by Krista Cairn
“So, in a zombie apocalypse, you’re the guy to call.”
He chuckled. “Absolutely. Count on me.”
“I… I’m sorry I haven’t been spending much time with you. Things keep intruding.”
“Hey, that’s life, right? Tell me your story.”
“Oooh, well, you know. Got jobs, lost jobs, went to the dark side for a while, came back. Now you’re here.”
“Dark side? You?” His surprise seemed genuine.
“You’d be shocked if you knew the details. That’s part of what keeps dragging me out.
A man - Sid - got murdered, and I suspect it was by people looking for me. It would be in your best interest to keep your distance for a while.”
He reached out from under the towel and took one of her hands, pulling her to stand in front of him. “Dylan, whatever it is, let me help. I’m not the same guy I was when I left. I can help. Maybe that’s why I came back now, instead of some other time. Because you need me.”
Her heart caught in her chest. Looking into his eyes, his sincerity was undeniable.
Was he up to this kind of shock. She bit her lip, thinking. “Let me finish your haircut. If it comes out a mess, I’ll be the one having to look at it every day. I don’t want to chase you down with an electric razor just to fix it.”
He held her hand a moment longer then let go. “Okay, but that’s a promise. Don’t run off until we talk.”
“Deal.” Nervously, she went back to his haircut. How could she help him through the shock of her changes. Maybe head-on would be best? Or just let it go for now. That would be fine, right? It’s not like lying. She was just being kind. But was she?
Mitch accepted her weirdness because he was equally weird. Neil was… normal.
“You’re pretty deep in thought, there. What’s on your mind?” he asked.
“We need to get you some new clothes, too.”
“Uh huh. You should let your hair grow out again. I mean, the pixie cut thing is cute, but how’s a guy going to play with your hair when it’s so short?”
Her face rushed hot. “That’s the point of short hair. To be less ‘out there’.”
“Ah, so you’re using it as code. You’re off the market… You know what, I love your hair. I should trim it when you’re done mine.”
Simone lifted the scissors as she laughed. “I did toy with the long, straight, wisp-in-the-wind look, like an old-fashioned ghost. In the end, practicality won.”
“Ghost, eh? Oh, hey. Can you still do that thing, where you look almost transparent?”
he turned suddenly, nearly getting stabbed by the scissors.
“Mmhmm. Turn around. We’re almost done,” she continued, hoping to dodge the question.
They were going to have to have a serious discussion about who they were to each other, she feared. He might not like what he heard.
“Okay, you’re done.” She said, pulling the towel off his neck.
“Cool, I’ll jump in the shower to get rid of the itchy bits. Don’t leave without me,” he stood up and pulled his shirt off as he smiled at her.
She dropped down to pick up the floor towel, angry that she was blushing again.
Angry that her instincts made her want him, right here, in the kitchen. Why was this happening?
She’d practically been a monk. No one interested her. Now there was this tug-of-war inside her, dragging her from Neil to Mitch and back again. Survival instincts could do this.
The reproductive instincts ran hot when people were in danger. She had to fight it. There was no way to choose, no way to be rational and think long-term while this went on.
She tossed the hair clippings in the trash and went to shake the towel out on the lawn. Outside, she stopped and closed her eyes, taking in the sunlight, enjoying the breeze.
The clouds had cleared, so she got a full dose of sun. She held her arms out from her side and breathed deep. Peace. A moment of peace.
Simone peeked through one eyelid, making sure she was actually alone. It looked like it. Sighing, she basked in the moment.
When she put her arms down and turned, Neil was sitting quietly at the top of the stairs, not looking at her, also resting in the sun. She watched him a moment. His calm patience drew her but she didn’t want to interrupt his sun.
He opened his eyes, slowly looking at her. “When did you turn into a suncatcher?” He grinned, making it more of a statement than question.
“It makes me feel solid,” she said, wistfully. “Energized.” See, she told herself. I’m fine without Mitch.
Neil stood up as she walked over. “We’re going shopping?”
“I can’t stand to see you in the same clothes again today,” she leaned forward to sniff his shirt. “At least you’ve been washing them.”
He laughed and reached out to mess up her hair. “That’s my girl.”
Inside, she spotted her laptop sitting, waiting, disk inserted and running.
“I don’t think the shops we want are open yet and there’s something you can help me with, if you’re feeling observant this morning.” Sitting, she lifted the lid and logged in.
“Sure,” he said, pulling a chair over. The screen switched to the first image in the paused video. “What are we looking at?”
“Security footage from the day Sid died. I’m looking for a specific face, but that means I might miss other things. You watch for things that seem odd.” She pressed the spacebar to start the video playing.
When her stomach growled, she ignored it. There was four hours of video to go through. Even sped up, she didn’t have time to cook. Neil handed her a box of crackers from the middle of the table.
“So, here,” she took the box and pointed to Sid. “This is the victim. Watch for anyone looking his direction. I’ll watch the ones he actually interacts with.”
The moments with Sid on screen were few, and so far he was with a different person each time. None of them looked angry, or upset, or any emotion that would lead to murder.
Then he walked past the front desk by himself. His pace was different this time as he walked. Hurried, like he was headed to put out a fire.
“Wait,” Neil said. “Back that bit up.”
“What is it?”
“Before the victim-“
“Sid.”
“Before Sid, goes by, there’s a group of men headed the way he went. I thought I saw a knife. There was a metallic flash and I thought I saw a blade. Watch the one in the middle, at the front.”
Simone clicked to back up a few minutes. When the group passed, she took a screen shot and saved it to a small, removable digital card in the side of her laptop.
“Five of them, but that was definitely a blade. It was an ambush. A trap. Nice find!”
she cheered. She couldn’t be sure it was the same knife, but it seemed hopeful. “Okay, now we need to watch the entrance footage around that time to see if there’s a vehicle, or look for an altercation of some sort.”
“The police have a copy of this by now, I’m sure,” Neil said. “So, what is your objective?”
“Even if the police catch them, there’s more going on here.” Thinking back, did that knife look like the one from Sid’s Trace? Maybe. She should double-check this against the description of the murder weapon. The sketch artist drew that too, she hoped.
“Like what?”
Should she tell him about her Night Courier job? He’d need it for frame of reference, right? She paused the video.
“You said you think he was killed because of you, before.” His voice softened. “Why?”
It was a simple fact from her past. She’d just say it and see what he did.
“I worked as a black market courier for a while. Earlier that day I got a text requesting a pickup. This is a new phone, new number. They never should have found me, but I had an interview at the hotel shortly before that. If they were looking for me, he wouldn’t give me up. He’s a good friend of Rene. Probably didn’t expect to get killed for the info
rmation, though.”
“Black market courier? There’s such a thing?”
She nodded. “We call ourselves Night Couriers. The pay is insane, but it’s dangerous.”
“Present tense.” He observed.
Simone sighed, leaning back, hard against the chair. “I guess. They say you can never really quit. Maybe things like this are why. I’m worried that I’ll have to go back to solve this.”
“That’s pretty risky, right? Maybe just not go,” he suggested.
A logical choice for someone with no connections, no one to protect. She shook her head. That wasn’t her. They’d found her after she was hidden by one of the best at identity change helped her. That was her own fault. She wouldn’t move away. She looked at Neil.
For him. In case he came back.
“Do you have somewhere you can go, just for a week or two?” She was biting her lip again and it was starting to hurt. She moved her lips to stop.
He shook his head. “I won’t leave if you’re in danger.”
That meant it was time for her secret to come out. Again, just say it. Show it and let him choose how to deal with the reality of it. If he couldn’t accept it, his mind would make something up. If he could, then he’d understand why he couldn’t help her.
She stood up. “You asked me if I could still do this transparent thing? I can, but it’s progressed to something more.” She hesitated. Would he see her as something not quite human after this? “Follow me.”
They went into the only windowless spot in her apartment, a closet.
“Put your hand here, on my shoulder.” No skin contact. Slowly she pulled the door shut.
When the door was fully closed, there was only about two percent light leaking in, through the bottom under the door. Neil gasped as his hand suddenly held nothing.
“Where are you?” he whispered.
She stood close to him, and leaned in close to his ear, feeling a little mischievous.
“I’m right here.”
He startled and backed into the closet wall. He paused and waved his arms in front of him. “Do that again,” he said.
“I’m right here. She touched his cheek.”
He inhaled sharply. “Cold. That cold is you?”
“I guess it would feel like cold. I’m incorporeal, actually.”
“So calling you a suncatcher was pretty spot on, eh?” He was adjusting fast, she noticed. The closet door opened an inch then stopped.
She felt the light on one side and smiled. “I’m a freak of science, it seems. At least, that’s what Mitch says.”
“Mitch. The Asian guy.”
She nodded, noting Neil bristling at his name.
“Can he do this?”
She shook her head. “No, he’s different. He gathers light but can’t control it.”
“You’re the control. That’s why he keeps touching you.”
“Right.”
“It’s not romantic at all. He needs you like a pressure valve or something.” Happy, he pushed the door open, letting light fully in.
She stood inches away, suddenly aware of his body and how real she was. The tingling of physical attraction flooded through her and she leaned forward until she touched him, nose to nose. “You’re not scared?” she asked.
“Probably,” he said, raising his hands to the side of her face. “I’m probably terrified.”
He turned his head to press his lips to hers.
This felt different than when Mitch kissed her, she noted. Not that it was one-sided.
She definitely felt a connection to him. It was just… different. If this was three dimensions, then Mitch had a fourth. She pushed herself away.
This backfired, didn’t it, she thought. Looking in his eyes, she felt the war inside her grow. She took a moment to read his expression. There was no fear. As his eyes searched her face, as his hands wrapped around her back and pulled her to him, she didn’t resist.
When her phone rang, she ignored it.
Then, softly, it all went away. All the excitement. The sensations that had been pulling so hard at her faded. She stood back and realized that Neil had pulled the door shut again.
“What do you feel now,” he asked?
If she could slap him, she would have. She was livid. He was playing? A sense of mortification settled on her. Yes, she was still human, but was he? She stood frozen, unresponsive, until he opened the door again. She pushed past him, out the door.
“Wait, I just wanted to see what happened.”
“What happens? I get locked behind doors. I can’t effect the doorknob. If I go through the door, I get stuck and I have to make up some lame excuse for the person busy sawing a circle around my arm to get it out, like it was a prank and I got glued in a hole.
Then, once they’ve stopped laughing and leave, I find a dark space to ghost in and drop the part of the door that’s merged with my arm,” she yelled. “And it hurts!”
She grabbed the laptop and slammed out the front door, starting running down the sidewalk, not sure where she was going yet.
No way was he helping her with the video now. That juvenile, thoughtless man needed to move out. Now that he knew how to trap her, all he’d have to do is push her into a dark space and shut the door.
Calm down. You had your cellphone, so you’re overreacting. She slowed to a walk.
All you had to do was pull out your cellphone. Again thankful that anything making skin contact ghosted with her, she patted her rear pocket, making sure the phone was there. If she hadn’t thought to put a small snap through the cloth so there was a connection, she’d probably spend way too much time locked in places.
Seeing the hotel ahead, she decided to see if Mitch could talk for a minute. The group of men in the video might be familiar to him, or someone else in the hotel. Simone looked back over her shoulder. It didn’t look like Neil had followed her out. Good. But if he saw her going in to see Mitch, that would be better.
Chapter 12 // Can’t Nobody
Why couldn’t it be raining? A storm of some kind would be appropriate. She stopped.
She wasn’t calm. If she didn’t get this under control, next time she saw Neil, she might hurt him. Looking for a shaded corner, she walked to it and leaned back, relieved by the partial release of fading. When they kissed, what had Neil felt? If he was curious enough to close the door, he was comfortable, accepting, but that was not how passion acted. Or love. Not the kind of love she sought, at least.
If he had used handholding and relationship questions to insinuate himself back into her life, that’s also not the Neil she knew. And that meant he was no one she trusted. He had to go. She wasn’t sure when the tears had started, but she had to stop.
At least it was over. It was settled. When she thought of becoming intimate with him, it gave her chills. The bad kind. She had to thank him for that.
Mitch? She thought, looking up at a figure hurrying her way. What is he doing here?
Simone looked around. Nothing looked familiar. Where was she? She pushed back against the wall, embarrassed. Get yourself together, alright?
“Simone, what’s wrong?” He stopped only inches away.
She stared, wondering if she was imagining him as a way of dealing with her own stress. Mitch rubbed one of her arms, tilting his head to one side. “Are you okay?”
“Why are you here? How did you find me?” she whispered, embarrassed at the quaver in her voice.
He smiled and softly pulled her into his arms. As his warmth spread through every cell in her body, she tried not to cry again.
“But how did you find me?” She sniffed.
“You’re under my widow.” He turned to point. “See, front door. I would have come out sooner, but I didn’t know it was you.”
“Do you get women crying under your window often?” she tried to joke.
“More than any healthy, adult, male likes to admit,” he smiled at her and rubbed her back. “More to the point, why are you here, crying, under my w
indow?”
Because she was embarrassed? Angry? Hurt? Because Neil saw her in her most vulnerable state and stayed aloof? She wasn’t going to say. But why his window? Mitch would guess the Neil part anyway, when he saw her and Neil together next. If he did. Why his window? That had to be instinct.
“Never mind. Come inside before the neighbours start talking.” He started guiding her forward toward the apartment entrance, one arm behind her back. “Can’t have people gossiping about me. My aunt owns this building and she’d be right over, grilling us both.”
“Oh, sorry.” She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and followed him up two flights of stairs. “I may have found who killed Sid,” she blurted. “On the video.” She held the laptop up.
“I wondered. I mean, don’t most females grab their purse when they go out?” He held the door to his apartment open. “Ladies first.”
“Said the spider to the fly,” Simone whispered as she walked by.
He chuckled. “Oh, you know me so well.”
She pulled her shoes off at the door and walked forward, slowly. The interior was nothing like the outside implied. “Your place is huge? Did they combine two or three apartments to make this one?”
“Three. My aunt thought she’d live here, at one point. She bought a house of in Hill Street, instead.”
“Marble countertops. Really?”
He nodded. “If this impresses you, wait until you see the rest of it.”
She stopped. “Do you live here alone? I’m not going to disturb anyone, am I?”
He tapped a red oak kitchen table. “Let’s take a look at the video.”
She had to force herself to stop looking around. She’d never been in a home that looked this… wealthy. Even the walls seemed taller than usual. A clever painter had used a subtle shade change then a thick white border near the ceiling, she realized. She’d have to try that at home.
“Would you like a short tour first?” he asked, sounding amused.
She shook her head. “No, it’s just unexpected.” She blinked, looking at him. “From the outside, the building looks so….”
“Boring? Run down?” he hinted. “Urban camouflage, building version.”
His watch. She looked at his wrist. He wasn’t wearing one now, but when she first saw him he wore an expensive one.