by R. R. Virdi
He thwapped me on the shoulder with a pat that nearly sent me sprawling. Okay, the giant man-baby was damn strong.
“Good to see you too.”
Grimacing, I rolled my shoulder. It didn’t hurt that much. I’m used to all manner of pain, having fought the supernatural for so long. Still, ask someone to slap you on the back pretty hard and tell me it doesn’t sting a bit.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice coming out a few shades rougher than expected. “So,” I said, trying to ease back into the conversation from earlier. “Anything else you can tell me about the…” I trailed off, letting my voice drop to a whisper. “The monster?”
His features sank and he gave me a disheartening shake of his head. “No, sorry.”
I sighed. Of course not. I never catch a frickin’ break.
Gus must’ve noticed my reaction. “Sorry,” he repeated.
It was an effort to flash an honest smile. “No worries.”
“Maybe someone else has seen something?” he supplied in half-suggestion, half-question.
“Possibly,” I murmured as I pondered the notion. Charles had noticed the strange occurrences. Ortiz had quickly grasped what was going on, and then there was Gus. It didn’t seem like a stretch for others to know of it. In fact, it was starting to seem like I was the only one without a clue, despite actually having a plethora of them.
Irony sucks monkey wang.
Something else occurred to me. “Hey, Gus?”
“Yeah?”
“You know that something strange is going on here, and…you don’t seem too worried. Why not?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know, but that’s why you’re here, right? To help us?” I could hear it in his voice. He honestly believed I was here to help. It was a real, authentic belief that I could—and would—do something to protect the people here.
I set my jaw. “You’re damn right it’s why I’m here.”
He smiled. It lasted a second before it shifted into a frown. “Aw, I have to go. Late for my group.” Before it even registered with me, Gus crossed half the length of the hall.
“Oh, okay, uh, erm, bye?” I waved after him. “Guess I’ll do the investigation...monster hunting stuff myself,” I mumbled.
Another blur. Another shadow.
Icy needles pricked my skin. Either I was finally starting to lose it—my years of monster hunting were catching up to me, or worse, I was being stalked.
Great.
I developed a newfound respect for the sport of speed walking as I hoofed it to the rec room. My pace was not determined by the fact that a monster might’ve been trailing me. Nope. Paranormal investigator. Fearless. I just needed a brisk—really brisk—walk. Get the blood flowing and all.
The rec room contained a little less than a dozen people. It’s hard to do an accurate headcount when you’re being pursued.
I maneuvered to the center of the room, targeting a lonesome table topped with a checkerboard. Being in the middle gave me the best view of the entry points into the room—all two of them. It also meant I was surrounded by witnesses if anything happened to me.
Wait, why am I worried?
Something wasn’t right. I was afraid. I was on edge, manic, and…had been biting the fingernail of my thumb.
What the hell was going on?
Sure, things scare me on occasion. It happens. Now, though, something was plain wrong. I was beginning to feel like I belonged in this place. Doing my job didn’t seem important anymore. Being safe was more important.
Cold sludge rolled through the insides of my skull. I could feel it pressing against my mind. Those weren’t my thoughts.
I. Am. Not. Chicken shit!
The pressure increased. I fought harder. Beehives—plural—erupted within my noggin. Convulsions wracked my body. My vision blurred the harder I fought.
Fuck this! I was not going to have my ass kicked by a supernatural headache. If anything was going to kick my ass, it was going to be me. So, I did.
Checker pieces went flying. A resounding thud emanated from the table, and my vision went red. My skull ricocheted off the board. Spots danced in front of my vision and the strange thoughts...ceased. Groaning, I cradled my throbbing head, holding it until the room stopped seesawing. I got a few strange looks. Screw ‘em. They weren’t the ones being brain-addled. I made it all the way up to a hundred deep breaths before my noggin settled.
A blur.
I debated head-butting the table again. Church would be irked if I died from a self-inflicted aneurysm, so I didn’t.
A blur.
Whatever it was, the message was clear. It could move faster than I could see and it could get at me whenever the hell it wanted. I couldn’t help it. I spoke in my best Luke Skywalker impersonation. “Your overconfidence is your weakness.” I smiled to myself.
A blur.
I exhaled through my nose in frustration. “Whatever.” I shook my hand in a dismissive wave. “You feel like coming after me, I’ll be right here,” I said in a challenging manner. Kneeling down, I took the time to recover the checker pieces I had sent flying and set up the board.
Another blur.
The ridges atop the coin-like piece tickled the underside of my finger as I rubbed the edge.
My gaze drifted to the opposite wall. Another blur. My teeth grated. Narrowing my eyes at the far wall, I nudged a piece forward with my index finger. I was ready for one helluva staring contest.
“Game on, bitch!”
Chapter Eight
“King me!” I roared in raucous triumph. I maneuvered my piece to the other end of the board. I was winning oh-so-effortlessly. I had already won six games. I had also lost six.
“Enjoying yourself?” chuckled a sweet, amused voice.
The hem of a white coat over casual clothes came into view. Lengthy toned legs with a recent tan were next. I’m a detective; I notice things like a nice pair legs.
“I am now.” I smiled.
She matched my smile, making it reach her eyes of periwinkle infused with gray. “Do you mind?” She gestured to the empty seat across from me.
My opponent was pretty much letting me win, so I figured it best to let the pretty lady sit. “Not at all.”
Loose waves of noir tresses bobbed as she eased into the chair. She placed a clipboard across her lap. “Who’s winning?” The edge of her mouth quirked in a bemused expression.
I hooked a thumb to my chest. “This guy.”
Her reaction wasn’t quite an entertained snort, but it was close. “I figured.”
Okay, pretty women don’t normally come over and chat me up. It’s not unheard of, but it’s more common for gorgeous gals to form a line to kill me. My clothing felt a tad restrictive. I shifted uncomfortably. “Eh, what’s up, doc?”
“I’m here for our session.”
“Session?”
“I’m assigned to you for individual sessions, remember?”
“I thought Doctor Cartwright did all that stuff?” I made an offhand wave.
“He’s busy running group sessions.”
I made a mental note of that.
“So what can I do ya for, doc?”
“How are you?” Her voice changed ever so slightly, adopting a clinical tone.
“Uh, fine?”
“You’re not sure?”
My lips twitched and I bit back my sharp response. “Fine.” The word came out solid.
She nodded more to herself than me and scrawled on her clipboard.
Motion on the far wall drew my attention. Something flickered by.
“How are the nightmares?”
“Better,” I lied, leaning over to look past her.
She noticed, turning her head to watch with me.
“Charles?”
“You…see something?” I eyed her for a second before turning back to the wall.
“No, did you?”
There was a loaded question.
“S’nothin’.” I shrugged.
She refused
to give me a moment’s reprieve to think. First, she asked me to remember my name. Confirming the basics, over and over. The only thing that stopped it being an interrogation was her gentle tone. A rhythmic tapping colored our conversation. Then, it stopped. The piece I had been banging on the table dug into the meat of my palm as I squeezed it.
“My name is Vincent Graves,” I growled. “I lost my body a long time ago due to—well, I don’t know what the fuck. Trust me, I’d love to know. Because of that and a clerical error at the pearly gates, I’m stuck here. I’m a soul without a body. I’m assigned cases and inhabit the bodies of those killed by the supernatural. Those bodies are cleaned up before my soul gets shoved inside so that they’re not all zombie-looking. When I’m in a body, I have the ability to heal from normal wounds. Right now...I’m on a case, and lady, you’re really getting in my way!” My chest heaved as I labored for breath. That was cathartic though. It felt good to let it out. Therapy works.
The doctor didn’t know how to take my outburst. She sat there, wide eyed and swallowing saliva. Without a word, she rose from her seat, didn’t bother to push it in—rude—and left.
I felt the urge to shout after her, “You can’t handle the truth!” I didn’t. I remained the definition of calm and composed—if you don’t count the outburst.
Something irked me. I hadn’t seen a single blur while she quizzed me. I know I hadn’t imagined any of it. I saw what I saw. A solitary man sat near the wall opposite me. Elderly guy, a few ragged wisps of hair, lined face. His view was fixed on the television across from him. He was seated in front of a window, sunlight bathing his form.
His shadow was on the wrong side…
The show ended and the old man rose to his feet, hobbling off down the hall. His shadow didn’t. It stood there, unmoving—watching me.
Don’t ask how I knew the shadow was watching me. Everyone knows what it feels like to be watched. There’s a gentle pressure that envelops your body, and you can’t quite pinpoint what it is. You just know.
The shadow stood with military erect posture. What I took to be the head faced me. I can’t honestly tell you how long passed. We just stared at each other. I didn’t blink the entire time.
The shadow walked off.
That roused me from my trance. I shot out of the chair, upending the table and sending checker pieces hurtling through the air—again. The shadow walked at a leisurely pace down the hall opposite the one the old man had taken. It sped up—so did I.
A blur, and I saw it. The shadow covered the length of the hall and all I caught was the end of it. It stood there, stone-like—waiting.
“Who am I, Peter Pan?” I huffed and sped after the shadow. It turned the corner and I followed, barreling into something.
“Ow!”
My abdomen smarted a bit. Lying at my feet was a young girl. She sprawled out on the floor, partially lying over a stuffed rabbit nearly the same size as her. I knelt and extended my hand. It felt like the right thing to do after having toppled her over.
She was adorable, with thick, shag-carpet-like hair. Curls of black fell to her ears. She had the look of a child on the verge of her preteens but not quite there. Her eyes seemed a bit too big for her face. Their appearance had nothing to do with the big mean man who had rammed into her. They were almond in color, a sweet, warm brown. Her complexion was splotches of tawny and fairer skin. It needed some evening out. Given some years, it would. She was holding onto some baby fat, and not just in her cheeks. But she wasn’t chubby.
“Come on,” I said in the most reassuring and gentle tone I could.
She looked at me, wary, then at my hand. She didn’t take it.
I cracked my best smile. “Come on.”
Pushing herself up a bit, she took my offer. I enveloped her delicate hand within my own and eased her to her feet. For good measure, I exerted a bit more force at the end. The little gal shot up from the ground in surprised glee, giggling as she landed.
I knelt again, my hands working to straighten her rumpled garments. Picking up her rabbit, I handed it back to her, jiggling the toy as I did. She embraced it with a tight hug.
“You okay?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yeah,” she replied in a distant and somewhat ethereal voice. Maybe she was a relative of Church. Simple answers—soft voice. Now if only she insulted me, we’d have a winner.
“Sorry,” I kept my tone gentle.
“S’kay,” she mumbled in a sleepy manner.
I flashed her another grin. “I’m Charles.”
“No you’re not.” She said it with such definitiveness I might as well have told her I was MacGyver. Well, that one would’ve gone over her head. What do kids watch these days anyway? “Charles is dead,” she stated in a matter of fact tone of voice.
That caused me to rock backward. Maybe Ortiz had a kid she didn’t know about. “How do you…” I trailed off.
“Charles told me,” she beamed.
“Uh, what?”
She ignored me. Her eyes turned to our surroundings. The little mystery girl was amazingly observant. I’m a detective but was astounded by how carefully she looked at everything around us. “You’re looking for the shadows, right?”
“I, uh, yeah, wait, huh? Shadows?”
“Mmmhm,” she hummed, “I was following one of them too!” There was a disconcerting level of cheer in her voice considering that she had been following a monster.
Ice water coursed through my body. Them—plural. There were more of these freaks.
“Did…Charles tell you about those too?” I was uncertain of what her answer would be.
“M’no, I saw them.”
Oh, well that works too.
“Uh, why were you following a shadow?”
“My sister told me they were dangerous.” An innocent and amused smile was plastered across her face.
She was told they were dangerous and still went after them.
“Yeah well, maybe you should listen to your sister and… Wait, how does she know about them? Does everyone in this place know what’s going on but me? Did I miss a memo or something?”
My complaints sailed over her head. She stood there smiling, humming, content in her own little world.
“Uh, kid?”
“Elizabeth, but friends call me Lizzie. You’re a friend, right?”
I sighed. This was going to take a lot more patience than I had at the moment. “Yeah, kid…Lizzie, yes I am.”
She nodded. “Charles said you were.”
Charles seemed to know a lot more than I did, and he was dead. I hate my bosses, whoever they are. I swear they enjoy watching me flounce around without a clue.
“Uh, Lizzie—”
“Mhmm,” she interjected.
I breathed a couple times. She was a kid. I was mad, but there was no way in hell I was taking my anger out on her. You just don’t do that—ever. “Lizzie, mind telling me how Charles told you all this?”
“His ghost,” she said as if it were obvious. For the record, it wasn’t.
“His ghost told you?” Most people would’ve gotten lost right there. The fact that she brought up ghosts would have told normal people all they needed to know about her. It was clear why she was here.
“She’s crazy,” they’d say.
They’d be wrong.
People have been known to see ghosts. It’s not some fake phenomenon like some “experts” claim. What do they know? I’m the paranormal expert. There are several reasons why someone would be able to see ghosts. More often than not, unfortunately, it’s personal—immensely so.
The most common reason: loss of a loved one. People are more likely to see the ghost of a family member who left something unresolved. Ghosts aren’t complete. They’re imprints of who that person was. They can act like they did before perishing, but they’re not whole. Some ghosts are stuck in perpetual loops related to their deaths, acting out scenes over and over again, unable to move on—unaware. It’s sad really.
But L
izzie claimed to have spoken to the ghost of Charles, which was something. Speaking to a ghost not related to you takes a rare talent. That’s power. Ghosts are an untapped reservoir of knowledge. The ones that are more aware can interact and are more complete. They see and hear a lot. And if Charles was indeed roaming around here somewhere, Lizzie could help me gain a bunch of helpful info.
“So Lizzie, is Charles here now?”
“Mhmm, no.”
Damn. There’s never a helpful ghost around when you need one. My life is complicated like that.
“What about your sister? She here?”
Lizzie shook her head. “Her ghost’s not here right now.”
A concussive blast hit my chest. Something just about broke in me. “Oh kid.” I exhaled. “Sorry.”
“S’okay.” Her voice still sounded like it was far away. “Mom and Dad left when I was little. She took care of me before she died.”
“Why are you here?” I croaked.
“Because I see dead people.”
I blinked. Right. To the rest of the world, that wasn’t normal.
“But my grandma’s going to take me soon.” She beamed. “And I still see my sister sometimes.”
Kids are amazing, wonderful, pure things. After all she had been through, she was still happy she could see her sister. I had to clear my throat and blink pretty hard to make sure no tears came out. I’m a manly monster killer, not a wimp.
“So, Lizzie, do you know something that can help?”
She shook her head. “Follow the shadows?”
I almost laughed. It wasn’t a bad suggestion. Hell, it’s what I was doing before. “Okay, Lizzie, I’m going to chase shadows. You go somewhere safe—your room maybe—okay?”
“No.”
“No?” Why was this the day everyone was telling me no? “Why not?”
“You didn’t tell me your real name.”
“Oh right, it’s um, Vincent. Vincent Graves.”
“Okay,” she mumbled, content. Lizzie turned and wandered back down the hall, dragging her large, stuffed bunny behind.