“You’re right,” Gavin said. “I thought the same thing. This didn’t just start. I’m not saying he couldn’t have been corrupted over time, but these spirits span hundreds of years, right?”
“They do,” Lincoln said. “But he has malicious intent, meaning we can use that to block him from here.”
“Wouldn’t he just move on somewhere else?” Troy pointed out. “We can’t protect everywhere.”
“Most hauntings are tied to a place, right?” Ryker asked. I nodded since he was looking at me. “Then if we block him from this area, yet he can’t leave, he’ll either be trapped without the ability to do anything or be forced to move on.”
“That theory has merit,” Gavin agreed. “They can’t just go wherever, travel at will.”
“What about your cousin?” I asked Sully, realizing we hadn’t had a chance to talk about him in a bit.
Sully frowned. “Troy said he yelled he had to go back home. But I haven’t heard from him since.”
“Try calling him?” Ben suggested.
Sully frowned but closed his eyes. “Blake? You here, buddy?”
“His voice is distorted,” Troy said. “Something’s blocking him. Likely this ghost we’re fighting.”
“Then we need to handle this,” I said. “We’ll get this asshole blocked tomorrow.”
We have to.
ChapterTwenty-Two
Brea
The next day everything still felt wrong. My anxiety was high and all I could think about was Mack. Every time I fell asleep last night I was forced to relive the screams as Mack fell down that mine shaft. I’d come to terms with the fact I killed someone, or at least as close as I could get with that reality. And now it was fresh again.
“Red.” Ben’s voice was sympathetic and I hated it. I barely glanced over at him as he sat down next to me on the porch swing. Depression was creeping back in again and that was something none of us wanted, me most of all.
“I can’t do this, baby, please,” Ryker begged. I’d been so lost in my head I hadn’t noticed him dropping to his knees in front of me as he joined us. His hand brushed my cheek, wiping away tears I hadn’t realized were falling. “And neither can you. This isn’t happening again. He’s not back.”
“I know that,” I sighed. “I’ll be fine.”
“You will,” he said. “Because we are going to show this asshole that he doesn’t get to control us with our memories.”
“How?” I asked, ready to cling to whatever hope I could to stop me from falling right into that hole again.
“The festival starts soon,” he countered. It was such a strange thing in the moment that I couldn’t help but laugh.
“We get attacked by a ghost and need to deal with him, and you want to go to a small town carnival?” I asked slowly.
“Yes.” His voice was unapologetic. “That shit happened to us and we all went to therapy over it. And they told us we couldn’t dwell on it. So Lincoln already contacted the coven. They are calling back tomorrow because almost everyone was out at some event. So we are going to live our lives tonight and not let this fucking ghost have power over us.”
“He’s right, Red,” Ben said gently. He took my gloved hand and squeezed.
“Mack’s gone,” I said as if I were testing out the words.
“Five things, Brea,” Ryker said, reminding me to use one of my therapy techniques to ground myself. “One.”
“You,” I said, focusing on the man in front of me. His pale blue eyes were full of concern and hope. My breathing already calmed.
“Two,” Ryker said to get me to keep going. I looked around the porch and out at the foggy town.
“The bookstore over there. I watch sometimes, the old man there waits every afternoon for a slow moment, puts a sign on the door, and goes to the flower shop. He comes back with a single flower and a smile every time,” I said. “I think he loves the lady who runs it.”
“That’s adorable,” Ben said as we watched the old man rush as fast as his old legs would take him. Sure enough, the interaction was short but he was all smiles when he came out with a rose this time. “Alright, three.”