Dead Air, Michelle Schusterman [mobile ebook reader .TXT] 📗

to him after deleting the dead-air footage. I figured there was enough evidence against Emily without it. Lidia didn’t want fans to know about Levi’s ghost, and the crew had kept her secret. I could keep him a secret, too.

“I guess it’s my turn.” Roland pulled a sucker from his pocket and ripped off the wrapper. “Not that there’s much to tell, since I spent most of this whole ordeal locked in the van.”

“I said I was sorry,” I said, exasperated. “And besides, Oscar let you out eventually.”

“Yeah, how about a thank-you?” Oscar added pointedly.

Roland crunched down on his sucker and, giving us an insolent look, headed off to join Jess without another word.

I glanced behind us, where Lidia was fast asleep on the gurney. I’d managed to get a few minutes with her before the paramedics arrived. She’d shown me the picture of Levi in her locket. He had the same sharp nose and amber eyes.

“Is he still here?” she’d asked sleepily.

“Yes,” I’d told her. I didn’t have any way to prove Levi was still here, but I believed it. As long as Lidia was near Sam—as long as she was a ghost hunter—she would be in danger of being possessed. And Levi would stay, to try to protect her.

So I would do what I could to help him help her.

“Thank you.”

Glancing up, I realized Oscar was watching Lidia, too. “What? Why?”

“You saved her life,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Oh. You’re welcome.” It certainly hadn’t felt like saving her. In fact, the way Lidia’s eyes had rolled around in her head as I’d flashed the camera in her face would probably haunt my nightmares for a while. But it had worked—when she’d regained consciousness, she was herself again. Red Leer was gone. (Where he’d gone was something I was currently too tired to contemplate.)

“So . . .” I paused, adjusting the bandage on my elbow. “How long do you think you’ll be in Oregon?”

Oscar made a face. “No idea.”

We fell silent for a few seconds, swinging our feet over the concrete. I gave Oscar a sidelong look. “Think you’ll visit your dad?”

His legs fell still, and he took a few seconds to respond. “I don’t know. I guess so.”

“Oscar, it’ll be . . .” I stopped. It’ll be fine. But how could I say that, when really I had no idea? Maybe Oscar’s dad would understand when Oscar told him he’d been bullied because he liked a boy. Maybe not. Maybe my mom would start treating me like a daughter she actually wanted in her life. Maybe not.

“Whatever,” I finished decisively.

Oscar’s lips twitched. “It’ll be whatever?”

“Exactly.”

We smiled briefly at each other, then went back to swinging our legs and watching the crew.

Our last few days in Brussels were relatively quiet. I wrote a lengthy e-mail to Jamie and Hailey, detailing the entire Daems ordeal, and a much shorter version to Trish and Mark (after all, I’d be able to tell them the whole story in person soon enough). My blog post had a few hundred comments—some flattering, some insulting, but hey. As Roland had pointed out when he and the rest of the crew read it, the important thing was that people were talking about P2P.

Obviously, most of the buzz was about Emily’s arrest. The forums had exploded with new members all looking for gossip about the former host and the way she’d sabotaged the show, all because of her obsession with Sam. Ratings for the Brussels episode were bound to be incredible, thanks to the media hype alone—even people who didn’t care about ghost hunting would tune in just to see all the stuff with Emily. Fright TV wasn’t canceling Passport to Paranormal any time soon.

And the host curse was officially broken. After a long discussion with Jess, followed by an even longer discussion with me, Dad had decided to stay with the show. But first, we were going back to Chelsea.

“The whole crew’s taking two weeks off after the Brussels episode airs,” I told Grandma, twirling the phone cord around my finger. “I think everyone needs a break after the whole Emily thing. But Fright TV is sending us to South America at the end of November!”

“Excellent!” Grandma exclaimed. “Does that mean we’ll be having our annual Thanksgiving Freddy Krueger marathon?”

“Of course!” I paused, wrinkling my nose. “Unless you were planning to spend Thanksgiving with . . . I mean, I’ll be with Dad, and I don’t know if . . .”

“I’m sure we can work something out with your mom,” Grandma said reassuringly, then yawned. “I hate to say it, but it might be time for me to hit the sack,” she added. “Have a safe flight, okay? Tell Sam I said hello.”

I laughed. “Not gonna happen.” Hesitating, I stared at the laptop screen, where the P2P forums were still open. “Hey, Grandma?”

“Yes?”

I took a deep breath. “There’s something that’s been bothering me. I know the whole Sumner Stalker thing is just supposed to be a joke, but I . . . well, I don’t think it’s very funny. Emily . . .”

I paused, unsure of what I wanted to say. The truth was, Emily had terrified me far more than any horror movie or haunted prison ever could. I’d woken up at least once every night since Daems from nightmares filled with her high-pitched giggle, her hollow face, the gleam of her knife. She’d gone from being Sam’s fan to something much, much worse, all because she couldn’t let go of the bitter feelings eating her up.

“Emily was a real stalker,” I finished. “I guess I just don’t want anyone calling you one. Even if it’s just a joke.”

Grandma was silent for a moment. “You’re absolutely right, Kat,” she said at last. “I won’t call myself that anymore. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

I smiled, relieved. “Thanks.”

After we hung up, I closed the forums and started to log out of my e-mail. Then I noticed my chat contacts list and, after a second of hesitation, opened the window.

MonicaMills [Mom]

Unblock this contact?

“Kat?”

I glanced up to see Dad in the doorway. “Yeah?”

“Lidia’s cab is here.”

“Coming.”