Whispers in the Night Read online

  Lindsy didn’t have any qualms with recharging. They had worked seven cases in a row, which had been a record for them. But it had also taken its toll.

  The sleepless nights were caused by the recurring nightmares that plagued her dreams. She tossed and turned, waking up in a cold sweat, clutching the sheets tightly in her fists. She hadn’t mentioned it to Mike because she didn’t want him to worry.

  “So?” Mike asked. “What do you think?”

  Lindsy smiled and reached for her coffee. “We can look for places after breakfast.”

  Mike paused his chewing. “Really?”

  “Sure,” Lindsy answered. “A break sounds nice.”

  Mike’s smile widened, and he kissed Lindsy on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  Lindsy knew a vacation would make him happy. And a little time outside of the RV was always welcomed. It would be nice to sleep in something bigger than their full-size mattress. She yawned, and then sipped her coffee again.

  Mike noticed the fatigue. “Sleep okay?”

  Lindsy set the coffee mug down. “Yup.”

  Mike nodded and swallowed the bite of toast he just took. “So that tossing and turning last night was only keeping me up, then?”

  Lindsy blushed. She hated how Mike always knew when she was lying. For a man without any psychic abilities, he could always read her mind.

  “We both promised to talk about it if this work started to take its toll,” Mike said.

  “That’s not what’s happening,” Lindsy replied, sounding more defensive than she intended. “I just…” She shut her eyes and took a breath. “The last case just took a little more out of me than normal. That’s all.”

  Mike studied his wife, looking for the small tells she gave away and didn’t even realize. “Then I guess it’s a good thing we’re taking a vacation.” He kissed the tip of her nose and then finished his toast.

  Lindsy was glad he dropped the subject, because while they did make promises to one another when they started this adventure, she wasn’t in the mood to rehash the past.

  The past was where her troubles lurked. The past was where pain resided. The past wanted nothing more than to haunt her present and her future.

  When Lindsy was six years old, she saw her first dead person. But instead of seeing the dead woman at a funeral, like most children experienced, she saw this dead woman at the playground. The woman had a bloody hole in her stomach where she had been stabbed, pushing her daughter on a swing set.

  The daughter had been abducted after the mother was killed, but the ghost of the dead woman continued to push the empty swing at the playground. She screamed and cried, howling like nothing Lindsy had ever heard before. Lindsy was the only one that saw the dead woman. And the dead woman saw Lindsy.

  The ghost followed Lindsy home that day, screaming about her missing daughter, begging Lindsy to help find her, a trail of dripping blood running from the playground to the green carpet on Lindsy’s bedroom floor.

  Lindsy had told her mother what she had seen, and so began a long, painful journey of psychiatrists, tests, and medication. None of it worked, of course, and in the end Lindsy decided that it was better to pretend she couldn’t see the dead. But seeing the dead wasn’t the only gift Lindsy possessed. She was clairvoyant, able to see things within people’s minds. If she touched them, she could see moments from their past, their present, and sometimes, though it was rare, even their future.

  Eventually, Lindsy learned to control her abilities, and while she was branded as a freak in school, things changed for her when she attended college. It was there she met Mike, and it was there she knew she had found the man she would spend the rest of her life with. And she didn’t even need to see the future to know it.

  But seven years ago tragedy struck, and it brought Lindsy to her knees. If not for Mike, she suspected she would have ended things herself, but he held onto her, taking care of her when she couldn’t take care of herself.

  When Lindsy finally pulled herself together, she couldn’t stay in the home they had built for themselves, so they sold everything they owned, bought the RV, and hit the road. And in the seven years since they changed their lives, Lindsy had dedicated her abilities to helping people haunted by the paranormal.

  Hauntings varied, depending on how long the ghost had been in this realm, but the general rule was the longer a ghost was tethered to this realm, the more powerful they became. And the power a ghost collected allowed them greater influence in the physical world.

  It would start with little things, a cold draft, a feeling of uneasiness in a room, but then it would be broken furniture, shattered pictures, and shaking walls. Eventually, a ghost could become strong enough to influence the people around them.

  And a ghost’s time spent on earth didn’t just enhance their strength, it also caused them to grow angry and bitter. They became resentful, restless, and dangerous.

  But while a ghost could shake the very foundation of a house, they couldn’t kill anyone, no matter how powerful they became over time. But killing and causing pain were too different subjects. And a ghost could cause immeasurable pain.

  Pain was the sole reason Lindsy worked so hard on a case. She wanted to free people from the pain of those unwilling to pass to the next realm, and in doing so, distracted herself from her own pain. But she knew Mike was right when he said they needed a break.

  Half of the cases they had worked the past two months had ghosts that had been haunting for at least two decades. They were stubborn and hadn’t gone willingly.

  “So where do you want to start looking for places?” Mike asked, back turned to her as he scrubbed their pan in the tiny sink.

  Lindsy reached for the laptop on the pullout sofa, and then opened it on the kitchenette table. “I mean I like this area fine. But I wouldn’t mind going a little higher into the mountains. Like around Boulder where you mentioned earlier.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Mike said.

  “We’ll see if I can still get a WiFi signal from the campground,” Lindsy said. “It’s like being on the surface of the moon when it comes to an internet connection.”

  Mike turned around, drying off the pan. “We should definitely get a place with a view.”

  “View, got it,” Lindsy answered, waiting for the computer to finish booting up. She had a limited signal, but it was enough to open up the browser and perform a quick search. Before she opened the first tab, she received a pop-up notification from their email.

  It was the subject line that caught Lindsy’s attention. It had the simple, desperate plea she had seen from so many people who reached out to them for assistance, and Lindsy couldn’t stop herself from clicking on the email to read it.

  “It’s getting a little cooler now, so it would be awesome if we got a place with a hot tub—” The smile vanished from Mike’s face when he turned around and saw Lindsy’s face.

  Lindsy looked up from the computer, and she saw the disappointment in Mike’s eyes. But, God love him; he didn’t dwell on it for long.

  “Where is it?” Mike asked, sitting down beside her.

  “Close, a few hours up in the mountains,” Lindsy said, pivoting the screen toward Mike so he could read what they had been sent.

  Lindsy studied Mike’s face as he read the email, and when he finished, she already knew what he was thinking.

  “They must be dealing with something ancient if it managed to take their child,” Mike said, his voice grave, and then he turned to his wife. “Lindsy, we don’t have to—”

  “I’ll be fine,” Lindsy said, lowering her hand and regaining her composure.

  Mike reached for her hand, holding it securely in his own the way he had done seven years ago when Lindsy had been brought to her breaking point, ready to end it all. “We don’t have to take every case sent our way.”

  “I know,” Lindsy said, but she had made a promise to herself that she would never allow fear or grief to control her decisions again. And she wasn’t about to let that
happen this time. Not with a child’s life hanging in the balance.

  3

  The town of Roster, Colorado, was small, run-down, and looked one more lousy winter from being permanently buried in snow. Many of the buildings they passed looked vacant, and between the sagging roofs, peeling paint, rotting wood, and boarded-up windows, Roster had all the ingredients to make a ghost town.

  Lindsy rode shotgun while Mike drove, which was usual. Lindsy didn’t like driving, and Mike didn’t want to navigate. He always told her that navigation ‘stole the adventure from the road.’ Lindsy always countered that navigation helped get where they were going on time.

  “Not much to look at,” Mike said. “Why is it most haunted places are always remote and poor?”

  “The dead feed off of desperation,” Lindsy said. “And this place reeks of it.”

  Of course, desperation wasn’t just limited to small towns. They had worked plenty of cases in cities where neighborhoods had fallen into disrepair.

  “How much farther?” Mike asked.

  “Just stay on this road,” Lindsy answered. “I’ll tell you when the turn is coming up.”

  A few locals shuffled down the street. Like the town itself, the people looked beaten down and worn from time and neglect. Everyone they passed had their heads down, hunched over as if the sheer weight of simply existing was too much for them. And the more people Lindsy saw, she noted a peculiar trend among the residents of Roster, Colorado.

  “Everyone’s old,” Lindsy said.

  “Huh?” Mike asked, eyes still on the road.

  “The people walking the streets.” Lindsy straightened up a little bit on a mission to find anyone that looked under the age of fifty. “No kids. No teenagers. I don’t even see anyone that’s middle-aged.”

  “The kids are probably in school,” Mike said. “And everyone else is probably at work. I wouldn’t read too much into it.”

  Lindsy leaned back in her seat, unconvinced with Mike’s reasoning to her observation.

  A red light brought the RV to a stop, and they were the only vehicle at the intersection. Mike gestured ahead. “Looks like someone’s waiting for a speedster.”

  Lindsy noted the jest in Mike’s tone as she spied the cop car parked down an alley, the nose of the vehicle barely sticking out. “Good thing we’re not on the interstate. They might pull you over for driving too slow.”

  “It was one time,” Mike said.

  Lindsy rolled her eyes and looked away from the police vehicle to continue her scan of the rest of the town.

  Roster’s townhall was nearby, and like the rest of the town, the building was in desperate need of a coat of paint, but hanging from the building’s roof was a bright red, white, and blue banner that read “Roster’s Big Centennial!” with dates printed beneath the slogan listing the celebrations for the upcoming weekend.

  “We’re just in time for the festivities,” Lindsy said.

  Mike glanced at the banner hanging from city hall. “This place looks like it could use a party.”

  “Reminds me of where I grew up,” Lindsy said.

  “How you managed to escape that place still baffles me,” Mike said, and then he reached for her hand. “But I’m glad you did.”

  Lindsy squeezed his hand. “Me too.”

  Lindsy’s childhood was less than ideal. Between the poverty, and the fact that she had been able to see the dead walking around since she was in grade school, it was difficult to make friends.

  The light finally turned green, and the last building they drove past was the Sheriff’s station, which looked about as empty as the rest of the town before they traveled down a two-lane road into the woods. They remained on that road for a few more miles, and Lindsy pointed to the dirt road ahead of them.

  “There’s the turnoff,” Lindsy said.

  Mike flicked the blinker, taking the turn slow as the dirt path caused the RV to buck and sway.

  “Bit of a rough ride,” Mike said, sitting up a little straighter in the vehicle.

  Tree branches scraped the RV’s side and roof, adding to the dents and scratches the vehicle had accumulated over the past seven years.

  “C’mon, girl,” Mike said, encouraging their RV up a short hill. “You can do it, I believe in you!”

  “You know the car can’t understand you,” Lindsy said.

  Mike gingerly patted the dash, one hand on the wheel, as they hit another big dip. “Shh. Don’t listen to her.”

  The dirt road eventually leveled off, and when it did, they saw a house up ahead. The home was large, three stories, and it looked as old as the town they had just passed through.

  “That’s a big house to be out here,” Mike said.

  “It is,” Lindsy noted the sprawling, unkept grounds that circled the home that stood alone in the middle of the woods.

  Mike slowed to a stop next to a tree that would provide the right shade, keeping the RV cool during the peak heat of the day. Mike shut off the RV and unclipped his seatbelt. “I don’t see any cars. Are you sure they’re home?”

  “They responded to my email and said anytime during the afternoon,” Lindsy said, checking the clock and seeing that it was almost two. “I can try calling them.”

  “Yeah, why don’t we do that,” Mike said, glancing around the wooded area. “The last thing I want to happen is for us to get shot at simply for showing up. I’m pretty sure Colorado has a stand your ground law like Florida. I’d like to avoid another repeat of that trip.”

  “It was a warning shot,” Lindsy said. “They weren’t even trying to hit you.”

  “Says the woman who was safely seated in the RV,” Mike said.

  Lindsy dialed the Maples number, but it rang without going to voicemail. She hung up. “We’ll just knock on the door.”

  “Ladies first,” Mike said.

  The forest smelled damp and musty, and despite the heat, it was surprisingly cool.

  The front of the house had a massive porch that wrapped around the house, as did the other two stories. But what the homemade up for in size, it lacked in splendor.

  The closer Lindsy looked, the more she saw the cracks in the wood, the peeling paint, the windows so dirty you couldn’t see through them anymore. The roof needed to be replaced entirely, and Lindsy noticed a slight buckling on the third-story balcony.

  Lindsy knocked on the door, rattling the old wood, and a voice shouted from somewhere deep inside the house.

  “I’ll be there in a sec!”

  Lindsy stepped back from the door and pocketed her hands. She always grew nervous whenever she was meeting a new client. It sounded silly, but it still reminded her of going on a date with someone new for the first time.

  The door opened, and a sweaty, handsome fellow stood with a confused expression. “Can I help you?” He was out of breath and kept the door half-closed.

  “I’m Lindsy Foster,” she answered, and then she gestured to Mike. “And this is my husband, Mike.”

  The man stared at both of them and then shrugged. “Okay?”

  “I was in communication with a Carla Maples?” Lindsy asked, hoping this would help explain their presence.

  “Carla’s my wife,” he replied, and then remained silent.

  Lindsy was getting the sense that Carla might not have explained everything to her husband, or the man was lying. “Is she home?”

  “She’s out,” the man answered, his retort quick and irritated.

  Lindsy saw his leg bouncing impatiently. She tried to get a read on his thoughts, but she couldn’t penetrate his mind. It wasn’t unusual for that to happen. Some people were naturally guarded and made it harder for Lindsy to use her abilities. “Well, I’m sorry for the intrusion, but your wife told us what happened with your daughter.”

  Mike’s leg stopped shaking, and his expression transformed from irritated to angry. “Who the hell are you?” He stepped out from behind the door, exposing the entirety of his large, intimidating frame. He was well muscled, and despite t
he angry expression, he had the face of a movie star. He looked like he should have been an actor in Hollywood. Maybe he tried at one point and it didn’t pan out.

  “I’m a psychic,” Lindsy said. “Clairvoyant, ghost hunter, whatever you want to call it.”

  Mr. Maples remained quiet for a moment and then narrowed his eyes. “You’re running some kind of scheme? Is that it? Taking advantage of my wife?”

  “No scheme,” Lindsy answered, holding up her hands. “Carla told me about what she saw. I know it might be difficult to believe, but ghosts—”

  Mr. Maples lunged forward, prompting Mike to take a step up next to his wife as the man pointed a long, meaty finger at both of them as he spoke in a quiet and threatening tone. “I want you two off of my property. Now.”

  Lindsy felt Mike pull her back a step, and she didn’t resist. They retreated down the steps, Mr. Maples watching them the entire way, and it wasn’t until they were ten yards away from the house that they turned their backs to him.

  “So much for that,” Mike said.

  But while Mike might have been ready to leave, Lindsy’s gut stirred with unease.

  “Something’s not right here,” Lindsy said.

  Mike fished the RV keys out of his pocket as they neared the vehicle. “Yeah, I don’t think you need to be a psychic to figure that out.”

  But as Lindsy approached the passenger side, she saw a woman emerge from the woods, heading toward the house. She noticed the RV and slowed before Mr. Maples stepped out onto the porch.

  Lindsy couldn’t hear what was being said, but Lindsy read their body language as an argument. “Mike?”

  Driver side door open, Mike looked back to the house, watching the altercation unfold on the porch. He had never been one for conflict, but Lindsy knew he would step in if the argument grew violent. She had seen him do it before. Everyone always underestimated him, but while he wasn’t a big man, he was strong. And he was faster than he looked.

  Lindsy watched as Mr. Maples finally bowed his head in defeat, hands on his hips, shaking his head. He flapped his arms to the side, in a ‘whatever’ gesture, and then the woman descended the steps, heading out to the RV.