Chapter One
Their voices grow louder the second I unlock my apartment door, but I’ve learned to tune them out. It’s the only way to maintain my sanity. I know it pisses them off they’ve been fighting for my attention since I walked in the building. One by one they hover in my peripheral as I make my way to the second floor. Some drifting only inches away on my left, while others hang further back, and linger to my right. I’ll eventually get to them, I always do. But tonight, I’m officially off duty, even for dead people.
Dropping my purse on the bar, I continue to ignore their rants, and head straight for my bedroom. The pile of clean t-shirts and undies I meant to put away are still on the dresser, so I grab one of each and quickly cross the hall for a shower.
Tension and a feeling of agitation are starting to build all around me, like a large balloon about to burst. The spirits are getting impatient. I can’t acknowledge them it would only make matters worse. I need my space tonight; I need to clear my head. It’s been a crazy day and all I want to do is relax.
I pause in front of the sink, making a last-ditch effort for defense and close my eyes. I try to concentrate and imagine a protective shield around my body. Anything that will quiet the voices and keep them further back…
Dammit.
My energy is shot. I’ll just have to keep ignoring them.
I reach out and gently close the door, holding my breath as I lean down to peek through the tiny keyhole. The hallway is empty, and I let out a small gasp, relieved. Maybe it worked? Maybe they got the message? I’ve escaped them for now, but they’ll be back.
They always come back.
I grab a clean towel and undress, turning the hot and cold knobs to just the right amount of almost scalding, and step in. I close my eyes; the water pressure feels glorious on my back as it runs down my legs and pools at my feet. Finally, I don’t have to think, or talk, or even fake a smile. I can soak up the silence and let the day go, while the pulsating stream loosens the stiffness around my neck and shoulders.
I’m mentally exhausted after taking call after call at work. Sixty-three to be exact which is a new personal record.
Lucky me.
Last night’s storms brought unrelenting waves of large hail and high winds to several businesses and personal properties. Typical springtime weather in North Texas, and thankfully, no one was hurt. Although, given the details of so many frantic callers asking about their insurance money, several were damaged beyond repair.
Working for a small insurance agency was never the plan, my degree is in European History. But, when I noticed the ‘now hiring’ sign in the store window a few months back, I decided to go for it. I didn’t have a choice. I needed the money. Besides, it’s close to my one-bedroom apartment and I can walk home for lunch when money is tight. Which is pretty much every day. Fortunately, I managed to get my first raise a couple of weeks ago. The pay is slightly better and since my piece-of-shit car is perpetually in the shop, the extra money helps.
Adam, my boss, is well aware of my vehicle problems, and just last week, suggested I leave early when the auto shop called to say it was ready. I was grateful he was being so generous, and made sure to thank him, but nothing is ever free or easy with Adam. He looks me up and down like I’m a hunk of meat, coming on to me when he thinks no one is watching. He’s twice my age, married, and has a potbelly that sags over his belt. He disgusts me, but I have to play it cool. I need this job, even if I can’t stand him.
The only good thing about working there is Tammy, our receptionist. She’s a few years older than me, is crazy-smart and funny, and we hit it off immediately. Not long after, she opened up a little more about her personal life, her recent divorce and how happy she is to be living in a new city and away from her ex-husband, Kevin. Tammy never goes into great detail, and I never ask, but I can tell she’s had a tough go of it.
Like me, Tammy is struggling with money, yet also has the added stress of raising her five-year-old daughter, Camilla, on a single income. But, at the end of the day, we’re both broke, and we’re both new to the area and we’re both subjected to our horny, flirty boss, Adam.
Unfortunately, Adam takes advantage of Tammy in every way, making her do all the work he can’t be bothered to do himself. Although she smiles through it, handling his spreadsheets, processing most of his claims, and even going over policies with his customers. Adam totally uses her, and it pisses me off but Tammy’s smart and doesn’t rock the boat. She does, however, secretly document each and every time Adam comes on to her, which is quite often, we’ve compared notes.
He’s such a dick.
On the flip side, I try to keep the details of my personal life to a minimum, always changing the subject when Tammy digs a little too deeply. I’m pretty sure she’s already figured that out, but I can’t take any chances. Not many people want to accept or even believe that I can talk to the dead, and since I’m not sure how she’d react, I do my best to steer clear of any ghost talk.
Out of nowhere, a rush of ice-cold air swirls above me and I glance up. Gooseflesh begins to ripple down my arms as I follow a gray mist, forming to my left, just outside the shower curtain. I squint to get a better look, barely making out the smoky silhouette of a woman staring straight at me. There’s always one straggler.
I ignore her, too.
I rinse the last round of conditioner from of my hair and turn off the faucet, no longer feeling an intermittent draft of chilled air. I look again to my left and notice that the smoky-gray woman has vanished.
Good.
Evidently, my ‘closed for business’ message was received, or maybe the simple effort of avoiding her.
Pushing the shower curtain back, I watch a heavy billow of steam escape and engulf the room. I grab the towel off the counter and dry off, wrapping it tightly around my head, and slip on my t-shirt and underwear. The mirror is completely fogged so I give it a swipe with my hand, immediately noticing the picture on the wall behind me is hanging crooked and the glass is now cracked.
Passive much?
Ghosts can be assholes.
I straighten the frame and shrug it off, slathering on lotion before brushing my teeth. I turn off the light, and my stomach growls as I head to the bedroom. I’m too tired to make dinner, even something as simple as ramen noodles. I can eat in the morning.
Pulling back the bed covers, I climb in and reach for my phone on the nightstand. The screen is still white.
Shit.
The update is taking forever. I need to text Mom before she starts texting me. She doesn’t like the idea of me, or more accurately, the liability of me, living in a big city all alone. It doesn’t matter that I’m a twenty-four-year old, grown-ass woman. But I couldn’t stay in Kansas. It holds too many painful memories. Besides, conservative, small towns are not conducive to people with abilities. No one wanted or even tried to understand what I could do, including my parents.
When I was a little girl, it didn’t occur to me that I had a gift. Spirits looked like real people, flesh and bone, tangible beings. And, to this day, the dead still do. Communicating with them was easy, not at all alarming or scary. But, as time went on and I got a little older, I not only realized my abilities were unique, I began to understand that even my own mother and father were frightened for me. They referred to the dead as my ‘imaginary friends,’ but deep down, they knew something else was happening. Something they couldn’t explain. And it was something they did not want to deal with.