CHAPTER ELEVEN

I sighed with some effort, suddenly overcome with acute mental and physical exhaustion.

I was so tired that when we finally made our way back to the house and put out the bonfire, I nearly passed out on the pull-out couch with my clothes on. Ironically, drunken Ada was the more coherent one.

"What is mom gonna say when she sees you passed out in your clothes?" she admonished.

I nodded at that and slipped into my nightshirt and pajama pants. I threw my clothes on the floor. Papers and change flew out of the jacket. Ada picked up a piece of debris and peered at it.

"What's this?"

I looked closer. She was holding a business card in her hands.

"Who is Dex Foray?" she asked, looking up at me.

I snatched it out of her hands and turned it over in mine. He did exist.

"A ghost," I said dreamily, before falling fast asleep.

The ride back to Portland the next day was strangely silent. I was busy mulling over the events from last night, twisting them over and over again in my brain, which was drained from my restless sleep.

My sister was hungover as hell and already made my dad pull the car over so she could vomit. I hadn't talked with her about what happened in the lighthouse. In fact, I couldn't bring myself to talk to anyone about anything. I felt profoundly different, and as scary as it was to dwell on the unexplained, it gave me a sense of importance. I couldn't go back to small talk and polite nods.

My parents were silent too. My dad was furious with Ada for drinking, and I am sure he was also mad at me for letting her drink. My mother wasn't mad, as far as I could tell, but she was constantly eyeing both of us in the rear view mirror.

I turned away from her prying eyes and looked out the window. Fall had arrived overnight. The sunshine was gone. The wind hurled itself at our car and tore green leaves off of the trees, scattering them in the air. The air conditioner in the car was off, adding to the silence.

I hadn't really come up with any solid conclusions about the night before. Radiohead's OK Computer was playing on my iPod and lulling me into a sort of dreamland, blurring reality. I started second guessing everything that I thought I was certain of.

And that left me at my dream. It was the thought I always ended up with whenever I replayed the scenario through my head (which was most of that morning). Had I really dreamed that? It didn't seem possible. In fact, how could it be? How could I dream something and then live it?

Then again, though it was similar, it was still not the same. Which either meant I was psychic in some really useless way or it was a huge coincidence.

What really scared me was if I had to experience the other dream I had. I wasn't looking forward to a dark figure standing ominously at the foot of my bed.

And Dex. Dex had also been dancing around my head. I was so close to writing off that whole encounter as a figment of my imagination but the business card that Ada found was proof that he was in fact real.

I just wish I knew where he went, what he was doing there…and who he really was. There was something so maddeningly intriguing about him. His voice, his eyes, his mannerisms, his intensity—I wanted to learn more. And I wanted to know if he really was a so-called ghost hunter. I mean, I had been going to my uncle's for a long time and though I've heard weird stuff about the lighthouse, this was the first time anyone mentioned it being haunted, let alone attracting attention from the paranormal community.

I cleared my throat. "Hey, Mom, Dad…"

"Yes, pumpkin," said my mother.

I hesitated, trying to figure out the best way to pose my question.

"Um, I heard from the twins that they keep being contacted by like the Discovery Channel and stuff like that. Something about the lighthouse being haunted."

My parents exchanged strange glances. My dad shrugged as casually as he could muster and eyed me in the mirror.

"That's all nonsense, Perry. There are no such things as ghosts."

"I'm not saying there are ghosts, Dad, I'm just saying it seems a lot of people think there are. In Uncle Al's lighthouse. Kinda weird, right? Did you know about that?"

I watched my parents carefully. Ada did too, now that she was awake. They exchanged another glance and I could detect a barely perceptible nod from my mother.

"No, sweetie, sorry I don't know what the twins have been telling you," he finally said. "Probably pulling your leg. You know how they are. Always trying to scare you."

"Ah," I said and sank deeper into my seat. I looked over at Ada. She looked like hell, but I could see she didn't believe my parents either. The twins weren't lying. My parents were. But why lie about something as random as that?

I must have dozed off somewhere during my thoughts because the lurch of the car woke me up. We were home, our large, quiet house looming above us, the trees waving wildly in the wind.

I got out of the car, the cold gusts catching in my throat and messing up my hair. We'd only been gone a little over a day and yet the sunshine and optimism felt so long ago.

***

I was back at the lighthouse, standing outside of it just underneath the tower. Its insides were lit up like a spaceship with piercing light coming through the porthole windows. A movement at the very top of the lighthouse caught my eye. A man came to the edge and looked over me and the ocean before him. He was fuzzy and devoid of shape or feature. It was as if my eyes couldn't, or wouldn't, focus on him.

He lifted his arm and pointed to the sea. With the light splashing out behind him it made his movements look like grandiose gestures.

I followed his gaze and saw floating pieces of wreckage bobbing up and down among the waves. They glinted in the dark. I looked up again at the man. He was gone.

I faced the ocean and the incoming wreckage. The man was now standing between the sea and me, continuing to search the waves.

I took a step toward him. He wasn't tall or large but there was a feeling of immensity about him. His black coat looked dense like a black hole, and the more closely I looked at it, the more it opened into a deep chasm. It was intensely magnetic.

I reached out for him, to see if my hands would disappear into his back.

He turned around, slowly. I paused, my hands outstretched. I expected to see his profile as it came into my view, but instead it seemed to fade into the night sky. Or the black sky was bleeding into his face. By the time he was facing me straight on, his face was gone and I was looking straight into the sea behind him.

"Everything isn't lost yet, kiddo."

A deep, smooth voice. A Cheshire smirk faded into view and out again.

And then I woke up.

***

Work on Monday was an utter disaster. I couldn't concentrate on anything. If I wasn't thinking about the dream from the night before, I was thinking about the real experience in the lighthouse. The last thing I was thinking about was answering the phones properly. I probably hung up on ten different people.

It was enough, anyway, that Frida, my boss, pulled me aside.

"Are you OK?" she asked, stopping me in the hallway as I was scurrying back from the bathroom.

Frida was just as petite as I was, which always made me feel I could relate to her on some level. She was only about thirty and was known to trade drunken late-night stories with me (or should I say I just listened to them as I didn't really go out like she did). But there were days like today when her skinny face became one of authority.

"I'm fine." I smiled, obviously not wanting to get into it.

"Come with me," she said brusquely, and beckoned me to follow her into an empty office.

With my heart pounding irregularly, I did as she asked and she closed the door behind her. She had this concerned look on her face that made me feel on edge. I had a flashback to a doctor-patient scenario.

"What's up?" I asked as casually as I could. In the back of my head I knew the phones were ringing. Normally my bathroom breaks weren't this long.

"You're not a very good liar, Perry," she stated. That was kind of insulting. I totally thought I was.

I gave a half-hearted chuckle. "I don't know what you—"

"I think you need to go home," she said simply.

"Go home?"

She sighed. It wasn't exasperated or annoyed but more along the lines that she didn't want to get into explaining herself. She was going to have to, though, especially with the quizzical look I was giving her.

"Remember a few weeks ago?" she asked, her voice taking on a warning tone. "You had that little attack of yours?"

Ah, right. No wonder she was handling me with such care.

"I'm fine," I said again, trying to smile brighter.

"Look, it's all right. I know I'm your boss and you can't talk to me about stuff, but if you need to, I'm here for you. The last few weeks, I've noticed you've been a lot different."

"Last few weeks?" I repeated.

She folded her arms and leaned against the door. "Yes. You've been sloppier, more curt with clients. You're looking more tired, like you haven't been sleeping at all. I don't know what's wrong, and I don't expect you to tell me, but I just want you to know that you can if you want to. I'm not going to judge. I'd rather just know."

I felt pretty embarrassed.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I mean, no offense, but I hadn't noticed I was acting any different then."

"But you notice now?"

"I did have a rough weekend," I said honestly.