on something concrete. “I have to find it. But where…”

She grabbed his arms, as if maybe he could tell her. But he didn’t know what she was talking about. All he knew was that she was on fire. The cold moonlight shone in her eyes, but the light that reflected back burned. He didn’t know “where” this was taking her. He just knew he’d follow.

She stared past him, like the Eight had stared past her. “Where, where, where?” Then her entire body went rigid. She smiled and growled.

“Callahan!”

Rain had a master key that accessed every room in the Inn. It did not usually represent an awesome responsibility. Usually, it was a simple means to a mundane end. Yippee, I get to change more sheets! But tonight it felt different. Tonight, after knocking softly and calling out to confirm an empty room, it felt like she was using this key to cross an important threshold in her life. “To unlock a door, you need two things: a key and someone who knows how to turn it.” The girl who turned this key and entered this room would never be the same again.

And typical of Rain, she didn’t hesitate.

She immediately set to work. Each spring, the whole family did a thorough cleaning of every room. Rain had found some pretty goofy stuff secreted away and forgotten by long-gone guests—so she knew every possible hiding place. It helped that this guest had brought so little to the Inn. First off, she emptied the entire contents of his duffel onto the bed. Sorted through it. Went through every pocket. Nothing.

She checked inside the pillowcases. Then she looked under the bed. Next, she lifted the mattress, slid it halfway off the box spring. Most of the man’s stuff fell onto the floor. She’d clean it up after. Cleaning and straightening was something at which she’d had a lot of practice. There was a little tear in the fabric covering the box spring. Not big enough for the armband to fit through, but just in case, she ripped it open wider and reached around inside. Nothing.

The drawers to the dresser and nightstand—she pulled all of them all the way out. Most were empty. None held anything of interest. She ran into the bathroom and scanned the counter. There was a can of shaving cream. She popped off the top and even tried twisting off the bottom, in case it was one of those fake cans that people put valuables in. Just to be safe, she squirted a ton of white foam into the sink. It was, as advertised, a can of shaving cream. She checked under the sink, in the tub, in the trash can, even inside the toilet bowl and tank. Nothing.

She reentered the bedroom. Pulled the furniture away from the walls, one piece at a time. She checked the little indentation where the phone plugged in behind the headboard. She turned over the chairs and the little table to see if her prize had been taped underneath. She ran her hands through the closed curtains. She picked up a chair and climbed up onto it to check the curtain rods. She scanned the ceiling. Nothing.

She stood in the center of the room, more confident than ever that he had taken the armband. And then she heard the footsteps.

The clomping of heavy boots on the stairs. She remembered that sound all too well from the night he had arrived. The night ’Bastian had died. She glanced around the wreck of the room. No way she gets it back together in the next six seconds. Or less. The footsteps stopped right outside the door.

Out in the corridor, Callahan didn’t have the courtesy to fumble for his key. He took it out in one smooth motion and slipped it into the lock. His huge hand turned the knob.

Rain had time to think, I am so dead… before the door began to slide open.

It only took a glimpse for Callahan to know the room had been compromised. He swung the door open the rest of the way, ready to do battle with… No one. The room was a shambles. But no one was there. He cursed himself for being complacent. Backwater island. Backwater Inn. But no excuse. His eyes played toward the half-open bathroom door. As smoothly as he had slid out his key, he slid out a large jackknife from his boot. He snapped it open, shiny and sharp. Slowly and silently, he walked past the curtained French doors and approached the bathroom.

Fortunately, Rain was out on the balcony, or rather, hanging off it from the wrought-iron balcony rail. She figured it was a pretty good hiding place. Even if he looked out the French doors, even if he stepped through them onto the balcony, barely her hands would be visible in the moonlight.

She glanced down. A one-story drop into the Inn’s back garden. Could she jump? She wasn’t sure there was another option, since she wasn’t a hundred percent sure she could pull herself back up even if she wanted to—and it might not matter since he might not leave the room again ’til morning, and she knew she couldn’t hang there all night.

But she could hang a bit longer. Maybe he’d rush out of the room to complain to her parents, and she could climb back up and slip out and across the hall to her own room while he was gone. Her parents would be very upset. They might even call the police. Maybe the police would find the armband. And then she thought, Maybe it’s out here! She peered in the dim light around the balcony. He could have taped the thing anywhere—even beneath the balcony itself. She strained her eyes searching for some indication of its presence….

Then two huge hands reached down and grabbed her small ones, yanking her bodily upward in one impressive motion. Before she knew what was happening her arms were sore and her feet had touched down on the terrace. Before she could react to that, Callahan had pulled her back through the French doors and into his room.