"Ariel Daniels, hm. Yes... here is your paperwork."
Arielle cringed at the man—pressed suit, upturned nose, stiff fingers. Typical bureaucrat; down to the smooth, recently shaved skin, not a nick in sight, and the sleek, almost greasy hair. The alert eyes, broad shoulders, a bit of a belly from his after-work beer dates at the local dive-bar. He opened the thin dossier containing her request, calm and composed—the opposite from her.
She swung one leg over the other, sensing the hole in the heel portion of her left stocking, and holding in a cringe at the discomfort it caused her. "It's Arielle. Ah-rielle. You know, like the way Sebastian calls the Little Mermaid in the movie?"
He smiled—one of those, right, whatever you say smirks that always got under her skin. "Arielle, yes, apologies." He deposited the flimsy document onto his wide and de-cluttered desk and steepled his fingers, peering at her like a school headmaster about to expel a repeat offender. "So... you are twenty-two?"
"Yes." Why did he sound so... disgusted? Surprised? Yes, she was young—fresh out of college, a striving woman fighting to fit into society, to make ends meet, to support herself. But did he need to be so condescending? "Is that going to affect your decision?"
Again that smile; that pitying, rude, egotistical gesture that made her skin crawl. "No, Arielle, your age has nothing to do with this. Though, I will say... twenty-two and inquiring about a loan, it's uncommon."
She blinked at him. "Uncommon?" A chill drilled up her spine as she braced herself for his judgment, his dubious questions. Would he double-check her sex, next? "And is that a problem? Does that mean no?"
He unleashed a noise resembling a mix of a snort and a scoff and dragged his still clasped hands closer to his mouth. "No, that also has nothing to do with my or the bank's decision. It's only a question to certify what you filled out here."
"Sure. Do you need to confirm my address, my license, social security number, place of employment and all that?" She inhaled a breath, steadied her thrumming heart, expelled a wave of oxygen.
Calm down, girl. Calm down.
So often she'd faced men with prejudice and who looked down on her, who criticized her choices, pinpointed her weaknesses, fought to force their opinions into her cranium. Would this man be any different?
Another deep breath and she straightened her spine and let her palms rest on her knees. "Sorry, that was... inappropriate. I'm nervous."
"First time?" He released his hands to grab a mug from his desk, sipped from it, and smacked his lips. "It's quite all right, asking for money is... disconcerting." He wanted to be reassuring, she could tell; but it didn't work, and his polite manner was melting like an ice-cube on a Florida beach. His rigidity, his faltering smiles concealing his undercover snark proved he was about to deny her.
"It is," she mumbled, certain she had a lipstick stain on her teeth, eyeliner under her eyes, clumps of hair on her shirt. She'd inspected herself before she wandered into his brightly lit and overheated office. But... with her luck, everything had fallen out of place in the moments she took to sit down and exchange quick pleasantries with him while he retrieved her file.
"Here is what... troubles me, Miss Daniels." He opened the binder, pulled out the single sheet of paper it contained, squinted at it. "Your reason for applying."
She frowned. "My... my reason for applying? What do you mean?"
"This travel expenses description... it's too vague." He peered at her for half a second, but enough to convey his arrogance, his all-knowing attitude. "What kind of travel expenses are we talking about? A plane ticket? Gas to fill your car to drive across the country? One thousand dollars... a paltry amount for a loan. Our lowest, in fact."
"Well... I don't need more than that." She heard the stutter in her voice, the hesitation in each word. But telling him what these expenditures were for would have him laughing, she knew.
Everyone else did. Her dad did, when she explained what she planned to do. Her boss did, when she asked for the day off to handle this. And even Stella. Stella, her best friend, who claimed she had more emotional baggage than an entire train carriage. For crying out loud, she smirked and thought it was a smidgen over-the-top, at first. "A loan? For that?" The same sentence they all uttered with varying levels of mockery, disbelief, confusion.
But Arielle listened to her gut, and it told her... this is what Jade would have wanted. And Stella couldn't disagree with that, and eventually, she was the one who encouraged Arielle to apply.
"Well..." One word, one doubtful tone, and this loan officer put her in her place, caused both her feet to find the ground as she leaned forward, watching him. "It's not enough for me to approve this." He flashed her another regretful—but obviously fake—smile. "But if you offer me more information, I might be able to push this process through."
"Okay," she said, gulping, teetering back into her uncomfortable chair. It had no cushions beneath or behind her; a stiff seat meant to destabilize, to steal the truth. And the way the man's gaze flickered up and probed her, scanned her, tried to pry into her mind caused her shudder, showing herself as vulnerable.
It was a mistake; she knew. She'd felt it when she found the website, swallowed down the shame as she typed in her information, clutched at her gut when she came up with the travel expenses lie. Well, it wasn't a lie. Not completely. She didn't need a plane ticket or gas; she needed equipment. Specific equipment for a specific trip that she had no doubt this man would sneer at her for.
"It's for... travel stuff." She craved to roll her eyes at her own ridiculousness, at how moronic she sounded. But it was now or never. If he declined, at least she tried, right? At least she took her shot and could say she put in her best effort, shrugged on her finest dress pants, her most uncomfortable heels. "Things I need for a trip I'm taking soon. A ghost-hunting trip. I need... the best quality ghost-hunting equipment."
A remote control to pause this moment would have been nice; a second to recompose, fix her fluster, find the right words to say to follow-up that statement. Skeptics were everywhere—heck, she was a skeptic, if she was being honest—and she'd expected all sorts of reactions from those she gave the truth to. She'd prepared herself, she'd even played out the situation in her room before she came here. Ghost-hunting equipment? Who would give her money for that? Who would believe that sort of stuff even worked?
But such a remote didn't exist, and she had to watch this man react in real time. The loan officer angled back in his spot and crossed his arms. He didn't laugh, didn't yell, didn't throw the documents at her. Instead, he returned the paper into the file and closed it, pressing both hands onto the thin off-beige surface. "Ah."
Ah? That was it? That was all he'd give her, the only feedback she'd receive?
Her right hand started shaking, so she grabbed it with her left and realized that one was shaking, too. "Is that okay? Can I... can I get a loan for that?"
The corners of his lips inched up; so fast she barely had time to notice. He rolled his chair closer to the desk, eyes slitted and his face impossible to read. "Look, Miss Daniels, I understand... this stuff is all over TV, lately. On every streaming device. Ghost-hunting," he used air quotes for it, "is a trend, I get it. But... I can't put that in the description. It won't... it won't be approved."
She'd rehearsed for those words—not approved. Yet they stung nonetheless, swirling in her skull like wasps about to drop their stingers into her skin and laugh as she writhed in pain. In truth, her role in the planning wasn't to buy the equipment. She had to provide the transportation; the car, old and beat-up as it was. And to order the tickets to each location they projected to visit. Stella would handle the food—she'd researched spooky diners and themed restaurants that were within their budget. No, the expensive stuff was meant for Jade...
Arielle chewed her lower lip. Jade said she'd take care of the equipment. Said she had discounts with companies her dad dealt with, ways to procure the machinery for half-price. And of course she could afford it all, thanks to her loaded bank account, courtesy of her parents—
But Jade was dead. Jade, the knowledgeable one, the cunning one, the one with all the resources... and Arielle's best friend, was dead.
"Right. Right, it's... stupid. Stupid." She lowered her gaze to her lap, sensing tears would soon form in her eyes and turn her into a worse mess than she already was.
"It's not stupid, it's... I wish..." The actual sincerity in the man's tone drew her chin up. "I'm sorry, Miss Daniels. Ghost-hunting equipment... my company can't approve a loan for that. For a car, for gas, maybe even for a plane ticket—sure, that's negotiable. But this..." He pushed up to a standing position. "It's not acceptable."
An eerie energy fizzling through her lower limbs helped her stand without losing her balance. "I... understand. It's just... the equipment was for a trip. An important trip. A... tribute to my... dead best friend."
He grimaced and picked up the file. "I'm sorry about your friend, Miss Daniels. But that still won't be enough to persuade my associates. Perhaps you can find another way to commemorate your best friend, yes? One that wouldn't cost so much. Most people your age throw parties."
Trying to ignore the man's judgmental tone, she snatched her purse from where it had slumped at the bottom of her seat and threw it over her shoulder. Holding in the tears caused by thinking of her failure, and of her best friend lying still as stone in a marble coffin, she issued him a curt smile. "Sure. Right. Thank you for your time."
Yet as she moved away from the chair, the resolve she'd built up, the mature persona she'd conjured, the promise she made to herself to act like an adult—gone in minutes. Her eyes welled up, her stomach clenched, her lower lip puffed out, and before she knew it, she was running from the office and out into the early spring afternoon.
She stopped on the sidewalk, gasping for air, letting her tears flow freely, her senses dulled and her limbs numb. Jade was dead, their trip wouldn't happen, and she'd made a fool out of herself in one of the biggest banks in town.
Stella should have handled this.
Stella wouldn't have let the loan officer refuse. She would have seized the man's hand and pretended to read his negative fortune—a mockery, since she hated doing that. But it would have made him uncomfortable, might have prodded him into giving her what she wanted. And if Jade had been alive, she would have mentioned how unhappy her dad would be if he heard of this, in total Mean Girls style. But then again, she'd never need a loan in her wealthy situation.
So, how would Arielle, the one whose thoughts overflowed but whose actions were always dulled down and slim in comparison, deal with this? She'd walk. Turn her back on anything that bothered or upset her, seal her mouth shut, move on.
And that's exactly what she did. She hadn't even bothered to shake the loan officer's hand or bid a good day to the receptionist before she stormed out. She hadn't even bothered to think how she'd look bursting out the door and sobbing uncontrollably a few paces away, angry that she wasn't as brave as Stella nor as rich as Jade.
Jade.
A chilly breeze nipped at her cheeks as she wiped under her eyes, locating her beat-up car to the far left of the parking lot. She trudged over, and before she unlocked the vehicle, she threw off her heels, letting her feet flatten onto the concrete. Wiggling her toes, she fetched a pair of tattered black flats from inside her bag. She slipped them on, still feeling the growing hole in her stockings, and bent over to pick up her fancy shoes.
Jade's fancy shoes.
The purse was Jade's, too. A designer handbag her dad gave her after one of their fights. She disliked it at once, but knew Arielle would love it. Black, leather, large with lots of pockets, impractical for a fashionista such as Jade but perfect for Arielle, who liked to have half her bathroom and first-aid kit with her at all times.
Arielle tipped her head back to peek at the sky. Was Jade up there, somewhere, floating over the clouds? Laughing her ass off because of Arielle's failure to obtain the funds she and Stella needed for this trip? Or sad because she died and left her two best friends mid-planning for their Spring Break spirit-hunting adventure?
"But how, Jade? Hm?" Fingers twitching, she released the heels and they fell to the ground. And she soon followed them, crumbling to her knees in the parking lot of this moronic bank in this moronic Columbus-adjacent town. "Why did you die? Why did you—"
It had been four weeks. Four weeks since she and Stella got the call, one rainy afternoon while sipping on coffee at their favorite spot. Four weeks since they'd been so inconsolable and erratic and unable to process what was happening that they raced to the giant mansion where Jade lived with her parents and banged on the door. Four weeks since Jade's parents barely tolerated their visit and banished them both from the premises, declining to explain, to tell them what had happened, how Jade had died, why Jade had died.
Arielle spent the following week wallowing, taking time off work to sleep, eat junk food, watch TV then cry incessantly when every plot-point and every character reminded her of Jade. And the next week, she'd scrambled about trying to cancel their planned trip, unwilling to hunt specters without Jade's expertise; but Stella interrupted, insisting they had to go on the trip—for her. "To honor Jade," she'd said. "She'd want us to do this."
Arielle knew she was right, and in any case, most of the venues and hotels wouldn't refund her deposits. So they continued the preparations, moving forward in Jade's honor.
The trip had been Jade's idea; she was obsessed with shoes and handbags and tight pants and eye-shadow palettes, but was also crazy about the paranormal. Her biggest crush was on Zak Bagans, from Ghost Adventures, and her biggest dream was to capture a picture of a phantom. Now... she was the phantom.
"Are you?" Arielle peered out the window and stared at the clouds again. "Are you a ghost? Sneaking around, watching me, watching Stella? Will you... be with us on this adventure, somehow?" Sniffling, blowing chunks of her deep crimson hair out of her face, Arielle glared at her phone's screen. Stella's name glared back, as if already yelling at her for not being more assertive, for not pulling out every trick in the book to get the loan approved.
Could they still go on this ghost-hunting voyage without ghost-hunting equipment? And could they still honor Jade without cruising up and down the east coast seeking specters?