Chapter Ten
Thomas felt everything. At first, he thought he was being attacked. There was a pressure within him that felt like suffocation, and a pain he didn't remember anything in his timeless existence compared to. He'd shot glares around the room, looking for his assailant. When he sensed just how alone he was, the pain increased.
Then he remembered Andy.
He'd managed through the agony to look through her crystal. He'd feared she was in danger. Maybe she had been captured after his idiotic younger self tipped off the Fright Knight. No doubt she was being tortured. What he saw through the crystal confused him.
Andy was looking out a dingy window over a dirty sink. It was raining, and there was a large bush that appeared to be causing her distress. Icicles clung to the rotted structure of the windowsill, and frost coated the dingy glass.
Confusion ebbed the suffocating sensation as he waited for her to do or say something. Was she in danger? Was she hurt?
She phased right through the wall and walked at it, feeling panicked and a toxic mixture of fear and grief. She pulled at the brittle leaves, breaking pieces falling away and exposing a rusty metal frame. No, it wasn't a bush; it was a car. It was charred and rotted on the inside. She ran her fingers over pry marks in the door jams, leaving trails of frost behind her fingertips.
Why is this scrap car making you feel like you're dying?
She opened a tiny compartment in the ancient heap and dug through dirt, producing a dingy little silver circle. Ice coated the ruined dash, and ice formed on the circle. The crystal shook, then the dirty little circle tinked beside it.
She had taken it off to put a circle beside it? Why?
The crystal dropped low, still in Andy's hand. Thomas saw her soaked, jean-covered leg swishing back and forth as she approached the goth girl under the umbrella. She knelt before three shapes that had been uncovered from vine, shock and anguish consuming her. The crystal shifted and cut off the connection.
The pain and suffocation halted immediately. Thomas sat down on an oversized bed, processing what he had seen and regulating his breathing. Andy wasn't unreasonably emotional, but this pain he felt was only part of what she was feeling. What about a rusty old car and a bunch of shapes by the goth girl made her feel such anguish?
It didn't feel like she thought she was in danger, and both the goth girl and the hounds looked free. No other Ghosts were visible, and, except for the frost, nothing supernatural appeared to be present in the weeded area. It was just rain and ruins. As harmless as it seemed, Andy was completely broken. He was tortured without knowing why she felt like this.
It seemed like hours before he felt the connection again. Andy had put the necklace back on, and she wasn't in as much pain. She felt broken, looking at the ruined little shack from behind a car door so old it had a rusted window crank. When she got in, the goth girl put a hand on Andy's arm, trying to comfort her.
They both appeared unharmed, much to Thomas's relief. He wanted so desperately to go to her. He wanted to take her into his arms and make the pain cease. He would kill whoever had dared to make her feel such horrible things; slowly, and without mercy. He would do everything in his incredible power to insure the only feelings she felt were joy and maliciousness as they roamed their domain as gods.
And he would make damn sure she never felt this pain again.
…
Andy and Sam made it to a cheap little motel not far from the house. They settled in quickly, grateful for something other than the bench seat of the Chevelle to sit on. Within an hour, Sam had showered and sprawled out on the stiff mattress in between the hounds.
Andy didn't bother to dry her hair after her shower, so she sat, fully dressed in dry clothes, in a chair by the door. She had washed the ash and dirt from her father's ring, and was absentmindedly turning it over in her hands. She was drained. Her mind had slowed to a hum as it searched through all of her memories.
She recalled sitting on her father's shoulders while her grandfather took a picture. She'd just beat out her cousins in a shooting contest on the farm. A makeshift 1st Place ribbon was pinned to her denim jacket.
She remembered sneaking beer into the garage when her father was napping, then getting caught. Her dad didn't yell. He didn't scold. He cracked one open and sat beside her.
"Don't tell your mom, and hang your car keys up on the board," was all he had to say. He'd even let her try whiskey with granddad when they drove up to visit. She always had a little when the older cousins played poker with granddad, her father, and her uncles. She never beat granddad, but nobody else ever beat her.
She remembered her mother coming home once a month for a weekend. They always went to lunch. It was a little café that was in a bigger city an hour or so from the house. Her mother always ordered some elaborate dish, but Andy only ever wanted a grilled cheese sandwich and a soda. Then, her mother would try to take her to get more clothes, but all she wanted was a pair of jeans and a new cassette tape.
Her mother was only home periodically, stopping in to change clothes or to grab a forgotten object. When she was home, her father pleaded with her to stay. She'd always kiss his cheek and tell him that she'd be back later, don't wait up.
The last time was no different, accept that Andy's father had already had a few beers. It had been a long day, and he liked to kick back with a cold one to watch TV when the day was finally over.
When her mother left again, he pulled out a bottle of whiskey. He only ever drank it with his father, who had passed away a few months ago, following Andy's grandmother. Her dad hadn't touched whiskey since then, but kept a bottle on the shelf to remember. It was right next to a picture of granddad and grandma. Andy always touched it when she walked by, leaving messy dandelions by them. Her grandma always wished on them.
Andy tried to remind him that it was Grandad's whiskey, but he was two depressed to hear her. That big bottle was nearly half-empty by the time he grabbed for the keys to the Chevelle.
She wondered that day, amongst the pain, why he grabbed those keys. The Chevelle had only been test driven once since they got it running. Andy feared it would break down trying to keep up with her mother's sleek, black, foreign car. The tires were from a scrap yard, and the gauges didn't work right. She held the tow truck's keys in her clenched fist as she watched him get the creaky driver's door open.
That was her fear when he took off. That's why she didn't stop him. She didn't think the car would make it. She never thought her dad wouldn't.
Andy shut her eyes, taking a deep breath. No tears came. They were dried up. She'd grieved, mourned, but now it was time to move on. She still had to be strong. There was a job to be done.
"You'll never be done mourning," Clockwork appeared in the chair opposite her, speaking in a low voice. "Mourning is infinite."
Andy just nodded.
"It's never easy when a ghost who forgets their life suddenly remembers," he spoke through a long white beard.
"Do all ghosts forget?" she asked, her voice barely about a whisper.
"No," he answered softly, becoming a youthful adult. "It's rare. It usually means there was a tragic death."
Andy looked back down at the ring.
"He was already gone when I got to him, wasn't he?" she met Clockwork's thoughtful gaze, eyes a deep sapphire, but no longer glistening. "I was too late."
Clockwork nodded. "He tried to stay behind for you when it happened. When the car exploded, he thought he would see you on the other side. So he went to wait for you."
"Does he know what happened?" Andy managed. "Does he know I didn't follow him?"
"The other side isn't within my realm. Time doesn't reach over there, neither do I," Clockwork answered. "He had a difficult time deciding to go without you. He wanted you to be with him if you didn't have a chance at making it out alive."
Andy's voice was weak, but lacked emotion. Clockwork barely heard her ask, "Then why did I stay?"
Clockwork pondered that question, "Ghosts stay behind for different reasons. Yours is perhaps fate."
"Fate?" Andy's broken voice displayed disbelief as she looked at him with unlit gray eyes.
"Look where you are," he said. "Where would all of these humans and ghosts be without you?"
Andy looked back at Sam's sleeping form under the limbs of the hounds. "Safe in their beds, probably worrying about homework and tests."
Clockwork shook his head, "Look harder."
Andy looked back to him, but he was gone.
…
Andy had calmed into an odd state. It felt almost like sleep, but she knew it wasn't. Ghosts don't sleep. But she was resting. She had sunk lower in the chair, her eyes were glossed over and unresponsive to the snoring of the hounds. It was peaceful; her mind was still, no longer showing her images that made her empty tear ducts ache in a way they shouldn't have been able to.
It was nearly dawn when a hiss of icy air woke Andy from her daze. She scanned the room with black eyes, frost sprouting around the room. Her disguise dropped immediately, but her limbs remained in their fizzing state of rest.
A figure stood in the corner of the room by Sam's sleeping form, untouched by the ice. It put a finger up to its hooded face, making a shh gesture.
Andy stepped forward, planning to attack when he shot at her. Ectoplasmic bonds bound her feet and hands together and gagged her mouth before her lagged body could dodge. The sounds woke the hellhounds, who stood over Sam's limp form snarling protectively.
The bonds burned her when she tried to use her powers to free herself. She watched, panicked, as the figure waved his hands over the charging hellhounds, making them vanish in before they could attack, making enough noise to cause Sam to stir.
Andy's eyes widened. She knew they were in trouble. He grabbed sharply for Sam's throat, waking her up and choking off her yells.
Desperate, she tried to free herself from the bonds, coating ice over her skin where they burned. It wouldn't be fast enough to break through, but she had to try. She couldn't let this happen, she'd promised Danny.
She'd promised herself.
Andy managed noises from behind the gag, irritating the Ghost. Sam still in his grasp, he strode over to Andy.
A massive metal hand appeared through the sleeve as it raised over her, glowing a deathly green. Andy's eyes widened, and the hand came down to strike her, knocking her into unconsciousness.
Sam tried to scream, but the Ghost squeezed harder. She coughed, gasping for air through her compressed windpipe. This ghost was hooded, and Sam couldn't make out any features in the darkness of the room. The Hellhounds were missing, and Andy was dazed on the floor. She was bound in glowing bonds, probably inescapable. Sam's wide amethyst eyes looked back to the Ghost.
"Now we have him," the Ghost hissed.
