MacMillian didn't look at her. "Do what?"
"You know." Lena gestured towards Zintchio's building. "This. Stake-outs."
She could barely make out his face in the ever-decreasing light. He smirked. "I've done a few." Fabric rustled as he lifted a shoulder. "Company's not usually this good."
A second passed before she registered the compliment. Her cheeks warmed. "Oh."
She couldn't think of anything else to say. Heavy silence stretched between them, then MacMillian cleared his throat. "So, what about you? How does this whole ghost-hunting thing with you and Cyrus usually work?"
Lena barked a quick laugh. "Nothing like this." She folded her hands in her lap, unfolded them again and crossed her arms. "For one thing, he's not used to spending so much time at a desk."
MacMillian humphed. "I guessed that."
Lena shrugged. "Most of the time, it's pretty low-key. A lot of our calls involve convincing half-baked ex-hippies the noises in their attics are a problem for pest-control, not paranormal investigators."
"What about the rest of the time?" MacMillian's gaze was heavy on her face. "I saw the way you handled Jimmy. And that ghost possession? You walked it off like it was nothing more than a scraped knee."
Lena tried a smile, almost managed it. "I've had... other... experiences, too." She shrugged. "I guess I just don't scare that easy anymore."
MacMillian didn't look away. Lena held her breath. He was going to ask about the nightmare. She swallowed hard. Please, please don't let him ask about the nightmare.
He faced forward again, raised the thermos and took a drink of coffee. Eyes fixed on Zintchio's building, he took a deep breath.
"There was an accident."
Lena blinked, regrouped. She tried to guess what he was talking about, quickly gave up. "What?"
MacMillian didn't look at her. "You asked what happened with my brother. There was an accident."
The toneless sound of his voice was jarring. This was clearly an open wound for him, and he was getting ready to share it with her-why? Because he thought she expected it? Needed it? A knot formed in the pit of her stomach. "Look, you don't have to-"
He continued like he hadn't heard her. "We were on our way back from a job. Some guy out in Lakeside who was behind payments on his flat-screen TV." He shook his head. "When we showed up, he was blitzed. Drunk off his ass. Didn't put up a fight at all, just stood on his front porch swearing at us while we loaded his TV in our van. We figured the whole job for easy money."
Lena didn't say anything. The knot twisted in her stomach.
"Anyway, it was late. Dark. We were on Highway 280 near where it branches off onto 101 when he hit us."
Lena forgot to breathe. "The same guy?"
MacMillian nodded. "Don't even know how he made it that far, drunk as he was. We weren't so hard to spot, I guess, being the only big white van on the road. I was driving. Didn't see him until he was right up on us, and by then it was too late." He stopped.
Lena watched his face, her chest tight. "You don't have to tell me this."
He took a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice was even. "He clipped us hard, and I lost control. The van flipped twice. My brother was asleep in the passenger seat, without his seatbelt. First roll, he went through the windshield. Second roll, my leg was crushed."
Lena couldn't speak. On impulse, she reached out and curled her fingers around his.
MacMillian stared down at their hands. His face softened. "I don't remember much about it," he murmured. "I mean, it's all in my brain, but it's like a jumble. There's this loud, awful noise. Glass shattering in my face. Blood."
He closed his eyes, and his fingers tightened around Lena's. She squeezed back.
His face hardened again. He opened his eyes. "When I woke up in the hospital, my leg was gone. At first no one wanted to tell me my brother was dead. But I knew. I'd seen what happened to him. Nobody could survive that." He stared straight ahead. "Nobody would want to survive that."
Lena tried to speak, swallowed, then tried again. "And what happened to the man? The one who hit you?"
MacMillian's lips twisted. "Far as I know, he's still living in that same ghetto neighborhood."
Lena didn't try to keep the horrified expression off her face.
MacMillian glanced at her, chuckled darkly. "The detective in charge of the investigation had just gotten his wings, so to speak. Didn't know what the hell he was doing, apparently mishandled some key pieces of evidence. Anyway, the guy had a smart lawyer, and got it all thrown out at trial. In the end, it was just me up there on the witness stand." He looked down at the thermos. "Of course, you know all Gypsies are liars and cheats."
Lena gaped at him. "You can't be serious. People don't think like that here."
"Maybe, maybe not." MacMillian shrugged. "All I know is, the verdict came back not-guilty. The guy walked." His lips thinned. "But that's not what bothers me most."
Lena waited.
He turned to her. His eyes cut through the darkness, bright and fierce. "A flat-screen TV. That's what my brother's life was worth. It's been five years, and that still keeps me up nights." He shook his head. "A fucking flat-screen."
Lena squeezed his hand again. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
MacMillian stiffened like she'd slapped him. "I'm not asking for your pity." He pulled his hand away.
She let his fingers slide from hers without a word. Deep inside her, something she'd done her best to bury started to ache.
It's not pity.
A small part of her wanted to tell him. The bigger part of her knew she couldn't. Not without explaining how she knew exactly how he felt. Not without talking about the matching stain on her own soul.
She sank back in the seat. "Got any of that coffee left?"
←↑↓→
It was nearly dawn when MacMillian finally eased the Fury back up the alley. Beside him, Lena was passed out in the passenger seat. Her body was contorted into a position he wouldn't have previously believed possible, her cheek resting against the window. Each soft huff of air that passed her lips spread a halo of fog against the glass.
I'm sorry.
Her words echoed in his head. He'd heard those same words before, plenty of times and from plenty of people. Usually they grated on his psyche like a buzz saw hitting a rusty nail. He'd gotten good at deflecting the sentiment, at shutting it out and forgetting about it.
I'm sorry.
Strangely, when he replayed it in her voice, it didn't itch under his skin like usual. He hated pity, but it wasn't pity he'd heard from her. What he'd heard was sadness. Guilt.
Understanding.
They hit a bump in the road. Lena shifted, but didn't waken. MacMillian shook his head. She clung to sleep with the single-minded fervor of someone who had been deprived of it for far too long. He thought back to that unexpected encounter in her apartment. How long since she'd had a decent night's sleep?
If what he suspected was true, very likely it had been about as long since he had.
He felt a twinge of regret when he pulled up outside her shop. He looked over at her peaceful face, and regret morphed into downright guilt. MacMillian sighed. Nothing for it. He reached over and shook her shoulder. "Lena, hey."
She groaned, and he winced in sympathy. Abruptly, her eyes flew open. She jerked forward in her seat and whipped her head around blindly. "What is it? What happened?"
MacMillian raised his hands. "Easy, Rambo. You didn't miss anything. We're at your place."
"My place?" Lena blinked, looked around again. "I fell asleep. Why didn't you wake me up?"
"Figured at least one of us should get some shut-eye." MacMillian shrugged a shoulder. "Besides, I had to make sure the hubcaps didn't get jacked."
Lena stared at him, her expression hovering between amusement and disbelief. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"Deadly."
She shook her head, stretched, and stifled a sudden yawn. MacMillian jerked his head towards her
building. "Go on. You should try and get some more sleep."
Lena nodded, but the look on her face said she wouldn't. MacMillian didn't push the issue. He was all too familiar with the struggle. Pushing wouldn't do any good.
He waited until she was inside with the door closed before pulling away from the curb. The nighttime thrum of the city was a balm to nerves he hadn't even realized were frazzled. An ever-changing display of streetlights, stoplights, and taillights whirled past the windows. MacMillian sighed as the tension leaked from his muscles.
It wasn't often he talked about the accident. He wasn't even sure why he'd brought it up. It had seemed like the right move at the time, but now it was lodged in the forefront of his mind. Around someone else he could pretend like he was over it-at least, as much as it was possible to be. But alone?
Alone, it was just him and his thoughts.
Just him and Danny Ramirez.
He thought about the man every day. And unlike he'd led Lena to believe, he knew exactly where he was. What he was doing. One of his first moves as a private investigator had been to find out everything about him: where he worked. Who his Internet provider was. Ramirez's entire life was painstakingly chronicled, collecting dust in a plain manila envelope in the bottom drawer of his desk.
Nights like this, he almost considered taking it out.
His phone rang before he could entertain that thought further. MacMillian released a breath and answered it at the next stoplight. "MacMillian."
"Hey. It's Cyrus."
MacMillian raised an eyebrow, even though no one could see it. "Hey. Everything all right?"
He could hear the other man pacing. "You'd better get over here." Cyrus skipped his question entirely. "Emil and Puzzle are back. You're going to want to hear what they found."
←↑↓→
She should have realized the apartment was too quiet.
Lena changed into her favorite gray yoga pants and a well-worn t-shirt, and padded into the bathroom. Trance-like, she went through the motions of preparing for bed. Brush teeth. Pull hair back. Wash face.
She worked her cleanser into a lather and massaged it into her skin. Then she bent down and splashed water on her face. Once, twice, three times. When she couldn't feel any more soap, she straightened.
The medicine cabinet mirror was completely black.
Air surged from her lungs in a single, terrified wheeze. Her back hit the wall behind her before she even realized she'd moved. The blackness moved. She recognized it immediately.
The shadows had found her.
Lena burst back into the bedroom at a dead run. Her oversized purse was on the chair in the corner. She snatched it up and tossed it onto the bed without stopping. The dresser was in the opposite corner. She reached it in two long strides, flung open the top drawer and started grabbing anything she could reach.
Mismatched socks and underwear soon filled her arms. She dashed back to the chair and jammed them into her purse.
Get out, get out, get out, get out...
The words echoed inside her head like a litany. She had to leave. The shadows were back. She wasn't safe there anymore. Maybe she could go to The Wayfare-but no. She couldn't risk them following her. Lena shook herself. No matter. She'd think of something.
A wave of dizziness hit her. Her vision tunneled, then darkened.
She was in a familiar room.
A moan forced its way up her throat. "No. Not now."
She shook herself. Reality flickered, skipped between her apartment bedroom and her childhood nursery. She stumbled towards what she hoped was her closet. Just a couple things. All she needed were a couple things, then she'd be out of there...
The doors opened before she reached them. Yawning darkness greeted her. Thousands of shadowy tendrils reached out, beckoning.
Her friends.
Only this time, they didn't want to come out. They didn't want to play. They wanted to take her with them.
Lena backed away. "I can't!" She ground the words through clenched teeth. "I don't want to!"
The darkness deepened, like it was laughing at her. Suddenly, she felt like she was choking. Liquid gurgled at the back of her throat. Lena doubled over, hacked until whatever it was spewed up into her mouth. It tasted like chocolate. She spat onto the floor.
It was black.
Lena sank back against her bed. Horrified tears burned her eyes. She shook her head, kept shaking it. "No. No. No."
Pointless to refuse. She heard the words as clearly as if they were being spoken out loud. We're already part of you. You belong to us.
"NO."
The room flashed white. The next instant, she was on her knees. She looked around wildly, released a ragged breath.
The closet door was closed. Socks and underwear littered her bedroom floor. She pressed a hand to her mouth. All traces of the foul liquid were gone. Only the minty flavor of her toothpaste remained.
Lena dragged herself to her feet. She hadn't dreamt that, had she? It certainly hadn't felt like a dream. She took stock of the mess around her. That, at least, was no dream. So what the hell had just happened? Head throbbing, she pressed the heels of her hands to her eye sockets.
Energy crackled around her. Lena groaned. Of all the times for someone to try and make contact. She dropped her hands again. "Look, now really isn't a good..." She stopped.
Jimmy was standing at the foot of the bed.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Lena shot to her feet, already pulling energy towards her. She mustered her shields.
Jimmy stepped back, hands raised. "Whoa! Hey, it's okay. It's me."
"It was you last time too." Her palms started to warm. "Or did you forget about all those plates you threw at my head?"
"I know, and I'm sorry. That wasn't-" Jimmy rubbed the back of his neck. His skin shimmered on contact. "I wasn't exactly in my right mind then."
"No kidding. And you are now?" Lena paused and studied his face. She pressed her lips together, sighed. "What the hell is going on here, Jimmy?"
Something that looked like fear shimmered over his face. "I know I don't have the right to ask, but I... I need your help."
Lena narrowed her eyes. "You're right. You don't have the right to ask."
The fear turned to desperation. "Please! Look, I know I've been a dick, but when I was alive, well, you were kind to me. I guess I sort of thought we were friends."
Fantastic. Lena gritted her teeth. "What do you need?"
"Thank you." The words came out on a whisper. "I just want to rest. That's all. But I can't. Someone's locked my soul to my body, and-"
"Wait." Lena took a step forward. "You found your body? Where is it? Is yours the only one there? Do you know who-"
Jimmy kneaded his temples with his fingertips. "Jesus, slow down. My ghost brain isn't worth a shit." He took a deep breath. "Yeah, I found my body. No, it's not the only one. There are a bunch of us trapped there, and there's this man-"
Lena leaned in. "Is he an old man? Did he do this to you?"
"What? No." Jimmy looked confused. "Old man? I haven't seen anyone like that. No, I'm pretty sure this one's dead." He grimaced. "For a while, too, by the looks of him."
Lena blinked.
Jimmy's gaze flicked around the room. "We need to go. I haven't seen who did this. It's like I'm blindfolded or something whenever he's around. If I can see, it means he's gone. I don't know when he'll be back." He gave her a pleading look. "This could be our only chance."
"Hold up." Lena stepped back again. "What are you talking about? I didn't agree to go anywhere with you. Our only chance at what?"
"To release me." Jimmy stepped towards her. "Please. I've heard him talking. Only a medium can do it."
Lena looked at him askance. "Did he know you could hear him? How can you be sure he wasn't just feeding you bullshit?"
"Of course he knew. He teased me with it." Jimmy's lips thinned. "He told me a medium could release me, release all of us, but it didn't matter because n
one of us knew any mediums." His eyes brightened. "He didn't realize I know you. I told the others. We pooled our energy to give me the strength to reach you."
"Others." Lena chewed on her lip. "How many are we talking about?"
"Twenty. Maybe thirty." Jimmy's face hardened. "I won't let them down, Lena. I can't."
Thirty trapped souls. Lena swallowed hard. A knot formed in her chest, tightened until she could barely breathe. She nodded stiffly. "Fine. All right. I'll go with you. I just need to make a call first."
Jimmy shifted impatiently while she crossed over to the chair and pulled her phone from her purse. She couldn't call Cyrus. He would blow a gasket if he knew she was attempting something like this alone. But MacMillian might understand. She brought up her call log and hit redial on his number.
The dial tone buzzed in her ear for far too long. Lena hissed out a breath. Jimmy paused. "We can't wait. We have to go now."
She gave a single, grim nod as the voicemail message started. She waited until the beep. "Hey, it's Lena. I don't have time to explain, but Jimmy's here, and he needs my help. Tell Cyrus I've got this, and not to worry. If you don't hear from me, we'll be-" she stopped, looked at Jimmy. "Where did you say we're going?"
He winced. "I can't. Say, I mean. He's blocked me, or something. I can only show you."
Lena rolled her eyes. "Great." She addressed the voicemail again. "I don't know where I'll be. But I'm fine. Jimmy's got my back."
She hung up before she could dwell on how discomfiting that sounded.
←↑↓→
MacMillian reached The Wayfare in what he assumed was record time.
Cyrus opened the door before he'd even finished knocking. He glanced past him at the empty porch. "Where's Lena? I thought she was with you."
"She was. I dropped her at her place before you called." MacMillian met the other man's stare without flinching. He'd debated picking her up again, at the last minute decided against it. Maybe she'd been able to get back to sleep. "It sounded urgent. Figured I'd better come right over."
A World Apart (Shades Below, #1) Page 17