by P. C. Cast
Harper felt a strong, warm band around her waist. The contact was too much, not enough; she couldn’t breathe, could barely sit still, wanted to stay, wanted to leave. Was falling…tumbling down an endless void. And yet, somehow that strong, warm band kept her steady.
Merciless, Peterson continued, “Everyone in this building is a spirit. Certain spirits are drawn here, and we don’t know why. Maybe like calls to like. All I know is that the OKC branch of After Moonrise bought it, and monitors it to the best of their ability, and as long as you’re here, keeping to yourselves, they’re happy.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head.
Peterson pressed on. “I’m guessing that’s why Lana sent you to me, rather than to her own firm. She didn’t want them involved in your afterlife any more than they already were. Yes, they know you’re here. I checked. But they like that you’re here and unaware of what happened. You’re not out there causing any trouble. If that changes, they could decide to force you to move on.”
“No,” Harper repeated.
And still Peterson kept talking. “It’s not all bad. This is supposed to be a fresh start for you, a chance to finally live right, to fix mistakes or tragedies before letting go of the ghosts of the past, to have the brightest future possible.”
“No!”
“If I were you, I’d make the most of it. Too many people in your situation lose sight of what matters and sink back into old patterns and habits or even fail to act upon the new opportunity they’ve been given. They spiral into depression. They become angry—and their anger can ruin innocent lives.”
“No,” she said yet again, even though Peterson spoke with such certainty, as if Harper really was part of that world, as if everything she mentioned was fact and there was no reason to debate.
A soft sigh filled the room. “If you want to know more about what happened to you, read the papers and clippings I brought. And honestly? I suggest that you do. You’re each here for a purpose, and I don’t care what the OKC branch thinks. You’re better off knowing. Think about it. You might be able to move on.”
Move on. And lose Levi.
Lose Lana.
Lose herself.
It was too much to take in. Harper ripped from Levi’s hold—Levi was the strong band, she realized distantly—and flew out of the room. She couldn’t remember pausing to open the door, only knew that she was inside her apartment one moment and in the hall the next.
“Harper,” she heard Levi shout. His first word in so long, she wanted to stop, to throw herself at him, but she couldn’t.
I’m sorry, she thought. He’d been told the same thing, yet she wasn’t comforting him. He deserved comfort, but she couldn’t deal with this. Couldn’t accept the fact that she had been tortured and murdered, that her life was over, that she would never again hug Lana, that she had lost everything. So she ran, just ran, with no destination in mind—yet somehow she appeared at the art gallery…without ever leaving the apartment building.
Sickness churned in her stomach. Another blackout, surely, she told herself.
It was daylight, too bright, and people walked along the sidewalks. Everyone ignored her. Cars sped on the road, fumes in the air, and she wanted to run from here, too, but didn’t allow herself. Through the window she saw the owner showing someone a painting in back.
She would talk to him, she decided. He, who couldn’t see the dead, would talk back to her. They would have a conversation, and that would be that. Yes. Simple. Easy. She would prove Peterson wrong—or right.
No, not right.
Lifting her chin, Harper entered the shop.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Levi searched for several hours, but found no sign of Harper. She needed time to come to grips with what she’d learned, he got that—he was struggling with what he’d learned—but she was vulnerable right now, not paying attention to her surroundings. Someone could—
She’s a spirit. Who can hurt her?
Yeah. There was that.
She was a spirit. Like him.
Him. Dead. Killed. Murdered by the same man who’d murdered Harper. How? How?
Peterson and her bodyguard were gone by the time he returned to Harper’s apartment. Harper wasn’t there, either. He fell heavily on her couch, put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Dead. Killed. The words kept popping up, echoing through his brain. Dead. Killed.
He thought back. At first, he saw only a veil of black. He pushed through that veil with every bit of his strength, determination riding him hard. A wave of trepidation slammed through him, but he refused to back off. He had to know the truth.
Images began to flash through his mind, foggy at first but quickly solidifying.
A drive to Topper’s house… Gonna escort that psychopath to a cell where he’ll rot until death comes knocking....
Levi and Vince had squealed to a stop, other detectives and patrolmen exiting their own cars. Red and blue lights flashed all around. They’d followed DNA evidence, had a warrant for Topper’s arrest. Adrenaline and excitement were high, practically saturating the air. They were about to close the most gruesome case they’d ever worked and save countless lives.
Vince was the one to kick in the front door, and Levi was the first one inside the house. They searched the place from top to bottom and finally found a hidden door to the basement.
Opening it brought a wealth of smells he instantly recognized. Blood, chemicals, death. They heard screams, a buzz saw, sobs, laughter.
In an instant, Levi’s mind went blank, the veil falling back over his memories. Gritting his teeth, he once again pushed through it. The trepidation increased, but he continued to surge forward. He saw himself, gun drawn. He pounded down rickety stairs to discover Topper had been busy cutting up a body—a body he now recognized as Harper’s. No wonder he’d felt guilt and shame when he’d seen her at King’s Landing.
He’d been too late. Hadn’t saved her.
Pale hair spread out over the table, though it appeared red, soaked as it was with her blood. Though she was dead, her blue eyes were open, haunted, pained, sad, furious and fixed on something far away. Her lips were parted, having already expelled her last breath.
Then and now, sickness churned inside his stomach. The things she had suffered…the agony she had endured…
Another female—the screamer, the sobber—occupied a small dog cage, the sides covered with a black tarp to prevent her from looking at anything but Harper. Topper was laughing, holding up the limbs he’d removed to show his newest victim what would happen to her if she displeased him.
That woman… That poor woman…
Men rushed in from behind Levi, pushing him forward. Thoughts scrambled through his head, but he couldn’t decipher them just then. All he knew was that he took one accidental step toward the guy and couldn’t stop himself from purposely taking another and another. He’d spurred into motion, sheathed his gun instead of emptying his clip, wanting up close and personal vengeance. He threw himself into Topper. The limb tumbled to the floor. Levi punched…punched…
Topper had excellent reflexes and immediately made use of the blade in his hand. A blade he’d used on Harper. As enraged as Levi was, he failed to safeguard himself. Felt a sharp sting in his side, followed swiftly by a sharp sting in his thigh. Just boom, boom, and his blood went cold, seeping out of him at an alarming rate. Topper had punctured a kidney and severed a major artery.
He remember
ed his coworkers rushing over to pull him and Topper apart. He remembered the fade of their voices. The concern. He remembered looking into his partner’s eyes, holding his hand, the world going black.
But he did not recall waking up in the hospital. Did not recall recovering from his wounds. He just remembered…what? The conversation he’d had with his captain had never really happened. He’d never been put on a leave of absence. He’d never left the station, too upset to go home, never driven downtown, spotted a suspicious-looking guy—
Wait. He had wandered downtown, had spotted a suspicious-looking guy. A spirit, he knew now. He’d entered King’s Landing and blacked out, coming to in his new apartment. He hadn’t made any calls about his old home. He’d simply convinced himself he’d sold it and moved on.
Now Levi laughed bitterly. No wonder Vince always refused to talk to him. Vince couldn’t see him, couldn’t hear him. No wonder Bright had been so surprised to find him back at the precinct. No wonder Bright had been so evasive about Harper’s case. He’d known she was dead but hadn’t wanted to share the news with Levi, who was also dead but unaware.
A clatter of voices penetrated his thoughts. The clack of keyboards, the pound of shoes.
Levi’s head whipped up. No longer was he sitting on Harper’s couch in Harper’s living room. He was at the precinct. All around him were men and women going about their day, escorting suspects to processing, to interrogation or to a cell. Detectives sat at desks, reading files, researching a lead. The scent of coffee filled the air.
He straightened with a jolt. How had he whisked from one place to the other, in only a second of time? A spiritual ability?
Probably.
Not taking time to reason out why he’d come, he stalked to Bright’s office. The door was closed, but why should that stop him now? Hesitant, he stepped through the wood. A sensation of cold washed through him, but that was it. No resistance. One second he was in the hall, the next he was in the office.
Proof, such stunning proof, of his new status.
And there was Bright, typing away.
“I’m dead,” Levi announced rawly.
Bright’s head jerked up, his hand reaching for the gun stashed in the top desk drawer. The moment he realized it was Levi, he relaxed. A sad gleam entered his eyes. “Yes.”
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
One dark brow arched. “Have you ever had to tell a spirit something he didn’t want to hear? The results aren’t pretty. You would have flipped out, and very bad things would have happened.”
Peterson had mentioned chaos. Levi was upset right now, and had been for a while, yet so far hadn’t caused any trouble. Maybe it was just a matter of controlling his actions, of pushing through his feelings.
“Sit down.” Bright waved to the only chair. “I’m guessing you’re here for answers, yes? What do you want to know?”
He obeyed, saying, “What happened to Vince after…” He cleared his throat. “After I left?”
The sadness intensified. “He still blames himself for not protecting you. Thinks he should have shot Topper before you reached the guy. No one can pull him out of his depression, which is why Captain has him in mandatory counseling.”
Poor Vince. “Is there anything I can do to help him?”
“I’ll tell him I talked to you. Maybe that’ll help.”
“Yes,” he croaked out. “Tell him I’m sorry, that he did nothing wrong, and I miss him. Tell him I met a woman. Someone special.”
“Your Harper.”
“Yeah.”
“About time.” Bright reached out to trace his fingertip over the picture of his wife resting on the side of his desk. “We held a funeral for you. A real hero’s send-off. Everyone showed up. You would have been proud.”
Yes, but had he deserved that kind of send-off? “Did you tell me the truth about Topper?”
A wary sigh. “Yes. He lives. He’s in lockup right now and awaiting trial for what he did to all those women, what he did to you.”
Good. “I’m paying him a visit.” Yes, he’d promised Harper and he would take her to see Topper. But Levi wanted to be the first, to smooth the way. “Can he see into the other world?”
“His file says no, but sometimes people lie about that, not wanting to be labeled a weirdo.”
Levi ran his tongue over his teeth. He’d learn the truth soon enough. “You mentioned bad things happen when spirits are mad. How?”
Bright leaned back in his chair, folded his arms over his middle. “So you want to hurt Topper, do you? Plan to haunt him a wee bit?”
He wasn’t sure what he planned to do. To cover his bases, he said, “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”
“That’s military, about sexual orientation.”
“Semantics.”
Fingers lifted and fell, drumming against Bright’s hands, creating a symphony of sound. “I’m sure you already know this, but I’ll tell you, anyway. There are good spirits and bad spirits out there.”
Well, yeah, he got that. Now. But there was knowing and then there was knowing. “And how can I tell the difference?”
“Their fruit.”
Uh, what? “Come again.”
“You’ll always know by the fruit they produce. An orange tree won’t grow lemons.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, haters say and do hateful things. Lovers say and do lovely things.”
Okay. That made sense. The girl with the X-ray vision was a hater, no question.
“I don’t recommend you visit the prison,” Bright said. “Other spirits will be there, and you don’t want to bring yourself to their attention, believe me. They could follow you, and if they follow you, they could run into your girl. But I could have Topper brought here for another round of questioning....”
Levi sat up straighter. “You’re a good man, Bright.”
“I know. Now if we could convince my wife. She’s asked for a divorce and—and that’s not your problem, is it.” Another sigh left him. “So how’s your Harper holding up? Does she know about the spirit thing yet?”
“Yeah. We found out together. She took off, and I haven’t seen her since.” Where was she? What was she doing?
“She’ll be back, don’t worry. I’ve seen enough spirits to know that when they find out, they think they want to be alone, but really, they need someone there with them, supporting them, letting them know they’re still loved.”
Loved? He didn’t… He couldn’t… He barely knew her, he thought. Oh, he liked her more than he’d ever liked another. Craved her, even. Wanted her with him, wanted to protect her from every bad thing. Wanted to hold her, and assure her that he would help her through this every step of the way. And he wanted her to hold him, to know she would be with him every step of the way.
She fit him in so many ways, and in bed, he couldn’t get enough of her. Her taste was a drug, her body the missing puzzle piece to his own. But love?
He’d been in love a few times in his life. Once with Kelly Roose, the prettiest girl in his third-grade class. Once with Shannon Halbert, his high school sweetheart and the girl who’d taken his virginity. All three minutes of it. And once with Donna Chang, the woman he’d wanted to marry, the woman he’d dated for two years—the woman who cheated on him because he wasn’t “meeting her emotional needs.”
He didn’t think every girl he met would cheat on him. He knew better. He didn’t even
think Harper would cheat on him. She had the same possessive streak he did, if not to a stronger degree. But to fall in love now, while things were so uncertain, while he could move on—or whatever spirits did—at any minute…not just no but I’d rather die again no.
“Another question,” he said. “Where do spirits go when they move on?”
Bright worked his jaw. “Some go up, some go down.”
See? What if he and Harper moved on at different times? “Why do they go? Because they accomplished whatever had kept them around in the first place?”
“Yes. The good ones fulfill their purpose and go up, and the bad ones destroy something, or try to destroy something, and get sucked down. Some know what they need to do right off. Others have to figure it out. Others purposely don’t find out because they either can’t handle the truth or don’t want to leave.”
“So they can stay?”
“For the length of a human lifetime, yes. Despite what books and movies claim, I’ve never met anyone who stayed longer than that.” A layer of strain entered his voice. “My wife left me because I still see Sally Wells. Sally was my high school girlfriend who died of cancer soon after we graduated. She comes to see me at least once a week, and won’t leave my side on our anniversary.” The strain increased. “She throws a tantrum if I forget to buy her a present.”
Levi wasn’t sure how he felt about haunting his friends for the rest of their natural lives—like he was clearly doing to Bright, he realized. “I’m sorry. If I meet anyone halfway decent, maybe I can set your Sally up on a blind date.”
A booming laugh filled the room. “Levi the matchmaker. Classic!”
“Any word on Harper’s friend, Lana?”
“Yeah.” Bright leaned forward to tap away at the keyboard. “Her credit cards were stolen and used this morning. Some homeless guy bought cigarettes first, then half an hour later bought some beer. He was taken into custody, but he swears he found the cards on the street and that he hasn’t seen Lana. We showed him a photo and nada. Still, I’ve got someone watching her home. We’ll catch her.”