"Seeing Is Believing" - Excerpt

by Abigail Roux

Do you believe in ghosts?

Some people don’t, I know. Some people are so adamant about their certainty in the world that anything unexplained just doesn’t register with them. And some people are simply too scared to think about it.

Some people don’t believe in ghosts, and that’s fine. I’ve never tried to convince anyone or explain my beliefs before, not unless someone expressed interest in hearing my opinions. And that, quite frankly, is a discussion that rarely comes up, save for around this time of year. Why people think Halloween is the only time ghosts come around I don’t know. But hey, whatever works.

Some people don’t believe in ghosts, but I do. If you don’t, you may just want to skip this because you’ll probably think I’m mad. A ranting, raving lunatic who has serious delusions and who needs to be given a valium or two. If you don’t think that already, that is. But you don’t even know me so …well, just bear with me, yeah? If nothing else, you can sit and have a nice laugh.

Anyway … I’m not going to go into the specifics of how or why because, honestly? I don’t know how or why. So why am I here? What do I know? I know that I firmly believe that some people are more sensitive to such things than others. And I know that I’ve heard them. And I’ve felt them. And I’ve seen them. And I know that what I’m going to tell you is the God’s honest truth.

I consider it a gift. Some people … some people don’t. Some people don’t even believe it’s real. And that’s fine.

I can’t really tell you how I got into doing what I do. I wish I could remember, but since I don’t, I’m sure it’s not really of much interest. I do recall that it was a very gradual type of thing. You know, the typical kind of climb to success that some people have, it started with family ringing you up and asking you to come ‘get this damned ghost out of my shower, I need to wash my hair.’

And then it spread from family to friends. Then to friends of friends. To casual acquaintances. To strangers in the pub. And then before I knew it, it was my life. It was what I did.

I’m the first to admit that I’m not a very good storyteller. I tend to ramble a lot. And I get easily distracted by what we’ve taken to calling ‘Shiny Things.’ But see, Andy’s not really the storytelling type, he thinks it’s all bollocks anyway, and he’s not likely to be friendly. Leo … well, you just don’t want Leo telling a story, know what I mean? He’s worse than I am.

Anyway, that’s Andy and Leo over in the opposite seat. They’re both great guys, they really are. A little rough around the edges when you first meet them, granted, and Andy tends to like to pick me up and toss me around when he gets in a tizzy because I’m the smallest, but he’s really just a big teddy bear. Who growls. With, you know … weaponry.

And Leo … well, how does one go about describing Leo? You’ll really just have to see him in action, I think. Words don’t do him justice.

Anyway. Like I said, I can’t really tell you how I got into this business, nor can I tell you how the three of us fell in with each other. But we’ve been together for quite a while. Quite a while … days like this it seems like fifty years, to be honest. They’re having a tiff right now, you see. They’re lovers, in case I didn’t make that clear. Yeah. I know you wouldn’t think it to look at them, what with them being big, huge, manly men and the scowling and the growling at each other and the hitting when they think I’m not looking, but they are. They’re really very cute, if I may be permitted to use the word. When they’re not trying to kill one another again and all that rubbish.

But that’s not really the point. See, I’ve decided that some of our jobs are worthy of sharing. And this is my first experiment in doing so. A nice, calm job. Something that sounds as if it will be easy.

So here we are, winging our way across the Atlantic to the States. Private jet. See? We can be credible, too. Classy like.

Try not to laugh too much, okay?

 

“Are you the ghost people?” the man asks as he comes out to meet us. We’re tired. Our asses hurt from too many hours on a plane and then too many hours in a car on a bumpy dirt road, and we are not in the mood for the ‘aw shucks’ routine. But the man is good-looking, I’ll give him that. About six feet tall.  My height, thank God, I’m tired of being the little one. And he seems to be genuinely pleased to see us. Some clients still have that sour-faced aura of disbelief about them, as if they’ve been forced by someone to call us. This man, however, is all too pleased to see us.

“We are indeed,” Leo answers cheerfully as he tromps up to the front porch of the cozy little ranch house and sticks his hand out for the client to shake it. “Leonard, Leonard Gallant, nice to meet you. Call me Leo. This is Andy Talbot. We haven’t quite got him fully trained yet, he still just growls and grunts, and that’s Zacharias Blake.  Call him whatever you want, but you’ll want to be nice to him, he determines the payments. Sorry we’re a bit late. We got lost as fuck getting out here. When you said turn at the horse by the road, you weren’t kidding, huh?”

Leo’s still talking, but I’ve long since learned to tune his rambling ass out and filter for the important things. Like ‘duck’ and ‘run’ and, my personal favorite, ‘oh, holy hell!’

You’ll learn too, if you stick around long enough.

“Scott Cunningham,” the client responds, nodding to each of us in turn. His smile is nice. It’s kind, in a worn sort of way. He looks like the type who’s had a hard go of it at some point. I like him.

I nod back at him, smiling as I hitch my bag higher.

“Do you want us to get started right away?” I ask. “Or can we –”

“No, no,” he says quickly. “Come in. Eat. Drink. Sleep. Won’t be dark for another eight hours at least. Don’t you need it to be dark and all that?”

“It helps,” I respond with an easy smile, although no, it doesn’t usually matter. I follow Leo and Andy up the front steps. I stop as I reach the top and hold out my hand to him, and he takes it in a firm grip and smiles as he shakes my hand. “Zach,” I tell him with a small, cheeky smile.

“Scott,” he responds in the same tone, and he gestures for me to come in with the hand that’s not still gripping mine. “Come on in, and I’ll fill you in on my … problem. And in return, you can fill me in on what exactly it is you do.”

“We’ll be delighted, sir,” I respond cheerfully, and I’m thinking … I’m thinking I’m going to like this one.

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