Me? Dangerous? I gave Dex a wildly bewildered look to amplify the doubt and confusion that I was feeling.
“Don’t look so shocked,” he said calmly. “I can see it.”
“See what?”
“I told you that you scared me, didn’t I?” He looked me in the eye for a second and then looked away.
Even though I had taken stunt lessons to feel powerful, to feel dangerous, what he just said chilled me to the core. I knew I could be vaguely dangerous with a hooking block, but to have this older, stronger, weirder man tell me he was scared of me...well that wasn’t right. I wasn’t like that.
“I’m five foot two and as sweet as a mouse,” I said defensively.
He pursed his lips and raised his brow. “You are short. And I know you can be sweet when you want to be. But there are different kinds of dangerous, kiddo. I’m just going to leave it at that.”
I had the need to vindicate myself and show him how sweet I could be. But perhaps that’s what he was talking about. I suddenly found myself doubting my very nature.
“Hey,” he said and pressed his index finger in between my brows, smoothing out the furrow that must have been there. “It’s OK. I’m a big boy. I’ll watch out for you if you’ll watch out for me. Deal?”
His finger felt hot against my forehead, melting into it like a knife into a warmed block of butter.
“Deal.” I smiled, shyly. He removed his finger and looked wistful.
“What now?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“What do you think this all means?”
“Again, I wish I knew. But I think we are meant to find out.”
“Meant to? Like fate?” Dex didn’t strike me as someone who put too much stock into fate.
“Maybe. Maybe not. But I think you agree that this is much bigger than the both of us. That woman. What’s happening to you. These aren’t just coincidences. Things are happening for a reason.”
“Be that as it may, I still don’t know what we’re supposed to do about it.”
“I think you do. You said so earlier.”
Did I? I exhaled loudly and watched the rain patter on the window. It was slowing down and the sky was lighting up a shade or two. It was hard to believe it was just ten a.m. It had only been twenty-four hours since Dex had picked me up from my parents, but it felt like a lifetime ago.
Yes, I guess I did know what I—we—had to do. The only thing that seemed right. Go back to the lighthouse one more time while we were still out here. Film the crap out of that thing. Get it done and get out. Alive.
I didn’t add that last word for effect, even though I got goose bumps as I thought it. Something told me that going back this time would be a lot different. A lot bigger. A lot more terrifying. If we went back to the lighthouse, something would definitely go down. There was too much buildup, too many feelings for it not to. The woman told Dex that we weren’t finished yet; call me crazy, but I was inclined to believe her.
“When the woman talked to you in the diner, did anyone else notice her?” I asked curiously.
He thought a moment then shook his head. “I honestly didn’t notice. I thought I saw the waitress give her a strange look, which would mean the lady is in fact real. You know, not a ghost. If that’s what you’re asking. But I can’t be sure.”
“She’s either real or she’s not. If she’s not real, she’s a ghost.”
“She could be something we are both imagining.”
“Is that even possible?”
“I think we’d have to share a conscience if it were. I’m not big on fringe science, though maybe I should start looking into it. Take a community college course on it. They have paraphysics at ITT Tech, right?”
His smile stretched lazily across his face. It pleased me to see the color had returned and his eyes were calmer, pliable. I felt calmer too, just knowing that we were both in this together.
“So, then I guess the only thing left to do is to go back and try again. Today,” I announced, newly determined.
“Tonight,” was his rebuttal.
“All logic and rational thought points to a daytime visit,” I argued.
“You know nothing is going to happen during the day.”
“No, I don’t know that. You don’t know that. Crazy crap happens all the time in the daylight. And it’ll be so much easier to catch on film.”
“Exactly! It would be easier, hence why nothing will happen during the day. Don’t you ever wonder why no one has gotten flat-out photographic proof of a ghost? Because they can’t be seen that way.”
“Is that your theory?”
“Yes. And it’s a good one. Ghosts, the paranormal, weird shit. There is never solid proof because whatever we are hunting refuses to be captured. They refuse to be seen by everyone. They exist enough to lure us in and seduce us but in the end will never give us anything solid. It’s like...ghost law. Didn’t you see Beetlejuice?”
“Uh huh,” I said slowly. Though an awesome film, I had no idea what he was getting at.
“They got in shit for letting themselves be photographed. I don’t think that’s too far off. Plus, I think the energies can only be picked up by certain types of people, say people like you. And, well, it just makes for more suspenseful filmmaking.”
“I thought you didn’t believe there were ghosts...”
“I lie. Remember?”
Oh, right.
“What if we go just as it gets dark?” I proposed, trying to compromise on behalf of my chickenshit nerves.
“Because seven p.m. isn’t as scary as two a.m.?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
He shrugged. “Fine by me. Then we can head back to Portland as soon as it’s over. You do have work tomorrow, don’t you?”
I nodded. I did have work. I had that meeting and had almost forgotten about it. I didn’t want to go into the meeting looking and feeling like hell, but I knew I didn’t have much of a choice.
That being said, of course I did have a choice. I could call the whole thing off and forget about it. Get on with my life. But I didn’t want to get on with my life, not the life that I left behind in Portland. Even with the promise of a promotion in the wings, I couldn’t imagine going back to the way things were. It was unnerving, horrifying at times, to feel like your grasp on reality was loosening, to be dealing with things that were way beyond anything you understood about life and death. And yet it was so enthralling.
Somehow, by dealing with the dead, I had never felt so alive.
And having Dex at my side helped too. In fact, I don’t think I would be able to go on if it wasn’t for him. Somehow he made the dreams, the scares, the unknown, all bearable. And now, after talking to him in this cold, rain-beaten car parked on the side of the coastal highway, I felt I was one step better to understanding him.
Well, one step with a million more to go. But still.
He sat back in his seat properly and put on the seat belt. He adjusted his jacket and gave me a smile that made me weak at the knees. I was glad I was sitting down.
“Shall we head back to your uncle’s place and plan this thing properly?”
I smiled and nodded. Not so much at what he just said, though. I nodded to myself, realizing that as I was getting to know Dex better, I needed to be on my guard. Regardless of evil curses, Old Roddy, or Creepy Clown Lady, falling for this man would be the scariest thing of all.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Suffice to say, Uncle Al was mighty surprised when we showed up at his door again. As much as he loved the company, I was sure he breathed a giant sigh of relief when Dex and I had left that morning. Sorry, Uncle Al; you can’t get rid of us that easily.
Still, he was gracious enough to let us lounge around in his house all day. The boys were up at this point and playing video games, which suited Dex just fine. I decided to make myself useful and relinquish some of the guilt I felt by making an apple pie for the men from scratch. Yeah, I know I don’t seem like the type of girl who would slave over a stove (and I’m not; my cooking skills are atrocious), but I did have my way with the oven.
Besides, it was something to do in order to pass the time. I had already used the twins’ internet for an hour just answering emails from people and checking out the blog comments. Ada was back in full-swing and fully immersed in proving her blog was her blog and no one else’s. In fact, she had posted every day since I left. It felt like she was trying to bury my posts under heaps of fashion and frivolity.
It didn’t really matter, though. I knew I had a back-up plan (Dex), and I was still getting inquiring emails about my adventures anyway. A local ghost hunter’s chapter out of Salem (go figure), Oregon, was asking if they could interview me or perhaps come see the lighthouse. I decided to let them stew on that for a while, even though the answer at this point was a flat-out no.
Yet I couldn’t help but bring it up with Dex as we sat down at the kitchen table armed with pens and pads of paper, ready to plot out the course of the evening.
“So, a local ghost hunter’s club in Salem was hoping I could come aboard their team and perhaps show them around the lighthouse,” I said casually.
Dex stopped whatever he was writing but didn’t look up at me.
He cleared his throat. “And?”
“I haven’t gotten back to them,” I answered truthfully.
He opened his mouth to say something but then abruptly shut it.
But then he opened it again. “Well, you can do whatever you want to do. You’re a free agent. We haven’t signed anything.”
He sounded nonchalant, like he sincerely didn’t care what I did. It bugged me. I was kind of hoping he would get jealous, as immature and petty as that sounds. It totally backfired.
As if on cue to totally hammer that point down, Dex’s cell started vibrating on the table. A picture of Jennifer flashed across the screen. I know my face must have fallen and was quickly turning a vibrant shade of pink. Luckily, he was occupied.
“Hey, babe,” he answered.
I could hear her voice muffled on the other end. She seemed to speak for quite a while. Dex briefly looked at me and I tried to project a casual curiosity.
“Yes, that’s fine. Seriously, I don’t mind. Go do whatever it is you girls do. No problem. I won’t be home now until morning anyway.”
His eyes flitted to mine but he was looking through me again. His voice was different when he was talking to her. It was a pitch or two higher and none of that sexy, gravely warble. I wondered what that meant, if anything.
“Yes, not yet. OK. Bye.”
He pressed the off button and put down his phone.
“OK, where were we?” he asked himself, picking up the pen and putting it to paper.
I couldn’t help but ask, “She doesn’t mind you staying another night?”
He shook his head. “No.”
He tapped the paper with the butt of his pen and stared out the window. “Do you have any more pie?”
“Yeah, there’s a slice or two that I put back in the fridge,” I said uneasily. I guess he wasn’t going to talk about her to me. Maybe I did ask too many questions. Maybe he just wanted pie.
