I hook the edge of the bag. I force my fingers to close around a tiny pinch of salt, and with everything I have, I fling it at that face.
The ghost’s head snaps up like someone just yanked on an invisible leash. Whatever force was pinning me to the seat releases all at once, and I grip the entire salt bag, grabbing the biggest handful I can manage, and throw the whole thing at the ghost’s face.
The ghost screams so loud that goosebumps rise on my arms. Where the salt hits, the smoke of his body hisses and sizzles, dissolving into nothing like acid eating through paper. His face contorts in agony, those milky eyes going wide with what might be shock, or rage, or both.
Then he’s gone, seeping through the floor of my car like water through a drain, his scream fading away.
I draw in a breath so deep it sends me into a coughing fit, doubling over as my lungs remember how to work. I scan my backseat, expecting him to come lunging back up, but there’snothing else in here except for a dusting of salt covering everything I own. And Bob.
“It’s gone.” I reach for him, but he presses against the seat away from me, which makes me feel like absolute crap.
My stomach lurches.
I lunge for the plastic container I keep my toiletries in, dumping its contents onto the passenger seat just in time for me to vomit into it. I heave until tears drip from my eyes. Some clear substance stretches between my mouth and the container. I stare at the gooey strands hanging from my lips because that’s not supposed to be coming out of me.
I retch again, this time bringing up what looks like a jellyfish put through a blender. I can only stare at it.
What is that? Did the ghost put that in me?
The clear goop is stringy and iridescent, catching the streetlight like oil on water. Bob whimpers from the backseat, and I want to comfort him, but I can barely hold myself together right now. I press my palm against my stomach, expecting to find holes, but there’s nothing.
I hurl up more slime. Tears stream down my face, mixing with the snot running from my nose.
This is too much. This is all toomuch.
Did I really think I could just salt my car and go back to my normal life? Who was I kidding? There’s no normal life anymore. Not when things like this can reach through the floor and violate me while I sleep.
What was I doing, saying no to those guys, anyway? What was I trying to prove? That I was tough enough to handle ghosts on my own? I’m clearly not.
I choke on a sob, pressing my fist against my mouth. Bob needs me to be okay. Ihaveto be okay, but I’m so tired. So tired of pretending I can handle things when everything keeps gettingworse and I don’t know what I’m doing, and I just want someone to tell me it’s going to be fine even if they’re lying.
Every few minutes, I’m doubled over the plastic container again, heaving up more of that disgusting jelly substance that shouldn’t exist. I have to dump it out onto the pavement every time I puke because the coppery smell makes me heave even when I’m not actively throwing up. I want to scrub my skin off. I want to burn this sleeping bag. I want to go back in time and accept Donny’s offer immediately instead of being stupid enough to think I could handle this alone.
The tears won’t stop either. They just keep leaking out like my body’s decided to purge every liquid it’s ever contained, mixing with the slime on my chin until I can’t tell what’s what anymore. I can’t stop shaking and I can’t stop crying, and Bob keeps licking my face like he can fix this.
By the time the sky lightens, I’m curled in a ball with the empty container clutched to my chest, just waiting for the next wave of nausea. Bob’s pressed against my stomach like he’s trying to protect the parts of me that ghost touched, and I love him so much it hurts.
But I’ve had enough.
I clutch Donny’s business card, gripping it so tightly that some slime smears across the cardstock. It’s barely sunrise. Too early to call. I’d never call another person this early in any normal situation, but I’m still leaking slime out of my face from my 3 AM violation by Casper the Unfriendly Pervert, so I’d hardly call this a normal situation.
“Is this Eden?” Donny’s calming voice answers, and I close my eyes, relishing how safe hearing that voice makes me feel.
“I’m sorry I told you no yesterday,” I say, pressing my hand to my mouth because even though my throat is feeling marginally better today, just the act of talking is making me want to throw up again. “If you’d still have me, I really want that job.”
CHAPTER 6
The address Donny gives me is in rural Pennsylvania, four hours and fifty-seven minutes away. As soon as I press GO and the blue line appears, I reach for the gear shift, but my hand pauses.
How am I going to explain this to Ray?
The question makes me reach for the plastic container again, but nothing comes up. Ray gave me a chance when nobody else would. He’s been nothing but kind to me, and now I’m bailing on him with such little notice.
But I need to do this, so I spend ten minutes typing and deleting the same message:
Hey Ray, an emergency came up, and I have to leave town for a while. I’m sorry to leave you hanging. Thanks for everything.
The dots appear. Then:
