by Becca Fox
I jumped to my feet, my face becoming toasty warm in the cold afternoon air. “Shit. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just tired of being broken.”
She took the hand I offered and let me pull her up. With a hiss, she collapsed against me. I held her upright, my arms circling her waist. Esmer’s face was pressed into the side of my neck as she took deep breaths; her hands were caught between her chest and mine. Her shoulder was exposed. The sweater dress must’ve slipped when she fell. I wanted to press my lips against that patch of skin. Instead, I forced myself to lift a hand and tug her sweater back into place. Bouncing a bit on her good foot, Esmer managed to put a hair’s breadth between us and look at me.
“So…” An awkward little smile formed on her lips. “Who died?”
I opened my mouth to tell her what I’d seen but then my stomach dropped. “Jasmine!”
Esmer adopted a look of horror. When she twisted around to look for her crutches, her sharp hip bone practically stabbed me in the stomach. I swallowed back a grunt and tugged her closer to the porch’s railing. I only waited a second longer to be sure she had a good grip on the wood before I lunged for the back door. My sneakers squeaked against Dinah’s pristine hardwood floor as I raced down the hall and swung around the corner, into the sitting room.
My heart slammed into my Adam’s apple at the sight of my sister on the carpet, Dinah crouched next to her. Panic told me to push past the old lady, snatch my sister, and dart out the front door. I shoved the instinct down deep in my gut.
Dinah thought Jasmine had epilepsy. We could play this off as another episode. We’d thought this through. It was going to be okay.
The old woman must’ve heard my ragged breathing because she scowled over her shoulder at me. “There you are! Your sister has fallen. What can we do?” Even though she was practically barking at me, I heard the undercurrent of fear in her voice.
“She needs to stay put for now. Did she throw up or mess herself?” My voice went up a few octaves at the end but I had to ask. After all, those were common results of a seizure and things I—as someone who was supposedly used to this—would be comfortable talking about.
Too bad I wasn’t. Not even a little bit.
If Dinah noticed how uneasy I was, she didn’t say so. She turned back to Jasmine. “Not that I can see.”
I knelt beside Jasmine and gently shook her shoulder. “Jazz? Talk to me. Are you all right?” Thankfully, our most recent victim hadn’t been beaten to death. Drowning couldn’t have been fun but at least there wasn’t any evidence of the curse on Jasmine’s skin.
The clack, creak, clack, creak of Esmer’s crutches announced her arrival. I shot her a quick glance as she joined us on the carpet. She was wearing my hat with the bill pointed off to the side.
“Everything a’ight?” she asked, taking in the scene.
Jasmine peered up at me with glassy eyes. “Death doesn’t know what she is. What do you think she is, Charlie?”
Dinah and I shared a look of confusion; hers was actually genuine.
I pretended to shake off my concern. “Can you stand?”
“She’s not human,” Jasmine murmured. “She can’t be a demon; she’s not pure evil. But she can’t be an angel either.”
Esmer raised her eyebrows at me.
“You’re delirious,” I told my sister, fighting to keep the edge of urgency out of my voice. But she had to hear the telepathic message I was sending.
You need to stop talking. Now.
“M’fine,” Jasmine murmured, her eyelids drooping shut. “But Death isn’t. I think she…might be…”
I sighed in relief when she passed out.
“I’ll phone your uncle.” Dinah rose and marched out of the room, giving me the distinct impression that she was running away.
She didn’t suspect the truth. She couldn’t. I mean, who would come to that conclusion on their own? She was probably just uncomfortable because she didn’t know how to handle something like this. My skin crawled as I remembered flashing cameras and questions and recording devices shoved in our faces. Memories of persistent fans came next; they used to follow us like shadows from crime scene to crime scene. Those stalkers didn’t ask for details about our abilities. They just wanted to “see us in action,” the freaks.
Suddenly, I was exhausted. Scooping Jasmine up and lowering her into the couch took more effort than it should’ve.
“This is normal,” I told Esmer. “She’ll sleep for a few hours and then wake up like nothing happened.”
Esmer glanced back as if to be sure her aunt was out of hearing range before she lowered her voice and leaned toward me. “What was she saying about Death?”
“Beats the hell out of me.” I smiled a bit, flicking the bill of my hat. “It looks good on you. Maybe you should keep it.”
“Nah, you look weird without it.”
I made a face at her as I plucked the cap off her head and slapped it on mine.
Esmer lowered herself into an armchair. “I got it,” she said when I moved to help her.
I stayed by the armrest and watched her lean the crutches against the wall on her other side. Then she carefully probed her knee brace with her fingers.
“How bad is it?” I asked.
She shrugged. “It’s felt worse.”
The sweater slipped off her shoulder again. I moved to fix it for the second time but she caught my hand before I could. We locked eyes.
“As long as we’re in each other’s lives, I’m happy.”
The words had made me feel lighter than wax paper. It had been all too easy to switch my brain off and do exactly what I wanted to do, regardless of the consequences. But I didn’t regret it. And her secretive smile made me think she would’ve been happy to stay out there with me all afternoon if the vision hadn’t interrupted us. I entwined my fingers with hers and gently squeezed.
◆◆◆
The dock at the Ballard Mill Marina was a long stretch of wood with sailboats, fishing boats, and small yachts anchored along either side. My hands were fisted in the pockets of my jacket, my shoulders hunched against the icy wind coming off the water. Behind me was a stretch of yellow tape and two officers, a thin barrier keeping onlookers and reporters away.
Uncle Victor interrogated the dock worker who had found the body; he watched the woman over the top of his sunglasses, pen poised above his battered notebook, forehead creased as she gave her testimony. The coroner, Dr. Ochoa, waited patiently by the yacht named Lou’s Wonder while Vanessa Burkley helped a second dock worker reel the anchor up out of the water.
I clenched my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering. I could still hear the victim’s pleading, like the echo of a voice on the wind. I could still see the tears and snot running down his face, the questions he’d blubbered that had gone unanswered. The killer had bound the man to the anchor and watched as it was submerged. I’d gotten a glimpse of the killer’s reflection on the surface of the water. A compact man of medium height and lean build, dressed in dark clothes, wearing a red and yellow Chinese opera mask under the hood of his sweater. I didn’t know how much it would help us but it was better than nothing.
“The owner of the yacht is a Mr. Ernest Dulaney,” Uncle Vic said as he came to stand beside me. “He is—was one of Mr. Ward’s bodyguards.” He raised his eyebrows at the yacht and I had to wonder if he was as suspicious as I was. There was no way Mr. Dulaney had purchased this yacht with his bodyguard salary alone. He must’ve been up to something shady. But that wasn’t important right now.
“The killer is getting ballsy,” I said. “Getting closer and closer to the mayor.”
The body emerged from the water with a splash. His skin had a sick waxy quality and a bluish tint. His eyes were foggy, staring forever at nothing, but it felt like he was looking right at me. I turned to fully face my uncle.
“There still hasn’t been an official threat made to the mayor or his wife; no demands, no explanations, nothing. No one is taking the c
redit for these murders.” Flipping his notebook closed, my uncle frowned at Mr. Dulaney’s corpse. “I’ve had video conferences with the other politicians running for senator, even had our profiler at the precinct put together a psych evaluation for each one. None of them seem capable of something like this. My gut tells me this isn’t political.” He pocketed his notebook and pen to run a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’m starting to think Mr. Ward’s first instinct was the right one.”
“Still haven’t heard anything about that BOLO Vanessa put out?” I asked.
Uncle Victor shook his head. “Mr. Ward’s ‘old friends’ haven’t left a trail anyone could follow. We’ll be lucky if we ever find them.”
“Would the mayor be willing to try and contact them, maybe set up a meeting?”
“I don’t see how he could. He said they’d lost touch years ago.” He scrubbed at his face with the palm of his hand, widening his eyes in a way that closely resembled a yawn. “There has to be something I can do, something I haven’t considered. An angle, a pattern, a possible lead I’m not seeing…”
For the first time in a long time, I stepped back and took a good look at him. My uncle’s hair was unkempt. The sun made the stubble on his cheeks turn white. He looked haggard, defeated, old. It bothered me.
“Maybe you should back off for a bit. Rest. Clear your head. Let Vanessa take the lead.”
My uncle smiled wearily. He placed a hand on my shoulder. “I’m all right, son. Don’t worry about me.” He nodded at Vanessa when she waved us over. “Let’s see what we can learn from the body.”
Vanessa must’ve dismissed the dock worker who had helped her haul the body onto the yacht because it was just her and the coroner standing on the deck. Dr. Ochoa knelt by her satchel of supplies and pulled on some synthetic gloves. The wind caught her dark hair, tugged it across her face. She smiled at me as we approached. “The floor is yours, Mr. Campbell.”
The bite in the air turned just a little bit fiercer as I knelt next to Mr. Dulaney. I closed my eyes and reached out to the slim traces of Death, hoping to see something I might’ve missed in the original vision. In the past, the killer had been careful not to leave behind anything that would reveal his identity, but he wasn’t perfect; he had to slip up sometime.
As I was thrown back into Mr. Dulaney’s final moments, I surveyed the world through the killer’s eyes. I ignored the victim’s sniveling face and instead searched his surroundings. The deck of the yacht, the water, the dock, the lamps posted at random intervals down the center of the dock. It had started to rain shortly after Mr. Dulaney had been submerged. Just before I returned to myself, I watched the killer’s hands reach for his face—they felt like my hands reaching for my face—and remove the mask. It was then tossed into the water.
I opened my eyes, heart skipping with hope. “Are there any cameras set up along the dock?”
“Just one,” Vanessa replied before my uncle could. “At the entrance gate. Rogerson is reviewing the footage at the front office now, looking for anyone wearing a Chinese opera mask.”
“The killer took off his mask before he left. Probably to blend in.” I stood with difficulty. My foot had fallen asleep during my trance. I impatiently shook it out to the side. “The camera could’ve gotten a glimpse of his face as he was walking out. We could also send divers into the marina to look for the mask.”
My uncle grinned. “Good work, Charlie.”
◆◆◆
We weren’t able to recover the mask. The camera had managed to capture a grainy profile shot of the killer that wouldn’t do us much good, but Uncle Vic acted like this was the big break he’d been waiting for. He was sure they could run facial recognition software back at the precinct and at least come up with a partial match. Then they’d have a new suspect to go after. He and Vanessa talked about it at length on the drive home, comparing the methods of this murderer to other serial killers they’d come across in the past.
Their excitement and subtle chemistry was enough to make me nauseous. I tuned them out after a while. Thought about Esmer instead. We couldn’t call ourselves just friends after that kiss. It wasn’t a one-time thing. At least, I hoped it wasn’t. I couldn’t describe how good it felt to hold her, how exhilarating and freeing it was to find a new method of communication, one that was so superior to words.
Were we a couple then? Maybe. Esmer was progressive enough that she might not want to put a label on it. Which was fine by me. It was like she said; so long as we were in each other’s lives—and I could kiss her whenever I wanted—I’d be happy. Still, I felt like I should make her something to commemorate this…whatever it was. She seemed to like the earring I made her. Maybe I could craft another piece of jewelry for her?
I drummed my fingers against my knee and watched the city streak past the window. No. It had to be something different, something special. What would she like? What materials did I have on hand?
That was a better question. I usually figured out what I wanted to make when I had all my tools and materials laid out before me. I could piece them together in my mind’s eye, see the finished product, decide if it would be worth my time. It usually was.
When we walked into the precinct, I saw a woman sitting in the waiting room. This lady was young, maybe in her late twenties or early thirties. Tawny brown skin. Long, wavy black hair tied back. Thick eyebrows. Mahogany eyes. She dressed like a typical hiker with a black waterproof jacket, army green cargo pants, and hiking boots. The man sitting next to her must’ve been her partner. He too was foreign-looking, sporting a khaki vest jacket and jeans.
I knew I hadn’t but, for some reason, I felt like I’d seen them before. More than that, I was overcome with a strange calm, the kind of relaxation I could only associate with a chill evening with my family. Which didn’t make any sense. These were strangers; I’d never been comfortable around strangers. What was even weirder? The woman gawked at me, brow crinkled with emotion, eyes swimming with tears, like I was her prodigal son returned or something. The man sat up and squinted at me, head cocked to the side like he couldn’t see me clearly.
I hurried to catch up with Uncle Victor and Vanessa, craving protection for the first time in a long time. Before we could get to the tech department, one of the officers we passed stopped my uncle and his sort-of partner.
“Detective,” the man said. “A pair of cops from Tacoma just dropped off those suspects you were looking for. They couldn’t find you so I accepted the paperwork on your behalf.” He handed a folder to Uncle Vic.
“No way.” Vanessa craned her neck to get a look at the waiting room while my uncle perused the file. “Where were they? Did they give you any trouble?”
“Cops found them hiking near Mount Rainier,” he said, making my heart constrict. “They cooperated. Haven’t spoken much since they were dropped off.”
My uncle grinned. “This day just keeps getting better and better.” He closed the folder and tapped the officer on the arm with it. “Thanks, Nguyen.”
“No problem.” With a respectful nod in my direction, Officer Nguyen left.
Vanessa swung around to face Uncle Victor, eyes alight with anticipation. “What’s our battle plan, partner?”
Before he could reply, the elevator door opened at the end of the aisle between cubicles. Jasmine stepped out. She floated toward us with a funny look on her face, as if she’d encountered an odor she’d never smelled before and wasn’t sure she liked yet.
Without even glancing at our uncle or Vanessa, she stopped in front of me and said, “Tell me you can feel that too.”
“What’re you talking about?” I asked, afraid of the answer.
Our uncle placed his free hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right, Jazz?”
“It’s this powerful, intangible thing.” My sister frowned down at her toes and snapped her fingers several times while she tried to come up with the right words. “It’s…uh…like…when…” Her head snapped up. “When Mom used to tuck us into bed at
night.”
Uncle Victor and Vanessa shared confused looks. I just kept staring at my sister, waiting for her to elaborate.
Jasmine let out an exasperated sigh. “When Dad would pat you on the head and say everything was going to be okay. When Uncle Vic tells you he’s proud of you. When Anthony gives you a one-armed-hug and an awkward smile. You know the feeling I’m talking about now?”
“Like…you’re home?”
Her face lit up. “Exactly! Only strong enough to be felt through the walls.”
“You’re feeling that right now?” our uncle asked.
“I felt it first about a half hour ago but then I realized it wasn’t going away. So I came up here to investigate.” A blush crept its way across her cheeks. “Is it all in my head? Am I finally losing it?”
I scuffed the toe of my sneaker against the tile. “No, I felt something like that too. When we first walked in.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Uncle Victor asked. Like I’d hurt his feelings by not sharing it immediately.
“Because it’s weird and I didn’t know how to explain it.” I didn’t mean to glance at Vanessa, but I did. It was bad enough we were sensing something new that was more than likely curse-related; Vanessa’s presence was making it all the more awkward and frustrating.
Our uncle pulled his shoulders back. “Nessie, could you get the tech guys started on the picture of our killer’s profile?”
It was an obvious dismissal but Vanessa had enough class to play it cool. She pointed finger guns at him and smiled. “Sure thing, Vic. You’ll call me if you need help with the interrogation?”
“Of course.”
She nodded before sashaying the rest of the way to the tech department.
Uncle Victor slumped back into his normal posture to address me. “When did you feel this?”
“When I saw the hikers,” I murmured, peeking over my shoulder at the waiting room.
Jasmine and Uncle Victor followed my gaze. Our suspects were openly staring at us now, not bothering to hide their confusion and eagerness. My sister stepped forward but I held my hands up to stop her.