Page 70 of Error Handling

When we exit the cemetery, we climb aboard the bus to head to the next stop. As the shuttle heads to another haunted cemetery, Chris and I continue squeezing each other’s hands. It takes several moments for my eerie feeling to dissipate.

“That was just a fluke, right?” Chris says.

“Sure. There was no hint of any wind, not even a breeze, and suddenly there was a gust of wind, and then there was suddenly no wind. Happens all the time,” I say.

Chris takes a deep breath and expels it slowly. Then, he reaches his arm around me and snuggles me close. My feelings are raw from the scare, which heightens my excitement over Chris’s gesture. I happily settle next to him for the rest of the ride.

Four stops later, the tour ends in front of the Old Towne Ghost Tours office. I give Cassie my favorable thoughts on Dontrell’s performance. She nudges my arm, looks at Chris, and winks at me. I blush. Chris doesn’t notice the exchange.

When we’re back in his truck, he looks at me. “This is the weirdest date I’ve ever been on.”

I try not to let my internal fireworks show on my face. He called it a date.

“I mean. Whatever this is,” he mumbles. “Just helping out a friend, right?” he adds quickly.

The fireworks sputter out. “Sure, we were helping out Cassie,” I say, trying to play it cool.

“Well, it was interesting, either way,” he says.

“Either way” meaning, either this was a date, or it was just helping out a friend? Which is it? I thought females were supposed to be the complicated ones.

“Now you know more about Charleston. Just in time to leave it.” I can’t help the edge in my voice, even though I have no right to be mad. He’s an adult making adult decisions, which happen to include moving away from Charleston.

A corner of his mouth pinches. Just one corner. What is up with this guy’s lopsided expressions?

“Yeah,” he says. He turns the key in the ignition and yanks the shifter into reverse.

Chapter 13

Chris

The room smells like stale coffee and Lysol. Not the best combination to go with the egg and potato casserole I just warmed up in the microwave. I set my homemade breakfast and my water bottle on the round table nearest the high row of windows and set about calming my hunger.

The breakroom sits behind the Maintenance Department’s main office and is the social hub for CofC’s maintenance techs and hospitality workers. I’m used to my ilk being tucked away out of sight, the dirty blue-collar workers that the professionals prefer to keep on the periphery, but nowhere has it been as apparent as CofC, where they hide the maintenance department in the basement of a former hospital—in an old morgue. The college bought the property a decade ago and remodeled it into an administrative building. As usual, the maintenance department drew the short stick and has to conduct its business where freezers full of dead bodies once sat.

There are no stories of ghosts in the old morgue, but like any normal human, I prefer not to be in the basement aloneafter dark. Although I’m currently alone in the breakroom, the morning sun is pouring through the small windows near the ceiling. For that, I’m thankful. Especially after last night’s tour.

The phantom breeze at the cemetery caused a twinge in the back of my neck that sent shivers down my arms. It was a good excuse to grab Sarah and hold her close. While I eat, I replay the feeling of her hand in mine, and I enjoy the memory of her reassuring touch.

I sigh and grab my phone from my back pocket. I tried to call and text my brother a few times yesterday to find out what was going on with my dad, but I never got a response.

I dial my brother and stick the phone to my ear.

“Hey Chris,” Sam says after the third ring. His voice sounds dull. “Sorry I didn’t call back yesterday. We were on a tight deadline. I haven’t slept since Saturday.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah, I’m headed to bed now. What’s up?”

I shift in my seat. “I won’t keep you. I just wanted to see how Dad is doing. Mom called me yesterday morning and told me he has pneumonia.”

“She thinks it’s pneumonia.”

“Double pneumonia,” I clarify.

“The doctor thinks it’s just bronchitis. She thinks the doctor is wrong by the way Dad’s coughing. His oxygen is staying steady though, so she’s just overreacting.”

“She was in a mood when she called me.”