Greg Weisman - Rain of the Ghosts

“Your magic number is nine, Rain.”

“What?” She looked up, confused.

Maq started to back away up the beach. Reluctantly, I pushed myself up onto my feet and padded after him. He moved pretty fast for an old guy. I had to run to catch up.

“Your magic number’s nine,” he called back. “And I’m giving you that for free.”

Perplexed, she remained in mid-crouch for an easy ten seconds, watching us skip along the water’s edge among the baby waves in the fading light. Finally she stood and faced Charlie. “Is it me or has my life gone totally strange all of a sudden?”

“Option C,” he answered evenly. “All of the above.”

They made their way back to the Inn. The sun was setting and a fine mist had swept in from the ocean. Someone somewhere was eating popcorn; its carnival smell drifted in with the slight breeze. Charlie paused on the Inn’s front steps and held out his hand. Raindrops dotted his skin. He said morosely, “Rain’s gonna spoil the party.”

Rain looked at him. He said, “And, yes, I do mean you.” She stuck out her tongue.

Smiling, they entered the lobby, and Rain’s smile froze. Callahan was checking out, settling his tab with Rain’s mother. Rain’s entire body stiffened. She glowered at him as hard as she could. He glanced her way, grunted dismissively and turned back to Iris. “Hi,” Rain said to her mom, while trying to put just the right amount of challenge into the word for Callahan. “Hi” was a tough word to make challenging.

Nevertheless, Iris noticed the glowering and the tone and said pointedly, “Good news, honey. I found this in the laundry.” And lo and behold, she held out the armband!

Rain’s eyes went wide. A huge grin leapt onto her face. Joyously, she rushed forward, saying, “Mom, you’re terrific!” But before she could reach the prize, Callahan snagged it out of Iris’ hand.

He held the armband aloft, out of Rain’s reach. “Someone owes someone an apology,” he said.

Rain seethed. But she looked around the room. Charlie did one of his eyebrow shrug things. Iris clearly didn’t like Callahan’s style, but she wasn’t defending Rain either. That meant Rain would have to apologize. So Rain took a deep breath and begrudgingly, painfully spoke: “I’m sorry I accused you.”

Callahan smugly handed the armband to Rain. “Better,” he said. He picked up his duffel and headed for the front door. Dripping with sarcasm, he said, “Thanks for the hospitality.” Then he stepped outside and let the door close behind him.

Rain shook her head. He didn’t take the armband. She could barely believe it. But I know he was up to something. As she slid the cold metal of the armband onto her left biceps, she moved to the bay window overlooking the street. Outside it was dark and raining. Callahan paused to adjust his collar. The streetlight clicked on above him. He hefted his duffel onto his shoulder and started down the street.

Rain watched him pass from beneath the lamp. Yet there was another source of light…. The duffel itself was faintly glowing! Rain inhaled quickly as the Dark Man—as ’Bastian’s ghost—materialized from inside the duffel bag!

Rain put her hands up to the window. She made eye contact with her semitransparent grandfather. He reached out to her. And then suddenly, he was yanked away. Rain’s eyes ping-ponged between Callahan and ’Bastian. Callahan continued down Goodfellow Lane, seemingly unaware that he was somehow dragging ’Bastian behind him as if on an invisible chain.

Without looking, Rain reached back and grabbed a handful of Charlie’s t-shirt. “C’mon,” she whispered and pulled him toward the door.

It was still raining back at the docks. Callahan walked down the gangplank to a large modified cabin cruiser with the words BOOTSTRAP and SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA stenciled aft. Thirty yards away, Rain and Charlie watched, crouching behind a bus bench.

Rain stared as ’Bastian was drawn along behind Callahan. All Charlie saw was Callahan hefting his duffel onto the deck.

Callahan boarded. He unlocked a hatch, picked up the duffel and carried it below. The hatch shut behind him. Rain watched as ’Bastian’s ghost was pulled beneath, melting down through the deck like rainwater.

“He does have it,” Rain hissed.

“What?!”

She started to head for the boat. “I’ll show you.”

But Charlie grabbed her arm. “No! This has gone too far!”

Rain tried to remain calm, but it wasn’t easy. The Eight had materialized around them forty seconds earlier. The ghosts stood in a circle, each consumed with pointing out to sea. Rain stepped back and put her hand against Pete Grier’s. His plaintive voice sounded in her mind. Complete the mission… Send us home! Please! Please!

She said, “Charlie, they’re here, and they need my help. And I can’t help them if you don’t help me.”

Charlie watched Rain’s eyes dart back and forth, saw her maintain her resolve (and maybe her sanity) through sheer force of will. He shook his head. “I said it’s gone too far.” He paused for effect. “Fortunately, too far is where I like to go.”

She hugged him with enough force to expel air from his lungs. Before he had recovered (physically or emotionally), she yanked him through the ghosts and toward the boat.

Below deck on the Bootstrap, Callahan sat at a table, reviewing a chart of the Keys. The duffel sat on the floor at his feet. He circled a rendezvous point at sea then abruptly pushed back from the table and stood.

Simultaneously, Rain and Charlie were sneaking aboard the cruiser. They heard Callahan opening the hatch and quickly ducked down to hide behind the raised cabin. Callahan exited and let the hatch slam shut. He moved to the foredeck. The kids rounded the other way as Rain led Charlie toward the closed hatch. Charlie was borderline hyperventilating. Rain was barely breathing at all. She moved to the hatch and opened it with just the tiniest creak of a hinge. The sound seemed deafening, and they froze, waiting for Callahan’s attack. Nothing happened. Rain’s eyes met Charlie’s. He mentally begged her to turn back. She instinctively knew this and responded—by descending below deck. Charlie quickly grabbed ahold of the hatch, followed his friend and gently closed it behind them.

Charlie stepped down into the main cabin. Rain stood there, surveying the scene, and Charlie scanned the room as well. One overhead light illuminated the small space, which was jam-packed with charts, shovels, scuba gear, even a harpoon gun. An open closet, stuffed with ropes, pitons and a metal detector, completed the picture. Charlie whispered, “What’s this guy planning? The search for Atlantis?”

“The duffel? Where’s the duffel?”

Above deck, Callahan was releasing the lines.

Below, Rain spotted his bag and rushed toward it. Charlie remained rooted to his spot. “What do you think’s in there?” he asked, nervously looking over his shoulder at the closed hatch.

“’Bastian’s armband.” With one arm she was reaching into the bag, searching, searching.

Charlie turned back to her and stared at the gold armband on her other arm. “Uh, Rain, aren’t you wearing—”

“Got it!”

Victorious, she pulled her right arm free of the duffel and held aloft a gold band identical to the one on her left. Her glory was short-lived. The boat’s engine roared to life. Victory quickly turned to panic. “I think we better get out of here.”

And Charlie: “Now there’s an idea.” As one, they rushed to look out a porthole. The dock was already sliding away. Within seconds, the Bootstrap had cleared its berth and was pulling out to sea. “A little late, maybe.”

From the shore, Maq and I watched as the cruiser was shortly swallowed up by the rain and fog. Thunder rumbled in the distance. We shared a single thought: Finally .