The Ghost Host: Episode 1 (The Ghost Host Series) Page 8
I don’t cry or yell, or even get upset. I just say what I’ve needed to say for the past year. For my entire life. “Dad, I know you don’t believe me about the ghosts, but it doesn’t matter. Believe whatever you want. The fact is, the show is the best way I know of to keep things under control. If you take that away from me, all those years of nightmares and pain and helplessness, it will all come back. It will be worse than before, and I don’t know if I can handle that.”
Shaking my head, I look at him. “No, I know I can’t handle that again. I refuse to go back to how things were before. If you try to take the show away from me, I will leave, not because I don’t love you, but because I won’t have any other choice. I need to you both to understand that, whether you ever believe me or not.”
“Where would you go?” my mom cries.
“Georgia?” my dad demands. “To that Malachi character, whoever he is?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly, “but I can’t stay here like this for much longer.”
I don’t wait for them to respond, to yell or fight with me about all of this. I’m too drained to even think about it anymore. It hurts too much to think about losing everything I’ve worked for, leaving my family, facing an unknown future without their support. Neither of them follows me. When I reach my bedroom, I lock the door and collapse on my bed. I feel as if I’m on autopilot as I grab my phone and call Malachi.
“Echo, I’m freakin’ out here. What’s going on? Why’s the FBI at your house?” he demands before I can get out a single word.
The words I mean to say get stuck somewhere and what comes tumbling out surprises us both. “If I just showed up at your apartment one day, would you let me stay? For a little while, at least?”
Malachi breathes out slowly. “I’d let you stay as long as you wanted, Carrots.”
I needed to hear that so badly, I break down in tears as soon as the last word leaves his mouth. For the longest time, he just lets me cry. I know it must kill him not to break in and ask questions. He’s as patient as a saint, though, and waits until my sobbing calms before saying anything.
“It’s torture not being there with you right now,” Malachi says softly.
“I’m half tempted to hop on a plane and fly to Georgia tonight.” My breathing hitches, desire to be in his arms gripping me so fiercely it’s frightening. I want to run away from all this, but I know it won’t solve anything. The only thing it would accomplish is possibly damaging my relationship with my parents beyond what I would know how to fix.
“I certainly wouldn’t say no to that,” Malachi says, “but I think your parents might have a small problem with you disappearing suddenly.”
My earlier words come back into my mind, tempting me despite the danger. “I’m eighteen. They couldn’t really stop me.”
Groaning, I hear Malachi flop back against his bed. “Carrots, you’re killing me. Don’t push me or the next thing out of my mouth will be to ask you what time I should pick you up at the airport.”
“You would, wouldn’t you,” I say. The hint of a smile begins pulling at the corner of my mouth.
“Pick you up at the airport? Of course.” He says it like it should be a given.
“No,” I say, “drop everything…for me.”
I swear I can almost hear him smile. “If I learned nothing from sitting though Anne and Gil’s ridiculous relationship a million times, it’s to not let my redheaded dream girl slip away from me because I was too stupid see how amazing she was from the start.”
Suddenly, I know what it feels like to have words melt me from head to toe. I can barely control my quivering bottom lip enough to speak. “Just for the record, Gil always knew how great Anne was. It was Anne who was foolish enough to let Gil slip away so many times. And their relationship was not ridiculous.”
“Of course it was. Why didn’t she just admit she was in love with him from the start?”
“Because she had all these romantic ideals about how grand and dramatic life and love were supposed to be. She didn’t understand that love didn’t have to be big sweeping gestures. It could be small and meaningful, something as seemingly insignificant as picking someone up from the airport when they feel like all they are to the people around them is a big fat problem.” I press my lips together to keep them from trembling.
“I guess she had to experience life outside her bubble of self-imposed expectations before she could see herself the way other people saw her,” Malachi says in a quiet, soothing voice that wraps itself around me in a way that’s impossible to describe.
Pressing the phone to my ear, I curl into a ball, dragging my blankets over my body as I hide from everything but his voice. “See, their relationship wasn’t ridiculous.”
“No, I guess not.” Malachi takes a breath and blows it out slowly. “You know I meant what I said, right? If you need to escape, you’re welcome here any time. We’ve got video games, pizza, beaches not too far away, everything you need, right?”
I laugh, thanking Madeline for showing up and bringing Malachi into my life. She brought the FBI too, but I’m not so sure that’s a bad thing either. “Thanks, Malachi. I may take you up on that offer.”
I pause, biting my bottom lip as I consider my dad’s anger and threats. My heart breaks all over again because I think I might have finally lost his tenuous support for real. The scariness of what that might mean pushes me to react, to make a choice before I lose everything I’ve worked so hard for over the last year.
“In fact, I…I think I will. I’m going to come for the summer.”
“You are?” he asks. “Did you talk to your parents about it already?”
“Not exactly, but like I said earlier, I’m eighteen. I don’t really need their permission.”
Malachi is quiet for a moment. “Echo, not that I don’t want you to come, but maybe this isn’t the best time to decide. I know parents can be hard to deal with…”
“This isn’t about them. It’s about me. I love my parents, but I can’t stay here. I can’t spend the next four years with them hovering over me, doubting my sanity, waiting for me to fall apart. I can’t live like that anymore. I just can’t.” I suck in a sharp breath, trying to hold off more tears.
“Hey,” Malachi says softly, “it’s okay. If this is what you really want, I’ll be there. I can’t wait to see you in person. I’m just worried about you.”
The sincerity in his voice is like a balm. “Thank you.” Malachi yawns instead of responding. Feeling guilty, I ask, “What time is it there?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter,” he says. “I want to hear about why the FBI was at your house. Spill, Carrots.”
Chuckling at his boyish interest, I settle into my bed and tell him everything. He’s pretty surprised to learn that his great grandmother really was a spy during World War Two. I try to picture one of my grandparents working as a spy and it honestly makes me want to laugh. I just can’t imagine it.
When I explain my parents’ reactions to the ordeal, their demands about the show, Malachi’s frustration is pretty evident. I know he’s still working on believing in the ghosts and my ability to talk to them, but he’s keeping an open mind and not judging me. It makes me think of Agent Morton and what he said tonight. When I tell Malachi everything, his first reaction makes me laugh.
“Wait, so the FBI was poking around in my life, too?”
“Apparently.”
“Whoa, that’s kinda freaky.”
“No kidding.” I smile, a teasing expression spreading across my lips. “Agent Morton had some interesting things to say about you.”
“Oh really?” Malachi asks. The smile in his voice is impossible not to hear. Clearly, he’s not all that worried.
“Mm-hmm. He said there weren’t any red flags, but I should still be careful.”
“Sounds like pretty good advice,” he says with false seriousness. “I am the great grandson of a super spy. Who knows what I might really be doing in my spare time.”
Malachi accepts the jab with a laugh. “You really know how to keep a guy’s ego in check.”
As much as I enjoy bantering with Malachi, thoughts of Agent Morton’s parting words pull me into silence. I mull over what he said, wondering, thinking. Malachi waits for me to find my words. “The FBI guy, before he left, he said something about some of his colleagues being interested in talking to me about my experiences.”
“With the ghosts?” Malachi asks.
“Either that or with being crazy.”
“You’re not crazy, Carrots.”
Smiling, I pull my comforter around me more tightly. “Do you think they’d…maybe…” I pause, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, holding it, biting just hard enough to ache. “Do you think they’d just want to study me like some kind of freak, or do you think they might be able to help me control the ghosts better?”
It takes a minute or two for Malachi to answer. “I don’t know.”
“It scares me to think about.”
“Being studied?”
I shake my head. “No, controlling the ghosts.”
“Why would that scare you?” Malachi asks.
“They’re part of me,” I say quietly. “I don’t know who I’d be without them.”
Malachi sighs, sounding relieved. “I do. You’d be exactly who you are now, a devilishly smart, alien disintegrating, witty, sexy redhead who has the uncanny ability to completely monopolize a guy’s thoughts. You’d just be a hell of a lot less stressed out and scared all the time.”
“I seriously doubt I monopolize your thoughts, and you might be the only guy on the planet who thinks I’m sexy. Certainly none of the guys at my school do,” I grumble.
I’m eighteen and I’ve never kissed a guy or even been asked out on a date. Kind of hard to manage when you fall asleep at school out of sheer exhaustion and wake up screaming from a nightmare. Not a real turn on, trust me.
“I think about you constantly, and any guy who doesn’t think you’re sexy is an idiot,” Malachi says seriously.
“No, they just know me better than you,” I grouch.
Laughing, Malachi shifts, the rustle of his movements carrying over the phone. “That seems like some kind of challenge, Carrots.”
“Oh yeah?” I laugh.
“Summer. A whole two months to get to know you.”
“And?”
“Well, you seem to think that if I get to know you, I won’t want to hang out with you anymore because of all the ghost stuff. You’re wrong.”
Chuckling at his silliness, I say, “Was there a challenge in there somewhere?”
“The challenge is, if I win and haven’t bailed by the end of summer, you stay here.”
My breathing doesn’t just stutter, it stops completely. “What?” I whisper. “Seriously?”
“Absolutely.”
“What if I win?”
“You won’t.”
“But what if I do?” I demand.
Malachi sighs exasperatedly. “You won’t win because I’m not running away. There’s no point in discussing it.”
For him, that’s the end of the argument, but in the back of my mind I can’t help thinking that if I’m right, there would be no reward. Malachi would be gone and that would be it. It’s almost enough to make me change my mind about going. Almost. Holding onto my fragile hope, I ask, “Is Georgia nice in the summer?”
“It’s hot and sticky,” Malachi says with a laugh, “but you get used to it.”
Silence falls and I realize for the first time how dark my room is. I should get up and brush my teeth, put my pajamas on, but that would require hanging up with Malachi and possibly facing my parents again. A silly, childish request forms on my lips, and I’m not strong enough to resist asking. “Will you stay on the phone with me until I fall asleep?”
“Of course,” he says.
I snuggle down into my blankets, ignoring how uncomfortable it is to sleep in my jeans, and hold the phone against my ear. “Thank you.”
“Any time,” Malachi says, “including when I can stay with you in person.”
The way my breath catches surely gives away how much I would give to have that right now, but Malachi doesn’t say anything else about it. Neither do I. I fall asleep, wrapped in the long distance comfort of a guy I don’t understand but find myself clinging to with everything I have.
10: Fair Trade
(Echo)
“Echo, you have an appointment at four today. Don’t be late,” my mom says. The edge to her voice says this isn’t negotiable, but I’m not in the mood for demands today.
“And what am I supposed to do with the twins?” My mom glares at me for my snippy tone, but I don’t back down. “I can’t leave them here by themselves. You know they’ll end up burning the house down or something.”
Her shoulders and eyebrows bunch up in irritation at my resistance, and because she knows I’m right. “Why don’t you ask Zara to watch them?”
“She can’t,” I snap. I actually have no idea whether Zara could watch them or not, but I’m not about to ask. “I didn’t ask you to schedule an appointment for me. I’m not going, Mom, so drop it.”
“Yes, you are going, young lady.”
She looks exhausted. She looks freaked out and upset and scared. Yesterday, that would have forced me to give in. Yesterday feels like a million years ago. It’s not easy to keep my voice even when I speak. “Mom, graduation is next Saturday. Unless you want me to spend the next week at Zara’s instead of here, I suggest you quit trying to force me into going to any more appointments. It won’t help.”
“But it has been helping,” she argues. “Just look at how great you’ve been doing lately.”
“That has nothing to do with seeing a stupid therapist!” I throw my hands up, at the end of my rope with her. “I’ve been doing better because of the Ghost Host show, because the ghosts can get their messages out there. They don’t harass me as much. It has nothing to do with you or Dad. I has to do with me taking control of my own life. It’s the only thing that’s worked so far, and I’m not going back to letting you guys dictate my whole life. If you bring up therapy again, I will leave.”
Unable to take any more of this conversation, I spin on my heel and blast out of the house. Looking for escape, I head for my car, but my feet root to the sidewalk when I spot my dad leaning against the driver side door. I am so not in the mood for this. The high school’s not that far away…
Running away like a child won’t do much to convince him to stop treating me like one, so I stalk up to him and fold my arms. “Is this about therapy, too? I already told Mom…”
“It’s about Malachi,” he snaps, “and the utter stupidity of you even considering going out to Georgia to meet some guy you met on the internet! Have you even stopped to consider how incredibly dangerous that could be? You don’t know him. You have no idea what he might be capable of!”
Furious at him for attacking me, it’s almost impossible to keep my voice level. “Yes, Dad, I have thought about it. A lot. It scares me half to death to think of leaving home all by myself. I’m not an idiot. I know meeting Malachi could be dangerous. He could be the next Ted Bundy for all I know! I get it, okay?”
I throw my hands up, so sick of him treating me like I’m stupid and fragile, too broken to make a decision on my own. “I know it’s crazy, and risky, but you know what? Maybe I don’t care anymore. Maybe I’m sick of playing it safe and feeling like I’m already in a straitjacket. Maybe if something bad does happen to me…maybe it would be preferable to this.”
His face falls and the shock that registers on his face is like a punch in the gut. “Echo, you don’t mean that,” he says, his voice pleading.
Tears pool in my eyes, but I don’t know if it’s for the pain I’m causing him or the pain I know is in store for me if I stay here and continu
e to let them rule my life and look at me like I’m insane. He’s too stunned to stop me from opening the car door and shoving him out of the way.
“I can’t do this right now, Dad.” I shake my head and toss my backpack into the car. “I can’t do any of this anymore.”
My car door slams after I get in and I leave him standing there in the driveway looking like I just ripped out his heart. I know I’m breaking at least a few traffic laws as I speed toward school, but I just had to get away from both of them before I lost it. Nobody talks to me once I reach the school. Even the superfans leave me alone, which is a small miracle.
I make it through first hour without any further mood-killing incidents, but my already lousy luck bottoms out halfway through second hour when my English teacher shivers. Normally, that might not cause any heads to turn, but I feel the cold a second later and am instantly spooked. The guy next to me zips up his hoodie a little higher and the girl in the tank top on my other side starts rubbing her arms.
My hand shoots up immediately. “Mr. Whitmore, can I be excused to the restroom?”
He shrugs and goes back to his lesson. I get more than one weird look as I jump up from my seat and hurry out of the room. The cold follows me. I was hoping it would. Well, I was hoping it’d just go away, but I’d rather not add any more speculation of my sanity by trying to fend off a vengeful ghost in the middle of an English lecture.
Racing toward the women’s restroom, my hand grabs the handle and I freeze. My heart is pounding and my breathing is up at marathon runner levels, but what really freaks me out is way my breaths are misting up. No, no, no, no, no. I yank on the door and dart inside the thankfully empty bathroom. I know it won’t do any good, but I lock myself in a stall and pull my feet up, burying my head against my knees. The only sounds in the room are my labored breaths and the drip of a faucet someone forgot to turn off all the way.