What Lies Between (Where One Goes Book 2) Read online

  What Lies Between

  Copyright © 2018 Brandy Toler

  www.bntoler.com

  All Rights Reserved

  This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the authors, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  Cover design: One Josie Photography and Design

  Editing: Rae with Word-Play by 77peaches

  Interior formatting: Integrity Formatting

  Cover photo credit: Rakopton Tanyakamlpn

  The following is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, to factual events or to businesses is coincidental and unintentional.

  For the most beautiful person I’ve ever known, my grandmother, Beebo.

  I miss you every single day.

  Dear Reader,

  It is highly recommended that you read Where One Goes before reading What Lies Between.

  Please be advised that this novel does contain sensitive subject matter.

  Best,

  B N Toler

  Dedication

  Author's Note

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About B.N. Toler

  Sleeping was always my escape. Whenever life felt overwhelming because of my gift, when my mind refused to focus and it felt as if every breath I drew in took all of my energy, whenever I needed to find peace, I knew that in sleep I could leave it all behind for a while and reset. I didn’t dream often, and when I did, I rarely remembered what I dreamt, but this time was different. This time as I slumbered, my dreams brought me here. I was on the ground, beneath our tree, the sunlight illuminating the leaves above me, the array of bright autumn colors comforting me with a bitter-sweet nostalgia. Small rapids rushed over rocks and the brittled leaves bristled in the cool fall breeze. I lay still, letting every muscle in my body relax, fully submerging myself in the melody of mother nature’s sound machine.

  This.

  This was a good dream.

  Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, breathing in the calm and the beauty, until my lungs felt they might burst.

  “Charlotte?” The question came from a voice I hadn’t heard in so long but knew so well. I froze, holding my breath in, keeping my eyes shut, wondering if I’d really heard him, or if I was only imagining it because my dreams had brought me here—to our place.

  “Charlotte,” he called again, the sound of his dog tags jingling under his shirt. “Open your eyes, baby girl.”

  My heart felt as if it might leap from my chest and run toward him. I knew this was only a dream, my subconscious reaching its desperate and hopeful hands for him, but it was so good to hear his voice.

  “Charlotte.”

  All of the air leaked from my lungs in a long whoosh.

  Ike.

  It was Ike.

  “Charlotte…what are you doing here?”

  With my eyes still closed, my lips danced on the edge of a smile. “I’m dreaming,” I explained.

  The sound of dried leaves crunched under his feet as he took a few steps toward me, but I didn’t open my eyes. I was too afraid if I did, he wouldn’t be there. “Charlotte,” he repeated. “What are you doing here?” His tone held an edge.

  Relaxing my smile, I kept my eyes squeezed tight, confusion whispering its delicate fingers against my thoughts. Why was this feeling off? It was a dream…why did Ike sound…concerned? “I’m dreaming,” I reiterated, though my answer sounded uncertain, as if I wasn’t sure.

  Something gripped my wrist tightly making my stomach clench, and my eyes reflexively popped open.

  That dark, perplexed stare met mine, the slightest indentation between his brows as he watched me.

  Ike.

  My Ike.

  My heartbeat thrummed in my ears as joy and sorrow pumped through me. He was as awing as I remembered him.

  And he was touching me.

  My mind halted with that thought.

  Snapping my gaze from his to where his hand still firmly gripped my wrist, reality finally dawned on me.

  He. Was. Touching. Me.

  But it was a dream. Maybe he wouldn’t have been able to touch me as a spirit when I was alive, but in my dreams…he could. That made sense.

  “Charlotte…you’re not dreaming, baby girl.”

  Jerking my stare back to his, I opened my mouth to speak, to question him, but the words remained stunted, heavy and unmoving on the edge of my tongue. Our stares were locked as he moved his head up and down, confirming my thoughts.

  “Charlotte…you’re on the other side.”

  Charlotte

  George faced me as he slept, his hands tucked under his pillow and propping his head up a little. I stared at him, studying the way the moonlight seeping in through the blinds met the sharp angles of his face—he was a beautiful man. Reaching my hand up, I was going to brush the hair from his face, but I stopped short, drawing it back. I didn’t want to chance that I’d wake him. I’d suffered from insomnia for weeks, and bless my husband, he always tried to stay awake with me as long as he could. He never lasted as long as I did, though, and I was glad of that. He needed the rest. I hated that I couldn’t sleep. Aside from it keeping George up, it was my time and place to reset.

  Slipping out of bed, I tip-toed quietly into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Leaving the door open for light, I poured myself a glass of orange juice and took a few sips.

  Furrrrrleese. Furrrrrleese.

  I pressed my fingers against my temple as the sharp pain seared through my head, barely managing to set the glass I was holding on the counter. The pain never stayed long, it was rapid, on and off—like the flip of a switch—but it was always strong enough to stop me in my tracks.

  Furrrrrleese. Furrrrrleese.

  Inhaling a shaky breath, I tried to push down the fear I felt. “God, help me,” I whispered in prayer. “Help me.” I was slipping. I knew it. Something was wrong. It had been months, but I didn’t know how to fix it. It felt as if some kind of momentum was building, pushing me forward—but to where? It felt as if I was a button, press
ed down, being held for a long length of time, and as soon as I was released, I’d explode.

  Furrrrrleese.

  The garbled word brushed my mind as I stared at the Tupperware containing meatloaf on the top shelf. We’d had dinner with the Mercer’s that night and Mrs. Mercer always sent us home with leftovers. George and I broke bread several times a month with the kind couple that had been so welcoming to me when I’d arrived in Warm Springs years before. Maybe it was the loss of their daughter Maggie, combined with the absence of my own parents for so long, but we’d bonded, and I was grateful for them. We had become a little pseudo family of sorts.

  My lack of sleep gave me a lot of time to think…to reminisce. It still amazed me when I thought about just how much my life had changed in the three years since that rainy night I stood on the edge of a bridge, ready to end it all. If it weren’t for the soul of a murdered UVA student named Casey Purcell leading me to the location where her body had been left by her assailant, I wouldn’t have the tiniest shred of the life I have now. But life has a way of changing everything when you least expect it. My show, The In Between, was something I had agreed to do once my gift became public knowledge. All the proceeds have gone to Casey’s Ride, an organization we created in Casey’s name which offers free transportation to students. She’d been followed home from a bar and abducted, raped, and then murdered. Her assailant left her body under a bridge. With her guidance, I was able to locate her body, which allowed her family closure and helped her cross over, and in doing so I was led to Bath County where I met Ike and George.

  I’d come to embrace my gift of seeing the dead—it was a part of me. It was an ability that had once hindered me so deeply I’d almost ended my life because of it. But life can be ironic. I wanted to die because of the dead—but it was the dead that ended up saving me. I was soaked and weary to my soul when the spirit of Ike McDermott found me on Anioch bridge, moments from flinging myself into the river and letting it drag me away from this life.

  Listen, I don’t know you or what you’ve been through, but I know I’d give anything to still be alive right now, no matter what. Don’t waste what so many of us never got the chance to have.

  Ike, a soldier who lost his life in war, a soul caught in limbo, brought me back to the land of the living with those words. He led me to Warm Springs, helped me find a job, and meet the right people. Ike gave me hope. I fell for him and his brother George. And he loved George and I so much, that when it was time for him to cross over, he found peace knowing we were together—that we’d be okay.

  After Ike left, taking a part of both of us with him, George and I found a way to be whole again—together, though life hadn’t always been a fairytale. Between George’s past drug addiction and my ability to see the dead…things could get complicated, but we loved each other and fought for each other. I knew no matter what, George always had my back. And he knew I always had his.

  So when the show started becoming too much for me, he supported my decision to not sign on for a third season. Outside of the direction the producers were going—attempting to make me in to some kind of decked-out-Barbie-ghost-hunter—I was tired. I’d been prepared to help the dead, but what I hadn’t been prepared for was the tremendous sadness. It seemed the more souls I met, the more tragic their demise had been. Not every person passes old and warm in their beds. Some die heinous and awful deaths. There was so much ugly in the world, and it seemed relentless. The longer I went on, the more I seemed to feel. It was becoming harder and harder to cut off my emotions; to not take on the despair many of the cases I came upon rendered. Ultimately, I found myself questioning everything from my gift, my purpose, and even God. I wanted to know why. Why did He make me this way? Why did He let so many terrible things happen? The list of questions went on and on, never finding answers.

  I tried to focus on everything I had to be thankful for instead of what was eating away at me, robbing me of my sleep. It had been three months since I’d had a good night’s rest. Three long, grueling months of insomnia and headaches. It’s funny—actually it isn’t, and I never understood why people use that expression when they’re actually talking about something that isn’t humorous at all—how you can be floating along one day, lost in a moment, naively believing you have everything under control, only to have a single event change your life forever.

  Furrrrrleese.

  Images followed the word this time—dark blank eyes and frail fingers tapping against the wall. The images and sound played on a loop in my mind, over and over, pulling me back to the night we stumbled upon the Hell House and discovered the horrors within its decaying walls.

  We’d wrapped production on the second, and final, season of the show earlier in the day and had just finished a farewell party with the crew at a swanky New York restaurant. Despite being well into June, the summer heat had yet to fully descend on the city, and we’d decided to take advantage of the pleasantly warm evening and enjoy our last night in the Big Apple. George and I were walking slowly, holding hands, our fingers linked together, basking in the contentment of a chapter closing in our lives and looking forward to the next. Sniper and Anna were walking twenty feet behind us, his massive arm draped over her shoulders, enjoying their own lover’s stroll. The two had finally decided to officially be together after years of heinous flirting and off and on dating. I’d never seen Anna happier. Leaving Anna’s daughter River with her mother, they’d come up to join us for a long weekend to celebrate.

  “Are you excited to head home tomorrow?” George asked as we walked aimlessly down the sidewalk, not paying any attention to where we were going.

  I smiled up at him, the idea of sleeping in our own bed curling like a warm embrace around my heart. “I am. Are you?”

  “I’m ready for some time…just you and me. I’m ready to…maybe start thinking about making a little you and me.”

  I froze in my tracks causing him to stop and face me, the corners of his mouth lifting in an uncertain smile. “A baby?” I whispered, darting my eyes toward Sniper and Anna, hoping they didn’t hear.

  His smile fell, his features going slack, when he took in my panicked expression. “I mean…not saying right away, but I thought we could start thinking about it…maybe.” His words drifted off as he shifted my hands to his chest, pulling me in before pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

  A baby? Was I ready for this? I wasn’t so sure. What kind of mother would I be when I see dead people? What if the baby saw them too? What if I seriously screwed up our kid?

  “She’d have your eyes, those fucking amazing gray eyes,” George murmured against my forehead, his voice somehow tempering the panic building inside me. My heart melted a little. He’d said she. He wanted a girl. God I loved him for not being the stereotypical male that wanted a boy. Beverly McDermott had raised her boys right. A flicker of what felt like déjà vu blazed through my mind, bright and sudden—a memory of when Ike had said something similar. The McDermott men were always making my faith in the male gender a little stronger. “She’d have my hair,” he continued matter-of-factly, as if it wasn’t up for discussion. “I don’t like to brag, but I have some nice dreads, dude.”

  I grinned as I tilted my head up and met his dark gaze. His smile was wide across his face causing a flutter to arise in my belly. God, he was handsome—though seemingly simple, that one word held a weight that perfectly summed up George’s features. Reaching up, I gently threaded my fingers through his thick hair. “You do have some pretty luscious locks, Mr. McDermott.”

  He shifted, tucking me to his side, his arm protectively around my shoulder, and resumed our stroll. After a few quiet moments he added, “I’d teach her how to hunt and fly fish…” he paused meaningfully, turning his head slightly and cutting his eyes at me “…like a proper lady.”

  I chuckled, my lingering concerns dissipating as I became enraptured in the daydream my husband was having about our hypothetical future daughter. When George was happy it gave me immense joy—an
d I knew by the lilt in his voice, just the thought of us having a baby made him ecstatic. I reached up and intertwined my fingers with his hand that hung over my shoulder, a rueful smile on my lips.

  “What?” he asked, noting my expression.

  My smile grew bigger. I couldn’t help teasing him a little. “You know, if you have a daughter—”

  “I gotta worry about all the dicks,” he finished, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I know the saying.”

  Laughing, I turned my head and kissed his hand. “She’s not even conceived yet, and you’re already a protective daddy.”

  “I’m not worried about the boys,” he argued. “Between me, Sniper, and Cameron…pfft…” He gave a dismissive shrug.

  “Did I hear my name?” Sniper asked, his sexy Scottish brogue drifting toward us. He and Anna had gained on us while we were stopped.

  “Just stating the fact that with Cameron, you, and me around, no guy would ever get near any daughter of mine,” George explained.

  “God help the lad that tries,” Sniper agreed.

  “We’ve already started keeping an eye out for River,” George called over his shoulder.

  “You two are ridiculous,” Anna chuckled.

  Twisting my mouth, I felt a little sorry for hypothetical-baby mademoiselle McDermott. George was right, with the three of them around, she’d be lucky if she even kissed a man before the age of twenty-five.

  In that happy moment, when we were all laughing and caught up in our reveries, I forgot about my reality for a split-second; forgot that “normal” plans weren’t a luxury afforded to me. That’s when I felt it. My stomach clenched, and I struggled to mask any outward reaction as I cautiously glanced around for the source. My skin tingled as my gaze caught a flicker just ahead of us. Someone was watching us as we walked toward them. I glanced at George to see if he’d noticed, but he seemed perfectly oblivious to the older woman perched on the stoop. George was prattling on about names—Georgeanna, apparently, was at the top of his list—when the woman and I first locked eyes. I jerked my gaze away, hoping she wasn’t dead—maybe George was too caught up in his daydream and hadn’t noticed her, but when the hairs on my arms stood up, I knew. George didn’t see her because she was dead.