Keagan, wrapping his arms around himself, nods. “The last three days. It came out of nowhere, and I’m afraid to say anything. People will think I’ve lost it.”
“I believe you. You are Keagan, right?”
“Yeah. Who are you?”
“My name is Wilder. I’m here to save you.”
Chapter 2
Keagan
Wilder. What a name. But his face is even more interesting than his moniker. He’s taller than me, and looks pretty fit under his trench coat. He has dark red hair, almost brown, and green eyes; two traits I’ve always been a sucker for. He’s heavily freckled too. My kryptonite. It’s been a long time since a man caught my attention. So long I started to wonder if maybe my college years were just a fluke. But nope. I’m still attracted to men. This one, anyway.
“How did you know?” I ask. “You said it’s your job, but how?”
Wilder isn’t looking at me, instead he walks around my small living room and glances up the stairs. “I’ve been assigned your case,” he says, then turns to face me. “Can we sit? I’ll explain.”
“Yeah, of course.” I gesture to the couch, choosing to sit on one end while Wilder takes the other.
“I’m what’s called a Soul Chaser.” Wilder’s deep voice vibrates like heavy bass. “When souls escape the underworld, I’m part of a team that hunts them down and returns them to where they belong.”
“Like a Ghostbuster?”
He looks slightly annoyed by the comparison, but nods. “If that helps you understand, sure. My job is to locate the offendingentity, capture it, and return your life to its pre-haunting state. What questions do you have?”
A million. I rub my forehead, trying to make sense of everything he’s telling me. “How much do you know about whatever this is haunting me?”
“Probably a little more than you do. Are you aware of who it was?”
“Who it was?” I pull my head back. “What do you mean?”
“All spirits were human once. Is there anyone in your life who would’ve wanted to haunt you?”
I shake my head. “I’ve been trying to think about that for days now. My mom died when I was young, so I don’t know why she’d come back all these years later. My dad died a year ago, but he was pretty absent, so not sure it’s him.”
“So the Horror hasn’t made its identity known to you yet?”
“The what?”
“Sorry,” Wilder says. “We refer to these escaped souls as Horrors.”
“That’s not at all comforting.”
“It’s not meant to be. Can you tell me what’s been happening so far?”
I nod, picking at a cuticle on my thumb. “It was subtle at first—creaking floors, objects moving, things like that. I convinced myself either I was imagining it or it was just the sounds of an old house. Yesterday, it intensified. I’ve been seeing shadows. I started to wonder if maybe it was the original owner of this house. He was killed in a terrible accident on the property when a beam fell on him in the barn and he was basically crushed to death.”
“It’s not the original owner.”
“You know who it is?” My stomach flutters with nerves. “Like, exactly who it is?”
Wilder nods, holding my gaze. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but the soul was your father.”
“What? He didn’t talk to me much while he was alive. Why would he want to now?”
“That’s what we need to learn.”
A knot forms in my stomach, and I know I need to fess up to what I did. “Shit. It might be my fault.”
