5. Sekani Aelor

Chapter 5

Sekani Aelor

T here were two ways to become a spirit medium—supernatural at all, actually: genetics, or event-based.

Me, I was born with a little extra-spicy DNA. Who gave me the extra spice—a parent or some distant relative—I didn’t know. River’s affinity for ghosts was event-based. And my fault.

You hang around a guy who hangs around ghosts long enough, and shit happens—accidents happen. You get possessed once, twice, maybe three times if you’re really unlucky.

Maybe someone uses your door—because we all have doors that follow us around, even if they aren’t available to use while we’re alive—and ghosts stop being imaginary. They become very fucking real.

Me, I stopped fucking with ghosts a few years ago—four now. River though, he dived deeper every day. He loved it, being able to see them, even if he fucking sucked at it.

The weak ones—the ones that did the standard haunting, like my current roommate—he could pick up easily. They came to him like oxygen. But the big nasties he encountered when he went to places like that asylum—places branded as the most active spots in the world—those he couldn’t detect until their hand was around his throat and they were throwing him like a rag doll down a dark, dirty hallway.

Dumbass. He was a complete fucking dumbass.

I stopped pacing to check the time stamp on the video. It was posted sixteen hours ago. By now, he had to have looked in a mirror. If he was possessed, he would have fucking called. Right? Or would he . . . I shook my head.

No. He would call me, he knew I was best suited to help him shake off a hostile spirit riding his ass like he was an enraged bull at a county fair.

Fuck. I shoved my fingers into my hair and sat on the edge of the sofa.

It was almost bedtime, but there was no way in hell I was going to be able to sleep until I spoke to River.

I needed to be sure he was okay.

“Why not call, if you’re worried?” Ghost Boy asked.

Just as I snatched my phone off the coffee table, there was a knock on the door.

“For fuck’s sake,” I muttered as I stood.

It was probably Mrs. Taffett. Maybe she needed money for diapers, or to know if I could spare some milk for Isla. I didn’t have time for her right now. Still, I pushed to my feet, shoved my phone in my pocket and yanked my door open to see the one person I desperately wanted to see.

“You dumbass,” I sneered, grabbing River by the arm and yanking him into the apartment. One of my least favorite people in the whole fucking world followed him in, but right now I couldn’t deal with him.

“Good to see you too,” River said.

“Did you look in a mirror?” I asked. I didn’t need to shove him in front of a mirror to know he was being made a poltergeist’s bitch boy right now. His whole fucking form was fuzzy—like a black and white television with those old-ass rabbit-ear antennas.

The ghost riding him was doing so raw, without lube.

“Why do you think I’m here?” he asked, rubbing his hand over his chest.

My gaze cut to Waylin Eacker before jerking away. The sight of him pissed me off.

“And you decided this was a family affair why, exactly?” I shut the front door and dragged him into the living room.

“Hey,” River huffed. “He’s the one who attacked me in the airport.”

“Because you’re a dumbass,” Waylin muttered.

They were both dumbasses.

“Yeah, yeah. You two haven’t kissed and made up ye—Who’s the twink?” River’s gaze shifted to Ghost Boy tucked against the wall in a corner, like he was going to be able to avoid being seen by not one, not two, but three spirit mediums.

“I don’t remember my name, but nice to meet you.” Ghost Boy waved.

“You dog.” River grinned. “You’re always yelling at me but you’re banging that cute little ghost.”

“I’m not fucking him. He’s stalking me. I’m trying to get him through his door. But as you can see—” I gestured. No fucking door in sight. “But that’s a problem for another day. When was your last check-up?”

Since we were headed to the fucking hospital, where there was an abundance of free-standing doors, he could have a two for one special—see a door, see a doctor.

Oh, and as a freebie, enough ghosts to put a graveyard to shame. Hospitals were the absolute worst. People literally went to them to die though so . . . no surprise there, really.

“I guess I could get a second opinion,” River said as he rubbed his chest.

I sighed. “How bad is it inside?”

Because he was connected to the supernatural on a deeper level, River could feel the little fucker in there banging around, making noise as he settled in. He’d had at least sixteen hours to get acquainted with River. Much longer and things would get messy.

“I’d say we should work fast,” River said, looking down at himself. “I took a risk getting on a plane. I told my team to stay back. I don’t want to hurt anyone when I lose control.” His voice cracked and he swallowed.

My heart squeezed. He wasn’t embarrassed—River didn’t have the capacity for embarrassment—but fear . . . Yeah, he was terrified.

“Let’s do this then. Stay here, Ghost Boy,” I said, going to my closet and yanking it open. On the top shelf, there was a bag, a bag I hadn’t used in years. I pulled it down now and shook the dust off. The things inside rattled around as I turned to see Ghost Boy shaking his head.

“No way,” he protested as he crossed the living room. “I’m coming too. I have to stay close to you.”

I sighed. Did he, really? There was no point arguing. It would just be a waste of time.

“Keep ahold of him,” I said to Waylin, without looking at him. I couldn’t look at him, not anymore, not after what he did. Being in the same room with him made my skin itch as it was. My stomach rolled as I clenched my jaw. “The last thing I want to do is chase him down if he slips through a door not his own.”

“Okay. I’ll keep you safe,” Waylin said to Ghost Boy.

“Yeah,” I jerked my bag over my shoulder. “I just bet you will. Let’s go.” I yanked open the apartment door and ushered everyone out.

“Just like old times,” River sang as he passed by me.

“You’re possessed. He can’t unfuck my fiancé. Just like old times,” I replied, slamming my door behind us and starting towards the elevator.

“What?” Ghost Boy asked.

No one said anything.

River because he didn’t want to be in the middle of it; Waylin because he didn’t want to get punched. And me . . . me because there was nothing more to say. I’d said everything I needed to years ago, to Waylin and to Deacon, my dead former fiancé.

The elevator ride down to my car was tense and silent. River sat in the front passenger seat next to me; Waylin and Ghost Boy climbed in the back. River rubbed his chest the whole trip to the hospital. I reached over and grasped his thigh as soon as I parked.

I would always have his back. He was my little brother. Not by blood, of course—we grew up in the same foster home. It was haunted as fuck too.

Whether that happened before or after I arrived, I didn’t know, I just knew the ghosts were assholes and I’d been an asshole right the fuck back.

“I got you, River. Even if you flip your shit, you’re gonna be fine.”

He laid his hand over mine and squeezed. “I trust you. And you’ve never let me down before. Just don’t damage the moneymaker.” He pointed to his face.

I laughed and kicked open my door. “The way you look, it ain’t making you a lot.”

We started towards the hospital.

“We aren’t here on a sightseeing tour,” I reminded them as the entrance doors opened with a soft woosh. We avoided the reception desk, heading towards the map on the wall. I sighed. The unit we needed was halfway across the hospital. “I don’t care how cute the ghost is.”

River sighed. “Next time.”

I shook my head and walked away. They followed me down the hallway. I took all the necessary twists and turns until we came to a bank of elevators and pressed the up button. It was a short wait for the elevator to descend and we all climbed in.

“Shouldn’t we be taking him to a priest?” Ghost Boy asked.

I glanced at him.

“I’m too far past my best used by date for those fuckers,” River said.

I hit the right floor number, snorting. “Okay Choir Boy. But unless said priest is also a medium, all he’s gonna do is throw some holy water on River, say some prayers and send him home just as possessed as he is now,” I explained. “There’s only one way to get rid of what’s in him.”

“What’s that?”

“Shove it through a door,” I said as the elevator climbed. “You’re gonna wanna keep your distance. Going through a door not your own ensures a one-way ticket to hell if I don’t drag you back out.”

Or what I assumed counted as hell.

The world beyond the doors was the stuff of nightmares, which was why I’d never taught River or Waylin how to open them. They’d bounce through one like a baseball through a glass window. And probably meet the same fucking fate—lost forever.

The elevator doors slid open.

“Long term care unit. Someone’s bound to be taking a long fucking sleep. Less likely to be bothered too,” I said. “Look for someone alone, who’s been here longer than six months.”

The sad fact was, after you’d been out cold for that long, people tended to stop visiting. Life moved on, even when the dead couldn’t.

“We better make it fast too,” River muttered, his blue eyes lifting to meet mine. The fear in them had me reaching out and squeezing his shoulder before we started down the halls, peeking into individual rooms. If they were occupied, I simply apologized and placated the occupant with a lie. They waved me away without a fuss, and we carried on.

Opening the door to room D395, I peeked inside, saw a woman sitting beside a young man’s bed, and started to step back as she lifted her head. Then I stopped.

I knew that boy.

“Fuck me,” I whispered. Seriously?

“Can I help you?” the woman asked.

“Actually, you can. But I just remembered I have to talk to the doctor real quick. Are you still going to be here in twenty minutes?” I asked.

“I’m always here—dawn to dusk. Just come back when you’re ready.” She offered me a soft smile, then reached out and brushed blonde hair off the sleeping young man’s face. Only, he wasn’t sleeping. He was in a coma. I pulled back, shut the door.

My gaze slipped to Ghost Boy.

He wasn’t a ghost. He wasn’t even dead.

He would be soon if he didn’t wake the fuck up.

“Got one,” Waylin called from down the hallway. I started towards him.

“Let’s make this fast,” I said as we all entered the room.

A young woman lay—pale, with sunken cheeks and thin hair—in the bed. Her door stood some six feet away, waiting for her to finally give up the fight. By the looks of it, she would, and soon. I had no time to feel bad for her, not when River was rocking back and forth on his heels, his eyes jerking around the room.

“Sekani—” His voice cracked and broke. “I think?—”

“Don’t be a bitch.”

River squeezed his eyes closed and took a couple of deep breaths. Waylin dragged a chair over to the door, pushing it under the knob. I yanked my bag open, pulled out a salt chalk and a knife, and dropped to my knees to draw an intricate circle on the ground in front of the dying girl’s door.

It took a couple of minutes to get it just right but when I did, I stood up and turned to River. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” He attempted a weak smile. “It’s like riding a bike.”

“More like crashing a bike but okay,” Waylin muttered from behind us.

“See you on the other side, River.” I told him. He sucked in a sharp breath and I reached out, grabbing his throat and yanking him forward into the circle. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he started to shake. I released his throat, grabbed his hand and sliced into it with the knife. Blood dripped from his palm.

I really hoped this didn’t take too fucking long or I was gonna have to cut the shit outta him.

“Hey. Hey!” I snapped my fingers in his face. “You fuck in there. I’m talking to you, you dirty gaping asshole, you gonna shake like an epileptic all fucking night or come out and play? I’ve got a date with your mother and you’re making me late.”

The thing inside of River growled.

“Yeah. I’m talking to you. Question. You were in that asylum—the one they sent weak-ass crybabies to—right? What for? Did your mommy not hug you enough? Or did daddy hug you too much? No, I got it.” I snapped my fingers. “It was your uncle. Or hell, maybe all three.”

River lunged at me, his eyes snapping open, and I caught him around the throat. It wasn’t really River, but this ghost was wearing him so it was my brother’s angry blue eyes peering into mine.

“You gotta do better than that.”

He was still too deep in River; I needed him closer to the surface before I pulled him the rest of the way out. Best way to do that? Piss him off. I’d always been good at that.

“But what can I expect really from a two bit, washed up, old ass nutjob like you? I bet you were second rate before you got put away and fell so far down the totem pole even the guy hugging himself in a padded room had you on your knees.”

River snapped his teeth in my face, clawing at my arms and shoulders as he jerked in my hold. I could have pulled the ghost out now, thrown him through the door, but he was so twisted up inside of River that could end bad.

I needed this shithead to drop River like yesterday’s newspaper and really come for me. He was close, getting more and more angry by the second.

Dudes—especially ones from way back when—who served any time anywhere were always so fucking sensitive about their sexuality. They thought taking it up the ass or swallowing a cock made them less of a man. Personally, I thought if you could take six solid inches up your ass or to the back of your throat without crying about it, you were pretty fucking impressive. But hey, I was gay.

“I got an idea,” I whispered in River’s ear. “How about you get on your knees for me now?” I shoved River’s body down. His knees bent. The ghost inside of him rose up, detached more than attached now, and I leapt forward, shoving River’s hand against the door, opening it with his blood.

His back slammed against the entrance when the door opened. The ghost screamed as it fell through and the door slammed shut behind him. It was a one person at a time kinda trip.

River jerked and collapsed. I laid him out and rolled him onto his back. Waylin fell to his knees on the other side of River as I laced my fingers down and started chest compressions.

This part was always the fucking worst.

“One . . . Two . . . Three . . .” I counted to thirty before grabbing his face, tilting his chin up and pinching his nose. My mouth closed over his and I breathed out. As soon as I pulled back, Waylin took over the compressions. I may have hated him for what he did, but I knew I could always depend on him to show up when it mattered.

We worked on River together. It took a good two minutes to revive him, but he came back—gasping and panting and looking like he’d just died which . . . I guess, technically, he had been dead for two minutes.

“Guess that brings your count up to ten whole minutes of being dead. Let’s not add any more time, huh?” I patted his cheek and pulled him upright. Waylin grabbed his hand, wrapping it with bandages from my bag.

River sagged against us, wheezing for breath. I rubbed his back and gave him the minute he needed before my gaze shifted to Ghost Boy.

I still had to deal with him.

I guess today was a two for one special for me instead of River.