Medium Chris Wilson is used to the dead, but the living Derek Brandt is her biggest challenge yet. As they hunt for his brother's killer, the wall between skeptic and believer begins to crumble. In a house full of restless spirits, their uneasy alliance might just become the one thing they can't live without.
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This time, Chris parked in the driveway next to Derek’s Mustang. She still felt some trepidation as she approached his front door. Sure, she’d been invited, but she never knew what she was going to get with this guy. Her fears were put at ease before she could even reach over to ring the bell when Derek opened the door to greet her.
“You came.” He sounded relieved.
“I said I would,” she reminded him as he waved her inside. “Is everything okay?” She paused to look around. The house looked homey, if a bit on the masculine side. She took in Derek’s appearance as he took her purse from her and hung it in a nearby closet. He’d showered and shaved since this morning. He looked a lot less rumpled in a fresh pair of jeans and a University of Oklahoma t-shirt, but he still looked worn out.
“He’s not talking.” Derek went from the closet to the coffee table in the living room, upon which sat the ghost box. “Either that or this thing’s not working.” He turned to her, his face anxious. “Is he here? Can you see him?”
Chris looked around. A breakfast bar was all that separated the living room from the kitchen, and Jimmy wasn’t visible in either room. “Is there a place he might go to rest? A place that’s just his?”
“His room.” He led her into a hallway and paused at the first door. “I’d always planned to turn it into a home gym or something, but I never got around to it.” He placed his hand on the knob and paused, seeming to consider what he’d just told her. “Or maybe, on some level, I just knew that was a bad idea.”
He let that thought hang there as he opened the door to reveal a typical teen boy’s room. The posters on the wall were straight out of the late ‘Nineties. Chris felt transported back to junior high. Scanning the room, she stepped inside and smiled. On the bed, stretched out amid scattered Scrabble tiles, lay Jimmy, sound asleep. He was barely visible—just an outline, really—but easy to see if you knew what to look for.
And if you had a knack for seeing that sort of thing.
“He’s here,” she whispered.
“He is?” Derek matched her whisper as he looked around.
She put her fingers to her lips in a shushing motion and backed out of the room, motioning for him to follow. Back in the hall, she shut the door quietly before leading Derek back to the living room.
“Why are we being quiet?”
“He’s sleeping. You must’ve really worn him out last night.”
“All we did was talk.” He sounded defensive.
“Yeah, but he had to use Scrabble tiles,” she reminded him. “That takes a lot of effort. And he’s still new at this.”
“Of course.” Derek blew out a sigh and raked his hand through his hair. “I should’ve realized.”
“Don’t worry about it. It was probably the best night of Jimmy’s afterlife. He just needs time to recover.”
He nodded. “Thanks.” He stood there a moment, apparently lost in thought. Then he gave a little start as if remembering he had company. “Oh, um, sorry.” He motioned toward the sofa. “Make yourself at home.” He rubbed his face vigorously, as if trying to wake himself up. Then he announced, “I could sure use a beer. Would you like one?”
“No thanks.”
“Anything else I can get you?” he asked as he went into the kitchen. “Coffee? Water? I’ve still got those donuts.”
“I’m good,” Chris assured him as she took a seat on the leather sofa. She took a moment to admire his decor. “You have a nice place. Not quite what I expected.”
He shut the fridge door and glanced back at her. “What did you expect?”
The question was punctuated with the hiss of escaping air as he pried the lid off his beer bottle. He tilted it to his lips as he padded back into the room. Only then did she notice his bare feet. Chris suppressed a smile. She’d gotten used to seeing him on television in his tailored suits.
She realized that, despite their history, she’d come to think of him mainly as Derek Brandt the Local Celebrity Reporter. Seeing him standing in his own living room, shoeless, disheveled and chugging a beer, served as a nice reminder that he was just a guy—and a charming guy at that—when he wasn’t deliberately antagonistic.
She realized he was watching her expectantly, apparently waiting for an answer. She shrugged. “I would’ve pictured you in a high-rise loft, or maybe a McMansion in a gated community.” He wrinkled his nose as if she couldn’t have pegged him more wrong. “This,” she added, taking it all in with her gaze, “is just so homey.”
“Yeah, well, it’s home.” He settled into the Eames chair next to the couch and propped up his feet. “I inherited it from my parents. Well, technically, my mom signed it over to me when she moved to Florida. So I guess that’s not quite the same. Still,” he said, looking around the room as she had, “it’s always been home, except for the years I spent at college.”
“That’s really nice.”
He looked at her as if trying to ascertain whether she meant it. “Some would call it pathetic.”
“Well then, those people are pathetic. I would’ve loved getting to stay in my childhood home.”
“Did you move around a lot?”
“No, but my dad couldn’t stand it there after my mom died, so he sold it and moved us to an apartment across town.”
He took a thoughtful sip, then nodded. “That’s understandable. God knows it wasn’t easy coming back to this place every day after what happened to Jimmy.” His gaze drifted over to the entryway as he spoke.
“Is that where it happened?”
He nodded, his brow furrowed and his eyes far away. Watching him, Chris realized that he hadn’t needed an awareness of Jimmy’s presence in order to feel haunted all these years. Shaking himself back to the present, he said, “So how old were you when your mom passed away, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I don’t. I was eight.”
He winced at that. “Man. That’s a rough time to lose your mom.”
Chris nodded, but gave a slight shrug. “I’m not sure there’s ever a good time to lose your mom.”
His eyebrows lifted at that, and he nodded. “How’d it happen?”
“She fell down the stairs.”
He frowned. “Isn’t that the same way your sister died?”
“Sort of. Technically, Ron was pushed. After her neck was already broken. Mom slipped on a toy and hit her head too hard.”
Derek seemed to consider all of this, then leaned forward, planting his feet on the floor and dangling the beer bottle between his knees. “Wait, so you’re saying your sister was murdered?”
Chris felt her mouth twist into a grim half-smirk. “It’s a long story.”
“So? We’ve got time. If you feel like talking about it, that is.”
She opened her mouth to thank him, but just then, the ghost box lit up. The phrase, “What’s going on?” came from it in a mix of staticy voices. Derek jumped to his feet and stared in startled wonder at the box. Chris looked around the room, then turned to see Jimmy standing behind the couch.
“You’re awake!”
Derek looked from the box to where Chris’s gaze was focused. “Say something else.”
Jimmy looked down at the box on the coffee table. “What is that thing?” Chris heard the question in stereo as the box echoed his words.
Derek set his beer on the table and knelt on the floor before picking up the box. “This thing is amazing.”
At Jimmy’s confused look, Chris explained, “It’s a way for you to talk to Derek. It should be a lot easier for you than pushing tiles around.”
“Cool.” Jimmy and the box spoke simultaneously.
Derek laughed, his face lit up with delight. “You said it, big brother.”
His reaction drew a grin from Jimmy. Chris realized she was smiling as well. They were apparently both so busy watching Derek that they both lapsed into silence until his grin faded and he shook the box. “Is it still working?”
Jimmy looked at Chris, and she motioned for him to say something. “So, uh, you guys are good now, right?”
Derek’s features melted into relief. With a sigh, he set the box down and got to his feet. “Yeah,” he said, addressing the box. Then he glanced uncertainly at Chris. “At least, I think so.”
She smiled. “We’re good.”
He returned her smile. “Good.” His eyes crinkled up at the corners in a really appealing way as he met her gaze. Flutter. Chris coughed and tore her gaze away.
“Hey, so is that drink offer still on the table?”
“Oh. Yeah, of course. What would you like?”
“Water’s fine.”
“Sure. Hang on.” He started toward the kitchen, then turned back and said, “Jimmy, don’t go anywhere. Okay?”
“I won’t,” Jimmy said, laughing. The box echoed his words but not his laughter. He met Chris’s gaze and shook his head, smiling in amusement.
After a moment, Derek returned and handed Chris a bottle of water. “Thanks,” she told him. After a sip, she asked, “So, Jimmy, why do you think you’re still here?”
“Getting right down to business.” Derek perched on the Eames footrest.
Jimmy looked at her in confusion. “Because Derek just asked me not to leave?” It came out as a question, and Derek grinned at the box.
“No, I mean, why haven’t you crossed over? Is there still something you need to say to Derek?”
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugged. “I think I already said it.”
“So what’s still holding you here?”
“I don’t know. I guess… I mean, I had a great time last night, talking to Derek. And look at him.” He jerked his head toward his brother. “He hasn’t smiled like that in a long time.”
Derek’s eyebrows drew together at the accusation, but the smile didn’t quite leave his face. “That’s not true.”
“It is. I’ve watched you all these years. I’ve seen how sad you were. How angry. And how driven you were by it.”
“Yeah, well.” He leaned forward to retrieve his half-drunk beer from the table. “You’d have been the same way if our situations had been reversed.”
“You’re right about that. Except I’m the big brother. It was my job to keep you safe, and I did. If I hadn’t, if those guys had killed you instead of me…” He trailed off into silence. Derek frowned at the box. He started to reach for it, but Chris reached out and stayed his hand, letting him know with a look that he should wait.
“Anyway,” Jimmy resumed at last, “it wasn’t your fault.”
“Yeah, it was,” Derek insisted. “I had Dad’s gun. I could’ve stopped them. If I could’ve just…if I hadn’t been so scared…”
“That gun almost got you killed. You think I could’ve ever forgiven myself for that?”
Derek sighed. “No, I guess not.”
“You were just a kid. Maybe Dad should’ve trained you on how to use the gun, or maybe I should’ve, so you would have known what to do if you ever needed to use it. But we didn’t, and that’s not your fault.”
Derek sat silently, contemplating the bottle in his hands. Chris watched him, picturing the boy he’d been, holding the power to protect himself and his brother in his small hands and not having the proper ability to use it. This time, she didn’t resist the urge to reach out and touch him on the arm.
He glanced up at her touch and gave her a little smile. It looked somewhere between embarrassment and appreciation. She offered him an encouraging smile in return. Then she straightened up and pulled her hand into her lap, drowning another stupid flutter with another sip of water. When her composure returned, she set the bottle on the table and stood up.
“Okay. So as I understand it,” she said, moving around the couch to stand next to Jimmy, and not at all to put a safe barrier between herself and Derek, “Jimmy can’t leave until he knows you’ll be okay.”
Derek also got to his feet. “I’m fine. I promise.”
“You think I can’t tell that you’re not?” asked Jimmy.
His shoulders slumped in defeat, Derek looked down at the box. “What’s it going to take to convince you I’m okay?”
Jimmy looked at Chris. Leaning on the back of the sofa, she leveled her gaze at Derek. “What will it take to make you okay?” He opened his mouth to answer, but she held up a finger to stop him. “Be honest.”
He closed his mouth and looked at her in frustration, but then he seemed to really think it over while they waited. After a long moment he said, “I need to see justice.” He glanced at the box, then looked at Chris. “I need to know who killed my brother, and that they didn’t get away with it.”
Chris straightened and stared at him. “Is that all?” Derek just blew out a little puff of air, signifying that he knew it was a tall order. “Well then.” She shoved her hands in her pockets. “I guess we’ve got a murder to solve.”
“Yeah, good luck with that. I’ve been trying to do that since I graduated journalism school. The police sure haven’t been any help.”
“Yeah, well, you and the police don’t have what I have.”
“What’s that?”
She smiled. “My secret weapon.”
“Are you ready?”
Ron and Joe stood on the front porch, where Joe took his time savoring the view. He’d been on the porch before but his new awareness that he could go beyond it apparently made this visit extra special. Finally, he tore his gaze away from the street. “I am, but you might want to wipe that smug look off your face before we go.”
Ron felt her jaw drop in disbelief. “What smug look?”
“The one you’ve been sporting ever since Chris asked for your help.”
She realized she was grinning and forced a sober expression onto her face. A moment later, she was smiling again. “Okay, maybe I’m feeling a little satisfied. Can you blame me?”
He gave her a stern look, but the wrinkles around his eyes betrayed his amusement. “This is serious business. What we’re about to put this boy through isn’t something that ought to be greeted with a smile.”
That got her to sober up for real. “Well, he’s waiting for us. We should go get this over with.”
Joe nodded and took her outstretched hand. In an instant, they both stood in the middle of Derek’s living room, where a light had been left on for them.
“Well, how ‘bout that.” Joe looked around. “This looks like a right comfortable abode.”
“Who’s he?” asked a voice from behind them. They both turned to see Jimmy seated on a footstool next to the coffee table.
“This is Joe,” Ron told him. “He’s here to help.”
Jimmy got up and came over to them, appearing to size Joe up on the way and not bothering to be subtle about it. Of course, Ron reminded herself, subtlety was pretty much a lost art among seventeen-year-old boys. As if to prove her right on that point, he asked unabashedly, “Is he your boyfriend or something?”
“I’m her fella,” Joe affirmed, moving closer to Ron and settling a hand on the small of her back. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the old-fashioned territorial display.
“That’s cool,” said Jimmy, seeming to take the hint. “I mean, I didn’t know people like us could…you know.”
Joe raised an eyebrow. “Have good, clean fun together?” This time, Ron did roll her eyes as she thumped him on the chest.
“Date,” Jimmy clarified. “I kinda figured once you died, that was the end of romance.” He sighed, and Ron wondered how many young hearts were broken when he died.
“I guess it depends on the circumstances,” she said softly. “Anyway,” she said, putting more command into her voice to steer them in the right direction, “that’s not something you’ll need to worry about once we solve your murder. So, let’s get down to it.”
“Okay, sure. So, I guess you want me to tell you about what happened that night.”
“Actually,” said Joe, “we were hoping you could show us.”
Jimmy looked up at him. “What, you mean like a reenactment?”
“More like a vision,” said Ron. At his confused look, she explained, “It’s another untapped ability we’re going to help you tap into.”
“What, having visions?”
“Projecting them, actually. I know it sounds weird, but during my first few weeks of deceased…- ness, other ghosts were projecting grizzly visions on me left and right.” She jerked a thumb toward Joe. “Including this guy. So he can show you how.”
“What? I can?” Joe looked at her in surprise.
“What do you think I brought you for?”
“Moral support?” At the look she gave him, he sighed. “I don’t actually know how I did that. It just sort of happened.”
“Well, something had to trigger it. Think. What was going on in your head when it happened?”
His brow furrowed, and his mouth drew into a thin line. “Hard to say. I know I was desperate. Angry. Scared. And everything that happened was still fresh, thanks to Sarah. Forgetting it all was never an option.” He looked sorrowfully at Jimmy. “You’ll have to relive that night, what happened to you. Can you do that?”
“I guess.” He sounded uncertain. With more conviction he said, “If it’ll help Derek put it all behind him, then yeah. I’ll do it.”
“Okay,” said Ron. “Let’s try this. Close your eyes, and picture that night. How the room looked, what you and Derek were both doing. Think about how you felt when they broke in.”
“I was confused at first. Then scared. Then angry.”
“Don’t tell us. Feel it.”
Jimmy nodded and closed his eyes. They waited. And waited.
After a few minutes, Ron was about to call it a bust when suddenly, the room transformed. It was no longer Derek’s leather and chrome bachelor pad but a suburban family home straight out of a 1990s-era sitcom. Jimmy and a young, gangly kid who looked a lot like Derek sat on a yellow brocade sofa watching Jeopardy! on a console TV. A bowl of popcorn sat between them, and they took turns eating from it as they tried to beat each other at shouting out the correct questions.
And then a loud pounding came from the front door. Two men dressed in black came crashing through.
Both boys jumped to their feet. “Derek, go to your room!” Jimmy shouted. Young Derek did as he was told and disappeared down the hall as Jimmy moved between him and the two goons. They shouted at Jimmy to get on his knees, and he complied, holding his hands out in a placating gesture as he did. “Just take what you want and leave us alone.”
“Shut up!” said the larger of the two men. He hit Jimmy in the face, hard. Ron winced at the sight of it, resisting the urge to tell Jimmy to stop.
The guy hit him again, in the stomach this time. As Jimmy doubled over, the goon’s partner joined in, kicking him in the ribs, but his kicks seemed feeble, as if his heart wasn’t in it. They soon had Jimmy laid out on the floor, moaning and clutching his ribs, trying but failing to block their blows.
The assailants, dressed in black from head to toe, both wore ski masks that hid their faces. The one doing all the yelling and most of the hitting and kicking was big—much bigger than Jimmy, who wasn’t exactly small for his age—and his voice was deep and angry.
The accomplice wasn’t much taller than Young Derek and looked about as skinny. He stopped kicking and stood back. “Come on, Ke—” he started to say, his voice higher and shaky with fear.
He was cut off as the big one wheeled around and shouted, “Shut up! Do not say my name, you idiot!”
“You don’t need to beat him senseless,” he said, and then stopped talking as Derek emerged from the hallway. With shaking hands, he held a large revolver, which he pointed at the big man.
“L-leave my brother alone! Get out of my house!”
“Just shoot ‘em, Derek!” Jimmy’s words came out slurred. Derek froze, looking for all the world like a young deer caught in headlights. At that moment, the big one lunged at him and snatched the gun out of his hands. The guy let out a laugh as he looked at the gun, then reached out and tousled Derek’s hair, as if they were playing a game. Then he pistol whipped the kid with the butt of the gun.
In spite of his injuries, Jimmy struggled to his knees. “You son of a—” he shouted as he tried to get his feet under him. Somehow, he found the strength to lunge just as the gun fired. Jimmy dropped lifelessly to the floor.
All around them, the room returned to normal. The men and Young Derek vanished. Jimmy still lay on the floor, looking conscious but dazed. Joe knelt beside him. “Take it easy, son,” he said as he helped him sit up.
Jimmy looked from Joe to Ron. Then he closed his eyes and rubbed his chest where the bullet had struck. “Not gonna lie,” he said, his voice raw. “That sucked.”
“Tell me about it.” Joe helped Jimmy to his feet. “Steady now.”
“Are you okay?” asked Ron.
Jimmy shot her a look. “I’m dead.”
“Right. But other than that?”
He sighed. “I’m fine. You don’t look so great, though.”
Her mouth grew tight as she folded her arms. “Yeah, well, watching kids get beaten and murdered isn’t really my favorite pastime.” And yet it happens surprisingly often. She kept that thought to herself.
“Did we get what we need?” asked Joe.
“I don’t know. Jimmy, did you notice anything familiar about those guys? Anything at all?”
“No. But I was kind of distracted with the getting pummeled.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his face wearily, but then he paused mid-rub. “But now that you mention it, yeah. One of the voices did sound kind of familiar. The skinny guy. I can’t quite place the voice, though.” He looked from Ron to Joe and back again. “You think it was someone I know?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, they didn’t take anything. It seemed like they just wanted to beat you.”
“That was the impression I got,” said Joe.
“Why would somebody do that?” Jimmy asked.
“I don’t know,” said Ron. “Did you have any enemies? Someone your parents or Derek didn’t know about, so they couldn’t tell the police?”
“No. I mean, I guess I was kind of popular, being the team quarterback and all, but I tried not to be a jerk to the other kids. Do you think it might have been someone from a rival team? We were on our way to the championship. Maybe they wanted to take me out.”
“We’ll check into it,” Ron told him. He was starting to fade. She moved closer to Joe. “You get some rest. We’ll let Chris and Derek know how it went.”
Jimmy nodded. “Thanks.” He disappeared, presumably to his room to sleep it off.
“Poor kid,” muttered Joe.
“What about you? These visions are pretty intense.”
“I’ve seen worse,” he pointed out. Then added, darkly, “I’ve done worse.”
Ron took his hand. “Ready to get out of here?”
“We gonna track down your sister?”
She considered it, then she gave him a wry smile. “Something tells me she wouldn’t appreciate that. Let her and Derek take their time.”
Joe lifted an eyebrow. “So now you’re matchmaking?”
“No. Maybe.”
“Speaking of things Chris wouldn’t appreciate…”
“Hey, you both told me not to interfere.” She held up her hands. “This is me not interfering. Let whatever happens between her and Derek happen.”
Joe seemed to consider this. “I actually can’t argue with that.”
“Good. Let’s go home. We can watch TV while Chris is out.” She held out her hand to Joe but he didn’t take it. “Something wrong?”
“I was just wonderin’…do you think I could do it myself? Get myself back, I mean?”
She lowered her hand and shrugged. “Won’t know unless you try.”
“Okay then.” He stood up straight and closed his eyes, appearing to concentrate really hard. After a moment, he shimmered out of sight.
Ron smiled, proud of her big lug. Then she followed him home.
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