by Dima Zales
A red flag went up in my mind. This club happened to spill out into an alleyway that was dark, damp, and far away from the street. That would mean few to no witnesses for our potential killer. I hid the interest with a passive nod and made a mental note to check there as soon as I could get away from the group. I hoped that would be soon because the longer I sat here, the more horrible I felt that these guys didn’t know their friend was dead. It wasn’t like I could tell them his spirit was hovering not a foot away from the table. Besides that, there was no absolute proof. Not yet, anyway.
The waiter returned with the drinks, asking for food orders. Chloe ordered some wings but the other two declined since they’d eaten before they got to the club.
“Hey, where’s the bathroom?” I asked Casey.
She pointed past my head to the right of the stage. “Go by the stage and hang a right. Good luck, though. The line’s a bitch this time of night.”
“Thanks. I’ll be back. It was nice meeting you guys. Thanks for your help.” They all waved as I retreated through the crowd. The bathroom was my cover. I’d only needed an excuse to sneak out of the club and didn’t have a pack of cigarettes to use as a ploy. Michael and I passed the insanely long line to the Ladies Room and found one of the exits that spilled into the alleyway. Luckily, it hadn’t been a fire exit so an alarm didn’t go off. I stepped out into the dark and noticed that there wasn’t a knob to let us back in. Smart. Didn’t want anyone sneaking into the club without paying. I found an empty cigarette pack on the floor and wedged it in the door. If we got lucky, we could check the area before one of the bouncers noticed.
“What are we looking for? It’s been a couple days since I would have been here.” Michael watched me examine every inch of the concrete around us. The alley stretched a good ten feet and then turned into a right. Behind me, there was faint noise from the street, but its view was obscured by a large dumpster.
“True, but unless you were killed by an expert, they may have left some kind of evidence.” I slipped on a pair of purple surgical gloves that I kept with me specifically for snooping purposes and flipped on my flashlight. The Exit sign above the door shed an eerie red light over the area but that was about it. Aside from the dumpster a few feet away, there was a trio of trashcans against the wall opposite the exit. Great. My favorite part of the job.
Breathing as sparingly as possible, I peeked into the trash and carefully sifted through, looking for traces of blood or anything that may have been on Michael’s body when he left the club. Michael started to join me but I stopped him.
“What? It’ll go faster this way.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Michael, if someone happens to look this way, they’re going to see trash floating in mid-air. That’s not very inconspicuous.”
“Neither is a hot chick in a grey overcoat with purple gloves sifting through garbage,” he said, his voice flat. Damn. The man had a point.
“Just help me look around. And don’t touch anything.”
“Why?”
“Because shut up.”
Sighing, Michael walked past me to inspect the bits of garbage that hadn’t made it into the cans. I searched the three containers and found nothing out of the ordinary, which made me groan internally because that meant I’d probably have to check the dumpster. Did I like this guy enough to get that horrible smell in my clothes? No. Would I do it anyway? Maybe.
With a regretful moan in my throat, I stepped towards the dumpster, but stopped as my foot kicked something metallic into my line of sight. I stooped and picked it up, examining it in the dim light. A broken silver chain with a tiny padlock on it.
“Michael, come here for a second.”
When he walked over, I held the necklace up to him. They matched perfectly. Hot damn.
“I’d say this is a clue,” I muttered, inspecting the edges to detect any traces of blood. None. Still, this was definitely proof that something had gone down in this alley.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Michael said with half-hearted sarcasm, too busy staring at the chain to commit to sounding dry. “I’m guessing it snapped off in the struggle. Maybe I fell.”
“Yeah. Judging by the fact that there’s no blood around, I’d say whoever attacked you either broke one of your bones or used something quiet to take you out, like a syringe. The question is still why, though. As far as I can tell, you’re not an incredibly important person.”
He gave me a look. I winced. “No offense. I mean, your band is doing well but it’s not doing that well. I’m starting to worry that we need to involve the police. There are some questions I can’t go around asking without raising suspicion. You saw how your band mates reacted when I did.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I wish I could say everything’s rushing back to me, but I’m only getting a feeling that I really did die here. Someone said something to me, and when I turned around, it happened. I just can’t remember what, though.”
“Don’t stress too much about that. The point is to find out about your life and why you died. When we do that, your final wish should become clear. Come on. We’ll do one final check and then go back inside. Your band mates might be getting curious.”
We walked up and down the alley, as well as the one next to it that led to a dead end, but there wasn’t anything else. Afterward, I carefully placed the necklace in my pocket and threw the gloves away. I poked my head into the door of the club. Nobody. Lucky us.
Quickly I removed the empty cigarette pack and slunk back towards the main area of the club with Michael behind me. The girls in line to the bathroom gave me funny looks but I brushed past them, heading for the booth.
Chloe had gone off meeting her other friends, as Casey told me. Shame. I wanted to thank her again for getting me in. I left my number with Casey and Stanley and said good night, happy once we were out of the flashing lights and pounding music. We reached the bus stop, which was thankfully devoid of other people, and Michael exhaled slowly, glancing at me.
“So what’s the plan for tomorrow?”
“I have to take Linda to her funeral to speak to her Mom. I think that’s her final wish. We might get lucky. If I get her to cross over, Gabriel will show up and maybe I can ask him for help. He’s not allowed to directly help me solve cases by order of the Big Guy, but he can offer advice.”
Michael shook his head. “What’s that like, having an archangel drop by every once in a while?”
I shrugged. “It was nerve-wracking at first, but…I eventually got used to it. Gabriel’s really easy to get along with. He’s probably the closest thing I have to family. I guess being God’s Messenger has something to do with that.”
“Are you allowed to ask him questions about Heaven and Hell and stuff?”
“Sort of. There are rules. He told me he’s not allowed to tell me anything that would reveal the ‘true nature’ of God or Heaven because I’m supposed to find out on my own when I die.”
“So I take it you tried asking him about Mr. N?”
I lowered my eyes, forcing myself not to wince. “Yeah, but he said that’s on the list of things I’m not allowed to ask him. He told me I don’t understand now, but it’s for a good purpose.”
He made a soft, scornful noise in the back of his throat. “Can’t be that good of a purpose if it means you have to have nightmares every night for the rest of your life.”
That sounded like honest-to-God sympathy. I couldn’t help but glance up at him. He met my eyes with a solemn look that made my breath catch for a second. There was something strangely compelling about his face when he stared back at me like that. It was a quality I had recognized in someone else, too. Gabriel.
His voice was quiet. “The bus is here.”
I faced forward to see the rusty vehicle in front of us. Just like that, the spell broke and I climbed aboard, shaking off my thoughts.
6
“Ms. Catalina Amador, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to come with us.”
My mother’s shou
lders tensed in response to the man’s statement. I stood behind her, blinking up curiously at the scene before me. My mother had opened the apartment door with the latch still on it and through the crack I could see a man in a suit with two men in blue uniforms on either side of him.
At five years old, I had no clue who they were or why they were at our home. I tugged on my mother’s skirt, whining, “Mama? Who is it?”
She pushed me away from their sight. When she spoke, her voice was harsh with anger. “I know what I saw, Dr. Merriweather. There is nothing you and your facility can do. There are powers in this world beyond your comprehension and they are the ones who have come for me today, not you.”
The doctor sighed. “Ms. Amador, we are trying to help you. We don’t want you to endanger yourself or your daughter—”
“My daughter is fine, you son of a bitch!” She spat, making me jump. I had never heard her speak like that. Her accent made her words burn like flames against my skin. Tears welled up in my eyes so I buried my face in her leg, trying to hug her.
“Mama, I’m scared. Why are you yelling?”
She rested a hand on the top of my head, whispering to me. “Don’t cry, mi hija. It’s alright.”
“Ma’am, if you don’t come out of the apartment I’m going to have to have the police escort you out. I have legal permission to admit you into the facility. Rest assured, your daughter will be taken care of and your stay will not be permanent.” The doctor adjusted his large glasses over his nearly translucent face. My mother glared at him before turning to me and kneeling until our faces were level. The fury trickled out of her lovely features, filling my vision with her soft brown eyes.
“Listen to me. These men have come to take me away. I have to go with them.”
I shook my head wildly. “Why? I don’t want you to go! Don’t go! Please don’t go!”
“Por favor. Be strong. I love you. I love you so much. Never forget that.” She hugged me tight, allowing me mere seconds to bury my face into her neck as I tried to memorize the feeling. I was sobbing by the time she pried my arms away and opened the door for the men. The doctor led her out of the room first but I ran, heading for my room to lock myself in. Someone grabbed my arms from behind, lifting me into the air. I screamed and kicked as hard as I could. The cop that picked me up had no expression, no face—just a blank void. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to go.
They put her in the back of a white van and started driving without telling me where we were going. I sat up front with the faceless men, calling for my mother over and over again. My eyes were swollen and red by the time the truck stopped, so I couldn’t see where we were until they opened the doors. The building before me was huge and white like a hospital, but something about it seemed nothing like a place to help people.
The men led my mother away and dragged me into a tiny office with grey wallpaper and a massive white woman behind a desk. In front of her sat a Spanish woman with light skin and a deep scowl that only worsened when she saw me. Her brown hair had been pulled into a tight bun atop her head and her forehead had deep lines in it. I bawled and asked for my mother again, but they ignored me. The fat woman handed the Spanish lady a stack of papers in a folder and turned to me with a sickening smile.
“It’s okay, sweetie. You’re going to live with your Aunt Carmensita for a while until your Mommy gets better. She’ll take care of you.”
Aunt Carmensita grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the office without a word, ignoring my sniffling hiccups. Why didn’t anyone listen to me? Where was my mother? I just wanted my mother.
My aunt dragged me to the parking lot where a dingy green car sat. She strapped me into the back seat and got into the driver’s side. The car coughed to life and I became surrounded in the smell of gasoline, exhaust fumes, and the faint stench of vomit from the faded suede seats. We pulled out of the parking lot and lurched onto the street.
“Where are we going? Where’s Mama? I want Mama,” I piped up.
My aunt scowled. “Your Mama ain’t coming, niña. She’s gone loca so they put her in the house with all the other idiotas. Stop that crying. You’re lucky. They were going to put you in a home if I hadn’t come along.”
“Mama’s not loca! Mentirosa!” I wailed, scrubbing frantically at my tear-soaked eyes.
My aunt snorted, digging through her glove compartment until she came away with a half-empty pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She set the pack on the space between the seats, close enough for me to touch. She lit one cigarette and cracked my window open to let the smoke filter out, her voice flat with cruelty. “Está loca. Always been loca. If she had kept her mouth shut, none of this would have happened. Blame your Mama for this, niña. If I had my way, they would have taken you too but they didn’t. Stop crying. You’re gonna stay with me for a while and you will behave. I’ll get that crazy out of you one way or another.”
Finally, I’d had enough. Infuriated by her words, I grabbed the pack of cigarettes and threw them out of the window. She let out an anguished shriek.
“Morena del Diablo! What did you do that for?”
“Don’t lie about my Mama! Don’t!” My voice was so hoarse I could hardly yell but I managed it anyway.
“Just wait until we get home, niña. All the fancy men in suits in the world won’t be able to help you then.” She puffed angrily through her last cigarette.
“I don’t care! Liar!”
I sat, fuming, as we drove through New Jersey until we reached a wretched apartment complex that smelled of urine. As soon as she parked the car, Aunt Carmen ripped me out of the seat and spanked me, shouting about how ungrateful I was, how I was just like my mother. I did my best not to cry out, remembering my mother’s words about being strong, but it was hard to obey a woman I would never see again. Her blows rained down on my head, neck, and back like hail until hot tears were all I could see.
“Jordan?”
My eyes flew open as I heard someone say my name. Michael stood over me with a worried expression. He must have noticed how hard I was breathing. I wiped the thin film of sweat away from my forehead and sat up, eyes adjusting to the light spilling in from the window.
“I’m alright. What is it?”
“You slept right through the morning. I thought it might be time to start moving.” I glanced at the clock to confirm this. Four o’clock. Damn, he was right. I had slept for a long time. Then again, I’d stayed up well into early morning going over his case, trying to find anything I might have missed. One day left. Twenty-four hours to solve Michael’s murder or I’d burn in hell for all eternity. No pressure.
“Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?” I grumbled, motioning for him to turn around while I got out of bed. No pants. I felt more comfortable sleeping that way.
Michael obliged, answering without a single quip about me being pantsless. Weird. “You looked like you needed the rest.”
“Eh. I’ll rest when I’m dead,” I said, collecting my robe from the floor and putting it on.
Michael snorted. “I should find that funny, but it’s more disturbing than anything else.”
I shrugged. “They can’t all be winners. I don’t suppose you—”
“Made coffee?” He pointed to my nightstand, where a steaming mug of liquid paradise sat. Was I so predictable that a guy who had only known me for going on three days could figure out my morning rituals? Probably. Oh well. I drank the coffee anyway and walked towards the kitchen.
“What did you do while I slept?”
Michael gestured a hand at the table where the hospital papers were spread out. “Looking over what we gathered. I kept hoping my memory would come back, but the only thing I remembered was how to play a few songs on the guitar.”
A smile touched my lips. “I have to admit I would pay to see you play one in public. People would freak out if they saw a guitar playing itself in the middle of the sidewalk.”
He flashed me a grin. “Hey, don’t tempt me. I almost went home to grab
my guitar but then I remembered I’m invisible to normal people. I’d be on Youtube by morning.”
I nearly choked on the next mouthful of coffee from laughter. “The Mysterious Floating Guitar of Albany, New York. Maybe it’d make it all the way to CNN.”
We shared another bout of giggles that eventually descended into comfortable silence. Wait, comfortable? Ah, hell. I must be losing my marbles.
Michael seemed to notice this so he glanced around the kitchen, searching for dishes.
“Why don’t you get dressed and I’ll scrounge up some food?”
I shook my head. “Keep it up and I won’t solve your murder just so you can be my butler.”
He chuckled. “That’s pretty cruel. You couldn’t even pay me if you did that.”
I paused. “Good point. You’d be my slave. Somehow, I like that idea even better.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “Go get dressed, woman.”
Smirking, I took another deep sip of the coffee and returned to my room. No casual clothes today. I wasn’t going into the actual funeral, but I would be near the church. No sense in making the mourners worry about a woman showing up who no one knew, so it wouldn’t hurt to blend in. That meant a black button up shirt, skirt, and flats. I’d wear heels, but I might be doing a lot of walking today.
I took a quick shower and got dressed, pinning up my hair in somewhat of a bun. Many women wore full makeup—lipstick, blush, foundation, mascara, the works—but I honestly hadn’t learned how to put it on properly on account of who raised me. On my worst days, I wore foundation and eyeliner and that was it. Same for this instance.
Michael let out a low wolf whistle when I walked into the kitchen, which was pretty much the reaction I’d expected. “Don’t you clean up nice.”
“Thank you,” I replied with a flat tone, swiping a reheated slice of bacon and toast from a plate. As I munched, I plopped down in front of my laptop and opened it. Needed directions to the funeral. The lack of car would be a problem, but I had enough money to spring for a cab.