Page 23

Kali

I was free. That was the first thing I realised after Morty disappeared in a dramatic whirlwind of shadows. I was no longer constrained to the property near my grave. In fact, my grave no longer called to me like it did before. My bones felt worthless. Insignificant. Like I had drained them of all the energy they’d contained.

I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. I large part of me felt like I should have been more guilty over consuming Bianca’s soul, but there was something about the way her energy buzzed inside of me that told me everything I needed to know. She was happy to be there, eager to help me avenge us in any way she could.

She wasn’t a voice inside my head or a second consciousness attempting to take control of my body. Whatever had happened when we’d merged, it was more like she had become a part of me, both of us accepting each other until she resided peacefully, like she was asleep, somewhere in the back of my mind. Her energy thrummed through me, but it was mine to use now, not hers. The contentment I felt from her… I couldn’t say for sure, but my best guess was it was the last thing she felt as I absorbed her, because the warmth of the feeling was countered by the chill of her fear, the pain of her brutal death, and sadness of the life and loved ones she had been forced to leave behind. Yet, there was a sense of rightness, of peace.

She had given herself to me willingly despite not knowing what would happen, and I was the prominent emotion I felt because of it was gratitude, not guilt.

She had saved me, and I had given her soul a way to rest. She didn’t have to fight anymore, because the weight of that responsibility fell on my shoulders instead. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Her sacrifice had allowed me to push past the flimsy barrier that had kept me prisoner since my own death, which was how I had found myself walking down a gravel path towards the campsite nearby. The campsite where I could hear Blake’s voice.

He was staying right next door, pretending as if he wasn’t torturing and murdering innocent women one property over and then burying their dismembered bodies in the backyard.

When the campsite finally came into view, my nose wrinkled in disgust at the scene that I found. The entire Dodd family had set themselves up in the largest space they could find, taking up multiple designated areas for parking and tents. Their setup was extravagant and was essentially a polyester mansion. They even had collapsible steps leading up to the damn zip, space heaters wedged into the ground, and a garden set up outside, sun loungers, umbrellas, and even pots of flowers set up like they were moving in long term.

I didn’t even have to see Mallory and Florence (what the fuck?) lazing in bikinis, sipping some sort of frozen drink that undoubtedly contained too much alcohol on the lounge chairs to know this abominable afront to nature belonged to them. I’d bet there were actual furniture and appliances inside as well. These people took glamping to a whole new level, and I was thoroughly repulsed. When I was alive, I had gone camping a few times with Blake, and sometimes with Chance, Ashe and Mikey. None of those times had I been subjected to this monstrosity I had just stumbled upon.

And it was the most horrific collection of clashing neon colours. They probably denoted which room was which. I had a feeling the pink one was Florence’s. She was easier to pick out in a crowd with her closet of the most garish colours she could find.

Even now, her bikini was blinding. This one was a bright orange with red and pink zig-zag stripes, and I fought the urge to shield my eyes as the tiny triangles of fabric barely covered her privates. Upon closer examination, I took note of how she had been nipped and ticked so many times that her skin pulled unnaturally, her nose was practically non-existent and was almost completely swallowed up by the size of her lips. And her tits were so clearly fake, but to the stage where they didn’t even look like balloons. It looked like someone had implants two large boulder into her chest, stuck some nipples on top to ensure they poked out, but I had a feeling those had also been adjusted to make it look like they were perky, because heaven forbid her tits started to sag.

I wasn’t adverse to plastic surgery, but there came a point when someone had to say no. Like when a bartender took a customer’s keys when they were too drunk. The poor girl looked so stiff and constricted inside her own skin, it was a wonder she was even still able to move.

I was about to dismiss them and move on to find where Blake was currently staying, since he was undoubtedly around here somewhere, when the woman began to speak. It wasn’t the gossip that caught my attention, however, so much as the subject of it.

‘I must apologise on behalf of my son again, Flo, dear. His behaviour has always been abhorrent, but it haven’t been able to get through to him for… well, years ,’ Mallory said while continuing to sip her drink. It was red, and I was now close enough to smell strawberries, sugar, and rum. Of course, they were drinking strawberry daiquiris. I should have guessed. It was Mallory’s vacation drink of choice.

I clocked a mechanical churning and poked my head around the tent’s opening to find a makeshift kitchen. An industrial, portable battery was connected to multiple appliances, but the whirring came from the slushy machine propped on top of a foldable table, red-tinted ice churning around inside. Multiple bottles of rum, a cooler full of chopped strawberries, bottles of strawberry syrup, and emptied plastic bags that had once contained the ice littered the surrounding area, and I rolled my eyes. I had known both women for a very long time, and neither one of them could be found without some form of alcohol nearby, so it wasn’t that surprising.

That wasn’t what had me wrinkling my nose, however, because despite the frivolity of bringing their own slushy machine camping, it was pretty ingenious. No, what really got me was the full kitchen setup with a fridge, a stove, an oven, and even a portable microwave. And, of course, the full drinks refrigerator completely stocked with an array of alcohol. Beers, spirits, and liqueurs were stacked neatly inside a glass-doored refrigeration unit, and beside that, a full rack of the most expensive wines just waited to be opened, even though most of them wouldn’t see the light of day until they had returned home. I doubted they would be here for much longer. They could bring as much luxury with them as they pleased, but it would never be the same as their impeccably (and impersonally) styled mansions. They would miss their staff soon enough.

I grinned to myself when I realised I didn’t have to temper my opinions about the ridiculousness of their frivolous lifestyle, and I greatly enjoyed the eye roll I didn’t bother holding back. It would have taken Calvin and Blake a good, long while to set all this up between the two of them. I wasn’t sure if Blake’s wife would have tried to help or not, but Mallory would have never permitted it.

Florence’s response to Mallory’s apology drew my attention back outside, and I settled in to eavesdrop, leaning against the pole of the tent and enjoying the fact that I could actually do so now without falling through.

‘That man is a lost cause, Mallory. I know you mean well and want the best for him, but Chance is the farthest thing from marriage material. His job is a joke, he treats women poorly, and I’m pretty sure he’s… Well, I hate to say it, but there isn’t a man on this earth I can’t seduce, and he hasn’t shown an ounce of interest in me. I can only conclude that he’s one of those… homosexuals,’ she finished, whispering the last word like it was some sort of dirty secret. I laughed, then laughed harder when Mallory gasped in horror. Not only were they bigots, but they were idiots, too. Chance was the furthest thing from gay a man could get. He loved women. He loved their bodies. He loved sex. I would know, since he told me all about his conquests, and I’d played his wing woman more times than I could count.

Chance. Gay? Ha!

What was even more laughable was the incomprehensibly delusional confidence Florence was exuding. She looked like a silicone cyborg, half human, half Barbie doll, with a dash of ready-to-burst balloon chucked in there for the extra flair. There wasn’t a single natural thing about her that had survived, yet she thought Chance of all people, who detested everything she stood for, would fall for her charm? Please. Even that was false.

And the fact that Mallory was pushing her on him? It just proved how little she actually knew about her firstborn son. How little she truly cared about his happiness. All she wanted was for him to stop embarrassing her, to fall in line and become another little rich-boy clone to fit in with her picture-perfect image she had painstakingly curated. She may not have had as many procedures as Florence, but she was just as fake.

‘He is not a…’ Mallory trailed off, completely affronted at the prospect of a gay son. ‘Chance is straight, I can promise you, Florence. Perhaps you are just not as desirable as you believe yourself to be,’ she snipped, turning things back around onto Florence, who, of course, took immediate offence to the slight.

‘I see who he got his bad manners from, Mallory. Perhaps I should leave and let you pick up the disgusting pieces of your pathetic son’s mistakes.’

She stood, not a single jiggle in any of the places a body should jiggle, and tossed the remainder of her daiquiri on my mother-in-law. Well, ex- mother-in-law, now. And good riddance.

I decided, since she was being such a prissy little bitch, that I should test my newfound abilities on her to see what I was capable of. So, as Florence was walking away, I stuck my foot out and focused all of my energy and willpower on making it as solid as possible.

She walked right through me like I wasn’t here.

I bit my lip and considered how to make myself more tangible. I didn’t know if it was even possible, but since I was able to touch things, perhaps I could move something? But what?

I scanned the area to find something small and light, because it was better to start off easy and work my way up to the heavy stuff, right? But there wasn’t much around. Everything I saw was too large or too dense. Until I saw the perfect opening. Mallory huffed and picked up her phone, typed out a message, and then placed it back down on the table beside her after she sent it. Her phone was face up, unlocked, and just begging to be messed with.

So, I poked at it with my forefinger, just to see. Then did a little happy dance when the screen lit up, the message thread to her husband right there for me to see. Since I was a ghost, there was nothing to stop me from being nosy, so I read the message she sent.

Florence is a bust. Need a new plan.

The phone buzzed with an incoming text, and I managed to catch what was written before Mallory picked it up to read it herself.

Do better. That boy is ruining our reputations. Fix it. Now.

I had never seen confirmation of their plots before, and I still wasn’t sure if Chance was involved in Blake’s murder sprees, but the larger part of me that had cherished our friendship for so long wanted to get some petty payback on his behalf. And so, when she put the phone down again and read her response, a plan quickly formed in my head. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

I’ve got another woman lined up with a respectable background. I’ll send Florence home and ask Jerica to join us instead.

Mallory’s eyes were closed beneath the shade of her sunhat, and I took the opportunity to type out a message myself. It took some concentration, but I was able to exit out of the chat thread with Calvin and bring up the rather empty one with Chance. All the messages were mostly from Mallory, interspersed with sparse, one-word replies from Chance. I realised he would be more likely to ignore any messages from his overbearing mother, so I went back to the text thread with Calvin and started the hard, arduous process of typing out a text.

It was slow-going, and I was exhausted by the end of it, completely depleted of my energy reserves to the point where I was legitimately worried for the first time in forever that I was about to pass out, but I managed to type out the message and hit send before that could happen.

Florence might not be right for Chance, but she could be good between us.

Immediately, the little white ‘ delivered’ beneath the message changed to ‘ read ’. Those three little bouncing dots appeared as Calvin began to type, then they disappeared just as quickly. They popped back up again a few times before they went away for good. No message was sent.

I hoped, at the very least, that this would drive a wedge between Mallory and Calvin. It would serve them right for meddling because they couldn’t accept Chance as he was. Their love was conditional, and I had always hated them for that.

Calvin chose that moment to come storming out of the blue section of the tent, which I deduced must have been the mancave section. His eyes flashed with something I could discern, but very much didn’t want to, and I realised I had one thing left to do on Mallory’s phone to make it even sweeter.

‘Since when were you interested in a threesome with a woman, Mal?’ he hissed as he approached, but his words drew me up short. With a woman? Had they had a threesome with a man? And then spewed homophobic bullshit?

One: gross!

Two: what a hypocritical bitch!

I deleted the message as quickly as I could, my entire body slumping with the energy I needed to expel to get it done, but the aftermath made it so worth it. Mallory’s shades were suddenly discarded so her husband could see the full force of her glare.

‘What the fuck are you talking about, Cal?’

‘Florence? Really?’

‘The pickings are slim, Cal. We don’t have many options left.’

‘We do not invite women into our bed, Mallory.’

‘Of course we don’t,’ Mallory replied, confused, which only made Calvin confused.

‘Are you saying… Is that why Chance doesn’t want her? Because she’s a man?’

Mallory reared back in shock. ‘A man? What on earth are you on about, Calvin?’

Now that I had confirmation for that piece of information I most certainly did not need or want, I chose to leave the quarrelling couple in favour of finding Blake’s tent. It wasn’t difficult to find. It was the same one we had used together when we were married. Now, it seemed, he was sharing it with a different woman. I different wife.

I wondered if she was just as ignorant and na?ve as I had been, or if she was onto him. Perhaps he had found himself a serial killer wife, to create a little serial killer family? But no, I doubted that. Blake’s whole public persona was based around surrounding himself with genuinely kind people. It was why he’d married me, after all. I was the perfect victim to fall for his lies. My parents had died when I was still young, so I had sought out love and acceptance in others. He had given it to me in spades, reeling me in without any real effort at all.

When I approached, the sun shone through the tent to reveal the shadows of the objects inside, but there was only one body. A woman’s. Presumably, the new wife. Blake was nowhere to be found.

I debated leaving, or at least keeping my distance until he returned so I could follow him from there, but something about the defeated slump to the woman’s shoulders as she moved about inside had me floating through thick polyester walls of the tent.

The first thing I noticed was that she was stunningly beautiful. Even with mussed hair and no makeup, eyes still drooping with fatigue, she was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. Bright red hair that I could see was real rather than dyed was styled into a short bob that perfectly framed her heart-shaped face. Freckles dotted over her cheeks and nose, giving her an innocent vibe that went well with the sleepy look she was currently rocking. I’d bet she was a great woman to wake up next to every morning.

And her body… Holy shit was she hot. Perfectly perky tits, a waist that dipped in deliciously before flaring out at her hips, and her ass was round and toned, the perfect little handful. She had the type of hourglass figure people like Florence paid good money for, and even I was a little jealous.

But that jealousy shrivelled up and died when I saw the sadness in her eyes. She glanced back at the double camping cot and heaved a world-weary sigh. I could see why. One pillow held a prominent dip in the middle, clearly used, while the other was perfectly plumped and very clearly un used. So Blake hadn’t come home last night, huh?

Fuck… Was he still dealing with Bianca’s body, or was he already out hunting for new prey?

Was she… feeling neglected? Was she catching on?

Oh, shit… Was she about to make the same mistake I did?

I saw myself in her, the start of the questioning of Blake’s actions. The wondering where he was, who he was with, and if I was just being paranoid or going crazy. I rushed forward with the intent to comfort her before I realised I couldn’t. There was no comfort she could take from me. Quite the opposite, really. If I were even able to make my presence known, all it would do was scare her or make her uncomfortable. Likely both. I pulled up short before I could reach her, chiding myself for my rash actions and thanking my lucky stars that she couldn’t see the blunder.

Unfortunately, in my sudden urge to comfort this woman I had never met, but had unwittingly taken my place in this dangerous game of life and death, I had accidentally made myself a little bit more tangible and knocked into the cot in my haste. The sudden jostling startled her, and she bolted to her feet, scanning the room with wide, frightened eyes.

‘Hello?’ she called out softly, backing away from the cot. ‘Shit… Hello? ’ she tried again, and I realised she must have believed in ghosts if she was this terrified. I hadn’t meant to make my presence known. I’d seriously fucked up here, hadn’t I? The last thing I wanted to do was scare her.

And then a thought struck, one that would have knocked the breath from my lungs if I had any. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing? If she was ignorant of Blake’s… hobbies, then maybe I could save her? If I could just get a message to her, tell her to run and never look back, maybe I could spare her the pain, the fear, the sheer, unadulterated misery that would come with her discovering her husband was a serial killer.

Was it worth it? It had to be. I had to try, because if she was innocent in all of this, and I highly suspected she was, then she didn’t deserve to go through that level of suffering.

I mentally thanked Bianca again, because she had given me the power to help this woman, and I was now pretty damned sure that she needed it.