by Lotta Smith
Rowling went on. “Besides, if I got fired, then you’d be fired, too.”
“What a relief. In that case I’ll be unemployed with my debt, and my folks are so going to kill me,” I said grudgingly. I was still living with my parents and Nana, which was equivalent to having no social life. If I got fired, there was no way I could keep that information from my folks.
“No, they won’t. In that case, you’d start working as a member of USCAB to pay your student loan. Besides, your folks love you too much to kill you.” He chuckled.
“The test is mandatory, which means you can’t skip it forever. Why don’t you get it done today? It will make your life easier,” I pointed out.
“Mandy, you don’t need to define the word ‘mandatory.’ It’s just I can’t help feeling that there are better things than doing sit-ups, a 300-meter sprint, push-ups, and running a mile and a half.”
“I know,” I agreed, grinning. “That’s why I declined to get promoted to be a special agent. And I consider it the smartest decision I’ve made since joining the FBI. Why bother going through additional physical torture? Besides, there’s no chance I’d run a mile and a half within thirteen minutes and fifty-nine seconds. The last time I had to run a mile, it took like twenty minutes. Anyway, enjoy your physical test while I go and interview the slain engineer.”
“Are you absolutely sure you can work on your own?” Rowling asked me, crossing his arms. “I’m not comfortable with the idea of sending you alone to the crime scene. Especially considering that the ghost of Giselle McCambridge previously took over your body. Even though things turned out okay, I still don’t like that it happened. Imagine what a disaster it could have been if you’re alone, and without backup.”
“Don’t worry. I doubt that will happen again,” I reassured my boss. “I kind of clicked with Giselle, so perhaps that’s why I was taken over. This time, I’m just going to ask the victim a few questions—meaning that I won’t have enough time to befriend the ghost.”
Keeping his arms crossed and looking unconvinced, Rowling was silent for a few seconds. Finally, he said, “All right. Call me when you’re in trouble.”
I noticed he used when instead of if. “So that you can upgrade it to a total pandemonium? Okay, I’ll be in touch when I’m possessed by some evil alien with vampire delusion.”
“So that you can suck my blood? Wow, that’s kinky!” He whistled. “But I like that. Anyway, take care.”
“Thanks. You, too, take care. Make sure you take the test, and don’t get hurt while taking it, okay? When I faked a headache back in school, I always ended up having a real headache later.” I stood up to leave, waving good-bye to my boss.
“I’ll be fine.” He uncrossed his arms and shrugged. “Don’t forget to call me when you’re finished. In case I don’t pick up, just leave a message.”
“I will.” I thought Rowling’s gesture was sweet, but at that time, I had no clue how much I’d regret my decision to work the case on my own.
* * *
In a cab on the way to the crime scene, Jackie popped in out of nowhere.
“Mandy, what were you thinking?” she demanded.
“Oh, Jackie, it’s you! What are you talking about?” I asked, putting my cell phone to my ear. I was pretending to have a phone conversation to hide the fact I was talking to Jackie, a drag queen sporting a colorful revealing outfit and a necklace spelling “FESTIVE,” who was sitting right next to me on the backseat. Oh, did I mention that I happened to be one of very few people who could interact with her because she’s dead?
It’s complicated. Jackie—formerly known as Jackson Frederick Orchard, an up-and-coming Broadway actor—happened to be a ghost. She was stabbed to death by a total stranger three years ago on the night of the NYC Pride Dance. One day, we met at Pier 26, and since then, the ghost had appointed herself as my guardian angel. But if you asked me, Jackie was more like a nosy, noisy aunt fussing about me.
“Excuse me? Rick has just invited you on a vacation in Switzerland, and you turned it down!” She crossed her long legs and narrowed her heavily lined eyes. “Seriously, Mandy, what’s wrong with you? How could you reject such a sweet temptation like that?” As the ghost fumed, a part of the intestine peeking out of the wound in the side of her abdomen trembled.
“He was just trying to bribe me so he could postpone the test.” I shook off her accusation.
“No way! He just used the bribe card because a) he was concerned about you since you were acting totally nervous, and b) he wanted to coerce you on the trip since you didn’t say yes to his previous invitation.”
“Technically, he didn’t invite me,” I pointed out. “He asked me if I fancy skiing in the summer.”
“Mandy, Mandy, Mandy….” Jackie groaned, holding her head with both hands. “That’s guy language for asking you on the trip.”
“You’re kidding. I didn’t expect you’d lecture me about guy language when you’re so adamant to be treated as a lady.”
“No, I’m not kidding. Believe me, I can understand guy language. I used to be a guy myself,” said the ghost of a drag queen. “Anyway, when he told you about the trip, he was expecting responses like, ‘How nice!’ and ‘That’s so fabulous!’ because these are the kind of reactions he’s accustomed to receiving. Except you said, ‘No. I don’t ski.’ Totally disinterested!”
“That’s because I don’t ski. He’s going on a ski trip, so he’s better off taking someone who enjoys skiing with him. Why bother picking up the worst possible travel companion who’s on bad terms with snow and gravity? He won’t have fun if I’m tagging along with him.”
“You don’t understand.” Jackie shook her head. “The skiing part doesn’t matter. What matters is spending some quality time with you.”
“Excuse me?” I squawked, which caused the driver to tremble a little. “That’s the most outrageous wild guess! Our relationship, if any, is purely based on work.”
“But he regularly pops in at the family dinners with your folks. That’s not work-related.” Jackie wiggled her fingers.
“Perhaps it’s because eating at my parents’ home is free?” I said, sounding more like a question than a statement.
“Hello? He doesn’t need to penny-pinch. He’s filthy rich,” Jackie reminded me. “Besides, most guys would stay away from your family dinners now that your sister’s back in the neighborhood and always pops in with her girls in tow.”
“What’s wrong with Alicia and her daughters?” I asked indignantly.
Alicia, my younger sister by two years, was a sensitive topic for me. She used to live in L.A. with her two kids and Tony, her corporate lawyer hubby. About a month ago, Tony got transferred to the firm’s headquarters in NYC. Instead of relocating to glamorous Manhattan, Alicia chose to live just five blocks away from my parents’ home, which happened to be my place of residence as well. As the big sister, I loved her as much as any siblings cared about each other, but sometimes it was difficult to see her so happily married with kids.
When we were kids, I was supposed to be the smarter one. I always had better grades. I always planned ahead for everything with a little touch of obsession, and Alicia went with the flow. I went to medical school; Alicia went to community college and immediately got pregnant with her first daughter Emma. At that time, I was astonished by her recklessness, but now that she’s a happy wife with a successful husband and kids—whereas I turned out to be the one who got kicked out of med school and stuck with a humongous student loan, not to mention my wicked career without many prospects and being treated like the butt of all jokes by my crazy boss every day—I couldn’t help feeling like the stupid sister.
“Nothing.” Jackie shrugged. “But hey, if I were in his shoes, I wouldn’t get near your nieces. No offense, but playing horsey with them for hours isn’t my taste of fun.”
“None taken,” I muttered. Jackie had a point. Even from my perspective, Alicia’s kids were a little bit too obsessed with playing horsey with Unc
le Rick. “Maybe he likes to crawl around carrying little girls on his back?” Again, my words sounded more like a question than a statement.
“You don’t understand.” Jackie shook her head. “Rick is trying to impress you because he cares about you.”
“No way.” I chuckled. “If he had feelings for me, he wouldn’t keep calling me the Grim Reaper, would he?”
As I said those words, the cab driver looked in the back mirror to inspect me.
Jackie looked me in the eye. “Hey, Mandy, who are you kidding? You can’t keep fooling yourself forever. Rick cares for you, and you have feelings toward him. Why can’t you just admit it?”
“Since when did you become my love counselor?” I frowned.
“Oh, did you just say love?” Jackie perked up. Grinning from ear to ear, she went on. “You finally admitted having feelings for him!”
“No… I mean, that was just a figure of speech.” I started to explain, but instead I averted my gaze from her, saying, “Oh, I’m almost there. Can’t talk. Work to do. Ciao!”
“That’s sooo unfair! You can’t cut me off like that!” Jackie protested before declaring I was hopelessly dense and disappearing into thin air.
CHAPTER 2
The cab dropped me at a four-star hotel in Midtown West. The driver took off immediately after the payment. When he mumbled, “Thanks,” he was shaking his head as if to say, “Another day, another head case.”
A fortyish African American man in a dark suit approached me. “Ms. Meyer?”
“Yes. You must be Agent Petite from the counterterror unit,” I said.
“Right. Please, just call me Mike.” He smiled wryly. Unlike what his surname implied, he was a large, heavyset man. His hard-muscled body indicated that he was ex-military. “Look at me. My surname sounds like a joke.”
I didn’t know the right response to his words, so I said, “Most people call me Mandy.”
“Okay, Mandy. Let’s go to the crime scene in the back alley,” he said, leading the way.
While we headed for the service entrance of the hotel, Mike briefed me about the victim. His name was David Holtz, and he was an IT engineer and an executive of a private think tank visiting the city for business. Two days ago, he was murdered. His wallet was missing and he had no ID. Under normal circumstances, this case should have been handled by the NYPD as a robbery-homicide. However, when he was identified by his fingerprints, the case was upgraded to a possible terror attack since Holtz had been involved with a number of classified projects with the FBI, NSA, and Homeland Security.
Mike led me out of the service entrance and walked several yards down the back street. “Do you see the dumpster over there? The body was left in front of it.”
“That’s too bad,” I mumbled. Even though it was the early afternoon, the back alley was dark, like the sun went past the place without shedding sufficient light. Due to the previous rain still remaining in puddles here and there, the air felt damp. And a bloody man was leaning against the dumpster.
“Do you see him?” Mike asked sotto voce.
“Yes. He’s over there.” I nodded, indicating with the palm of my hand in the direction I saw the ghost. “He was stabbed in the neck and hands, right?”
“That’s correct.” Mike’s eyes widened. “Can you talk to him?”
“I can try, though there’s no guarantee he’ll talk with me.”
“Okay. I’ll wait with my fingers crossed.” Mike nodded. He told me to ask him about the attacker and the context of the assault. He also wanted to know if the victim ended up revealing any classified information regarding the projects he was working on with the government.
Out of courtesy for the deceased, I switched off my phone and approached the ghost of Holtz while Mike waited about six yards from me.
The ghost’s face was swollen like he’d been hit repeatedly, and some of his fingers were nearly severed. The series of wounds could have been a result of an unskilled assault, but at the same time, he might have been tortured for information regarding national security.
“Hello, Mr. Holtz,” I said cautiously.
He responded immediately. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he had only been dead for a short while. “Hello!” He jumped up. “You are…?”
“I’m Amanda Meyer. I’m working with the FBI and came here to assist you. I need to ask you some questions.”
He frowned, looking at his severely damaged hands. “Okay, but could you call an ambulance first?”
“Well….” I fumbled for the words. “I’d like to assist you, but I don’t think an ambulance would be much help.”
Holtz was silent for a moment. He glanced at his hands and then reached for his neck with his barely attached fingers. As he felt the wound, the color drained from his face. “Am I dead?”
I gulped. “I’m afraid so.”
“Damn it!” Very upset, he began pounding on the wet pavement. No matter how hard he battered the alley, no sound was heard as his fists just went through it. “Damn! Damn! Damnation! Those motherfuckers murdered me!”
I truly, madly hated my job. Doling out bad news to people always left a bitter taste in my mouth.
I decided to wait for him to calm down. Considering his educational and professional background, he seemed like a person capable of rational and logical thinking.
When he was done cussing and punching the pavement, I said, “Mr. Holtz, can I ask you a question?”
Without saying yes or no, he turned to me. “I can’t die like this. I have unfinished business!”
“I understand you’re upset,” I said, making sympathetic noises.
“No, you don’t understand.” He shook his head and then he went on, almost screaming, “I need a favor! Can I borrow your body?”
“No! You can’t!” Shrieking, I stepped back, but he was fast. He literally jumped on me. “Ewww!”
As I recoiled, I felt something warm and strong seeping inside my body. I wanted to scream, but my voice failed. My legs wobbled and I fell onto the pavement butt first. Good thing I managed to land on a dry area.
“Mandy, are you all right? What happened?” Mike scurried to my side, helping me stand.
I wanted to say, “No, I’m not okay,” but I couldn’t speak under my own free will. Instead, my mouth uttered, “I feel ill. I need to leave now.”
“But what about the interview?” Mike cocked his head to the side like he was confused.
I was itching to scream for help, but I had no control over my body. “I don’t feel well. I’m sorry, but I need to leave now.”
“What?” Mike didn’t seem to be convinced, but he shrugged. “Fine. You can just leave.” He sounded annoyed and very much disappointed. I turned on my heels as he muttered behind my back. “Responsibility isn’t your strong suit, huh? What a waste of time.” I was dying to go back to him to apologize and beg for help, but my body powerwalked away… uncharacteristically fast and furious. It sounds ridiculous, but my body was hijacked.
Hello, Mr. Holtz? Where are you going? I tried to communicate with my captor without actually speaking, but he didn’t respond to me. I felt a surge of panic creeping up my spine. I had been taken over by a ghost once before, but her whole purpose was dancing with Rowling—and actually, I had been delighted during the dance with my boss.
Jackie, are you there? I’m in deep trouble. I need your help! I wasn’t sure if she would catch my Mayday signal. Plus, our previous encounter didn't end amicably, so maybe she’d just ignore me.
To my relief, Jackie popped up from out of nowhere. “I’m here! What’s up? Why are you looking so expressionless?” She arched her eyebrows as she observed my unusually wide strides. “And when and how did you learn to talk to me without actually talking?”
I have no idea! I wanted to shrug, but I couldn’t. By the way, Jackie, I’m hijacked and can’t control my body.
“Excuse me? How did it happen?” Jackie’s eyes widened.
Weren’t you looking? You�
��re supposed to be my guardian angel. I mentally narrowed my eyes at her.
“I was a little pissed off over the argument in the cab, so I went to watch the boys at Times Square Hunks to chill a little.” She winked, naming a male strip club. “The ability to sneak in to their practice sessions is one of the few perks of being dead. Besides, I no longer need to buy tickets.”
I wanted to roll my eyes and groan, but I couldn’t do either.
“OMG! You must be really bad.” Finally, she furrowed her eyebrows in concern. “Actually, you look worse than the last time you were possessed.”
I know! I was interviewing this guy, David Holtz, and all of a sudden he jumps on me, saying he’s got unfinished business. Will you please pull him out of my body? I begged. I’m sorry about cutting our conversation off like you didn’t exist.
“Apology accepted.” Jackie grinned and reached for me. “I can try.”
Yes, please. I closed my eyes, unable to watch.
“Alrighty then… uh-oh!”
What uh-oh? I asked.
“I can’t reach inside. I just go through you!” Jackie squawked with a palpable panic. “I really want to help you, but I don’t know what to do.”
If I had control over my body, I would have been sobbing, but no tears came out. Jackie, could you please call Brian Powers for help? He should be able to do something about it. Brian Powers was Rowling’s classmate from high school and an exorcist who craved media attention. According to my boss, Brian wasn’t a fraud.
“Brian? I’m not sure….” Jackie contorted her lips as if she were being forced to eat something really yucky. “You know, he’s got this super-powerful atmosphere, and I feel intimidated around him.”
As I heard the reluctance in her voice, my freak-o-meter jumped, so I begged. Pretty, pretty please with sugar on top?