Chapter 2

Mott Street sat next to Front Street sat next to Clay Street, and on and on they went, crowded city roads jammed so close together, there was hardly room for cars to drive down one, let alone turn onto another.

After the quiet country lanes of little Dusk, North Carolina, San Francisco had been a huge culture shock for the Weir family. It had taken Jake a few days to get used to all of the funky side streets and odd-shaped buildings that awaited him every time he ran out to the corner market for a candy bar or a fresh notebook.

The Cathedral Apartments building in which the Weirs now lived was tall and sleek and new. It overlooked the San Francisco Bay and sat close enough to famous Fisherman’s Wharf restaurant that Jake could smell the crab claws in the morning trash or the fresh shrimp frying at night.

The apartment itself boasted a long wraparound balcony and large picture windows, and since it came furnished, there was no need for their milk crate bookshelves or fold-up picnic tables.

There were four bedrooms, which meant that both Tank and Jake had their own rooms and there was still one left over for the computer monitors and digital editing equipment the Paranormal Properties team needed to cut their episodes together.

That was where Mr. and Mrs. Weir were now, fussing and fighting over how much of the falling caricatures to include in the teaser footage to show the folks at the Scream Channel.

Jake snuck past them as he brought two sodas out to the balcony, Tank’s new favorite place. He paused in the doorway and watched her for a moment as she relaxed against the far railing before he slid the glass doors shut and alerted her to his presence.

She was looking north toward the Bay. Her hair was cut short in that tomboy style she liked, and since her latest growth spurt, she looked thinner.

She wore green sweatpants with brown stripes down the sides and a yellow track jacket, her favorite color. She looked comfortable and rested on the outside, but Jake knew she was still grieving the loss of her father. He had passed only a few months earlier, and she would often sit alone for hours at a time, staring off into the distance and thinking. About what, Jake could only guess.

He didn’t like to see his best friend that way, but his mom said it was natural. “After your grandma passed away,” she’d told him, “it took me three years to quit staring into space just like she does.”

Jake slid the door shut and watched Tank jump a little, as if she’d forgotten where he had gone – or that he’d eventually come back.

“Hey,” he said quietly, as a shy grin passed across her face. “You okay?”

She smirked and accepted her Goober Grape soda. The Weirs might have had a high-rise apartment overlooking San Francisco Bay, but some habits die hard: they still bought knockoff-brand everything.

“Thanks,” she said, slinking down into the deck chair that sat beside the cozy fire pit they lit most nights. “I was just thinking of my dad. He always wanted to go to San Francisco.”

“He never did?” Jake asked, then took a sip of his own soda.

Tank shook her head. “He was always too busy with work. I’m not sure, even if he’d come out here, if he would’ve enjoyed it.”

Jake nodded and sat his can on the stone table surrounding the fire pit coals. “I wish he could be here with us, Tank.”

She shrugged, her voice creaky as it was so often these days. “Me too. I like to think he’d be proud of what we’re doing here, helping these ghosts find peace and all.”

Jake nodded again. “I hardly ever think about the stuff we do all day, but…does it freak you out that we talk about dead people all the time?”
She snorted quietly and shook her head. “This might sound kind of weird, but it…kind of makes me happy that Dad isn’t just worm food in the ground, you know?”

Jake flinched. Tank always did have a way with words.

She smiled wider, as if shoving her grief away. “What are the folks up to?” she asked, looking past Jake toward the floor-to-window sliding glass doors that led into their spacious apartment.

“Figuring out how to tease the folks at the network with yesterday’s footage without giving too much away.”

“Crazy wild how that stuff fell down and then went back up in the cabinet, huh?”

Jake studied his drink. “I’ve never seen anything like it. My folks haven’t either.”

Tank looked over Jake’s shoulders, first his left, then his right. “How about Frank?”

Jake gave a short laugh. “Haven’t seen him since then,” he said, and it was true. When they had left the Balthazar Hotel, Frank had stayed behind, perhaps to consult with the ghosts still frozen in time, stuck in 1921 forever.

Tank wrinkled her nose. “You sure you’re not lying to me?”

Jake shot her a glance. “Why would I lie?”

“I dunno.” She took a long gulp of her soda. “I hate that you can see ghosts and I can’t.”

“Jealous much?” he teased.

“I think it would help me do my job better.”

“You know we don’t get paid, right?”

“I still like to do a good job,” Tank said, stretching her broad arms above her head before climbing from her chair.

“Where ya going?” Jake asked. “I just got comfortable.”

She laughed. “Don’t let me stop you. I checked out some books on the hotel fire from the library and I wanted to read them before bed.”

“When did you have time to do that?”

She ruffled his hair as she passed by on her way inside. “This morning while you were still in bed, sleepyhead!”

Jake shook his hair out, watching her go. She closed the sliding glass door behind her, poked her head in the “editing room,” and then drifted quietly to her own bedroom.

“She’s still not sleeping well.”

Jake started when Frank appeared in the spot where Tank had just been standing.

“I wish I could bring her peace,” he said.

Jake settled back into his chair and sighed. “She’ll find it,” he said, as if he really believed it. “She’s strong.”

“She only looks strong,” Frank said, sitting down across from him. It always made him smile to see Frank do human things, like sit in a chair without falling right through to the floor. The way he explained it, he had reached a “state of being” in which he could be as solid, or as ghostly, as he preferred. “She needs you, Jake.”

“I’m here,” Jake said, a little defensively. “I ask her. She’s never honest enough.”

“Would you be?” Frank asked. “She doesn’t want to appear weak.”

“Weak?” Jake muffled his laugh of surprise in case someone was listening to him talk to an empty chair. “She could pick me up and drop-kick me all the way to Fisherman’s Wharf!”

“Not that kind of weak, Jake,” Frank scolded playfully, gesturing toward the fire pit. “Aren’t you going to turn it on tonight?”

Jake snorted, but he was shivering all the same. Frank always made him feel so cold when he was around. He leaned forward and fiddled with the settings on the propane tank before pushing the red button that ignited the small, crackling fire.

“That’s better,” said Frank when Jake sat back.

“What took you so long at the hotel?” Jake asked, putting his feet up on the edge of the pit.

Frank’s face sobered as he stared into the fire. “It’s a dangerous place,” he warned. Their eyes met over the flickering flames. “I’m not sure your family should go back.”

“What?” Jake scoffed. “We have to go back. That’s our job.”

Frank’s face grew stern, the wide hem of his black fedora shaking with his head. “Some things are more important than work, Jakey Boy.”

“What’s so dangerous about it?”

“I’ve never felt so much anger in my life,” Frank said, before quickly correcting himself. “I mean, my afterlife. There is real danger there, Jake. And I’m only one ghost. I don’t…I don’t know if I can protect you all this time.”