by Martha Reed
“She’s back!” Gee shrieked. “What’s she saying?”
Aunt Babette stuttered as she tracked the letters. “M-U-R-D-E-R-”
“Fancy’s giving us the name of her killer!”
No fucking way. Jane’s brain spun and she felt lightheaded. This can’t be real. She stared at the Ouija board in disbelief. Shit like this doesn’t happen.
“O-U-S-B-I-T-C-H.”
BANG. Jane’s chair hit the floor as she leapt away from the table.
“Murderous bitch?” Gee’s face tightened as she blinked, obviously confused. “Fancy was killed by a woman?”
“No, that’s not it.” Jane whispered in horror. Murderous bitch? Her legs were shaking uncontrollably. No fucking way.
“Girls? Are you alright?” Aunt Babette blew on her fingertips, looking wide-eyed and frightened. “Something evil just came through.”
“That’s it. I’m done. I’m through.” Jane gasped. “I’m not doing this anymore. Gee? I’ll meet you outside.” She raced for the door.
“Jane? What’s wrong?” Gee scrambled up. “Where are you going?”
“Say ‘Good Bye’!” Aunt Babette shrieked. “Say ‘Good Bye!’ Don’t leave this with me in my room!”
Wrenching the door open, Jane ran into the hall, the big mirror looming on her left. It now seemed to be filled with swirling mist and shadows. She raised her hand to block her peripheral vision. Get me the fuck outta here. No fucking way I want to see what that is.
“Jane!” Gee shouted from the doorway. “Wait for me!”
Her bad knee locked. She lost her footing, tumbling down the staircase, grabbing for the bannister and bouncing off the rough plaster walls. Keep it real, goddammit! Keep it real. Jane filled her mind with her seventh rule as she fought to outdistance the blinding panic. Crissakes! Mom was right! I hate this devil shit!
Scrambling around the landing, she limped for the door. Pulling it open savagely, she stumbled onto the porch and leaned over the railing, filling her lungs with great gulps of fresh, clean winter air. The leaden skies had opened and it was pouring buckets of rain. Jane sucked in another great, shuddering breath. The gutters were overflowing the sidewalks, awash with leaf litter and paper trash. A muddy lake puddled the dirt yard to the street and the leaves of the live oak tree streamed silvery droplets. Because of the downpour, the birds were silent and there was no other sound than her great gasps and the pattering of raindrops in the soft mud. The familiar NOLA scent of acrid clay rose from the earth and smothered her nose, thinned suddenly by the herby perfume of cannabis smoke. Jane heard the rocking chair creak and she flinched.
“Jesus.” Ken’s voice squeaked as he inhaled. “I’m beat.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
“Sucks getting old, Jane. Don’t ever do it.”
Jane shuddered as Ken returned the glowing spliff to his lips. In that posture and with his unruly hair he looked like The Devil incarnate seated on his throne minus the curling rams’ horns and the goatish beard.
“Something wrong? You look shook.”
“Ken, I need to ask you something.” Digging her nails into the rotten railing, she leaned on her investigative training, the one tried and true muscle memory technique that helped her regain her focus in every PTSD crisis situation. “Where do you keep disappearing to? Where do you go? I need to know.”
He inhaled again. “Can’t tell Leslie.”
“I won’t.” Her heart still hammered, but it had slowed to a steadier beat.
“Got a job.” He wheezed a broken laugh. “Stocking shelves at the Dollar Store. I know, funny, right? Joke’s on me. Only job I could get. Can’t run a computer. Don’t have any skills. Needed to pay for her ring somehow.”
Really? Could it be that simple? Or am I being played by the whole Pascoe family? “I know you’ve been using a music studio at Guardian Storage.” She confessed. “I spotted you on security cam video.”
“No, Jane, not using.” Ken sadly shook his head. “I rent one sometimes to sit and think, to remember my ghosts. It’s peaceful there, but that’s it. Most times I don’t even turn on the lights.”
“Have you ever seen anyone else on Level Five, when you rented a studio?”
“Can’t say that I did. I know there are folks on other floors, but that one’s pretty much deserted. Quiet as King Tut’s tomb. That’s why I like it.”
“You never seen anyone using the big storage unit by the fire door?” She pursued.
“Don’t you trust me, Jane?” Frowning, Ken studied the burning spliff. “I believe I just said that answer was ‘no.’”
The front door wrenched open and Gee tumbled out. Her collar was torn open and her face was flushed.
“Jesus, Jane! You can really move when you want to. You okay? You spooked by what happened upstairs?”
“You’re not?”
“Why?” Ken flicked the spliff into the sodden bushes. “What happened upstairs?”
“Aunt Babette used the Ouija board to help us find Dee.”
“You got a message?”
“I’ll say we did.” Jane swallowed past her tongue.
“Goddamn it!” Ken pushed up off the chair to a crouch. “I told Babette she needs to keep that witchy shit to herself. You can’t shit where you eat. I’ll go talk to her. We need to live in this house.”
“No, Dad, relax. It’s chill,” Gee said. “I asked her to do it. This is driving me fou.” She did look a little white-eyed. “I woke up this morning sleeping in a chair instead of my bed. Don’t remember sleepwalking, but I guess I got up to watch the door. I keep listening for Dee’s key in the lock.” She extended her phone. “I keep looking for her text.”
Ken dropped his beefy hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that, Gigi. It’s tough losing friends.”
Gee wrenched free. “Dee’s not lost! Don’t say that, Pops! You’ll call it into being.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Ken studied Gee warily. “What did the Ouija board say?”
Gee stared at the floor. “Fancy came through. Said Dee was with her, but the Tarot told us to search. The message was muddled.”
“Jesus!” Ken sputtered. “Babette read the cards, too? No wonder Jane freaked out.”
“I think,” Gee thoughtfully tapped her lips, “we should go check Dee’s store.”
“Can’t do that right now, Gee.” Jane protested. “I need to get to work. If I don’t leave this minute I’m going to be late for my shift.”
“Call off sick.”
“I can’t! Not if I want to get paid.”
“Shit. Okay. Listen. Hop in The Boat and I’ll give you a ride over. We can talk about it on the way.”
“You two be careful,” Ken warned. Holding his hand under the dripping gutter, he flicked the droplets from his fingers and turned, looking concerned. “Watch your backs, and I mean it. You can stir up some serious shit when you start asking questions. Everyone out there has a secret they don’t want to share.”
“We’ll be careful, Pops.” Gee blithely promised.
Dodging mud puddles, they raced for The Boat. Sliding behind the wheel, Gee grabbed a Saints ball cap stuffed between the windshield and the cranberry red dashboard. Combing her bangs off her forehead, she slipped the ball cap on backwards, gangsta style. Checking her mirrors, she backed into the traffic on St. Claude Avenue before snapping her fingers at the glove box.
“Grab my smokes outta there, will you please?”
Jane turned the knob and the glove box fell open into her lap. Digging through the trash, she found a cardboard box sealed in cellophane. “This?”
“That’s the one.” Using her elbows to keep the wheel straight, Gee unwrapped the cellophane, popped the lid with her thumb and clenched a slim brown cigar between her teeth before pressing the built-in dashboard lighter. “Okay, so here’s the deal. I’ll ask around at the club tonight and if we haven’t heard anything new from Dupree by tomorrow morning we’ll go looking. I’ll swing by and pick you up at what, like two?
Could you be ready by two?”
Jane drummed her fingers on the passenger door. “I’ll be ready.”
Reaching over, Gee turned on the radio. Jane felt enchanted as an antenna automatically rose out of the right front fender. “This car is awesome. It’s like having a robot.”
“One reason I bought it.” Gee pointed to the dash as the lighter popped. She lit her cigar, speaking through a mouthful of smoke. “Came with a factory 8 track tape player. Those are getting tough to find except at garage sales.” Settling the knob on WTIX-FM, 94.3, NOLA’s oldies station, she sat back.
Jane continued to drum the door. “Gee? Something’s bothering me about this. That message we got back at the house? It’s not right. I don’t think a woman killed Fancy. It doesn’t match the physical evidence we saw at the Coroner’s office. The attack on Fancy was too brutal. Women don’t typically use their fists or their feet. Sure, they might snatch up a kitchen knife or swing a shovel, but generally women maintain distance during an attack. They don’t close in and they don’t use their hands, they use a tool.” Jane studied the clearing night sky. “I think Fancy’s killer is a man.”
“Any candidates?”
“No.” Jane admitted. “And I understand Dupree’s frustration with this case.”
“Ouija’s not always right. Nothing’s guaranteed.” Pointing the cigar, Gee smiled. “I like how your inner cop is showing. You’re thinking outside the box.”
“I’ve been thinking differently about a lot of things, lately.” Jane settled her shoulders against the plush upholstery. “Knowing you has made me rethink a bunch of things.”
“Like what?”
Jane picked at her cuticle. “I used to skip over reading the transgender stories in the news. Figured it was none of my business, but now when I see them I dig in. There’s some serious political shit going on right now and the science of it, too, like the story the trans wrestler who keeps winning state titles. Knowing you makes that shit personal. I didn’t use to care.”
“You have been reading.” Gee turned The Boat left toward the canal. “How do you feel about that wrestler?”
“It’s the feeling part that’s tough.” Jane tucked her hair behind her ears. “Sure, I think he should be allowed to wrestle, but he’s been taking testosterone for his transition, right? Don’t take this wrong, but that makes me wonder if that’s fair to the girl wrestlers if he has that hormone in his system during competitions? We get all over the Germans and the Russians in the Olympics when they do that.”
“True.” Gee stuck her cigar in the ashtray and left it to burn. “From what I’ve read he’s being forced to wrestle girls because the state is insisting he’s female gendered.” She straightened the wheel with both hands. “The problem is people have stopped using their goddamn common sense. We need to look at these things on a case-by-case basis just like everything else and stop making generalizations. That’s what keeps hanging us up.”
The pickup truck ahead of them turned right. Gee accelerated to close the gap. “I keep wondering where are the adults and the people in charge when this crazy shit happens? Where are the adults? Why don’t they speak up?”
“I should’ve spoken up once.” Jane rubbed her damaged knee. “Back in my Police Academy days.” Peeling back the lid, she shone a bitter light on the blasted memory. “I had a drill sergeant, a real prick. Didn’t like having women on his squad, any woman, not just me. Didn’t matter if you were qualified or how hard you wanted it or even how hard you tried. Said women weren’t physically capable of doing the job. Said we weren’t mentally tough enough. Bastard got my goat, so I decided to prove him wrong.”
Gee grinned crookedly. “I’ll just bet you did.”
“He kept pitting me against the biggest guys in hand-to-hand training.” Jane laughed uneasily. “Shit, I get it. None of us was taking it easy. I spent a hundred extra hours in the gym, lifting weights so I could hold my own.” Remembering her dedication, she felt proud of her committed effort. “Him seeing me do the extra work stuck in his craw because I was showing him up, proving him wrong and he knew it.”
Gee slowed The Boat for a red light.
“I got warned he said he was going to take me down a peg and I ignored it. At our next one-on-one he flipped me and deliberately crushed my knee. Dropped his whole body weight on it. Crissakes! You should’ve heard it go like someone snapping celery. The pain was so bad I blacked out. Woke up icing a knee brace in the infirmary.”
Gee stared in open-mouthed horror. “Shit, Jane. I hope they fired that bastard.”
“Hell, no.” She dry-rubbed her palms together. “Didn’t even earn him a reprimand, because no one, not even me, spoke up about it.” She studied a tourist pod illegally crossing the street. “I didn’t want to be seen as weak or a complainer. Fuck. Two surgeries later and it’s still not right.” She frowned, bitterly. “He’s probably still teaching self-defense at the Academy. No, no,” she scoffed, “he’s probably retired by now and enjoying his pension, the sonofabitch. Probably doesn’t even remember my name.”
“I get it.” Gee shifted uncomfortably. “Why is speaking up so hard to do?”
“It’s human nature.” Jane bit her lip. “No one wants to get cut out of the herd so we shut up and take it. That’s our biggest fear, abandonment. Being alone and getting left behind.”
Gee’s face pinched shut. “Did you mean to say it that way? About getting left behind?”
“Oh shit, no, Gee, I wasn’t talking about you.” Jane stammered. I forgot how easy it is to hurt someone. “I meant that as a general observation.”
“Okay. Well, you might be right. No one wants to get voted off the island.”
Jane sucked in her breath. Did she mean that to stick it to me? Her instinct was to retract into silence like a clam into its shell. Dammit! Don’t hold this in and turn it into another grudge or a grievance. Speak up! “Did you mean to say that to me that way?”
“Say what to you, what way?” Gee looked confused.
“Say like getting voted off the island as in my personal case.”
“I meant it like the Survivor TV show.” Gee turned. “I forget we really don’t know each other, that’s this is still new. You don’t know me well enough to know I don’t do that backstabbing bullshit to anyone.” She raised her chin. “I don’t play that game, Jane. If we’re gonna be friends, you’re gonna hafta trust me and be honest. I’m not smart enough to figure it out any other way.”
“Got it.” Jane swallowed drily. It’s now or never. Summoning her resolve, she took a mental giant step forward over the gaping abyss, trusting that her gut instinct and the whole truth would somehow support her. “Then I need to tell you something more.” She released her pent-up breath. “I’m the ‘murderous bitch.’”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Gee snatched the cigar as it fell from her mouth. “What?”
“Yes.” Jane sucked in another breath. How the ghosts of the past cling to us no matter how hard we try to hide. I’ve never told anybody this, not even John. The dam burst and the words spilled out. “Those were Mason Hollister’s last words to me as he died. I’d swear to it on a stack of Bibles. John never heard him say it; he was too busy working on Sarah. But Hollister whispered those exact words to me as he bled out.”
Jane shut her eyes tight. She could still recall that crime scene in exact and gory detail. “His blood moved across the floor, came right at me. It saturated the hem of my pants.” Opening her eyes, Jane wiped her mouth. “Remember the room you told me about, the one with the bloody handprints on the walls?”
“Yeah.” Gee stared in horror. “The hospital room, the one from my dream?”
“This is my version of that nightmare.”
“And you think this Hollister fucker came through the Ouija board to speak to you from Hell?”
“I don’t know what to think anymore.” Jane plucked at her seatbelt. “I only know I shouldn’t have sat for that reading. It’s the only thing my moth
er ever forbade me from doing.”
“Doing what? The Ouija board or the Tarot?”
“Both. From doing anything paranormal or devilish.” Jane laughed uncertainly. “She said I had too much imagination and crissakes!” Raising her hands from her lap, Jane let them tremble. “Look at me. She was right!”
Gee stared thoughtfully ahead. “Jane, what was it like? Killing that man?”
Jane stretched past the PTSD terror to recall the feeling. “It felt like I got caught up in something that was bigger than me.” She confessed. “It wrapped me up and carried me with it.” She turned sideways as far as her seatbelt would allow. “I’m not making excuses, Gee. I knew what I was doing, and I was doing what I was trained to do. Yes, maybe I was jacked on adrenaline, but I knew what I was doing all the way up those steps. It wasn’t some kind of blackout. I ran into that bedroom and I saw Hollister holding that knife to Sarah’s throat, eighteen feet away. At that distance, a man with a knife can carve you up faster than you can draw your weapon.”
Jane stubbornly shook her head. “You’ll never know what it’s like until it happens to you. BAM! You lose the first three seconds assessing the situation. BAM! It’s right there in front of you and BAM! You react. I don’t regret killing Hollister. He was a fucking monster and he was threatening a friend of mine. No, it was more than that. He was threatening my family.” She moistened her lips. “He got what he deserved and I’m not going to feel guilty about it. Thank God, the grand jury picked up on that when they dismissed the charges against me.”
“I see.” Gee rested her folded hands on the steering wheel. “Do you still want to go with me, then, tomorrow to look for Dee? You don’t have to help me, Jane. I can do it alone. I don’t want you doing anything you’re not comfortable with.”
“No, I do want to go. I want to help.” Jane straightened. As soon as she said the words she knew it was true. Investigation is my talent. It should be used. “And Gee? I’m sorry about what I said earlier about you being a man. I know that’s not true. Sometimes, though, I slip up and this shit just pops out of me.”