Aftermath by Bailey Bradford (most important books of all time txt) 📗

smell funky. Something about traveling always made him feel like he needed a long, hot shower, whether it was a few hours’ drive time or a short flight, it didn’t matter. He just felt dirty. But this time he really was. He’d driven for almost twenty-four hours straight, stopping only to fuel up or use the restroom.

Over a year of hard work, chasing down leads and begging favors of old friends had, hopefully, finally paid off. Illegally, of course, because Jerry Thatcher, a former Ranger buddy of Lee’s, had a cousin who worked as a detective and said cousin heard through the grapevine that the sheriff in McKinton had been asking around about a Darren Brown.

Lee hoped to hell it was the same Darren Brown he’d been trying to find, because he couldn’t keep doing this, couldn’t spend the rest of his life chasing a ghost. Granted, the guy wasn’t dead, but he might as well have been a ghost. Lee hadn’t found a legal trail for him anywhere, which was surprising. The guy had always been smart, from what Lee remembered.

Which wasn’t as much as he’d have liked. Lee opened the trunk to grab his luggage. There wasn’t much, just a single bag and a dop kit. He hadn’t had the opportunity or need for anything more. Once this ended, however it ended, he wanted to settle down somewhere and have a life. He’d rather have a measure of peace—closure, whatever—if possible, though. There’d always be a part of him missing, losing a brother he loved wasn’t something he’d ever recover from, but he hoped getting justice would help ease the loss. It wouldn’t make everything magically better, but it would help. It had to.

A cool breeze flipped his hair into his eyes when he slammed the trunk shut. Lee muttered and shoved at the thick chunk of hair, swearing to hack it all off, but the truth was, after six years in the military, growing his hair out was a simple pleasure. Lee hadn’t cut it once in the past year and a half but, as the wind whipped a strand across his eyes hard enough to make them sting, he decided he might be ready for another buzz cut about now.

As if in protest of the thought, a warm breeze kicked up. It teased and tugged at his hair and his shirt. The hem rippled and lifted almost to the middle of his stomach before fluttering back down only to float up again, as if invisible hands were manipulating the material. Lee’s mouth twisted in a smile, amused by the idea that the wind was playing with him.

It wasn’t until he’d closed the motel room door behind him that it occurred to Lee he hadn’t seen any of the trees or plants dotting the motel’s grounds swaying in the wind. That was odd, he was normally very observant. Lee shrugged it off. It was only the wind, and he was tired.

* * * *

Stefan was ecstatic, vibrating—if that was possible, he didn’t know—with pure joy. He was learning, finally, how to be a ghost—and Lee was here! It’d been so hard to choose who to watch over, but Lee was strong, stronger than anyone Stefan had ever known. He was, like, Superman, if Superman had been an Army Ranger. And blond.

Still, it was too bad all those people who’d thought he was dumb when he was alive couldn’t see this! Maybe people got smarter when they were dead—but wait. He was dead so he didn’t have a brain, right? His energy ebbed as he concluded that maybe he was dumb. Why else would he have been thinking about having a brain then?

But he could think, so that meant…something. Shit, he was confused. But still! Lee! Stefan did his best to wrap himself around the man, brushing over him, tousling his long sandy blond hair. He liked the long hair. The last time he’d seen Lee, his hair had been really, really short, so short Stefan could see his scalp. He…hadn’t really liked it, but he couldn’t have told Lee that. Lee was his hero after all, and if he thought he should keep his hair that short, who was Stefan to say otherwise?

No one, absolutely no one. Stefan had even worn his hair just like Lee’s because Lee was smart, super smart, and he was a bad ass in the Army—or he used to be. Now he was just lost, and hurt, and Stefan couldn’t stand it, just like he couldn’t stand to watch Darren, so afraid, so alone. Darren was strong, too, but he hadn’t handled it well when Stefan had died, blamed himself and thought he’d failed Stefan. And Darren’s mom had died just days before Stefan, so Darren had kind of already been broken then. Maybe Stefan could fix him.

Shit. Stefan stopped teasing Lee as suddenly as he’d started. Had he just jinxed everything, being all smug and stuff? God, he hoped not, but there’d been that voice, how had he forgotten? The one that had called his name and sent him running—floating?—away. Stefan hadn’t heard it again, but he’d been very, very careful ever since, even though he desperately wanted to get Darren’s attention again.

Think, think, think! Stefan tried to gather his thoughts back into the important stuff he’d been trying to work out, but somehow he’d— Oh. No wonder he’d forgotten. He was worrying over whether or not his pride had screwed things up. No, he wouldn’t let it, or…that was pride again, wasn’t it? Shit. This was awfully complicated, and he’d never been good with complicated. And admitting that meant he wasn’t being prideful, didn’t it?

Stefan realized he was hovering or whatever it was he did outside the closed motel room door. The urge to go inside was almost overwhelming, but he didn’t. He wasn’t sure he could make himself leave if he did, not as long as Lee was in there. Instead he did his little vaporizing thing,