I don't waste time. I yank open the closet door quietly, looking for anything to use to knock him out. My heart leaps. The wooden bat is leaning against the wall. I scoop it up and tiptoe to where Oliver is standing in the master bedroom's doorway, looking for the source of the noise. I hold the bat high over my head. A floorboard creaks under my feet and I curse.
Oliver begins to turn, but Seth appears in the bedroom, picks up a lamp, and lobs it across the room where it shatters.
"What the—" Oliver swings around just as I bring the bat down. It hits him hard in the back of his skull and he goes down, yelling. I crack the bat down once more in the front and his eyes roll back into his head, his grip on the gun loosening. His head crashes back to the floor and his limbs go slack.
Seth is suddenly right next to me and I jump.
"Is he dead?" I ask.
He frowns, his eyes fixed on Oliver. "No. Take the gun," he commands me, circling around and standing beside his body. I step on Oliver's hand carefully and pick the gun up gingerly by the back of the handle. It's heavier than it looks.
"I know you don't trust me, but I'm going to try and change that," Seth says quickly. "I can't touch him, but you need to call the cops and grab something to tie him up with. I'll stay here and keep watch."
I take the gun with me and rush down the stairs. I have tunnel vision as I hit the light switches I run past on the way to the kitchen. My phone is on the counter, untouched. I scoop it up and dial 911. I'm shaking on the inside but I manage to speak to the dispatcher. After I hang up the phone, I forget what I said.
"Hurry, Ash!" I hear Seth yell from upstairs. I yank open the kitchen drawers, digging around inside, but find nothing. I feel like I'm moving in slow motion. I run into the laundry room and find a twirl of rope on a shelf.
"Ash!" Seth yells again as I'm bolting up the stairs with the rope. When I make it to the landing, I see that the floor is empty.
CHAPTER 20
Seth steps back out into the hallway, his brow furrowed.
"Where did he go?" I ask, catching my breath.
"He went upstairs, seems like he's looking for something. You should just get out of the house, he might still be dangerous."
I'm still holding the gun carefully with my other hand. Banging noises explode from upstairs and I glance at the ceiling.
"Come on, get out of here," Seth says with urgency written all over his face. He moves his hand as if to push me toward the stairs. I don't know what's compelling me not to take the good advice. "Ashley, please."
"I'm sorry, Seth." My curiosity gets the better of me and adrenaline forces me forward as I run up to my room with Seth at my heels.
Oliver has already yanked everything out of my closet, my clothes and shoes strewn all over the floor, and now he's on to my dresser, forcing the drawers out and throwing the contents into a heap.
"Stop it!" I shout, but he takes both hands and whips them across the dresser top, sending my possessions flying off. The photos of me and my mom spiral into the wall, glass shattering, the teddy bears busting.
"Where are they? Where are his things? I just want to see them, touch them..." Oliver rambles, digging his fists into his hair.
"Seth's things?"
"I don't want him touching anything of mine, past or present," Seth says from behind me, disgusted.
Oliver falls to his knees, yanking things out from under the bed. "I just wanted to be a part of him somehow."
I speak clearly and steadily. "Oliver, the cops are on their way. You need to just give it up." I keep the gun at my side. I've never handled one and the last thing I want to do is shoot one of us on accident.
He looks so lost and desperate, tears falling from his eyes and snot running out of his nose. He sits back on his haunches and stares up at me like a man condemned to death. "You don't understand, this was my plan, this was supposed to be it. I lied—there are two bullets in that gun, Ash. I wasn't just going to kill you, I was going to kill myself. I just wanted to feel like him, feel that power and control, before I went out."
I almost pity him, even if he did want to kill me. He's not a monster, either.
"Tell him he should just shoot himself," Seth growls from beside me.
I turn back toward him. "Don't say that, Seth."
Oliver catches it and stares hard at me. "Who are you talking to?" I search for words and come up empty. Oliver's eyes flicker, his pupils expanding. "He's here, isn't he? I knew someone else was in the house." Oliver steps forward, twisting his head back and forth. "Where is he? Seth? When did you come back?" I grip the gun just in case, but he ignores me.
"What a pathetic piece of shit," Seth says from behind me. "I'm right here." He waves his hands in front of Oliver's face, then jumps on the bed beside him, but Oliver is looking in the opposite direction. It's a final confirmation. I'm the only one who can see Seth now.
Red and blue lights flash through the window, coloring the entire attic.
"No, no, no," Oliver babbles, scrubbing his face with his hands, his eyeliner smearing around his eyes. "I can't go to jail. I won't make it."
His desperate eyes scan the room for a way out. He bolts for the window, throwing both sides open, and perches on the sill, ready to spring.
"Oliver, no!" I shout, but he lurches himself out, limbs akimbo. I run to the window and look out, afraid of what I might see. Oliver lands with a thud in a patch of berry bushes down below. He narrowly missed the twisting, sharp branches of the trees. It's looks like he's delirious, and his face is covered in bloody scratches, but he's alive. The police yank him up by his shoulders and start questioning him.
I turn around to thank Seth, but I'm alone again. I guess I'm going to have to get used to his disappearing act.
_________________
The cops don't seem that surprised to be back at the Moss house. I give them Oliver's weapon and phone. He's already in the back of their car, his head drooping forward. All of the neighbors are standing out in the street in their nightclothes as the cop car pulls away. I see Shannon and Charlie, but I'm not in the mood to fill them in.
A female officer stays and asks me a million questions in the kitchen as I make us tea. I fudge my birthdate a little so she won't call my father. This is the last thing he needs.
It takes me hours to get all of my things back into their regular place. I sweep the frames from my pictures into a dustpan and throw them away with a heavy heart. I prop the pictures of my mom and I up on the dresser though—I don't want to hide them anymore.
I expect Seth to step out of the shadows, but I don't see him, and I'm too tired to wait up.
_________________
When I wake up in the morning, my dad's car is in the driveway. Apparently Shannon and Charlie have already gotten in on the gossip, because when I come downstairs they're talking in the doorway.
I pause on the stairs in my pajamas.
"Ash, we need to have a talk," he says sternly. "If you'll excuse us." The neighbors leave and he shuts the door.
"How's grandma?" I ask meekly, stepping down into the foyer.
He regards me cautiously, taking off his coat. "She's doing better. Her fever is down and she knows what year it is and who I am." His voice is measured but angry. He comes closer to me and crosses his arms. "What happened last night?"
I feel like hiding behind my hair and shriveling into a ball. Instead, I explain. By the time it's over, I'm crying. He doesn't yell like I'm expecting. Instead, he pulls me into a hug.
"I'm so sorry, Ash." When I glance at him, I see tears shining on his lined cheeks. "I didn't mean to be so distant this past year. It's just, after your mom's death. It feels like part of me is gone."
"I know. Me too." I pause, worrying my bottom lip. "Sometimes I think you wish it was me instead of her."
"What?" His brow creases in surprise and he hugs me again. "Don't ever say that. You're my daughter, you're precious to me. I would never think that."
I expect promises for things to be better, lies that he'll be more involved, but he doesn't give me any. Instead, he just tells me he loves me again.
And even if nothing will change, that's enough for now.
CHAPTER 21
"What was it like, after you died?" I'm sitting up in my bed the next night, cross-legged, with my pillows behind me for support. Seth—I'm finally getting used to thinking of him as that—is sitting on the opposite edge of the bed.
"I just…became aware," he says thoughtfully, rubbing his thumb across his bottom lip. "It's hard to explain." He looks up at me. "Have you ever had to go under anesthesia? Like for surgery?"
I nod. "Once. For my wisdom teeth."
"It was kind of like how you wake up after that, just swimming out of darkness. I kept swimming, and then I was
here
. And I didn't have a pulse and I could hold my breath forever and I…" He searches for the words. "Wasn't alive anymore."
"What did you do then?" I pick up a pillow from behind me and hug it to my chest.
"I went downstairs." He smiles in a painful way that tugs at my heart and doesn't reach his eyes. His eyes are cold. "The house was swarming with cops. No one could see me, no one could hear me. I tried to run off of the property and it was like I hit a wall. I couldn't leave." He smacks his right hand into his other palm.
"So, you really have been here the whole time?"
"Yeah. For ten years now. Time is different for me, though. It passes faster than you would think possible, with nothing to look forward to and nothing to do."
I try to imagine how frightened I'd be to be all alone like that. "Why do you think I can see you? Oliver couldn't."
"I don't know, honestly." He pauses. "No one else can. I'm glad you can."
I smile a little and look down at the comforter so he won't know how strongly my emotions are stirring. I don't even know him and yet he saved my life—even when he doesn't have his.
"You're not the first person," he continues, standing up and strolling casually over to the window. "There was one other, a little boy named Sammy. I don't remember how many years ago, it's hard to tell, but he was only five then. We used to play ball outside." He stares out the window wistfully. "His parents used to fight like cats and dogs all the time and I'd read him stories to block out the noise. They ended up getting a divorce and moving out after only a little while. I still think about him sometimes and wonder how he's doing."
I bite my bottom lip and look at him while he's still staring outside. In the moonlight, his skin is an eerie blue, the shadows deep in the lines of his face.
"Now I have a question for you," he says.
"What?"
He glances at me, his shoulders tense, his expression guarded. "Do you really believe me? About the murders?"
I pick at a few loose threads on my blanket. "Yeah, I do. I don't think you would hurt them."
He looks visibly relieved, his shoulders relaxing. "I don't remember that night, nothing after I went to sleep. But I know I would never hurt my family." Passion creeps into his voice and his eyes flicker. "Despite any arguments we may have had, I loved them. I
still
love them."
I glance around in the dark shadows of my room. "Are any of the rest of them here?"
He looks down at his shoes and shakes his head. "No."
"What happened to your…your body after you died?"
He turns back to me and puts his hands into his pockets, shrugging. "I have no idea. I've searched this entire house, including the cellar, top to bottom. Even outside in the garden to see if there was any sign of a hole having been dug. Not a damn thing." He sits on the edge of the bed and the springs groan as he reclines back. For a ghost, he looks exhausted, the dark shadows ringed with pink around his eyes.
"But you can touch things, I've seen you. Were you really playing that guitar?"
"Yeah. I can go through walls and doors, the whole deal, but I can also touch anything I attempt to. I just don't have enough strength to bring, say, the guitar all the way up here."
"Or carry your boxes out," I surmise.
He nods. "Yeah, but like I said, I was done with all of that stuff anyway. Can't do me any good now. I've read the books a hundred times, same with the music."
"What about the hand prints? The ones I saw on the glass?" I ask timidly.
He bites his bottom lip reluctantly, gazing up at me as his hair grazes his eyes. "That was me, too."
"I thought it was my mom," I admit.
He reaches out reflexively toward me like he wanted to hold my hand, then pulls back and squeezes his fingers shut. "I'm so sorry."
A single tear rolls down my cheek and my chest constricts. I don't like to cry in front of him, but maybe that's the rope that binds us together—what we've lost. "I don't know why I'm disappointed she's not here. It seems so sad to be a ghost."
Seth pulls his legs up and sits cross-legged. "It's not sad. I didn't feel much of anything, like I said…not until you came along."
I think about it for a moment. "So you watched me in the shower?" I whisper loudly.
He laughs, and it's a soothing sound. His dimples appear again around his grin. "Not
in
the shower. I was just experimenting."
"Were you trying to scare me? Like with the radio?"
"Maybe a little," he admits. "To test how much you could see and hear."
"Why did you help me the other night, with Oliver?"
"I told you, I didn't want to see you get hurt." He picks at the fringe around the hole in the knee of his jeans. "I don't ever want to see you get hurt."
I can't help it as the corners of my mouth tilt into a smile. A thought has been brewing in my mind for a while, and now I'm ready to speak it.
"I can help you clear your name," I begin. "I can do all the work of looking for witnesses and through the evidence, and you can tell me what you remember. Maybe it can put you to rest."
His gaze locks with mine. "You would do that for me?" His voice is thick with raw emotion.