I hadn’t been that girl.
Tansy stared at him as if he could carry the whole world on his shoulders. He was her Superman.
Even though I was the one they needed to deal with this.
“Can I see the room over the living room?” I asked.
“I don’t like this,” Wilder warned. “I think we should go.”
I put my hand on his biceps, the hard muscle rigid with tension. “We will. But I want to see what they brought us here for first.”
His jaw, set tight, twitched faintly, but he nodded his understanding. He could hate the situation all he wanted, but when it came down to whether or not we would leave, I was the one in charge here.
Tansy led us to a door at the end of the hallway. It was the only one closed, when all the rest had been ajar.
Someone had put a padlock on it.
With violently shaking hands, Tansy withdrew a small silver key from her pocket and attempted to unlock the door. Her fingers were trembling so badly Cash stopped her and put the key in himself, twisting it to pop the latch on the lock.
“I…” She stepped back from the door. “I can’t go in.”
Meaning she wouldn’t. Because something in there had scared her enough she refused to go inside anymore.
What the hell was happening in this house?
Cash lifted the lock out of its place, then guided Tansy away from the door. Whatever was in there, he was no longer so concerned about my safety to warn me against crossing the threshold. I guess my life was my own to worry about now.
Well, mine and Wilder’s, since he’d designated himself my bodyguard, after all.
He was still in front of me, and opened the door, letting it swing inwards until it bumped against the inside wall.
&
nbsp; The room was painted a soft mint-green shade, with light, sheer white curtains obscuring our view out the one large window. It was a lovely, spacious room, similar to some of the others we’d walked by. Two twin beds stood on opposite walls. One had a pretty floral-print duvet on it and a half-dozen throw pillows. A big L, lit with decorative bulbs, was hanging over the bed. Next to the bed was a bricked-in fire place with a large mirror hanging over it, and a picture frame lying face-down on the carpet.
Laura’s space.
On the right-hand side of the room, the other bed was unmade, a rumpled yellow coverlet pushed back and a dent in the pillow like someone had only recently roused themselves from slumber. The air in the room was stale though, nothing to suggest anyone had slept here in several days.
The room’s other occupant wasn’t as tidy as Laura. There was a dress in a puddle of fabric on the floor, and the desk beside the bed was a clutter of notepaper and a used cereal bowl. But the girl’s space was otherwise orderly, with small Instax photo prints hanging from a string above her headboard, showing her with her Delta Phi sisters—I assumed—at various events. The beach, parties, formal gatherings. Every single one showed a beautiful, tan, blonde girl in the frame somewhere. She was the absolute textbook epitome of sorority girl. Gorgeous, with a big, toothy smile, looking as if she’d never had a single thing of substance to worry about in her whole life.
For a fraction of a second I envied her.
I pointed to the bed and glanced back through the door to where Tansy and Cash were standing, both wearing identical nervous expressions.
“Let me guess. Heidi?”
“Yes.”
So Heidi and Laura had been roomies, and now both of them were missing. The house was screaming, things were being knocked to the floor in empty rooms, and no one had a clue what was happening.
To an outsider, unfamiliar with the paranormal world, they’d probably immediately assume the girls were dead and haunting the place. And sure, this had all the hallmarks of a classic ghost story. With one notable exception.
Ghosts couldn’t scream.
Ghosts couldn’t even talk.
One of the side effects of being dead was you no longer had any lungs. You were ephemeral. Non-corporeal. And without lungs it was pretty goddamn hard to say please, please, please.