So, here's the next chapter! I hope you'll like it, please, let me know what you think! :)
I don't own anything, including a beta, so read at your own risk.
Thank you, universe without a soul, for leaving a review! I hope I'll be able to write something different and enjoyable!
Despite what some would think, my dreams were actually nice and fluffy, rainbow-farting unicorns and such shit. Ridiculous, but nice, anyway. I surprised myself with the short amount of time I needed in order to fall asleep (I blamed the long ride, and totally not the fact that I was simply a survivor out of luck), and when I did, the dreams were messed up and enjoyable once again. There was this carrot-man whom I found lovely for some reason and actually planned to marry him but left him at the altar. He wasn't happy, and he started throwing baby-carrots at me. It took me a while to realize that I was actually being thrown at.
My eyes shot open and in the next moment, I took my Colt from under my pillow and aimed at whoever was throwing tiny paper-pieces at me.
"Bitch, what?!" I groaned as I took in the sight of the reddish-brown haired girl. Or woman. Whatever, the point is, I felt the dark energy rolling off of her; she was a ghost. What a surprise.
"Good morning, sunshine!" she grinned viciously, crossing her arms in front of her chest. I didn't like the way she leant so casually against the dresser. She was dead. I was alive. I was a hunter (of sorts) and killed ghosts like her. Shouldn't she feel at least a bit worried about my gun being pointed at her? And yet, I was the one feeling violated. "Thought you'd never wake up."
"You wish." I lowered the gun and hid it under the pillow again. I didn't have much hunter-stuff anymore; but this one I kept, along with a few different bullets, purely for the sake of my health. I mean, kill, before you get killed, right? This is how it goes.
"Actually not," she said with a pout. "I almost can't wait to have Blondie shouting 'I love you' again all through the house and crying – it's always hilarious when he's crying. But I have other reasons as well."
To be honest, I didn't really pay attention to her, not that she bothered; I guessed she just liked to hear her own voice. Instead, I turned my attention to my phone on the nightstand, and heaved a sigh; it was 7AM. That shouldn't even be considered an hour.
"Shit-fuck," I mumbled idly as I rubbed my face (as if I could scour the sleepiness off of me) and leant forward. The paper-pieces fell off of me – my face, my hair, my shoulders and chest – almost gracefully; I took one and started to straighten it. "What are these, anyway?"
She shrugged carelessly. "Good-wishes."
I snorted and rolled my eyes; the paper read 'DIE' on it. I supposed the others were the same. I started to understand why Tate said ghosts around here don't have humor.
"Really funny. Didn't you say like a minute ago that you don't want me dead?"I asked without interest, forcing my legs to move and swing to the side.
"Maybe, maybe not. I've got issues."
"Yeah. I never would've guessed."
She was definitely feeling smug as she pushed herself away from the dresser and took long, energetic steps to the very barricade of the salt-circles. "You go to college, right? Guess what, I once went to college, too. Then I fell in love with my professor, he got me pregnant and killed me, damning my soul here for eternity. Get where I'm poking at?"
I averted my gaze to the ceiling and pouted the corners of my lips in anticipation. Sleeping in a house full of weird ghost-ly spirits wasn't on my bucket list, and I've got to strike it out, anyway – having a conversation full of riddles in the morning wasn't to my liking, either, and I was starting to get irritated. This wasn't how normal life was supposed to be; and burning-hot rancor coiled inside of me toward my father. How was he such a jerk to just disappear, without a word? This wasn't fair; and I shouldn't be suffering for it.
"Nah," was my final answer, not really caring about her problems, anyway. She, however, seemed to insist on my caring; and by that, I mean that an ear-scratching shriek left her mouth as she hurtled toward me, fingers hunched like claws, either to strangle me or scrape my eyes out. She bumped into the invisible wall of the salt-circle, but she didn't seem to care.
"Get to work, bitch!" she squawked, gnashing her teeth. Her fist came into contact with the blockade with a dull thump – damn, was she mental. She resembled the ghosts I've known in a hideously comforting way. "Get off of your ass and do your fucking job, free me, or I swear, this'll be the best morning you'll be having for the rest of your stay."
I couldn't say that I wasn't afraid of her; I was afraid of most everything, actually, knowing well that even a good person can do horrid things under the wrong pressure. The key was to not let that fear take control over you; although I still battled with my survival instinct which urged me to quail and cow, I didn't react as much as to blink.
"Just a good-natured advise: it's not wise to threaten someone whose aid you depend on."
It was evident in the fall of her expression that this wasn't the reaction she was expecting; she remained in that angered, lunatic state for a few more moments before a Cheshire-cat grin spread on her lips.
"Believe me, sweetheart; I'm not the worst thing in this house, and you still don't want me to be your personal nightmare."
I started to think that ghosts that were simply trying to murder me cold weren't that bad; they were strong and inhuman and fearful, yes, but they were also mindless like an attack-dog. This girl? She simply looked like a psychopath to me; and a sick human was always worse than a brutal, unreasoned creature.
It took a great effort not to let my pokerface slip; one misstep, and I was as good as dead – she seemed intelligent enough to actually mean and try to fulfill what she wants. She resembled those Travis-type persons all too well; if you let them push you around, if you only show them as many as one soft spot…
My jaw clenched as I stood up, trying to look as easy-going as I could master. "Believe me, sweetheart," I mimicked her honeyed voice," you don't want me as your enemy, either."
Her hazel eyes looked straight into my irises like a virus, trying to find that weakness in the firewall where it could sneak in and destroy everything.
I was taller than her and had a stronger built, still, she seemed to be a fair match, her insanity versus the powers I had and feared.
"Go away," I demanded finally; I was satisfied with that amount of sturdiness I've managed to put into my voice. Whether it was due my firmness or her running out of threats to throw at my head, I don't know, but with a final, unsettling smile, she disappeared, and I was left alone. Only when I was sure there was no other presence in the room did I allow myself to slump back on the bed and take some deep, calming breaths to relax my madly racing heart.
I really hoped these ghosts didn't have the ear of werewolves, because the rapid thump-thump in my chest would've given me away effortlessly.
When the beat was back to its normal rate, I had to face reality again – there was no sleep in my eyes anymore, and with a groan, I headed to the bathroom to get ready. Taking my time, I eventually wandered into the kitchen an hour later, following a trail of appetizing scent. Moira stood next to the cooker, an omelet crepitating in the pan whilst Liam sat at the counter, his mouth stacked with what seemed to be a fair mixture of bacon and scrambled eggs. It almost seemed like some cereal's TV advertisement, and it only took me a bit of concentration to let a flash of young Moira's bullet-pierced skull chase away all the scene's quietude. She's dead, I had to remind myself. A dead woman is feeding my little brother breakfast.
"Good morning, Miss," Moira's voice pulled me back to the kitchen from the never-ending field of my doubts I just stepped into. Liam raised his head and smiled at me with his mouth full; fortunately, he swallowed before talking. I couldn't decide whether it was Moira's bidding to teach him some manners or he simply started to grow up.
"Howdy, stranger!" he beamed with a horrible southern accent and patted the bar stool next to him. My stomach grumbled as I took the spot and got closer to the heavenly scent of breakfast. I couldn't remember the last time I had breakfast that wasn't pre-made or in a diner.
"Good morning," I muttered, still not quite over how calm they both seemed and I had to conclude that for months, it probably went this way, Moira cooking for Liam, which he happily accepted and thanked, forgetting about the tiny bit of detail of how she is a ghost and he is a hunter. Of sorts.
"I hope you like omelet, Miss; Mr. Blake said you like feta with spinach, so I put some in it with sweet pepper. Hopefully, you'll be pleased," Moira added with a dim smile as she put the omelet on an impossibly white porcelain plate.
"Moira," Liam whined, almost head-butting the counter in the process. "I told you: Mr. Blake is Dad, at top, just… please, call me Liam!"
Moira seemed to be relentless in the case. "It wouldn't be appropriate, Mr."
The psycho-girl's words echoed through my ear as the plate was slid in front of me – her words about her not being the worst thing around. She may have been insane or some shit, but who's to say she didn't have some truth in her words? If she had, who could be the one I should keep my eyes on? So far, I've only met Moira, Tate and her – but there were others.
Suddenly becoming suspicious toward everything, I scowled, drawing the attention of Moira.
"It's not poisoned, Miss, I assure you," she said lightly, as if I wasn't accusing her soundlessly with an attempt to murder me. She didn't seem offended the last bit, but then again, she may have been simply better at hiding her feelings than me at perceiving them.
"One would say the same if it was poisoned," I pointed out, slowly taking hold of the fork.
"I suppose so."
I ate it anyway. And it was fucking delicious.
"So, did you get any sleep last night? Safe behind two circles of salt?" Liam inquired, not trying to hide how funny she thought my caution was. I couldn't put my hand on why he was so easy around here; I just couldn't. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I didn't feel like I was welcomed at all, not by those living or stuck here, but the house itself. I felt self-conscious just sitting and eating breakfast, almost like I interrupted something I wasn't meant to be part of.
"Actually, yes," I shrugged, downing another fork-full of omelet. "And it wasn't as bad as I expected; although, I have to admit, I could've done without ghosts randomly appearing in the room like they were invited to a slumber-party."
"What d'ya mean?"
"Well, Tate, the Friendly Ghost paid me a visit at first, eager for a joke," I pondered, gesticulating with the fork," and then there was Whomping Willow in the morning, now, that was a cheerful call."
"Yeah, Tate has this thing," Liam said with a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his neck. I wanted to correct him, saying, more like he doesn't have this thing called 'respect for personal-space', but eventually I remained silent." He and Moira are the ones usually showing themselves, but… Whomping Willow? …Do you mean Hayden?"
"She was threatening me… Didn't quite catch her name."
"Then it's definitely Hayden. She's kind of… eager to leave, and has a hard time being patient."
"Oh, she should be patient… At an asylum, I mean." The words left my mouth without me thinking them over; and the moment I looked up at Moira, I regretted them. She didn't look quite… anything other than calm, but still, there was something in her eyes that made me feel ashamed. "Sorry. I just don't take threats too well."
"If I may, Miss, I believe that whatever resides in here, it makes even the best of us perform wicked things."
"And what about those who are already the worst of humanity?" I asked quietly, looking up at Moira resignedly. One look she gave me, and the sorrow and despair of it, the silent, cold truth punched my appetite in the face. I pushed the plate away. "Alright, let's get down to business: Dad."
Liam's head jerked up, a heavy, rueful sigh escaping his mouth as I turned my torso toward him. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything. Anything can be important, the smallest of details, something you wouldn't even consider a clue. What was he working on before he went away? What did he tell you?"
"Nothing, actually," he mumbled, toying with his fingers and consciously avoiding my gaze. He barely gazed up at me before looking away. "He… usually doesn't tell me much, but this time, it was even less. Literally, he said he's going on a hunt and that he'll be back in a week or so, contacting me if he gets delayed."
"He didn't tell you what he was hunting?" I asked with a scowl. Liam shook his head. How could it be…? Before I went to Uncle Reese, he always took me with him, I saw the first ghost-hunt when I was twelve, and Liam was fifteen already. Even before Dad took me with him, he always told me, us, what he case he was working on, descriptions of how to kill different monsters instead of bedtime stories and our father-daughter time meant looking through the newspapers and news portals, trying to find something that's out of ordinary.
Maybe he's trying to be a better father, I guessed silently. Maybe he's trying to protect Liam…
I shook my head. Too late for that. I wanted to be mad at him, because that was the only clear and strong feeling I had in a long while, so I didn't listen to the voice asking to forgive him. Instead, I focused on trying to find him – another burden he laid upon me and Liam without our permission.
"Did you see what he took with him, then?" I questioned, my mind racing, newer and newer propositions coming forward as to how to find him.
"Not much," Liam mused, scratching his chin with a frown as he tried to recall what happened. "He only took a bag with him, full of clothes; and the arsenal in the trunk. Lately, he's been using the cover of a deer hunter so he has a hunting rifle, a Remington 700 I believe, and, ah… A Browning A5 Magnum? I guess. It may be a Remington, too, though… Dunno. A shotgun for sure. He has official papers, licenses, permissions… Well, fake, of course, but high quality."
"Nothing else?"
"Nah-ah. He even left his Glock here… I have it locked away in a safe."
I raised my eyebrows at that. "Well… Maybe he wasn't expecting any face-to-face combat. An assassination case, maybe… A vampire? You better take them out from afar, a single modified wooden bullet coated in silver through the heart, and bamm. Or maybe a wendigo, they are nasty little bitches when you're close to them, always trying to bite, though it's probably too hot for them here… Maybe a werewolf? Ah, but this is just me guessing, it can be anything," I groaned in frustration and tapped on the counter while thinking. I locked my eyes on Liam. He was still fussing around. "You really didn't hear anything? Not even when he was doing research or something? And all the ghosts here, doing living-watching? They don't know anything?"
"Dad had this little room separated in the basement," he explained, seemingly uncomfortable with the lack of information he could provide. "He did some renovations, mainly consisting of building in salt-circles and signs on the walls to keep everything outside including ghosts, and I wasn't allowed, either. A week and a half later, after he still didn't call me, I started to get antsy and went down, but it was clear."
"I'll look around later, just in case," I nodded in agreement, and cracked my neck." And what about contacts? Do you have an informant around? Another hunter-pack, maybe?"
"No, you know how Dad is…" I knew; most of the other hunters found Dad a maniac for trying desperately to find a way to bring Mom back, and also, his little agenda against the demon that killed her seemed to irritate most of them as well. Hunters were supposed to protect the people, not going on a killing spree for revenge, and although Dad was merely following trails, not being a serial killer, most still didn't like him, and he disliked back. Still, there were some trusted few whom he counted on. "He gets information from Jack and Camille, but they're still in Washington. And I don't know about any other hunter… But, you know. LA and Hollywood are pretty big."
A sudden wave of panic rushed over me as I thought about the monumental scale we were talking about here; he said he'd be gone for a week, which meant he may have gone further away. How were we supposed to find him without having any idea where to start picking up the line?
"Damn," I muttered in distress, burying my face in my hands; I may have overestimated my capability of solving this.
Liam must have misunderstood the source of my annoyance (which was myself), and looked down at his leg shamefully. "I'm not much of a help, am I?"
My head shot up, my gaze lingering over his features – boyish, tiptoeing to the edge of manly – lovingly. "That's not what I meant, you asshole." Well… You could say my thoughts were more often sweet and nice than my words; I just felt that the feelings I have are not meant for saying. "We'll figure out something."
Liam rewarded my efforts with a small, fake smile before looking up at the clock and jumping off the stool. "I have to get to school now… Will you be alright?"
"No, Liam, I can't take care of myself, please, skip school for me, baby bro," I pouted. This earned a punch in the shoulder from him, with which I was far more familiar. "Which one are you going to?"
"Westfield High."
I snorted, remembering the research I did on Tate. "Figures… It has a good reputation."
"Bad things happen everywhere," Liam shrugged, picking up his bag from a chair nearby.
"Do you want me to give you a lift?"
"Nope, thanks. I have a ride already."
My natural obsession with secrets and sisterly over-protectiveness spiced with down-to-the-bone suspicion toward everyone around made it hard not to ask a lot of questions in situation like this.
"Really? You have friends around here?" This possibility felt heart-warming and sorrowful at the same time; I was very happy for Liam, after all, we never stayed in the same place for long when I was younger, and given they've been living here for the past months, that meant Liam could have the life he deserved. Although, I had to admit, I was jealous; it was shameful, but I wished I could've had the same, and this part of me found it unfair.
Liam seemed to be hiding a smile threatening to stretch his face by biting into his lip. Suddenly, his cheeks reddened.
"Oh la la," I laughed with the mocking tone of the older sibling. "She must be something, right?"
"Yeah, she is," he nodded, tugging on the strap of his bag. "I'll introduce you to her… someday."
"Go get her, tiger," I patted him on the back before he made it to the door. Before he could have closed it behind him, I shouted," Hey, Liam! Wait, last question: what did Dad say, what should you do if something goes wrong?"
"Again, not much," he sighed. "He said… 'Keep West Virginia in mind'. I checked; we've never even been to Virginia once, and he has no relations there."
I knew that Dad, the asshole he could be, would never leave Liam without a clue, and this time, it seemed to be that 'West Virginia' would be that. The problem was: I had no idea what he meant. I had a faint memory of some distant relatives of mom in Huntington (the irony) but they were unaware of the supernatural, and I only met them once, at the funeral of Mom. Maybe Dad was trying to tell Liam to leave this place and the hunting, too, if he dies? It was possible. But not possible enough.
Sitting, or more like lying on the stairs inside (that was the only place that I found neutral, like it didn't belong to anyone else, unlike the rooms), I surfed the internet on my laptop with a deep frown on my face. Once again: I felt his presence, before I actually saw or heard anything.
"Boo!" Tate exclaimed, leaning over me from a few steps above. Crooking my neck backwards, I rested my head on the step he stood on, my gaze getting lost in his black eyes for a moment before raising an eyebrow.
"Nice try, Casper. Maybe next time," I stated, almost proud of myself at how well I've managed to keep me from smiling in triumph. For a moment, I creased my forehead, scowling at how easy it seemed to forget about him being a ghost. Ghosts aren't roomies, I reminded myself. They are enemies.
"Damn, how come you're not startled at all?" he asked, laughter lighting his voice as he hopped down the steps and took a seat next to me. I took my gaze off the laptop screen to look at him (I had to seize the distance to calculate how much time would I need to punch him in the face or shot him with the rock-salt bullet I had loaded into my gun I had, hid under my loose t-shirt), noticing how grinning made his dimples visible again.
"Do you want me to be startled?"
"No," he answered after a bit of thinking. "It would add to my manly confidence, but, you know… I like fierce girls."
My eyes went from the screen to him again, but not actually seeing him, merely staring. A ghost did not just try to flirt with me. My life can't be that fucked up.
A visible shiver ran down my spine which he didn't broach. "So, what do you want this time?" I asked, turning back again to add a few more criterions to the search I was doing. His eyes were too intense and too dark; reminded me of demons, the same soul-deep stare, to be honest, and that made me too nervous to keep eye-contact. "Another joke? Or coming back for that ass-kicking?"
He slid closer to me, I felt that, but the closeness only revealed its true amount when I felt his shoulder touching mine, his breath on my neck as he spoke, leaning over my shoulder to look at the screen. "No-pe, I just wanted to hang out… What's about West Virginia?"
I've tried leaning away from him, his proximity being uncomfortably intimate – he really had no idea about personal space, or he simply didn't care – but I was already right next to the wall.
"Don't know yet," I replied, honestly for a change as I closed the window I had open, going back to the search and opening another link. "But that's the only clue I have so far, so…"
Tate remained silent, so silent actually, that if it wasn't for his breathing hitting my neck every once in a while, and that intangible aura ghosts always seemed to have (maybe it was the breath of death or something), I would have thought he went away. After a while, I started to wonder; those ghosts I've met before, they weren't breathing, right? I mean, they were dead… They didn't need to, right?
"Maybe you shouldn't take it literally," he suggested after I've closed the hundredth window explaining the geography, climate and residential potential of the state. I wasn't expecting him to speak up so out of the blue, so he did manage to somewhat startle me, and maybe he knew that too, which would have explained the satisfied, lazy cat expression he had on.
"What do you mean?" I tilted my head to the side with confusion.
"Like I said: try not taking 'West Virginia' literally… Like poems. A bird flying away isn't just a bird flying away… Well, not for everyone. It's a symbol of freedom for those who know the key, how to reveal the secret behind the obvious words. What could West Virginia mean that way?"
"I, ah…" The scowl on my face seemed to be constant now, as I tried to process what he said and started to realize he could be right. After all, Dad, according to Liam, didn't say 'go to West Virginia'. He said: 'keep in mind'. My blue irises bore into Tate's nearly black ones with suspicion. "Why are you helping me?"
He seemed genuinely confused by my question, his smile melting off of his face, like snow under the pale spring sun, to give space for uncertainty. "Why wouldn't I? I like Ronald. He's nice to me."
I couldn't help but scoff," My father? Nice? I'm not even sure we're looking for the same dude, then…"
Tate smiled a one-sided smile before squinting for a moment. "I heard you've run away," he said then, once again taking me by surprise how completely unaware he was of the fact that his nose had no business poking around stuff like that.
"Heard or eavesdropped?" I asked harshly.
"Heard," he repeated steadily, his eyes appearing to host real warmness in them; now, that was something completely unlike demons. "You ran away from your family, from your life… I can relate to that."
I frowned again, but this time it was out of surprise, and, I hated to admit, a bit of hope. "Really?"
I thought he was messing with me, just like how Travis and his band did before straight away starting to pick on me, but it seemed like with Tate, his understanding was true.
"Yeah… I wanted to do that, too," he confessed with a dolorous smile, fidgeting with the oversized sleeve of his also oversized pullover. "I hated school and my bitch mother, and nothing made sense, you know? I was fighting through every day for nothing, so I was, like, why the fuck not? But I didn't, I couldn't get myself to actually gather up the courage and make that step. Fuck me, right?"
"It's not courage, really," I snorted, not at his words, but my own actions. "Quite the opposite. If I had the courage, I'd have stayed, don't you think?"
"No," he smiled. And for a faltering moment, I forgot to remember how he wasn't alive anymore – how could he be dead? He seemed to be alive, he felt like alive.
It was a passing moment of weakness, really; after that, I recalled how the calmest and sweetest persons carried out horrid things more often than it should have happened. Like, Tate seemed like your usual teenage boy from the '90s, looking like Cobain, speaking of running away – and then it just happens he deals with pressure by becoming a school-shooter. What is it, fifteen kids he murdered?
Remembering that fact pulled me away from awe easily. Of course, the only boy ever paying me attention and telling me how he understands me would be a ghost of a murderer. Figures. They say Ted Bundy was quite a charmer as well.
"So, not literally… West Virginia…" I mumbled, tapping on the touchpad aimlessly as my thought flood free around my head. Virginia. Indians. Virginia Company. Pocahontas. Shit, that's not the right direction… Redesigning. West-Virginia. Mountains. Montani semper liberi or some Highlander shit. Coal mines. Under the mountain… Hidden, underneath…
My eyes grew wide as the realization hit in. I found it. I fucking found it!
The laptop got closed in such a hurry that I wasn't even sure it's working anymore but I didn't care, tossing it aside and jumping up and hurrying down the stairs. I heard the faint noise of Tate doing the same.
"Where are you going?" he questioned, sounding kinda worried of the sudden change in my behavior.
"The basement," I stated before stopping swiftly, as if I bumped into a wall. The sudden stop almost caused Tate to bump into me, and I turned toward him. "Where's the basement?"
"The opposite direction," he pointed behind his back with his thumb, making me curse under my breath. "But what's with the basement?"
"I just… I might have an idea. Do you know where the room is my Dad used?"
"Yeah, of course, but I don't think you should go down there," he stood before me, blocking my way.
I raised an eyebrow. "Wow. Sweet. Really. Now, show me the way, please?"
Tate didn't seem too happy about it, and I honestly had no idea what's his problem. It was either the realization of not being able to hold me back from going down or he simply felt like helping me, but he nodded and led me to the basement's door, opening it for me, the old door creaking on its hinges.
I was faced with the darkest dark I've ever seen. The kind that swallows every light, every sound, and feels like nothingness.
But there was also this other kind of darkness – this dark, pulsing energy, which almost seemed to be set free with the door being open, and licked the hallway with its ugly tentacles like the ocean licks the shore, smooth and steady, pulling back so it can come back with a forceful wave.
This wave hit me when I took the first step down; I had a slight headache since I arrived, one which I've always had at haunted places, and I usually didn't pay attention to it anymore, it was like a constant buzz. But this time, the headache grew to unbearable depths, to the point where I felt y skull being torn into confetti, nerve by nerve. My ear started to ring, louder and louder, and I pressed my hands to my temples, pushing hard, hoping to make the pain burst out like a bottle of ketchup.
Something did pop. And in the next moment, I fell down the stairs as the darkness swallowed me.