"It what?" Brian asked.
Mr. Billingsley raised his voice. "She stole your car."
"It's not that he didn't hear you," Jenny explained. "He just has a concussion. He's a little confused about...everything, actually."
Brian exclaimed, "The ghost stole my car?!"
"See?" Jenny motioned over to him. "Delayed reaction."
"Well, it's not like I'll be driving it for a while."
"Still, you'd like it back, wouldn't you?" Mr. Billingsley said.
"I mean, yeah."
"Which way did the ghost drive off in?" Jenny asked.
Mr. Billingsley pointed to the right. "That way, but it was five minutes ago. Who knows where it could be now?"
"We'll look that way," Jenny told him. She walked back to the car. "Have a good evening!"
"Thanks. You too," Mr. Billingsley waved.
Jenny backed out of the parking spot and drove off in the direction Mr. Billingsley pointed out. "Do we have to do it tonight?" Brian groaned. "I'm tired. I still feel like I was hit by a truck, and I want to go to bed."
"Fine. I'll drop you off, but I'll keep looking without you." Jenny turned onto Main Street and put the car into third gear. "What would a ghost want with your car anyway?"
"How would a ghost even get into my car? I have the key right..." Brian began searching through his pockets until he found the car key. "Here."
"It's a ghost. It can probably just walk though the door."
"Ohhhhhh..." Brian looked down at the key in his hand. "And then what? Does this specific ghost know how to hotwire a car?"
Jenny shook her head. "I don't know. You just need some sleep."
"Glad we can agree on one thing."
It must have been at about this point that Brian got too tired to talk–or maybe just fell asleep–because they spent the rest of the drive to his house in silence. "Alright, here we are, Brian."
Brian lifted his head off the headrest. "Huh?"
"We're at your house. Now, get out."
"Um, hello? Have you forgotten? My legs are about as useful as salami right now."
"Oh. Right." Jenny got out of the car and opened the door to the backseat. She fumbled Brian's wheelchair open before rolling it to his side. "Get in." She opened the door. Brian reached for Jenny's right shoulder as he slid out of his seat. Jenny tried to shake off the surprise of his hand suddenly grabbing her shoulder, and at his grip strength, and instead put her hand beneath Brian's left arm to steady him while he lowered himself in the wheelchair.
Brian sighed in relief and looked up at Jenny by tossing his head to the side and twisting it so that he faced her. "There," he smiled. "We make quite the team, don't we?"
"Sure." Jenny closed the doors on the car and locked it. Then came rolling Brian to the front door. That grin was usually so sweet, but it looked so smug when he had those sunglasses on.
"You know, don't you think it's weird that I'm wearing sunglasses at night?" Brian asked. Then he gasped, "There could be a song about that! 'I wear my sunglasses at night, so I can...' Well, what songs are about getting a concussion and having to wear sunglasses because your eyes are sensitive to light."
Jenny began to sing to herself, "I wear my sunglasses at night, so I can, so I can watch you weave then breathe your story lines..."
"That's quite a song you got there," Brian commented.
YOU ARE READING
The Invisible World
ParanormalJack Schulz should be living the American Dream, right? He has a college degree from Brigham Young, a job as a reporter at his local newspaper, the Allwine Inquisitor, and now, his very own house. However, it only takes a month for him to find a gir...
