The Ghost Host: Episode 1 (The Ghost Host Series) Read online

  Voices call after me as I dash through the apartment. Somehow I end up with my purse and car keys in my hand by the time I bolt out the front door. My frantic speed nearly sends me sprawling as I sprint down the stairs, but if I stop Malachi will catch up to me, stop me from running, force me to face everything that’s happened. I know I’m a coward as I throw myself into my car and jam the key in the ignition, but if I stop, I’ll fall apart. I’ll break into a million pieces, and not even Malachi will be able to put me back together again.

  As I speed out of the parking lot, a regret-filled backward glance shows Malachi standing in the middle of the asphalt as he watches me run away.

  ***

  I don’t know when I stopped driving. I don’t even know where I am. Staring out the windshield, I don’t actually see anything. I don’t want to see anything. I don’t want to think or feel. If I do, I’ll have to process the fact that it’s my fault Archer is dead. I’ll have to face the reality that I just lost my virginity to a guy I truly care about, but I barely remember even a second of it because I was just using him to save myself from the pain of what I’ve done.

  That more than anything else breaks my last thread of control.

  Tears pour down my face. Breaths refuse to come. All the pain I was trying to hold back comes crashing down on me full force and relentless. I’m ready to crumble, about to break, when a shrill ring startles me so badly I nearly slip out of my seat. I don’t remember grabbing my phone, but I don’t remember much of my mad escape from the apartment. My purse, lying on the floor of the car with most of the contents spilled out, is the source of the noise. Terrified of having to talk to anyone and explain the psychotic events of the last few hours, I start to turn away until I see Agent Morton’s face staring at me from the screen.

  It’s a lifeline I desperately need.

  Scrambling to pick up the phone before it goes to voicemail, I miss it three times before managing to get it in my hands. Swiping at my phone like a maniac, I can’t seem to get it to answer the call. I think I’ve missed it until a familiar voice booms over the line.

  “Echo? What on earth is going on?” Agent Morton demands. “I’ve got Malachi, Holden, and Kyran calling me telling me you were attacked last night and then ran out of the apartment this morning like it was on fire! Are you okay?”

  Half a dozen responses pop into my head, but not a single one of them comes out. Instead, I burst into tears again.

  “Take a deep breath, Echo,” he says patiently. He waits until my sobbing slows before asking, “Are you in danger?”

  “No,” I squeak.

  “Do you want me to come get you?”

  I can’t think straight enough to figure out how he even knows I’m lost. I am, though, and I have no clue how to get home or anywhere else. “Yes. I’m sorry. I just…”

  “Focus on your breathing, Echo. Calm down and tell me where you are. What does the nearest street sign say?”

  My bleary eyes dart around. Puffy and raw, my eyelids protest blinking, but I’m forced to ignore them so I can clear my vision a little more. “Sullivan Street. There’s a park. A little one with an old fashioned teeter totter.”

  Agent Morton sighs. “I know where you are. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Rustling and the sound of quick movements carry over the line. “Don’t hang up, but you don’t need to explain anything until I get there. I just want you to breathe, don’t think, and try to calm down, okay?”

  “Yeah.” My weak reply is enough to satisfy him. His voice drops out, but I can hear the mumbling office noises he passes through as he rushes out of the building.

  Just talking to him has taken my panic down at least ten notches, but my hands are still twitching and if I think the wrong thing I have no doubt I’ll lose it again. He told me not to talk. I don’t want to talk, so that I can at least do. Breathing, not thinking, calming down, those are infinitely harder. Counting, I take in breath after breath as I push back everything else. Malachi’s face, the guilt and hurt in his expression when he looked at me is most difficult to ignore. Have I ruined everything?

  “Echo, I’m pulling up behind you,” Agent Morton says.

  His voice startles me into dropping my phone, but by the time I pick it back up he’s ended the call anyway. A few seconds later, a tap on my window sends my heart rate into the stratosphere. His worried face peers down at me through the glass as he motions for me to unlock the door. My fingers feel as numb as the rest of my body when I try to hit the unlock button, but the locks pop up all the same. Agent Morton pulls my door open immediately after and I all but fall into his arms.

  Only once I’m curled up against his chest do I realize this is probably the most inappropriate thing I could have done. He’s my…handler? Is that what he called it? He’s not my dad. Not my friend. Not even someone I really know all that well. Yet I’m standing on a strange street, hugging him and still not letting go. He’s not pushing me away either.

  “It’s a good thing I have two daughters who regularly had bawling meltdowns, or this might seem a little awkward right now,” he says.

  Blushing furiously, I pull back and cinch my arms around my body. “I’m sorry, I…I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “Echo,” he says kindly, “it’s okay. You’re an eighteen year old girl on your own for the first time. And then there’s the ghosts. If you didn’t have a breakdown at some point, then I would be worried.”

  I search his expression for any sign that he thinks I’m a lunatic, but all I see is the practiced patience of a dad who’s been through this kind of thing way too many times. Well, maybe not exactly this kind of thing. A chunk of my embarrassment chips away and I take a deep breath.

  Gesturing to a bench set back from the street, Agent Morton says, “Why don’t we sit down for a few minutes and talk?”

  I nod and follow him at a more professional distance. When he takes his seat, I leave a good amount of space between us. I’m not worried about him. It’s looking like a needy teenage drama queen I’d like to avoid.

  “Tell me about the attack,” he asks.

  A rush of relief bursts through me that his first question is about the ghosts. I swallow hard and focus on just that one topic. “It wasn’t an attack. I reached out to Archer on purpose.”

  One of his yebrows lifts. “What made you do that? Hypnosis would have been much safer.”

  “I wanted to know…by myself. Without anyone else there.”

  “Just in case it was bad news.” He frowns. “Worse news.”

  Nodding, I look down at the prickly grass. “I was afraid it wasn’t ghosts that killed him. I thought maybe I had done something. I know that’s why my parents didn’t want me to remember all of this. They thought the same thing, didn’t they?”

  Agent Morton sighs. The sadness behind that simple exhale surprises me once again. “They knew whatever had happened, it hadn’t been on purpose, but yes, they were afraid you had caused some kind of harm to Peter Archer.”

  My breathing hitches, the pain of hearing my fears confirmed lodging itself in my heart. It’s not surprising. It was all too easy to figure out why they kept this from me. I just…for once, I wanted to believe they’d had faith in me, stood up for me. But they didn’t. They ran and hid.

  Apparently, they taught me well, I think bitterly.

  “Were you able to learn anything from Archer?” Agent Morton asks. “Neither Malachi nor Kyran had time to give me any details, but they were very concerned.”

  Shaking my head, I bite my bottom lip as hard as I can without drawing blood. It takes me a second to stomp down my fear enough that I can respond. “No. It was all too fast, too much. And it hurt so badly I couldn’t take it.”

  “What hurt? The ghosts can’t actually touch you, can they?” There is real concern backing this question, because I think he knows as well as I do what ghosts are capable of doing to a living person.

  “Sometimes, but not usually. Archer can…when he wants to. It’s only
when he tries to force his memories into my mind that it hurts,” I explain. “I don’t think he can control it. They just spill out of him and into me like a fire hose. It feels like he’s ripping me apart from the inside.”

  Agent Morton rubs a hand across his chin thoughtfully. The crease between his eyebrows deepens. When he finally looks back up at me, his expression is hard. “No more direct interaction with Archer. You can’t risk something worse than a massive headache. We’ll try the hypnosis and see if that allows you to remember more safely.”

  “When?” I demand. I can’t handle Archer following me around, pleading with me to save him for much longer. I’m liable to lose my sanity any day now as it is.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” he replies.

  I start to stand up, eager for answers and some kind of relief from all of this, but Agent Morton locks his fingers around my arm and guides me back to sitting. “We’re not done,” he says. The edge to his voice leaves no room for arguing. I’m sure his daughters hated that tone of voice. For some reason, I actually find it comforting.

  When I’m fully seated again, he lets go of my arm and looks straight ahead. “What else happened?”

  I don’t answer right away. He gives me a few moments before turning to face me, his expression demanding an answer. “Why?” I whisper.

  “Why what?”

  My eyes drop. “Why do you care? Why do you care about any of this?”

  “Aside from the fact that you might be the most valuable asset we’ve been able to acquire…almost acquire, in a long time,” he says sounding suddenly tired, “I’ve been where you’ve been, Echo. I know what it’s like to have your family treat you like an outcast, to find yourself suddenly on your own with everything being thrown at you all at once.”

  He turns to face me more squarely. His expression is still hard, but there’s a hint of honest understanding, compassion like I’ve never experienced before. “It’s not just about my job,” he continues. “Yes, I have to protect you because you’re important to the Bureau, but every time I see you I can’t help thinking of what it would be like if one of my daughters were in your position. I would hope someone would step up and take care of them if I couldn’t.”

  “My parents could,” I say quietly, “if they wanted to.”

  The corner of his mouth twitches in what might be anger. “I know.”

  For a long time, neither of us says anything. Letting everything he’s said sink in takes time. When it does, I find I’m finally ready to answer his question. “I slept with Malachi.”

  As ready as I thought I was to say those words, admitting them out loud breaks something in me. A half second later, I’m buried against his chest again. He doesn’t say anything as I cry what little tears I have left. He just lets me get it all out like I’m sure he did for his daughters more times than he’d care to admit.

  When I finally stop blubbering, he doesn’t let go. His arm tightens as he takes in a deep breath. “Was it consensual?” he asks in a low voice.

  “Yes, I mean…he tried to stop, but I wouldn’t let him. I think I…I think it was my fault he didn’t stop.”

  Agent Morton’s grip relaxes by the smallest degree, letting me sit up again. “What do you mean?” he asks.

  “When I woke up, after what happened with Archer, Malachi was in bed with me. Neither of us had much on in the way of clothes, and…”

  “Why didn’t either of you have clothes on?” he asks.

  I shrug as I sit up. “I wasn’t really conscious at that point, but I’m guessing interacting with Archer kind of, well, literally froze me, a little bit. Maybe a lot.”

  “Has this happened before?”

  “Not with Archer, but yeah.” He doesn’t comment on that piece of information, so I continue on with explaining the last thing I want to be talking about with anyone. “Anyway, when I woke up, I was still cold, and freaked out, and kind of hungover from the pain and shock. I couldn’t really focus on anything but how warm Malachi was.”

  Shaking my head, I know that isn’t right. Putting what I felt into words isn’t easy because I can’t really wrap my head around what happened in those few moments. “It wasn’t just that he was warm. It was more like he was the only warmth, anywhere. Being with him kept me from losing it completely…kind of. Somehow, I knew I had to be as close to him as possible or I wouldn’t snap back from what happened with Archer.”

  My head falls into my hands as I think back on those chaotic moments. “He kept trying to stop me, tell me to slow down, but I just kept pushing him. I told him he had to save me from everything Archer did and it was like this switch flipped in him, but I didn’t care enough to stop and think about why or how he changed. I just knew I needed him and I kept pushing until he gave in. I had to have him in that moment, but it wasn’t enough like I thought it would be. Afterward, I was thinking straight enough that I panicked when I realized what I’d done.”

  “What had you done?”

  “I used Malachi, maybe more than I even understand right now. Then I got scared and ran away. The look on his face…” My chin starts trembling again, but I hold back my tears for once.

  “Was it your first time together?” Agent Morton asks calmly, like he has these kinds of conversations all the time.

  Gulping, I figure I might as well admit everything since I’ve already said so much anyway. “My first time…ever.”

  That finally gets a reaction out of him. One hand comes up to scrub against his forehead as he breathes out nice and slow, just like my therapist always told me to do. I can tell by the way his other hand is clenched into a fist that he’s not happy. “Did you use protection at least?” he asks.

  “Yes.” I’m not sure he even hears my weak voice, but he gives me a sharp nod a second later.

  “Are you in any pain?”

  Shame rolls over me like a wave. My voice is even more ghostly than last time. “A little.” He shakes his head and I panic. “I’m okay, though. I’ll be fine. Really.”

  Agent Morton stands and motions for me to do the same. He looks like he’s trying for understanding, but his eyes are hard. “If I were having this conversation with one of my daughters, I’d want to beat the shit out of Malachi for not putting a stop to things when he knew he should have, regardless of what you wanted or what influence you may have asserted at the time.” His hands clench and unclench several times before he can continue. “You’re not my daughter, and I still want to throttle him, but we’re not going to deal with Malachi right now.”

  He grips my upper arm, gentle but firm, and starts leading me back to his car. I stumble along next to him, scared without knowing why. “Where are we going?”

  “We were planning to start the medical tests on Monday, which would have included a physical. Pushing at least that up to today seems like a good idea given the whole freezing experience and what happened with Malachi.”

  “But, but…I…,” I stutter, too caught off guard to find a good excuse to derail his plan.

  “The FBI has physicians on staff,” he says, “they’ll check you out and make sure everything’s okay.”

  Finally finding my strength and my footing, I yank my arm out of his grip. “I’m fine. I promise. I don’t need to see a doctor. I hate doctors.”

  When he turns to face me, he isn’t angry. It takes me a second to realize he’s scared. He’s worried about something. Maybe something more than any minor injuries I might have sustained during those frantic minutes with Malachi or almost being turned into a Popsicle.

  He confirms it when he says, “Echo, please. Just come with me and let the doctor look you over. Between what happened with Archer and everything with Malachi, not to mention the shock of the last few days, you could be hurt without realizing. I’m supposed to be protecting you, but you’re making it difficult. Please just let them make sure you’re all right.”

  I don’t know what has him so scared, but it steals the fight right out of me and I nod. He opens the door for me w
hen we reach his car and I slip into the seat with only vague concern about leaving my car here. A few seconds later, Agent Morton takes his seat and pulls into traffic.

  The drive back to the FBI building is silent, but I’m thankful for it. It feels like it will take me days to process everything that’s happened recently. The fog that still seems to be hovering around in my brain makes it hard to focus on anything concrete, but there are a few things that stick fast and beg for attention.

  What did Agent Morton mean when he said he knew what it was like to be in my position? I knew from the second we met that he seemed to understand more than anyone else ever had. My age wasn’t a good enough reason for not questioning me when I first popped up on his radar. Waiting until I was eighteen, skirting my parents, getting what my life is like without having to live it with me…I have no idea what ability this man has yet to reveal, but he’s about as ordinary as I am.

  Maybe that should freak me out a little, but it doesn’t. It’s actually a relief. Not only has my trust in him deepened, the dreamlike possibility of one day being a part of something important like he is, of learning how to control my abilities…it’s not just a fantasy. He did it. Maybe I can too.

  By the time we pull up to the building, I’m a million notches calmer than before. There’s plenty I still have to deal with when I go home. For right now, though, I can focus. I can get through an exam, answer some questions, maybe get a few answers, and then I can take a deep breath and think.

  30: The One

  (Echo)

  Wrapped up in a paper gown like some kind of Christmas present gone wrong, I sit on an exam table while Agent Morton sits in the waiting room. A sensible looking woman opens the door and steps through a short while later. The click of her dress shoes echoes in the little room, but she smiles as she approaches me.

  “Echo Simmons, I presume.” She shakes my hand when I nod, and says, “I’m Doctor Lacey Fischer. Agent Morton has asked me to give you a once over to see how you’re doing, okay? Sounds like you’ve had a rough couple days and he was a little worried about your health. We’ll save any major scans or evaluations until next week when you’re feeling a little better.”