Unveiling Ghosts (Unveiling Series, Book 3) Read online

  Unveiling Ghosts

  Copyright © 2017 Jeannine Allison

  Edited By: Stephanie Parent

  Cover Design © Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations

  Interior Design: Champagne Formats

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations for a book review.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Part Two

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Part Three

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Part Four

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Part Five

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Epilogue

  Unveiling Ghosts Playlist

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Other Books

  For my parents,

  Who never made me doubt their love.

  I BLINKED.

  I was on my back. My eyes and throat were burning as I focused on the black sky above me, a thick layer of gray smoke obstructing most of it.

  “Sherry.” A shadow moved over me, his hands on my shoulders.

  “Hunter?” I rasped. My gaze struggled to connect with his.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, brushing hair from my face. His voice was low and worried. I heard sirens in the background as everything came back to me.

  We ran. No, that wasn’t right. He ran. I was carried, my body too weak to save myself. And—

  My birthday. Fire. My parents. Bobby…

  “Mom? Dad?” My voice was a pitiful murmur in comparison to the raging crackles of the fire. I struggled to sit up.

  “Hey, hey. Don’t try to move.” Collapsing back on the ground, I repeated their names, over and over, like if I could will them out and into safety. I was convinced I’d completely lose my voice by the time I was done.

  “Where’re my mom and dad, Hunter?”

  “I haven’t seen them.”

  “W-what?” I stammered.

  “Sherry…”

  I scrambled for some semblance of hope. A tether. Anything to hold on to.

  He shook his head, begging me with his eyes to figure it out so he didn’t have to say it. His soot-covered hand reached for my cheek. I batted it away and scooted backward, looking at him with tears in my eyes. “T-tell me. Say-y it,” I said, my voice breaking several times in just four words.

  “Shh.” Hunter sounded pained as he kept running his hands over me. “Shh… it’ll be okay.”

  We both knew it wasn’t true. Nothing was okay. Nothing would be okay.

  I looked behind him and watched my home being eaten by fire. The flames monstrously large now, to the point where it was more fire than house.

  If only I woke up sooner…

  If only I had been sleeping upstairs…

  “Why?” I turned toward him. “Why?”

  Hunter shook his head, but there was something he wasn’t saying. He didn’t answer me. He just held me, giving up with his words.

  “I can’t. Hunter, I can’t…” I gasped, clutching my chest. Death by heartbreak felt like a very real thing at that moment. “They could have gotten out. Maybe they’re outside… waiting for someone to find them…”

  Hope was cruel. Hope was paralyzing. Hope killed.

  Hope made people irrational and foolish.

  And yet… I hoped.

  “Don’t leave me,” I whispered, my eyes closing against the flames. The crackles and sizzles faded to the background as one last sentence met my ears before I was pulled under again.

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  I WASN’T ALWAYS LIKE this.

  I suppose everyone could say that. Because despite what some people believed, a person wasn’t born inherently good or evil. We all were given a blank canvas. We didn’t always get to decide what was thrown at it; but it had been blank nonetheless.

  People evolved. A person could change into something better, or devolve into something worse. Most simply changed, not necessarily for better or worse.

  Like me.

  I wasn’t always so closed off or tight-lipped. There was a time when I loved people with my whole heart, not just a fraction of it. As a child, I never held back. Any emotion I had, I owned, even the ugly ones. But I wasn’t that girl anymore. Now my emotions stayed hidden. The only thing I wanted people to see was that I was okay.

  I’m okay.

  For four years that had been my anthem. It was the motto I chanted when I stepped on the bus that took me clear across the country from Fletcher, Illinois to Carillo, Arizona. It was the phrase I recited as I walked around campus on my first day of college, an experience I wasn’t supposed to be having alone, an experience I was supposed to be treasuring, and all I had wanted was for it to be over.

  Those two simple words were the promise I made every single morning while I stood in front of the mirror and smiled like life was going exactly the way I wanted. Exactly how I planned.

  It didn’t always feel like an act. There were days I truly believed I was finally okay. But that was the thing about being “okay.” Sometimes you didn’t even know you weren’t until one day something came along and made you see just how un-okay you’d actually been.

  Today was one of those days.

  I was sitting in the stands, cheering on one of my closest friends, Naomi, as she walked across the stage to get her college diploma. Yesterday I accepted mine, and in two days my other friend, Alara, would receive hers.

  I should be more than okay at this stage of my life—I should be excited. I should be eagerly planning my future and how great it was going to be; at least that was what the speeches were touting. And based on the eager nods from students, tears from family members, and thunderous applauses, everyone else seemed to feel that way.

  The culmination of my undergraduate career, combined with the fact that I was starting med school in a couple of months, should have made me enthusiastic. Instead, I felt numb.

  Because every time I closed my eyes, I didn’t see my future; instead, I kept seeing my past. All I saw was all the things I was missing. It had been easy to ignore yesterday because I was only surrounded by my friends, but today I was forced to see Naomi with her mother and brother, and I knew that once Alara’s parents flew in tomorrow morning, I’d have to confront the truth I’d shoved to the back of my mind last night: I have no family.

  No father to tell me how proud he was.

  No mother to cry and hold me tight.

  No brother to scream and cheer when I walked across the stage.

  No boyfriend to argue about plans for the future.

  Nothing.

  I felt like I was on an escalator. I’d t
aken a single step to get on this track, but after that I did nothing to further it. I kept moving, going exactly where I was supposed to, yet I made no conscious choice to do so.

  Some people walked past me, eager to get to their destination sooner and refusing to let others or life slow them down. Then there were others who just stood there, content to let life guide them. They looked sad and they were usually alone.

  They were me.

  Standing still as life forced them forward with no escape.

  Like I said, I wasn’t always like this. I had been excited about my life once. But it was hard to stay excited and move forward when you were surrounded by ghosts trying to pull you into the past.

  Right now though, I was being pulled through the front door of Alara and Naomi’s apartment. The group who’d come to cheer Naomi on had split up after the ceremony, and the three of us came back here to celebrate the last time we’d be together like this.

  I vaguely listened as the two of them discussed our rapidly changing world. I inserted the necessary smiles and laughs and I spoke when expected, but it was all done on autopilot. Alara told us about her new job and that she was moving in with her boyfriend of almost seven months, Gabe, leaving Naomi to figure out an alternative living arrangement.

  “Maybe you could move in with Damien…” Alara suggested.

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t object to that,” I added. Naomi and Damien had only been dating for a couple of months, but he’d been there for her when her mother was in the hospital last month, and I knew that had made their relationship stronger. Anyone looking at them would assume they’d been dating for years. Gabe and Alara were the same way; they’d met at the beginning of our senior year, less than a year ago, but they were completely consumed by one another.

  I looked between my two friends, unable to keep the envy at bay. They both had loving and devoted boyfriends, a feeling I remembered all too well. A feeling I’d give anything to get back.

  Truth be told, I’d spent the last four years searching for it; not just the feeling, but the person who made me feel all those things. I never found him.

  And I was forced to make a deal with myself, that once I started med school, I’d start trying to be happy again. Not “okay,” but happy. I would let go of everything from the past: the ghosts, the memories, the pain, Hunter.

  The idea of finally letting go of Hunter was agonizing. But I was starting to think that holding on to him was hurting me even more. And I couldn’t do it anymore. It felt like holding on to a car bumper that was going eighty mph on the highway. At this point it was stupid to hold on, and with every day that passed, it hurt more and more until I feared it’d actually kill me.

  It had been four years and I’d heard nothing. I looked, I asked questions, I did everything short of seeking out a psychic and asking for divine intervention.

  Hunter had disappeared. No explanation.

  I kept waiting for the empty feeling to abate, for the ache that came from missing him to lessen. It never did. And even though there were some good days, days when I finally thought I’d found peace, it never changed the fact that even the calmest sea eventually experienced a storm. Some days the water merely lapped at my skin, a small reminder that Hunter had been here, that he’d loved me. Other days, the waves pummeled me, leaving me gasping for breath as I struggled to stay afloat, a huge reminder that I’d never see him again.

  Eventually, I had to decide to just get out of the water.

  I could tell my friends had become worried about me lately, and I couldn’t blame them. I’d been slowly letting the sadness and grief I should have felt four years ago surface. It was hard to be happy for them without also being bitter. It wasn’t fair, but life seldom was.

  The more I realized I was about to let go of the hope I’d had, the more the sadness demanded to be felt. After four years of staving it off, it was finally time to face it head-on.

  People talked about hope like it was the greatest refuge in the world; it wasn’t. It was a cancer. Sometimes the damage was survivable, and sometimes it killed you. Either way, its power came from its ability to cripple. Our inclination to hope was what made us human, but it was probably the most devastating thing to count on.

  Hope was unsure. Hope left us in limbo, unable to heal or move on.

  I would have preferred not to have it at all; I wanted to know.

  “Maybe—” Naomi was cut off by an alert from my phone. It was a special ringtone I’d set for any notifications that came in based on a couple key words, Hunter’s name being the main one. I never talked about what I was tracking, and I was typically edgy whenever I checked the alerts. Today, I was simply defeated. It felt like a taunt.

  Still, I slowly got up and made my way to my bag on the other end of the room. When I finally retrieved my phone and stared down at it, I could barely process what I was reading.

  Only two words existed in my mind, and they were both speeding through my head, wrapping around every brain cell.

  He’s alive.

  He’s alive.

  He’s alive.

  I was finally ready to give up, to move on, once and for all. But…

  He’s alive.

  Two words.

  It was amazing the power only two words could hold.

  Four years ago, two words shattered me. He’s gone.

  Every single day since then I’d wake up and look in the mirror, reciting two words that saved me and kept me sane. I’m okay.

  Now two words were changing everything all over again, this time for the better. He’s alive.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alara turn to Naomi, a worried, pinched look on her face. “What do you think—?” she’d started to whisper, only to be silenced by my loud gasp as I let myself believe this was true.

  Part of me thought it could be a mistake, which would leave me devastated all over again. Yet I had no choice but to hope it was real.

  Hope.

  I could have laughed.

  Yup, it was exactly like cancer. Sometimes you thought the fight was over, that it was finally gone, only to find out it had never left. It was simply dormant.

  It really was a persistent son of a bitch, sneaking up and demanding attention even when it wasn’t wanted. At the end of the day, hope was as natural to the human condition as breathing.

  “Oh God.” My friends immediately stood and walked toward me. My gaze was still on my phone, tears in my eyes, the first I’d let myself feel in years.

  “He’s alive,” I whispered in awe. I stroked the screen. Smiling and sobbing before I repeated, “He’s alive.”

  “What? Who?” Alara questioned.

  “Oh my God… He’s alive. Hunter’s alive.”

  “Who’s Hunter?” Naomi asked slowly.

  I didn’t weigh my words like I had so many times in the past four years. I didn’t pretend my emotions weren’t there. I finally let myself be who I’d always been. I let myself speak the truth, without any thought…

  “He’s everything.”

  “Wow…” he breathed.

  “Yeah.”

  “Holy shit…”

  “Yeah.”

  “I can’t believe…”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you’re sure you’re ready to leave so soon?” Derek asked, his gaze roaming to my suitcase sitting next to me on the booth. Derek was Naomi’s older brother, and even though I was close to Naomi and Alara, there was no doubt that Derek was my best friend. We knew almost everything there was to know about one another.

  Our relationship was strange, and I knew Naomi didn’t always understand. But I felt so incredibly comfortable around him. Not in a romantic way; and despite our jokes over the years to annoy his sister, we never even came close to having those kinds of feelings for one another.

  I nodded, dragging a tater tot through the puddle of ketchup on my plate. “I have to. I can’t go another minute not knowing.”

  After I went home last night, I threw my clothes
and necessities into a duffle bag, all while devising a plan to get back to Fletcher. I could barely sleep, knowing that in a few hours I would be on the earliest flight I could find to Chicago. Once I found a ticket, I immediately called Derek and asked him if he could have breakfast with me and drive me to the airport.

  “You don’t think he’s back?”

  Shaking my head, I dragged my cup of coffee toward me and wrapped my hands around it. I felt warm everywhere, and I had a feeling it was more about Hunter than the drink. “I don’t know why they’d publish it if it wasn’t true. But I need to see him, Derek. Talk to him. Touch him. Maybe that sounds crazy—”

  His hand reached out and settled on my wrist, giving it a squeeze. “It doesn’t sound crazy at all. He’s been missing for years. And after what his father said… it makes sense you’d have doubts.” He released my wrist with a shake of his head before picking up his breakfast sandwich and taking a large bite.

  It was true. When I ran into Hunter’s father two years ago, his implication that “an accident” might have befallen Hunter, lodged a different kind of fear in me. It might seem impractical to believe him, but after everything that happened, I no longer doubted what he was capable of. And it had been one thing to think Hunter was missing, it was an entirely different thing to think he might be dead. Derek tried to convince me that his father was only trying to get into my head, but once something like that entered your mind, it was a hard thing to shake.

  “I’m angry, too,” I blurted out. Finally admitting it was hard, but I was troubled by it and I needed another perspective. Derek looked up, sandwich half in his mouth, as he gestured for me to continue. “I’ve tried not to be, but I can’t deny the tiny spark in my belly that says I am. I guess it feels wrong to be mad at him. He’s been gone for so long, shouldn’t I just be grateful that he’s alive and okay?”

  “That doesn’t mean all your other feelings go away,” he responded immediately. “Maybe he left because he was really torn up and guilty over everything that happened. Hell—I know I’d be. But unless you’ve suddenly been dropped into a scene of The Young and the Restless, it was most likely his choice.”