by Ashlyn Chase
“And I think you should lose a few pounds.”
Roz balled her fists and her face turned red, but before she came up with a retort, Reginald sensed another presence.
“Is someone else here?”
“Yeah, hello, bonehead. My name is Chad, and I have a message for you.”
“Bonehead?”
“It’s a modern expression meaning idiot, moron, a person who’s stupid beyond belief.”
“Oh?” Reginald was highly offended, but decided to play it cool. Perhaps the fellow was trying to get him so riled that he’d blurt out the truth. Well, he wouldn’t let that happen.
The medium continued to speak for him, but apparently the other spirit preferred she didn’t.
He said, “Morgaine, do you think you could give us a few minutes of silence to speak ghost to ghost?”
Morgaine nodded, opened her eyes, and came out of her trance.
“Yeah, listen up dude. Konrad is kind and decent. He hasn’t done anything to deserve this frame job. And you’re an ass for not only trying to ruin his life, but your afterlife too.”
“What are you talking about? What more can happen to me?” Was it possible this other spirit knew something about the afterlife? Reginald had been stuck for eighty-something years, and no heaven or hell had opened its gates to claim him. At this point, he didn’t care which. Any change would be welcome.
The other spirit sighed. Reginald didn’t know why he couldn’t see him. He wished he could. It would be nice to know what kind of man he was dealing with.
Chad continued. “Do you know what karma is? I doubt you do, or you’d realize how messed up yours is.”
“Karma is a term I’m familiar with, although it has to do with an Eastern religion, and I fail to see what difference—”
“That’s because you’re a dumb ass.”
All this name-calling was getting ugly. Reginald liked having someone to talk to, and he’d thought communicating with another spirit would be a special treat, but not this one. “Now see here—”
“No, you see. You’ll never get to the other side if you keep pulling this kind of crap.”
“What other side? What do you know about it, and if that’s where we’re supposed to be, why are you still here?”
“I thought it was because of unfinished business, but once my murder had been solved and I still didn’t move on, I realized it had to be more than that.”
“And have you deduced what that additional criterion might be?”
“I knew enough to realize I was losing my shit. I had gone a little nuts from being alone so long. I took it out on the residents of my building, simply because I was bored.”
“How so?”
“I learned to move objects with my mind. It’s called telekinesis. I had an obnoxious sense of humor and redirected moving objects to hit someone in the eye or set up an obstacle course so I could laugh my ass off when they tripped. And then Morgaine talked to me, and I slowly came to realize what I had been doing.”
“What? Enjoying yourself?”
“That’s what I used to think. Now I know I had been lengthening my time here in purgatory.”
Reginald snapped to attention. “Purgatory? This is purgatory?”
“Either that or limbo. Whatever you call it, we ain’t here, and we ain’t there. We’re trapped because we can’t go back, and we’re not welcome wherever we were headed, yet.”
“I see.” The rude spirit made sense. “And if I continue along this path, I’ll stay here forever?”
“I guess so. I don’t know if there’s someplace worse you could go or not. Looking around, I can see you have some pretty groovy digs. You might not want to downgrade.”
“Hmmm…I’ll have to think about whatever you just said.”
“I said—”
“Never mind, I understood you well enough.”
“So you’ll give the ladies a statement of retraction?”
“Certainly not. I said what I said because I saw what I saw and heard what I heard.”
“You’re a friggin’ piece of work, you know that?”
“I know nothing of the kind. And I imagine you know nothing about the afterlife. Unless you’ve been there and back, everything you say is just theory.”
Chad blew out a deep breath of exasperation. “I can’t think of a better explanation, can you?”
“I’ll admit I’ve been puzzled about why I’m still here, but I don’t have the answer, and I’m sorry to say this, but neither do you.”
***
Konrad sat on his sofa with Roz and played with her cute new haircut. “You couldn’t get Reginald to admit he lied?”
“I’m afraid not,” Roz said. Her shoulders sagged. “Chad is staying for a while, hoping to wear him down.”
“That’s surprisingly decent of him.” He stretched. “I have a little good news. I was able to rebook our photography class date. We can start this week.”
“Oh, by the way, I thought of another career that might be fun. It’s not something we can try on a date, though.”
“Really? What is it?”
“Hairstylist. I spoke to the instructor at the school where I got my hair cut, and she said training was less than a year and the job prospects in urban areas look good.”
“It might be fun for you, but I can’t see these big meaty hands of mine doing something that requires that much dexterity.”
“Hmm…I guess you have a point. But maybe I could go for hairdressing, you could go for management, and then we could buy a trendy salon.”
“With what?”
Roz grimaced. “Oh, yeah. I forgot about the hefty down payment on a mortgage like that.”
“So are you still interested in the photography classes?”
“Maybe. Just don’t take any pictures of me, okay?”
He looked her up and down. “Are you back to the body issue again?”
“Well, yeah. I hate having my picture taken. I either blink or have some goofy look on my face. And then it’s there for all eternity.”
“Not with digital cameras. These days if you don’t like a picture, you can delete it.”
“I guess.”
“Maybe it will help distract us until either the case comes to trial or Chad persuades Reginald to fess up to whatever he did.”
“Yeah, about that. I’m afraid the circumstantial evidence might be hard to disprove.”
“You’re kidding. What the hell is it? I still can’t figure out why they’d want my DNA.”
“Because a couple strands of hair were stuck to a tiny piece of duct tape left when they cut the guards loose. Since the thieves wore Boston cops uniforms, the police checked the hair against their DNA. Your twin brother’s DNA is a 99.9 percent match. Since twins DNA are so similar, it could be yours.”
“Shit, I never saw that coming. Wait! The second time I went to the museum recently, when I was trying to think of how to tell you about my, um, condition, a toddler pulled out some of my hair.”
“Of course! That’s how Reginald got it. He must have been watching.”
“Goddamn filthy, lying ghost. He framed me for something I didn’t do!” Konrad leaned over, dropped his head in his hands, and groaned. “What now, Roz?”
***
A few days passed before Chad was able to make his way back to the building and talk to Morgaine. When he said Reginald refused to back down, Roz’s hopes for a retraction were dashed. She had conferred with colleagues, and the best they could hope for was that Konrad’s alibi would hold up or the prosecution’s case would fall apart.
Roz decided that to be thorough, she should get ghost hunters to investigate the existence of Reginald; not that she didn’t believe Morgaine, but she knew the woman needed money. Anyone could claim mediumship powers and fake a channeled spirit, right? Konrad refused to believe that Morgaine would do such a thing, so he stayed out of the next part of Roz’s research.
She stood in an Airstream trailer in Hyde Park, the mak
eshift office of B.A.S.H. (Boston Area Spirit Hunters), talking to the lead investigator, Shawn. She had already explained the basics.
He rose from his chair. “You said over the phone that this is for a court case. Would we be required to testify?”
“Not unless we can prove that the ghost doesn’t exist.”
“It would be easier to prove rather than disprove the existence of a spirit with our infrared equipment.” He pulled out a chair on the client side of his metal desk.
Roz took a seat on the hard folding chair. “What do you mean?”
“If we don’t see anything, it doesn’t prove he isn’t there, because he might be hiding from us. If we capture an image, it could confirm his existence.”
“At least in some minds,” Roz said. “I might luck out and get a jury who disbelieves everything supernatural, but I read studies that claim at least sixty percent of Americans have had firsthand encounters with some sort of spirit activity, so that’s unlikely.”
Shawn scratched his head. “And yet at least ninety percent of the calls we investigate turn up nothing. You said this is a cognizant spirit, right?”
“Yes, if the medium is genuine, and she probably is, then she channeled a ghost named Reginald who died in the 1930s. He seemed quite aware of who was in the room, what we looked like, and what we wanted to know.”
“If you believe the medium is genuine, why do you need us?”
“My natural skepticism demands it.”
Shawn nodded. “I understand, but if you hire us and we confirm his existence, then you might prefer you hadn’t been so thorough.”
Roz paused and considered it. “No,” she said eventually. “I need to know the truth, at least for myself. Is there any way of doing this surreptitiously?”
“You mean without the medium knowing, or without the museum’s knowledge and permission?”
“Both, preferably.”
Shawn leaned back in his chair and looked like he was considering the implications carefully. “It’s not the ideal situation. We generally like to go into places when it’s dark, in order to use our infrared cameras, and we’d need to gain access to off-limits areas. Spirits who want to hide—and that’s most of the harmless, cognizant ones trapped on this plane without an agenda—will avoid the public. We can still use thermal imaging, but it might attract attention.”
“Damn.” She should have thought this over more carefully or asked more questions over the telephone.
“We could always bring in our own sensitive.”
“Your own what?”
“Sensitive. It’s what psychics and mediums like to be called these days. I have a few I trust completely. They’ve worked with us while we’re using our equipment, and usually the sensitive’s contacts validate the electronic findings and vice versa.”
“I see, so I assume you’d charge less for the sensitive only, since you wouldn’t need to use your fancy cameras and thermal equipment.”
“I’m sure we can work something out.”
After breaking everything down, Roz negotiated a fair price and signed the contract hiring B.A.S.H. if, for no other reason, than to put her own mind at ease. She didn’t have to tell Konrad about it, did she? After all her fuss about honesty, she felt a little conflicted, but the less he knew about certain things, the better. He’d be bound by oath to answer all questions truthfully.
Would she have to verify the haunting of the Gardener Museum in court? Not unless they place me on the witness stand. Very unlikely. And even then, she could word her answers like a good lawyer and commit to nothing.
***
When Roz returned to her apartment, she found an envelope addressed to her taped on the front door. She recognized the handwriting. Immediately, she ripped it open.
“Oh, no.”
Konrad’s door slammed, and when Roz glanced up, he was jogging down the stairs.
“What’s wrong, angel?”
“How did you know something was wrong?”
“I was coming down to see if you were home anyway, and I smelled fear.” He nodded at the paper in her hand. “Is there something in that note that upset you?”
“It’s nothing.” She glanced away and tried to act casual. “You can smell fear?”
He folded his arms and frowned. “Yes. Now you want complete honesty from me, so I think I should expect the same from you.”
She stepped back. “Yeah, you’re right, but I can handle this.”
“And by this, you mean—”
“My stepfather’s in town and wants to see me.”
Konrad’s eyes popped. “The perv?”
“It’s okay. He just heard I have a high-profile case and said he wants to ‘help.’” Roz made finger quotes in the air.
“That’s right, he’s a lawyer too.”
“Yeah, and what he really means is he wants a piece of the publicity.”
“I’d like to be present when you talk to him.”
“No!” She bit her lower lip. “I mean, I don’t think that’s a great idea, considering you’re the defendant…unless you want the benefit of his expertise.”
“Hell, no. I don’t want anything from him. I just want to be sure you’re safe.”
“I will be. Don’t worry.”
“That’s like telling me not to get furry under the full moon. It isn’t something I can control. At least let me hide nearby so you can call me telepathically if you need me.”
She thought it over. “I guess it would make me more comfortable knowing you were handy, just in case. You’re not the only one who can smell fear. Seasoned lawyers are good at that too.” She quickly added, “But I want to be the one to stand up to him.”
“Noted. When and where are you seeing him?”
“He said he was going to lunch with a client and he’d check back here after that.”
“Okay, so we’ll wait for him in your apartment. When he knocks, I’ll lock myself in your bedroom.”
“There’s no lock on my bedroom door.”
“Then I like the idea of being in there even better.”
She folded her arms. “It’s not like he’s going to try anything…again.”
“He’d better not.”
***
Roz jumped when she heard a knock on her door. Konrad, sitting next to her on the couch, pulled her close and whispered, “If you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be right in the next room.” He gave her a quick kiss and retreated to the bedroom.
She rose, steeled herself for facing her stepfather, and hoped the meeting wasn’t as awkward as she anticipated. She crossed to the door warily and opened it a crack. There he stood, hands in his pressed pants pockets, looking as nervous as she felt.
“Hello, Roz.”
She crossed her arms. “Hello, jerk. What do you want?”
He smiled the smarmy smile she remembered. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Roz. Water under the bridge. Can’t we be friends after all this time?”
“Not really.”
He held up both hands. “Well, I came in peace. In fact, I thought I could help you. I understand you have a difficult case coming up.”
“I have all the help I need, thank you.”
He hung his head. “Please don’t be like that, Roz. We haven’t talked in so long, and you never know, I might have some insight. If you’re uncomfortable inviting me into your apartment, perhaps I can take you out for a cup of coffee.”
She wasn’t fooled by his contrite act. He’d never admitted doing anything wrong, and she knew he never would. “No thanks, Stan. I have coffee here.”
He tossed his hands in the air and paced, but he didn’t leave. She knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t, even—or maybe especially—when he looked exasperated and was getting nowhere.
At last he whirled on her and took his authoritative stance. “There’s no reason in the world you should treat me this way. I have nothing but your success in mind. Surely you can’t believe I’d be fool enough to come here with any
motive other than professional. Look at you. It’s not like you’re irresistibly attractive. You’ve put on at least twenty pounds.”
The fine hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Roz’s nostrils flared, and she clamped her lips together tight so she wouldn’t say anything to make her sound like the hurt little girl he was trying to manipulate her into becoming.
“Roz, I’m coming out.”
No! I can handle this. Stay right where you are.
“Then end the conversation. One more comment like he just made, and I’ll punch him in the face.”
Roz stepped back and began to close the door.
“What’s the matter? I just spoke the truth to ease your mind and put the past behind us.”
She mustered an even tone and said, “The past is part of me now. Maybe that’s the extra weight you’re looking at.”
“Oh, now don’t try to blame—”
The loud bang as the door slammed drowned out the rest of Stan’s sentence. She turned the dead bolt and ignored his demands to open the door.
Konrad came barreling out of the bedroom. She placed herself between him and the door and pushed on his solid chest, stopping him.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She took a deep breath and exhaled in an effort to steady her nerves. “I’m fine…or I will be.”
“Roz, please, let me escort him to the sidewalk…by the seat of his pants.”
“No, it’s better if he doesn’t see you. Just…just hold me.”
He grasped her in a tight embrace.
She felt his heart pounding and imagined adrenaline rushing through his veins. He really does love me, enough to fight for me. Yet he’s willing to listen and respect my wishes. It’s a damn good thing, since I’m ninety-nine percent sure that jerk-face will be in the courtroom for the trial.
“Take me to the bedroom,” she whispered. “I need to lie down.”
He swooped her into his arms and carried her to her bed. Gently he placed her in the center of the bed and crawled in next to her.
Propped up on his elbow, he asked, “Is there anything else I can do? Can I call Dottie and sic her on him?”
Roz laughed. “You don’t have to protect me from everything, Konrad. I appreciate your being here for me, but honestly, sometimes all I need is your moral support.