Chapter 5
Spencer's POV
I screeched my car to a halt at the side of the road, the tires screaming in protest. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"You want me to do what?" I demanded, my voice rising an octave. "I can't help you! I haven't even killed a fly, let alone considered murdering a human!"
Wednesday merely huffed, entirely unimpressed by my meltdown. "I'm not asking for your help, Spencer. I'm ordering you. You are bound to me, so you will do it."
I stared at her, utterly convinced she was delusional. But a cold, sinking feeling in my gut told me it was true. That kiss on Halloween night wasn't just a random, drunken mistake; it was a supernatural contract I'd signed without reading the fine print.
We were closing up to a routine police check, forcing me to slow down. A policeman waved us to stop. I rolled down the window, forcing a calm facade.
"License, sir," the officer said. I handed it over, my hand trembling slightly. He glanced at it, then his eyes drifted to the passenger seat, where a bucket of ice cream floated mid-air, a spoon dipping in and out on its own.
"Wow," the officer chuckled, returning my license. "What a nice… floating bucket you have there."
I looked at Wednesday. She was still licking her ice cream, completely unconcerned. My gaze snapped back to the policeman. Doesn't he see her like I do?
"T-Thank you," I stammered, igniting the car and driving off the moment we were cleared. "Am I the only one who can see you?" I asked her, my voice tight.
She shrugged. "Well, yes. I can make anybody see me, but I can't make myself invisible to you for long. I don't know why. Maybe it's another side effect of the kiss." She paused and looked directly at me. "What?"
"We are being followed," she replied, her eyes darting to the side mirror with a sudden, sharp intensity.
Almost on cue, I heard the heavy wail of sirens. I looked through the side mirror and saw three Continental Security vans closing in, their lights flashing ominously.
"Oh, shit!" I slammed my foot on the accelerator, the engine roaring as my car shot forward like a bullet.
"Hey!" Wednesday yelled as her ice cream splattered all over her face and the pristine leather seats from the sudden jolt. "Why are we being followed?"
I made a sharp, screeching turn, drifting around a corner. The remaining ice cream launched from the bucket, landing with a wet splat on my designer shirt.
"Gross!" she exclaimed.
"They think I was the one who killed the bartender at the Continental Hotels on the Halloween night we met!" I yelled, my focus entirely on the road, swerving between cars.
"Oh. Well, I was there too," she replied, as if discussing the weather.
"Well, you're a ghost! The camera didn't see you! It only saw me and the bartender, and I'm very sure you are the one who killed him!"
A police car swerved in from a side street, and I violently diverted to another lane, almost running head-on into a moving trailer. My heart leaped into my throat.
"I didn't kill him!" Wednesday insisted, her voice rising for the first time. "I very much didn't do it!"
I risked a furious glance at her. "Are you kidding me now? Then tell me, who did?"
"I don't know that! But I swear on my grave I wasn't the one who killed that guy!" she shot back.
If she didn't, then who did? The question echoed in my mind, a terrifying mystery.
"You put me in this mess!" I snapped, swerving again.
"You put yourself in this mess! And I'm telling you, I didn't kill that guy, I swear on my grave!" A second later, she muttered, "With a second, I don't even know where my grave is."
I rolled my eyes, pushing the car even harder. I was heading for the bridge, but my blood ran cold. They were closing it, blocking the passage with lines of police cars. The Continental Security vans were right behind me. I was trapped.
"Gosh, I can't believe I'll be going to jail for something I didn't commit," I breathed out, despair creeping in.
In a desperate move, I drifted and turned my car, now facing the incoming army of angry vans and police cars. "No way out," I said to Wednesday, staring at the wall of flashing lights.
"There is always a way out," she said, her voice dropping to a low, determined whisper.
"How?" I asked, my knuckles white on the steering wheel.
"Trust me. And just drive."
Before I could argue, she got up and phased through the window, sitting on the ledge of my car, her head and shoulders outside. A heavy, metallic THUD echoed from the roof of my car.
"What was that?" I yelled.
"Just drive!" she yelled back.
I ignited the car, my heart pounding. "It's just a piece of my art," she called back, a wild, battle-hungry tone in her voice.
I took a deep breath and did as I was told. I sped up, driving straight towards the line of policemen who had taken out their guns, ready to fire.
But the first volley of gunshots wasn't aimed at me. It came from above. The bullets ripped into the police cars, shredding tires and sparking off hoods. Officers scrambled for cover, shouting in confusion, wondering how I had a mounted gun on my car.
I smirked. It was Wednesday, materializing a heavy machine gun on the roof of my Onyx Vengeance.
A police car in front of me exploded, flames licking the sky, creating a narrow, burning passage. I didn't hesitate; I squeezed the Onyx Vengeance through the gap, the heat blasting the windows.
After covering a long mile, putting a safe distance between us and the chaos, I finally screeched to a halt in a deserted industrial area.
"Yeah! Wednesday, yeah!" I cheered, adrenaline coursing through me.
She phased back through the window, sitting in the passenger seat as if nothing had happened. "They didn't hear that, also you," I said, breathless.
"But you did," she replied, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. "Now, where did I keep my ice cream?" she asked, looking around.
"You kept it on top of my car!" I exclaimed.
"Oh, yeah. Right." She reached out the window and retrieved the miraculously unscathed bucket, pulling it back inside. "That was cool."
"You just saved my life," I said, the words feeling strange but true.
"Well, the only 'thank you' I want to hear is you getting me more ice creams," she said cheerfully.
My natural arrogance resurfaced through the shock. "Well, I never told you I was going to appreciate you or say 'thank you,'" I said rudely, putting the car in drive.
"Okay, then. Me haunting you will continue, then."
The words had barely left her mouth when I saw it—a giant, spectral ammo tank speeding straight towards us, its turret firing fiercely.
"OKAY, FINE! I'll get more ice creams! Call it off! Call it off!" I yelled, frantically swerving to avoid the hallucination. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, and when I opened them, the tank was gone.
Phew. I breathed out a heavy sigh of relief.
My phone rang almost immediately. I picked it up to hear Allen's voice, shrill with panic. "SPENCER!"
"Geez, man, what's up?" I asked, though I had a sinking feeling I already knew.
"I'm at your mansion! That ghost followed me home after you and I spoke! Right now, I'm being chased by a military jet firing at me!" he yelped, the sound of explosions faint in the background.
"I will be there now," I replied calmly and ended the call.
I looked at Wednesday. She grinned innocently. "What?" she asked, as if she had no idea why my best friend was being terrorized by a phantom fighter jet.
"Why are you haunting my friend?" I demanded.
"So he should learn some lessons and believe someone when they tell him that ghosts are real," she said simply.
I couldn't help it; a short, disbelieving laugh escaped me. Shaking my head, I diverted the car, driving towards the other mansion—the one all my friends knew about.
But one question kept ringing in my head, a chilling mystery that now threatened everything: If Wednesday swore she didn't kill that bartender… then who did?
To be continued.....