by J N Duncan
He paused, the smile vanishing. Why was that? “I’m not sure exactly. Perhaps just the promise of new things. I’m out of the rut and can see the road again. I’ve turned a corner. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel, or whatever you want to call it. Maybe I’m just hopeful again after a very long time.”
Cynthia’s eyes were glassy with tears. “That’s really good to hear, Nick. You deserve it.”
He gave her a casual, one-shoulder shrug before heading down the hall to his office. “Not as much as some.”
An hour later he and Cynthia were off in his Porsche while Shelby headed up into the Lincoln Park area to work the locals with a little bit of the vampire voodoo, as she so lovingly referred to it. Completely off-the-record of course. It would be considered coercion in any court, and get the case tossed in a heartbeat.
Nick wanted to see if Rosa Sanchez might now be with her babe on the other side before he went to help Shelby, and so he found himself again at the scene of Rosa’s murder, with another woman in hand.
Cynthia stared out at the house through the car’s window. “This looks too nice for the kind of violence that happened.”
“It does,” Nick replied. “McManus should be here in a few minutes to let us in.”
“That’s who replaced Ms. Carpenter, isn’t it?”
Nick nodded. “Strikes me as a good man.”
“And what about Agent Rutledge? I heard Shelby say she was having a rough time of it. I can just imagine after everything she went through, but to think she might be psychic. That just boggles my mind.”
It did boggle the mind. Deadworld had irrevocably altered Jackie. How could he have known? All he could do now is help her make the best of it. “I’m not sure what to make of what’s happened. Actually, I’ve been considering having her talk to you about all of that.”
“Me?” Cynthia laughed. “That woman does not like me one bit.”
“You were my office manager and I was a murder suspect,” he said. “That’s all in the past now, but I’m very curious what your take on her abilities might be. We don’t know the scope of what she can do.”
Cynthia turned and stared at him. “Seriously? She’s that strong, just like that?”
“She can hear and see the dead. She’s channeled them also, quicker and stronger than I’ve ever seen anyone do. She has no control over it, which is what has me concerned. Think you might be able to help her?”
“The poor woman needs someone to work with her. She’ll go crazy just getting dumped into something like that. If she is willing, I’ll talk to her at least.”
Nick gave her a faint smile and glanced up in his rearview mirror. McManus had arrived. “Ah, here we go.”
Cynthia followed his gaze. “Well, time for the fun stuff.”
McManus walked up and shook their hands, and gave Cynthia a very appreciative look-over. “Mr. Anderson. No Ms. Fontaine today?”
“She’s up in Lincoln Park area doing some looking around for our elusive Mr. Vasquez.” Nick motioned at Cynthia. “And this is my office manager, Cynthia Forrester, who is a medium. She’s going to see if Rosa Sanchez is residing on the other side or if we’ve still got a hunt on our hands.”
“Excellent,” McManus said, smiling at Cynthia, and holding her hand for a moment or two longer than the handshake. “Can’t say I miss the motorcycle lady at all.”
Nick watched Cynthia freeze for a half second, catching her breath before letting it out through a brilliant smile. “Nick, you didn’t tell me the FBI were such flirts.”
McManus took a half step back and assessed whether he had just crossed a line or not. Nick watched McManus flick his glance toward him for an instant before coming back to Cynthia. “Flirting Bastards Incorporated, Agent Ryan McManus at your service.”
They laughed and Nick offered an appreciative smile before McManus led them up the walk and into the house of the screaming babe.
Cynthia knew before even walking in the door. Nick could see her tension grow with each approaching step. When she turned to look at him, a tear eased down her cheek. “Oh, Nick. This is horrible.”
He reached out and lay a hand upon her arm. “Cyn, if you’d rather not, I understand.”
She shook her head. “No. I’ve seen rage and pain before. This is just so . . . intense.” She sniffed and wiped at the tear. “And innocent.”
McManus unlocked the door and let Cynthia walk into the foyer. His gaze followed, far more intrigued, than lustful. “She can really hear the dead baby in here?”
“The scene of death is very thin between this world and the next,” he said.
“Give you guys one thing—you don’t lack for interesting conversation.” McManus shook his head, as though knocking out the cobwebs, and went inside. “The murder location is upstairs at the end of the hall, Ms. Forrester.”
“I know,” she said, her eyes staring up at a blank spot in the ceiling. “Please. Call me Cynthia.”
“You ready to go up, Cyn?” Nick asked.
“As I’ll ever be,” she said. “You sure you don’t want me to try and talk to Rosa if she’s there?”
“Certain,” Nick said forcefully. He would take no chances with Cynthia. Just a quick peek and out, that was all. “You look and check and get out. If you’re there more than sixty seconds, I’m snapping you out of it.”
“Well, shit, Nick, that barely gives me time at all. Sometimes it takes a minute just to get settled once I cross.”
“I know, but this woman is looking to possess, and I’m taking no chances even if you are strong enough to resist. Agent McManus, stick close to me until she’s done.”
McManus laughed. “You’re worried I might get possessed by an evil spirit?”
“She’s not evil,” Nick replied and followed Cynthia up the stairs. “She just wants revenge on those who killed her and her child. If she’s with her child now, at least she is not actively possessing someone, so we know we have some time to get Vasquez and find out who else was involved in her murder.”
“OK, I can get my FBI brain around that one,” he said. “What if she’s not there?”
“Likely she’s gotten hold of someone and is looking for those left on her list.”
“But wouldn’t it benefit us to try and reason with her if she is over . . . there?” McManus wondered.
Nick could see he would have to do some more training on the FBI if he was going to consult with them in the future. “Spiritual energy by itself is different than the combination of it with the material world. It’s difficult to explain clearly but suffice to say, spiritual energy is far easier to be single-mindedly focused with. That’s why you can get ghosts haunting the places where they died for decades or longer. So, reason is not always the best option.”
McManus nodded in agreement, though Nick was not sure he understood or believed it. Cynthia was entering the master bedroom now, hand held over her mouth.
“So much blood,” she said, muffled through her fingers. “Rage and blood.” She paused and looked back at him in the hall, her face melting down from its usual bright cheerfulness to something akin to despair. “Nick, this is awful, what happened here.” Her hands had come down over her abdomen, rubbing softly at her belly.
“If it’s too much, just back out, Cyn. Don’t push it.” Nick stepped up and put a firm hand on each arm. “I mean it. This is a bad spot. If it’s going to overwhelm, don’t do it.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m fine, Nick. Thanks. Just worse than I thought it would be.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “Holy Mother, it really reeks of blood in here.” She smiled at them. “Good thing I’ve got a strong stomach. Well, let me get prepared and we’ll see what happens.”
The bed in the room had been removed and Cynthia proceeded to step into the middle of that previously occupied space. Hands clasped lightly in front of her, she closed her eyes. Her lips moved but she voiced nothing. Nick knew she spoke prayers to the Great Mother.
McManus leaned in c
lose and whispered, “Is there a reason I don’t smell a damn thing?”
“That smell comes from the other side. It will fade from here eventually, but nobody will sleep very comfortably in this room for some time to come.”
“Place creeps me out, that’s for sure,” he said and remained hovering in the doorway.
Nick leaned against the opened door, watching Cynthia prepare. It would only take her a couple more minutes to get into that trancelike state where she could take her spiritual self into Deadworld and get a clear picture of what existed there.
“What is she doing?” McManus said.
“Not now.” Nick held up his hand to quiet him. “Just be prepared.”
McManus was quiet for a moment, opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again. Nick gave him a nod of thanks and continued to watch Cynthia. Her prayers finally stopped, which was an indication she was ready, and slowly her chin sank toward her chest. For a few seconds she appeared to be sleeping, but then her head came up and her eyes were wide open.
“It’s very empty here,” she said. “Not a ghost in the area except for the baby and . . . Rosa, I suspect.”
“Are you with the babe?”
She shook her head. “Outside. Too much blocking me inside. He’s really strong, Nick. Unborns close to birth are quite . . . oh, hold on. I sense something else over here.”
Nick’s eyes narrowed, though he could see nothing. “What is it?”
“Not sure. It feels like . . . yikes. I can hear Rosa. She doesn’t sound happy.”
“All right. Come back, Cyn. We know. I don’t want you risking yourself with her.”
“Just a minute. There’s someone on the ground over here.”
“You probably don’t have a minute, Cynthia. Get back now or I’m going to slap you out of it.”
Cynthia gasped. “Shit!” Her hands began to wave frantically in the air. “Rosa! No, I’m not here . . . stop . . .”
Her body twisted and fell to the floor. Stretched out of the ether, Nick could see two ghostly hands wrapped around Cynthia’s throat. He leaped into action, dropping to his knees at Cynthia’s side and reached for the arms coming through Cynthia’s door. They were strong, absurdly so. They might not just strangle Cynthia, but crush her windpipe as well.
“Rosa,” Nick said in a loud, firm voice. “If you don’t let go now, I’m going to destroy you and your babe will be alone.” Nick had no idea if he could draw in a spirit from this side of the veil, but he could sure give Rosa something to think about.
He could not pry her hands away, and Cynthia was making rough, gargling sounds. Behind him he could hear McManus yelling in panic. There would be no noble counting to three on this. Nick gave Rosa all of one second to comply and then began to open up his door and draw upon the other side, pulling upon the reserves he still retained from being filled with all of those souls. Rosa’s reaction was instantaneous. With a bitter screech, the hands withdrew and vanished as quickly as they had come.
Cynthia coughed and spluttered, her hands rubbing at her throat. There would be some fine bruising there later.
McManus’s voice cut in. “Never mind. Cancel that. The situation is under control. No, no, it’s fine. Sorry. It looked worse than it was.” His cell phone clicked shut. “What in God’s name was that?”
“You all right, Cyn?” Nick scooped his hands under her and picked up Cynthia like she was stuffed with straw. “Let’s get you out of this house first. McManus? Can you find us a cup of water?”
“Yeah, sure.” He bolted out ahead of them, and was waiting with a cup filled with tap water when Nick got Cynthia downstairs. She eagerly grabbed at the cup and gulped down half of it before coughing several times again.
“She’s . . . wow. She’s bad news.”
“Don’t talk,” Nick said. “Drink some more water when you can.”
Cynthia nodded and then shook her head. “Agent Carpenter.” She was wracked by another fit of coughing and finally drank down some more water.
“She was there?” Damn. Laurel would have no chance against Rosa in her current state.
“She was on the ground, Nick. Not moving. I think Rosa already got to her.”
Nick closed his eyes and took a step back. “Ah, hell.”
Chapter 27
Jackie let her head droop forward. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, partly out of frustration and partly to keep from throwing up; the air in the closed space of the interview room was stifling, warm, and compounded by the ever-present smell of blood.
“Is something wrong, Agent Rutledge?” The woman, dressed in a very smart charcoal-gray suit and blindingly white blouse, tapped her pen on the file folder next to her laptop. Any sort of agitation activated the pen. She had been polite throughout, asking questions in a calm, even manner. She did not push or cajole or attempt to influence Jackie’s answers in any way. At times, Jackie thought she might be talking to a robot.
“You realize this is the third set of questions aimed at asking me about the same course of events and the same set of actions taken. Do you really need me to tell it again?” She looked up and stared hard at the prim woman. “I understand how this works, and my story is going to be the same each and every time. I know you have more investigating to do. Go do it and get back to me. I’ll answer more questions then, I promise. But right now, Agent Patterson, I’m about to throw up all over your pretty black leather pumps.”
The tapping pen stopped. She opened up the folder and marked something and then typed in a quick note on her laptop. A glowing review no doubt. Jackie knew they did not particularly like her answers. Ghosts had turned into hunches and going after a detective based on a hunch did not sit well. They would have more questions. What had happened out at Iroquois? What went on in Beverly Morgan’s basement? Why exactly was she on this case to begin with if she had been on leave for her partner’s death?
All excellent questions. Fortunately, they would have no idea to ask why Rosa, through Morgan, had gleefully told her she was broken in the moments before he died. Jackie wanted to ask that one herself. She tried to ignore it, forget about it, and just plain leave it alone, but it would not go away. It mattered more in the way the words had been spoken than the words themselves. It had not been an insult. Rosa had been rather pleased it seemed with the discovery, whatever it was. The words gnawed at her and something about them she found deeply disturbing.
“Agent Rutledge.” The woman closed her laptop and folded her hands over the top as though to protect it from Jackie. “You’ve been very helpful. Thank you for cooperating so quickly after your ordeal. As you know, we’ll be continuing our investigation until all parties are satisfied with the results. There are still a number of unanswered questions in this matter, which I’m sure you’re aware of. You’ll be available for us to contact with further questions?”
“Of course,” she said. “If my head hasn’t exploded.”
The agent gave Jackie a pained smile. “Great.”
No sense of humor, Jackie decided. Though, she imagined, if one’s job involved looking into bad agents all of the time, she would have lost hers, too. And speaking of no humor, she had to now attend an hour of the I Told You Show, emceed by everyone’s favorite host, Dr. Matilda Erikson.
Three floors up, Jackie pasted her fakest friendly smile on her face and told the receptionist she was there to see Tillie. She gave Jackie a sympathetic and worried stare.
“So glad you’re all right, Agent Rutledge,” she said. “I heard you almost got killed.”
“Almost, but turns out I’m too hardheaded to die.”
She looked confused, but Jackie was not going to explain, not with her head beginning to throb to the beat of a high school marching band’s bass drum. Tillie saved her from the awkward silence, opening her door from behind the reception area.
“Jackie! I thought that was you. Come in,” she said, and waved her toward the door. She left it open and went back inside.
�
�Fuck,” Jackie muttered and marched toward Tillie’s door. “Can’t have a minute to wait and collect my thoughts, the few that haven’t been beaten out of my head?”
Inside the fastidiously comfortable office, Tillie was making tea. Jackie flopped down into the overstuffed chenille chair and let her head sag back. She closed her eyes. “I’m apologizing in advance in case my head explodes all over your pretty office.”
“I think you’d still manage to get yourself in trouble,” she replied and set the tray down on the table between them.
Jackie rubbed at the stitches on her head. It was beginning to itch. “Can concussions mess up your sense of smell?”
“Pardon?”
“Sense of smell,” Jackie said, and finally looked back at Tillie. “I keep smelling blood everywhere I go. I can’t get rid of it and it’s making me nauseous.”
“Hmmm, I’m not sure, Jackie. I can check into that for you, though. How you feeling otherwise?”
“You mean other than seeing dead people and killing a cop?” Tillie gave her a sour look. “I’m having a shitty day.”
“What about the killing the cop? Wasn’t Detective Morgan on the Homicide Task Force?”
Jackie closed her eyes again. “I knew him. He was a good guy and the fucked-up part of the story is, nobody will know. Everyone is going to think he was a painkiller-addicted cop who got strung out and snapped when he found himself on a really bad murder case.”
“Why won’t anyone know? I’m not sure I understand that. And drink your tea, dear. It’ll help your headache.”
Jackie picked up and sipped the tea. Maybe Tillie had spiked it or laced it with Percocet. It was warm and actually soothed her upset stomach. “It’s ghost crap. Is this off the record?”
“It’s not in a record anyone can see,” she said.
“No, I mean is it off the record? I want no recordings of this stuff in anyway, shape, or form.”
Tillie frowned for a moment but then nodded. “All right. No record.”
“You really believe in this, Tillie?”
“I do. In spirits at least and the belief that there is something beyond us.”