by Andrea Drew
"I almost feel guilty sneaking away for a night out when they're going through something like that." Connor took the clothes and moved them onto his lap
"You can't fix the world in one night." She rolled a pair of socks, then patted them on top of a pair of her pyjamas.
Gypsy had always wanted to save the world, help the underdog, even if it had almost cost her life. It had almost come between them, although he didn't feel quite so confident anymore in his previous insistences she dampen down her abilities. He wouldn't forget the grief at almost losing her, the raw bleeding wound that had only just healed over.
"I know, but it seems so unfair I get to keep my sister."
"You feel things more than everyone else, Gypsy. Sometimes it’s okay to switch off and forget about the bad things in the world That's what tonight is for, so let's enjoy it."
"Deal," she said, and snaked her hand up his leg.
"Easy," he said, smile widening.
A surge of desire shuddered through him. Their love life had fallen further down the list since Mark's birth, but with a bit of luck, it might make a comeback tonight.
He pulled into the restaurant parking lot. “Here we are.”
It took a moment before she saw the beautiful façade of Grossi's.
"You're taking me to Grossi's? A keeper, that's what you are." She reached across to plant a kiss on his cheek.
He parked Black Betty, got out, and opened the door for her, his salute to chivalry for tonight. As she stood up, he saw the twinkle in her eye.
"You've got that naughty look." She laughed, the sound bright and happy.
"What you going to do about it?"
"That's for me to know and you to find out."
They entered the restaurant, and while he wasn't a frequent visitor to places like this, he admitted that he looked forward to bringing her, a haven of ambient lighting and luxurious surroundings among the grinding routine of investigation.
The waiter looked down at a large book, guiding his finger to their names written in pencil.
"Mr. Reardon and Ms. Shields, this way please," said the stocky waiter, as he bowed his head. His dark slicked back hair contrasted with his white jacket and shirt, immaculately pressed. He escorted them to their table, and they settled in.
"I think I’ll lash out and have the duck," she said.
"Excellent choice, Mrs. Soon-to-be Reardon," Connor said.
The waiter poured the wine before he smiled and then disappeared, and Connor leaned forward on the table.
"There's been quite a few developments today."
"Agreed," said Gypsy, taking a sip of wine. "Come on then, details please, you know you want to."
"Elizabeth Metcalfe and Helen Reeves gave permission to pass on the photographs and financial reports to Ryan. He'll work with the team to put the hard word on Fraser and Whitehouse."
She grinned. "About time. I hope they put the wind up them."
"I'd put money on it. In the meantime, I'll talk to Katrina, the other sister. She's a financial advisor. I figure if Lauren knew about her husband’s shady deals, she would have talked to her sister-in-law about it."
"Stands to reason. Unfortunately, it might have got her killed."
"Maybe. In the meantime, let's eat."
After enjoying a sumptuous entrée and meal, and spending time with Gypsy talking about matters non-domestic, relief coursed through him. He felt the mental reboot taking place, his mind emptying of its usual crowded thoughts. As the evening progressed, his mind turned toward getting Gypsy home, offering her his undivided attention, and taking off her work clothes.
A muffled beep seeped out from her handbag.
"Sorry, I better check that,” she said, resting her fork on her plate. “It might be Leah."
She brought the phone to the table and glanced at the screen. A text from her sister.
"Yes!" she said loudly. Heads turned, and she lowered her voice. "Leah's got the day off and she said we should enjoy the night out. Mark can sleep, over and I'll pick him up in the morning."
Connor grinned. "Excellent. In that case, we should leave as soon as possible so I can rush you home and demonstrate my appreciation for a night out."
They hurried through the rest of their meal eager for some time alone.
Finishing the chicken with brie, she wiped her mouth, and then dropped the napkin onto the table and pushed back her chair. "You don't have to tell me twice. Let's go home so I can remind you of the way things used to be."
Connor paid the bill, and escorted her out. After opening the car door for her, he drove home, trying not to break the speed limit. Just inside the living room door, he dropped his keys and wallet onto the table and took Gypsy in his arms. Her soft lips and the delicate suppleness of her skin reminded him of all he had missed. He scooped her up and carried her to the bedroom.
"Let's make it a night to remember," he said, his voice gruff.
"If you insist." She smiled, the light glowing in her eyes.
He stopped as he reached the bed. A blonde-haired woman with a strong resemblance to Lauren Whitehouse waited for them. Lauren was nothing if not determined to get a message to them both. She stood wearing what appeared to be work clothes: black skirt, dark jacket, and light blue shirt. She stood next to the bed as clear as if she had dropped in for a chat, but didn't appear to be speaking.
He released his tie and sat on the edge of the bed, and rather than lying back to gesture for him to join her, Gypsy sat on the edge, feet flat on the floor.
"My god," she whispered. "Do you see that?"
Strangely, as their abilities were slightly different, they rarely experienced visions at the same time. "Yes," he said, barely moving.
What did she have to tell them? Could she solve the case, by revealing her killer?
She stood before them and for a moment, he wondered if she was real. She barely moved. Then she swayed a little, and smiled up at him, her eyes radiating kindness and goodwill.
"She likes you," Gypsy said. "If you weren't confident you were a Sentinel or a spiritual guard before now, I think this confirms it. I don't think she'll take no for an answer."
He couldn't look at her, fascinated by the figure barely a foot in front of him. He'd cringe if anyone had hinted at the faintest idea of the supernatural while in the force, but then it wasn't exactly the environment for telling colleagues you saw dead people and could break a psychic connection without too much effort.
Now word had got out that his Sentinel abilities played a big part in his case close rate, he had nothing left to hide. How many people knew he could cut communication between psychic mediums, and receive visions from both the living and dead? If he went back into the force, it would be with rumours swirling. The constant focus on his reputation drained him and at this present moment, the exhaustion crept through him.
"I'd love to investigate that tunnel of Hugh Frasers. Did he keep you there, Lauren? Were you kidnapped?" said Gypsy
Connor looked at Gypsy, chin out, leaning forward, desperate for answers. Lauren continued to smile and shook her head. No.
"Well, I'll be damned," she muttered. "So, who did this?"
Lauren took a step forward, lowering her ethereal form to the bed, slowly and gently. She turned to Connor and smiled at him. A rush ran through him, and he wondered if she could see into him, see every picture, every thought, every doubt. Maybe she'd see him as a fraud, inept and incompetent.
She stared at him and reached under her arm. What looked to be a blanket appeared at first, followed by a small bundle. Her head dipped, and she extended both arms out to him, gesturing down for him to look directly at what she held in her arms.
A baby. He froze. Was Lauren Whitehouse pregnant at the time of her death? If so, this changed everything, in particular Jarrod's claim she had been having an affair. Could there be something to his accusation?
"She trusts you," Gypsy said. "If a woman asks you to hold her baby, you know you're okay."
&nb
sp; Awash with emotion, he moved his hands out to hers, and after a moment’s hesitation, he lowered his hands to below her forearms, ready to take the baby she had offered.
She vanished, taking the baby with her.
Neither he nor Gypsy spoke, overcome with what had just occurred.
"That was intense," Gypsy said at last.
He still couldn't speak. With that one gesture, she had told him all he needed to know. He should stop doubting himself, he wasn't the bumbling fool he thought he was. If he’d let this woman in, and received the vision earlier, rather than dismissing it as coincidence, the communication Lauren sent him might have saved her life. He might have saved her life if he’d just knocked off the self-doubt.
"You're a good man, Charlie Brown," Gypsy said. "I know it, and so does Lauren Whitehouse. Trust yourself like she trusts you. Like I do. No more doubting your abilities."
The shackles of the last remnants of doubt fell away from him. He could help like no one else could, one of the only Sentinels he knew of in existence. It was time to make things right.
"Come here," Gypsy said.
She took him in her arms, and he allowed her to hold him, his head on her lap. He remembered everything he loved about her and why he'd been attracted to her. Despite his flaws and faults, she truly loved him.
Now that the biggest hurdle, his not trusting Gypsy with her abilities, had been smashed out of existence, he felt closer to Gypsy than ever before. There had never been anyone other than her, and never would be anyone else. Of that much he was certain.
###
Chapter 8
If Connor thought the day before had been harrowing, he knew today, depending on the body identification, would be worse. His client collapsing into grief at the death of her sister could take his comfort zone and shift his confidence in his abilities as an investigator to an all-time high.
He'd steeled himself for the day ahead with the biggest strongest cup of coffee he could get his hands on.
At the Coroner’s office in central Melbourne, he flashed his license at the receptionist sitting at the front desk and began to sign in.
"Morning, Connor," she said.
He looked up from the sign in sheet. "Cilla. You remembered."
"How could I not?" She flashed him a pearly smile.
Did she just bat her eyelashes at him? If she did, he wouldn't argue. A hidden benefit of going through the scene with the ghost of Lauren Whitehouse last night was not only a renewed strength in his relationship, but increased confidence, walking a little faster and a little taller.
"Judging by the look on your face, I'd say your headed up to the seventh floor."
"That obvious, huh?"
"I like a man who shows what he's thinking."
So much for his 'I'm a closed book' theory.
"Err, okay, Cilla,” he said. “See you later, maybe."
He followed a balding man carrying a briefcase toward the six lift entry points, and pushed the button, shoving his hands in his pockets. He had searched for but not found Elizabeth in the foyer so maybe she was up at the seventh floor already. He squeezed into the lift and noticed he was the only one that got out at the coroner’s floor.
He exited onto dark brown durable carpet. The narrow corridor continued for about fifty metres before he reached a sign saying, "Identification Suite.”
It had been a long process.
He pushed open the glass door. Suzie the departmental assistant stared at the keyboard, tapping at the keys furiously. Connor stopped by the desk, and shifted his weight from his left to his right foot. She lifted her chin and smiled, exposing the new set of teeth she'd been spending her wages on back when he last saw her.
"Connor, how long's it been?"
"Nearly two years."
"Time flies." Her lips pressed together firmly. "You’re meeting a family?"
"Yes unfortunately. My client is Elizabeth Metcalfe. A body found at Wilson's Point."
"Okay. I'll go talk to a techie.” She stood from her chair. “Back in a sec."
She left, and a technician Connor recognised. Ethan Jenkins, walked in. Connor wondered if he was still popular with the ladies as he had been back in the day. He'd ribbed him repeatedly about the burden of women falling at his feet.
"Heard you were coming in." Ethan smiled and extended his hand. "Gone to the dark side, private investigation, huh?"
"Something like that." Connor shook his hand.
"Let's go. I'll run you through on the status before your client gets here, if you like."
"And if Elizabeth arrives?"
"Suzi will ask her to take a seat until you can get to reception to talk to her. I’m sure you know the drill. Want to look first?"
"Yeah." Ethan took a couple of steps away from the desk and gestured toward the door to the right of Suzi’s desk.
Connor’s heels clacked across the light grey tiles of one of the coroners viewing rooms.
A sheet had been placed across the body on a table in the centre of the sterile and barren room, and as they walked through the door, the familiar smell of decomposition greeted him, a mixture of sewage, disinfectant, and decay. He'd never forget it., though, he had certainly tried to wash the smell off many times, unsuccessfully.
His shoes echoed on the tiles as he stepped toward the head.
Ethan pulled back the covering. Although he’d been certain the being that had visited him was Lauren Whitehouse, seeing her dead body struck him like a physical blow. Based on the photograph, the body before him was identical to Lauren Whitehouse. Her face was beautiful in death, and she was unmarked. He tried to imagine her unconscious and buried in a shallow grave, a sleep that continued until her heart stopped beating and a shudder rippled through him.
"Can I see her fingers?"
"Yeah, although a lot of the fibres have been removed."
Ethan lifted her hand, and he imagined the loose earth covering her. At least she hadn’t realised she’d been buried alive. Until the spirit left the body that is and she latched onto Connor, trying to get a message through to him, which at this point remained uncertain. They turned at a sound at the door.
Suzi's brunette head appeared around the frame of the door. "She's here."
Ethan and Connor exchanged a glance.
"I might come out and speak to her if you think that would help," Ethan said.
"If you could,” Connor replied, glancing back at Lauren’s face. “She was dreading it yesterday."
Ethan lifted the sheet back over the body and left, and Connor followed. They reached the family waiting area where Elizabeth sat hunched over, her pale grey suit matching the lack of colour in her face.
She looked up as Connor entered, and stood, stumbling. He placed his arm under her elbow. If he just focussed on each moment, the here and now, they'd both get through this.
"I'm not sure if I can do this now. I didn't sleep last night." Elizabeth covered her face with her hands.
"There's no rush. Take your time. Better to take the time you need to prepare yourself now if you can."
She sniffed. "Thank you. I think I might go in and get this over and done with, at least that way we know one way or the other."
"Are you sure?" Connor said, scrutinising her face.
She nodded. "As ready as possible to view what might be my sister." She dropped her hands to her sides.
She walked toward the door, Ethan on one side and Connor on the other. They reached the large glass window, and she stared through it at the covered figure on the table.
"Take a deep breath," Ethan said.
She slowly parted her hands and peeked through her fingers. She lifted her head. and took a deep breath. "So far, it looks just like a sheet. If it is her, I can't think about what she went through"
Now was not the time to mention that she'd been alive when she was buried.
"We won't go in there until you give us an indication." Ethan said.
"Right." She took a long slow breath then tug
ged at her suit jacket. "I don't think there's ever going to be a right time to do this. Let's go in."
"We don't have to do this today. It's okay if you change your mind," Connor said. "We can sit back down and rethink this if you need to."
"It's not going to change anything." Her eyes didn't shift to Connor but remained focused on the large window. "I'm here."
Ethan moved first, pausing as he pushed open the door to the sterile morgue, watching her carefully.
"I'll go in first," he said. "You can when the time is right."
She took her first tentative step, looking down at her shoes before shuffling along the window and reaching the door. She stepped through it and onto the tiles, her footsteps echoing through the cavernous room.
Connor thought about the time he'd last been in a tiled, soulless environment, when Gypsy had been in Intensive Care fighting for her life. Faced with the immediacy of the situation, the perspective of life had hit him.
"It all just got a bit too real," she said.
Connor remained beside her, wondering if he'd be the one to catch her if she fainted.
Ethan stood at the head of the body, one hand paused on the corner of the sheet. "You understand that if this is your sister, she will look different to how you remember her?"
"Yes, I understand. Is she bloodied and bruised?"
"No, she isn't." Ethan frowned, his mouth set in a grim line. His hand seemed frozen in place, not venturing to lift the sheet.
Elizabeth took a step closer to the table, staring at the body. Her attention moved to Ethan's hand.
"Lift the sheet, please."
He removed the sheet, and Connor focussed every ounce of his attention on Elizabeth Metcalfe.
"Oh, my God." Her voice cracked, and her knees buckled.
Connor bent slightly, catching her under her armpit before she dropped to the white tiles.
"That's her, my darling sister Lauren. What did he do to you?" She shuddered and crumpled, her knees moving closer to the floor.
Connor stretched out his other arm, reached for a chair, and scraped it across to rest behind her. He guided her into it and she sat, landing heavily He placed one arm on her shoulder.