“I meant I could make you something you could easily heat up.”
Aiden is silent, perhaps considering my suggestion. When he finally does speak, he surprises me.
“You know, if you weren’t dead, I think I would have liked to introduce you to my family. Hell, you’re a ghost, and my grandma already likes you. You’d win my mom over instantly, especially since you both share a love of cooking. And Max would love to meet a woman who finally made me see past a first date.”
I look down at my hands, feeling nervous.
“Why do you have to be a ghost? Why couldn’t I have met you before all this?” Max asks.
I know he is more speaking to himself now. He doesn’t expect me to answer him, and I don’t really have a proper answer for him, anyway.
“There is no point going down this road, Aiden. It is what it is.”
“But do you feel something here? Do you think my grandma was right? Do you think the reason I am seeing you is because we were supposed to be connected? That, if you were alive, maybe we would have been important to each other?”
My heart is thudding painfully in my chest. Why is he saying this? What is he trying to do to me?
“I’ve done nothing except drive you insane since you met me, and I would have done the same if you had met me before I died. We wouldn’t have even made it to a first date. Not only because you’re too busy to date, but because our paths would have never crossed.”
Aiden nods, his eyes appearing sad as we pull into his driveway.
After walking in and locking the front door, Aiden moves over to the boxes of files from my house and begins working through them.
“Can’t these wait? You should try to get a decent night’s—”
“I lose your case tomorrow. I need to find something, Thea. I’ve just wasted hours having a dinner that did nothing except make things worse with my family, so how about you shut up and let me work?” he snaps.
I nod, understanding he’s not angry at me, but at the situation. He doesn’t look up to see my agreement, though.
I watch him work, watch him become focused and tense as he looks over every file. After a while, I notice two separate piles building up, one bigger than the other. He has a notepad on his lap and has already filled several pages full of notes.
“Can I talk yet?” I ask him, noticing him jump at the sound of my voice.
“What do you want?”
“I wondered what you were doing. What are all the notes, and why two different stacks?”
He looks me over, his eyes appearing unfocused. Then he rubs them, and I realize how tired he is. Glancing at the clock, I see it is past midnight.
“The taller pile has the cases your dad was finished with. I’m making notes on who he was investigating to check up on them to see if someone didn’t want any of this to come to light again. The smaller piles are the cases that were ongoing. They seem less likely to be important, since none of the people probably knew your dad was investigating them. He was a good P.I., very thorough. He would have made a good cop.”
I warm at his compliment. “Thanks. He was a good man. I remember how in love he was with my mom and how much time he always had for me and Flynn. He adored his family, and we adored him.”
Aiden nods, his eyes going from tired to sad. “I’m sorry you had to lose your parents so young.”
I shrug in response. The pain of losing them was dealt with long ago. I miss them and hate what I didn’t get to experience as well as the milestones they missed, but I still had a good childhood growing up with Flynn. My grandpa was good to us, and we could have been a lot worse off. Having parents who loved us unconditionally isn’t always the case, so having seven good years is better than a lot of people get.
“Some of the later cases have tapes. I assume your dad recorded the meetings or perhaps made notes on the tapes regarding his findings. All of the unfinished cases have them, and a couple of the completed investigations. I’d like to listen to them, but I don’t have a device that’ll play them. We probably have something at the precinct, though.”
“My dad’s voice will be on there?” I don’t know why I’m so excited by such a thing, because it will at best be completely boring talk about cases that will mean nothing to me. However, the fact that I might be able to hear his voice gives me a complete thrill.
“I think so, but I don’t know how well these old tapes survive over time. They might be warped or damaged enough for the sound to be screwed. I’ll get something tomorrow to see if they work,” Aiden says, ending on a yawn.
For the first time, I feel a little excitement. I thought the only good that could come out of Aiden’s investigation would be catching my killer, and while I hope that still happens, never did I imagine I might get to hear my dad’s voice again. After realizing what I brought from Dad’s old storage was work files, I didn’t go through them; as a result, I had no idea there were tapes with some.
Will I recognize his voice? I haven’t heard it since I was a child. Will it sound like I remember? Will he maybe mention Flynn and me? Could they be a journal of sorts for him during the investigation?
As I mull over this, I notice Aiden’s head dropping to his front before he quickly sits up.
“Listen, it’s getting late. It might be time to call it a night,” I suggest.
“I’ve almost finished going through the files. I want this list finished,” he stubbornly states.
I realize arguing won’t help, and when I offer to help and it is rebuffed, I wait to see his head slowly droop again. It takes only another half an hour before Aiden is asleep uncomfortably on the couch, a file fallen to the ground and his chin resting on his chest.
I pick up the file, reading over it, and decide Aiden might not want my help, but he is going to get it. Therefore, I go over the remaining files, adding to Aiden’s list. At the end, it is ten pages long. Any name mentioned is added and a note made next to the name about which file it relates to. The last two pages are for the unfinished cases, which Aiden deemed less likely to be important. Even taking those two pages away, there are still eight pages remaining of possible suspects. Deep down, I fear this is a dead end and a waste of Aiden’s time.
I consider waking Aiden up to move him to his bed, a place he hasn’t slept in days, yet decide against it. If I wake him up, there is a chance he not only will be angry that I finished going over the files, but he also might insist on continuing to work.
I stretch my arms over my head, feeling thirsty and a little hungry.
As I make myself a sandwich and grab a glass of milk, my eyes land on Aiden’s laptop.
Would it work for me? Could I write an email to Flynn and contact him? Since Aiden won’t tell him I’m here, maybe I can do this without him.
Unable to resist the temptation, I turn his laptop on and am relieved when it doesn’t ask for a password. I stare at the blank screen, which Aiden has obviously not bothered to customize, and decide to first change that.
There are file names scattered around, and I realize most are obviously his notes on cases, and those ones are password protected. I ignore them, searching for some photos and finding a couple that were sent from his brother, judging by the fact that the titles have Max under the word me. One is of the two of them and appears to be from Max’s graduation, and between the two smiling men is their grandma.
Deeming this one the winner, I set it to the desktop background and then set to work opening the browser. I’m excited to see this work and immediately load my emails. I ignore all my unopened mail and begin to compose an email to Flynn.
This is when I come across my first problem.
Nothing I write seems believable. In fact, everything sounds more like an awful joke. I quickly realize that nothing I write will actually make Flynn feel better or help him.
It’s disheartening to feel so useless. When I check over my other emails as well as all the social media sites I was on previously and see the outpouring of sadness over my sens
eless death, I don’t feel any better, either. I can’t respond to any of them, and soon, my eyes are too blurred by tears to read them properly. I keep wiping my eyes, though, determined to read them all.
One comment asking when my funeral has been arranged for reminds me there is something I can do. Therefore, I quickly begin researching funeral homes and writing down details as I come across them.
I decide on a charity for people to donate money to instead of sending flowers. I pick songs to be played. I decide I want to be cremated because I don’t find rotting underground appealing, and I also don’t want anyone to have to see what that monster did to me. I want them to remember me alive, not beaten down and mutilated.
Shivers wrack my body merely thinking about what happened to me. I wonder again why I can’t remember a single piece of useful information about what happened that night. Having the murder victim helping out on her case should at least give Aiden some sort of edge. Instead, I have only made him question his own sanity and caused his grocery bill to go up as I feed him properly.
Not much of a difference.
Thinking about my funeral and murder causes a dam to break, one that is long overdue. I break into sobs, not even realizing I have woken Aiden until I find myself being carried in his arms up the stairs.
He places me gently on top of his bed and pulls the covers down, moving them under me before he gets in, still fully clothed in his jeans and shirt from dinner. Then he holds me to him, letting me cry over his shirt as he pulls the blanket over us and tightens his grip around me.
He doesn’t say anything, not even when I cry myself out. I end up falling asleep in his arms while he remains wide awake, his thumb moving small circles around my hip.
As I drift away, I feel what seems to be a light kiss along my hairline.
***
For the first time since I have been here, Aiden wakes up before me. Or perhaps he never went back to sleep. Either way, the first thing I see when I open my eyes is Aiden walking towards me holding a tray. He sets it down carefully on the bed before he cautiously hops back in next to me, pulling the tray to rest between us.
“You made breakfast?”
“It’s the least I can do since you’ve made me breakfast every morning. I’m not as good as you, but I do know how to make a mean toasted bacon sandwich.”
I smile at him, pick up the uncut sandwich, and take a small bite, pulling half of the crispy bacon out with me.
“Good?” he asks me nervously.
“Perfect,” I reply around my mouthful, sounding incredibly unladylike.
He gives me a true smile, and my heart suddenly squeezes in my chest. Is that not the best smile I have ever seen in my life? I desperately want to see him smile again.
He takes a huge bite out of his own sandwich, drowning it with a mouthful of hot coffee. I also decide to try the coffee he made, barely swallowing any before I spit it back out into the mug.
“What’s wrong?”
“What the hell is that?”
“It’s coffee, I think.”
“Did you just grab some dirt from outside and add hot water?” I don’t filter my response, realizing afterwards how harsh I sound, but he replies by laughing at my comment.
“Max used to say the same thing to me when I made him coffee. It’s not that bad.”
“Actually, it is.” I slowly put the mug down, acting like I expect it to explode at any moment, and I am thrilled when he again laughs over my antics.
Was I actually excited about his smile before? Because his laugh is so much better. Deep, hearty, and his eyes light up with his mirth.
Wow.
“Why are you staring at me? Do I have mayo on my face?” As he wipes his lips, I mentally slap myself.
I shouldn’t care about his smile or his laugh. Well, not in the my heart is skipping kind of way. The most Aiden can be is my friend, and friends don’t stare longingly at each other.
“I’m sorry about last night,” I blurt, needing to get away from lustful thoughts about Aiden.
“Don’t be. You obviously needed that. I sometimes forget what you must be going through in all this. I saw the list you made. It can’t be easy to plan your own funeral.”
“It was pretty morbid, although I’m dead, so it shouldn’t really be a surprise,” I say in jest, hoping to lighten my words, but they still come out depressingly sad.
“But it isn’t usually something a person does themselves.”
“Better me than Flynn. He has too much to deal with as it is.”
“He does. I’ll make some calls today, set things up, and then check it over with him tonight.”
I nod, taking another bite out of my sandwich, which is thankfully edible. I make a mental note never to drink Aiden’s coffee again while I watch him finish his meal and then move about his room, grabbing clothes.
“So, what is the plan for today, then? Besides seeing Flynn and making calls.”
He looks over at me hesitantly. “My captain called earlier; it’s what woke me up. He wants me to see him this morning. I think I’m going to be given a new case.”
We knew this was coming. Still, I’m frustrated that barely any time has been dedicated to solving my murder. If it remains unsolved, my killer gets to roam free while I am either trapped as a ghost or disappear forever from here without seeing any justice. How is that fair?
“I’ll still work your case. It will just be a little more difficult. I won’t ever give up, though; I promise.”
I try to give Aiden a smile yet fear I fail miserably.
While Aiden’s words are noble, and I don’t doubt them for a moment, I don’t like the idea of Aiden making a promise to me he might not be able to keep.
I have been thinking a lot over the past few days about how much Aiden needs to realize there is a life to be lived outside of being a detective along with how much he has neglected his friends, family, and any type of meaningful relationship because of his obsession and dedication. Making a promise like that to me will only ensure he doesn’t stop or slow down. He will feel like it is his responsibility alone to figure my case out, and maybe it really is impossible.
Maybe it is impossible for me to get any type of closure from my murder.
I am still lost in my thoughts when the shower turns on, snapping me out of it. I leave the room to take the dishes and toxic leftover coffee with me, giving Aiden some privacy and myself some much needed space from the very naked Aiden having a shower only a few short feet from me.
Making myself real coffee, which includes an appropriate amount of milk, I wonder if this day is going to be as bad as I fear.
***
“Mercer, what the hell took you so long?” Aiden’s captain yells at him from his office, and then Aiden quickly makes a beeline towards him.
We just stopped off in a room Aiden called The Pile of Useless Shit room, and the state of it made my fingers twitch with wanting to tidy it all up. There were countless old and broken computers, fax machines, photocopiers, and other devices I wasn’t all that sure about. Aiden said this is where technology goes to die.
I believe him, too.
After digging around, we found an old, dusty box full of portable tape recorders, and five of them fit the tapes my dad used. Three were broken, and the fourth one played the tape Aiden brought with him to test out.
I was thrilled at the few seconds of static and voice I heard before Aiden pressed stop and we left the room.
That left us now walking into his captain’s office. I immediately feel intimidated by the solid man. I vaguely remember him from the night I died when I first met Aiden, but I mostly recall him from the one interaction I have seen with him here at the police station.
Aiden told me on the drive here that his captain is the hardest working man here. From the one half of his office, which looks like this is where he sleeps, and the closest where I see multiple suit jackets, shirts, and dress pants, I would agree his hours are long. He probably only leaves
here to go to crime scenes, working a case, or to make official statements to the media.
As his eyes focus on Aiden, I don’t see any tenderness or care, only a tired man ready to spurt out new orders and expecting to be obeyed.
“How good of you to finally grace us here with your presence. Have you gotten any further on the Bell case?”
“I think I have a possible lead. I just need more time, sir. Please.”
“Cases are beginning to pile up. Unfortunately, I can’t give you more time on this.”
“But, sir—”
“However, I know the cold case squad are deeply behind on their cases. The Bell case won’t get eyes on it for at least a year and a half at this rate.”
“A year and a half!” I gasp. My murderer could kill countless women in that amount of time, and no one will even be looking for him during that time? At least with Aiden asking questions and investigating, it is undoubtedly keeping the killer from murdering again or forcing him to lay low.
“Sir—”
“Let me finish my sentence, detective,” he growls out, glaring at Aiden, waiting for his quick nod. “I have a new case for you. A woman, Anna Jarvis, forty-five, was shot and killed during the robbery of a gas station. The owner claimed she was trying to rob him, so he shot her. A weapon was found on the victim, and she had made some rather strange choices in the previous weeks leading up to this. She doesn’t fit the profile of a criminal; however, the evidence appeared to support the owner’s version of events. She quit her job suddenly, left her husband, drugs were found in her car, and her friends and family reported she was acting erratic and out of character.
“It appeared rather open and shut. Something nagged at me, though, so I kept an eye on the findings. The coroner places time of death between one and three in the morning. The owner called this in at four-fourteen. At the very least, she was dead over an hour before he called 911. Why? Plus, while there were drugs found in her system, it was just some low levels of marijuana. Not likely to have caused her to act so unpredictably, and not probable to make an otherwise normal civilian with plenty of access to money decide to rob a gas station. Maybe there is a reasonable explanation, maybe the guy was in shock and didn’t realize the time passing. But why the hell would a woman with considerable money in the bank decide to rob a gas station for the thirty-eight dollars the owner had in his till? I want you to find out.”
Haunted Love Page 18