Missing in Michigan Read online

  Whether it’s the look on my face, the adamant tone of my voice, or something else entirely, Wayne’s countenance relaxes and he relents.

  “I apologize, Alex. My parents and grandparents have told me stories that would make any skeptical person shake their head, but they believe in them with all their hearts. They raised me to believe in spirits, but I stopped a long time ago when I never found any proof they were real.”

  “If you want proof, I can give it to you.” These words fly out of my mouth like a challenge, even though I’m not actually trying to be harsh with him. “You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen in Munising alone, Wayne. And I guess that’s the problem in a nutshell. It’s unbelievable. But that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

  “You make me want to believe,” he says. If Chad had responded with those words, I know they would have been dripping with a not-so-hidden secondary agenda. It’s different with Wayne; his words ring true, and they also have an almost childlike quality. It’s like I’ve tapped into a part of his brain he’d forgotten about a long time ago. Now he has to decide if he’s really ready to listen.

  “I want you to believe me. And I want to show you the truth. But Wayne, if this is too far outside your comfort zone, we can stop talking about it right now.”

  His eyes light up with mischievous energy. “And how, pray tell, will you get to Isle Royale, then?”

  “So, you’ll go with me?”

  “Let’s say I’m keeping my options open. I want to hear more. Whatever you’ve got to say, please say it. I can handle it.”

  I hope so. Others have said the same thing…

  Now that the fight for credibility is on the back burner, I have to figure out how to launch into this without losing him again. Unsure where to begin, I simply start speaking.

  “Did you know there was a suicide in my hotel room? A teenage boy? He killed himself last fall.”

  Wayne’s eyes immediately betray two things: he’s surprised by my question and he definitely knew about my former phantasmal roommate. With a quiet, affirmative nod, he makes it clear I should keep talking.

  “His name was Terrell. He was gay, but he didn’t feel comfortable coming out. He had a boyfriend, Dustin, but he disappeared. Just like so many other people in this town. Dustin’s father apparently blamed Terrell for it, and he hounded him so much the poor boy killed himself.”

  “How do you…?”

  I interrupt Wayne for the second time this evening.

  “He died in my room, Wayne. But he didn’t leave. Well, he didn’t leave until after he shared his story with me, anyway. He’s gone now because that’s what I do.”

  Wayne appears torn between believing every word I say and joking about me being a ghostbuster. I hope he chooses option A, because quite frankly, the ghostbuster joke wore out its welcome a long time ago.

  “I’m sorry you found out about that, um, ugliness,” he says. He looks at me searchingly, and I’m not sure what to make of it. Does he think I’m too fragile to deal with the harsh reality of a small town?

  “I mean, yeah, it showcases an ugly side of humanity for sure, but it’s not like it’s something I’ve never dealt with before. I feel sorry for Terrell and Dustin, of course, and I wish people had been more accepting of them. There’s no need for you to apologize, though.”

  “Did he tell you anything else? Like the father’s name?”

  “No? That didn’t come up. I didn’t get the sense names were the important part of the story for Terrell. He just needed to be heard.”

  Was that relief that briefly flitted across Wayne’s face? That’s odd. Or maybe not. He’s probably happy he’s not going to have to deal with an uncomfortable level of emotions or something. That’s been typical of my experience with most guys, although I thought he was different. I guess time will tell.

  “So… where do they go?” he asks.

  I was so lost in the process of analyzing his micro expression that I have no idea what he just asked me, so I get him to repeat it.

  “Where do they go?”

  “Who? You mean the ghosts?”

  “Yes,” he says with a touch of laughter. His expression says it all: what the heck else could I have thought he meant?

  “I don’t know, actually.”

  “Wait, what? You said you give them advice? You counsel them? But you have no idea what following your advice does to them?”

  A light crimson hue creeps into my cheeks. Despite this, I’m determined to not let him shake my confidence in the vocation that has chosen me.

  “Look, they’re in a lot of pain, okay? They need help putting things to rest. I don’t know if that sends them to some afterlife or if it just allows them to dissipate into nothingness. What I do know is they leave a lot happier and calmer than when I first met them.”

  In most cases, anyway…

  “Okay, okay.” He holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “But I still don’t understand what any of this has to do with Isle Royale.”

  “I was getting to that with Terrell. Or, more accurately, with Dustin. See, he’s one of a long line of teenage boys who have disappeared from the lakeshore between Munising and the Porcupine Mountains. I looked into the area’s history, Wayne, and this has been happening every year for at least two decades. Someone has to do something about it!”

  “You must be a hell of a crime novelist, Alex.”

  “Huh?”

  “You know, the police book you’re writing? Your detective skills must come in handy.”

  Here’s the moment I’ve been dreading. I cross and uncross my legs while nervously rubbing my palms against my jeans. “Um, yeah, okay. See, the thing about that is… well, I’m not writing a book.”

  His eyes grow larger, and this appears to be more about a sense of betrayal than any actual surprise. “You lied to me?”

  “NO! I mean… yes, I did, about the book. But that’s it. Everything else has been the God’s honest truth. I swear.”

  “Why did you lie to me, Alex? And to Chad?”

  “Do you have any idea how hard it is to stroll into a new town and tell the necessary resources you’re here as a ghost therapist? If I did that, I’d be laughed out of every town before I could help anyone. Or get locked up.”

  His face softens as he recognizes the wisdom in my words. “Yeah, that makes sense,” he says. “But there’s something I still don’t understand. Why did you need to know about the wendigo legend?”

  This is it. Once I plunge off this diving board, there’s no turning back. The water might be warm and welcoming, or it could easily turn cold, choppy, and cruel. Either way, I need to see if Wayne is someone I can really trust. No time like the present, right?

  “Wayne… this isn’t a normal case for me. Usually, I’m in and out in a day, two days tops. But this ghost, Mrs. Felton… did you know Mrs. Felton?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, well, Mrs. Felton’s son is one of the missing teens.”

  He grimaces. After everything I’ve told him, I find it refreshing that he’s still tuned in enough to care about the suffering of others. Most people don’t believe me, and those who do tend to want something from me as a result. Caring about the suffering of others is the last thing that typically crosses someone’s mind after learning I can speak to ghosts.

  “She won’t… she can’t move on until she has some resolution for his case. She’s stuck in a massage therapy studio where she died of a heart attack. The owner was the first one to tell me a bit about the oddness in this area. She was also the first to mention the wendigo. Mrs. Felton isn’t sure about any of that, but the rumors got me digging. Each clue I find keeps pointing in the same direction – Isle Royale. And now, there’s a new missing teen. If I can help bring him home with my gift, then that’s exactly what I should do.”

  He sighs audibly, and his entire upper body moves with the displaced air flow. I see that he’s wrestling with something, and I instinctively know it’s best to sit back and
say nothing. He’ll come to a conclusion when he’s ready. With any luck, it’ll be the right one.

  Two minutes later, I can see the mental cylinders clicking into place. He doesn’t look very happy, but he is clearly determined to move forward.

  “Okay. I know there’s more, and I want to hear all of it first. But okay. If you need to go to Isle Royale that badly, I’ll take you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  It’s stupid o’clock in the morning, but sleep keeps eluding me. Wayne can’t meet up until the afternoon, but that doesn’t mean I can’t keep investigating this mystery in the meantime, right?

  The alien glow of my cellphone illuminates the hotel bed. I’ve already scrolled through so many pages of Google search results that my pointer finger actually hurts. It also seems distinctly likely that the crick in my neck will become a permanent addition. Sighing at my textbook case of obsession, I slap the phone down on the bed.

  “What is happening in this town?” I ask the newly renewed darkness. No one answers. I’m not sure whether to be happy or sad about it, but one thing is clear. If I don’t get a few more hours of sleep, my investigative skills – as paltry as they are – aren’t going to help anyone. Except for maybe the tow truck driver who will inevitably have to pull my crashed car out of a ditch. Since I really don’t want to fall asleep behind the wheel and trash the rental car, I squeeze my eyes shut with determination.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The blaring of the alarm clock almost gives me a heart attack. On the plus side, I must have gotten some sleep.

  I hastily shower, pull some clothes on, and pack. There’s no sense in paying for a room I won’t be in for several days, but I make sure to tell the front desk clerk I’ll be back soon. Not that I think all the rooms are going to magically get taken while I’m gone, but it still makes me feel better.

  While driving through Munising’s small downtown, I ponder over some of the oddness of yesterday’s meeting with Wayne. Of course, the most important thing is that he’s agreed to take me to Isle Royale. But why did he look so pained when I brought up Terrell and Dustin? Making a mental note to investigate this situation more closely, I parallel park a block away from the police station. For the first time ever, it doesn’t take me several tries to get it right. If nothing else, at least this particular case has helped me learn a valuable skill.

  Ten minutes later, I’m walking down the frost-covered sidewalk with two piping hot cups of hot chocolate in my hands. The steam from each drink hits the air with force but immediately shrivels and dies when faced with today’s ridiculously cold temperature. The digital readout above the local credit union announces that it’s fifteen degrees Fahrenheit, but the redness of my wind-lashed cheeks tells a much colder story.

  Fortunately, I’m inside the city hall/police station building before the wind can cause any permanent damage to my exposed skin. I pause long enough to take a deep, centering breath before boldly striding up the stairs. I know I have to play my cards exactly perfectly right or I risk upsetting Chad at the worst possible time. I don’t want him to find out I know what yesterday was because that seems too weird and borderline stalkerish. At the same time, I want to be here for him.

  A big grin kicks the frown from his face when he sees me, but the weariness in his eyes doesn’t get the same eviction notice. I understand why he wants to put on a brave front. I’ve done the same thing too many times to count. I hope he’ll eventually open up to me, though. Not only would it help him to talk about it but I somehow get the feeling it would help me, too.

  “Hot chocolate?” he asks as one eyebrow cocks up toward the sky. “Smells delicious!”

  I hand him his cup and sit down.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Alex.”

  My heartbeat increases; does he want a shoulder to lean on or has he found out what I’ve been up to? Would Wayne tell him everything without asking me first?

  “The annual Florida postcard was delivered today. Sally must have sent it out as soon as she got there,” he laughs. “Anyway, she asked me to say goodbye to you. I guess you made quite an impression on her.”

  Relieved, I ask to see the postcard, and he hands it over. The typical Florida scene greets me. A beach, the sun, palm trees, and the ocean are all present and accounted for. I flip it over hastily, eager to read her message.

  “Ouch!” The postcard exacts its revenge on me in the form of a nasty-looking paper cut. I guess that’s what I get for manhandling it.

  “Are you okay?” Chad’s voice is filled with concern, and I feel bad about it. I mean, he’s undoubtedly plagued by the emotional strain of yesterday, and here I am making a fuss about a minor inconvenience.

  “I’m fine. It’s nothing,” I reassure him with a smile before absentmindedly sucking the blood off my finger. He chuckles, walks across the room for a moment, and then returns with a bandage.

  With the fresh scent of sanitized adhesive in the air, I finally get a chance to look at the scrawl on the postcard. How in the world does she take phone messages for Chad? I need a handwriting expert just to decipher this mess.

  He interprets my look and laughs again. “Yeah, she’s not exactly going to win any awards for penmanship, huh?”

  “You said it, not me,” I tease him. Refocusing, the words start to make sense. As far as I can tell, she’s written a short message that’s every bit as typical as the front of the postcard.

  “Sheriff Hambler and Crew, Florida is as beautiful as ever. Hold down the fort while I’m gone. Be back soon. P.S. – Tell Alex I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye in person.”

  That’s it? Chad’s eyes are boring a hole through my skull, so I look up. “She’s not exactly wordy or sentimental, either, I see.”

  The thought of Sally being sentimental about anything apparently strikes Chad as hilarious. So much so, in fact, he instantly inhales hot chocolate down the wrong pipe and begins coughing furiously. I try to reach out to him, but he waves me off while attempting to get the coughing fit under control.

  “No,” he croaks. “She’s definitely not sentimental.” Chad risks laughing again only a few seconds after his cough has settled down. “That may just be the understatement of the year, Alex. So, tell me, what gives me the pleasure of your company and this would-be assassin masquerading as hot chocolate?”

  Somehow, he manages to make the last part of this question sound sensual. I had no idea anyone could be flirtatious about hot chocolate, let alone a would-be assassin. Clearing my throat, I launch into an explanation.

  “I wanted to say goodbye, Chad.”

  Seeing the crushed look on his face hits me like a ton of bricks, and I rush to clarify. “Oh, no. No. I don’t mean goodbye as in goodbye forever or anything like that. I’m just going to explore another part of the U.P. for a few days.”

  Relief shines in his eyes and smile. “Where are you going? And for how long?”

  His tone implies he’s not overly happy with my decision to go elsewhere, but he’s trying hard to keep it from me. I don’t intend to let him know he’s failed.

  “Just down the coastline a bit to pick up some more ideas for my book, that’s all. I’ll be back in a few days. One week, tops.” What I don’t tell him could fill volumes, but there’s no time to explain. Plus, I’m not so sure he’d take it nearly as well as Wayne did.

  “Promise to come back?” he asks with boyish impishness.

  “Definitely,” I say while leaning into his offered embrace. After a second’s hesitation, I give him a quick peck on the lips. It feels weird to do this before taking off with Wayne, but the idea of not giving him a goodbye kiss is also uncomfortable. I have no idea how I’m going to sort all this out. But first, I need to find out what’s happening to the missing teens.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I’m here early, but that gives me some time to go over my plan once more. By the time Wayne shows up, I’m more resolved than ever to add ‘successful sleuth’ to my eclectic business card. Or rather
I would, if I actually had business cards.

  “Hi Alex,” Wayne says in an amiable but somewhat weary tone. There are bags under his slightly bloodshot eyes. I guess I wasn’t the only one who didn’t get the best night’s sleep.

  “Are you up for this?” I inquire tenderly as my hand reaches out for his arm.

  “Sure. Are you?”

  There’s something off about his voice. He’s hiding something from me, I’m sure of it. But what can I do? I’ve hid stuff from people for years, including him. If there’s something he’s not ready to tell me, I have to respect that. And yet, that’s a tall order at a time like this.

  “Is there anything I can do for you, Wayne? Or anything you need to say?”

  “I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about Isle Royale?”

  “Well, no. I haven’t.”

  “Then it is what it is, I guess. We should get moving if we’re going to get to the area before nightfall. We’ll spend the night at the local motel and head out to Isle Royale in the morning.”

  “Thank you. I really appreciate everything you’re doing, Wayne. And remember, you’re not just helping me. You could be helping to provide some form of closure to dozens of families.”

  His face blanches as he considers my words. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” he replies softly.

  Wayne has always been more reserved and enigmatic than Chad, but I’ve also enjoyed his fun, carefree side. Seeing him withdraw into himself makes my heart heavy. I asked this of him. There’s no one else who can help me right now, but that doesn’t make it feel any less wrong.