15
Itwist my hair into a bun and stick my pen through it, pinning it to my head. It’s a million degrees inside this house, and I’m not sure if opening the windows is helping or hurting the situation. There’s a slight breeze filtering in through the windows, but with it comes the humidity early June loves to hold onto.
The broken living room window will finally be replaced tomorrow, and luckily the guy can come early and get the work done before sunset. It’ll cost me a pretty penny to have old glass put in as opposed to new glass, which is something I wouldn’t have done before. But this house…it’s grown on me. I love it and there’s no chance in hell I’m getting rid of it now.
Getting up to get another glass of ice water, I roll my neck and blink several times, giving my eyes a break. I’ve been on the computer all day, trying to figure out who the ghost is. When I got nowhere, I started looking closer at my victims. Without my badge, I’m limited to regular old internet stalking, which can surprisingly get you pretty damn far. People post way too much personal info on Facebook.
So far, the only connection I found between the victims—other than being males—is that they both went to the same national park within a day of being attacked. Josh, the first victim, went the day before, and Ryan, the second victim, had just returned from a day trip of hiking with his girlfriend.
I take a big drink of water and press the cool glass against my neck. It gives me a little relief, but not enough. I go back to the kitchen table. I’m currently looking at an Instagram profile of a friend of a friend who was with the group of people Josh was with. I’m deep down the social media stalker rabbit hole right now, I know, but I’m getting answers. I think. I hope.
This girl posts a lot, like three or four times a day. I scroll through each picture, checking for tags and hoping Josh’s name pops up. She only tags her boyfriend in the photos, so I look through each one carefully, finding Josh in the background of only one. The whole group is gathered around a waterfall…the same waterfall Ryan and his girlfriend took a kissing selfie in front of.
Opening a Google search, I enter the name of the park, searching for recent deaths. Quite a few people have slipped and fallen over that waterfall in the last few years, with the most recent being a pair of sixteen-year-old girls trying to get the perfect selfie. Both died on impact.
But neither look like Pink Dress Ghost, and it takes a bit more searching and filtering through results to bring up an article from six years ago.
“Lynn Reeves,” I whisper, saying her name out loud. A chill runs through me, and looking at her smiling face feels wrong. She looks so far from the distraught woman I saw walking through my living room. How can someone so pretty and so happy make me feel like darkness is going to take over the world?
I scroll down and get through just a few lines of the article before an ad pops up on the website, slowing my computer down. I click on the X to close it over and over, and then the site freezes and I can’t scroll down. All I know is Lynn fell to her death from the top of the waterfall. Someone knocks on the door, and I jump up, blinking. Who is—oh right. It’s around three-thirty. Jared is here to do yard work.
I take another gulp of water and go to the door to let him in.
“Jesus,” he says when he steps in. “It’s hotter in here than it is outside.”
“Really?” I lean out onto the porch. Shit. He’s right. “No wonder I’m sweaty.”
“This house doesn’t have air, does it?”
I shake my head. “I ordered a few room units from Amazon. They’ll be here tomorrow. Thank God for Prime.”
“Did you get gas for the mower?”
“I did, and some other stuff the guy at the store recommended for engines that haven’t been run in a long time.”
“Good. I guess I’ll get started, unless…”
“Unless?”
“I can ask a question or two?”
“Sure, kid.” I close the front door, intending on getting my water and going back onto the porch where it’s cooler. “Want any water?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
He follows me into the kitchen, eyes immediately going to my computer and notes. The stupid ad finally closed, and a big picture of Lynn’s smiling face fills the screen.
“Working on a case?”
“More or less,” I answer, taking another glass from the cabinet. “What question do you have today?”
“I think I’m going to change my question,” he says, and inches closer to the table. I fill his glass with ice and take it to the sink to get the water. He’s looking over my notes, and I’m internally debating if I should rush over there, snap my computer shut, and tell him to mind his own business…or if this would be a good time to clue him in on a few more things.
I suck at this teaching thing.
“Who’s the girl?” he asks.
“Her name is Lynn.”
