They thought I’d killed him.
“Roman didn’t do anything. We’ve been hunting ghosts, not people.”
“I heard you two had interesting hobbies.” The cop sounded amused. Amused was good. The more interesting we were alive, the less likely we’d end up dead.
“We found something,” Isaac called through the wall. “In the pipes, in this room. A whole bunch of wedding rings. They belong to the people who were killed here since 1978.”
“How convenient that you found them here.”
“You don’t have to believe me,” Isaac said. “But there’s no way Roman and I could have killed anyone before we were born.”
“We’re not talking about people who died before you were born. We’re here about Kyle Powell.”
“Why would we have killed Kyle? He let us into the hotel even though we were banned. He was a friend.”
“But you know he’s dead. We never told you he was dead, Baker.”
“We know that Mr. Partridge killed Kyle.”
“Mr. Albert Partridge?” said the cop.
In all my time working here, I’d never heard Mr. Partridge’s first name before. “Him or his wife.”
I heard a familiar, bitter laugh in the background. Ben was there? Who the hell had let Ben tag along? I supposed he had come into work after Kyle died, and now he was passing himself off as a witness.
“Mr. Partridge’s wife died of a heart attack,” announced Ben.
“Look, please listen,” implored Isaac. “We aren’t the bad guys here. He was the one who told you where to find us, right?”
Silence.
“It’s because he wants to frame us.”
“Ridiculous,” said Ben. “Albert Partridge is an elderly man. A couple of weeks ago, he had a fall, and Roman was convinced he had been pushed down the stairs by ghosts. I’m telling you, the man is unstable.”
“Mr. Partridge is a murderer!” yelled Isaac. “He has a gun. He tried to shoot me!”
Ben’s scoff was louder than his voice had been.
The rings might prove it. But considering Sandra had been the one to live in this room, they would more likely bear her fingerprints than his. I racked my brain. Surely there was something, somewhere in my memories, that tied this together. I had been in the hotel for long enough. I had seen Mr. Partridge almost every day for the last three years. I knew his habits. If I closed my eyes and focused, I could see him in my mind’s eye with his newsboy cap and his tattered button-downs, and Sandra’s ring around his neck-
Sandra’s ring.
“But we can prove it,” I said suddenly, surprising myself by speaking up.
“Is that Roman speaking?” asked the cop.
“Yes,” I confirmed. “I can prove Mr. Partridge is a murderer.”
“What are you doing?” Isaac hissed.
“I have a hunch.”
“A hunch?”
“You make me trust your hunches, don’t you?”
Isaac looked skeptical. But he fell silent.
“Don’t shoot us, and we’ll show you,” I called out the door.
“What are you doing?” Isaac whispered.
I pointed to Sandra’s ring. “Haven’t you seen Mr. Partridge’s necklace?”
Realization lit up his eyes. “Oh my god. Roman.”
“We’re not going to shoot you if you surrender,” said the gruff voice from behind the door.
God, I hoped that was true. I tried to hunch into as small a target as possible.
But then there was nothing for it. Without us doing anything, the lock turned, and the door swung open with a long yawn. The ghosts had made our choice for us.
Isaac stood protectively in front of me. Even though our hands were behind our heads, the cops had their guns pointed at me. Once more, I felt that sand on my feet, heard Nana’s voice, felt Isaac’s kisses- This couldn’t be the end.
The cop lowered his gun slightly. “What do you think you know?” he asked.
The cop looked exactly as I expected him to look based on his voice. He was an older white man, solid but soft-bellied. His eyebrows were creased into a perma-frown, his face lined with jowls. Coarse stubble clung to his chin, greyer than the bottle-black hair on his head.
“Mr. Partridge wears a wedding ring around his neck,” I said. “He always said it was his dead wife’s wedding ring. But I think it’s a victim’s wedding ring.”
“Ridiculous,” said Ben. I got the sense he wished they’d shot me. He was all haughty and self-righteous, but the cop was starting to look less convinced.
“Where’s your evidence?”
Isaac handed the rings over. “We’ve been wearing gloves,” he said. “If there are fingerprints on there, they’re not ours.”
“Why did you have gloves in the first place?” The cop’s eyes were narrowing again, face getting harder — I hadn’t even been able to tell that it was soft before, except now those bushy eyebrows made a sharp ‘V’ shape. “Looks to me like you were hiding the evidence.”
“You never know when you might need to dye your hair,” said Isaac brightly.
“Hmm,” said the cop. But the rings were more interesting than us. There was nothing illegal about latex gloves. He peered over the rings.
“But-” said Ben.
The cop squinted at Sandra’s ring. “What do you think?” He passed it to the woman next to him.
She took a deep breath. “I don’t know whose ring I saw hanging around Albert Partridge’s neck, but I do want to find out.”
The main cop pointed at two of the other detectives. “Stay here with these two,” he ordered.
“Why can’t we go with you?” complained Isaac. “Ben got to go with you to find us.”
“Ben can stay here too for now. If this pans out, and Mr. Partridge is wearing a murder victim’s ring around his neck, we’ll need to get statements from all of you.”
“We should be free to go,” said Isaac. He tossed his hair. “You don’t have enough evidence to arrest us.”
“We can hold you for twenty-four hours as a suspect, so watch your mouth.”
I shot Isaac a look. He stayed silent. Even he knew that now wasn’t the time to be cocky.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Isaac
I’d been in the back of a cop car a few times before. Twice, I escaped. The other times hadn’t gone as well.
But this was the first time I had been in a cop car for reasons that had nothing to do with my own dubious morals. It was a strange sensation to twist my wrists without feeling handcuffs scrape against them.
I stretched across the seat to take Roman’s hand. He squeezed mine tightly. I knew as long as we were together, we would be okay. The police had no reason to keep us apart. Once they looked into the evidence we gave them, they would learn the truth. When they found out whose ring Mr. Partridge was wearing, they’d know he was a killer. Then they’d have to search his room, and I was sure they’d find something there to implicate Mr. Partridge in Kyle’s murder. There hadn’t been enough time for him to get rid of all the evidence.
Roman and I weren’t out of the woods entirely. But we were close: I could see light creeping through the trees.
After we pulled up to the station, we were escorted into a waiting area for witnesses. I’d never been on this side of the room before. It felt odd, unnatural.
Ever since my hand met Roman’s in the car, we hadn’t broken apart. I had no idea what was happening between us, but I knew I needed to keep holding him. The last twenty-four hours had been hell. He was my lifeline through it all. I thought I was tough, but without Roman there, I might have broken down and started weeping when I was trapped in that bathroom with the cops closing in.
I shuffled closer to Roman, so I was half on my plastic-cushioned seat and half on his lap. I rested my head against his chest.
“Can you let go of my hand?” he asked.
I sat straight upright. “I’m sorry, I-”
He cupped my jaw and
tilted my chin up. Before I knew what was going on, I was lost in his bright, clear eyes. He kissed me gently.
“I just wanted to put my arms around you,” he said.
Who was I to argue with that? I settled against Roman again, and he put an arm around my shoulders. I was impossibly comfortable. No mattress or cushion, no matter how tired I was, had ever compared to this level of comfort. Being with Roman was the ultimate in feeling safe. I trusted him completely — and I didn’t trust anyone at all.
My adrenaline had started to fade, and I was exhausted after nearly dying and barely sleeping. Today had lasted eons. My eyes were heavy, threatening to close at any second.
And then the detective came back. His shoulders were hunched, and he was surprisingly sweaty. He looked as tired as me.
This was it. I hoped that the detective would tell us that we were free to go.
But instead, the first words out of his mouth were, “Albert Partridge is dead.”
“Dead?” I stared at Roman, who looked as shocked as me. Then I looked back at the detective. “I swear we didn’t kill him.”
“I know,” said the detective. “It was a suicide.”
“Please tell me he confessed in his suicide note,” I said hopefully.
“Not exactly,” said the detective. “Although he did write extensively about being haunted.”
“He meant that literally,” said Roman.
“There was a knife in his kitchen sink with Kyle Powell’s blood on it. You two aren’t totally clear yet-”
“Don’t leave town,” I said. “I get it.”
“-but I have a feeling about this case.”
“I don’t think anything else will happen,” said Roman.
“Whose ring was Mr. Partridge wearing?” I asked eagerly. I had a theory, and I wanted to know if I was right. My ego always needed a good stroke.
The detective cleared his throat. “You were right. It did belong to a victim.”
“Which victim? Barbara Hennessey?”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Why do you say that?”
Roman grimaced at me. We were in the clear, what was I doing?
“It’s been bugging me,” I said. “I couldn’t work out why he would wear someone else’s ring when he loved his wife enough to kill for her. And then I realized the only thing that made sense would have been if that ring meant more to her than her own wedding ring. It was her first souvenir.”
“If not for your criminal record, you’d make a decent detective,” said the detective.
“No thanks. All cops are-”
Both Roman and the detective glared at me.
“Not arresting us right now?”
The detective cleared his throat. “I need to get your witness statements. It’s probably best if you talk about the ghosts as little as possible.”
I nodded, and even though Roman’s face was stony — he spent his life protesting the existence of ghosts — he nodded too.
“Off the record, though,” said the detective. “If you ever write a book about your ghostly experiences at the Cressley hotel… Well, I’ll read it. If you feature me a handsome, grizzled detective.”
***
Giving our statements took an eternity. Roman and I couldn’t entirely omit the ghosts from our stories, so we ended up sounding like a pair of conspiracy theorists. That was better than sounding like killers.
On account of being us driven to the police station, our cars were a few blocks away, at the Cressley, probably building up tickets.
We decided to take an Uber home and deal with everything else tomorrow. I was so tired of being inside the police station that I made us wait on the street. Cold, wet drips fell from the sky, but it was better than being in that stuffy building, which inexplicably smelled like dirty socks. When the fresh air blew through my lips, it tasted like freedom. I savored the crispness in my lungs.
“What do you think will happen to Sandra’s victims?” I asked, huddling up to Roman to hide my face from the elements.
“I don’t think there will be many more ghosts left at the Cressley after tonight,” said Roman.
“You don’t?”
“The spirits needed closure. Sandra Keene and Mr. Partridge are both gone now, and they’ll be rightly implicated in these murders. Their victims can be free.”
I glanced up at Roman’s face. His skin glistened with rain. “So it’s over?”
“I’ll have to go back with my EMF meter at some point to make sure, but I think… Yes. It’s over.”
“There’s one thing I still don’t understand,” I said. “If Mr. Partridge was the one pushing people downstairs, who pushed him?”
“The same spirits who helped us get into the pipes, probably,” said Roman.
I nodded. That made sense. Mr. Partridge deserved a karmic reckoning.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
He scraped a hand over his chin. He looked confused and kind of wistful. “I’m feeling a lot. A lot happened today.”
“Kyle,” I said in a hushed voice.
“Kyle.” He nodded, his voice on the verge of breaking. “And you. You nearly died less than twenty-four hours ago.”
“I guess so.” I wasn’t even tired. Excitement had filled me with manic energy.
“And I kissed you in the bathroom.”
“You’ve kissed me before.”
“I meant it this time.”
“So are you going to do it again?” I dared to ask.
“I might.”
The only thing standing between Roman and me had been the case. Now that the ghosts were gone, there was nothing holding us apart anymore.
It was kind of terrifying, getting into the Uber with Roman and knowing this was my chance with him. I didn’t want to blow it.
Roman double-checked the address with the driver.
“That’s not Elliot’s address,” I said.
“I know,” said Roman. “It’s my address.”
“You’re actually taking me to your place?”
“If you don’t want to-”
“No, I want to,” I said. I wanted nothing more than to see how this enigmatic man lived when he wasn’t watching over me.
“Good.”
Then Roman kissed me. His lips, soft and smooth and utterly intoxicating, caught me by surprise. I melted into him, collapsing in on myself, until the Uber driver cleared his throat.
Roman pulled away. If I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn he was blushing. That wasn’t like any kiss we’d had before. It carried a familiar rush of lust, but underneath the passion, there was tenderness and affection.
In the Uber next to Roman, I understood what people meant by fireworks. When I was next to him, my heart went off like a New Year’s Eve party. I was so full of feelings I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.
It was hard to keep my hands off Roman. I couldn’t rip off his clothes then and there, but I wanted to. God, I wanted to. I wanted to lose myself in him, release all the wound-up stress in my bones.
I settled for resting my hand in Roman’s lap, and slowly, ever so slowly, letting it slip toward his groin. I wouldn’t do anything untoward in this car — but I could let Roman think about all the untoward things I wanted to do to him when we were alone.
It didn’t take long to get to Roman’s apartment. Not even ten minutes and we were there, outside a utilitarian white concrete apartment complex.
Roman and I tumbled out of the car together, and I mumbled at the driver that I would definitely give him a five-star rating. He deserved it for putting up with the waves of unbridled lust that had rolled through his car.
There were few personal items in Roman’s apartment. The only photo in the place was on his fridge in a frame surrounded by seashells. The photo must have been taken on one of his trips to Fiji. It was a shot of Roman shirtless and grinning on a beach, with his arm around a tall, greying woman who must have been his mother. Her smile was identical to his, and her cheekbones and ja
wline, though softened by age, were just as striking.
Roman had a plain navy bedspread perfectly tucked around his single bed. A black-hooded lamp sat on a simple brown desk. Everything looked like it had been bought on sale for practicality rather than personality. But practicality was a part of Roman’s personality, and I liked that about him. I liked how prepared he was, how serious and cautious and protective. He was brave too, and never one to walk away from a challenge. I knew he would have labored over this set-up, making sure his space was optimized for performance. I was lucky Roman was letting me see this part of him.
“Sorry my apartment isn’t very exciting,” he said. “But it’s definitely not haunted.”
“I do like places that aren’t haunted,” I said.
“I like both,” said Roman.
“And here I thought I was the one who liked both,” I teased him.
He laughed and ran his hands through his hair. “I’m going to be honest with you, Isaac. I really want to have sex with you right now.”
I was going to spontaneously combust if he kept looking at me with those burning eyes. My heart lurched. “I want to have sex with you too.”
“That works out well.” Roman cleared his throat.
“But are you sure?” I said. “Today has been so much- You lost a friend-”
He tugged me in close, so that his chin was resting on my head. I felt utterly protected, lost in the familiar safety of his arms.
“I’m sure,” he murmured. “I want to be with you. You make me feel alive.”
“Okay,” I swallowed and breathed in the scent of his sweaty chest.
“But are you sure you want to do this tonight?” he said, stepping back.“You almost died today. If you want to cuddle-”
I did want to cuddle, but I wanted to fuck Roman’s brains out first. “I’m very sure.”
He nodded seriously, but a playful smile was starting to stretch over his face. “In that case, I’m going to enjoy you tonight.”
His words sent sensual shivers down my spine. For a moment, we just stared at each other, neither of us making the first move.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he said tentatively.
“Not if I kiss you first.”
The New Paranormal Page 29