On the way to visit her brother, Joey Rafkin had an accident. It was
no big deal really. She'd only wrapped the front of her car around a
really big tree. She wasn't hurt, not even shaken. It was practically a
common occurrence. She was always having visions, even behind the wheel.
She'd owned three cars already and she was only seventeen. Sadly, she
wondered if that was why Denny needed Cyrus's money so bad.
Joey continued her journey on foot. Destination: Kriticos's glass house. Ha! Ectobar prison was what it was. Her brother's ghost was trapped in that place, but not for much longer.
It was night and the road was long. The only light was from the growing moon. It would be full in about a week, on February 2nd. That was Candlemas. That was Joey's eighteenth birthday. There was even a blue moon predicted to boot. Didn't bother her one bit. She'd seen it coming a long time off.
She walked slow, not wanting to tire herself. The trees of the woods loomed above her on both sides. There would be a rustling of leaves and an eerie wind. It wasn't a very comforting place to be, especially for someone like Joey. Then again, there was really no one like Joey.
She felt something coming up behind her. A car, most likely, but it made no sound. Her stride never faltered, even when the car pulled up and slowed beside her. After a number of feet, she stopped and turned to the vehicle, which had stopped in turn. It was a Chevy, '55-'56, she wasn't much of an automotive buff. It was crushed and crunched and dented and chipped. Looked like it had been through a hell of a lot.
She bent down to look into the passenger side window. The driver was a young man, or had been at one time. He was quite obviously a ghost now. Lack of pigmentation aside, his spectral nature was evident by the severe mangling of the entire right side of his body. His clothes, though torn and bloody, were classic '50s threads.
"Need a lift," he asked. His voice had that rippled, haunting sound to it. He turned his head in her direction. She could see that not all of his body was torn up. Most of his face was intact. She had decided he was handsome even before then. It was him she had seen before her wreck earlier that night. Though, he didn't have scars in her vision.
"I think I'll pass," she replied casually. "A long walk and fresh air'll do me good."
He tilted his head slightly and looked past her. That's when she felt it. An extreme coldness tickled her as it wrapped around her waist. She was pulled back off her feet with a sudden jolt.
Royce Clayton got out of his battered car, dragging his baseball bat with him. He rounded the car's front end and surveyed the situation. The Jackal had the girl pinned down on the side of the road. He was cackling wildly and tried clawing at her, but she was fighting back. She blocked the swipes he took and was able to push him off her a few inches. Royce thought it interesting that she hadn't bothered to scream for help once.
The girl managed to get her foot underneath the Jackal and kicked him off her. He fell backward onto the ground as she moved in the opposite direction. He was on his feet in an instant. Royce decided to make his move before the Jackal attacked again.
"Kuhn," he shouted moving closer. When the Jackal looked up, Clayton swung his bat. It connected with the metal cage around the Jackal's head and knocked him back.
"I told you to stay off my road, you crazy bastard," Royce glowered as Kuhn stood himself up. The Jackal made a move toward the girl. Royce hefted his bat threateningly. Kuhn stopped, looked at Clayton, then the bat, and back again. With a low, angry howl, he retreated into the woods.
Jackal had some sense; Royce would give him that. Backing off was the best thing that kook could've done. Clayton turned back to his car. He saw the girl standing, brushing herself off. He hadn't really noticed her before. Royce had a nasty habit of reliving the last night of his life every few nights of his unlife. Stopping by someone on the road was part of the routine. Now, the routine broken, Royce checked out the girl.
Almost no one ever showed up around there, least of all a girl walking alone at night. He figured the wrecked car up the road belonged to her. He leaned against the side of his car, trying to make himself look cool.
She was pretty good looking, he decided instantly. She wasn't wearing a dress like most girls he'd seen, but jeans and a T-shirt like a guy. Though she clearly wasn't a guy. The backpack she had strapped on accentuated that nicely. He followed her curves from head to toe, wondering what they'd feel like in his hands. Then he remembered he couldn't feel anything physically. Well, that wasn't true. He could feel the pressure from objects touching him, the way the feeling of a numb limb works. And he could feel his car. It was a part of him. But he needed something more than a car.
She was watching him. Not with fear or awe as he expected. Her gaze was mostly casual and slightly critical. She was sizing him up. And, by the looks of it, the same way he had been checking her out. It made him a bit uneasy, but he turned to face her just the same.
He really liked this girl. She was cool, nice looking, brave (or stupid) enough to walk alone at night, tough (or, again, stupid) enough to tangle with the Jackal. And, above all else, his torn right half seemed to have no effect on her.
Joey studied the guy carefully. She wanted to have a good grasp on his form before anything else. Nice build, nice clothes, nice hair. Definitely from the '50s. He couldn't have been much older than her when he died. She was pondering that thought when he turned to her. Her heart beat a little faster, but her exterior was all cool. She'd chastise herself later about it.
"Thanks for helping me," she said after a few seconds.
"I wasn't helping you," he said coldly. "I was getting that nutcase out of my territory. It just happened to benefit you."
"Either way, I owe you one." Joey was undeterred by his remarks.
He stepped toward her with an evil smirk. "You know, Kuhn probably heard you from a mile away. Thought he'd come and have some fun with you. I have a mind to do the same."
His advancing on her was threatening to say the least. Joey stood her ground and, in a flash, knew what she was to do.
"Do you want to be alive again?"
The guy froze with a stunned look on his face. "What are you talking about?"
"I can bring ghosts back to life," she shrugged. "That's the only way I have of repaying you."
"What are you trying to sell," he asked suspiciously. "Because I don't have any money. I'm dead."
"I'm not selling anything. Just repaying a life-debt."
"Listen, my body's been six feet under for decades..."
"Oh, I don't need your body."
"Wait, wait, wait," he said overwhelmed. "You're telling me you can bring me, a ghost, back to life and without the use of a body?"
"Correct," Joey nodded.
The guy began a low, hysterical laugh. Looking up at the sky he called out "God, who is this girl?"
"Name's Joey Rafkin," she answered. "And you are...?"
"Royce Clayton," he responded automatically. "Hold on. Rafkin? Isn't that the name of the psychic guy at the Kriticos place?"
"Yeah, he's my brother," she nodded.
"Oh." His voice became very low. "Did you know that he's...?"
"Dead? Yeah. That's why I'm here. I'm bringing him back, too."
"You're serious about this," Royce sounded astonished. "You can bring people back from the dead."
"Yes," Joey said quietly.
Royce became lost in thought. After a short time, he finally said "All right. Say I believe you. What'll it take to bring me back?"
"Nothing much for you really. A little patience, maybe some protection in case something like earlier happens again."
He nodded slightly and again slipped into thought.
"And once I'm back I'm free to go? No catches," Royce asked.
Joey nodded. "Only thing is it'll be about a week before I can do it. Can you wait that long?"
"I've been hanging around for a long time. I can handle another week."
"Good. So, are you with me?"
"Yeah," Royce conceded. "Yeah, I'm with you."
"Okay," Joey beamed. "Now, I need to get to my brother."
"I'll take you." Royce walked toward the driver's door.
"Maybe I should drive." Joey bit down on her tongue for saying that.
Royce didn't seem to care. "Judging by that car up the street, you're not very good behind the wheel."
He wasn't one to talk about bad driving. He realized that after he said it. He turned his head, trying to hide the right half. He expected her to say something about it.
"You're probably right." She got into the car nonchalantly.
Royce got in too. He realized Joey had been wrong earlier. There was going to be a big catch to this situation. He could feel it. And that catch was sitting across from him as they rode to their destination.
Joey continued her journey on foot. Destination: Kriticos's glass house. Ha! Ectobar prison was what it was. Her brother's ghost was trapped in that place, but not for much longer.
It was night and the road was long. The only light was from the growing moon. It would be full in about a week, on February 2nd. That was Candlemas. That was Joey's eighteenth birthday. There was even a blue moon predicted to boot. Didn't bother her one bit. She'd seen it coming a long time off.
She walked slow, not wanting to tire herself. The trees of the woods loomed above her on both sides. There would be a rustling of leaves and an eerie wind. It wasn't a very comforting place to be, especially for someone like Joey. Then again, there was really no one like Joey.
She felt something coming up behind her. A car, most likely, but it made no sound. Her stride never faltered, even when the car pulled up and slowed beside her. After a number of feet, she stopped and turned to the vehicle, which had stopped in turn. It was a Chevy, '55-'56, she wasn't much of an automotive buff. It was crushed and crunched and dented and chipped. Looked like it had been through a hell of a lot.
She bent down to look into the passenger side window. The driver was a young man, or had been at one time. He was quite obviously a ghost now. Lack of pigmentation aside, his spectral nature was evident by the severe mangling of the entire right side of his body. His clothes, though torn and bloody, were classic '50s threads.
"Need a lift," he asked. His voice had that rippled, haunting sound to it. He turned his head in her direction. She could see that not all of his body was torn up. Most of his face was intact. She had decided he was handsome even before then. It was him she had seen before her wreck earlier that night. Though, he didn't have scars in her vision.
"I think I'll pass," she replied casually. "A long walk and fresh air'll do me good."
He tilted his head slightly and looked past her. That's when she felt it. An extreme coldness tickled her as it wrapped around her waist. She was pulled back off her feet with a sudden jolt.
Royce Clayton got out of his battered car, dragging his baseball bat with him. He rounded the car's front end and surveyed the situation. The Jackal had the girl pinned down on the side of the road. He was cackling wildly and tried clawing at her, but she was fighting back. She blocked the swipes he took and was able to push him off her a few inches. Royce thought it interesting that she hadn't bothered to scream for help once.
The girl managed to get her foot underneath the Jackal and kicked him off her. He fell backward onto the ground as she moved in the opposite direction. He was on his feet in an instant. Royce decided to make his move before the Jackal attacked again.
"Kuhn," he shouted moving closer. When the Jackal looked up, Clayton swung his bat. It connected with the metal cage around the Jackal's head and knocked him back.
"I told you to stay off my road, you crazy bastard," Royce glowered as Kuhn stood himself up. The Jackal made a move toward the girl. Royce hefted his bat threateningly. Kuhn stopped, looked at Clayton, then the bat, and back again. With a low, angry howl, he retreated into the woods.
Jackal had some sense; Royce would give him that. Backing off was the best thing that kook could've done. Clayton turned back to his car. He saw the girl standing, brushing herself off. He hadn't really noticed her before. Royce had a nasty habit of reliving the last night of his life every few nights of his unlife. Stopping by someone on the road was part of the routine. Now, the routine broken, Royce checked out the girl.
Almost no one ever showed up around there, least of all a girl walking alone at night. He figured the wrecked car up the road belonged to her. He leaned against the side of his car, trying to make himself look cool.
She was pretty good looking, he decided instantly. She wasn't wearing a dress like most girls he'd seen, but jeans and a T-shirt like a guy. Though she clearly wasn't a guy. The backpack she had strapped on accentuated that nicely. He followed her curves from head to toe, wondering what they'd feel like in his hands. Then he remembered he couldn't feel anything physically. Well, that wasn't true. He could feel the pressure from objects touching him, the way the feeling of a numb limb works. And he could feel his car. It was a part of him. But he needed something more than a car.
She was watching him. Not with fear or awe as he expected. Her gaze was mostly casual and slightly critical. She was sizing him up. And, by the looks of it, the same way he had been checking her out. It made him a bit uneasy, but he turned to face her just the same.
He really liked this girl. She was cool, nice looking, brave (or stupid) enough to walk alone at night, tough (or, again, stupid) enough to tangle with the Jackal. And, above all else, his torn right half seemed to have no effect on her.
Joey studied the guy carefully. She wanted to have a good grasp on his form before anything else. Nice build, nice clothes, nice hair. Definitely from the '50s. He couldn't have been much older than her when he died. She was pondering that thought when he turned to her. Her heart beat a little faster, but her exterior was all cool. She'd chastise herself later about it.
"Thanks for helping me," she said after a few seconds.
"I wasn't helping you," he said coldly. "I was getting that nutcase out of my territory. It just happened to benefit you."
"Either way, I owe you one." Joey was undeterred by his remarks.
He stepped toward her with an evil smirk. "You know, Kuhn probably heard you from a mile away. Thought he'd come and have some fun with you. I have a mind to do the same."
His advancing on her was threatening to say the least. Joey stood her ground and, in a flash, knew what she was to do.
"Do you want to be alive again?"
The guy froze with a stunned look on his face. "What are you talking about?"
"I can bring ghosts back to life," she shrugged. "That's the only way I have of repaying you."
"What are you trying to sell," he asked suspiciously. "Because I don't have any money. I'm dead."
"I'm not selling anything. Just repaying a life-debt."
"Listen, my body's been six feet under for decades..."
"Oh, I don't need your body."
"Wait, wait, wait," he said overwhelmed. "You're telling me you can bring me, a ghost, back to life and without the use of a body?"
"Correct," Joey nodded.
The guy began a low, hysterical laugh. Looking up at the sky he called out "God, who is this girl?"
"Name's Joey Rafkin," she answered. "And you are...?"
"Royce Clayton," he responded automatically. "Hold on. Rafkin? Isn't that the name of the psychic guy at the Kriticos place?"
"Yeah, he's my brother," she nodded.
"Oh." His voice became very low. "Did you know that he's...?"
"Dead? Yeah. That's why I'm here. I'm bringing him back, too."
"You're serious about this," Royce sounded astonished. "You can bring people back from the dead."
"Yes," Joey said quietly.
Royce became lost in thought. After a short time, he finally said "All right. Say I believe you. What'll it take to bring me back?"
"Nothing much for you really. A little patience, maybe some protection in case something like earlier happens again."
He nodded slightly and again slipped into thought.
"And once I'm back I'm free to go? No catches," Royce asked.
Joey nodded. "Only thing is it'll be about a week before I can do it. Can you wait that long?"
"I've been hanging around for a long time. I can handle another week."
"Good. So, are you with me?"
"Yeah," Royce conceded. "Yeah, I'm with you."
"Okay," Joey beamed. "Now, I need to get to my brother."
"I'll take you." Royce walked toward the driver's door.
"Maybe I should drive." Joey bit down on her tongue for saying that.
Royce didn't seem to care. "Judging by that car up the street, you're not very good behind the wheel."
He wasn't one to talk about bad driving. He realized that after he said it. He turned his head, trying to hide the right half. He expected her to say something about it.
"You're probably right." She got into the car nonchalantly.
Royce got in too. He realized Joey had been wrong earlier. There was going to be a big catch to this situation. He could feel it. And that catch was sitting across from him as they rode to their destination.