The Complete Coffee and Ghosts

2. Giving Up The Ghosts-3

I don’t know what it is about the internet and ghosts, but it has a way of bringing out the frauds. Or maybe that’s the internet in general. Long ago, I stopped trying to explain properties of light to potential clients. It simply doesn’t matter. If someone wants to see a ghost in a spot in a photograph, they will see one.

I’ve never once captured an actual ghost on film, although I’ve taken hundreds of lousy pictures trying to do so. Even when they swirl in the steam of a hot cup of coffee, ghosts simply don’t show up on film or the digital version of it.

Less than twenty-four hours after Malcolm updates Doug, the phone calls and emails flood in. I am still couch-bound and still in my skater skirt. I scroll through the photos attached to those emails, and scan the paranormal chat boards, looking for a connection.

When my cell phone rings, I answer automatically. “K&M Ghost Eradication Specialists.”

“You’re on the wrong track.” The voice warbles, like it’s streaming through an electronic filter. I place the call on speaker and wave Malcolm over.

“What did you say?” I ask the caller, then press a finger against my lips.

Malcolm nods, once, and crouches next to the coffee table, ear aimed at my phone.

“You’re on the wrong track, and your client’s an idiot.”

“How so?”

“Do you really believe he can see ghosts? Capture them on film?”

“Well, whatever he saw, I did too.”

The caller snorts. The resulting burst of static has me clamping my hands over my ears.

“But you’re not dim enough to call it a ghost.”

“You don’t like Doug,” I say.

The silence stretches for so long I think the call has dropped.

“This has nothing to do with Doug. You should know that ... Malcolm. Yes, I know you’re listening in.”

Malcolm slams a hand on the coffee table. I jump back, my heart thudding.

“Who is this?” he says. “I demand to know who this is.”

He’s always so cool, so calm, so Malcolm. But this? This is a side I’ve never seen of him. My ears strain for the caller’s response, but it’s Malcolm who holds all my attention.

“Can’t you figure it out? Oh, Malcolm, really? I never thought you were that dim.” A static-laden sigh travels through the speakers. “And your business partner is so pretty. Be a shame if those burns ended up on her face, wouldn’t it?”

“Who is this?” Malcolm’s voice cracks.

Mine doesn’t. “Don’t be stupid,” I say to the caller. “An empty threat is just that, empty and stupid.”

“Who says it’s empty?”

“I do. The victim has to care, and I don’t. Burn my face. I don’t care. I don’t care at all. But I do care about my friends—”

“Are you sure you know who your friends are?”

The speakers let out one last burst of static before going silent. My gaze meets Malcolm’s.

“What the hell was that?” I say.

“Katy.” He shakes his head. “Katy, I—”

“Please tell me this is not where you make some horrible confession that changes everything.”

I consider my demand—and the call. I’ve only known Malcolm for four months, and for one of those he was my rival in the ghost hunting business. How well can I claim to know him? Would I swear he is good and honorable and all those things a person should be, especially your business partner? Would I? What’s the alternative?

“Oh,” I say, the realization sinking in, my lungs pulling a full breath at last. “Of course. Seeds of doubt. Who hates you—or me—enough to do that?”

“Then—” he begins.

“I think we’re being played. What do you think?”

He props his elbows on the coffee table and rests his head in his hands.

I ignore this. “This is personal, not paranormal.” Bed sheets and bridal veils. The thought strikes me hard. “You didn’t break an engagement or something before you moved here, did you?”

I’m praying he’ll say no, or shake his head, or something. He remains statue-like still, as if in mourning.

“Malcolm.” I leaned forward, smooth his hair, and then place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“Once upon a time, I had a brother,” he says. “Nigel.”

Once upon a time? Despite the fairy tale start, something tells me this is going to be a dark story. “Had a brother.” I say the words slowly.

“Technically, I still do. Around the time I discovered I could catch ghosts, my brother did too. Only instead of putting them into something, he swallowed them.”

“Swallowed them? Is that even possible?”

Malcolm gives me one anguished nod.

“He’s filled with ghosts?”

Malcolm nods again.

“And resents you because?”

His eyes meet mine. They are dark and damp and filled with so much sorrow, my heart constricts.

“Because of you.”