“So what do you have for us?” he demanded. His tone lacked any kind of emotion, but there was no doubt he expected total compliance.
“You’re not going to like it,” Peterson warned.
Harper raised her chin. “Tell us, anyway.”
Silence. A nod, a sigh. Peterson leaned over and dug into the black case resting at her feet. She withdrew several sheets of paper, several newspaper clippings, a DVD and a laptop. “Did you wonder why the receptionist and I had a meltdown at the sight of you?”
“No. Straight-up rudeness,” Harper said at the same time Levi said, “Yeah,” and squeezed her in a bid for less attitude.
“Well, I apologize for that,” Peterson said. “We just don’t get many people like you in our offices.”
“What does that mean?” Harper huffed. She was too uneasy to be nice.
Harrowitz stiffened, as if he expected Harper to launch across the coffee table and attack. He was very astute. No one talked badly about Levi’s rough, gruff exterior but her!
Peterson placed her hand on his wrist, soothing him. “Before we get to that, let me ask you a few more questions.”
“No, we—” Harper tried to protest. She wanted answers of her own.
“Have you noticed anything weird about this apartment building?” Peterson asked, plowing ahead.
Levi popped his jaw. “Last night a girl appeared in Harper’s hallway and then vanished before our eyes. Clearly, she was a spirit.”
Fine. They’d do this Peterson’s way. “On more than one occasion that same girl has told me that I was a naughty girl, and that he would be coming for me, but not who ‘he’ is or what ‘he’ wants, or why she thinks I’m so naughty.”
Peterson and Harrowitz shared a look that wrecked what remained of Harper’s nerves. Never had she been so stressed, so unsure, and these people were taking time to communicate silently with each other. How frustrating!
“One more question. Someone other than you lives here,” Peterson said, head tilting to the side. “I found some of her things. Who is she?”
“Lana. The one who works for After Moonrise here in OKC.”
Peterson nodded to Harrowitz, who began typing on his PDA. Several minutes ticked by in silence, and Harper thought she would scream before he finished. At last, Harrowitz showed Peterson the screen.
After reading it, she said, “All right, then. We’ll start with you, Levi.” Peterson opened her laptop, inserted a disc, did some typing of her own and turned the screen.
Tense, Harper watched the screen. A local reporter appeared, a woman in her late fifties, distinguished with her hair in a slick bob, her makeup perfectly applied and her expression somber.
“It’s a sad day for Oklahomans,” the woman said. “One of our finest was killed in the line of duty today while trying to apprehend Cory Topper, the suspected Billboard Butcher. Allegedly, Topper stabbed the detective in the chest and thigh, and he was rushed to the nearest hospital where he was pronounced dead upon arrival.” She kept talking, but Harper had trouble hearing her.
Levi’s picture flashed over the screen, a younger version of the man she knew, serious, rough-and-tumble, wearing an army uniform. The date of his birth glowed underneath—as did the date of his death.
His death.
Eyes wide, she swung around to study him. His jaw was clenched, his skin pale.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No. I would remember dying. I would have some indication that I’m no longer…human.” The last word emerged broken.
“Not always,” Peterson replied gently. “Sometimes the memory is buried because the reality is too painful to face. That leaves a big, black hole that needs to be filled. My guess is, things have happened to you lately and you have no way to explain them. You have gaps in your memory. And when you would find yourself on the right path, answers finally within reach, you’d lose more time. That was your mind shutting down as a way of protecting itself.”
Another shake of his head. “I spoke to one of my coworkers just yesterday. In person, no less. He saw me, heard me, answered my questions.”
“I’m sure he did. I’m also sure he can communicate with spirits, and that’s why you successfully conversed with him.”
He drew in a sharp breath, his nostrils flaring. “He can, but that doesn’t mean anything. He would have told me.”
“No. He wouldn’t have wanted to be the one to break the bad news to you.”
For a moment, stars winked through Harper’s line of sight. “But I can touch Levi,” she whispered. “And we crashed in a hotel last night, even talked to the clerk to get the room. Then Levi drove me here. In a car!”
“Either the clerk can see spirits and humored you, which isn’t likely considering most of us work for After Moonrise or in law enforcement, or you convinced yourself of what you wanted to believe. And you didn’t drive here, I promise you. Both of you expected to ride in a car, and so you both constructed a scene. If you talked it over, you’d probably discover you invented different makes and models.”
No. Impossible. “You’re wrong about this. I cooked, he ate.”
“Another lie you told yourself.”
“Then why did you tell him to put down his gun?” she demanded, her voice rising. Levi had yet to react to any of this. “If he’s a spirit, he couldn’t have shot you.”
“If he’d pulled the trigger, he would have expected something to happen. When nothing did, he would have gotten angry, probably attacked me, and Harrowitz here would have had a problem with that. Now, I know you have more questions, but I’m afraid I’m not finished yet.”
With a sad smile, Peterson typed something into the laptop and the screen changed once again. The same reporter was speaking, though her hair was styled differently and she wore a different top. Obviously this news feed was from a different day. She talked about the identities of some of Topper’s victims, and how the most recent to be killed was—
Her.
Aurora Harper.
No. No, no, no.
The stars returned, thicker, more numerous, threatening to expand and consume her entire mind. I’m not… I can’t be… “No!” she shouted, jumping to her feet. Dizziness swam through her mind, and she swayed.
Harrowitz jumped to his feet, too. His hands were fisted, his eyes slitted in warning.
Pale and a bit unsteady, Peterson unfolded more slowly. “You need to calm down, Harper. Your negative energy is painful to us, and Harrowitz here can make you hurt in turn. If he does, you may be forced into leaving this world for good, before you finish whatever you stayed here to finish.”
She wasn’t dead, she couldn’t possibly be dead, but she would deal with that in a minute. “My friend. I painted her face before I painted mine. Is she… She can’t be… Tell me she’s alive!”
“She’s alive,” Peterson assured her, palms out in a gesture of innocence. “You painted yourself, your circumstance. I’m not sure why you first painted her face. All I know is your Lana can see the dead like Levi’s coworker. That’s why she was able to live here with you.”
See the dead.
The phrase reverberated through her mind. See the dead.
Dead.
She wasn’t, Harper thought again. She couldn’t be. Lana would have told her.
Lana, so sad sometimes, crying and sobbing, keeping so many secrets. Lana, so guilty sometimes, so desperate for Harper to figure out what had happened to her. Lana, who had stopped touching her, even in the simplest of ways.
But that was because of Harper’s aversion to physical contact. Right?
Learning the truth is the only way you’ll ever find peace, Lana had said. As if she had already known the truth herself.
Harper…could suddenly see the walls of a basement room, photos of pain and blood all around her, staring down at her. Tools hung from a board by the only door. Knives of every size, saws, hammers, spiked boards, razors and gags.
Gags laced with drugs meant to keep you awake, to k
eep you lucid while…while…
“No,” she croaked, shaking her head violently. She fell back into Levi’s lap. Still he gave no reaction. Was he in shock?
“You can touch Levi and he can touch you because you’re part of the same world, existing on the same plane. You will not be able to touch humans, however. Here.” Peterson extended a shaky hand. “Try me. I’ll prove it.”
Harrowitz sat down and grabbed her arm. He shook his head.
Peterson dropped her arm, sighed. “Oh, yeah. No touching the dead.”
Dead, she’d so casually stated. Dead.
“You were the last to die, Harper,” Peterson said. “Levi busted in on Topper just after he’d killed you. He saw your mutilated body and reacted. That’s why he attacked Topper. That’s why he missed the blade Topper still held.”
Harper felt a strong, warm band around her waist. The contact was too much, not enough; she couldn’t breathe, could barely sit still, wanted to stay, wanted to leave. Was falling…tumbling down an endless void. And yet, somehow that strong, warm band kept her steady.
Merciless, Peterson continued, “Everyone in this building is a spirit. Certain spirits are drawn here, and we don’t know why. Maybe like calls to like. All I know is that the OKC branch of After Moonrise bought it, and monitors it to the best of their ability, and as long as you’re here, keeping to yourselves, they’re happy.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head.
Peterson pressed on. “I’m guessing that’s why Lana sent you to me, rather than to her own firm. She didn’t want them involved in your afterlife any more than they already were. Yes, they know you’re here. I checked. But they like that you’re here and unaware of what happened. You’re not out there causing any trouble. If that changes, they could decide to force you to move on.”
“No,” Harper repeated.
And still Peterson kept talking. “It’s not all bad. This is supposed to be a fresh start for you, a chance to finally live right, to fix mistakes or tragedies before letting go of the ghosts of the past, to have the brightest future possible.”
“No!”
“If I were you, I’d make the most of it. Too many people in your situation lose sight of what matters and sink back into old patterns and habits or even fail to act upon the new opportunity they’ve been given. They spiral into depression. They become angry—and their anger can ruin innocent lives.”
“No,” she said yet again, even though Peterson spoke with such certainty, as if Harper really was part of that world, as if everything she mentioned was fact and there was no reason to debate.
A soft sigh filled the room. “If you want to know more about what happened to you, read the papers and clippings I brought. And honestly? I suggest that you do. You’re each here for a purpose, and I don’t care what the OKC branch thinks. You’re better off knowing. Think about it. You might be able to move on.”
Move on. And lose Levi.
Lose Lana.
Lose herself.
It was too much to take in. Harper ripped from Levi’s hold—Levi was the strong band, she realized distantly—and flew out of the room. She couldn’t remember pausing to open the door, only knew that she was inside her apartment one moment and in the hall the next.
“Harper,” she heard Levi shout. His first word in so long, she wanted to stop, to throw herself at him, but she couldn’t.
I’m sorry, she thought. He’d been told the same thing, yet she wasn’t comforting him. He deserved comfort, but she couldn’t deal with this. Couldn’t accept the fact that she had been tortured and murdered, that her life was over, that she would never again hug Lana, that she had lost everything. So she ran, just ran, with no destination in mind—yet somehow she appeared at the art gallery…without ever leaving the apartment building.
Sickness churned in her stomach. Another blackout, surely, she told herself.
It was daylight, too bright, and people walked along the sidewalks. Everyone ignored her. Cars sped on the road, fumes in the air, and she wanted to run from here, too, but didn’t allow herself. Through the window she saw the owner showing someone a painting in back.
She would talk to him, she decided. He, who couldn’t see the dead, would talk back to her. They would have a conversation, and that would be that. Yes. Simple. Easy. She would prove Peterson wrong—or right.
No, not right.
Lifting her chin, Harper entered the shop.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Levi searched for several hours, but found no sign of Harper. She needed time to come to grips with what she’d learned, he got that—he was struggling with what he’d learned—but she was vulnerable right now, not paying attention to her surroundings. Someone could—
She’s a spirit. Who can hurt her?
Yeah. There was that.
She was a spirit. Like him.
Him. Dead. Killed. Murdered by the same man who’d murdered Harper. How? How?
Peterson and her bodyguard were gone by the time he returned to Harper’s apartment. Harper wasn’t there, either. He fell heavily on her couch, put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Dead. Killed. The words kept popping up, echoing through his brain. Dead. Killed.
He thought back. At first, he saw only a veil of black. He pushed through that veil with every bit of his strength, determination riding him hard. A wave of trepidation slammed through him, but he refused to back off. He had to know the truth.
Images began to flash through his mind, foggy at first but quickly solidifying.
A drive to Topper’s house… Gonna escort that psychopath to a cell where he’ll rot until death comes knocking....
Levi and Vince had squealed to a stop, other detectives and patrolmen exiting their own cars. Red and blue lights flashed all around. They’d followed DNA evidence, had a warrant for Topper’s arrest. Adrenaline and excitement were high, practically saturating the air. They were about to close the most gruesome case they’d ever worked and save countless lives.
Vince was the one to kick in the front door, and Levi was the first one inside the house. They searched the place from top to bottom and finally found a hidden door to the basement.
Opening it brought a wealth of smells he instantly recognized. Blood, chemicals, death. They heard screams, a buzz saw, sobs, laughter.
In an instant, Levi’s mind went blank, the veil falling back over his memories. Gritting his teeth, he once again pushed through it. The trepidation increased, but he continued to surge forward. He saw himself, gun drawn. He pounded down rickety stairs to discover Topper had been busy cutting up a body—a body he now recognized as Harper’s. No wonder he’d felt guilt and shame when he’d seen her at King’s Landing.
He’d been too late. Hadn’t saved her.
Pale hair spread out over the table, though it appeared red, soaked as it was with her blood. Though she was dead, her blue eyes were open, haunted, pained, sad, furious and fixed on something far away. Her lips were parted, having already expelled her last breath.
Then and now, sickness churned inside his stomach. The things she had suffered…the agony she had endured…
Another female—the screamer, the sobber—occupied a small dog cage, the sides covered with a black tarp to prevent her from looking at anything but Harper. Topper was laughing, holding up the limbs he’d removed to show his newest victim what would happen to her if she displeased him.
That woman… That poor woman…
Men rushed in from behind Levi, pushing him forward. Thoughts scrambled through his head, but he couldn’t decipher them just then. All he knew was that he took one accidental step toward the guy and couldn’t stop himself from purposely taking another and another. He’d spurred into motion, sheathed his gun instead of emptying his clip, wanting up close and personal vengeance. He threw himself into Topper. The limb tumbled to the floor. Levi punched…punched…
Topper had excellent reflexes and immediately made use of the blade in his hand. A blade he’d used on Harp
er. As enraged as Levi was, he failed to safeguard himself. Felt a sharp sting in his side, followed swiftly by a sharp sting in his thigh. Just boom, boom, and his blood went cold, seeping out of him at an alarming rate. Topper had punctured a kidney and severed a major artery.
He remembered his coworkers rushing over to pull him and Topper apart. He remembered the fade of their voices. The concern. He remembered looking into his partner’s eyes, holding his hand, the world going black.
But he did not recall waking up in the hospital. Did not recall recovering from his wounds. He just remembered…what? The conversation he’d had with his captain had never really happened. He’d never been put on a leave of absence. He’d never left the station, too upset to go home, never driven downtown, spotted a suspicious-looking guy—
Wait. He had wandered downtown, had spotted a suspicious-looking guy. A spirit, he knew now. He’d entered King’s Landing and blacked out, coming to in his new apartment. He hadn’t made any calls about his old home. He’d simply convinced himself he’d sold it and moved on.
Now Levi laughed bitterly. No wonder Vince always refused to talk to him. Vince couldn’t see him, couldn’t hear him. No wonder Bright had been so surprised to find him back at the precinct. No wonder Bright had been so evasive about Harper’s case. He’d known she was dead but hadn’t wanted to share the news with Levi, who was also dead but unaware.
A clatter of voices penetrated his thoughts. The clack of keyboards, the pound of shoes.
Levi’s head whipped up. No longer was he sitting on Harper’s couch in Harper’s living room. He was at the precinct. All around him were men and women going about their day, escorting suspects to processing, to interrogation or to a cell. Detectives sat at desks, reading files, researching a lead. The scent of coffee filled the air.
He straightened with a jolt. How had he whisked from one place to the other, in only a second of time? A spiritual ability?
Probably.
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