Jaxson's Song (22 page)

XOXO,

Angie

More from Angie West: The
Fifth Hour.

Broken
Dreams...

After receiving the bad
news about their foundation, the Scotts’ decide it makes more sense
to tear down and rebuild. It is then that the activity starts.
Things that would challenge everything they believe in and test the
family’s resolve in ways they hadn’t counted on.

Broken
Promises...

Enter Chris and Ginger
Malhaven of Atlanta, Georgia. Chris, a
paranormal-fanatic-turned-renowned-investigator, and Ginger, a
spitfire who’s determined to forget about the man who broke her
heart in high school.

Lives
Intertwined.

But if Ginger thought
avoiding her determined ex-boyfriend and helping her brother solve
the Scott’s case would be easy, she was dead wrong. Fate, it would
seem, has other plans. A two-week mid-summer investigation is about
to reunite a family and give Ginger a second chance at love-if
she’s bold enough to take it.

“
For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against
the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this
dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly
realms.”

(Ephesians
6:12-13)

Chapter One

“
Midnight ghost-hunting sucks.

There, she’d said it. The one thought that
had been on the tip of her tongue and repeatedly held back had
finally been given life and voice. Those three little words hung in
the air between them. The tense, uncomfortable silence that
followed almost made Ginger regret her choice of words; almost.

She was cramped and tired, and her eyes
burned from having spent the last three hours squinting into the
darkened room. On top of all that, she was hungry; a stomach
churning reminder of why she rarely stayed up into the wee hours of
the morning.

“
Well, it does,” Ginger muttered in her own
defense.

“
What?”

“
Suck. This sucks.” Why was he making her play the bad guy by
forcing her to own up to what any sane, rational living being would
be feeling under such bizarre circumstances?

Except he really wasn’t. The thought came on
the heels of a fresh pang of guilt. Chris had been silently excited
all evening, watching the shadows move with a breathless
anticipation that eluded Ginger. He had asked for her help, her
support; not her criticism.

“
I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” Her breath misted in
the cold air between them before finally evaporating and becoming
part of the shadows that twisted throughout the corners of the old
house.

“
If that’s how you feel...”

“
It’s...not.”

“
Really...,” Chris said, clearly skeptical.

“
Well, maybe just a little. Do we have to do this in the
dark?”

“
Spirits don’t respond to the light.”

“
Obviously.” She hadn’t meant to snort, honest to
God.

“
You don’t have to be here you know.”

“
Yes, I do. I live here.”

“
You could have said you didn’t want to do this, Ginger. If
it’s making you so uncomfortable then go to bed.”

“
Will you turn the heat up?” she countered.

“
A cold environment is more conducive to...”

“
Chris!”

“
Fine.” His lips pressed together in a thin line. “I’ll turn
the heat up. Up. Not on. The heat is already on.”

“
Sixty-five degrees is not having the heat on. It’s trying to
turn your sister into an ice cube.” The grousing drew another grim
look from her brother, who admitted defeat and flipped on the
drawing room light before stalking his way to the main
thermostat.

“
Happy now?”

“
You know I love you.”

“
Here we go.”

“
No, just listen to me.”

“
Go on.” He rested a hip against the oak dining table and
crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“
Don’t you think you’re taking this thing a bit too
far?”

“
What ‘thing’ are you referring to?”

“
This!” she cried. “The cameras, the audio recorders. The
videos.” Her voice dropped to a furious whisper.

“
I didn’t know you were bringing a date home that night. I’ve
already apologized for that.”

“
Yeah, well. Tell that to Adam.” Ginger blew a stray red hair
from her face and barely resisted the urge to cringe at the
memory.

“
Fine. I’ll apologize to Adam.”

“
Don’t bother. We broke up.”

“
Was it the video?”

“
Yes, damn it—it was the video.”

“
Won’t happen again.” He crossed his fingers in front of his
chest as though he were some sort of modern day boy
scout.

“
All I’m saying is maybe you need to find another hobby...”
She gentled her tone, trying to make him see reason. “...like
sports center or collecting. A nice coin collection sounds good.
You like old things.”

“
But my documentaries...”

“
Could be about anything. You could get into real
journalism.”

“
I’m not a reporter.”

“
Then what about something artistic?”

“
Ginger, why does this make you so uncomfortable?”

“
It doesn’t. Not really.”

“
I think it does,” he countered. “I think this stuff scares
you.”

“
Scares me? Are you serious?” Her footsteps echoed on the bare
floor as she marched into the country kitchen and flipped the
switch, flooding the room in pale golden light.

“
Yes, and I’d like to know why.”

“
There’s nothing to be scared of. This stuff isn’t real. None
of it exists, Chris. Ghosts are not real.”

“
Says you.”

“
Yeah, me and anyone else with a lick of sense.”

“
There’s been documented evidence to the contrary. Explain
that.” His challenge irked her and she couldn’t resist taking the
bait.

“
Shadowy footage and bumps in the night are not proof. Houses
settle and make noise. Dust particles float through the air. And
who the hell can make out anything in the dark?” she countered.
Ginger one Chris zero...and on his way to the nut ward if he keeps
this up.

“
I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he repeated. “If
you didn’t want to help, all you had to do was say the
word.”

“
Chris, this house is not haunted. You’re taking it too far is
all I’m saying. Every week you’ve got hours upon hours of footage
to go through. It’s just a little much.”

“
I disagree. But I won’t ask you to do this again. You’re off
the hook.”

“
Sure. You creeping around down here all hours of the night
like some sort of weirdo is oh so relaxing.” Ginger rolled her eyes
and drained a glass of icy juice in a single unladylike gulp. She
rinsed the glass and set it beside the chrome sink. “I’m going to
bed.”

“
Ginger...”

“
Yes?”

“
Nothing...,” he sighed. “Goodnight.”

“
Are you coming upstairs?”

“
In a bit.” She hesitated for a full minute before giving a
curt nod and heading up the stairs. Tomorrow is another
day...

* * *

Sunday morning came much
too soon. “Nothing new there,” she grumbled, eying the puffiness
below her eyes with rising irritation.

Every Sunday she took turns with Chris on
the most daunting task in the history of humanity: taking their
grandmother shopping.

Just the thought of the next four hellish
hours was enough to make her groan. Gran was hard enough to take on
a good day; and this, Ginger reflected, was not going to be a good
day. She had already dropped her mascara into the sink and knocked
her cell phone into the toilet trying to retrieve her makeup from
its watery demise. In the end, both telephone and cosmetic had
perished. The waterlogged tube was ruined. She was forced to wash
her face, since leaving the house with one eye made up was not an
option.

Fresh-faced once more, she
had carefully reapplied concealer, and after a quick peek at the
clock, made a spur-of-the-moment decision to shave the space
between her eyebrows. Normally, she plucked and occasionally she
waxed; but on days where a touch-up was in order and time was
short, she simply grabbed a razor and made do.

She was just about done
when Chris barreled into the bathroom, sending the heavy door
crashing into her shoulder with jarring force. When all was said
and done, Chris’s “shocking footage” had turned out to be car
headlights reflecting off the fireplace mantle, and Ginger was
missing most of her left eyebrow.

Not a good start to what
promised to be a tedious day. She regarded her drawn-in brow with
no little scorn and decided she was as ready as she was likely to
get. Grabbing her purse, she scowled at Chris, and managed to make
it to Gran’s assisted-living apartment in record time, courtesy of
road rage and a lead foot.

“
Sorry Grandma. I made it here as soon as I could. Are you
ready to go?”

“
I was ready to go an hour ago.”

“
Great.” Ginger forced a smile. “Lets—“

“
But now I have to go to the bathroom.”

“
Oh,” she exhaled, deflated. “I’ll wait here. Unless you need
help...?” Please don’t need help, please don’t need help; please
don’t…

“
Thank you, but I haven’t forgotten how to wipe my own
ass.”

“
Gran!”

“
I’m old, not an invalid,” she snapped, making her way down
the hall to her bright pink powder room, the aluminum walker
thunk-thunking all the way.

“
At least she’s using her walker today…,” Ginger muttered,
taking a seat on Gran’s aging tweed sofa.

That anyone had ever
thought tweed was a good choice of fabric for a sofa was beyond
absurd to Ginger. She shifted her attention to the rest of her
over-bright surroundings and tried not to scratch.

Gran loved pink. Any and
all shades would do. Pink slipcovers on the chairs, pink feathers
in a rose crystal vase, fuchsia cup holders…The only thing in the
tidy living room that wasn’t pink was the dreaded tweed plaid
couch—that and the draperies on the windows. Those were blue, done
ironically enough in the very same silvery shade of aqua as Gran’s
bi-monthly hair rinse. The thunk-thunking resumed a minute later,
signaling the old woman’s return a full two minutes before she
entered the room.

“
Don’t just stand there, girl: open the door and let’s get the
hell out of here.”

The drive to their next
stop took considerably longer than the initial thrill ride to the
assisted living apartment. Ginger knew from experience that Gran
considered anything over 20 mph to be speeding; she rode the brake
all the way to the Save-N-Stop, breathing a sigh of relief when she
was finally able to get out and stretch her aching legs. The memory
came to her, unbidden, of mornings where her muscles would ache for
an entirely different reason. Adam...

“
Don’t think about him,” she commanded through her
teeth.

“
What was that?”

“
Nothing Gran. Are you ready?” She tried for a chipper tone,
but fell flat.

“
I’ve been ready for five minutes; and if you’ll stop
lolly-gagging around and help me out of this rust trap, then maybe
we would actually get some shopping done. Unless you want to stand
here all morning talking to yourself.”

“
I wasn’t... Oh forget it,” Ginger sighed. “Here, let me help
you.”

Gran creaked and groaned
her way to a standing position; then with walker firmly in place,
she trudged across the parking lot to the wide double doors with
the automatic open sensors, Ginger trailing behind. Ten short
minutes later, they were in the store.