She threw herself through the wall and sailed across the open space in the direction of the other train.
She floated, staying airborne far longer than she had anticipated. She thought she might overshoot and sail through to the other side. She passed through the opposite train’s wall and fell to the floor in a heap.
An instant later, and the first train was gone.
She made it.
This train jerked to one side as it took another line, heading into the heart of the city. She would end up in a different part of the city than she expected, but it was still the right vicinity.
Perhaps now, finally, she could get some peace and quiet, and take a minute to figure out what she was going to do.
“Get off my train!” a deep rumbling voice above her said.
She turned to find a man at the opposite end of the carriage, standing bolt upright. He was big, tall, dressed in a long black coat. His eyes were large and bulbous.
“I said, get off my train!” the man said.
Molly looked behind herself to see who the man was looking at.
But there was no one. And no one else was paying attention to him.
Because they couldn’t see him. Couldn’t hear him.
He was looking at Molly. He stomped up the center of the carriage, waving his fists. He knocked a comic book from a child’s hands.
“Get out!” the man said.
Another thrust and he knocked groceries from a black woman’s hands.
“Get off!” the man said.
He stood over Molly, glaring down at her.
“Are you deaf?” he said. “I said get off my train!”
“You can see me?” Molly said.
The man raised his fists high above his head. Molly felt the electric charge an instant before he thumped her on the chest, knocking her back. The man raised his fists again and brought them down.
Molly stumbled back under the force. His blows were powerful, strong. Still, Molly was not injured by them. The man shouted in her face.
“Get off my train!” the man said. “And never come back!”
The train screeched to a stop. Molly got to her feet and ran off the train. She turned back once and saw the tall man standing, glaring at her as the train left the platform.
Molly didn’t stop running until she had climbed the stairs, gone up the escalator, and emerged into the noisy heart of the city.
It was turning into quite a day.
Chapter Three
Molly stood in the middle of the city on a street corner. Here she was, in a place she had missed, desperately wanted to return back to, only to find herself unable to communicate with anyone.
She had taken it for granted she would be able to speak with Sam, to tell him everything he needed to know. Instead, she found him blind and mute to her warning. There was no way she could communicate with him, and worse still, no way for her to help him even if he got in danger. What was the point of her being there?
Molly was alone.
At least in the Halfway House, there were other prisoners. Here, she was by herself. The guards would chase her for seven days, or forever, who knew. And that would have been fine if she could have lived with Sam, could have watched him live out his life.
He would date other women, and though she would be jealous as hell, she would learn to overcome it. She could have lived her life vicariously through him. She could have maintained a vigil over his children, his grandchildren. But that was all gone now.
Sam’s house, their former home, would be the first place the guards would keep an eye on. Molly could never return there, no matter how much she wanted to. She had come so far, and yet she may as well have been on the Moon.
A pair of men were talking over her shoulder. A glance told Molly everything she needed to know about them. They were doing some kind of dodgy deal. She was used to seeing their type. Rough, a dangerous glint in their eye, a giant chip on their shoulder.
It was the kind of sense a police officer developed over their career, to know when people were up to no good. Amateurs like these made spotting them easy. They tried hard to make it look like they were doing nothing wrong, inversely making it all the more obvious of their actions.
Molly recognized one of them. A regular by the name of Jesse who often broke the law. One of Wayne Lopez’s chief handlers. The two men made the exchange; a swift fist tap. Merchandise had been exchanged for money.
Molly followed Jesse. At least it gave her something to do. As a ghost, she did not need to eat nor sleep. She didn’t even need to breathe. She was the perfect watchdog. Now, she had a purpose. She needed a purpose. She would learn everything she could, perhaps even Wayne Lopez’s location, something they had failed to discover after months of hard work. Later, she could figure out a way of giving that information to Casey.
Molly followed Jesse down the street. She found herself slipping into a police officer’s training when following a suspect. Each time he doubled back on himself or checked over his shoulder, Molly pretended to be interested in something at a stall or shop window. Then she began to realize this was no longer necessary.
As a ghost, she could follow hot on his heels and he wouldn’t know it. She picked up her pace and ran alongside him. He was moving quickly as if he had a place to be, or perhaps it was his way of throwing off any tails he might have picked up.
Jesse made a series of turns, heading down alleys, before turning and backing up on himself. He was checking to make sure he wasn’t being followed. It would take him three times longer to get to where he was going, but he would arrive alone.
Finally, Jesse came to a large building on the dive side of town. It was three stories tall, rough, with rain spillage marks that gave the appearance the building was weeping. It warped the brickwork, making it smooth.
Outside, crouched in the bowels of a basement apartment, was a young man Molly recognized as Mickey O’Dell. In the past, he had been a near-permanent fixture at her precinct. She had known him since he was a child, not that he was much older than a child right now.
She hadn’t seen him for some months and hoped he had hit the straight and narrow, but clearly, that wasn’t the case. He sat with a pile of tarot cards in front of him on a makeshift crate table. His friends circled the street looking for customers or, rather, their next mark.
Molly ignored them and headed up the steps and into the building. The wallpaper peeled off the walls in long strips. In most places, the undercoating was visible.
Jesse headed upstairs, each step creaking under his weight. It wouldn’t be long before they gave way completely. They didn’t make so much as a squeak upon Molly’s ascent.
Jesse headed up the second flight of stairs. Molly passed the apartments on the second floor. Women wearing very little stood in doorways, cigarettes pursed between their lips, dressing gowns open, everything on show. Too early to get much foot traffic.
The furnishings of the third floor were of a much higher quality, sophisticated. This was where the pimps spent their time. Modern hip-hop music played over an antique record player. Sat on matching leather sofas were half a dozen large men. They greeted Jesse with indecipherable hand gestures.
“I need to see Wayne,” Jesse said.
“You’ll have to wait,” a deep-throated man said. “Wayne’s seeing to his willy.”
He laughed at the back of his throat, a wheezing gasp, and slapped his own knee. The others said nothing and stared into space. They had heard the same joke a million times already.
Molly had no intention of waiting. She approached each room, ducking her head through locked doors to peer inside. She was lucky that the first room she came to was the correct one. She found Wayne inside, and he wasn’t alone. She grimaced and wished she’d waited.
It turned out Wayne had a penchant for small young men. Not illegally young, but still, it was not what she had expected from a person such as him. She turned back to the living room. There was little else of interest she could
get from this place. She turned around and headed back down the stairs.
After years of trying to find Wayne Lopez’s base of operations, they had come up dry. Here, Molly had discovered it in twenty pain-free minutes. There were some benefits to being the way she was.
Still, it would not help her nor Sam or Casey if she could not figure out a way to tell them about it.
She passed the hookers’ rooms, some of the doors now closed. Springs squeaked, a baseline to the put-upon female groanings inside. Molly headed outside and descended the steps. She made a mental note of the location. Now what was she going to do?
“My goodness!” someone said. “That’s amazing!”
Molly turned to find O’Dell had found his latest mark. It was an elderly woman in a flowery dress. She sat on the other side of the table watching O’Dell. He had a stack of tarot cards in his hands and was laying them down one by one. He laid one down, and then picked up another one.
“I can see you’re going to come into a great windfall very soon, Delores,” he said. “Some kind of competition perhaps?”
“Oh yes!” Delores said. “I won a raffle prize. Two tickets to go see the flower show.”
“And here, I see you have three children,” O’Dell said. “I’m sorry. You had three. Now you have two.”
Delores was flabbergasted. Her mouth hung open. She could hardly believe what she was hearing.
“That’s right,” she said. “We lost one on the main road outside the house.”
“I see they’re doing quite well,” O’Dell said.
He looked up at the old woman.
“But I don’t need cards to know that,” he said. “With a great parent like you, they have no reason to be doing badly.”
Delores chuckled, turning red.
“You…” she said, waving a finger under O’Dell’s nose.
Molly leaned in close to O’Dell and saw he had something in his ear. A receiver. She turned to look at the accomplices he had at either end of the street. Both were bent over their smartphones, tapping furiously at the screen.
Molly approached one and found he was on Facebook. He was scrolling through the old lady’s profile, clicking on the links to discover more about her family and friends.
Molly shook her head. Psychic my ass. She headed back to watch the boy in action.
“What a crock of shit,” Molly said.
O’Dell put his hand to his ear and tapped on the receiver. He turned to Delores, a smile affixed to his face.
“How about we look at your more distant future?” he said.
“Oh yes!” Delores said. “Please do!”
“I see a great deal of outings,” O’Dell said. “Gatherings, possibly birthdays, and a few small house parties.”
“This is unbelievable,” Molly said, rolling her eyes and folding her arms. “Next he’ll be saying the sky was blue and the grass green when she was young.”
O’Dell shook his head, let out a sigh, and stood up.
“Please, don’t stop,” Delores said.
“Excuse me a moment,” O’Dell said. “I need to recharge my chakras. I’ll be one sec.”
Molly snorted.
“More like recharge your bull shit fuel tanks,” she said.
O’Dell frowned and looked up and down the street. He was looking for someone. Surely he knew where he co-conspirators were? What a Mickey Mouse operation this was.
O’Dell walked down the street and approached one of his accomplices.
“Hey,” he said. “Quit the grabass, huh? I need to focus here. I might be able to squeeze thirty more bucks out of her. But you need to quit whispering that crap in my ear. I need to concentrate.”
“Don’t blame me if she’s not buying it,” the friend said. “I can only work with the tools I got here. She’s old. It’s not like she’s online every minute of the day.”
“The information’s great,” O’Dell said. “Just quit the sass.”
“Sure, man,” the friend said. “Whatever.”
The friend shrugged and turned back to his phone.
O’Dell headed back to his client. She was watching, waiting for him to return. O’Dell had a big smile on his face.
“I have some great news,” he said. “I received a message from your husband.”
“Henry?” Delores said.
“Yes,” O’Dell said. “Henry. He says he’s doing very well. He thinks about you a lot. He misses you. He’s wondering why you don’t visit his grave more often.”
“I… I… I’ve been busy,” Delores said.
“You need to stop being so busy,” O’Dell said. “The dead need love too.”
“I’m sorry, Henry,” Delores said to the world at large.
“It’s all right,” O’Dell said. “He’ll be angry for a few decades. It’s no problem.”
“Decades?” Delores said. “But Henry never got angry for long.”
“The spirit world is a very different place,” O’Dell said. “Emotions are heightened, more powerful. Love can last for centuries. But so can its negative counterparts.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Delores said. “If I go to the grave more often?”
“That’s a start,” O’Dell said. “But I can smooth over the negative feelings he’s harboring.”
“Thank you!” Delores said. “Thank you!”
“It will take more energy on my part,” O’Dell said. “It tires me out and I won’t be able to help anyone else after this.”
“It’s okay,” Delores said. “I can pay more. How much?”
O’Dell shook his head.
“I couldn’t,” he said. “I am in service to the universe. I shouldn’t take advantage of my powers.”
Delores reached into her purse.
“I have thirty dollars,” she said. “Is that enough?”
O’Dell took a moment as if this was a big decision for him.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, that could work.”
“Just when I thought you couldn’t sink any lower,” Molly said.
O’Dell leaped to his feet.
“Who is that?” he said, casting round.
He had a panicked expression. Harassed and harried.
Molly’s mouth fell open. Was it possible? she thought. Could he really...
“Can you hear me?” Molly said. “Can you hear me?”
O’Dell turned and walked in the opposite direction, back toward his friend.
“Is it Henry?” Delores said. “Here’s the thirty dollars. Please calm him down. I don’t want him to haunt me.”
“This isn’t funny, man,” O’Dell said, marching up to his friend.
“What isn’t funny?” the friend said.
“You don’t think I know it’s you?” O’Dell said. “I’m taking whatever we lose out of your share.”
“Hey man, I ain’t done nothing wrong,” the friend said.
“Can you hear me?” Molly said.
O’Dell froze, turning to look back over his shoulder, almost staring directly at Molly. That proved it. He could hear her. He could actually hear her voice!
“Oh my God,” Molly said.
“Tell me you heard that?” O’Dell said.
“Are you all right, man?” the friend said, concerned. “Do you need to lay down for a while?”
O’Dell backed away, eyes wide, face turning white.
“If you can hear me, say my name,” Molly said. “Say, Molly.”
But O’Dell was still in shock, backing into the road.
“Say it,” Molly said. “Say my name. Say, Molly.”
O’Dell said something, under his breath.
“Huh?” the friend said. “What did you say?”
“Molly,” O’Dell said. Then, with desperation: “Molly.”
A car screeched to a stop, inches from striking O’Dell. The driver honked his horn and swore at him. O’Dell didn’t stop. He continued to back across the street. He turned and ran.
Molly, unsure what to say or thi
nk, stood flabbergasted. She was still processing the ramifications of what had transpired. There would be time to process later. First, she needed to chase after him. He was what she needed.
A way to communicate with Sam and Casey.
With new hope in her heart, she took off at a run. Lose him, lose her opportunity. The game was back on, and the ball was firmly in her court.
Chapter Four
O’Dell ran. He dodged around pedestrians and cyclists, narrowly avoiding an old lady pushing a pram. He checked over his shoulders and darted left, crossing the street.
He slipped on the curb and fell to his knees. He picked himself up and rushed down the street at a fast walk. He didn’t stop until he got to the miniature park on Elm Street.
He took a moment to regain his breath, puffing and panting. He peered between the gaps in a metal fence but saw no one following him. He let himself smile, shaking his head. He was relieved.
O’Dell crossed the park and headed toward a rundown building sandwiched between identical hovels on either side. He used his key to open the lock and shut the door behind him. This was not a good neighborhood, and it was never a good idea to loiter on the threshold of your home.
He fastened the locks, half a dozen that would hold back the Navy Seals if pushed. Then he moved through the dark, dank narrow house.
“Mom!” he said. “I’m home!”
O’Dell waited for an answer. There was none. His mother must be at work. Another double shift.
O’Dell drew the thirty dollars he’d earned that morning and put it in a chintz jar on the dining table. He replaced the lid and opened the refrigerator. He took a swig from the orange juice bottle. He was so thirsty. He drank the rest of it before he took another breath. He put the bottle in the recycle bin and moved back to the stairs. He put his hand on the banister and was about to ascend. He paused.
He looked at the front door. There was no one there, no noise, and yet the hair stood up on his forearms. There was something there. But he couldn’t see it. And if he couldn’t see it, it might as well not be there. He jogged up the stairs and went into his room.
After/Life: Anger: A Paranormal Ghost Romance Page 9