Whirlwind, p.1
Whirlwind, page 1
Table of Contents
Legal Page
Title Page
Book Description
Dedication
Trademarks Acknowledgment
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
New Excerpt
About the Author
Publisher Page
Whirlwind
ISBN # 978-1-78430-789-9
©Copyright Bailey Bradford 2015
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright September 2015
Edited by Eleanor Boyall and Rebecca Scott
Pride Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Pride Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Pride Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2015 by Pride Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Pride Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
Southern Spirits
WHIRLWIND
Bailey Bradford
Book eight in the Southern Spirits series
Dying sucks, but the afterlife is one hot place to be.
Stefan wasn’t physically perfect in life, and his search for someone to love him resulted in his murder. Now he’s been dead for years, and he’s lonelier than he ever was when he was alive. His physical problems might have vanished when his body ceased to live, but his spirit has to deal with the memories of the past.
Jordan and Gideon are friends who share eager guys when they can find them, but being in a war zone hasn’t allowed for that to happen often. One roadside stop puts an end to their lives. Jordan and Gideon are at a loss to understand what happens to them, why they stay behind when others go up into the light. Searching for answers, they head to Jordan’s hometown—McKinton, Texas—but a hell of a lot of things have changed in the decade and a half since Jordan left.
Namely, the arrival of one wicked, joyful spirit named Stefan.
Dedication
To all my friends—y’all are blessings, don’t ever forget that.
It’s easy to remember all the bad things we’ve done, all the mistakes we’ve made,
the imperfections we have.
Remembering to love ourselves, to forgive and try again, is much harder,
but so very worth it.
Trademarks Acknowledgment
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmark mentioned in this work of fiction:
Mack: Mack Trucks, Inc
Chapter One
Stefan Bausch nudged his friend Ro. “Wanna play football?”
Ro looked horrified for a moment, his eyebrows scrunching together as he gawked at Stefan. “Why would I want to do that? I hated football when I was alive, and what would we use for a ball?”
“A ball,” Stefan said blandly. “Don’t tell me you haven’t learnt how to pick things up yet. You’re with Conner. You’d have to know how to grab corporeal things just to keep up with him.”
Ro scowled. “That still doesn’t answer the why part.”
“Because,” Stefan said as he waggled his eyebrows, “think of the way everyone at the park would freak out if they saw a ball shooting back and forth through the air.” It’d be hilarious…maybe. Or maybe not, since a lot of the townsfolk believe in spirits—ghosts. Stefan wasn’t interested in being exorcised. Again.
“Sounds like a great way to freak out someone and end up cast out of this world and into whatever comes next,” Ro muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. “Didn’t something like that happen before?”
How did Ro know what he’d been thinking? Stefan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, and it sucked. It was your grandparents who did it, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t want to talk about them.” Ro glanced around. “You know I still fear that they’re gonna pop up just to try to ruin my afterlife.”
“Conner would handle them,” Stefan informed his friend. Ro had to know that. Conner would never let anyone hurt Ro.
Ro flipped his long black hair. “Sure he would, but I don’t want him to have to. Anyway, I’m pretty sure they would hang around the other part of the family, not the heathen gay side.”
“Maybe.” But sometimes Stefan got so bored he wished someone jerkish would show up. All the spirits he knew were nice—and either straight or hooked up, like Conner and Ro.
“We could go see what’s happening at Sev and Laine’s place,” Ro offered, a hopeful light springing up in his eyes. “Conner’s off greeting newcomers.” Ro’s joy died down and his expression shifted into one of sadness. “How he knows when someone’s going to pop up is beyond me. And him, too, actually. He says he just feels this tug in his chest.” Ro shook his head. “That sounds creepier than us being dead in the first place. Oh man, I sure hope whoever does show up isn’t a psycho criminal. I always worry, but I don’t know why. It’s not like a psycho spirit could kill us all over again. I need to quit watching the news. It’s all bad shit. Why can’t everyone just get along?”
“That’s asking a lot of humanity,” Stefan scoffed. He thought about going with Ro and shook his head. “You go on. I’m in a weird mood and should probably just go off and pout for a while.”
“Are you sure?” Ro uncrossed his arms and reached for Stefan’s hand. Ro’s skin was warm and soft, his grip firm and comforting. “I’d love to have your company.”
Seeing Laine and Sev wasn’t a bad thing, but Stefan didn’t want to hang around another happy, loving couple. Laine and Sev were definitely that. They’d been together forever and still acted like they’d only just met and fallen in love. It was sweet, and caused an ugly spike of jealousy to rear up in Stefan. He hated that about himself.
“Nah, really, I need to just chill out.” Sleep, maybe. Stefan could sleep in his ghostly form just like he had in his live-bodied form. It helped to pass the time when he was bored stiff.
“You sure?” Ro asked again.
Stefan barely refrained from rolling his eyes again. “I’m sure. Jeez, go before I start thinking you’re afraid I’ll float off to the Great Beyond or whatever.”
“Don’t even joke about that,” Ro snapped. “It’s not funny.”
“Sorry,” Stefan said immediately. Ro had almost lost Conner to the Great Beyond or whatever came after when Conner had gone chasing after a spirit. It’d been a close call. None of them knew what happened to them once they went up, up and away. None of them wanted to find out, either.
“Really, I’m sorry. I told you I need to go pout. I’m not fit company.” Stefan pulled Ro in for a hug. “I’m an asshole.”
“Love you anyway,” Ro huffed, but the tone of his voice as he said it took the sting out of him not disagreeing with Stefan’s self-description.
“You too.” Stefan patted Ro’s back then stepped out of the embrace. “Go watch the lovebirds. I’m gonna head to the cemetery.”
Ro shivered. “That’s so morbid.”
“I don’t think it is. I like seeing the headstones with the long lives carved onto them. Makes me happy those people had a long time with their loved ones.” Stefan nodded. “Catch ya later!”
Stefan let himself float up a few feet then he shot up high and fast before angling toward the graveyard. He hadn’t been lying to Ro. He was glad for the folks who didn’t die young like he had—it gave him hope for his brother and Darren, as well as other people he cared about who were still living. Stefan didn’t want them to die, but if they did, or when they did, rather, he hoped they’d stay here on Earth with him.
As for being alive, he didn’t miss it. It probably made him a weirdo to like being dead a heck of a lot more than he’d liked being alive, but since he was dead, Stefan figured it was okay. Surely being a spirit in the afterlife entitled him to some quirks.
Well, more quirks. Stefan didn’t like to think back on his life much. He’d been deemed ‘developmentally slow’ and jeez, it’d been hard. People had picked on him, bullied him. Johnny Chapman had even killed Stefan over it.
Stefan shuddered. Johnny had done it in the worst way possible for Stefan. First he’d led Stefan on, made him think Johnny actually cared about him. Stefan had been so lonely, and so eager to please everybody, but especially Johnny since he used to pay attention to Stefan.
Never around other people, though. Johnny had explained how being seen with Stefan would kill his cool cred. That had hurt, but Stefan got it. His brain was damaged, and that always made people steer clear of him no matter how happy and giggly he’d been.
And so he’d let Johnny touch
Except for believing Johnny. That had got Stefan pushed over a cliff, literally. Stefan’s greatest fear, besides being abandoned by everyone he loved, was of heights.
No, not of heights. Of falling from somewhere high up. Or being pushed. Johnny’s laughter had been pure evil as he’d shoved Stefan over that cliff. Stefan had had one single second, less than, even, where he’d felt like he was floating. Then he’d been filled with a terror so great it had crushed him. He hadn’t even been able to scream as tears had sprouted from his eyes.
The moment of impact had been the worst. Pain had slammed through every nerve ending in his body, shooting up from the hard ground and rocks he’d landed on. He’d had no idea anything could hurt so bad.
But the pain had ended quickly, and Stefan had found himself drifting, looking down at the gross mess of his body. Dead or not, that image still gave Stefan nightmares.
Stefan shuddered again. Being a spirit was so much better than being alive. He could feel himself—his body was as real in form to him now as it had been before he’d died. Just like he could shudder and all the other stuff he used to do, basically. Breathing was optional, but it just felt too creepy to not do it.
What Stefan had come to realize in the years since he’d passed away was that his physical body truly was gone. His spirit had remained behind, and the whys and hows of that were beyond him, but his corporeal limitations no longer existed.
In other words, it’d been his brain that had been damaged, not his spirit. Granted, he’d been slow to catch on, but after a lifetime of not being as bright as he’d always longed to be, he hadn’t known to expect any different. Stefan wasn’t even going to think about how many years he’d wasted being dead and still not realizing he was free of those physical restrictions. He’d figured it out one day when his brother Lee had been trying to do his taxes. Stefan had been able to add up all the figures in his head accurately, and quicker than Lee could with a calculator.
It had been odd to suddenly realize he wasn’t slow like he used to be. Although, considering it’d taken him years to do so, maybe he wasn’t the brightest star in the sky.
So overall, he preferred being dead. He wasn’t as lonely as he’d been when he’d been living. There were times, yeah, when he was miserable, when he wondered what the point of everything was. Then he’d get distracted from his moodiness and be happy again.
His astral body was better than his physical one had ever been too. Not necessarily bigger or anything, but it worked like it should have. When he’d been alive, half the time it had seemed like his brain hadn’t quite managed to tell his arms and legs how to move right. He’d trip and fall, and people would laugh—but that wasn’t a problem anymore.
No, now he was free of the physical chains of the mortal realm. Stefan snorted. He was still a goofball, and he was bored. Maybe I’ll go spy on Conner and the new guy. Or people. With the latest oil boom in Texas the population had nearly doubled. There were buildings thrown up in a rush—hotels, motels, restaurants and bars. Oil workers and rig drivers were all over, too. It was getting crowded.
Even for the dead. The influx of people meant more fatalities on the roads. Stefan didn’t like to think about how many wrecks he’d seen in the past year and a half. Yet no one seemed to learn. People still sped like their ass was on fire, and drinking and driving must have been a competitive sport for some. Drug use was on the rise, too, so yeah, more dead people. A few of them hung around once their bodies had keeled over.
Stefan had friends in his spiritual world, and he had his family in the living one. All in all, he was happy.
He was just… Bored. As. Hell.
Oh well. He’d go to the graveyard, see if he could work out his weird mood, then if he needed a little excitement, he’d go poke Lee in the armpit or something.
Chapter Two
Dead. I’m dead. Gideon Crosby stared down at his body, or what was left of it. Other soldiers were hurt, but him? Dead. Then he saw Jordan Dempsey lying there, gasping, blood bubbling from his lips. No! God, no, please—
How it was possible for him to be dead and still hurt like his heart was literally being ripped from his body was a mystery that Gideon didn’t care to unravel. All that mattered in that moment was that his best friend was dying, too.
Which meant Gideon had failed. “I’m so sorry, Jordan. God damn it, I’m so sorry.” Gideon sobbed, but no one seemed to hear him. There were soldiers shouting orders, soldiers screaming in pain. Even if he’d been alive, would anyone have noticed him, would they have heard the agony in his voice as he watched Jordan’s blue eyes widen with shock?
His own death was nothing. Gideon had already pushed the trauma of it aside as he floated—levitated? What the hell am I doing?—toward Jordan. He wasn’t sure how he did it, but he needed to be with Jordan, then he just…was. Gideon reached for Jordan automatically, the need to stem the blood flowing from his chest irresistible.
But Gideon’s hands went right through Jordan. Gideon gasped, jerking his hands back, sure he’d feel something. Gideon stared at his hands until Jordan made another wet, sickening sound. He looked at Jordan, and to his surprise, found those blue, teary eyes focused on him.
“Jordan?” Gideon rasped, reaching again for his friend, the only one he’d ever had, really.
“Gid… Hurts,” Jordan got out in what was barely even a whisper. Gideon cringed. At least he’d died quickly. There’d been massive pain, thunderous noise ripping through his head, then nothing but confusion as he’d risen above his remains. But Jordan was suffering.
“Let go,” Gideon urged. “Jordan, let go. Don’t fight it. There’s no way—” He swallowed around a tight knot of regret. He’d say it, if it put an end to Jordan’s suffering. “There’s no way they can save you.” Not with the amount of blood Jordan had lost, or the wounds he had suffered. Gideon averted his gaze, staring only into Jordan’s eyes. “Let go, and it won’t hurt. It’ll just—”
Even staring at Jordan, Gideon caught a flash of brilliant white-gold light shooting up from a nearby soldier’s body. He had to follow that light visually. Where was it going?
Up, up and away. Since I’m not going up—and I’m not going down, thank God—what does that mean?
Jordan gasped, or tried to. Gideon jerked his attention back to his friend. “It’ll be okay, Jordan. We’ll figure this out together.” If Jordan didn’t go shooting up into the heavens. Gideon was terrified he would and that would mean Gideon would be all alone in the world, or spiritual plane, whatever it was he was existing on. But he didn’t want to be a selfish bastard, either. If what was up beyond the clouds was better, then he wanted Jordan to go there.
Jordan blinked, and when his eyes opened again, his body gave up the fight. His spirit rose up, jetting high into the air.
“No!” Jordan screamed. He clawed at nothing, and Gideon willed himself to help his friend. He willed it, then he was up there too, wrapping his arms around Jordan’s legs and feeling him.
They began sinking, slowly at first, then it was a sudden, rapid plummet to the ground. “Shit!” Gideon got out right before twisting around so he’d bear the brunt of the fall.
Except they didn’t hit. They just kind of…stopped. Gideon opened his eyes, not even knowing when he’d closed them. “Oh God,” he groaned when he saw that they were almost completely in the ground. It was too close to being buried for him. “Get up! Get up, get up, get up!”
He’d always been claustrophobic. Apparently being dead wasn’t going to change that. It wasn’t until he was panting and shoving his way to his feet that he realized he probably could have just floated right up through Jordan. Jordan had felt pretty solid, that was the problem.
