Ghost River by Jon Coon (best non fiction books of all time TXT) 📕

“Whoa, where did that come from?”

“If it’s not too expensive, and if I sold our house and used some of the insurance money, we could build something nice there. There’s enough room for pasture. We could have horses.”

“It probably could be bought, but I don’t have that kind of money.”

“Could you do half?” she asked. “If you still want to wait, you could move the RV, and we could split the property.”

“I haven’t thought about it, but moving the RV and splitting the property. That could work. I could put it down by the river, I’ve always liked that spot. But it’s only been a month, Carol. I think we need more time.”

“Gabe Jones, are you still worried about your ‘issues’? Don’t you think I know about your ghost-whispering past?”

“What?”

“That’s what Charlie called it. He said the only way you could have possibly solved some of the cases you worked together was that you talked with the victims. The dead victims. So you must be a ghost whisperer or a vampire or whatever.”

His breath caught in his throat. “What?” He looked across the aisle, wondering if anyone else had heard her accusation.

She tucked tighter against his arm. The plane took a bounce, and she looked down to keep him from seeing her mischievous smile. “Even Jim believes it. He knows you go offline on dives, and he doesn’t think it’s to talk to yourself. You have a real reputation.”

“I do?” He had to force the words out. He’d thought he’d been so smart, hiding his secret, and now she was telling him his teammates had been talking about it all along?

She shot him a teasing look. “Okay, cowboy, how did you know about Wilson Corbitt or that Peterson rigged those bids?”

“We had an informant.”

“Did he have a pulse?”

He tilted his head and looked into her eyes. What if he told her she was right? If she was going to walk away because he talked to the dead, wouldn’t it be better to know it now? He drew in a long breath and said, “Are you honestly telling me if you believed I could somehow talk with the dead, it wouldn’t bother you?”

Something in his tone must have told her this wasn’t banter. Her smile faltered, and she gave him a searching look. Reality struck. A chill went through her. “Oh, no, it’s true, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. That’s how I knew about Corbitt and a lot of other things.” He looked into her eyes and didn’t blink.

She shifted away from him, her eyes uncertain.

“And you actually believe they talk to you?”

“I do. And what they tell me has always been exactly on target. Every word has been truth. Remember when I said I was certain Charlie was greeted by a pair of angels?”

“Yes . . . ?”

“I was there, Carol. I talked with him, and I saw them with him. And that wasn’t the first time I’ve seen them.”

“Gabe, that’s cruel. It’s not funny.” The plane bounced again. This time she retreated entirely to the opposite side of her seat and twisted to get a better look at him.

“It’s not funny, but it is the truth. It started after Katrina, in New Orleans. Like a lot of recovery divers, I used to talk to victims when I was searching. I would tell them the doors to heaven were open, that loved ones were waiting for them. Then, one day, a little girl in a submerged school bus answered me. That was the beginning.”

She searched his face for anything that would give away his joke. Nothing. “You’re serious? You’re telling me the truth?”

“Do you care enough about me to trust me?” he asked.

She gave a slow nod. “Yes.”

“Go diving with me.”

“What?”

“You dove with Charlie, right? I remember he took you on vacations to Cayman and the Bahamas. He said you were a great diver. Carol, we need to trust each other. No secrets. Dive with me. Then make up your mind.” He smiled and took her hand. “I’ll get Jim to help us. We’ll go tomorrow night. You good in the dark?”

She gave him a tentative smile. “You’ll have to find that out for yourself.”

The plane landed, and two hours later they were back at the river camp. After filling the kids with both the story and frozen pizza, they called an early night. Mickey was relieved to see Zack, and Emily was happy to have her mom and Gabe back. They talked until late, but by the time the fireplace was down to glowing embers, all were bedded and at least trying to sleep.

Carol soaked in the shower until the hot water was gone. She dried, put on an oversized flannel shirt, and crawled under the quilts on the big bed. The sleep she desperately wanted obstinately refused to come. Her heart ached for Charlie, and her head swirled with Gabe’s revelation. It couldn’t possibly be true, but what reason would he have to lie to her?

When blessed sleep finally came, she dreamt about Emily. As she watched, Emily was trapped in a tight chamber. Freezing water flooded in until Emily was pressed against the ceiling gasping for air. Carol pushed her way through a maze of debris. In the struggle, she kicked an iron brace and pain shot up her leg. She was almost close enough to reach Emily but couldn’t stretch the last few inches. As she fought against whatever was holding her back she saw Emily sink into the water, and with her child’s labored gasp, Carol knew it was the end.

Carol awoke in a cold sweat. The dream lingered, vivid and terrifying. She felt sick, turned on the bed light. When she stepped down from the bed to go to the bathroom, pain shot up her right leg. In the soft light she saw a large bruise and a chill gripped her heart.

What was that? Is Emily all right? She grabbed her robe and hurried to the girl’s room. She eased open the