I wish.
Back at home, she knew she couldn’t simply sit on her thumbs, waiting for the paper every morning to see what, if any, progress was made. The department had to go slow, had to observe protocol.
But she wasn’t part of the department any more.
She would dearly love to talk to Mrs. Levinson, find out what ghostly things she was experiencing that drove her to call in Sam. Voices? Cold spots? Certainly no clanking chains. Did any of the events portend the finding of bones, the solving of a thirty-year-old mystery?
Lacey huffed her impatience. She couldn’t go talk to the woman. Not only would it be inappropriate for her as a private citizen, but the woman’s house was guarded, taped off, and none of Lacey’s ex-brothers of the shield would bend the rules for her. Nor would she ask.
No, her only pathway into that house and the secret it contained was Sam.
She resumed her search online. There were a few Fireclouds that came up, but no Samuels. Such an odd name; she wondered what it meant. Just on a wild ass whim, she pulled up Facebook and searched on simply Firecloud.
Several hits: Beverly in Oklahoma; Luis in New Mexico; Daniel in Silver Lake, California.
Silver Lake was less than thirty miles away.
She went to his profile. No privacy filters in place. Twelve-year-old kid, going to Thomas Starr King Middle School. Lacey snorted to herself. His parents needed to talk to him about internet safety. The kid’s whole life was here for anyone to see. Little sister: Kenzie; Mom: Christine; step-dad: Ed LaRosa. The picture was coming into focus. She scanned more status entries, more comments, more pictures.
Dad: Samson.
She sat back in her chair. Samson Firecloud? She never considered that. Quickly she searched on that name. Still no hits. Crap.
Going for broke, she did one final search: Samson Firecloud, medium.
Lots of links to articles about mediums, but no Samson Firecloud. She scanned the abbreviated entries that Google had rounded up for her. No Firecloud; no, no, no. then, at the bottom of the page…
Blah, blah, medium, blah, blah, blah, Firecloud. She clicked on that.
An obscure forum about ghostly experiences and mediums. Exorcisms. She read through the thread quickly but carefully, her eye jumping from name to name.
Firecloud, no first name. But a phone number. A 213 area code.
Lacey quickly jotted down the number, then pushed away from her laptop. She itched to dial the number, but forced herself to slow down. She needed to think, needed to breathe, needed to eat.
She found a yogurt cup in the back of the fridge and checked the date: not expired by much. She grabbed a banana and a bottle of vitamin water and sat down at the table where she could stare out the slider as she ate.
Would he help her? She had a feeling he would. Why else would he tell her about the other bodies? If all this meant nothing to him, if he could walk away and not care, he wouldn’t have said a word. But he did. Yes, he would help her.
She took her time scraping her yogurt cup clean, ate half the banana and reached for her phone.
The line rang, once, twice, three times. It clicked. She pulled in a breath.
“This is Sam. Leave a message.” Beep.
She blew out the breath.
“Sam, this is Lacey. Fitzpatrick. We talked on Saturday; I took you to lunch. Listen, I’d like to talk to you some more about the… the case. Please call me.” She left her number and hung up.
No callback before she left for work. Once she got to Fernie’s, she put her phone on vibrate as well as ring. She didn’t want to miss this call. She roamed the property, her mind distracted. She forced herself to manually check all the locks, test the gates, yet her hand strayed repeatedly to her phone.
The hours ticked by. When she took a break inside the office so she could get off her feet for a bit, she contemplated calling him again. No, she’d wait. She had the distinct impression that Sam didn’t do anything on impulse, that he thought long and hard before acting. She’d give him time to do that.
Back outside, she walked mindfully. Nothing stirred in the dark, not even a breeze. The only sound was the sparse traffic a block away. She played her flashlight across the banks of storage units.
And almost dropped it when her phone erupted. Ringing and buzzing at the same time, its double assault jarred her. She jammed her flashlight into her belt and grabbed her phone.
“Hello?” she said breathlessly.
“This is Sam.”
She leaned against a storage unit and steadied her breathing. “Hi. Thanks for returning my call. Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
A slight hesitation. “Yeah.”
She remembered how reluctant he was to give information, to expand… on anything. She had an image of a wild dog, kicked so many times it distrusted even the offer of food and water. She would have to do all the coaxing here.
“Listen, I’ve been doing some research, and based on what you told me, I think there’s a chance this discovery could break open this thirty-year-old case. I’ve talked to my… the captain, and of course they’re being meticulously careful in how they proceed. I’m sure it’ll come as no surprise to you that your psychic impressions are pretty far down on their list.”
She paused, realizing her words were tumbling out in a torrent. She gave him a chance to respond.
He didn’t.
“I’d like to go at this from your perspective,” she said simply.
She could hear him breathing. She waited.
“What’d you have in mind?”
She leaned her head back and thanked the stars above. “First off, I’d like to talk to Mrs. Levinson. I’d like to find out what she was hearing or seeing or feeling that prompted her to call you.”
He apparently didn’t see a need to reply to that.
“Then I’d like you to do another walkthrough. I’d like to see if you get any more information.”
Sam snorted. “Getting information isn’t the problem,” he said. “Sorting through it all so it makes sense is the problem. That place is like a… a jungle of emotions.”
Lacey’s breath caught in her throat. “Really? You were already getting more? Is that why you said there are more bodies?”
“Yeah.”
She licked her lips. “So could you get a feel for the others? Names, places—like Isabel?”
She heard a half-hearted sigh. “No. I had to tune them out to hear her. She was the loudest, the most agitated, so I focused on her. But the others were clamoring.”
Excitement rose up inside her. This could be it. This could blow the whole case open.
“Okay,” she said, sounding calmer than she felt. “So can we do that? Can we go back?”
“What about your buddies there?” he asked cynically. “They’re not going to be happy about us messing around in there.”
“No,” she sighed, “they’re not. But it’s Mrs. Levinson’s house. They can’t tell her who she can or can’t see.”
Silence. She gripped the phone and waited.
“What’s your schedule like?”
She could have done a happy dance. “I work swing shift, three to midnight, but I’m free before that.”
“Hmm,” he said. “I work days. Guess it’ll have to wait until the weekend.”
Crap. Disappointed, she tried to keep it out of her voice. “Okay, that works. Can you set it up with her? Any time is okay with me.”
“Let me see what I can do,” he said. “I’ll call you.” Before she could reply, he had a question. “How’d you get my number?”
She grinned. “Research. I’m an ex-cop, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember. I’ll call you.” Without another word, he clicked off.
So much for pleasantries, she thought, returning her phone to its holster. But even his rude abruptness couldn’t dampen her spirits. They were getting somewhere now. She pulled out her flashlight and finished her shift with more enthusiasm than she’d had in months.
>
~~~
He didn’t call Wednesday or Thursday. Lacey wondered if he were having trouble getting the meeting set up or if he just liked leaving her in suspense. She suspected the latter.
He called late Friday night. She was taking a break in the office and glanced at the clock as her phone rang. Just after 9:30. Either he went out early on Friday nights or very late—or not at all.
“Hello?” She schooled her voice to sound nonchalant.
“It’s Sam,” he said. “We’re on for tomorrow, two p.m. I’ll meet you there.”
Excited by the prospect but afraid he’d click off abruptly after delivering the news, she rushed to continue the conversation. “Great. I’ll get there a little early, talk to the guys there so they’re aware we’re going in, and that we’re invited. You might have Mrs. Levinson keep a lookout in case we need her to come out and confirm that we’re welcome.”
“Yeah, I already mentioned that. She’s good.” He paused. “I’d rather you not interview her until after I walk. Again, I don’t want her input to influence what I feel.”
“Oh, okay,” she agreed. “Good idea. Maybe when we’re done, the three of us can sit down together and talk it over?”
He seemed to consider that. “That might work. We can see how much of her experiences I can corroborate.”
“And,” Lacey said, anticipating some pushback, “I’d like to record you. I’ve got a small digital recorder that’ll fit in your pocket. It shouldn’t hinder you in any way.”
Silence. She tried not to count the seconds that ticked by on the clock.
“Hmm,” he said. “I’ve never tried that. We’ll see. Sometimes they can interfere with electronic stuff.”
“Interfere?” she repeated.
“Yeah. They can manipulate electric energy. You know, turn lights off and on? Turn on appliances?”
“Oh, okay. I didn’t know.”
“They’re all energy, anyway, so it’s a simple matter for them to mess with stuff. We’ll try it, but no guarantees it’ll work.”
She stifled a sigh. “Okay, I understand. I just want to note where you feel… what you feel. What rooms, what locations. Gather as much data as we can.”
“This is you being an ex-cop?” he asked. She was surprised at the light tone of his voice. Almost as if he were smiling.
“Yeah, I guess so,” she said with a laugh. “Hard habit to break.”
“How long’s it been?” he asked.
The levity vanished. “Six months.”
“Hmm. What’re you doing now?”
She bristled slightly. “Private security.” She tried to keep her own disdain out of her voice.
“Still after the bad guys, huh? I’ll bet you’re good at it.”
She was so shocked to hear the compliment, she was speechless.
“Okay, so I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said into the void.
“Yeah, I’ll—”
But he was gone.
“—be there,” she finished to the dead air. She pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it.
Not long on social graces, she thought. She just shook her head and went back out to do another walkthrough.
~~~
THREE
Saturday’s paper had little to report. The articles were getting shorter and they were falling further back in the section. They might just disappear before a breakthrough brought them front and center again.
Lacey toyed with the thought of calling one of her buddies to tell him she and her medium would be there this afternoon. What started sounding like a helpful head’s up quickly devolved into asking for trouble. No point in giving the LAPD time to mount a resistance. Better the unofficial pair show up unannounced and then have Mrs. Levinson back them up if need be.
Lacey arrived at 1:45. There were few rubberneckers; after a week’s search and few discoveries, there wasn’t enough excitement to rank high in the entertainment quotient. She was glad for that.
And gladder still to see Bob Cunningham on duty. Bob was younger than Lacey, not yet thirty, and they’d forged an instant bond over their shared red hair and freckles. He was a good kid, still pretty gung-ho about the whole “to serve and protect” ideal.
“Hey, Bobby,” she called as she walked up to the crime tape. “How you doing?”
“Lacey?” His voice lilted with pleased surprise. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. I’m doing great. How are you?”
“Doing fine,” she said. She motioned around to the empty sidewalk. “Not much excitement, huh?”
Bob scowled. “Nah. They’re taking it real slow. Being super careful, you know?”
“Yeah. Understandable,” she said. “But, listen, I’m meeting a guy here and we’ve got an appointment with Mrs. Levinson at two. You can confirm it with her if you want.”
“Uh, appointment?” He looked unsure, glancing around.
“Yeah. My friend set it up. He’s worked for Mrs. Levinson before.” Lacey modulated her voice between nonthreatening informality and casual certainty. “He’ll be here any minute.” She glanced up and down the street, pleased and surprised to see Sam striding toward them.
“And here he is.” She thought for sure he’d be a few minutes late.
During the last week, she’d forgotten how tall and lean he was. The black jeans and black t-shirt only accented the feral quality of his slow, ambling walk.
“Sam,” she said as he walked up, “this is Officer Cunningham. Bobby, Sam Firecloud.”
The two men shook with little enthusiasm. Bob still looked unsure about what he should or shouldn’t do.
Mrs. Levinson settled that question. Pushing open her screen door, she called out in a thin voice.
“Sam? Bring your friend and come in.”
Without so much as a glance at Bob, Sam ducked under the tape and headed unerringly for the front porch.
Lacey flashed Bob a smile. “See you later,” she said, and ran after Sam.
Mrs. Levinson stood aside to let them in, then closed the door behind them. “I’ll be so glad when this is over,” she said. “I feel like I’m living in a cage.” She turned expectantly to Lacey.
“I’m Lacey Fitzpatrick, Mrs. Levinson. I’m so glad to meet you.” She took the woman’s hand in a warm handshake. “I’m hoping we can help solve the mysteries in your house so you can get back to your normal life as soon as possible.”
The courteous and respectful speech did exactly what it was intended to do. Mrs. Levinson smiled and visibly relaxed.
“Please, come in,” she said, motioning toward the living room. “Sit down.”
“Actually, Mrs. Levinson,” Sam said, “if you don’t mind, I’d like to do my walk first. Then we’d like to sit and talk with you.”
“We’d really like to hear about your experiences,” Lacey said, “once Sam’s done.”
“Oh.” The older woman blinked faded blue eyes. “All right. Can I get you anything to drink?”
“When we’re done, I’d love some ice water,” Lacey said.
“Fine.” Mrs. Levinson turned for the kitchen. “I’ll have that ready for you.”
“Thank you,” Sam said. “We’ll go ahead and walk now.”
Lacey pulled her digital recorder from her purse and turned it on. She stretched out the microphone cable and handed that to Sam.
“However you want to do this,” she said. “However it’s comfortable.”
Sam regarded the mic with distrust. Finally he clipped it to the neck of his t-shirt and slid the recorder into his front jeans pocket. Then he turned and walked down the hall.
Lacey hurried after him, digging in her purse again, this time for her notepad and pen. She flipped the notepad to an empty page, glancing up to see that Sam was entering the master bedroom.
“I didn’t come in here before,” he said. He stepped inside and stopped, staring straight ahead at the wall opposite. Lacey stood stock still, not moving, barely breathing. She didn’t want to do anything to distract him.
His head began to dip down very slowly, inch by inch. Then he turned slightly to the left. Lacey could see that his eyes were half shut. His nostrils flared. He angled his head, tilting it this way and that, like a cat trying to triangulate the sound of a mouse behind a wall. He moved to the left, just a few steps, and stopped. He stared at the closed closet door.
Lacey scribbled notes to herself: master bedroom, left side, closet.
Sam skirted the bed and walked to the window. He stayed far enough away that the sheer curtains luffing in the slight breeze did not touch him. He bowed his head and breathed deeply.
Lacey watched him closely. She could only see one side of his face, his mouth turned down in concentration, but saw no other telltale signs. He didn’t flinch, didn’t change his breathing. He looked almost peaceful.
Abruptly he spun around and started toward her. “Out,” he ordered. She almost tripped over her own feet, getting out of the room and out of his way as quickly as possible. Outside the bedroom door, she stepped sideways to give him a clear path. He brushed past her and moved into the hall.
Lacey saw Mrs. Levinson standing in the kitchen, watching them. She smiled to the older woman and followed Sam.
He stopped in front of a door and stood very still. Lacey stayed back, not wanting to crowd him in case he made another abrupt about-face. Although his feet remained flat on the floor, his body leaned ever so slightly toward the door.
He turned his head toward her. “Would you open the door?” he asked. His eyes never quite touched her face.
She leaned past him and gripped the doorknob, thinking she probably should have worn gloves. Not because she could be obliterating fingerprints—not after twenty-five years—but because her touch might interfere with the energy. Too late now. She opened the door and pushed it gently so it swung inward.
She could see the top landing of stairs. Basement. As Sam stepped through the doorway, she scribbled that on her notepad.
“Light,” Sam said. She reached around the doorway and found the switch, flicked it on. He descended a few steps, stopped, then a few more.
Ghost Walk Page 3