by Terri Garey
“You were lucky,” the grizzled old cop behind the counter said. “Most of the time we don’t get’em back, and if we do, they’re usually trashed; broken windows, broken steering column, that kind of stuff. Yours looks to be in pretty good shape.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Where did you find it?”
He gave the paperwork a cursory glance. “Report says it was in the Wal-Mart parking lot, over on Pavillion. Kid who stole it was asleep in the backseat. Store security said it had been there overnight, and when they saw the kid, they alerted us.”
“Is he still here?”
“The kid?” The cop nodded. “His dad showed up just before you did. Should be out any minute.”
Right on cue, an elevator dinged, and out stepped a red-faced, sullen Joshua Rayburn and a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and dark circles under his eyes. The tension between the two was palpable.
“We’ll talk about it when we get home, Josh,” the older guy was saying, as they stepped from the elevator.
“No, we won’t,” Josh shot back. “You’ll be too busy.”
“Maybe if you helped around the house more,” the man, who was obviously Angie’s husband, David Rayburn, returned, with an edge in his voice, “I’d have more time for you.”
“Hah,” Josh said sarcastically, heedless of the officer and me overhearing every word, “like I wanna spend more time with you.”
David was striding toward the door, a few steps ahead of Josh, so the boy didn’t see the wince of pain his sarcasm caused.
“Excuse me,” the cop behind the counter called out to the Rayburns, startling me. “This lady is here to pick up her stolen car. I think you owe her an apology, son.”
Both David and Josh paused, turning in my direction.
The officer gestured at Josh to come over. “It’s the least you can do,” he said sternly. “If she wanted to press charges, you’d be in juvie right now.”
I’d had no idea this was going to happen. The crusty cop was obviously old school, and out to teach Josh Rayburn whatever lesson he could, even if it was just a lesson in good manners.
The boy flushed, looking angry and uncomfortable. He didn’t want to meet my eyes, just a quick glance before he looked away, staring at the floor.
“Josh,” his dad said, warningly.
Josh’s head came up, but he still wasn’t looking at me. He sighed, as if bored with the whole thing, and grudgingly said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I stole your car.”
I waited a heartbeat longer than I needed to reply, “I’m sorry about your mother.”
That got his attention, as well as his father’s. Josh stared at me, shocked, while David sighed heavily, raising a hand to his face.
“You knew my mom?” Josh’s stare was unblinking now. “Is that why your car was parked in front of our house?”
In front of his house? I shook my head, confused.
“I didn’t know her well. We only met a couple of times.” And you don’t need to know when.
I looked at David, who nodded, saying nothing, as though he didn’t quite trust his voice at the moment.
My heart went out to him. He was miserable, grieving, and forced to deal with a rebellious teenager when he least needed the hassle.
“Would it be possible for me to talk with your son alone, just for a minute? We can sit right over there.” I indicated the hard plastic chairs in the lobby. “It won’t take long.”
“I’m not his son,” Josh said rudely, shooting David a look. “He’s my stepfather.”
David straightened, visibly pulling himself together. “I’m the only father you’ve got,” he said firmly, “and you’ll show me and this young lady”—he pointed in my direction as he stared Josh down—“some respect.”
The cop next to me gave a grunt of approval.
“Now go put your butt in that chair, and apologize for what you did.”
I didn’t wait to see if Josh did as his stepfather said, just walked toward the chairs as if I expected him to follow.
Thankfully, he did. The family drama seemed to be over, at least for the moment.
Taking a seat at the far end of the lobby, I looked at Josh. Red-rimmed eyes, wearing the same black clothes I’d seen him wearing in the E.R. three days ago. Bravado aside, he looked thin, hungry, and very, very unhappy.
“Look,” he said abruptly, “I’m sorry I stole your car.” A rebel to the end, he didn’t sit, just planted himself in front of me, arms crossed. He had a small silver eyebrow ring on the right that I hadn’t noticed before. “I’d just had a fight with my dad, and it was sitting right there in front of my house with the key in the ignition.” He shrugged, shoving a lock of dirty black hair out of his eyes. “I wanted to get away. So I took it.”
I had no time to wonder how my car could’ve possibly turned up in front of his house. This might be my only shot at getting this kid a message from his mom, and putting Angie Rayburn to rest was more important than I wanted to admit. I didn’t want to keep looking over my shoulder for the Dark, and Angie shouldn’t have to, either.
“You ran away,” I said, stalling as I stated the obvious.
“I didn’t do anything to it,” he returned defensively. “Not a scratch. All your CDs are still there.”
“Thanks for that. My name is Nicki, by the way.”
His eyes flicked over me and away. “I know,” he said. “I saw your registration in the glove box.”
Little snoop.
“So I’m sorry, okay?” He was anxious to get away, and I didn’t blame him.
“Listen,” I said, raising a hand. “I need to tell you something really important.”
He gave me a look I recognized as one I would’ve given at fourteen if a stranger’d said something like that to me.
I resisted the urge to sigh. “Your mom wants you to know that she loves you,” I said quietly, “and that she’s very sorry for what she did.”
His face went pale, his look turning stony.
“She was overwhelmed with depression, it was nobody’s fault.” He said nothing, so I went out on a limb. “She loved you, Josh, and she loved your stepdad. She feels really bad about what she did, and doesn’t want you two fighting, particularly now.”
“What are you, some kind of counselor or something?” The scorn in the kid’s voice surprised me; grief had turned to hostility in the blink of an eye. “I said I was sorry for stealing your car, so, like, whatever to the rest of it.” He waved a dismissive hand in my direction as he turned away, striding toward the station house door.
“Joshua,” called out David, behind us. “Joshua!”
Josh ignored him, walking through the glass door to the outside, where he stood near the flagpole, arms crossed, kicking his shoe in the dirt.
I heard a heavy sigh, then David came up beside me. “I apologize for my son, miss. We’re going through a hard time right now.”
“It’s okay. My car is back, safe and sound, and so is your son.” I tried to smile at him. “You must’ve been worried.”
The poor guy looked haggard, strained to the breaking point. Did I dare try to tell him what I knew about Angie? It hadn’t worked out well with Josh, so I was hesitant.
“You’re very kind,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Thank you.” He stared out the glass door toward his stepson and gave a heavy sigh. “There’s a memorial service for Angie”—his lower lips trembled, then steadied—“tomorrow at St. Patrick the Divine, four o’clock, if you’d like to attend.” He settled his gaze on me for a second. “How did you know her?”
“We met at a book club,” I lied. “It was a long time ago. I ran into a mutual friend who told me what happened.”
“Yes,” he said, nodding faintly. “Angie always loved to read.”
He turned and headed toward the door. Before I lost him for good, I offered, “She talked about you.” He stopped, his back to me. “I remember. I could tell she loved you very much. If she…” I hesitated, uncertai
n what to say. “…if she was able, I’m sure she’d tell you she was very sorry.”
His shoulders, already slumped, slumped a little bit more. Without turning around, he said again, hoarsely this time, “You’re very kind. Thank you.”
Then he walked outside to join a sullen and angry Josh, and our conversation was over.
I sighed, unsure what else I could do.
The universe wasn’t being very helpful in pointing the way at the moment.
My car was filthy, coated in red clay dust from God knows how many Georgia back roads. The inside wasn’t too bad, just some fast-food trash and empty cups, though it smelled like boy sweat. My CDs were scattered all over the front seat and floor. It needed a good cleaning, inside and out, so I took it to the very first car wash I saw.
Fifteen minutes later, detrashed, straightened, and thoroughly vacuumed, my personal space had almost been restored. A good wipe-down and some solid spritzes of air freshener would have to wait until I got home, but I eased the car into the wash bay with a sigh of relief, feeling like things were almost back to normal again, or at least about to be.
“I’m so sorry about your car,” came a woman’s whisper, from the backseat.
“Holy sh—!” I’d nearly peed my pants. I craned my neck to see, though I had a feeling I already knew who it was. It had been a feminine voice, timid and hushed.
“Please don’t be mad at Josh. He’s a good boy. He made a mistake.”
“Angie?” I couldn’t see her. The dimness of the wash bay enveloped us, the swish of brushes, the sudden thrum of water on the roof.
“Don’t say my name,” she whispered frantically, from somewhere on my floorboards maybe. “It’s still looking for me.”
Great. I eyed the equipment surrounding my car, wondering if I’d damage any of it if I drove out in the middle of the wash. That bright patch of sunlight ahead of me at the end of the wash tunnel looked awfully good right now.
“It’s all my fault,” she said, talking fast. “I drove your car home, I left it on the street. I meant to give it back, I never meant to cause any trouble.”
I tried to focus, though my heart was pounding. “You took my car?”
“I just needed to get home,” she said. “I found myself at a gas station, thinking this was all just a horrible nightmare, and saw the keys in your ignition. I drove home, I had to get home. I never imagined Josh would take it—I can’t believe he’d do such a thing.”
Wow. I’d known that ghosts could manipulate objects, but drive a car? I had a sudden flash of those times when I’d arrived somewhere with no memory of the drive, and found it wasn’t so hard to imagine a car driving itself, powered purely by thought or memory, on autopilot.
“Josh and David have been butting heads, but it’s not always all Josh’s fault. He’s sensitive, and sometimes David is too hard on him.” She sounded like a typical mom, having a typically hard time dealing with a typical teenager. How strange, under the circumstances. “It’s my fault. It has to be. They used to be so close.” She was still talking fast, as though there would never be enough time to say everything she wanted to say.
The car was moving slowly through the wash, cocooning us in water and sound, but I’d never asked to be anyone’s confessor. You need to learn to say no more often, Evan had said, and he was right. While I sympathized with Angie’s predicament, I’d done what little I could, and I wanted my life back.
“It’s time to let go of all this and go into the Light, Angie.” I figured a little bluntness couldn’t hurt. “There’s nothing more you can do to help Josh or David. Stop hiding, and look for the Light. Once you do, everything will be okay.”
A wail of outraged grief startled me. “How can you say that,” she cried, “when I’ve ruined everything!”
“Shhh…” I urged her, unable to help myself. As much as she didn’t want the Dark to find her, I didn’t want it to find me, either.
“You have to help me,” she sobbed, and my heart sank. “You’re the only one who can hear me, the only one who can help me fix it. Please. Please help me fix it.”
The car wash jerked, and the equipment came to a standstill. A huge whooshing sound as the air-dry portion came to life, and a green light indicated I was free to drive on.
“I don’t know how to fix it,” I said, shaking my head. As tough as it was, I was going to have to be brutal. “You’re dead, and I can’t bring you back to life.” There was silence from the backseat. “People make mistakes, and you made a big one—one you can’t take back. The only thing you can do is move forward, and look for the Light.”
“The Light doesn’t want me,” Angie whispered, as I drove out of the wash tunnel into the sun-drenched parking lot.
I pulled over a few seconds later so I could twist around in my seat and check the back, but there was no one there.
CHAPTER 11
“So when were you going to tell me that Butch saw a ghost at the store?”
Joe’s question took me by surprise. I’d called him as soon as I’d gotten to Handbags and Gladrags and found the message Evan had scrawled on a sticky note, embellished with a giant heart, and stuck to the center of my computer screen. Subtlety had never been Evan’s strong point, after all.
“Who…” I let the words trail off, because there was no doubt who’d told him about the woman in the mirror. In fact, it had probably been the first words out of Evan’s mouth when Joe called. “I was going to tell you, babe, but we haven’t exactly had a lot of time to talk lately, remember? I didn’t even expect to hear from you until this afternoon.” Not that I minded.
“Yeah, it’s been a long shift,” he said. “I just got off, and I’m beat, but I needed to talk to you.”
“Aww.” After my weird morning, a little attention from my boyfriend would not go amiss. “Seems like I haven’t seen you in days, sweetie. You won’t believe what happened to me today.” I couldn’t wait to tell him, feeling better just hearing his voice.
“You won’t believe what happened to me, either,” he said. “Selene Mathews came to see me again.”
My budding warm fuzzies withered on the vine.
“She knows who you are, Nicki. She knows you can see the dead.”
Alarm bells went off in my brain, followed by sirens, a helicopter, and 101 figurative dalmatians. “What? How does she know? What does she know?”
“Somebody in Little Five told her about that scene last year on the evening news.” He was referring to the time I’d been caught on camera while possessed by a spirit, claiming to be a “channeler.” “One of the other shop owners, I think.”
Right.
“She came to ask me if the rumor was true. She thinks you might be able to help her.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. For one brief, wild moment, I wondered if the steam rising from the top of my head was visible to the naked eye.
“She came to you?” So that was the plan…oh, she was evil, this one. I could see her now, slinking her way into Joe’s office, the picture of distraught grief and helpless femininity. My imagination spared me nothing, from the way her flawless red lips trembled, to the diamondlike gleam of tears on her lashes. Oh, help me, kind sir, please help me speak to my dear old mother one more time.
“She came to you,” I repeated, stunned at the audacity of her latest move, “instead of me.”
“She, ah…” Joe cleared his throat through the phone. “She seems to think you don’t like her.”
“She’s right about that,” I retorted. “I’ve got her number now, and she obviously knows it. Kelly and I both did some research—we’re pretty sure that she’s one of the Moirae, also known as the Three Fates. I’m not exactly clear on what kind of game she’s playing, but—”
“No offense, Nicki, but just because Kelly is willing to believe that Selene and her family are some kind of supernatural beings doesn’t mean I am. I explained to you already that all Mary’s tests proved before she died that she was very much human.”
“That doesn’t mean anything! We’ve seen some pretty strange things in the last year and a half—”
“Yes,” he said tersely. “We have. But this situation isn’t one of them.”
It wasn’t often I found myself speechless. What was going on? Why didn’t he believe me?
I took a deep breath, and tried logic. “She’s playing you, Joe. If Selene truly wanted my help, she knows perfectly well where to find me, so why did she come to you?”
“I explained that already. She came to me because she trusts me,” he said tightly, while I struggled not to scream each time he said the word “she.” “She said her mother’s spirit came to her in a dream, that she’s trying to get in contact with her.”
“Are you kidding me?” My temper was rising by the second. “What a load of crap.” The irony of the whole situation was not lost on me—her mother’s spirit coming to her in a dream after they’d terrified me with one—puh-lease.
“I don’t think it’s crap, Nick.”
Obviously not. I said nothing for a moment, not trusting myself to speak…but then the dam burst. “You know how I feel about inviting the spirits in—you know how I feel about not looking for trouble! Even if you don’t believe she’s one of the Moirae, why would you think I’d call up the spirit of a dead woman just because someone asked me to? What are you thinking?”
“Calm down,” he said shortly. His voice had taken on an edge. “I told her you couldn’t help her.”
The breath left my lungs in a whoosh.
“What did she say to that?” I found it hard to believe she’d give up so easily.
“She didn’t seem to want to believe me.”
I know the feeling.
“When I called to tell you that you might be hearing from her anyway, Evan told me about what happened to Butch at the store. So now it doesn’t matter what I told her.”