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“Around a half-an-hour. I came in through that way.” He pointed at the far basement wall. “When I entered, all I found was you all sleeping. No one else sho
wed up or woke up, until you did.” He gave a small smile. “And that brings us to now.”
So, where did that get us?
Nowhere special, I thought. And definitely not any closer to understanding why Wayde had done this, or what he planned to do in the future. I prayed it wasn’t anything that would hurt anyone in this room, including myself.
After another quick scan of the basement, I listened hard to hear any noise from upstairs. The house was eerily silent. While part of me wanted to lose myself in panic, I wouldn’t go down the dangerous road of what Wayde planned to do…just yet.
I rubbed the side of my temple again as a piercing pain rushed behind my eyeballs. I wondered if, before, it developed again because of stress, but now had become intense due to fear.
Giving my temple a deep pressure massage, which did nothing to ease the ache, I lowered my hand as Sammy said, “You know you could have avoided all this if you only let me talk to you.”
I dropped my hand, centered the pain to think straight, and regarded Sammy. He’d taken a couple steps to close in on me. I stared into his warm eyes, as what he said made no sense at all. “By that you mean?”
He slowly lifted his finger with twisted features, and then he pointed over my shoulder. “That’s me.”
I spun on the cement, and discovered he pointed at the open trunk. I jerked my head to him again, gaped for a good few seconds, and wished I didn’t understand what he meant. “You, as in your bones?”
He nodded. “I’m Wayde Sammy Hagen.”
While this new development stumped me in the ‘what the fuck’ kind of way, it also pissed me off. “Oh. My. God,” I bit off. “This whole time you knew this and said…nothing?”
“No, I didn’t say nothing.” He scowled. “I tried—a few times—to talk to you and you kept forcing me away. You never let me have long enough to be able to say anything, and always cut me off.”
I gritted my teeth, not to send this ghost to heaven’s gates myself. Then, I inhaled, slow and long, and said calmly, “Next time, you say, ‘Wayde killed me’. That’s the first thing that should come out of your mouth. Nothing else.”
Frustration nearly swallowed me whole. Through all of this, I kept pushing Sammy away, thinking he was only going to ask me to help him cross over, when this ghost was the one that had all the answers.
Now, understanding that part also brought the realization that Wayde had been stealing someone’s identity had been correct—he’d stolen Sammy’s, even if he used his middle name instead of first name. “Did he kill you for your identity?”
Sammy shook his head slowly, his gaze glossy, as if lost in a horrible memory. “No, it wasn’t his original intention. But I think he took the opportunity once he realized he could.”
I glanced at the cement I sat upon, and crossed my legs. That ruled out one assumption and led me to believe that maybe the murder had been more personal. Looking to Sammy again, I asked, “Did you know Wayde?” I raised my hand to stop him from answering, knowing that wasn’t quite right. “Or whoever he is.”
Sammy drew in a long breath before his eyes darkened. “We were orphans, Jacob and I—”
“Jacob?”
“Yeah.” Sammy dropped down in front of me, crossing his legs, too. “That’s his name, Jacob Larsen. We grew up together from the age of five-years-old. After we turned eighteen, we got jobs and moved out together.” He gave his sweet smile, but on ghosts, as it usually did, it looked incredibly sad. “Best buds type of thing.”
I snorted, seeing that Jacob’s definition of a best friend had been obviously warped. “Clearly, your relationship changed.”
Sammy looked toward the trunk and the unfathomable pain in his eyes hurt to witness. Yeah, this was the hard part of helping ghosts—watching the agony of dealing with their past hurts. “He started to feel things.”
Now, I realized Wayde and I had similar pasts, and my heart skipped a beat as Sammy said, “Jacob told me he sensed ghosts.”
Chapter Ten
I held my breath, realizing where Sammy was going with this. I stayed quiet while he continued. “It all started a few months after we moved into our new apartment.” Sammy finally looked at me, and a frown marred his face. “Jacob told me he was sensing ghosts around him, and feeling things off them.”
I gulped. “Did you believe him?”
“I wasn’t sure what to think.” Sammy hesitated, gave a frustrated sigh, and then went on, “No, that’s not true. Back then, I didn’t believe him. I thought he was having mental problems and that he should get help.”
Oh, god.
I’d been there myself long ago and was so worried to tell anyone about my abilities for fear they’d have me committed. But I also sympathized with Sammy. Before the accident, if Caley had told me she could talk to ghosts—which was why I’d always been so grateful she believed me—I would’ve thought she’d gone crazy, too. “What happened after you told Jacob to get help?”
