The Thirteen Bends

by Shannon Reber

She gave me a hard look, a few tears spilling over. “Um, thanks,” she whispered, fiddling with her fork for a few seconds. “There was something about Edith, something I couldn’t figure out. Usually, I feel their emotions. I smell the thing that was most dominant about them. I even--”

  “Ian Gregory,” a guy said, stepping over to the table with a couple of other guys.

  I was annoyed that they’d interrupted our conversation until it registered that we were in a public place. I had no right to complain . . . or less right.

  I glanced at the guys and my heart sank. They were Dylan’s friends. Two of them had gone to the same high school we’d gone to, the other one I recognized from the party I’d gone to last fall at Duquesne. It was clear as day that they did not have anything nice to say.

  Ian folded his arms and leaned back, his expression going hard. “You need to leave. Now,” he demanded, biting out those words through gritted teeth.

  “Or what, Gregory? You going to kill us like you did to Dylan? Maybe blame some other freak for doing it?” he motioned to Tria. “How about her?”

  I opened my mouth to speak but Ian beat me to the draw. Then again, I wouldn’t call it speaking. It was one of those things. He could be the sweetest guy but the moment you pissed him off, you learned how much was going on under the surface.

  He got to his feet, his fists clenched as he took a step closer to the main guy.

  The whole diner went quiet, everyone turning to look at the tableau. That was when I saw Detective Roche. I hadn’t noticed him until that moment. He had been sitting not far from us, his back to us as he sat at the counter.

  The moment he turned around, it was clear he had followed us. The look on his face was like Christmas had come early.

  He got to his feet and stepped over, pulling his suit jacket back to reveal the badge clipped to his belt . . . and his gun. “Do you gentlemen have information about deaths caused by Ian Gregory or Madison Meyer?”

  The guy in the lead took a small step back. “Yeah. Dylan was our friend. He’s not the one who killed Ian’s sister. No way.”

  “I said proof,” Roche growled.

  “I got proof. I knew Dylan.”

  Roche fingered his handcuffs like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to arrest Ian or the other guys more. What he did was motion around the diner. “There is no need to disturb these good people with your bickering. Go on about your business.”

  The guy looked like he wanted to argue. Instead, he shot Ian a death glare and the three of them stormed out of the diner.

  My eyes stayed fixed on Roche. The way he spoke was different than he had spoken to me the day before. It was like . . . no. No way. Could he be possessed?

  I slid my hand into the bag next to me, opening one of the vials of salt. If holy water didn’t work on the spirit, it was my only option.

  “Detective Roche?” I asked, just to be sure.

  The man didn’t look at me at all. It was all the proof I needed. Detective Roche was possessed.

  I glanced at Tria, startled to see the look on her face. It was like . . . well, like she saw a ghost. Her eyes were wide and her hands shook so hard that the fork she’d been fiddling with clattered onto the table.

  He turned to look at her, a cold smile on his face. “It’s lovely to see you again, my dear,” he said, his smile changing to a mocking sneer.

  Tria turned in her seat and stood up, motioning me back as I moved to rise as well. “Madison, his name is Paul Mueller. Edith was his little sister. He killed her last and--”

  “Be quiet, you abomination,” the ghost said through the man’s body, taking a step closer.

  I moved to get in the way but again, Tria stopped me. “Paul Mueller,” she said more firmly and turned to walk out of the diner.

  Roche was right on her heels.

  No. I couldn’t let her take that kind of risk alone. There had to be something I could do to help.

  Ian turned slowly to look at me. “Imogen should be here in a minute. I’ll follow them and make sure--”

  “No.”

  He leaned down to touch his lips to my cheek. “Talk to Imogen. Let’s see where this leads,” he said, rushing out of the diner before I could say anything to dissuade him.

  SEVENTEEN

  I was mad. Why had Ian brought Imogen into our little crazy club of people who were aware of the paranormal? Why had he just run off when he knew Erkens wanted me to have a partner?

  And why . . . WHY did the name Paul Mueller sound so familiar? It tickled at the back of my neck. I had heard the name at some point. Something told me it had been around the same time I had written the Tillie Klimek paper in high school.

  That had to be where I’d heard the name. The prickling feeling on the back of my neck told me it was true.

  That class had been different than I had expected. I had thought we would study the way the mind worked. It turned out, the teacher was more interested in history than psychology.

  I had been fourteen, taking that class with a group of seniors. It hadn’t been one of my favorite experiences. The teacher’s obsession with abnormal psychology had been difficult for me to stomach.

  Our assignment had been to find a serial killer from history and decide if we believed the person had a psychological disorder or not. I had chosen Tillie Klimek because of the fact she claimed to have precognitive dreams, so it seemed obvious to me that she’d had some kind of disorder.

  My heart lodged itself in my throat and pounded there as the name came up. Paul Mueller was the man from the train. Edith Mueller had been his younger sister.

  There had been no record of the man from the train killing the girls on the thirteen bends. His list of kills had begun in 1890. The thirteen bends must be his first kill.

  But if that was true, why had the nun . . . that was when it hit me in the face. The nun hadn’t been threatening me. She had been trying to warn me.

  I tossed money on the table to cover our bill, not too sure how that newfound knowledge could help. I needed Erkens’ advice. What was going on that made it impossible for him to contact me?

  “Hey.”

  I glanced up, seeing Imogen’s fluorescent green hair, her eyes fixed on me in a speculative way as she walked up to the table. I couldn’t draw her into our crazy life. She was my best friend.

  I cleared my throat and closed my laptop, moving to get out of the booth. “Hey, sorry. I have to--”

  “Madison, stop,” Imogen said, shaking her head as she moved to sit in Tria’s vacated seat. “Just listen to me, okay?”

  I sat back, my mind spinning through all the possibilities of how to get the ghost of that serial killer out of Detective Roche. He had probably been possessed the night before. Officer Salis had died within a few hours of possession. But Gina had survived. She’d been hospitalized but she’d been okay. I would guess there wasn’t much time left for him. I needed to find a way to make sure the spirit didn’t hurt him.

  Imogen sat forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Madison, I need you to listen to me, okay?” she asked, leaning a little closer. “I’m not unaware. I know who TC Erkens is. I know what you really do for a living. I know about the paranormal world,” she said in a tone that would only carry to me.

  My attention snapped to her immediately. She knew? Could Ian have told her? Why would he do that? Did she know the truth about Spencer too?

  She stayed in the same position, her voice even quieter than it was before. “I have experience in dealing with dark spirits. I can help you.”

  My jaw almost hit the table. “Experience?” I squeaked. That was the last thing I would have expected to hear from her.

  She shrugged. “Mind if we get out of here? It looks like we’re going to need to do some talking while we work on this case.”

  I swallowed hard and continued to stare. “Uh . . . I . . . Imogen, what--”

  She smirked at me and stood up, taking hold of my arm and guiding me out of the diner. It was nice that she gave me t
he chance to think things through without having to bother with deciding where to go. Letting her take charge was okay with me for a minute.

  When we got out into the parking lot, she stopped and turned to face me. “You’ve had a lot to take in over the last couple of days. Do you want the full story or just--”

  “The full story,” I interrupted, curiosity the strongest feeling inside me.

  Imogen gave me a long look. Slowly, she nodded. “My mom is fae. My dad is human. Spencer and I got around to telling each other our truths a few weeks ago, so you don’t have to tiptoe around who he is.”

  Holy worm-ridden blue screen of death. Imogen. My best friend. She was an immortal . . . and Ian had been told before I had.

  That was the part I didn’t like. Then again, who knew first was hardly the issue. What was of primary importance was that she said she had experience with dark spirits.

  I motioned for her to get into the passenger side of my car, fiddling with my keys as I got in. It was a surreal feeling. Imogen was paranormal. I was a paranormal investigator and had never known. That did not say good things about my skills in detection.

  “So . . . how long has Ian known?” I asked as I turned the car on.

  Imogen blew out a long breath. “Since Christmas. Ian and Serena were attacked by a dark spirit and I took care of it.”

  My brain felt like it might pop under the pressure of that information. Since Christmas. They had been attacked when I was in the half-realm . . . and neither of them had ever mentioned it.

  Imogen jiggled her leg up and down, her tongue poking lightly at her cheek. “I asked them not to tell you. I wanted to find the right time. Please don’t get all snotty with them about it. If you’re mad, it should be at me.”

  I rolled my eyes at her. “I don’t care who or what your parents are. I just don’t like being kept out of the loop. I’ve been back for months and nobody mentioned an attack at Christmas.”

  “I just did.”

  “Bully for you,” I said, my lips curved up into a grin. “So just to be clear, you’re an immortal half-fae, with a serious love of music, and graphic tees?”

  She shot me a baleful look.

  I snickered. “I’m a human hacker who could use your help if you’re willing.”

  She snorted out a laugh before she tipped her head back and let out a huge belly laugh. “This is why I love you, Madison. So, yeah. Let’s go kick some ghostly butts,” she said, rubbing her hands together.

  I motioned to the bag I had stuck behind my seat. “I haven’t done much research on fae. Will holy water, salt, or agrimony hurt you?”

  “Since my dad is human, it doesn’t affect me much. I do have trouble with iron but it doesn’t lay me out like it does for most fae. My greatest weaknesses are my inability to put up with douche-bags and my lack of true magic.” She pulled a small, wooden flute out of her pocket. “I can call to the magic that’s in the air with my song but the air has a LOT of magic. So yeah. I’m a really good girl to have around.”

  “Can the magic in the air banish the spirit out of the cop it’s possessing?”

  Imogen whipped her head in my direction, her mouth working silently for a moment. “Possession? Are you serious?” she shrieked, shaking her head before I could answer. “Madison, that takes some serious dark juice. Spirits, even the worst of them have weaknesses to a lot of things but one who can possess a person . . . they’re more demon than ghost.”

  My heart sank. I had known it was bad. Imogen’s reaction made it clear that bad was the understatement of the century.

  “The nun I thought was the killer, when she appeared in front of me, holy water didn’t touch her but salt did. Maybe that can help. If holy water really does affect dark spirits--”

  “It does.”

  I thought about it for a minute. “The two people I know of who have been possessed, one guy died and my client was hospitalized. Both of them were because of low sodium in the blood. What if we could combine the two?”

  Imogen tapped her fingers on the dashboard, her eyes unfocused as she thought things over. “Do you know who the spirit is?”

  I pulled out into the evening traffic and nodded. “Uh, yeah. His name is Paul Mueller. He was a serial killer known as the man from the train.”

  “Do you know where he’s buried?”

  I shook my head.

  “Stop. We need to find that out before we head to . . . wherever we’re going.”

  Since I’d only managed to get one block down the road, it was easy enough to turn onto a side street and drive back to Erkens’ office.

  EIGHTEEN

  Tria Hewitt knew she didn’t have to be afraid. Her guardian spirit would protect her from Paul Mueller’s ghost. She knew it was true but fear coursed through her body nonetheless.

  She looked around as she drove, aware that the spirit followed her. She needed a better plan than simply to drive.

  The figure of Poston appeared in the passenger seat of her car, his usual kindly smile nowhere to be found. The smell of cinnamon that filled the car made her sure she would be okay. Nothing could happen to her because Poston and the rest of her spirit group would protect her.

  “They released her,” Poston said, the disapproving sound of his voice one that made her want to cry.

  “You . . . you mean Tillie Klimek? But they told me I had until Friday to write a report. I had days more to figure out how to lock her in place.”

  “They lied.”

  Tears filled Tria’s eyes. “What do I do?” she asked, willing to do anything at all to fix the mistakes she had made.

  Poston gave her a sad look and slowly shook his head. “You’ve gone too far, Tria. There’s only darkness ahead for you. There’s nothing we can do.”

  Her hands clenched tight around the wheel as Poston and the rest of her spirit group faded back into the ether. She had never felt more alone in her entire life.

  Her eyes landed on her phone and a small smile came to her lips. It didn’t matter. Her son was alive. Nothing else was important.

  And she had both Madison and Quinn working to help her. She wasn’t alone at all.

  The smell of almonds filled the air and a figure appeared again in the passenger seat of her car. The feeling that came off the ghost was odd, off in some way. There was happiness, mixed with fear, mixed with hatred, then topped off with a dose of crazy. Tillie had unnerved her from the first moment they had spoken.

  “Hello there,” she said sweetly, her voice still holding its Polish accent.

  Tria swallowed hard, terrified to face that dark entity without her guardian spirit. Her palms grew damp on the wheel, her eyes remaining fixed on the road. “Tillie, please. Don’t you think there’s been enough death? You don’t need to go on another killing spree,” she pleaded, desperate to keep the ghost from poisoning more people.

  Tillie made a tutting noise. “Do you know how difficult it was for me when my father took his strap to my backside? Do you know what it was like for me when he visited my room in the nights? I only wanted it to stop, so I gave him the arsenic. I was young, so I gave him too much. He died much too fast. My husbands, though, oh they took a good long while. I told them I had the sight. I knew the date of their deaths. I had scheduled them myself,” she let out a trilling little laugh before she continued on. “I did not ask to be called back from the underworld. You did this without my assistance, my girl.”

  “I did,” Tria agreed, her eyes fixed on the road. “But I didn’t call you back so--”

  “Hush now, dear,” Tillie interrupted, the scent of almonds growing so strong, it was almost sickening. “There’s evil to that man. He needs to be dealt with.”

  Tria’s eyes bugged. “You’re . . . going to help me get rid of Paul Mueller’s spirit?” she clarified, not sure she had heard the ghost correctly.

  Tillie made a tutting noise again. “I will help, yes. I do not like how they have treated you. You should have poisoned them, my dear. It is what they deserve
.”

  Tria shook her head. “Tillie, listen to me. Please. I want to stop Paul Mueller. I do not want anyone else to be hurt. Can we come to an agreement on that? No collateral damage. Not one person.”

  Tillie shook her head. “There will be casualties. I have gone into the future and seen it. Death is coming.”

  Tria took in a shaky breath. “I can’t let you do that, Tillie. This is--” she broke off when the strobes of police lights filled her rearview mirror.

  There was so little time. She couldn’t run anymore. She pulled off to the side of the road, trying to think of a way to stop Paul Mueller’s spirit.

  She had no salt with her. But that would only be a stopgap even if she did. She needed to destroy the spirit to keep it from taking any more lives. Only an exiler or another spirit could destroy a dark spirit.

  She glanced to the side, at the phantom of the second serial killer she had brought back to the earthly plane. Could Tillie Klimek honestly be willing to help? Could she have just been the victim of male cruelty and turned to homicide to free herself of them? Or was she simply a wanton murderer?

  There was calmness coming from that visitor. Tillie wasn’t afraid. Maybe she had learned the difference between right and wrong.

  But the revenant who had become so powerful that he had the ability to possess and utterly control bodies, that spirit had not learned. He was evil through and through. The feelings that pulsed from him even through the closed window of her car were all of hatred.

  “Help me?” she finally asked Tillie.

  The spirit smiled, vanishing from the car as she went to face down the evil of Paul Mueller.

  NINETEEN

  My heart felt like it might burst right out of my chest as Imogen and I stopped in front of the apartment building where Erkens’ office was. It would be a bad idea to go in because of the salt and iron shavings that were all over the place. I would not do anything to endanger my friend.

  “You find out as much as you can about how and where the ghost died,” Imogen ordered, taking out her flute and beginning to play an eerie, bewitching tune on it.