again?”
“It’s just nice to see you again,” I say honestly. With Dex living in Seattle and me in Portland, I only ever see him when we film. And in the between time, I miss him.
A blush starts to creep up my neck. I can feel it.
He gives me a smile that reaches his eyes and shows perfect teeth that are quite white for a smoker. “Well , it’s nice to see you. Too bad you’re not bunking with me tonight at my motel.”
I give him a sharp look, not sure if he’s kidding or not.
He smiles again, almost leering . “I’ll probably be shaking in my boots after tonight with only my pillow to hug.”
The waitress comes back and gives me my wine. He gives her the same kind of smirk. This is how I know he’s messing with me.
I roll my eyes. “So what is our plan for tonight anyway? Are we just going to sit here and drink and wait for the ghosts to show up?”
“Patience, Perry,” he says and takes another gulp of his drink. He gestures to the wine and nods at it. “Have some of that and relax.”
I take a sip of the acidic merlot and look around me. As gorgeous and old-fashioned as the hotel is, there are so many people about, and I can’t imagine how on earth the place could be haunted. But apparently it is. In fact, Portland has a few ghost tours that come around and poke their heads in the hotel a few times a week. I doubt anybody ever sees anything , though.
“Are we the first ghost hunting show to come inside here?” I ask Dex.
He coughs on his drink and shakes his head. “Fuck no. We’re a bit behind on this one. I think just about every ghost hunter has been in this hotel at some point or another.”
“Do they ever find anything?”
He gives me a wry look. “What do you think? Of course not.”
“What makes you think we will?”
He smiles again and reaches over with his hand to pat me softly on the head. “Because I’ve got you, kiddo. You’re my little ghost bait.”
I think back to Red Fox, to a moment when Dex said I might be offered up as bait to the skinwalkers. The idea bothered me then and it bothers me now. I take a longer sip of the wine this time.
He’s watching my face closely, as usual, and he still keeps his hand there. I’m not sure if he’s trying to comfort me or what. I shoot him a deadly look from the side of my eyes.
“I’m joking you know,” he finally says, his voice less rough, less gravely. “I just mean, well, you know there’s something about you, something that attracts these things. You’re like a secret weapon.”
“Some weapon,” I scoff and look down into the glass, my vision becoming a blur of deep reds. “What’s the point of just attracting these…things? These people? If I could use this…power…whatever it is, for good…that would be a different story.”
He shrugs and takes his hand away, his attention back to his own drink. The back of my head feels vulnerable without his hand there. “You never know. There’s supposed to be a shitload of ghosts in this hotel, maybe you can help one of them.”
I raise my brows at him.
“A shitload?” I repeat. “Where do you get your information, Mr. Foray?”
“Wikipedia. That thing is never wrong,” he says without irony. He looks around him and takes in the scene. “We’re supposed to meet the night manager, Pam, in a couple of minutes. She said she’d find us. She’ll give us a tour of the place; hopefully give us the real story. I want that on film.”
“And what do you want me to do?” I ask. Once again, we’re going into a film shoot more or less blind. And by we, I mean I. Dex always knows what’s going on and I’m always in the dark. I did research The Benson before biking over here and all that, but I have no clue what to do or say. There is no storyboard, no script. We just wing it and I usually end up looking like an idiot.
“Just be yourself. Ask her questions.
“It’s just nice to see you again,” I say honestly. With Dex living in Seattle and me in Portland, I only ever see him when we film. And in the between time, I miss him.
A blush starts to creep up my neck. I can feel it.
He gives me a smile that reaches his eyes and shows perfect teeth that are quite white for a smoker. “Well , it’s nice to see you. Too bad you’re not bunking with me tonight at my motel.”
I give him a sharp look, not sure if he’s kidding or not.
He smiles again, almost leering . “I’ll probably be shaking in my boots after tonight with only my pillow to hug.”
The waitress comes back and gives me my wine. He gives her the same kind of smirk. This is how I know he’s messing with me.
I roll my eyes. “So what is our plan for tonight anyway? Are we just going to sit here and drink and wait for the ghosts to show up?”
“Patience, Perry,” he says and takes another gulp of his drink. He gestures to the wine and nods at it. “Have some of that and relax.”
I take a sip of the acidic merlot and look around me. As gorgeous and old-fashioned as the hotel is, there are so many people about, and I can’t imagine how on earth the place could be haunted. But apparently it is. In fact, Portland has a few ghost tours that come around and poke their heads in the hotel a few times a week. I doubt anybody ever sees anything , though.
“Are we the first ghost hunting show to come inside here?” I ask Dex.
He coughs on his drink and shakes his head. “Fuck no. We’re a bit behind on this one. I think just about every ghost hunter has been in this hotel at some point or another.”
“Do they ever find anything?”
He gives me a wry look. “What do you think? Of course not.”
“What makes you think we will?”
He smiles again and reaches over with his hand to pat me softly on the head. “Because I’ve got you, kiddo. You’re my little ghost bait.”
I think back to Red Fox, to a moment when Dex said I might be offered up as bait to the skinwalkers. The idea bothered me then and it bothers me now. I take a longer sip of the wine this time.
He’s watching my face closely, as usual, and he still keeps his hand there. I’m not sure if he’s trying to comfort me or what. I shoot him a deadly look from the side of my eyes.
“I’m joking you know,” he finally says, his voice less rough, less gravely. “I just mean, well, you know there’s something about you, something that attracts these things. You’re like a secret weapon.”
“Some weapon,” I scoff and look down into the glass, my vision becoming a blur of deep reds. “What’s the point of just attracting these…things? These people? If I could use this…power…whatever it is, for good…that would be a different story.”
He shrugs and takes his hand away, his attention back to his own drink. The back of my head feels vulnerable without his hand there. “You never know. There’s supposed to be a shitload of ghosts in this hotel, maybe you can help one of them.”
I raise my brows at him.
“A shitload?” I repeat. “Where do you get your information, Mr. Foray?”
“Wikipedia. That thing is never wrong,” he says without irony. He looks around him and takes in the scene. “We’re supposed to meet the night manager, Pam, in a couple of minutes. She said she’d find us. She’ll give us a tour of the place; hopefully give us the real story. I want that on film.”
“And what do you want me to do?” I ask. Once again, we’re going into a film shoot more or less blind. And by we, I mean I. Dex always knows what’s going on and I’m always in the dark. I did research The Benson before biking over here and all that, but I have no clue what to do or say. There is no storyboard, no script. We just wing it and I usually end up looking like an idiot.
“Just be yourself. Ask her questions.
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