I made my way to the side door and out toward the kennels. Before I got too close, I realized that all the dogs were quiet, which never happened while I was at the shelter. A boy about my age was standing in front of the cages with a guitar strapped over his shoulder, strumming away. I kept my distance and observed. There were about a dozen dog cages in front of him, each cage had one or two occupants. As Tommy moved up and down the ranks, all eyes followed him, like he was some sort of a pied piper. He stopped in front of a cage with two older, mixed breed hounds who had been at the shelter for around a month, waiting for their forever home. Tommy got as close as he could and began to sing as he played. I didn’t recognize the song, but the hounds seemed to and they began to howl to match his singing. The other dogs silently watched. I kept my distance and admired the show. Tommy and the hounds finished with a flourish, and Tommy bowed to them when he was done.
Who is this kid?
“Devin Drake, I presume?” he said without turning around.
I took a step closer and my mind quickly filled with a series of images. I was on stage with lights glaring in my eyes. I could see musicians playing a song I couldn’t hear. I was playing an electric guitar. The crowd was waving their hands over their heads as we played. Then it quickly went away.
I’ve had this ability to see ghosts since around the time I turned thirteen. They appear to me in all kinds of strange ways, but this was the first time one appeared as me. I had to take a step back to calm myself. “Yes, that’s me. You must be Tommy?”
Tommy turned, slipped his guitar strap over his head and leaned the guitar against the cage. One of the hounds quickly sniffed it from the other side. “You saw them, didn’t you? You reacted just like I did the first time I saw the ghost band.”
“I’m not sure what I saw. Is that why you wanted to talk to me?”
He moved a swath of blond hair off his face and gazed right at me. “I’m so relieved to finally meet you, Devin Drake. When I asked around, yours was the only name that came up. You’re the only one who can help me with my particular problem. Will you?”
I took a few steps toward him, hoping the nearness would provide another clue about these ghost musicians. Nothing appeared. “How long have you been seeing them?”
“Please don’t come any closer! I have an anxiety disorder that kicks in when I get in close contact with others. That’s why I have a guitar and a service dog.” He put two fingers in his mouth and gave out a loud whistle. Buster came running and sat beside him. “This is Buster. I’m sure you’ve met. He helps me get through it.” Tommy’s hand reached down and rubbed Buster’s neck. “To answer your question, the ghost band came to me during the last week of school while we were playing a song at the student talent show. The next time was a few weeks later when our band was practicing in our bass player’s basement.”
“Did anyone else from your band see them?”
“No. And they thought I was bonkers when I pointed it out. Buster was with me both times and he started barking and growling at the ghosts. He’s such a good dog.”
He seemed sincere and more than a little strange. But I used to dealing with folks like him who needed help in the supernatural department. Buster looked up at me with his big brown eyes and let out a short bark, as if he had something to say. I put my hand out toward him. “May I?”
Tommy stepped back and I got down to Buster’s level. He put his paw out and I took it. Suddenly, images of the ghost band filled my head. This time they were on stage and I was in the audience. I got a good look at the lead singer, but I didn’t recognize him. There was no sound, but there was plenty of flashing lights as I watched between the swaying arms. Buster barked again and images quickly left, as if he was done showing me. I stood. “To answer your question, yes, I can help you.”
“That’s great. How much do you charge?”
“I don’t charge anything. All I ask is that you be honest with me.”
“I’m honest to a fault, as you’ll soon find out. Thanks Devin Drake.”
“You’re quite welcome, Tommy.”
Spoiler
He cringed. “First of all, you have to promise me you’ll never call me by that awful name again. My name is Thomas Bonaparte and you can spare me your Napoleon jokes. I’ve heard them all. No, we are not related.” He held out his right hand and I shook it. Buster barked. “Everyone, with the exception of my mother, calls me TBone.”
