Like being underwater.
“Stop it,” she told herself, speaking loudly, her voice jarring in the silence. She had needed it to be; she’d wanted to disturb that silence and break its power.
Swallowing, she swung around again and took several firm, deliberate steps, her low-heeled sandals creating a staccato tap-tap that matched her heartbeat. She breathed steadily, the gasoline-tinged air sharp in her nose. Not panicked, not even truly afraid.
Until there came another sound. A low, soft, splashing sound.
Her rational mind thought water main break.
Her more primal one . . . went in another direction.
This time, she called out, “Who’s there?” and looked over her shoulder.
O-liiiiii-via.
Shock rolled over her. Her leg muscles stiffened, her knees locking up so quickly that she almost tumbled to the ground. She began to feel light-headed as that whisper floated around her, wrapping her in its eerie embrace, echoing in her ears.
Had she really heard that? Had someone truly said her name, or was she still messed up in the head after yesterday’s horror fest? She waited, craning her ears, trying to understand, but didn’t hear a thing, except, perhaps, her own nerves, which were making her so damned jumpy.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered. “There’s nobody here.” It was shadowy, yes, but not utterly dark, and she didn’t think a person could actually be hiding close enough for her to hear him whisper her name without her seeing him.
A dark thought occurred to her. Unless he’s hiding behind Julia’s car.
Even more ridiculous. But not impossible.
No way was she going to go over there and find out. This wasn’t some TV movie with a stupid woman who’d go off and investigate a scary noise in the big abandoned parking lot. She might be feeling more nervous than afraid, but still, she’d seen that creepy movie P2, about the woman stalked in a parking garage, and was not up for a reenactment.
Now about twenty feet from the elevator, she started toward it again, not quite running—still not entirely sure she’d heard anything at all—but not dawdling, either.
Olivia!
“Who the hell are you?” she snapped, skidding to a stop once more as that odd, disembodied voice called to her again, now sounding like it had come from above her. One thing had struck her this time—it didn’t sound like a real person speaking, and yet she had heard her name clearly.
Then a strange thought entered her mind. No, she’d never seen Julia’s ghostly friend—or friendly ghost—but she didn’t doubt Julia had, so she believed he was around. Just yesterday, in fact, he had been watching her, had reported back to Julia that Gabe had carried her into her house. Which was kind of annoying, to be honest, thinking a ghost was spying on her.
Could he be watching her now? And was she somehow becoming aware of him? Having experienced death so many times, perhaps her own sensory perception had been altered. What if she, too, might now be able to interact with the ghostly remnants left behind by those who had died? What if he somehow sensed it and was trying to make contact with her?
“Morgan?” she whispered.
A long moment and then that strange whisper that seemed to come from all around her but also inside her own head.
Maybe you should drown her.
“No!” she cried, panic washing over her. Her stomach heaved and she dropped her purse as she ran toward the elevator. She lost a shoe but didn’t even slow down, driven by a ravaging fight-or-flight impulse that was telling her to fly.
She skidded to a stop as she reached the control panel. “Please hurry,” she begged as she punched the Up button. But the door didn’t open. The elevator was on some floor high above her head and would take its own sweet time getting down here. She didn’t have much time.
“Oh, God,” she whispered when the realization hit her.
It was already too late.
Her skin began to prickle, her hair standing on end, her whole body going on red alert. Because she felt the presence, the weight of something pushing against her like a thick cloud of warm air. She wasn’t crazy, she wasn’t imagining things; someone else was here now.
Right behind her.
“Who are you?” she asked, somehow finding a reserve of calm deep within her. She was able to shove away the instinctive revulsion those whispered words had caused in her and realize what was going on here.
No man was stalking her. Something else was.
She didn’t bother to turn around. She didn’t need to look, because there was nothing to see. All her eyes would show her was empty parking lot. The presence behind her didn’t have shape or form here, she understood that now.
It only had voice.
O-liiiii-via . . . I’m sorry I told him to do that to you.
The truth leapt into her brain, and a name came to her lips. The wrong name. She didn’t say it, instead uttering what she knew to be the right one. “Zachary?”
Sorry.
“I’m the one who’s sorry.” Tears formed in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. Olivia clenched her hands together, lifting them to her face, tipping her forehead onto her fist. “I shouldn’t have left without you.” She’d regretted that decision ever since that night, never more so than yesterday when she’d seen, heard and felt exactly what that monster had put him through because he’d helped her escape.
The presence moved closer. She could feel it pushing harder against her back. The feeling was unlike anything she’d ever experienced, and she couldn’t quite define it. Not solid but not purely a vapor, either. There was a tingling sensation and a hint of pressure. It felt as though the air itself had gained the barest whisper of mass, like tiny wildflower petals picked up and tossed about by a gust of wind.
Nor did she feel cold, as she’d always seen in the movies. This was warm, comforting, heartbreakingly tender. She suddenly had a vision: his ethereal form pressed up behind her, his skinny arms slipping around her waist and his cheek resting against her spine. A hug from beyond the grave, because he thought he needed to be forgiven.
“I forgive you, Zachary,” she whispered. “I forgave you a long time ago. And I thank you. You saved me.”
The warmth increased, the soft blanket of butterfly-light pressure spread even wider, as if he wanted to envelop her entire body. She had pleased him.
You need to save Jack.
Shame made her drop her head, her chin hitting her chest as her hair fell over her face. “I didn’t save you. I’m so sorry for that.”
I hafta go now. I think I can go now that they found me.
Found him? Found his bones?
My mama’s waiting at the station. She’s been waiting on me a long time.
“What station? Your mother’s . . .”
She died a long time ago and she’s been awful sad, but I’m pretty sure she’ll be happy now that I can go, too. Bye, Olivia.
“Wait, Zachary!”
Don’t forget, you have to save Jack. He’ll be twelve soon. His time’s almost up.
Her thoughts had been in a crazy whirl; she hadn’t really been focusing on individual words, more on the experience as a whole. Part of her had listened, part of her had grieved, while yet another part had wondered if she’d completely lost her mind. But now certain things he’d said started to sink in.
She sucked in a shocked gasp. “Are you telling me there’s another boy?”
The pressure lightened a little, as if he were pulling away, diminishing, the substance and form he’d put together out of air melting apart. Then one final whisper in her brain.
There’s always another boy.
Her stomach clenched. She thought she’d be sick. Especially as he continued to pull away, and she found herself missing the comforting warmth, the delicate weight of him against her body. “Wait, Zachary. Please, you have to tell me more!”
There was no answer, nothing but silence. The air grew more buoyant, that pressing sensation having disappeared completely. Noises
started to return: the whirring of the elevator equipment, the ding as it reached her floor, the throaty hum of traffic on the street above her. All of which told her one thing: Zachary had finally moved on.
Gabe knew as soon as he saw Olivia’s face that something was wrong.
He’d arrived a couple of minutes ago, had been standing with Julia Harrington at the reception desk in their darkened office suite, when he heard the elevator doors open in the hallway. He’d glanced toward them, taken one look at Olivia, who was wide-eyed and pale, and his heart had leapt into his throat.
“What happened?” he asked, rushing toward her.
“I need to talk to Julia,” she insisted.
“I’m here, honey,” the woman said, taking Olivia’s arm and helping him lead her into the office. The three of them went to a leather sofa in the waiting area, the women sitting down, Gabe squatting down in front of Olivia.
She looked strange. Upset, yes, but not afraid. Or even worried. In fact, judging by the frown tugging at her brow and the twist on her mouth, he’d have to call her mood determined.
“What is it?” Julia asked.
Olivia responded with a question of her own, which surprised them both. “When Morgan first came around, could you see him? Or did you just hear him?”
Julia didn’t even hesitate at the strange question. She merely answered it: “I saw him, but later I realized I’d been hearing him for quite a while. He’d been talking to me in my head; I thought his whispers were my memories of him talking.”
“Who is this Morgan?” Gabe asked. He’d been curious since yesterday, when he’d heard this Morgan guy had seen Gabe carry Liv into her house.
Olivia’s boss cast him a quick sideways look, replying, “Morgan Raines. He was my partner on the Charleston PD.”
Oh, right. She’d been on the job. Gabe had known that, but he’d forgotten. He suddenly began to feel a little bad about being so hard on her.
“Morgan’s been dead for almost eight years,” the woman added.
Which pretty much made the “feeling bad” thing dissipate. He had a sudden urge to stick his fingers in his ears and sing “La la la” in order to drown out the conversation. God help him, he was getting in so far over his head that he couldn’t even see the surface of the water anymore.
Olivia licked her lips and nodded. “Have you ever, uh, felt him? Morgan, I mean?”
The brunette blinked, then shifted in her seat, looking uncomfortable for the first time since he’d met her. Which led Gabe to believe he really didn’t want to hear her answer, because he suspected he’d thereafter be hearing “Unchained Melody” and picturing Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore having ghost sex. The very idea made him rise to his feet and walk over to the reception desk, lean against it and cross his arms over his chest.
“I’m sorry,” Olivia said. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, I did. I felt him.”
Julia’s jaw dropped open. “Morgan?”
“No!” Looking at Gabe with eyes that pleaded with him to believe her, she explained, “The boy. Zachary. I . . . he . . . I couldn’t see him, but I heard him. And I could, I don’t know, feel him there with me, like I was draped in a warm blanket made of air.”
“Yes,” Julia said, sounding shocked. “That’s how it is. Where? When did this happen?”
“A few minutes ago, down in the garage. Though, I suspect he tried to connect with me yesterday at my house. Something happened right before I came down to meet with you all.”
Julia suddenly stiffened, her eyes widening. “Oh, my God! Morgan told me about this.”
“About what?” Olivia asked.
“He told me the other day that somebody like him was trying to get to you.”
Olivia was shaking her head, still visibly shocked by whatever had happened down in the garage. “Why? How could this happen? I’ve never had any kind of encounter with a ghost.”
“According to Morgan, there are plenty around. They stay; others depart right away.”
“Via some sort of station?”
“Yes!” Julia clapped her hands together, smiling. “Oh, God, it’s so wonderful to finally have somebody to talk to about this.”
Olivia didn’t look like she considered it wonderful. More confusing and nerve-racking. “Has Morgan ever explained it to you? How it works, why you can see him?”
“Well, I know he stayed because he was worried about me and because he wanted—still wants—to help catch the people who had him killed.”
Gabe couldn’t deny being interested by that statement. If he were to die in the line of duty, and if there really were an afterlife, he’d probably want the same thing. Justice, even if it was from beyond the grave.
“I think I heard him and eventually could see him, because I was with him when he died. I shared his final moments.”
Olivia shook her head slowly. “I wasn’t there when Zachary died.”
Julia reached over and covered Olivia’s hand tenderly, offering her warmth but also, Gabe thought, lending her strength for what she was about to say. “Liv, honey, don’t you see? You might not have been there, but you actually lived his death. You experienced it with him.”
Olivia let out a long, slow breath, thinking about that. Gabe could only imagine what was going through her mind—probably the first thing that had popped into his.
She’d lived a lot of people’s deaths. A whole lot.
“If it’s any help, I don’t think anybody else has ever, um, tried to reach you before,” Julia said. “Morgan told me right away about this one, and I’m pretty sure he’d know. I bet the rest just moved on. This boy, though, felt he had a reason to stay.”
“I don’t think he could leave,” Olivia whispered, sounding terribly weary and sad. “Not until his remains were found.” Then she looked up at Gabe, pushing her sadness aside, getting back to business. Important business. “Zachary told me some things you need to know.”
Part of him—the traditional, rational part that didn’t believe in woo-woo stuff—wanted to walk out of there so he didn’t have to admit the woman he was majorly attracted to had just said she’d had a chat with a ghost. Another part, the Gabe who had watched her put herself through such hell yesterday, then asked him to stay with her and watch her sleep afterward, couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let her down like that, couldn’t say, even without words, that he thought she was imagining things.
Which was, of course, the first thing he’d thought. Old habits died hard, and it wasn’t going to be easy for him to let go of his instinctive skepticism overnight. First sharing someone else’s death memories, now ghosts? Lord, wouldn’t his grandfather be cackling right now at the thought of how off the reservation Gabe had gone with his thinking in just a few days’ time. At this rate, he’d be out of a job by the end of the week. Taking up with psychics, letting one of them handle evidence? What the hell was he doing? If he had any sense at all, he’d put an end to this right now, walk out the door and go back to a normal life and a normal murder investigation.
Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to have much sense when it came to the green-eyed redhead watching him with trepidation, waiting for him to either tell her he believed her or else break her heart.
You know you believed her yesterday. Why is it so hard to accept this?
Besides which, he’d been raised in the church. If he believed in the spirit—the soul—why was it so crazy to think that occasionally spirits outstayed their welcomes?
“Why don’t you tell us what happened?” he asked, not exactly giving her what she wanted but not refusing to, either.
She did as he asked, but there wasn’t much to tell. An apology, a moment of penance with a boy she felt she owed . . . whose brush with the afterlife wouldn’t include that?
But then she said something that floored him.
“The worst thing is, Gabe, I think this monster has another little boy, right now. And that his time might be running out.”
Gabe straightened, dropping his arms t
o his sides. He had not told Olivia anything about Sue-Ann Bowles’s visit, or the possible conclusion both he and Ty had reached because of it. “Why do you say that?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
“Zachary told me, twice, that I needed to save Jack. The second time he mentioned that he was almost twelve and his time was running out.”
Gabe thought he managed to keep the shock off his face. But maybe not.
How could she possibly know that? Thanks to Mrs. Bowles, he and Ty had already realized the age of twelve seemed to be some personal trigger point for the man they were dealing with. But no way could Olivia know.
“At first, I thought he was talking about himself, but then I realized he wasn’t. He would never call himself Jack, not considering the last words he said on this earth.”
Julia blew out an audible breath. “We have to assume the monster who kidnapped him is the one who changed his name.”
“Exactly,” Olivia replied. “So maybe he did it again, kidnapped another boy to use as a slave and is calling this one Jack, too, for some twisted reason.”
They were going on the assumption that there were only two victims, while Gabe knew there could very well be at least four. It was time for him to bring them up to speed on that, and he would, as soon as Ty and the others arrived. Ty was bringing all the information he’d already dug up on missing boys; he’d spent much of yesterday morning working on it.
Gabe suspected it was a good thing he had. Whether a ghost had told her or not—and, honestly, he couldn’t come up with any other explanation right now—he already believed Olivia’s theory that the man who’d tried to murder her had not been killed by police. And, frankly, a man who’d kidnap a boy and a teenage girl and then drown them both wasn’t the type of leopard who’d change his spots.
Of course he would do it again. Having gotten away with it the first time, the whole world thinking the perp was dead, what on earth was there to stop him?
We’re going to stop him. Too late to help Sue-Ann Bowles’s son or the Durkee boy. But hopefully not too late to save this latest “Jack” he was holding captive now.
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