Came Back Haunted (Experiment in Terror #10) - Karina Halle Page 0,5

as much.”

She studies me for a moment and then nods. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter,” she says. “Eventually you will have to tell him how you feel. About what you want for the both of you.” She pauses. “And, Perry, based on what you’ve told me in the past, I know exactly why you’re holding back. The fear over those warnings. At some point you have to find out what matters more. What you want. Or what you fear.”

Two

November is a shitty time to be out riding your motorbike, especially in Seattle, and yet for some reason I thought the clouds would hold off today.

I was wrong. The minute I got on Putt-Putt and pulled away from Dr. Leivo’s office in Northgate, the sky opened up and let loose a torrential downpour. Going home via the I-5 would be the fastest way, but I didn’t trust drivers in this city. You’d think they’d know how to drive in the rain considering it rains all winter long, but they don’t, and especially not when you add a little motorbike to the mix.

So I take the long way, driving on side streets, cursing myself for not taking an Uber today while the rain sinks in through my leather jacket, my jeans soaked and cold.

But even with the rain as a painful distraction, I keep going over what Dr. Leivo said. Not just that I need to choose between my fear and what I want, but that she can see ghosts too. I wanted to talk to her about that in detail, because it’s not every day that you come across someone just like yourself. Especially since she’s a psychologist. I can’t imagine the kind of insight she might have.

I’m almost home, and even though the rain is still pouring and I’m completely drenched and cold, for some reason I don’t turn right onto East Denny Way toward the apartment. Instead, I continue along Bellevue Avenue until I’m in the First Hill neighborhood. My brain doesn’t even have time to catch up until I find myself coming to a stop outside the Stimson-Green mansion, AKA the haunted house.

I swing my leg over the bike and walk a few feet, stopping just where the lawn begins. I honestly don’t even know why I’m here, it’s like I was riding in my sleep for the last few minutes.

My phone beeps from inside my leather jacket and I know it’s Dex wondering if I’m done with my appointment yet and if he needs to pick me up in the storm, although now the rain has suddenly stopped, the grey clouds above growing lighter.

I stare up at the house, looking at it with new eyes in the daylight. It doesn’t look as scary as it did on Halloween. The paint job doesn’t look as tired and is a pale yellow instead of a decaying grey, and the dark brown trim looks well-maintained.

The lower windows are still boarded up, but the plywood looks fresh and new.

My eyes drift along the house, moving from the first floor to the third, searching. For what, I don’t know. There’s just some crazy energy pulling my eyes there, making me feel like someone is watching. Or something, of course. Can’t ever rule that fucking out.

That’s when I see it.

A figure.

At a window on the second floor.

A tall, familiar-looking man. A flash of red hair, large hands on the curtains, snapping them closed.

My heart drops in my chest, free falling as I stand there in awe, staring at the window curtains.

That couldn’t have been…

Max.

It looked just like him. I only saw the man for a second, and he wasn’t clear at all, but somewhere deep in my gut I know it was him.

That he’s in that house.

I start walking down the path, being pulled forward like a moth to a flame, not really processing what I’m doing. I just know I saw Maximus, the man who died saving my husband’s life, a man for all intents and purposes, I never expected to see again.

I climb up the creaking front steps, heading to the door.

I stop just before my hand grabs the handle.

What are you doing? I ask myself, blood pounding in my ears.

My hand starts to shake.

Moves forward.

Toward the handle.

Like I’m being pulled.

Like I’m compelled to open the door and walk inside and look for a man that I know is dead, the very man whose name I have tattooed on my ribs in memorial.

“Can I help you?”

I yelp, the magnetic energy

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