by Claire Kane
“No worries,” the redhead said. “That woman you work for is a beast.”
“Like Jabba the Hut-beast,” the other agreed, shuddering her shoulders for added drama.
Lacey laughed, louder than expected. “Good news—she’s not my boss anymore.” She internally cringed, hoping she didn’t just shoot herself in the foot.
“Congratulations,” the brunette said with sincerity in her blue eyes.
“Anyway...” Lacey composed herself a bit more, wiping away a pink smear from her nose. “I need to know—any news about the missing sorority sisters? Who was it—Brittany and Shayla?”
“You didn’t hear?” the redhead’s expression fell. Lacey looked back and forth between them, sensing something awful.
The girls traded glances. The brunette sucked in a breath, and the redhead bit her lip and turned her eyes to the ground.
Lacey’s heart sank. “No. What?”
“Brittany was found… last night,” and she paused as her voice hitched. She sniffled suddenly, and Lacey could tell the girl was struggling to compose herself. Finally, she said, “She was found in a dumpster.”
Just then, a movement caught Lacey’s eye. She glanced up to see a couple of police officers striding fast in their direction “Oh, no. I have to know,” she quickly added, “What sorority? And were these girls models? What agency? Who did it?”
But the young women had frozen up at the sight of the officers.
One cop, pointing to the two girls, said, “Rebecca Halliday and Emily West?”
“Yes,” they responded, their expressions a mix of fear and knowledge.
The other officer came up to Lacey and lightly touched her arm. “Ms. Ling. Some privacy, please,” he said. “We’ll notify the media later with details.”
She nodded sullenly and turned to leave. “Where’s a dead ex-boyfriend when you need one?” Lacey muttered to herself, feeling frustrated and defeated.
Victor poofed beside her, his arms crossed, like an obedient genie. “Someone call for a hunky angel?” he said, arching a dark brow, his matching hair sifting handsomely in the wind. Must have been another of his new tricks; his spirit body wasn’t affected by physical things, like wind.
Lacey didn’t have time to smile. “The police. Right there. They’re talking to those girls about the disappearances.” The officers were standing on a dead patch of grass, serious expressions wrinkling their brows. “They must really think they have some good info, to hunt these girls down, here, at lunchtime.”
“I’m right on it,” Victor said, whooshing over instead of teleporting. Lacey leaned up against a tree and watched as Victor stopped next to the cops, crossed his hands behind his back, and began pacing like a courtroom attorney from a bad TV drama. She rolled her eyes and massaged her forehead. What else would she expect from him? She turned away as he worked.
...didn’t know she was stabbed, came a sudden, female voice in her mind. Lacey jerked upright and looked around. The voice sounded familiar, but she couldn’t immediately place it.
And you said you saw the victim, what was it, five nights ago? A male voice this time; authoritative, demanding. Then it hit her. Lacey peered hard at the sorority girls. The redhead was nodding vigorously. The instant her mouth began to move, the voice in Lacey’s head resumed.
That’s right. Last Thursday night. We actually ended up studying for the same final. She finished before I did. She said she was in a hurry to get somewhere, but I was too busy reviewing my notes to ask. And then she was gone.
Lacey’s eyes widened. Victor had picked up some new tricks. And some incredibly useful ones at that. She called to him in her mind. Victor? Can you, um, share your sight with me, too?
From across the way, she felt his smile. You may want to have a seat first, he replied. You don’t have to close your eyes, but for you, it might be easier if you do.
Lacey raised her eyebrows, impressed, then looked for a dry spot to sit. Finding no benches, she debated whether she wanted to retire to one of the nearby classroom buildings. The only problem with that was that she’d lose sight of the sorority girls if she did. Though she suspected Victor could keep tabs on them, and help her find them again, she wasn’t sure how she’d explain her supernatural ability to stalk them. And so, she crouched on the grass and rested against her tree. Even before she closed her eyes, the vision came upon her, as though she were standing right back where she had been before the cops had arrived. The first cop—the one who had addressed the sorority girls—was jotting notes as he talked with them. The second cop was scanning the area as though he expected an attack. The vision flicked back and forth from one speaker to the next, and Lacey realized she could hear perfectly well, now, too.
“So,” the first cop said, as he finished scribbling on his pad, “did Miss Lareaux give any indication as to when she expected to return?”
The redhead shook her head, frowning. “Like I said, I was too busy with my notes. I hate micro-bio. Worst class ever. It’s no wonder Brittany quit early.”
The officer gestured. “Did you have any other activities scheduled with her? Any time you would have expected to be with her again? An activity, another study group? A class?”
The brunette cut in, gnawing on her lip and looking nervous. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I think I can answer that. We were going to have a big pre-finals party on Friday night. The guys from Zeta Psi were going to join, and it was going to be really big, and really fun, and have DJs and dancing and—”
“Relevant facts only, miss,” the first cop interrupted.
The brunette wilted. “Oh. S-sorry. I just don’t get to go to many parties. But Brittany does. She goes to all of them. She would have been there for sure.”
The redhead scoffed. “Brittany was always a bit snooty.”
The cop nodded and made some more notes. “And her place of employment? Was she heading into work that night, perhaps? Would they have any additional contact information?”
Both girls looked at each other and shrugged. The redhead cleared her throat and dabbed at her eyes before answering. “We just know that Brittany was a model. I think she worked for some place called ‘Fad’ or ‘Trend,’ or ‘Trendy’. Something like that. She was starting to do a lot of shoots. I even saw her in a couple of local magazines.”
“Is there anything else,” the cop said, “either of you can tell us about the victim?”
Both girls traded looks again, then shook their heads as one. The cop frowned, clearly unconvinced, but nodded.
Victor? Lacey called to him. They’re hiding something. What can you get from them?
There was a pause. Lots of emotions. And something about cellular mitosis in fetal pigs.
Lacey groaned. Yeah. Really useful. Thanks.
Hey, he retorted, I’m doing my best. I’m still new at the mind-reading thing. Most people’s thoughts are a superficial jumble of whatever. It’s not like I can just plug in and download everything in their mind. I don’t have that same connection as I do with you. But trust me, I’m working on it.
“Wait,” the brunette squeaked as the cop turned to leave. “I did just remember something.”
The officer stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “Yes?”
The brunette fidgeted, then said, “Well, I think Brittany had a new boyfriend. Or, maybe he was a boyfriend. But he could have just been a good friend who was a guy, but—” She halted at a look from the officer. “Sorry. I tend to ramble. Anyway, some guy had been visiting her in her dorm the last few weeks before she disappeared. I’m not saying he killed her—please don’t think that—but he just always creeped me out.”
The first cop turned fully around, his notepad coming out again. The second cop even took another large step closer. “And can you describe this guy?”
The brunette swallowed. “I really don’t think he killed her—”
The redhead sighed and interrupted. “Ripped guy. Didn’t shave. Between that and that stupid beanie he wore, he looked
like a panhandler. Our dorm mom threw him out a few times.”
It was the cops’ turn to exchange looks. “On what grounds did your dorm mother evict him?”
The redhead shrugged. “Because he was a creepy-looking guy hanging around a dorm full of hot girls? I don’t know. He never really did anything, but I have no idea why Brittany kept spending time with him.”
“And did you get the gentleman’s name?”
Again, both girls shook their heads.
“Anything else about this man, or anything that may or may not have been unusual in Miss Lareaux's behavior in the days or weeks leading up to the murders?” Again, a negative. The cop thanked them, and, with his partner, left the scene, talking into the radio on his shoulder.
The girls hurried away, and the vision faded from Lacey’s mind, leaving her stunned and disoriented as she suddenly found herself slumped beside the tree. She hadn’t even realized she’d toppled during the incident. Victor appeared overhead, looking down at her sympathetically.
“I’m glad you took my advice to sit down first,” he said. “I’ve never been a private broadcasting station before, and I wasn’t quite sure what it’d do to you.”
Lacey glared at him, head swimming, breath shallow. “Thanks for the timely disclaimer.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I knew it wouldn’t hurt you, or I’d never have done it. But I’ve learned, in my time in Heaven, that mortals don’t always have the fortitude to handle visions. Especially not detailed ones. That’s why most visions come when people are already asleep and laying down. They’re far less likely to get hurt that way.”
Lacey shook her head to clear it, but was only partially successful. Using the tree for support, she slowly pulled herself to her feet. “Well, thank you for your concern,” she said.
“It kills me that I can’t help you up,” he replied softly, reaching for her.
Lacey felt his sincerity, and it touched her. Victor may be a doofus, but he was a thoughtful, charming, and very handsome one.
“You really should have married me,” he said.
Lacey blinked hard against the still-fading vision. “Maybe some other time,” she said dismissively. “Think it’s too late to follow the girls?”
Victor gave her a meaningful look. “Or just too creepy. Give them some time. I can tell you already know they visit your old coffee shop regularly. Oh—and I’ve read your thoughts on your old boss. I’m glad you’re not working for her anymore, but she’s actually a lot nicer than she lets on. You may be surprised by the pain she’s been through.”
Lacey sighed. “Focus, Victor.” She shouldered her purse, cast one last look at the retreating college girls, then started, slightly shakily, for her own car. She suddenly had some spare time, now that she was no longer waiting tables, and she may as well put it to good use ahead of the photoshoot. Though she could have hoped for more from the girls’ discussion with the cops, she was glad for what she had heard.
“They were really holding out on me the other day,” she muttered. “They said the missing sorority sisters weren’t close friends, just acquaintances. Now they suddenly have all this info?”
Victor nodded in sympathetic agreement. “They were probably just nervous. Think about it—since when are sorority sisters relegated to mere acquaintanceship? I’m sure they know each other’s shoe sizes, probably did pedicures on each other many times.”
Lacey pointed at her chest emphatically. “I should know all these girly details, not you. But you’re right. They’re sisters. How could I have been so naive? And why in the world would they be nervous to talk to me?”
Victor gave her a look that practically screamed, “Really?” He shook his head. “Lacey, you’re an investigative reporter. Ninety percent of the city knows that. Even college kids probably know you. Didn’t you get looks or requests for autographs when you were working over at that little joint?” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the coffee shop. “They probably didn’t want to tell you anything in fear of it splashing across KZTB’s nightly news.”
Lacey sighed. “You’re right. Even people who don’t own a TV know my face,” she said, thinking of Teddy again, troubled at how closely the description of Shayla’s “boyfriend” seemed to match. “Well, now that you know that the disappearances were indeed related to Jessica’s murder, are you more on my side?”
“I’m always on your side,” he said, stepping close to her. “I trust you. I’m just worried about you getting wrapped up in things again.”
Lacey grimaced. “Okay, well, I’m going to say this one last time—I’m going to continue getting wrapped up in things. Starting with attending the test photo shoot Jack arranged for me.
“I knew danger well before you came into my life. That’s not going to stop now. So if you’re any kind of guardian angel, like you say you are, you’ll do your part by giving me freedom up until the moment my very life is at stake.”
He stopped and waited until she met his gaze. His blue eyes were all the more sparkly now that the cold sunshine shone through him. Lacey felt her chest tighten just a little, realizing that she was, indeed, looking at a literal angel. One who cared very, very deeply for her.
Then, without moving his lips, he answered, That’s what I’m afraid of.
THIRTEEN
Later that evening, Lacey reminded Victor, “Freedom, remember?” She was standing outside Trend Modeling Agency in a large overcoat, her legs peeking out, tan and fit. “Nothing is going to happen during my shoot. I promise.”
“I know,” he replied only somewhat sullenly. “But I really think I should be there while—”
She whipped up a hand to stop him.
“I—”
“Tsk!”
He relented with a deep sigh, knowing she wouldn’t miss the meaning. Her answering scowl told him she hadn’t. “Just… be careful. The idea of you parading around in skimpy attire while men take pictures of you—”
“Stop, please,” she said with an earnest quiet. “I’m having a hard enough time going through with this as it is. I really don’t need reminders of why I don’t like this idea.”
Victor pursed his lips and nodded. “Okay. Love ya’, babe. Knock ‘em dead. Especially if they try anything funny.”
Lacey rolled her eyes, but Victor sensed she was touched by his concern. “I’ll call you when I’m done. Now, don’t you have to be at church or something? It’s already dark.” Before he could answer, she disappeared into the building, leaving him alone beneath the Alaska Way viaduct.
He waited on the curb for a while, reminding himself of all the reasons he’d let her go in there alone. The list was very short. And yet, he’d promised her, and that was reason enough. And so he took to roaming the streets he was so familiar with, hoping he’d find something to help Lacey’s investigation, or maybe something related to Rao’s concern about the rising darkness in the area. He banished a flickering thought of Legion. He could sense them in the area, but they no longer terrified him as they once had, now that he knew a little more about warding them off.
Part of protecting himself involved turning his mind to more pleasant thoughts. He let himself get lost in nostalgia. Here was Christmas in Seattle, complete with decorations and people ringing bells for charity. He’d spent much of his life in here, with the odd break for vacations, his graduate program, and an internship in Japan. He really wished he’d survived that internship; he'd had a great job lined up. But the prospect of being a wage slave paled utterly in comparison to life in Heaven. Even now, back on earth, he was still without any obligation except to Lacey. No hunger, fatigue, illness, boredom—nothing of that muddled daily life could affect him anymore. But as he passed various vagrants and signs of aging buildings, he realized just how depressing life on Earth could be.
It’s no wonder they take away your memory of Heaven when they send you here the first time, he thought. Who’d want to stick around for seventy-five years if they remembered what they’d left?
> The so-called Emerald City was a far cry from the one in The Wizard of Oz, but Seattle was certainly no New York or LA. Even when he’d been alive, he’d always felt relatively safe walking in downtown, even at night. Sure, there were a couple of neighborhoods to avoid, but he supposed every big city had places like that, and its share of transients.
“Speaking of which,” he said. He called to mind the discussion the sorority girls had had with the cops. He’d been able to pick a few snatches from their minds at the time. The brunette—Emily—had pictured the man very clearly for several seconds.
Tall, surprisingly muscular, unkempt. She was right—he really did look like a vagabond. His black beanie didn’t help the image either.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
Victor stopped and glanced to his right. One of the greatest perks about death was that his senses were extremely sharp. Immediately, he picked out the speaker, a man standing by a handing donation bucket, ringing a bell. Almost as if by divine design, it was the same man Emily had remembered.
Victor glanced around to see whether the man had been speaking to anyone else. The few pedestrians in the area seemed to be paying no attention to the guy, however.
“That’s right, dead boy. Your kind ain’t welcome here.”
Victor materialized right next to the guy and examined him quickly. “You’re him.”
The guy shrugged and continued ringing his bell. “Him, who?”
Victor tried probing his mind, but the guy waved a hand with surprising violence, and Victor felt himself actively shoved out of the connection.
“Nuh-uh,” he growled, shaking his head. “I don’t play like that. You got questions, you ask me. I don’t wanna answer, I don’t answer.”
Victor frowned, stunned. “Who the heck are you? And how do you even know I’m here?”
The man glanced quickly at him, sizing him up. “I’m just a guy doin’ his job. And I know you’re there because I can see you. How’s that for a stupid question?”