Celeste Files: Unjust

by Kristine Mason

  She set the glasses in the sink, then turned in his arms. “I’m ruining your training sessions and our vacation.”

  “I don’t know about that.” He tucked an errant curl behind her ear. “I feel like this case has brought us closer. Not that I ever thought we were moving apart.”

  She smiled, and twined her arms around his neck. “I know that, but I get what you’re saying. My being psychic again has been something we’ve both had to adjust to—you more than me.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “Seeing what you could do today…I forgot how spot on you could be. I’m proud of you, honey. The leads you gave Nick and Jerry were damned good.”

  She kissed him. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

  “Why? Did Nick say something to you? If he—”

  “No, it’s not that. I think by the time I left today, I made a believer out of Nick.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “The women I couldn’t reach. As much as I want to give the ones who’ve died justice, I wish I could help the ones who are still alive and still have a chance at a good life. But I can’t reach them if they don’t reach out to me.”

  “Have you worked on this with Maxine? You know, being able to connect with the living?”

  She shook her head. “It’s the dead I need to get under control first. If Jane Doe still isn’t talking, and Barney ends up not going to Gabe’s attorney, I’d really love to meet her, or at least use her clothes to try to get a reading.”

  He kissed her forehead. “I have a feeling Jerry will push for you to do that. If the girl is too afraid to talk, maybe her past plane of existence, or whatever you can see, will do the talking for her.”

  “I love you.”

  His mouth slid into a sexy smile. “I love you, too. But where did that come from?”

  “You, trying out your psychic lingo.”

  He tightened his grip around her waist, and pulled her close until their bodies were flush. “I’m actually feeling psychic myself.”

  “Is that right?” She grinned. “Are you seeing something from the past, present or future?”

  He leaned in and kissed her neck. “I see you naked, leaning back against the dresser. Legs spread. Me on my knees.”

  She chuckled. “That was a memory from last night.”

  He slid his hands beneath her tank top. “You’re right, but I swear I see that happening now.”

  Her breath hitched when he rubbed her nipple. “And the future?”

  “I predict you’re going to have several orgasms.”

  “Several? I like that prediction,” she said, then kissed him.

  *

  Celeste jerked awake, the memory of the dream she was having instantly disappearing. She tried to retrieve it, but couldn’t. All that remained of the dream was a sense of loss and melancholy. After viewing pictures of women presumed dead, and connecting with many of them, it made sense that her subconscious would create sad dreams. At this point, she was glad she couldn’t remember the one that had awoken her.

  She looked to the clock, then curled against John’s back. Although exhausted, she wished it were five, rather than three in the morning. Five o’clock was still early, but a much more respectable hour to start her day. She closed her eyes and thought about their daughter, pictured the last time she saw Olivia, and how much fun they’d had at the park that day. But then her mind shifted to the Sugar Shack. On the way home from the park, she and Olivia had stopped by the bakery to check on a few things. Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t heard from Jenny, who Celeste had hired as manager back in February. Maybe she should call the store and check on things before she headed to the Sheriff’s Office. She also needed to call Maxine. As her mind grew increasingly active with a mental list of what she’d discuss with Maxine, she tossed onto her side. After a few moments, and worried about waking John, she quietly snuck out of bed, slipped into a pair of panties and a t-shirt, then made her way into the kitchen.

  Once she snagged a bottle of water from the fridge, she went into the living room, then turned on the TV. Keeping the volume low, she used the remote to flip through channels. After skipping dozens of infomercials, and a few evangelists looking for money, she settled on a nature show about arctic wildlife and, pulling a blanket over her, stretched out on the sofa.

  Within minutes, the male narrator’s soothing voice had her so relaxed, not even cute frolicking bear cubs could keep her eyelids from drifting shut. She began to weave in and out of consciousness, would catch snippets of the narrator, until she finally succumbed to the sleep she desperately needed…

  Waves lapped along the shore, where a penguin wearing a boot sat on a rock, a can of tuna in front of it. “A little help here?” the penguin asked.

  Celeste reached into her back pocket and pulled out a can opener.

  “You’re a handy one to have around,” the penguin said, and raised its flippers. “I could use those hands of yours.”

  Celeste opened the can for the penguin.

  “This tuna’s no good.”

  She leaned over and looked inside the can. “That’s because it’s not tuna.”

  “Then what is it?”

  She touched what looked like caviar. Used the tip of her finger to push aside the dark, tiny orbs, then froze when something tugged at her finger. “There’s something alive inside here.”

  “Impossible. They’re all dead.”

  “No. I’m telling you, some of them are alive.”

  “And I’m telling you they’re all dead.”

  Dread slithered up her spine. The penguin didn’t sound like the penguin anymore. She knew that voice. It haunted her both day and night.

  Holding onto the can, she slowly turned her head toward the penguin and gasped. Denis sat on the rock, his once tanned skin was a greenish black, blistered and peeling away in places like snake-shedding. His eyes were missing, along with his lips, as if crabs and fish had feasted on them. When he grinned, a tiny hermit crab escaped from a hole in his cheek.

  More horrified by his presence than the sight of him, she took a step back.

  “Where ya’ goin’, sugar? We need to have a little talk.”

  “Stay out of my head and life. I have nothing to say to you.”

  “Are you sure about that? I’d think you’d have plenty of questions for me.”

  “Fine. Do you have a list of who you sold the women to?”

  When Denis laughed, water oozed from his orifices. “Pick a different question.”

  “No. You can no longer be punished, but the men who bought the women from you can. Do one right thing in your life, and help the women you’ve destroyed.”

  He laughed harder. “Oh, I’m being punished. I’m stuck in this world, watching the money I’ve made collect dust. Watching you disobey me by wasting time on the women, when you should be talking to Gabe. Women are good for two things: fucking and having babies. I didn’t care about the women when I took them, or what happened to them after I got paid. So I don’t give a shit about them now.” He stepped onto the beach, his single boot and bare foot sinking into the sand. “All I care about is my revenge. It’s the only thing that will get me out of here.”

  “You don’t deserve your revenge.” She took another backward step. “After meeting with some of the women you took, I think you deserve to rot in hell.” She flung the can of tuna and can opener at him, then turned and sprinted down the beach. Her heart raced. Fear lodged in her throat when the sand beneath her feet liquefied, slowing her pace until she could barely move.

  Denis’s laughter crawled along her neck and scalp. “I showed you what I am. Now I’m going to show you what I can do.” She flinched and almost lost her balance when he suddenly appeared before her, a knife in his hand. “When I’m through, you will help me.”

  She glanced to the knife, then closed her eyes.

  This is only a dream. None of this is real.

  When she opened her eyes, she squinted against the br
ight, punishing sunlight. She quickly looked down. Saw spots for a few moments, until she finally blinked them away. Her chest tightened with panic. The beach was gone. She was surrounded by nothing but water. She looked to the boat’s cockpit, where the young man who had helped Denis abduct Solana sat.

  “Yo, Miguel.” Denis emerged from below deck, looking tanned and healthy. “Come here. I need your help.”

  Miguel took the couple steps down from the cockpit. “¿Qué pasa? Does my girlfriend want one last kiss?” he asked with a grin.

  Denis chuckled and shook his head. “Amigo, it’s a damned shame.”

  Miguel frowned. “What is?”

  “You’re just as much of a bastard as I am. We coulda made us a lot of money,” Denis said, pulled a knife from behind, then stabbed Miguel in the stomach.

  Miguel stared at the knife with both shock and horror as blood saturated the front of his shirt. “¿Por qué?” He staggered back when Denis ripped the knife free.

  “Sorry, amigo. I work alone.” He stabbed Miguel again. “I’m greedy like that.”

  Miguel cried out, as Denis continued to plunge the knife. “¡Parar! Por favor,” he begged on a sob. “Just stop.”

  “Celeste, stop,” John shouted, his voice filled with terror and panic as it overpowered Miguel’s weak cries.

  Denis flipped Miguel’s body over the side of the boat, then turned to her. His tanned skin becoming greenish black and blistered again, his eyes and lips disappearing. When John yelled for her, Denis gave her a toothy smile. “Go on, sugar. Go see what I can do,” he said, then rushed toward her and shoved her off the boat…

  Celeste’s back hit the bedroom wall. Pain radiated from her wrist, where John gripped her and slammed her fist against the wall.

  “Drop the fucking knife,” he said, tightening his hold on her wrist. “Come back to me.”

  Alarmed, confused, Celeste opened her hand, letting the knife fall free. She reached for John, but he kept her pinned against the wall. “I dropped it,” she cried. “Oh, my God, John. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened.”

  He let go of her and took several steps back. She rushed to him, but he pushed her away and onto the bed. “Don’t,” he said, breathing hard and raising his hands as if warding off an attack. “Just stay the hell away from me.”

  “But I didn’t know. I would never hurt you. Are you okay? I wouldn’t—”

  “I’m fine. Don’t move.” He flipped on the bedroom light, and shifted his gaze from her to the bed. “Jesus.” He ran a hand through his hair.

  She looked behind her, and quickly covered her mouth. Oh, God. What had she done? What had Denis done to her?

  Go on, sugar. Go see what I can do.

  Denis had controlled her. She stared at her husband, at the anger and betrayal clear on his face. Panicking, she moved her gaze over John’s naked body to assure herself that he was fine, saw no blood, then looked to the bed again. Her hand trembled as she ran her fingers along the puncture marks in the pillow and mattress.

  Celeste thought she knew what hatred was, but had been wrong. She hated Denis and hoped that he remained the disgusting and vile thing he’d become. He wanted to escape the world he’d been forced to live in since his death, and she wanted him to stay there, and stay miserable. He wanted revenge. He wanted her to retaliate on his behalf. As much as she didn’t want to help him, he’d proved how powerful he could be—or was she just that weak?

  She needed to talk to Maxine about this. First, she needed her husband’s forgiveness. “John.” She rose from the bed. “That was Denis, not me. You have to know that.”

  He grabbed a pair of boxer briefs, stepped into them, then left the room. “What the hell?” he called from the kitchen.

  Celeste wiped the tears from her cheeks and followed behind. When she reached the kitchen, an opened can of tuna, its contents splashed against the wall, along with a can opener on the floor, caught her attention. “In my dream, I opened a can of tuna for a penguin.”

  “How nice. Did the penguin tell you to get a knife and stab your husband?”

  She hugged herself. “That wasn’t me, and it wasn’t you being stabbed.”

  “The fucking knife was aimed at me. By my wife.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her eyes filled with more tears. “I’m so sorry.” She bent, picked up the can and opener, tossed them in the sink, then ripped several paper towels from the roll.

  Before she could wipe the tuna from the wall, John took her by the elbow and turned her to face him. “What the hell happened?”

  “I couldn’t sleep, so I came into the living room to watch TV. When I fell back to sleep, Denis was there in my dream. But that’s all I thought it was, even when it was happening.”

  He latched on to her arms and gave her a slight shake. “How could you not know? If Olivia coughs, you wake up. So how is it you slept through throwing tuna against a wall and trying to stab me?”

  “I don’t know,” she cried. “Denis is stronger than I thought. He was controlling my dream.”

  “Fuck the ghost. You weren’t dreaming. You were in a damned trance. That’s the only time you’re oblivious to what’s happening around you.”

  John made absolute sense, but she didn’t want to believe him. She hadn’t slipped into a trance in over four months, and had thought it was because she had them under control. She let out a shaky breath. “You’re probably right. Denis told me that he wasn’t happy I was spending time on the women and not taking care of his revenge. I told him he could go to hell. Then he said, ‘I showed you what I am. Now I’m going to show you what I can do. When I’m through, you will help me.’ From there, I ended up on a boat,” she said, then told him about Miguel.

  “So you think Denis was working through you, and that I was Miguel.”

  She nodded. “Exactly.”

  He rubbed her arms where he’d been gripping her. “In a messed-up way, I guess that makes sense,” he said, then also took paper towels from the roll. “Let’s get this cleaned up and call Maxine. I don’t care what time it is.”

  “I’m so sorry about this.” She tugged at the paper towel he held. “I made the mess, I’ll clean it.”

  “I said I’d help.” He tugged back, tearing the paper towel. “Screw it.” He stood. “I’m taking a shower.”

  She stared at his back, as he left the kitchen, then flinched when he slammed the bathroom door. When she heard the click of a lock, she sat back on her heels and let the tears fall.

  What if she’d stabbed him? Killed him? The tears came faster. Instead of using the paper towels to clean up the tuna, she used them to wipe her eyes and nose. She knew John loved her, but what had happened tonight would test that love, and his willingness to remain with her, risk his life and Olivia’s. Even if she gave Denis the revenge he wanted and the dead man stopped haunting her, she was obviously too weak to control her own body. Another sob tore through her. She couldn’t live with herself if she’d ever harmed John or Olivia, and she knew there was only one preventative measure to take.

  Their marriage was over, and John had every right to take her baby from her.

  Chapter 11

  CELESTE PUSHED ASIDE her damp curls and placed the phone to her ear. Her nervous stomach knotted as she waited for Maxine to answer. She’d stalled as long as she could in order to call Maxine at a somewhat decent hour. She’d cleaned the tuna off the walls, showered and, once John had left, had packed her suitcase. Maxine was an early riser, hopefully today she’d be up and—

  “Celeste,” Maxine said when she answered. “Is everything okay?”

  “Nothing’s okay.” Celeste swallowed back a sob, then leaned into the sofa and decided the hell with it. She’d almost stabbed her husband during the night, who cared what anyone thought if she wanted to cry like a baby about it. “I’ve packed my bags and plan to find a motel to stay in until this is over.”

  “Oh, honey, what are you talking about? The ghost? Has it gotten that bad?”

&n
bsp; Celeste wiped her cheek. “Worse than I imagined,” she said, then told Maxine everything that had happened from the moment she and Barney had entered Denis’s trailer. “I don’t know where John went. He took the car and…” Fresh tears welled in her eyes. “Now you can understand why I need to leave.”

  “Ssh, please, darling, calm yourself. Find your good energy. Your happy place and—”

  “My husband had to beat my hand against a wall to get me to drop the knife I was trying to use on him. Screw my happy place. I’m happy with John and Olivia. Oh, God. And to think we were supposed to try for another child.”

  “Can I finish what I was saying?” Maxine asked.

  “As long as you don’t bring up happy places.”

  “Fair enough. Let’s pretend you didn’t try to stab your husband.”

  “If only.”

  “Celeste, in order for me to help you, you’re going to have to lose this…defeatist attitude. Despondency isn’t a good quality, not when you’re dealing with the dead. In my experience, those who have an issue with passing to the other side feed on the depressed.”

  “I’m not depressed.”

  “No. You’re stressed. You’ve maxed yourself out. You’ve opened yourself up and allowed the negative to feed off you.”

  She didn’t need this from Maxine right now. What she needed was to know how to rid herself of Denis without giving the dead man the revenge he wanted. “I don’t want to talk about my stress, I want to talk about Denis.”

  Maxine let out a sigh. “You’re not listening to me. You think you’re weak, and that’s why Denis has been able to control you. But, you’re not weak. You’re a strong woman. I’ve felt your strength, and regret not telling you this before.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Your daughter.”

  Celeste tensed. “What does Olivia have to do with what’s happening now?”

  “Not a thing. But I sensed that she carries the same strengths as you. The problem is, you keep looking at your gift as a hobby and a nuisance. As a flaw. You come to my house to learn different techniques, and have every right to be concerned about the trances. But I think that the burdens you carry prevent you from truly opening yourself up to your full potential. I firmly believe that if you took your gift more seriously, you could become very powerful.”