Yes, I’m going to finish Veracity, but I wanted to give you guys a taster of my next fic, Ghost.

Inspired by the movie Untraceable and Stefluuvsyou’s Stalking Casey.

It started with phone calls. He’d been lying on his bed, hockey practice canceled. The middle and elementary schools hadn’t even dismissed their pupils yet, and Casey was still at school, studying or practicing for a play or something. Derek didn’t really know, and he didn’t really care, because he had the house and a new carton of chocolate fudge ice cream all to himself.

In the middle of a startlingly large bite, the phone rang. “Hewwo?” he mumbled, chewing over the cold concoction.

There was a strange sound on the end; a garbled hiss, or growl maybe. It lasted for a few seconds, and then the phone clicked, signaling the end of the call. He hung up the phone, shrugging, and began devouring his ice cream again.

When the phone rang again, he was tossing the carton back into the freezer and throwing the spoon in his sink. Wiping his hands on a towel, (thusly streaking the garment with sticky chocolate streaks) he picked up the phone.

“Yeah?” he offered in place of a greeting. The strange garbled hiss-slash-growl intruded his ears yet again. Derek rolled his eyes.

“Okay, dude, if this is your idea of a prank call—news flash: it’s really lame.”

A loud whine came in response to that, making his ears ache; “Jesus Christ!” he snarled, pulling the phone from his ear. A few moments later, he cautiously put his ear against the phone again. It was silent.

Rubbing his aching ear with his hand, he headed to the couch to veg in front of the tv until the family got home.

The phone rang again; right as Scooby was running from a zombie. Derek ignored it, and let it go to the machine; he wasn’t stupid enough to answer the damn phone a third time.

The hissing and snarling echoed on the machine, eliciting an expression of annoyance on his face. Would this guy give up already? He thought. The phone call ended with the same piercing whine as before.

He went over to delete the message; no need for the rest of the family to know he was being pranked. Casey would undoubtedly find delight in that, and Edwin would be crestfallen to see his idol rendered useless. Over a phone call, no less.

Just as the machine beeped, deleting the message, Casey bustled through the door, Edwin and Lizzie following behind her. She tripped over a flower pot and ended up sprawling at his feet.

“Klutzilla, I knew you’d be falling for me at some point, but you didn’t have to do it literally to get my attention.” He said cheerfully, patting her on the head as she scrambled back up ungracefully.

Instead of firing back with an equaling demeaning retort, she growled at him and stomped up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door behind.

Derek looked at Edwin. “Was it something I said?” he asked innocently.

“Casey got into a fight with Max,” Lizzie explained, snatching the remote from his hand and flipping to a documentary on lions.

“Really?” Derek asked, his attention and curiosity fully piqued. Lizzie ignored his response and Edwin went into the kitchen. Now that the two younger siblings’ attention was diverted, he could easily go upstairs and…

“De-rek!” Casey snarled, “I can’t pay for Max’s jacket! You ruined it!”

“Why?” Derek asked, taking the steps in fluid grace, “Because it says ‘Verturi’s number one’ in place of ‘Miller’?”

He was close to her now, able to smell her shampoo and close enough to brush his hand against her shoulder without it seeming odd. Casey was oblivious to this, as was her not-so-brotherly counterpart.

“Yes!”

“But Casey, I thought you liked honesty!”

“Derek…” Casey said softly, her voice much lower than the octave she had it at previously, “He already hates me, okay? Please don’t make it worse.”

Tears began filling her eyes. “Just go, Derek.” She said, and shut the door in his face, the soft click reminding him of how much she shut him out; especially when it came to Max.

They’d be back together by tomorrow. Derek knew this. Casey couldn’t stay mad at him for long (he was the quarterback, after all) and Max…well, Max was just stuck with her, because his and Casey’s names ran together permanently like the two were married: Max-and-Casey; Casey-and-Max; Max-N-Casey—and so forth and so on. There was no escaping the Commitment of Casey.

Perhaps that wasn’t fair. Derek knew that if Max could break up with Casey for a rational and legitimate reason, he would. Even their names—as run-together as they were—didn’t ring right.

Still, the unsettling knowledge that Casey would be mooching with the oversized piece of orange cardboard by tomorrow morning settled in his stomach heavily.

“Must be hungry,” Derek mumbled to himself, and he left the hallway, Casey’s sobs ringing in his ears.

Those sobs ended at some point, because a blotchy-eyed and exhausted looking Casey exited her room and ran a bath just as he was heading down to dinner.

“Hey,” he said, poking his head into the bathroom, staring at the robed brunette, “Dinner’s ready.”

“I’ll eat later.” Casey told him tonelessly. She didn’t argue. She didn’t insult him. All she did was close the door in his face, just as softly as she had before.

Derek ignored this—he’d had all the Casey Drama he could handle for the day, and Tofu wasn’t on the menu, hamburgers were—and began his descent to the dinner table.

“Where’s Casey?” Nora asked, looking surprised.

“Max,” Edwin, Lizzie, and Derek said in unison; each rolled their eyes and began fixing their hamburgers.

“Well, shouldn’t one of you be comforting her?”

“Dad, if she wants to be left alone, let her be alone. No skin off my nose.” Derek muttered.

“Yeah! Besides, when has Casey ever appreciated our comfort when she didn’t want it?”

George had no comment to this, and Nora merely sighed, not wanting to push the subject further.

“Marti,” said the woman, “How was your day?”

The eight-year-old’s babbling quickly filled up the awkward silence. “We made ponies and Zach dared me to eat a crayon and Geena started a fire again and I told Mrs. Zurich so I got two blue stars today—“

“That little girl started another fire?” Nora asked, alarmed.

“Yeah; Geena’s daddy’s a boy scout troop leader an’ he teaches Geena all kinds of stuff. Geena used a magneedying glass!”

“You mean magnifying, Smarti,” Derek corrected absent mindedly.

“Derek, can you teach me boy scout stuff? Please?”

Derek’s grin grew. “Why, of course. Smarti.” George glared at him.

“No illegal stuff, of course.” Derek added with a mock expression of seriousness.

George shook his head. “We should have traded you in for a girl.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

The dinner had concluded with stories of Edwin’s gym socks, Lizzie’s conservation efforts, and the recent grade report George had received in regards of his oldest son.

“Try harder, Derek,” his father warned. Derek simply said the right things and easily slipped away into his room.

The phone hadn’t rang, and the earlier incident with the prank calls had almost been forgotten. Safely in his room, surfing on YouTube and downloading new music, Derek was feeling pretty calm. Calm and relaxed enough to even be nice to Casey if she came into his room.

His cell phone vibrated, and Sam’s caller ID popped up.

“Sammy!” Derek said in greeting.

Hisses and growls answered him—a new animal-like cry penetrated the mix of sounds, a loud cat-like yowl—and the screeching pitch began, causing him to drop the phone.

“Fuck!”

The call ended at exactly 0:11. Derek sighed, tossing the phone on his bed. At least he knew who the “prankster” was. Derek returned to his web surfing, muttering obscenities to himself.

The house phone rang five seconds later; he let someone else pick it up.

“Derek! It’s Sammy!” Marti screeched—damn, that kid had a set of lungs.

He found his handheld and answered it. “Sam, I’d thought being my friend would have taught you how to prank awesomely. Sadly, I was mistaken.”

“First of all, dude, ‘awesomely’ isn’t correct grammar, and twice..ly, I didn’t prank you.”

“Twicely? Yes you did, Sam. Did you forget cell phones have Caller ID?”

“I never called you on my cell, man. I haven’t had my cell since it got stolen at the senior bash two weeks ago. Remember?”

“…Right. Sam, I gotta go, Spacey’s freaking over the phone.” He lied, and hung up.

Derek retrieved his cell, lying on his stomach as he searched his outcoming calls, finding the name ‘Sam’ and yes, the correct cell number for his friend. Frowning, he hit ‘send’ and waited.

There wasn’t even a ring. It just stay silent, eating away at his minutes like some sort of freaky parasite. Derek closed the phone, eying it with distrust and suspicion.

In that second, Casey entered his room with a victorious smile. “Hand it over,” she said, tapping her foot.

“Hand what over?” he asked.

“The two-sixty that’ll pay for Max’s new jacket.”

“I am not paying two hundred and sixty bucks to your wimpy boyfriend!”

“Yes you are! Mom!”

“Dad!” Derek screamed, overbearing Casey’s yell for reinforcements. The two teens both battled down the stairs with shoves and hair pulls.

The newest brawl Casey had started eradicated any apprehension about that phone call.

The next morning, Derek awoke with a permanent snarl on his face. All of the family members assumed it was because he’d lost the battle to Casey the night before—and yes, that was part of it.

His dad entered the kitchen first. “Dad, call the cell phone company and make them give me a new cell phone number.”

“Why?” George asked suspiciously.

“Yeah, why?” Casey asked with a smirk, “Too many hookers with STD’s calling about their babies?”

“Casey.” George said warningly, then returned his focus on his son, “Why, Derek?”

“Some telemarketers kept calling me. And my phone wouldn’t shut off correctly. I was being woken up all night.” The dark rings and blood-shot eyes confirmed this statement and George had no choice but to agree.

“Okay. I’ll try to call them today.”

The rest of the morning went equally as horribly; Casey had numerous new retorts due to the incident in the kitchen to throw at him; he’d gotten to school late and found said stepsister being all cutesy-wootsy with her orange cardboard cutout; Sam and Ralph had decided twenty questions was a fun game to play when he was sleep deprived…the list went on and on.

“So, if it’s not drugs, is it a girl?” Sam asked.

“No.” Derek forced between gritted teeth.

“Dude, is it…y’know…a dude?” Ralph asked with widened eyes.

“You’ve discovered us. Oh no.” Derek said flatly. “Come, honeybuns, we’ll be late for class.” He said, elbowing Sam.

“Oh my God!” Ralph sputtered.

“Ralph—“ Sam began. Derek didn’t stick around to hear the rest because he was already in Civics, which, thankfully, neither Sam or Ralph had.

Casey, however, was. And when she saw him, a satisfied smile grew across her features.

“Y’know, smug isn’t really your color.” Derek snarked.

“Neither is ass for you, but that never stops you.” Casey replied sweetly.

“So when I’m not being an ass, you want to jump me, right?” Derek asked, wiggling his brows.

“If that implies a stabbing motion with a sharp object and me taking your money, then yes.”

“Casey!” The teacher sniped. “Can we begin?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Casey mumbled, pointedly ignoring Derek’s wide smile.

Hockey practice was a disaster. He kept checking the wrong people, missing easy shots, and just all around sucking. His coach had already tried to give him a pep talk twice—a pep talk full of obscenities and threats on his life, but a pep talk no less—and it had done no good.

“Venturi! You’re out. Hit the showers.” Derek tossed his stick down in frustration and stormed off to take a lukewarm shower.

Alone in the locker room, he was still seething; he ran his fingers through his wet hair, tossed off his equipment with violence, and left a dent in someone’s locker with his fist.

And it was all because of that stupid phone call.

“I don’t get pranked,” he growled under his breath, throwing on his street clothes rapidly.

“That little bitch is going down.”

The bag was packed with equal disaster and anger, and he set off—without even talking to his coach—with a loud bang.

The sound reverberated, and then silenced.