Every Breath You Take

by Chris Marie Green

  The dark spirit bobbed there, tentacles flowing as he laughed. In the chair, 10 fell forward and Marg zoomed off, letting 10 crash to the floor.

  Then, in the sudden silence of the room, 10’s spirit rose out of her body and she looked around, recognizing all of us. She grimaced. Then she saw my killer’s blob in the corner, and, after a small cry of fright and betrayal, she flew to the door, finding a small space on the side of it and squeaking through the crack, away from the thing that’d just killed her.

  She was so fast, her wrangler didn’t even have time to appear.

  Across the room, the dark spirit flapped its tentacles together in a parody of applause. Then he spoke in that screechy voice.

  “For some reason, blondes never do last very long around me.”

  Then, as terror bit into me like a thousand misty hellhounds, he changed into a gray-toned ghost body, clearly showing us the boy’s face I’d seen in 10’s thoughts as he looked right at me.

  Baring his teeth in a smile.

  “And how’s my favorite blonde?”

  19

  Holy crap. My killer really was a boy, just like the witch of the woods had said.

  Now that he’d materialized out of blob form, he had a voice that reminded me of a scissor blade being pulled over a tight ribbon, making it curl. An in-between voice of a teenager who was trying to be a man. And he was short and skinny in his striped button-down shirt, his new jeans looking like he needed to grow some hips and a butt to fit all the way into them, his sneakers white and pristine. Even in ghost-gray, I could tell that he had blue eyes. Hell, his cheeks had baby fat on them, although his chin was pointed, giving his face a jarring, off-kilter, heartlike shape.

  But what threw me the most about him was that his feathered hair reminded me of Alex P. Keaton.

  This was the identity of my dark spirit?

  No. It couldn’t be. My killer had to be pulling another deranged joke on me, teasing me with the image of a preppy, good-boy ghost whose essence it’d stolen. But when it’d tormented me a couple months ago, back when it’d helped Marg’s killer out, it’d been mainly well-spoken, like someone this guy would be, so his whole game made sense.

  Even though the mist was barking inside my essence, I gathered my guts and said, “Don’t you have the courage to show your true self?”

  Every human in the room stiffened, like this was a gunfight and they were waiting for my killer to draw.

  He grinned, spreading his hands wide. “That’s a hell of an idea, Jensen. Okay. Let’s just be ourselves.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut like he was willing himself to change, but when nothing happened, he raised his hands and wiggled his fingers.

  “Hey, again,” he said in that small voice.

  This still wasn’t making sense. He had to be someone with the mean eyes of Franklin Anson Bruckner, a man who hung out at missing girls’ search parties. Or he had to be a boozy broad like Heather Widden. He couldn’t be a nerdy Marty McFly.

  My mist was simmering. “If you’re gonna get me, get me. Just be a man about it, not a boy.”

  Big words, but I was going to fight all the way. I wouldn’t end up like Elliot and Angel . . . or like I’d been the first time, after my killer had murdered me.

  His friendly smile melted and he lowered his hands, his jaw tightening. Had I hit a button with something I’d said?

  “I am a man,” said Baby Face.

  Amanda Lee’s voice came from behind me. “Dennis Smith. That’s your name.”

  I glared at her. What was she doing—reading his vibes and trying to talk him down like some negotiator? I mean, he was giving her enough time for a general reading, but she needed to stay out of this.

  When I turned back to him, he was pointing at her, his finger a gun. He shot at her and made a firing noise.

  “Right on target, Amanda Lee,” he said. “By the way, you know I’m a big fan of yours. Good to see you again.”

  He’d been most appreciative of her letting him into Boo World through that séance portal. He’d told me the last time.

  She pushed her luck with him. “This really is you. It’s not a facade.”

  “Are you disappointed? You expected a man who was an experienced citizen of the world? Or Jack the Ripper in a deerstalker hat and a curled mustache? Or maybe someone with a maniacal gleam in his eyes at all times?” He spoke directly to me. “You might’ve even thought it’d be someone you knew. Well, you were half-right about that.”

  Half-right? What the hell?

  He went on. “I was warned about showing my true self to you, so I put it off for a while, building up to it. After my first grand meeting with you, I was told I’m more vulnerable like this, more open to readings from psychics and such, I suppose. But tonight I just had to see the look on Jensen’s face when she got a load of the real me.”

  He looked at me with those nice-guy eyes, the last eyes I’d seen before dying. They still didn’t register.

  “Don’t you recognize me at all?” he asked.

  I tried to get a grip on his question. What did he mean by recognize? I’d never seen this kid in my life. At least, not without his mask . . .

  A cell phone rang in the room. Amanda Lee’s. The trilling tone hit the air again, dicing the silence.

  Dennis—shit, my killer actually had a name now, and it was such a normal name—shrugged. “Go ahead. Answer it. I’m sure it’s important.”

  Amanda Lee gulped, but she reached for the phone in her skirt pocket and checked the screen. The whole time my brain spit out nonsensical thoughts, like how this kid’s voice had sounded so much more imposing as a blob. How he might’ve been any kid at the 7-Eleven, picking up a burrito on the way home from class so he could study and get an A on his chemistry test tomorrow.

  “Hello, Ruben,” Amanda Lee said.

  I could hear Ruben’s voice loud and clear, traveling over the airwaves. “Sorry I’m calling late, Amanda Lee, but I’ve got a new name for you, and it’s looking real good.”

  “Is it Dennis Smith?”

  Silence, then Ruben cough-laughed. “How did you . . . Hell, looks like we’re on the same page!”

  I blurted, “Is that really Ruben on the line?” Or was it our fun-loving dark spirit playing games?

  “Ruben,” Amanda Lee said quickly, “what was the name of your best friend on the police force—?”

  Just as he was saying, “Johnny Mylnowski . . . why?” Amanda Lee’s phone flew out of her hand and skittered over the floor.

  It’d been Ruben, all right.

  I looked toward my killer, knowing he’d manipulated the energy in the room to take the phone away.

  “Just so you know,” Dennis said, “I killed the line.”

  “Don’t you dare hurt anyone in here,” I said.

  “Really, Jensen? Do you think I’m dumb enough to toss Amanda Lee around the room like a poltergeist until she’s a pile of mush?” He grinned. “She’s the type of human who’s going to be more powerful in death than she is in life. I don’t want to meet up with her when she’s a ghost.”

  It chilled me that he didn’t mention any of my other human friends.

  He sent a slow gaze in the direction of the pool outside. “You saw what I did to your ghost pals, though.”

  “You bastard.”

  “Thanks. But it was easy, really. A little grab here into their essence, a little grab there. You ever play Operation when you were a girl? You know, that game where you used tweezers to extract body parts from the man on the operating table, and if you didn’t have a steady hand, bzzzt! His red nose would light up. You lose.” He laughed. “Let’s just say I had a very good game tonight.”

  The mist was raging in me, and it felt like it had bladed boots on. “You’re disgusting.”

  “No, I’m a scientist and an artist, a well-round
ed individual. That’s what all my teachers said whenever I made the honor roll and, frankly, fifteen blondes will also testify to my talents.”

  His eyes lit up with glee, and I absolutely recognized everything in them now. They were the flaring circles of terror in all my nightmares.

  He continued. “I had fantasies about tearing you apart, too, along with all the other dead blondes, if I could ever escape from my eternal punishment. I used to spend my time in that black place dreaming about sending you into a never-ending time loop of agony. But when I got here, logic won me over. You see, you’ve been saved from a residual haunting phase before by your pet medium here, and even if she died, I’m sure she could manage to find a way to save you again. So I hit on a better idea. Why not watch you go crazy? Why not make you the insane dead, the floating funny farm?”

  I was only half listening to his taunts because paranoia was making me ask what he had in mind for me now. What was he leading up to?

  He leaned back against the wall as far as a ghost could, nearly bracing the sole of a sneaker on it. What would get him out of here? Wendy’s orgonite idea obviously hadn’t worked. So what would?

  “Wow,” he said. “I can almost hear your brain flouncing around with the effort. Bleep-bloop, bleep-bloop—there it goes with thoughts like little mouse steps. You’re wondering if I can do more harm to your humans than I did to your ghost pals outside. My response to that is, if you thought your buddies were in bad shape, just imagine the games I could play on people’s bodies. And I’m not afraid of hurting them, since I’m already damned.”

  I wouldn’t give my fear to him. I wouldn’t feed him. All I needed to do was keep repeating that to myself.

  “You’re a real know-it-all for just a kid,” I said.

  He bristled. “I might not look like it, but when I died, I was about your age.”

  That was another stunner. He didn’t seem nearly as old as I was. It was like I was talking to a wizened adult in a baby-faced body; unnatural, an abomination.

  The edge of his mouth curled. “No one’s teased me about how I look since . . . Well, life. I don’t think you want to do it now.”

  Amanda Lee spoke, her tone compassionate. “Who teased you?”

  “Who didn’t tease me?” He shifted against the wall, crossing his arms over his slight chest.

  “Dennis,” she said, “it isn’t the same here in Boo World as it was in the other dimension. Nobody would call you the names they called you in school or —”

  “What kind of names are you reading in the air, Amanda Lee, you bumbling psychic extraordinaire you?” he asked, seizing the chance to tear her down. “Things like band fag and short stuff and bag face? You think that’s what made me do what I did?”

  No one said a word.

  If anyone tried to run, he’d go after us. But staying here had another plus: I needed to hear why he’d killed me. I’d needed to hear it for a long time now.

  He pinned me with those eyes. “You really don’t recognize me, do you?”

  “No,” I said quietly.

  He moved away from the wall, floating above the floor. “Betsy Smith. Remember her?”

  Betsy. A blond, blue-eyed flag twirler in the band. I’d gone to high school with her, and she had two much-older brothers who’d already gotten married, plus a trombone-playing little brother she didn’t talk about much. We’d studied English Lit together a couple of times during senior year, and I recalled a nerdy kid who’d just gotten into middle school and would go shut himself in his room to write a book report or something every time I came over, staying out of our way.

  As recognition dawned on me, Dennis Smith lowered his gaze, staring up at me with malice. “You’ve got it now. You were a popular girl, just like my sister. The kind of girl who was so stuck in her own world that she never looked around to see who else was in it.”

  I was still absorbing this truth, mostly because Dennis could’ve been a ghost even back when he was human. He’d been that invisible to me. What if I’d paid attention to what was around me more? If I’d given him even one kind word, would that have helped?

  No. This wasn’t my fault. I hadn’t made myself a victim. He had.

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “You didn’t kill me until years later.”

  “Listen to you. Do you think this was all about you? You were nothing but a lucky find while I was hitting my stride, Jensen.”

  If he thought that’d bruise me, he was wrong.

  He didn’t seem satisfied at my nonreaction. “I had some practice long before I ever got to you. Small animals in the backyard. Science experiments. Yeah, that’s what they were.”

  I’d guessed animal murder would’ve played into his profile, as with other brutal killers. Along with bed-wetting and fire setting.

  He went further. “I’d always dreamed of cutting up my bitch sister, too. She hated me, you know, even when we were little. She didn’t like the way I looked at her, she said, and, later, she blamed me for the death of our cat, who was found hanging from our avocado tree one night. Of course, she was right, but she was still a mouthy bitch who ran around in her underwear all the time and laughed at me when I got . . .” He smiled, showing all his little teeth. “Excited.”

  He seemed proud of that, getting turned on by Betsy. Blond, All-American Girl Betsy.

  I would’ve given anything to get into his head, but I couldn’t do that to another spirit, as far as I knew. But I could sure guess that this guy had some real shame issues from lusting over his sister, and he was covering them up with his bravado. But I had the feeling that he was also just born bad, a psychopath who’d never been wired right.

  “So, there were victims before me,” I said, my tone unsteady, the mist chopping through it.

  “A few girls downtown. Runaways. Dirty-haired blond bitches no one would ever miss.”

  Shit. I did some math, realizing that he couldn’t have been more than a young teen when he’d started.

  “How old were you when you decided on me?” I asked.

  His smile was the scariest one yet. “Sweet sixteen.”

  Electricity winged me like I was in his own game of Operation, with tweezers that shocked the board-bound patient if you made a wrong move.

  “I needed more of a challenge after those runaways,” he said nonchalantly. “They were easy prey. I’d walk up to them dressed in the same rags they wore, looking so young and in need of help. I worked my way from a knife to a hatchet. I spaced the murders out over time, too . . . until I met you again while you were waiting on my table at the pizza place you worked at.” He lavished a slow look over me. “You never really saw me then, either.”

  No words. Just shivers that fizzled through me, making me feel like I was going to puddle up and freeze. I’d talked with my killer, taken his order, and I’d never known he was sizing me up, even then.

  As I shivered, his gaze lit up.

  “That’s right.” He whispered in pleasure. “Give me more fear, Jensen.”

  I heard a sound in back of me, and Dennis pointed his finger again.

  “Don’t even try it!”

  When I turned around, J.J. was putting down an iron rod and backing away from a bag he’d left on the floor. What’d he been doing—trying to be everyone’s savior?

  I glanced at 10’s body on the ground, so still, so dead. J.J. hadn’t been in time to save her. None of us had.

  Dennis restlessly ran a hand over a chubby cheek, then went back to smiling, absorbing the fear I couldn’t control anymore. It was the kind of smile boys got when they had their hand down the front of their pants.

  “I followed you around after I saw you at the pizza place,” he said, like we’d never taken a break from the conversation. “I would get behind you in line at the grocery store, and you never saw me. I’d trail you at the video store while you moped around, picki
ng out a movie so you could forget about how your parents had died and how your boyfriend had left you, and you never saw me. Yeah, and don’t be surprised I knew about all that, because I would also sit outside your first-floor apartment window when it was open, and I could hear you talking on the phone to your friends. You never saw me.”

  I was starting to shut everything out, because I couldn’t deal with the realization that he’d been stalking me so thoroughly.

  “That’s how I knew you’d be at Elfin Forest,” he said, his gaze glazing, maybe because he was reliving the chase, the murder. “I heard you on the phone, planning your night out, and I even watched you downing all those Mello Yellows so you’d have some pep to you. Then I got into my van, following you at a distance, my mask and dark clothes all set to go. You were my most exciting experiment, even when I screwed up and didn’t kill you in the way I’d fantasized.”

  The ax, swinging down, hitting the side of my head with the blunt part, knocking me dead before I could feel the blade.

  “I already promised you months ago, back when I teased you with hints about your murder, that I would tell you everything someday,” he said. “And I make good on my promises. Besides, you were one of my favorite girls ever, Jensen. You were the one I knew the best.”

  The mist pushed at me, and I shouldn’t have said what I said next. “All this because you wanted to screw your sister, and she made fun of you for it? Tell me—did you ever get it up with any of us blondes before or after you killed us?”

  I hadn’t wanted to know. It’d been the mist. Just the mist . . .

  From the way he bunched his hands and widened his eyes, I knew I’d hit another button.

  “Oh my God,” I said. “You couldn’t get it up for any of us, could you?”

  “Shut up, little girl.”

  “I’m not your little girl.”

  “You’re whatever I say you are.”

  I could feel control coming back to me as his temper rose. He couldn’t drive me crazy if I didn’t let him.