Girl on the Ghost Train: An Abby Craig Paranormal Mystery, #1

PART ONE

VANCOUVER

CHAPTER 1

I RAN THROUGH THE PILLOWS of fog hanging along the banks of the Deschutes River, a steady stream of white mist flowing from my mouth in intervals like steam coming off an old train. Chills raced down my back even though I was deep into my eight-mile run and nearing my turnaround point. I wished I’d had more coffee before I started, wished I’d dressed smarter. Wished that I was listening to some music because not only had I left my jacket in the car, I had forgotten my phone, which made for a lonely, quiet morning.

Autumn was always short in Bend, Oregon, but this was ridiculous. It wasn’t even October and there was already snow in the five-day forecast. Winter was looming, again.

I blew on my numb fingertips, cursed my numb mind, and continued moving over the carpet of soggy leaves.

After another couple of hundred feet, I glanced across the river. The fog was lifting, revealing a grove of golden trees in the distance. I slowed down, and then walked to the bank to take in those colors.

For many years after my drowning accident I could only see in black, white, and gray. But last September, along a stretch of desolate highway, my full sight returned. Now every time I saw the yellow wildflowers or the purples of a sunset or those bright orange leaves, I felt born anew and it reminded me to appreciate the beauty of the world.

But it was hard being alone sometimes, and hard living in Bend. For me, the city was haunted by memories, haunted by the past. And though I had poured myself into my work this last year, the tears still flowed, showing up unexpectedly in strange places: driving by a certain pub, the supermarket when a sappy song came on the radio, the view of Mt. Bachelor. No matter how many hours I logged in or how many miles I ran, the sadness still found me.

It wasn’t who I wanted to be. I wanted to be someone who felt grateful. But, as someone once said, you can’t always get what you want. I felt I had already learned that lesson long ago. I guess life just wanted to make sure the lesson stuck.

I considered moving, leaving the loneliness and heartache behind, starting fresh somewhere else. Nearly everyone I loved had in one way or another left, so why stay in a place that was so painful? But eventually I decided that, for better or for worse, this was where I belonged. That Bend was my home.

I dropped down a small hill that led into thick fog and heard a noise up ahead. I prepared myself for a runner or biker, but neither emerged out of the mist. There was nothing except the sound of my own footsteps hitting the ground.

A moment later, I heard it again.

But this time it was louder.

And this time I stopped in my tracks.

An old woman stepped out of the fog. Her long black dress billowed around her, the ragged hem dragging behind as she came toward me. A thousand wrinkles crisscrossed her leathery face. Her eyes were the color of muddy water, tangled strands of gray hair floating around her head.

And as she moved closer, there was no doubt in my mind that she was dead.

CHAPTER 2

MY HEART FLUTTERED like the wings of a hummingbird as she stopped just a few inches away, hovering in front of me at the edge of the path.

Pericolo! C'è molto pericolo, she called out. Devi aiutarli! Aiutarli a tutti!

Her voice was raspy and ancient. I didn’t know what she was saying, but guessed that it was Italian.

I don’t understand, I said. I’m sorry.

My inability to decipher her message only seemed to make her more frantic, her words and gestures more intense.

"Pericolo! Her hand moved violently up and down in the air. Pericolo!"

Fighting the fear, I told myself to remember who I was, to act like I’d been here before, and to try to calm her down with the softness of my own words and gestures.

I can find a translation on my telephone but I left it back in the car. I must have looked a little ridiculous as I threw my whole body into the word te-le-phone, putting my hand up between my ear and mouth like I was holding an imaginary old-fashioned receiver. I motioned toward the trailhead. I’m—

Suddenly, the old woman shattered into a thousand little pieces as a mountain biker shot through the spot where she had been standing.

Morning, the man said.

I managed a small wave after he passed.

I waited a few minutes to see if the ghost would return, looking for her down the length of the trail, in the misty trees, along the river. But everything was still and deathly quiet.

She was gone.

CHAPTER 3

THERE IT IS! PALOMA shouted across the coffee house. Hurry, babe! Hurry!

The smell of mashed bananas and baby shampoo filled my nose as I stared at the infant sitting in the stroller, her tiny pink lips moving up and down in what I guessed her mother had interpreted to be a smile.

Hurry!

Lyle rushed over from behind the counter and began snapping pictures with the Canon that was permanently strapped around his neck ever since Jasmine María had been born six months earlier.

Okay, Papa Paparazzi, that’s enough, Paloma said a minute later, shielding the tiny face from the large lens.

Lyle swung the camera behind him and picked up the baby, making a series of goo-goo noises that sent a small wave of nausea rolling through my stomach. I had to remind myself that I was in the presence of love, more than a little sugary but completely unconditional.

I was sitting at a window table at Back Street, the café where I had once worked as a barista and the place where I now came to write my book about ghosts, update my social media, and write blog posts for my new ghost-seeing, ghost-whispering, ghost-busting business. I still hadn’t come across a term I was comfortable with and sometimes I wondered if that was the reason for the less than stellar numbers in my bank account.

Lyle kissed Jasmine’s bright red cheeks. I still couldn’t get over how much the baby looked like Paloma, with her long dark eyelashes, heart-shaped lips, and big inquisitive eyes.

You know, we owe you a lot, Paloma said, looking over at me.

What do you mean?

I would have never met Lyle if I hadn’t come in here looking for you to help me with that ghost a few years back.

I shrugged.

You two would have found each other eventually.

Oh, look, hon, Lyle said softly. There’s Michelle. She wanted to meet you and Jazzy. Do you mind saying hello?

Sure, no prob. Paloma scooped the baby out of Lyle’s arms. But remember the rules. If they wanna hold her, they gotta wash their hands. I’ll be right back, Abby. Don’t go anywhere. I want to hear about your plans in Vancouver.

I nodded and checked my phone, which had been chiming nonstop for the last hour. I answered a few texts and then sat there trying to think of something clever to Tweet. Ten minutes later I still had nothing. I seemed to be doing a lot of this lately. I wasn’t sure if I was overthinking everything or underthinking it, but the words floated away from me like butterflies.

I looked around and saw some of my fellow regulars plugging away at various tasks. There was Grace, a realtor who was always on her phone arguing with clients; Barry, a serious-looking stand-up comic who would work on the same joke for weeks on end; and a whole slew of writers who sat in the far corners tapping furiously at their keyboards.

Normally with the regulars and all the tourists it would have been too crowded to hang out at Back Street and hope to get anything done. But the owner, Mike, had added a new wing to the building as well as a large patio area. And before he left to open more stores in Eugene, he made Lyle manager. The promotion included a nice salary increase and couldn’t have come at a more perfect time for the new dad.

Hey, I really liked your blog post, Paloma said when she wandered back alone to my table. You know, the one about the things that the ghosts have taught you over the years? It was really good. You should put it in your book.

I groaned.

What’d I say?

Oh, nothing. I sat back, shaking my head. It’s just, you know, the book. It’s stressing me out a little. I have to turn it in soon and I have no idea if it’s any good. It seems like I’m just rambling. And I know my grammar and spelling suck. I don’t know why I ever let David talk me into doing this. What do I know about writing a book?

Chill, girl. You just need to focus. People can’t get enough of this stuff. Look at all those shows about ghosts. They’re super popular and they’re all fake. But you, you’re the real thing. Trust me, people are gonna eat it up. They’ll want to read your stories, how you talk to ghosts and all that. Just push all that negative self-doubt away. Keep it real and the rest will take care of itself.

Well. I smiled. When you put it that way.

I can’t wait to read it. She downed the rest of her coffee. But wasn’t David supposed to be helping you?

"Yeah, that was the plan. He did come up with the title, Chasing the Ghost, but that’s the extent of any contribution so far."

That skinny-ass actor has a big heart and all, but shit if he can focus on anything that doesn’t involve a camera pointed his way and some guy saying, ‘Action.’

I laughed, thinking how David would have loved Paloma’s joke and would have piled on and sexed it up somehow. But what she was saying was completely true. Except for when it came to his own career, David was pretty much a scatterbrain through and through.

So how long are you going for?

I’m not sure yet. A week, maybe a little longer. He wants me to hang around the set to see if a dead relative of his is haunting the production.

Get out of town.

Yeah, he thinks his dead aunt is mad at him. He wants me to go up there and tell her to take a hike, get lost, scram. Something like that.

"Sounds like livin’ la vida loca has gone to his head."

You’re probably right, I said.

Ya think?

I had originally planned on visiting David down in Los Angeles in late December, when he would be back there working on a rom com. The timing would have been perfect, trading in the Central Oregon snow and ice for some sun and pool time and seeing my best friend during the holidays. But when he called a few days ago asking if I could join him in Vancouver ASAP, I couldn’t say no. He sounded seriously upset. I had laughed it off with Paloma, but the tremor in his voice told me he was really worried.

I need your help, Abby Craig! he had said. She’s so angry. Please, please say you’ll be here tomorrow!

His account was typical David Norton, more than a little excited with a few pinches of shrill thrown in. But I’d do anything for him. For as long as I’d known him, he had always been there for me, standing by me on a lot of dark days. I owed him big time.

Yes, of course I’ll come, David, but it can’t be tomorrow. How about at the end of the week?

Yes, oh, yes, Abby Craig. Thank you!

Somehow, the end of the week was suddenly upon me.

Paloma packed Jasmine’s things into the stroller as Lyle walked back over with the baby and strapped her in.

Fish tacos tonight, babe, Paloma said. Don’t be late.

I wouldn’t dream of it.

Have a great trip, Abby, and tell Mister Hollywood hello, but don’t tell him that we miss him back here, even if we do. His head is already way too big.

I will. And I won’t.

I said goodbye to Jasmine, touching her little feet until she kicked my hand away.

Hey, you doing okay? Paloma said after she gave me a hug. "You getting enough to eat? You’re looking a little flaca."

I gave her a thin smile.

Yeah. I’m okay.

But she was right. I wasn’t eating much. Lately, food just didn’t taste the same.

Broken hearts take time, she said. "Like my mom always says, ‘El tiempo cura las penas.’ Time heals our sorrows."

I watched her for a minute as she pushed the stroller out into the last of the afternoon light, hoping her mother knew what she was talking about.

CHAPTER 4

EVEN WITH A HEART-THUMPING, last-minute scramble to find my passport, I made it to the airport in plenty of time for my eleven o’clock flight. It was the plane that was late, turning what should have been a relatively easy, short trip into a test of endurance.

I made it as far as Seattle, where my layover threatened to become permanent. At least that’s how it felt. The hours crept by and I was still there, one of hundreds, all of us in the same boat.

I tried to take it in stride, downing specialized Pacific Northwest coffee brews. But when I returned to the gate, there was another delay, and I started wondering if in fact I would make it to Vancouver at all. It was already six hours past the time I was supposed to have been there.

I sat on the carpet in a corner and pulled out my computer, figuring that I might as well do a little more work on Chasing the Ghost. In some ways, I was pleased with myself. It had taken me under a year to get to this point and I was close to being finished with a somewhat decent draft, at least in terms of word count. But even though I felt good about being so close to the finish line, I wasn’t sure if the words were any good. I was too close to it to tell anymore. It would help a lot if David could read it this week and give me some feedback.

But it was hard to focus in the middle of so much noise. People were talking all around me, children were running and screaming, babies were wailing. Someone across the way was yelling at an employee about the delays.

My mind drifted in a dozen different directions, finally landing on the old woman I had seen on the trail. She was a mystery, coming out of nowhere the way she had and disappearing just as fast. While I had been waiting back at the Redmond Airport, I had looked up the word pericolo. It meant danger in Italian. I couldn’t remember what else she had said, so danger was all I had to go on. But what kind of danger? And for who? Or was it whom? Was I in danger of blowing my book deal because I didn’t know the difference?

She seemed unrelated to anything I was working on, and in the end that’s the conclusion I settled upon: that she was just a ghost, the same way that the mountain biker who blew through her was just a mountain biker.

I put away my laptop and pulled out my phone, punching in her number. I was happy when Kate picked up.

Hey. Did you make it to Vancouver?

Nope, still in Seattle. Just wanted to give you an update and say again how bummed I still am we couldn’t have lunch today.

I had planned on meeting my sister at the Portland airport, where I was originally supposed to catch my connection. There was a new Moroccan food cart near PDX that she wanted to try. And even though food had lost its flavor for me, every once in a while something would still break through. I had been hoping that the food cart would be one of those things.

Me too, she said. Maybe on your way back. Hey, you think David’s ghost knows you’re coming and is trying to keep you away by messing with your travel?

I smiled, but it did send goosebumps down my arms thinking about it. Flying always made me a little nervous.

I hope not.

My gut feeling was that David, as sincerely troubled as he sounded, had nothing more serious going on than a strong case of the jitters. He was working with a famous director, a Hollywood legend who had won three Academy Awards. This was a big movie for David, and he had told me back when he signed the contract that the stature of the people involved made him weak in the knees.

Some chubby hipsters with square black-rimmed glasses and tight button-down shirts sat on the carpet next to me talking about Game of Thrones. I got up and went over to a window, staring at the planes in the twilight.

That would take a pretty strong ghost, I said. Interfering with air travel.

Or a pretty average airline, Kate said. Is David picking you up at the airport?

Well, no, not anymore. He has a night shoot and he’s sending someone named Patrick.

Who’s Patrick?

His new assistant.

Well, if anybody can get to the bottom of ghost business, it’s— Hey, watch it, asshole!

There was a sudden high-pitched screech of brakes followed by a long blast from a horn.

Kate. You okay?

Yeah, I’m fine. It’s extra crazy out here today. There was a bomb threat in Pioneer Square and everybody’s freaking out. I’m heading over there now, but I’m going against the wind.

I knew that my hotshot reporter of a sister could take care of herself, but I still worried about her. She was my family. My only family.

I’ll let you get going, I said. So you can focus. Be—

Crap, they’ve blocked off all the streets with the police horse brigade. I’m gonna have to park and go on foot the rest of the way.

There was another honk, followed by more yelling. Sirens blared in the background.

Hey, is it safe there, Kate? I said, knowing it was a stupid question.

Of course it wasn’t safe. That’s why she was there. Not only was it her job, but Kate lived for stories like these, the ones that got the adrenaline pumping through