Kinsey laughed again, both hands over her mouth, as shocked as she was amused. “Ray!”
“What?” The medical examiner stripped off her gloves with a sigh. “You want to know the weird part? I can see his death, Kinsey. All of them.”
Kinsey tensed, humor gone. “What do you mean?”
Ray shook her head, serious now. “Nothing. You’re here for a visit, or am I to be the sounding board for another Gerri crap fest?”
Kinsey winced at her friend’s tone. “I’m sorry,” she said, following the medical examiner out of the room to her office. Ray sat behind her desk, kicking out a chair for Kinsey to sink into. “I seem to be a broken record these days.” She’d tried so hard to talk to Gerri since Father Dante Delacruz gave her the red-bound book. With all the answers in it. Well, not all, but enough leads and filler she could work it out for herself. Especially thanks to the information and translations she was gleaning from the artifacts she studied for Simone. “She’s just so…”
“Gerri.” Ray sampled a cup of coffee on her desk, made a face, tossed it in the trash. “I know. You just have to be patient with her. She’ll come around eventually.”
“At least you’re not shutting me out.” Kinsey sat back, arms crossed over her chest as her frustration with Gerri surfaced. “Thanks for that, Ray.”
The brunette just watched her, quiet, with a small smile on her face.
“You do realize,” Kinsey said, “the information I’ve uncovered changes everything.” She’d already talked at length with Ray about the contents, the lists of symptoms the Catholic Church deemed worthy of exorcism. If only the church knew the truth, that those with the traits described in the book were of other races, not possessed by demons. Though, she had to admit, the race she’d identified as dervish were rather devil-like and might have been the original source of the church’s need to begin exorcizing in the first place. “We now have proof of paranormals existing in our world, with us.” And the likelihood both she and Ray—and Gerri, who finally admitted she had odd abilities of her own—were paranormals, too. “In fact, I think I know why you can only see the deaths of certain people, and not everyone.” Ray had admitted the anomaly to Kinsey a while ago, sending her on a hunt for answers. “It’s a good possibility you’re only seeing the deaths of humans. Not those of other races.”
Ray’s brows came together, darkness passing over her features as her smile faded. “I hate to play devil’s advocate with you, Kins,” she said in her most reasonable, logical and professional tone, all of which set Kinsey’s teeth on edge, “but you have to consider the source of the material.” The blonde shrugged in further irritation as Ray went on. “The Catholic Church has been notorious over the centuries for feeding fears. This could all be hokum.”
Were Gerri and Ray colluding now? Were they both deliberately trying to drive her insane by denying what they all knew was true? Kinsey drew a heated breath, but forced herself to hold back the sharp and angry retort hovering on the tip of her tongue.
Ray wasn’t her enemy. But Kinsey was right, damn it. And she’d beat both of her stubborn friends with the truth until they admitted as much.
“Kinsey.” Ray sat forward, hazel eyes calm but pleading. “We need you. Gerri needs you.” Kinsey flinched from her words. “And if you’re right, if this book has the answers you need, it’s time to let go of Simone Paris and the research you’re doing for her.”
The anthropologist squirmed in her seat. She knew intellectually Ray was right. Of course she was right. And, despite Simone’s insistence Kinsey only work on location and not remove any of her research from the house, she’d managed to sneak out some images and translations to compare to the further digging she did on her own. Which meant, at this point, she had pretty much everything she needed from Simone’s collection.
And yet, she didn’t. She craved the pieces, like a drug addict craves their hit of choice. It was the first time she willingly admitted it to herself, shivering from the understanding. When she met Ray’s eyes, Kinsey felt her anger drain out of her as she nodded.
But spoke against what made logical sense. “There’s more to do,” she said, shocked at herself for saying so. For lying to Ray. “I’m almost done.” Weak, a terrible cover. And now, Kinsey was truly afraid. What was holding her to the artifacts?
She had to find out.
Ray just watched her with quiet, sad eyes. Stared at her for a long moment, making Kinsey feel uncomfortable and small. Like her friend’s disappointment could see right through Kinsey's excuses and expose her for the weak, useless addict she really was.
Robert saved her, Ray’s assistant poking his head in her office. He glanced briefly at Kinsey, grinned, before tipping his chin at Ray. “The Morgan parents are here,” he said. “To ID their daughter’s body?”
Ray stood, circled the desk, one slim hand settling on Kinsey’s shoulder on her way by. “I’ll be right back,” she said. “We’ll finish this talk.”
The anthropologist let Ray go, head down, glaring at the toes of her shoes as if they’d offended her in some way. But it wasn’t her shoes she was angry with.
It was herself.
Kinsey surged to her feet. She had to go, to get out of here. To confront Simone on why the artifacts seemed to have such a hold over her. She’d get to the bottom of things, sever her ties to them and to Simone, and go back to helping Gerri and Ray while finishing her research on her own.
She stumbled at Ray’s office door, feeling her heart constrict at the very idea of walking away from the artifacts. Shivering, knowing then she couldn’t do this alone, Kinsey paused in the empty morgue, the sound of Ray’s voice drifting to her from the other side of the swinging doors, the rattle of Robert doing something in the back startling her.
The room was quiet, only the dead man’s body for company. Kinsey exhaled and approached him, stomach in knots.
“What do you think I should do?” She startled herself with her whispered question. Half turned from him, shaking her head, wondering where her mind had gone.
Even as he gasped a huge breath of air and sat up.
***
INT. – SILVER CITY MORGUE – MORNING
Gerri’s boots carried her as fast as possible without her actually running down the hall of the morgue to the swinging doors. The panic in Kinsey’s voice, the shaking, hasty and desperate message she left, garbled and only half-decipherable, sent ripples of fear through the detective and drove her to break a dozen traffic laws on her way from the 9th to the morgue.
Never mind she’d been in line to talk to the captain who seemed to be doing his best to dodge her the last few hours. She gave up her chance to corner him when she finally realized she had her phone on silent and missed the call.
By the time she slammed her wide shoulder against the entry and skidded inside, Gerri’s hand was on her gun and she was ready for anything.
Or, so she thought. It took her about two deep breaths to realize she had no idea what “anything” might actually mean. Considering Kinsey and Ray both looked calm at this point, if slightly shaken and pale. And, the fact the man Gerri left on the street in Ray’s care, crumpled and crushed by the front of a bus, now sat up on the edge of the slab, staring at her with a grin on his face.
“Nice entrance,” he said. “Wish I had a camera. You should be in the movies.”
Gerri gaped at him, at his tall, slim body wrapped in a sheet, naked chest exposed, not a mark on him. Including the half-healed bullet holes she’d seen herself—personally, up close and everything—on his now flawless forehead. Totally unlike her, she was unable to come up with a single thing to say.
“Rather disconcerting, I admit,” Ray said with a faint smile, arms crossed over her chest, no doubt to hide the shaking of her hands. “But he’s charming for a zombie.”
Jordan Michaels bumped her with his elbow, still grinning. “I’m not a zombie,” he said, glancing sideways at Kinsey. “But I wouldn’t mind tasting a little of you.”
The blonde blushed, blue eyes sparkling behind her glasses. Holy shit. Did the dead guy just hit on Kinsey? Gerri’s mind stuttered before her logical brain kicked in. Impossible. Which meant, he wasn’t actually dead to begin with. But, just as she tried to explain it away, Ray shook her head, wry grin on her face.
“I know where that head of yours is going, Geraldine Meyers,” she said. “And don’t for a second think mine hasn’t tried to follow the same path. But he was dead. Dead-dead. As in so dead I’ve never seen anyone deader. Except, he’s not.”
Kinsey practically bounced with excitement. “Weird!”
Gerri exhaled, hand falling from her gun as her gut twisted. Definitely weird. “You’re Jordan Michaels?”
He nodded, thick, dark hair falling over his eyes in that sexy way some girls were into. Not Gerri. But, from the way Kinsey was eyeing him up, she’d found her type. He had to be a walking corpse, didn’t he? The detective moved closer while Jordan swung his feet, bare toes wriggling as he squirmed under the sheet.
“Almost done,” he said with a note of satisfaction in his voice.
“Healing, really?” Kinsey turned to him, totally blocking out Gerri and Ray in her fascination with him. Okay, so maybe her type was actually weird and not just tall, slim and adorable. Not that Gerri noticed.
Nope.
He bent and tapped the tip of her nose with one finger, the sheet partially falling to his waist, exposing his lean musculature. Kinsey giggled. She actually giggled. Gerri was going to throw up if this kept going.
From the amusement on Ray’s face, she knew it.
“What the hell?” Gerri finally closed the last of the distance, putting herself between Kinsey and Mr. Happy Pants, from the tent his dick made in the sheet. Maybe it was a reaction to coming back to life—did she really just say that in her head?—or maybe it was all Kinsey, but whatever the reason for his boner, Gerri wasn’t interested. In his reasons, not his boner.
Jesus.
Jordan met her gaze with his pale blue eyes, faint disappointment hiding the worry there. So, he was nervous, just cocky for show.
No fucking puns. NO PUNS.
She was losing it.
“You’re going to tell me everything,” Gerri ground out between clenched teeth, “and you’re not going to hold back a single scrap of useful information or I’m going to kill you myself and see if we can create a repeat performance.”
He held up both hands, releasing the sheet, which fortunately puddled in his lap, covering his fading excitement. “I’m all yours,” he said, glancing down at the badge at her waist, at her gun inside her jacket as she braced her fists on her hips. “Detective.”
Why did that coy tone make her want to kill him anyway, just to see what would happen?
“Gerri, back off.” Kinsey actually pushed against the detective, placing herself between Jordan’s legs, her back to him. Gerri was so startled by the blonde’s protective assertiveness she did as she was told, stepping off a pace, but didn’t retreat further.
“I’m sorry if I scared everyone.” Jordan’s charm came like an oozing sore, though Kinsey seemed to continue to fall victim to it. Did she have any idea the compromising position she was in, with his thighs pressed to her waist as she half-turned to look up at him? Probably. Gerri grunted and gestured for him to go on. Jordan took a firm grasp of the sheet and slowly eased himself to the floor, Kinsey’s little hand on his upper arm, guiding him. He exhaled a soft breath of relief and smiled all over again, bright and cheerful as he stood on his own two feet. “All good,” he said. “Thanks for the sheet, Doc.”
Ray nodded her acknowledgement, but remained silent as Jordan limped around in a small circle while he talked, Kinsey tethered to his arm like a leech.
Gerri shook off her irritation and paid closer attention.
“I’ve always been lucky,” he said, “and healthy. No broken bones to speak of, survived accidents, walked away from them, when others died.” Just the right tone of sadness to raise a look of mimicked sorrow for him on Kinsey’s face. Really, was she buying this guy’s shtick? “But, since I got here, to Silver City? It’s all been different.” He stopped walking, flexed his muscles as if testing them out, though Gerri had the uncharitable thought he did it to impress Kinsey.
Consider her impressed. Seriously, she had to get out more, get laid, if this guy’s show and tell was doing a number on her.
“Different how?” Gerri prodded him to continue, breaking the mutual smile and stare he shared with Kinsey. Her blonde friend actually glared at her as he went on, eyes wide and innocent, expression totally open. A sure sign he was a con artist of the highest caliber.
“I’ve been killed four times since I got here,” he said. “And I can’t seem to die.” Kinsey jerked open her purse, hand retrieving that damned red-covered book. Gerri’s sharp gesture to keep it to herself was almost ignored but the blonde finally conceded, putting it away. Jordan didn’t seem to notice. He laughed, instead, in the second or so it took for the exchange. “Five, if you count the bus.”
“The question remains,” Ray said at last, “what to do with Mr. Michaels here?” Gerri hated the tight, anxious feeling in her chest. “After all, without a body, there is no case, correct?” Why did she have to bring that up now when the detective was still trying to wrap her head around the fact Jordan Michaels was alive and well?
“Maybe you’d like to tell me who tried to kill you.” There, that was better. Let the cop in her take over.
Jordan’s sudden defensiveness flashed over his face, followed almost immediately by a faint spell that sent him wobbling into Kinsey. Asshat was faking, but she bought his act.
Which meant Gerri had a ton of questions for the little piss-ant. She’d see what he hid from her after she killed him a few times herself.
Kinsey helped Jordan to a chair. “Surely the questions can wait until he’s feeling better.” The detective rolled her eyes, but Kinsey wasn’t done. “He just died, Gerri. Twice.”
Whatever. “I can’t just go back to the precinct and tell the captain he’s alive.” What was she going to tell Captain King? Or Jackson for that matter. Though, Pierce seemed willing to mind his own business on this one, considering it wasn’t a “real” homicide. That might work to her advantage. Sure, the captain probably put her on this one because it was weird, but even he wouldn’t choke down dead guy walking.
As long as they could keep Jordan under wraps and away from prying eyes until she figured out a story to tell—
The door to the morgue swung inward, Robert Ling walking through with a double-tray of coffee in both hands, a smile on his face. A smile that faded and disappeared at the sight of Jordan Michaels. Ray ran forward, her own smile plastered firmly over her expression, retrieving the coffee before Robert could dump the cups on the floor. “You’re back early.”
“Thought you might like a pick me up.” Robert stared as Ray relieved him of his burden. “Is that…?”
“Who, dear?” She led Robert toward his computer. “Just a friend with a bit of an issue. Didn’t want to see his real doctor, so I gave him an exam.” Gerri made a “that made no sense” face at the brunette who shot back with her own “you do better”. Kinsey pulled Jordan to his feet and guided him into the back, out of sight.
The detective’s pocket vibrated, making her jump. Gerri jerked it free and stared down at Jackson’s number flashing at her. It took her a long moment to answer, to gather herself, while Ray whispered to a nervous-looking Robert in a soothing, quiet voice.
“Meyers.” She put more force behind it, hoping it would hide her anxiety.
“Good bitchy morning to you, too.” Jackson’s familiar grumble told her she’d succeeded. After the last few minutes she’d endured, she’d take that small victory and do a happy dance.
“What?” Gerri turned her back on Ray, on the rear of the room where Kinsey was probably lap dancing with the dead guy or sucking his face or something equally stupid.
; “Case,” Jackson said. “Real one this time.” He gave her the address. “If you’re done playing with bus drivers and suicides, I’m ready to work here.”
Gerri hung up without shooting back. She just didn’t have it in her. Instead, she spun to face Ray who stared at her with giant eyes begging her not to leave.
Was it wrong she felt relief she had to go? So wrong. So very, very wrong. And yet, Gerri raised one hand with a cheery grin. “Have Kinsey take care of your little friend for a bit,” she said. What was she going to do, haul his ass downtown? For what? She had no reason to arrest him, nothing to hold him on. And, frankly, she needed distance from this. Kinsey was so hot for him, she could keep an eye on Jordan Michaels while Gerri figured out what to do. “Murder calls. Get your kit. I’ll meet you there.”
With that, she strode out of the morgue, out of the mess. And into more than she bargained for.
***
EXT. – EDSEL SALVAGE YARD - MORNING
Gerri’s boots ground over gravel as she stepped through the open gate of the wrecking yard and crossed to where Officer Mills waited for her. The young cop tipped her hat to the detective before turning and heading deeper into the salvage operation, talking as they went.
“Owner of the place found a body in the trunk of a car about to be crushed,” she said. “His dog picked up the scent. Said he called us right away and has no idea where the dead guy came from.” Gerri shivered involuntarily at the reference to a dead guy.
Please, just let this one stay dead.
They rounded a pile of cars destined for compressing, with a straight shot to the center of the yard and the crushing machine. Gerri’s steps slowed at the scent of old blood and decay. At least this time there was no hunger trigger. She didn’t think she could handle that and ever eat again with a clear conscience. Jackson’s familiar lanky form stood off to one side with a short, round man in a pair of coveralls. The man wiped at his bald head with a rag time and again, the heat of the California morning growing to broiling temperatures despite the early hour.
Try Dying (Episode Six: The Nightshade Cases) Page 2