The next day came, and the world moved on like nothing was wrong.
Dad went to work, Mom drove me to school, and my friends talked to me about class and their own personal problems.
But I felt like floating through life like a leaf. I heard, saw, and felt things, but nothing changed my feelings. I felt like I was in another plane of existence, looking at my body from above.
It might sound like an exaggeration, but what was I supposed to do after reality fell off a cliff?
It was a ghost.
A ghost showed up every other night, took a car for a ride, and killed people with it. How did that not sound like crazy talk?
A goddamn ghost, a spirit.
The spirit of a douchebag, no less.
How had Mr. Lewis called him? Oh, yeah. A rich kid with a God complex.
A DEAD rich kid with a God complex.
What were we going to do? What could the police do? That's what kept roaming inside my mind.
"Would they even believe us if we showed them the footage? Would they keep running around in circles trying to find a living killer?" I thought as I sat in class, biting my pencil.
As I stared at the lines in my notebook, I suddenly heard the soft chimes of my cell phone. Trying not to let my teacher notice, I quickly picked it up from underneath my desk and looked at the screen.
It was a message from Zack. It was an address and some instructions.
"Pacific / RR--Xing. Meet me after school."
That was it. That's the only thing the boy texted for the rest of the afternoon until I left school.
As we exited that afternoon, I told Lola and Lucy to meet at Lucy's home the next day to work on the final details of our presentation and do some rehearsals. I then walked away in the direction of the bus stop.
After I arrived home from Grandma's, I changed my clothes and went to the bathroom to pee and freshen up. I planned to have a lengthy discussion with Zack about what to do with our knowledge and the footage.
It was time to stop messing around and really do something concrete. Before leaving, I made my mother a small note saying I would get something to eat and return later, just in case she arrived early.
I then rode my bike for around fifteen minutes until I arrived at the part of Vernon Zack had indicated. I noticed it was the intersection of Pacific Boulevard and the train lines that went all around the city.
I stopped my bike and looked around the hot, deserted street, looking for the boy, but I couldn't find him. I wondered if I had arrived too early, but then I heard a soft voice and saw Zack waving at me as he walked up toward me from the other side of the sidewalk, where an old industrial building stood, with its brick structure and its long, brownish, iron chimney.
I walked, dragging my bike to his side, and said hello to him with a kiss on the cheek.
Zack smiled at me and asked me how I was.
"Well, not good," I said. "I mean, I just recently learned that the place my father works at has been haunted for weeks."
"Well... yeah," Zack grinned apologetically. He then pointed with his head and told me to follow him. "Let's talk somewhere else."
We dragged our bikes until we reached the train lines, and Zack told me to follow him behind the old industrial buildings. We walked for a few minutes until we reached an old gate. Zack opened it, and I asked him if it wasn't dangerous. Zack told me that the paper company that worked on the old industrial building had gone broke a few months ago, and he and his friends had found a small space inside where they gathered to drink beer and smoke after school.
So I followed the boy into the building, leaving our bikes outside its walls.
The building was mostly empty, with a few machines and crates scattered around. Zack told me his friend Andy thought this had been a part of the original building, which was later abandoned for newer extensions. We walked up a set of wooden stairs until we reached the second floor, an empty open space. There were no real windows, only large open squares, some covered with wooden planks.
Zack then walked into an open terrace and told me to join him. There, he pulled two cigarettes from his shirt pocket and offered me one. If nothing I had witnessed in the past few days had happened, I would have refused, but I kinda wanted to sedate myself, so I accepted, and he lit both of our cigarettes with a cheap lighter that he kept in his back pocket.
I inhaled the cigarette, and its bitterness hit me right in the back of my throat, making me cough really badly for a few seconds. Zack laughed a little, but he then patted my back and told me to inhale just a bit at a time if I wasn't used to it.
"So..." He said then. "We have a ghost problem."
"Ugh, yeah," I said, still trying to clear my throat.
"We should have seen it coming, you know?" he told me, raising his eyebrows.
"Why?" I asked him, confused.
"The tale the old man told us. It was out of a freaking horror movie. A dude gets killed in a car accident, and decades later, his car is found, guarded by a fangirl, all wrecked." Zack said.
"Nobody thinks tales like those lead to real things," I told him.
"Maybe they should because, in our case, it has, hasn't it?"
I took a small puff of the smoke and sighed, staring into the boy's dark eyes.
"What are we going to do, Zack?" I asked, concerned. "I came here mostly to know or at least make up a plan, a real one. We need one."
"I don't know!" Zack whined, taking a deep puff. He then exhaled. "I don't know how to deal with ghosts!"
"Did you at least show the footage to your dad?" I asked him, and he shook his head while crossing his arms.
"Well, then, the first question should be, should we? Should we show it to them?"
"They are not going to believe us," Zack said, turning away. "They'll say we made it up."
"If we don't show it to them, then there's no way we'll show it to the police," I told him. "They are the first barrier."
Zack told me maybe it was better to keep the footage to ourselves. In the end, his father had already taken the wheels off the car so it wouldn't escape.
"And then what?" I asked, a bit exasperated. "Just wait to give it to Mr. Lewis and hope it doesn't kill him?"
Zack turned back and stared at me. I walked toward him and confronted him about the possible consequences of such a decision.
"Zack, what if it does kill him? They could blame our parents for it. Have you thought about that?"
"What if it doesn't kill him? What if it's just a night thing?" Zack then asked me.
"Maybe it's just a night thing, and Mr. Lewis will arrive home safe. But as night falls, then what? What if the car escapes?" I asked him. "He could blame us for it."
"You don't know if he will blame us," Zack said. "He might think it's just a thief, like at the shop."
"Not if there's evidence of the car being taken away previously," I said, pointing at Zack with the cigarette. "I might end badly. And most likely, they'll point the finger at us."
Zack sighed and scratched his forehead with the hand holding the cigarette. He then shrugged.
"Fine, so we show them the tape, even if they don't believe it. Then what?"
I told the boy I didn't know, but at least if we showed the footage to both of them and they didn't do anything about it, then at least we couldn't blame ourselves when everything went to shit. Then, it would be their fault. At least we would have tried.
"Okay," Zack said, nodding. "At least, can we do something about it in the meantime?"
"I don't know," I said, shrugging. "Salt?"
"What?"
I explained to Zack that, while looking for solutions, I had read salt was used to protect from evil spirits, and maybe we could use it against the ghost of Delaney.
"Maybe we can place a small bowl of salt inside the garage," I said, to which Zack agreed.
"Okay, I'll hide some around," Zack said.
"Try to use the salt you use for grilling, that thick one. I think it's a better option than regular table salt."
"Why?" Zack asked.
"I guess it's purer?" I asked, "I don't know, I didn't research further?"
After making up our little plan, we returned to the building to escape from the harsh sun. While we sat down and finished smoking, Zack opened his small backpack and returned the Teddy Bear, thanking me and Lola for it.
I asked him if he had something else inside, as it looked like it did, and he said that he had the two Walkie-Talkies that his friend Oscar had let him use.
"Why are you returning those as well?" I asked him, curious, thinking they were a good way to hear any sounds.
"It's a ghost. We know that now," Zack said, closing the backpack. "I don't feel like hearing weird ghostly sounds when I'm by myself anymore."
I smirked at him and told him I kinda agreed.
We then stared at each other for a while and smiled. It felt nice to be together again, alone, with no one else watching us. It felt comfortable and relaxing, like it always felt when I was with Zack.
Then, suddenly, the urge to kiss him came back, and I blushed as Zack's eyes noticed my change in expression. I then looked away when I noticed he was getting confused. He was probably wondering if something was wrong.
I asked myself why I didn't just kiss him. I mean, I had seen a real ghost for the first time; why would I be scared of a real kiss?
I laughed at my own self-reflection and looked back at him, who was now scratching his face. I then moved close to him, and instead of placing my lips on his cheek like I had the last time, I finally kissed him in the mouth, feeling a slight tingling of electricity the moment our lips connected.
As I pulled away, all flustered, I hoped I hadn't made a mistake by doing that. But after seeing how pink and shy he had turned, I realized everything was fine. He then stretched his arms and placed them around my body, holding me close.
I finally rested my head on his chest and stayed there for a long time. Lord knows I wished every moment could be like that.
Later that afternoon, I sent two messages.
The first one was to Lola, telling her I would give her the nanny cam back the next day, while the second one was to Zack, asking him when and how he would show the footage to both our fathers.
After a small conversation, Zack and I agreed that the best time to do so was the following day, while they were both at work, and to introduce the footage solely as Zack's idea, so they wouldn't know that it had been our plan all along.
That evening, more relaxed, I worked on my school project and dined with my parents, feeling that things were falling into place. I was still worried that our fathers wouldn't believe us, but I had to accept that some things were out of my control.
The next day, morning passed quickly, and classes were way more dynamic than on previous days. As I was more relaxed and focused on things at school, it felt like the good old days before any ghosts invaded my life. At lunch, I gave Lola the nanny cam, and she asked me how the whole thing had gone.
"Zack took some footage, and it's pretty revealing," I told her. "It seems we might be dealing with something like a ghost."
"What's a ghost? The thing in the garage?" Asked Camilla, eating ravioli from her plastic bowl.
"Yes, but it's more than that," I told her. "We think the thing in the garage and the person going around in the car are the same."
"That's impossible!" Lucy gasped, "How can a ghost drive a car?"
"I have no idea, but the footage shows it."
"Are you sure it's a ghost?" Camilla asked, "Couldn't it be a trick of the camera?"
"Here, let me show you," I said, sending the three of them the footage Zack had sent me.
A few minutes passed, and my three friends looked at the footage. Camilla was hesitant to believe it was true and not just a joke Zack was playing on me. Lucy and Lola, on the other hand, expressed their horror at the footage, especially at how the man walked.
They asked me what we were going to do about it, and I told them Zack would show the footage to both our fathers that same day, with the hopes they would believe enough of his tale to do something, anything, from exorcizing the car to just giving the footage to the police.
I told them it didn't matter what they did. I just cared that they did something about it. However, in my head, I still hated the idea of not doing something more. But I was tired of getting punished for trying to help.
"Well, I hope they believe him," said Lola. "Because if it's a spirit, it won't stop until it finishes its business."
"What do you think is its unfinished business?" I asked her, curious.
"I don't know," Lola said. "But all spirits have one and cannot leave until they are done. Or until they are pushed through into the other side."
"I see," I said, nodding.
That was an interesting point. The thing had business to finish, a goal to reach, and a meaning to achieve. But why did it translate to death and destruction?
That afternoon, as I worked with Lucy and Lola on our project, a small bit of anxiety crept up on me. It was the anxiety of knowing Zack would be showing the footage to my father and the fear that nothing would come of it.
But I had to shake that anxiety from my mind, as the day after, we would be presenting our project about the indigenous fauna of the California mountains. I had to be a hundred percent focused on my vocabulary and mannerisms. Thankfully, I managed to do so and prepare myself enough for the next day of class.
Then I went home and tried to loosen up by watching some shows on my cell phone.
My father arrived home in the evening, and at first, I thought of asking him how his day had gone the moment he walked in, but knowing it could end up sounding suspicious, I waited till dinner time.
So after Mom and I prepared some nice chicken casserole and set up the table, I sat up in my chair, and after taking a few bites of my food, I asked my father how his day had been.
"Fine," was the only thing he said at first.
"Like how fine?" I asked then, trying to nudge the conversation forward. "Did you solve the whole thing with the mechanic who needs to leave?"
Dad nodded and told us that they would move Pedro to work on the other car while Mr. Vinton and he prepared the Thunderbird's last details.
It would be easy, as it was almost done anyway, just missing a few touches.
"Are you glad you are getting rid of it?" Mom then asked him, trying to cheer him up.
"Sure am," Dad said, not looking very convinced.
"You don't sound so sure, Dad," I then asked, interested.
"Well...," Dad then said, shrugging. "Cam's kid came up to us with something, and I don't know, it's weird."
"How is it weird?" Mom asked, taking a sip of her wine.
"He showed us footage from the garage, and something looked like a man. We think it is the thief."
"Really?" I pretended to sound surprised. "You think it's the man that's been driving the Thunderbird around?"
Dad shrugged again and told us that at least they thought so. Zack, on the other hand, was going all nuts about it, saying it was the ghost of Corky Delaney, the boy who died in the car decades before.
"But that's just nonsense," Dad said. "I think the kid has too much imagination."
"Zack certainly has," I thought, "but this is not it, Dad."
"So, what are you going to do about it?" Mom finally asked him.
"The Thunderbird leaves on Saturday, so there's that." Dad said, "But just in case, Cam called the police and gave them the footage. Hopefully, they'll catch him so he doesn't bother us anymore."
After Dad stopped talking, I sighed, both disappointed and relieved. On the one hand, they had not heard Zack regarding the man's identity in the footage, but on the other hand, they still delivered the footage to the police. I just hoped, in case the crashes continued, the police would be able to do something when they realized it was the same guy.
It was out of our hands. There was nothing we could do to stop Delaney if he continued his rash of deaths. We could only pray someone else would know how to stop him.
So that night, when Zack called me, I talked to him and congratulated him for at least trying. He sounded disappointed they didn't believe his story, but at least glad that the truth was out there.
If someone wanted to know who was at the root of all the problems, there he was, in the footage.
"Do you ask yourself, why is he doing all of this?" I asked Zack, reflecting on the idea of a ghost's unfinished business.
I've heard about that but never truly thought about it. Also, Delaney's modus operandi didn't seem to work in the "traditional" way. So, it had to be something else besides love or revenge. It seemed to be more personal.
The boy didn't respond at first, but after a while, he said, "I think it's like Mr. Lewis told us. He just never lost."
"What do you mean?" I asked him.
"He never lost, even when he died. He was cheated," Zack said. "I think even after his death, he just thinks about winning."
"So, you think he'll stop if he loses a race?" I asked.
"Or until someone exorcizes the car, I guess," Zack said. "But that's out of our reach now. We just have to hope for the best."
"I know," I sighed.
The next day arrived, and for the most part, it was a great day. The only thing that disturbed the calm was the rumors around the school that the board was considering suspending classes for a few weeks because of the spreading disease.
That afternoon, I arrived home and played some videos while eating a taco from a family meal that I had gotten from a Mexican restaurant nearby. When evening came, my parents and I ate the rest of the meal and talked about work and school.
As I ate my burrito and sipped on my soda, I felt things were improving for the first time. Problems were seemingly going away, even though I was still worried about the future of the Thunderbird.
God, was I wrong.
The past few days, since Mr. Vinton had taken the wheels away from the car, had just been the calm before the storm.
After my usual conversation with Zack around bedtime, I watched an old film online. The film was about car chases and cool drivers. Afterward, I lay my head on the pillow and began imagining how I would have done the same stunts as the driver in the movie.
I knew that things weren't as easy as they seemed. The chases were prepared and choreographed, and in real life, many of them would have ended in a crash. Also, I knew I still hadn't had the practice and the skill the men in the movies had. Still, I hoped that after things were over and my punishment ended, I would be free to go around Vernon and improve my abilities with Zack by my side.
I placed my cell phone on the side table and turned off the lights, leaving me staring at shadows and the soft rays of moonlight that came through my curtains.
Close to midnight, as I was falling asleep, I suddenly heard one of the weirdest sounds I'd ever heard. It was the ring of my cell phone, which shook on the side table. But simultaneously, I could hear the sound of my father's cell phone at a close distance.
They were both ringing at the same time.
"That's weird," I thought.
Or one phone rang or the other, but certainly not both.
After asking myself what this could mean, my breath stopped a little as I picked up the phone and looked at the number calling me. It was Zack.
"Hello?" I heard my dad ask, and then there was a large silence.
I accepted the call and suddenly heard the boy cough.
"Zack?" I asked, concerned.
I heard Zack trying to tell me something, but his voice was muffled by heavy breathing and coughing.
"Zack? What's going on?" I asked again.
As Zack tried to regain his voice, I heard my father ask Mr. Vinton to calm down and tell him what was happening.
"Zack, what happened?!" I then shouted, really scared.
Why were the two men calling us at this hour of the night? This couldn't be good. I knew something terrible had happened, but I prayed it was not that bad. I was thankful that, at least, it meant they were both okay.
"Zack?!" I shouted again as I heard him trying to tell me something.
"Are you serious?!" I heard my father scream and jump from the bed.
I heard my father mumble, upset while walking around his room. The closet doors opened and closed violently. I could guess he was angry, but probably also scared.
Zack then slowly formed a sentence on the other end of the line, amongst coughs and what seemed to be sobbing.
"It's....gone," he finally said.
"Goddammit," I thought.
"Zack, it's the car gone again?" I asked.
"No," Zack said, and suddenly, I heard our bathroom door slam shut.
My father was clearly freshening up in a hurry. Something was happening, and my father was getting ready to leave. If he had to go and see what was happening, this was bigger than Delaney driving away with the car.
"What do you mean, no?" I asked, terrified.
"Well, yeah, the car left again," Said Zack, his voice distorted by sobs, "But Tammy...the shop...the shop is gone."
"What?!" I asked in shock. "What do you mean?!"
"The shop, it's gone! It's all gone!" Zack exclaimed and then cut the call.
I shrieked a little after he cut the call, but then he sent me a message, telling me that it was better to show me, as he didn't have the strength to talk. I texted him I was sorry, and how terrible it was that the shop was gone, but how?
He then face-called me on the phone, and I picked up. He didn't talk the whole time, but I could hear his cough as the image began to move toward the street. I saw him turn around the corner, and then I saw it.
"You have to be kidding me!" I screamed inside my head.
The flames were visible from afar. And they were big. Really big.
The image shook a bit as Zack skipped to the other side of the street, away from the shop, but it was a disaster; I could just see it in the small snippets of images. He then placed the cell phone in front of the terrible spectacle, and between his sobs and coughs, I observed the fire engulfing the shop like tongues of fire eating the metal and the wood until nothing was left.
I sat on the edge of my bed, covering my mouth in abject horror.
The shop was indeed gone.
Mr. Vinton's business, Zack's second home, and my father's job. It was all gone, slowly being eaten by the fire. The cars, the vintage decorations, the museum. All memories scorched from the earth.
I heard Mom knock on my door, and I told her to come in. She opened the door, and I could see the distraught look on her face.
"I know," I told her, breaking into tears.
Mom came to my side, and after finally cutting the call, she embraced me, and we both cried together.
The car was gone, Zack had said. Delaney had taken it.
That son of a bitch was at fault for this; I was sure of it. And I didn't care if he was a ghost; he was the Devil to me.
He was the Devil and had brought hell with him.