Page 58 of Ghost Girl

‘Kali?’ I called out hopefully.

The only response I received was a deep, primal growl that rattled my bones and had me finally shooting off back inside the house. It was an involuntary action, my fight or flight activated by the threat of the unknown entity that was far more powerful than it should have been. It was a predator, I could tell that much, but to what degree? And was it a threat only to the living, or to the dead as well?

Before I closed the door shut behind me, I looked back out to where I’d felt that second pair of eyes, and just knew that it was the woman I had loved and lost.

‘I’ll see you soon,’ I vowed, my voice quiet, but steady and strong. ‘I promise.’

Chapter 25

Dakota

Iwas panicking. There was nothing I could do about it, either. My breaths were coming in sharp, short pants, and I was unable to suck in enough air to actually breathe. My chest was constricting, my lungs seizing on the inside, and a cold sweat had broken out all over, drenching me and sticking my clothes to my skin.

Fuck, this was too much. Too much to process, too much that I didn’t understand…

The note fell from my hand, my fingers too weak to even hold it up when the words finally hit. They weren’t even bad, but I had never felt so abandoned before in my entire life. Where was my husband when I needed him? When I was scared and confused, and in desperate need of a fucking hug? Oh, right. Gone.

Kota,

My head is a mess, and I need to clear it.

Gone fishing for a few days to process.

I love you, I just need some time.

My parents and Chance are there if you need anything.

I’ll be back soon.

-Blake

He fucking left me.

I waspissed. Understanding and compassion could only go so far. I had given him everything I could, pushed aside my own wants and needs in favour of support him, but I needed him now more than ever and where the fuck was he? Fuckingfishing.

I released a scream of frustration, pushing my fear and loneliness into it as well in an attempt to relieve myself of their weight. What was I supposed to do now, just sit back and wait for a ghost to keep me company? And not just any ghost, either. From what I’d gathered, my only choices were a potential murderer or my husband’s dead wife.

Fuck!

My hands were in my hair before I could stop them, tugging and yanking painfully at the strands in an attempt to drag me out of this pit of emotional torment. It was the method I had used as a kid when my parents brought the bad men around. Bad men who were now in prison for a colourful array of crimes, such as assault and battery, rape, money laundering, drugs, and kidnapping. You know, just to name a few.

My mind took me back to when I hid in the bathroom, inside the cabinet beneath the sink. How I’d folded my small body to squeeze in the tiny space, my hands covering my ears and my eyes squeezed shut. How my breathing would pick up when I heard footsteps outside, or when one of them would come in to use the toilet. Sometimes they would stay, and I’d hear chopping sounds followed by snorts. I hadn’t learned until much later what they were doing.

But that little cabinet had become my safe place. No one ever found me there, wedged between the bottles of cleaning supplies. Now, whenever I began to feel myself start to panic, I would crave a small, cramped space to hide inside. That had translated to hugs when I’d grown up and gone through countless therapists, but in times like this, it wasn’t enough.

Which was why I crawled beneath the cot and curled up into a ball, desperate to make myself as small and hidden as possible. My carefully curated mask of healthy coping mechanisms fell away, revealing the lost and broken girl I truly was inside.

My eyes were focused on the crumpled-up piece of paper lying on the floor where I’d dropped it as my breathing became too shallow, too strained, and I finally passed out from the lack of oxygen.

∞∞∞

‘Dakota? Sweetheart? Oh, dear. Dakota, honey? Can you hear me?’

Mallory’s voice cut through the peaceful darkness of unconsciousness, her tone lighter and gentler than I had ever heard it before. For a moment, I wondered if I was making it up, like a dream or a hallucination, because Mallory Dodd was many things, but maternal wasn’t one of them.

‘What’s wrong with her?’ My father-in-law’s voice was harsh and cutting, slicing through the softness Mallory was trying to exude. That was what made me realise that this was real and not a figment of my imagination. Mallory truly was trying to be kind right now.

How odd.

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