Oozing Chemistry

19th Thing's 19th

Caleb Covington of the Hollywood Ghost Club.

Yeah, I don't like him.

Butterflies spill in my stomach, and I'm a nervous wreck, cornered by a mad man. Mad ghost? Mad ghost man?

An evil smirk forms on his face, an uneasy frown on mine. He takes slow, calculated steps forward, and I take quick, panicked steps backward until my legs hit the seat of a chair. I buckle backward and fall butt-first into a metal chair with a dark red cushion. 

If I wasn't fearing for my afterlife, I'd actually enjoy how comfortable it is. Caleb really knows how to keep his guests happy, except for the kidnapping hostage part. Yeah, that part sucks.

"It's such a shame you left early that night," he starts, slowly circling me. "I almost gave up on using you, but here you are. You fell right into my arms."

My neck becomes sore, having to crane around to watch him move. I'm not one of those creepy possessed dolls. I can't turn my head around three hundred and sixty degrees. Maybe Caleb can... I wouldn't put it against him.

I try to poof out, wanting to get out of here as fast as I can. We can figure out how to remove the stamps and save the guys a different way. But just like at the dance, nothing happens. It's as if Caleb has blocked the passageways. I can't find a tunnel to escape through, and there's certainly no light at the end of it.

I try to peel myself up and away from the chair, but I can't move. My legs feel like they're strapped down and pins and needles consume my arms. My butt feels like two balls of lead, but luckily I can still breathe, and still, I don't know if I even need to breathe.

But, the important thing is that I can still move my mouth. I may not be able to physically attack him, but I can talk his ears off until he agrees to let me go. I just need to avoid one thing: getting that stamp. I did come here on purpose and alone, so I guess that's my fault, but since I'm here, I may as well get what I came for.

"What's in those stamps?" Oh, wow, Izzy. Way to be blunt about it.

He looks almost taken aback before his narcissistic smile returns. "I can assure you, Isabelle, that you've been heavily mislead."

"Mislead, my butt. What's in those stamps, Covington?" 

I don't know where this boldness is coming from, but it sure is working. He growls in frustration and fails to compose himself, messily fixing the collar of his long, dazzling purple trench coat. I guess I'll just keep bugging him until he explodes. If I avoid actually touching him, this may work.

Maybe being trapped here isn't so bad, after all.

"You can't undo them." There's a break in his façade, and I know there's hope. He's lying straight through his extremely white teeth.

Wait, are we supposed to be brushing? How are his teeth that white? I'm blinded, honestly.

And with that, he leaves me hidden behind his curtain, storming out like a kid who lost an argument.

I watch the time tick by, keeping my eyes glued on a 1920s-themed grandfather clock, and panic shakes me more and more as that long hand makes its rounds, seemingly never stopping for a quick breather. The boys were right. This place is a time warp.

Figuring I have no other option and there's no way I'm missing Julie and the guys play at the Orpheum tonight, I concentrate as hard as I can and see myself appearing at the studio. 

I imagine the chairs hanging from the ceiling, the grand piano basking in the sun's rays, Luke laying down on the couch and strumming his six string, Alex drumming away with his handy, dandy fanny pack wrapped around his torso, and Reggie beyond confused but still blending in as if that's where he belongs, plucking the strings to his bright red bass right alongside his family.