Page 15 of Ghost Town Boogie

For now five minutes would have to do, though he and Jack needed to have a long, uninterrupted conversation.

Anna left, closing the door behind her, and Colt turned to his old friend. Jack stood near the window that looked over the back yard. So far, he’d been no help at all. He’d refused to answer questions about how and when he’d died. Could he answer? Did he know? He kept insisting Jack tell his mother he was dead. He wanted her to know he hadn’t run away and stayed gone.

“Why didn’t you tell Anna that I’m here?” Jack asked.

“How am I supposed to explain that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, how about telling her the truth? I died for a few minutes and now I see the dead. Jack is right here. He didn’t run! Simple.”

“No one knows what I see.”

“Maybe it’s about time they did,” Jack snapped.

“I don’t want to be the town freak.”

Jack moved too close. “Own what you are, Coltrane Hart. Every town needs their own freak.” With a look of contrition, the spirit drifted back. “Sorry. I… I want them to know what happened.”

“What did happen?”

Jack looked out the window. “I died.”

“How?”

“I’m pretty sure someone killed me.”

Made sense. If Jack had died nearby of natural causes or in an accident, someone would’ve found the body. “Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know who killed you?”

This time the ghost shouted. “I don’t know!”

The window behind Jack rattled. The albums on the bed shimmied and slid. This was… new.

“We need to figure it out,” Colt said. “If you tell me who killed you I can work backwards, solve the crime, and take what I know to the cops. Problem solved without everyone knowing I’m the town freak.”

“Sorry about that,” Jack said. “I’ve been dead five years, and sometimes I’m still an asshole. What a pair we are; a jerk and a loony.”

“You weren’t always an asshole,” Colt said. “Often enough, but not always.”

“You saw the best in me. So did Anna. I want her to… I want Anna and Mom to know that I didn’t run away and stay gone. That’ll be hard for them to believe, since I did have a tendency to run off in a huff when Dad and I fought, or when I didn’t get what I wanted. Stupid,” he muttered. “But I always came back. I would’ve come back that last time, too, if I could’ve.”

“What happened to your body? Are you buried around here somewhere?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re not much help,” Colt snapped.

Jack shook his head. “All I remember is going for a run. It was late. I’d rented a room at the B&B down by the water, and I just… I needed to run. That’s the last thing I remember. For five years I’ve focused on trying to get Mom’s attention. Even Dad’s, when he was living. Do you know how frustrating it is to shout at someone day after day, night after night, and they never hear you?”

“You’ve been making things move.”

“For a long time I tried and nothing happened,” Jack said. “I tried and tried until all I could do was scream. No one heard me; no one cared. Then a few weeks ago it started to work. I hit a chair and it wobbled. I ran my hand through the kitchen curtains and they moved. Now the angrier I get, the easier it is.”

What were the odds that had started when he’d figured out his mother was about to leave this house? “Lose the anger,” Colt instructed.

“That’s easier said…”