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Authors: Marley Gibson
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rooming with the dude in the sunglasses?" Erin asks.
None of the guys respond.
"He's odd man out," Greg says. "Must be sleepin' on the porch."
Chris moves around the table to refill coffee and orange juice. "Now, now, be nice," she says. "His name is Patrick Lynn and the boy has had a traumatic experience and has to have his own room. Oliver usually only takes twelve kids, but he made an exception for him. He's here for help just like all of you, so have some sympathy."
Greg grimaces as he moves the remainder of his breakfast around. "Sorry. Didn't mean no harm."
Chris pats him on the head and then refills his juice glass.
Innnnnnnteresting...
A traumatic experience? Wonder what that's all about.
You don't need to know, Kendall.
Whoa. Hold the fort. Who just...
Emily?
No response.
Is Emily back? It has to be her. Or is it one of the spirits I've felt around this place, spinning and motioning to get my attention? Now they've resorted to bothering me in my head? I do my best to concentrate and block out this invader.
I don't want to deal with any spirits right now,
I say inside my head.
Who said I'm a spirit?
My mouth falls open, and I glance about the room. Everyone's either chatting or eating, but that doesn't mean they can't be playingâliteralâmind games with me.
Please leave me alone.
Then you do the same for me.
I will, but who is this?
Silence.
Good. Maybe whoever it is is leaving me alone now.
I gather my dishes and take them over to the sink, where Chris thanks me. Others do the same and then we all file downstairs into the massive finished-basement conference room. Wall-to-wall carpet covers the floor, and a humongous, businesslike mahogany table stands in the middle of the room. Gold-trimmed, kingly high-backed chairs covered in red leather circle the table, like we're knights in King Arthur's court. From the looks of this place, good old Oliver must make a pretty penny doing
Ethereal Evidence.
Now Oliver himself steps into the room wearing designer jeans and a crisp blue button-down shirt. "Why doesn't everyone take a seat and we'll get started?"
The Pucketts take the left side of the table, so Jess and I follow them. Willow tosses a sidelong glance at Josiah "Talking Feathers" and then moves to sit next to him on the other side. When everyone is in place, the seat next to me is available.
Of course, Patrick Lynn saunters in at just that moment and takes the empty chair. I try not to check him out, but it's hard since he's so ... close. He smells like fresh Dial soap and a spicy deodorant. I really shouldn't be cataloging his smells. Not appropriate. Instead, I watch him in my peripheral vision. A black knit cap adorns his head, but his thick hair shows underneath. He's wearing a T-shirt that reads Got Ghosts?, and it's tucked into a pair of black jeans. The same gloves and sunglasses are in place. Honestly, who does he think he is? Some Hollywood star trying not to be recognized?
"Exactly," he says in a whisper.
I smack him hard on the arm. "Quit doing that."
Jess catches this play and eyeballs me. I roll mine back at her and brush off the interaction.
"So, too good to eat breakfast with the rest of us?" I tease.
Patrick fiddles with the strap on his left glove. "I ate in my room."
"Wow, must be nice. A cabin to yourself and room service."
His face turns to me. "How did you know I had my own room?"
"Deductive reasoning and the other guys being paired up. Chris told us they usually only accept twelve kids at a time, but you're an exception. Here I thought I was the exception because I signed up so late, but it looks like you're the special one here. Why is that, Patrick?" I cock my head to the side in a bit of a challenge.
Patrick presses his lips together. "If you must know, Oliver and my dad went to the Air Force Academy together, so he let me come this week, okay?"
Perplexed, I say, "Oliver Bates went to the Air Force Academy?"
"Yeah," Jess chimes in. "He was a
None of the guys respond.
"He's odd man out," Greg says. "Must be sleepin' on the porch."
Chris moves around the table to refill coffee and orange juice. "Now, now, be nice," she says. "His name is Patrick Lynn and the boy has had a traumatic experience and has to have his own room. Oliver usually only takes twelve kids, but he made an exception for him. He's here for help just like all of you, so have some sympathy."
Greg grimaces as he moves the remainder of his breakfast around. "Sorry. Didn't mean no harm."
Chris pats him on the head and then refills his juice glass.
Innnnnnnteresting...
A traumatic experience? Wonder what that's all about.
You don't need to know, Kendall.
Whoa. Hold the fort. Who just...
Emily?
No response.
Is Emily back? It has to be her. Or is it one of the spirits I've felt around this place, spinning and motioning to get my attention? Now they've resorted to bothering me in my head? I do my best to concentrate and block out this invader.
I don't want to deal with any spirits right now,
I say inside my head.
Who said I'm a spirit?
My mouth falls open, and I glance about the room. Everyone's either chatting or eating, but that doesn't mean they can't be playingâliteralâmind games with me.
Please leave me alone.
Then you do the same for me.
I will, but who is this?
Silence.
Good. Maybe whoever it is is leaving me alone now.
I gather my dishes and take them over to the sink, where Chris thanks me. Others do the same and then we all file downstairs into the massive finished-basement conference room. Wall-to-wall carpet covers the floor, and a humongous, businesslike mahogany table stands in the middle of the room. Gold-trimmed, kingly high-backed chairs covered in red leather circle the table, like we're knights in King Arthur's court. From the looks of this place, good old Oliver must make a pretty penny doing
Ethereal Evidence.
Now Oliver himself steps into the room wearing designer jeans and a crisp blue button-down shirt. "Why doesn't everyone take a seat and we'll get started?"
The Pucketts take the left side of the table, so Jess and I follow them. Willow tosses a sidelong glance at Josiah "Talking Feathers" and then moves to sit next to him on the other side. When everyone is in place, the seat next to me is available.
Of course, Patrick Lynn saunters in at just that moment and takes the empty chair. I try not to check him out, but it's hard since he's so ... close. He smells like fresh Dial soap and a spicy deodorant. I really shouldn't be cataloging his smells. Not appropriate. Instead, I watch him in my peripheral vision. A black knit cap adorns his head, but his thick hair shows underneath. He's wearing a T-shirt that reads Got Ghosts?, and it's tucked into a pair of black jeans. The same gloves and sunglasses are in place. Honestly, who does he think he is? Some Hollywood star trying not to be recognized?
"Exactly," he says in a whisper.
I smack him hard on the arm. "Quit doing that."
Jess catches this play and eyeballs me. I roll mine back at her and brush off the interaction.
"So, too good to eat breakfast with the rest of us?" I tease.
Patrick fiddles with the strap on his left glove. "I ate in my room."
"Wow, must be nice. A cabin to yourself and room service."
His face turns to me. "How did you know I had my own room?"
"Deductive reasoning and the other guys being paired up. Chris told us they usually only accept twelve kids at a time, but you're an exception. Here I thought I was the exception because I signed up so late, but it looks like you're the special one here. Why is that, Patrick?" I cock my head to the side in a bit of a challenge.
Patrick presses his lips together. "If you must know, Oliver and my dad went to the Air Force Academy together, so he let me come this week, okay?"
Perplexed, I say, "Oliver Bates went to the Air Force Academy?"
"Yeah," Jess chimes in. "He was a
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