Dark Places

by Krista Cairn

  Two questions: Who sent it, and why to this phone number? Rene had given her this phone. She’d have to ask him where he got it.

  The hotel uniform bags crinkled under her arm, reminding her that the real world called. And it was boring. What would be the harm of one little run? The money was good.

  Cash at both ends, and as far as anyone knew, Dylan, her courier persona, was retired.

  Simone looked nothing like Dylan.

  She should ask Rene who owned this phone before her. She should ignore the text, as though it was a wrong number. But … where was the fun in that?

  Her phone started ringing, startling her. Call display said ‘Albatross,’ her nickname for Rene. Sighing, she accepted the call.

  “How did it go?”

  “Fine. I start work this afternoon.”

  “Good. I need you to book a couple rooms. I’ll text you the information.”

  “Okay. So, strange question maybe. Who owned this phone before me?”

  “No one. I don’t recycle phone numbers. Too many risks.”

  She frowned. Millions of ways to dial a wrong number, but too coincidental that it hit the right person.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Someone texted me by mistake. Nothing interesting, though,” she said. “Heading back to Carol’s.”

  It’s not exactly a lie. She sighed. Okay, it’s a lie, but I’m not going to do the courier run, so it’s fine. And she was okay with a little lie today. There was no way she would do that courier job. It wasn’t worth the risk to her, or the others currently in her life. Not even for level one pay.

  Simone hurried towards Carol's, ducking from shadow to shadow. There was no way she was going to take a courier run. Suddenly she stopped. She couldn't go to Carol's coffee shop, just in case she was being followed. And she wasn't going home. She tried to remember where René had taken her when she left the night courier life behind.

  A tap on her arm startled her. Turning to see who it was, her eyes locked with those of the Asian man from earlier – the Guy.

  I should keep walking, she thought. Still, she didn’t move.

  “Are you okay?” He seemed sincere.

  She nodded, trying to decide what to say. She’d followed him earlier. It was only fair he follow back, right? Or this could be coincidence, since she was headed to common territory.

  “I’m good, thanks,” she said before turning to walk away.

  The hotel. She should go to the hotel. A moment later she was running. The hotel was the only change to her routine. Is that how they found her again? No … there was no way someone waited six months just to spot her. It had to be someone still working, someone acting as an informant. Her anger flared up. She would find them and she would make them go away. They should know better.

  As the hotel came into view, she stopped and ducked into a shadow, looking for anyone out of place. Loiterers, maintenance workers that didn't pay attention to what they were doing, other people walking their dog in circles. She looked up at the apartments on the road across from the entrance. Not a very good vantage point. Suddenly sirens approached and an ambulance pulled up to the front, followed closely by two police cars.

  Odd, right? She could go in, saying she needed to ask Sid something job-related, like if there were benefits after the three-month probationary period ended, or if he was going to count her previous time here. Innocuous questions that any returning employee might be curious about.

  A video reporter was heading to the elevator. Simone walked close behind, hoping people would assume she was their assistant. On the second floor, the door opened to the sound of chaos. Simone stepped away, knowing the reporter would be shooed back to the ground floor.

  She stood outside the room in shock as she recognized the body. Sid lay in a pool of blood; his tailored white shirt had been shredded. I should tell Rene, she thought. I should actually get out of here, she realized.

  But no. She had to at least see his Trace, his death message. Clearly, this was murder. She moved inside the room, just behind the open door. She felt herself go calm, disengaging emotionally, one of the signs she’d started fading, ghosting. She raised one of her hands and could see through it. Good. She needed to watch Sid.

  Someone cleared their throat behind her. Turning, she saw the Guy. Weird. Why was he here?

  “You shouldn’t do that here,” he said, then reached out and touched her arm. She reverted to solid, the suddenness of it sending her back a step, back into the doorway.

  Shocked, she stared at him a moment. How did he do that? She hadn’t switched over to ghost completely, but he shouldn’t have been able to disrupt her transformation.

  “Are you following me?” She gave him what she hoped was a serious glare. “If so, cut it out. I don’t need complications.”

  “If I am?”

  “Then stop.”

  “Excuse me,” a male voice said from inside the room as he walked toward them. “Did you know this man?”

  Simone turned to him and nodded. “He just hired me to work here. He wanted me to come in a couple hours before my first shift to train on the computer. Sorry, but is this a murder?”

  He looked at Guy. “And you? Do you know him?”

  “I’m with her.”

  “I see. What are your names?”

  She leaned forward, speaking quietly to the detective, hoping Guy didn’t hear. “I’m Dylan Howard, but I go by Simone Randall.”

  “I’m Ha Si Joon, but I go by Mitch Ha,” Guy said.

  Mitch? She’d have to work on remembering that. She’d gotten used to calling him Guy, even in the short time since she’d first called him that.

  The detective frowned at both of them. “Is this a game?”

  “No. It’s a long story, but Rene Peters is my sponsor, if you need a reference. He’s a friend of Sid’s. He got me a job here,” Simone said.

  She sighed. Not only had she just given both her true name and cover to the police, but she’d done it in front of a total stranger who’d already shown an unhealthy interest in her.

  Looking past him to Sid, she hoped she hadn’t missed his Trace. She had to beg out, now. “I’d better go. I think I’m going to be sick.”

  Guy put an arm around her shoulder. “Let’s get you to the bathroom. Excuse us.” He turned her away, out the door. They walked to the elevator, hoping the detective would stay with the team. Hopefully he knew Rene, if only by reputation.

  As the door started to shut, Simone slipped back out, leaving Guy too little time to follow. Jogging back to the room, she peered in. Everyone was working on their task. Good.

  Without hesitating, she slipped behind the door into the shadows.

  Chapter 3 // Rough

  Sid’s death was a coincidence, right? Like the courier message. It had to be.

  Simone needed to think, and right now that was hard. She thought better when faded, when more like a ghost, so she stepped into a shadow behind the door. In the dark, she was a ghost-like vapour, entirely without substance. She was also emotionless.

  Why she revealed this ability in front of the Guy, aka Ha Si Joon, aka Mitch, was beyond her. And yet he seemed fine with it. Interesting. Maybe he was odd, too. His whole “glowing in dim places” thing was something she’d have to watch for.

  Suddenly she felt a zap, like static discharge, and she reverted to solid.

  Mitch! How did he get back so fast? Still in the shadow, he pulled his hand away.

  Slowly, the sensation of being lit went away.

  “You’re going to scare people,” he whispered. “Most people don’t like ghosts, from my understanding.”

  “Why did you do that?” she asked, glaring, hands clenched at her sides. “And stop touching me.” Why was he here, interrupting?

  No one would be scared of her. Their minds blocked her existence out. She was impossible, so they didn’t see her. Conditional blindness.

  Her phone beeped twice, indicating a new text message. She pulled it out
and saw Rene’s icon flash.

  ‘Sit Rep,’ he said.

  Short for situation report. He’d started using military terms when he found out she was a fan of the Canadian Army. More specifically, their stealth techniques.

  She held the phone up so Mitch couldn’t read her screen, but really it was to put a barrier between them. He had to know his intrusions weren’t welcome.

  ‘Sid is dead and I’m having trouble hearing what the detectives are saying,’ she messaged back.

  ‘He was a friend,’ was his response. ‘Get me a suspect.’

  She glared at Guy, holding one finger up at him. Stay, she thought as she stepped back out of the light. She wasn’t psychic, didn’t believe that trait existed, but there were plenty of ways to make a point without words.

  He shrugged and leaned back against a hallway wall. She stared at him a moment longer, then turned back to face the crime scene. She’d figure him out later. Right now she had to find out what the detectives were thinking. Rene didn’t know how she found things out, but he was starting to count on her for this kind of thing.

  The hotel room was ‘comfort’ lit, not bright like the meeting rooms downstairs. It afforded her little opportunity to move around. She slipped in around the corner. Someone glanced her way as she darted into the shadow behind the door. When they looked and saw no one, Simone grinned. Stupidest superpower ever, but handy now and then.

  As she faded, the dead man’s dying thoughts appeared in the air over his corpse.

  The images played out like a holographic slide show, showing what Sid would have seen as his life flashed before his eyes. His last thoughts on earth. Simone called it a Trace, as in the last trace of something. It was the last trace of their consciousness.

  Everything would be from Sid’s point of view, his perspective. What she needed was an image of his killer, so she could describe the person she’d then describe to a police sketch artist. That’s all the information she’d share.

  As Rene did his investigation, she might report other little bits she’d seen, without prejudice and without supposition, if he needed it. That was learned the hard way. The lack of audio made any other information suspect. Figuring out the motive was hard, but with the image, they knew who to track down. Who to catch.

  She watched Sid’s thoughts as they played through, repeating over and over, as a lament in image form. Traces replayed, lasting twice as long as it took the person to die. Sid seemed to have spent a long time dying. A long time thinking over his life choices. Family, friends, neighbours, employees—all happy thoughts. None of them mattered to Simone. She needed to find a killer.

  Soon the image she’d been waiting for flashed up—someone rushed at him, blade in hand. Caucasian male, receding hairline, head shaved nearly bald. Angled scar along the length of the left side of his neck. About Sid’s height, if the angle was accurate.

  This was when things switched from a slideshow to running more like a video. Clear intent to harm was etched on every inch of the man’s face and body. He dashed forward with a large, tapered-edge knife in his left hand. Then he was gone. The image shook a moment, then the attacker backed up, grinning like he’d just said something sardonic, something pointed. Most of the time Simone was glad she couldn’t hear what happened in a memory, but this time it might have been useful.

  She waited for the replay, hoping to catch extra details, like a tattoo, or uneven facial features. A limp. Anything.

  When the replay came up, the intense anger in the man’s expression sent a chill down Simone’s back. This was a crime of passion, meaning Sid knew his attacker. This was personal. Very personal. That would shorten the suspect list for Rene.

  Simone turned to leave, stepping out of the shadows. A camera flash went off. The forensics team had arrived. She pulled her head back behind the door again, taking nothing for granted. One well-timed camera flash and she’d be a suspect instead of nosy staff.

  When they fingerprinted her, they’d find a lot more than a habit of lurking at crime scenes.

  Maybe she should apply for a press pass. She’d need a good cover, especially if she kept doing this sort of thing for Rene.

  Turning back, she saw an image hovering over Sid. Carol. Younger, and blonder, but Carol nonetheless. Scowling, Simone waited, hoping for a frame of reference on it. It was like he was staring at a photograph.

  His dying thought was of Carol? Now Simone wished she could hear Sid’s thoughts, too. Not the gruesome gurgling and gasping that came with stab wounds to the lungs and other vital organs. That would be too intense. She’d go crazy with those accumulated memories. But she longed to hear his actual thoughts—ones that could give context and meaning to the moment. She wanted the inner dialogue that went with what she was seeing.

  She stepped into the doorway to leave when a solid touch on her right arm sent searing, shooting pain flooding through her. She lit up like a flare, brilliant and intense.

  Turning, she saw Mitch holding her arm. He pointed at Sid. Looking, she realized the new voice she heard was from Sid’s trace. How was that happening?

  Suddenly there were other voices, screams from within the room. She looked back at them and saw many with arms over their eyes. The pain faded before he pulled his hand away, the whole thing lasting less than five seconds. He looked shocked but not afraid. The room was still; the trace was gone.

  She turned and ran from the room, from Guy. She needed distance between her and the police. Racing to the end of the hall, she slammed the stairwell door open and practically flew down to ground level.

  On the sidewalk, she paused. What had she heard up there, from Sid? Was Mitch the link that let her hear that? It was compressed, like audio sped up to triple speed. She’d need time and solitude to sort it out.

  Was Mitch the link that let her hear that? Damn it. If he wanted to help, he could have just turned the room lights off. Did he hear Sid? Is that why he did this, and the light was unexpected. That was an ‘oops’, right? No harm, no foul.

  Maybe the detectives would imagine a reporter using a huge camera flash that bounced off mirrors or something instead of what really happened.

  So, what did happen? The first time she’d felt pain that intense was when she was twelve. She’d stepped out of a dark hall into a hot summer day. It nearly knocked her out, and she had slept the next three days. She wondered if she had become allergic to sunlight or something. She’d read about people that were allergic to the sun.

  After that, she was fine. Her parents said it was a nerve pinch and would heal itself.

  And now this… was it going to be normal, that no one could touch her without causing pain? Or maybe it was just him.

  He was odd, the way light seemed to seek him out.

  Forget it, she scolded herself. She could figure it out later. She had to write out what she heard Sid thinking before she forgot.

  ‘Am done at the crime scene,” she messaged Rene.

  ‘Waiting at the cafe. Laynee is here,’ he replied.

  The sketch artist. Good.

  As she walked, Simone made notes on her cellphone. She had to concentrate and nearly walked into more than one obstacle. Light posts and meters seemed to pop up out of nowhere, startling her, but she started typing into her phone.

  The most startling impression was Sid’s bewilderment, then dismay, then disgust, then nothing. She replayed the dialogue in her mind.

  “Why is Frank here?” A first name is good. Last would be better. “I thought he and June were in Alaska on some cruise.” Not much to go on, but maybe with a sketch Rene could make use of it.

  At the cafe, she sat in the back room with Laynee and Rene, describing the man she’d seen, adding estimated height and a couple details she’d overheard from the detectives, like apparent height based on the angle of the knife blade. They reached the same conclusion she had - that the killer was about six foot eight. Tall by any standards, and the coincidence of them being the same height was odd.

 
That’s where the similarity stopped, though. The attacker was pale, English-isles pale.

  Sid looked Mediterranean. Weird, she thought. More coincidence, or was she just putting patterns where there were none?

  “I’m going to work, if we’re done.” Simone wanted a pain killer to end her body ache, and get to the hotel. She’d still be expected to show up for work. Business as usual.

  “Wait, you’re going back to the hotel?” Rene’s voice sounded concerned, although his expression was neutral.

  “Sure. You still need someone to work there, right? I’ll be fine.” She stood, trying to remember where she left the uniform Sid gave her. Obviously she was going back.

  Rene leaned back and heaved a sigh. “Filter what you can. You know gossip is unreliable.”

  She needed to understand what had happened between her and ‘Guy’ - she refused to call him Mitch or Si Joon. And she wouldn’t tell Rene him. No way to explain that, anyway.

  Did he expect that outcome or was he surprised too?

  Simone groaned. “I have to go find my uniform. I dropped it somewhere along the way.”

  Rene laughed. “Alright.”

  Laynee had been looking at her oddly for about twenty minutes now, but Rene seemed fine. As Simone stepped out of the room, she heard Laynee’s hushed voice ask, “Does she have an eidetic memory? Her precision was extreme.”

  Rene didn’t respond. Maybe he shrugged. Nodded. Whatever, Simone shook her head. In the main area of the café, Carol was clearing tables and humming. The room was half-full. Not bad for this time of day.

  “I work tomorrow, right?” Simone asked as she walked by.

  “Yes, sweetie. Have fun at the other job.” Her pleasant demeanor was for customer’s benefit. “Karen’s going to take your extra shifts.”

  “Karen?” Really? Odd that she’d work hospitality. “Okay. Um, I’ll see you later then.”