For a second, Al-Alaniz’s gaze softens at my distress, then distaste returns. This time aimed at Charles’s abuser, not me. “There is proof in anything Charles can say? Something we could give to the police?”
Slowly, and sadly, I shake my head. “No. Which is why we contacted you.”
“Why? What do you mean?”
“Saudi Arabia has different laws. It works differently than the States. You are a Prince, you...”
“I live within a system,” Al-Alaniz asserts. “I’m no vigilante.”
“Not even for a man on your payroll, who took advantage of the access he had to your wife’s child?”
“Laws exist for a reason. What you’re suggesting would make me a barbarian!”
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just saying, justice can be served just as well in Saudi Arabia as it can here.”
He’s silent again. “You want me to kidnap? I’d be smuggling him out of American borders... No. This cannot be.” He shakes his head. Absolutely resolute.
“We will sign agreements to state that this conversation never happened.” The words escape me in a desperate attempt to get the Prince to do something. Marla seems to think the man’s obsessed with NDAs. If that’s the case, maybe that will be all we need to urge him into agreeing.
The truth of the matter is, no court in the land, no police station or sheriff department will listen to me, will act upon my information, and Milo will never be arrested for what he did to Charles.
I can’t state with absolute certainty that Milo did sabotage Marla’s car. I can’t state that he tried to kill Charles and Marla to keep them quiet. Drake’s theory feels right to me, but that sense of rightness has never been good enough for the law of the land, even though time and time again, I’m proved to be speaking the truth.
What I can say, with absolute certainty, is Charles was abused by Milo.
Charles was going to tell his mother.
And when a desperate man is about to lose everything, he’ll go to any lengths to protect himself.
The smudges in the house all align themselves to our theory. Again, this isn’t irrefutable proof. But I’ve heard what Milo did to Charles. Charles told me things I wish I could erase from my memory.
How he was conditioned, what Milo made him do, where and how and when... The details feel never-ending, and for Charles, they are.
The man who abused him, who robbed him of his innocence, is walking around free as a bird. He still works for his mother, for Christ’s sake. Still lives in luxury on this estate, probably has a ridiculously generous salary...no wonder Charles could find no peace.
But while he’s left to rattle around this place for eternity, that fucker has gotten away with some of the sickest crimes imaginable.
You’d think the stepson of a Prince would be protected. You’d think there would be safeguards in place. But the truth of the matter is, wherever a predator is, he will always find his prey. And in this instance, Charles was that prey.
After my words about the NDA, Al-Alaniz studies me with close attention, but he states, so calmly it’s a joke, “You will sign such documents regardless of what happens from this moment on.”
I nod, and Drake does too.
Though he’s made no admission about what his intentions are, I can but hope he’ll do as I suggested.
I don’t think I’d be able to cope if I thought Milo was left to get away with this. I don’t want to be a vigilante. I don’t want to seek justice from outside the boundaries of the law. But what alternative can there be?
These sick bastards sometimes take pictures or make recordings... maybe, Milo will trip up and have kept some. Maybe, with Al-Alaniz’s influence, an investigation could be started...
But whether he does this by the book or works way outside the lines, I don’t care so long as Milo finally gets his due.
Jayce
As I look out of the window, I don’t notice the rolling hills in the distance. I barely notice the manicured garden. All I see is a small jet taking off to destinations unknown.
I don’t pray. It’s not something I do as I’m not religious, but at that moment, I pray to any God who’s listening, and beg them to do the right thing by Marla, and provide Charles with the peace he needs, deserves.
This afternoon has been... there’s no other way to describe it: interesting. I can’t even count how many laws we’ve broken in the last few hours. Can I say that I agree with what we all had to do to ensure Charles had some justice?
Not really.
Do I understand the necessity of it?
Entirely. Milo will be punished for his crimes, and that’s all that counts.
As the thought crosses my mind, I shiver. Deep inside. Not because I’m cold but because these feelings are so alien to me.
Vengeance. It’s never been my thing, and yet, the last two cases I’ve worked on, David’s and now Charles’s, I had to actively involve myself in avenging their spirits. I’ve never done that before. I’ve always managed to stay on the outskirts, helping the police if they’d listen, and giving the family or loved ones as much information as I could.
Up until now, they’ve called me ghost detective, and I hated it, but I guess ghost avenger would be more fitting. My bottom lip trembles in horror at what I’ve been a party to, but my sense of justice is unequivocal. The contrast has me shivering.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Kenna murmurs, sidling up to me beside the window. Together, we watch the Learjet with Marla and her estranged husband, Prince Al-Alaniz, fly off into the sunset.
Literally, not metaphorically.
In truth, I hope they get a divorce. I hope that I read about it in the papers at some point in the future. I hope I don’t read about her being dumped in some psych ward.
“I’m scared,” I tell Kenna, after staying silent for a few minutes. Processing everything that’s happened in these past few days is difficult. More difficult than I can say because I’ve had to deal with situations I’ve never handled before.
I consider myself fortunate that this is the first ghost who’s actively shared information about his abuse with me. In the past, they’ve always been quiet about those times. But for Charles? I got the sense he was purging himself. Ridding himself of the poison.
I can only hope that it’s enough, that we’ve done enough to free him from this plane of existence.
I wish I knew what was on the other side, but I don’t. I have no idea. It could be worse than this, and yet, it could be a million times better.
For his sake, I hope it’s the latter.
“Why are you scared?” Kenna asks, turning her back on the view to stare at me.
“Because I don’t trust him.” I cup my elbows, hugging myself a little. “I want to believe that he’ll do right by Marla, but I don’t know if he will. He’s too proud. His culture’s reared him to be a certain way, and no matter how ill Marla is, what she did, the lies she told, that situation is always going to be there.”
“He cared. In the helicopter, I mean. He showed real signs of giving a damn,” she tries to reassure me.
“I saw that too, but I don’t know if it’s enough to keep her safe. Maybe we were better off leaving her here. We have no idea where he’s taking her.”
“No, we don’t, but Milo is being dealt with, isn’t he?”
I jerk a shoulder, indescribably gloomy at that moment. “We hope he is. We think he is.”
“He’s on that plane, Jayce. And Marla doesn’t know he’s on board, so they’ve secreted him on there.”
“How do you know Marla doesn’t know he’s on board?”
Kenna shrugs a slim shoulder. “I made sure of it. I listened long enough to find out what was happening, because I knew you’d be ill at ease.”
“Did you hear the flight plans?”
“I know the ultimate destination is Riyadh. I heard the pilots making confirmation reports with air traffic control.”
“I guess that’s something. May
be he’ll take care of her.”
“He was being kind to her when I was watching, Jayce.”
I eye her, filled with hope. “Truly?”
She nods. “He was. I could tell he wasn’t used to it. But he was trying. She’s delicate. Stunned that he’s here, and I’d say she’s a little star struck. For all that’s happened, I can imagine her hoping they’ll get back together. On his part, I don’t know. She’s a beautiful woman, but like you said, she lied to him. And not just about something little, either. Things like purity and virginity are important to a man like him. Then for her to turn up pregnant with another man’s child?” Kenna huffs out a breath. “It couldn’t be much worse, but he was treating her gently. That’s all we can hope for at the moment.”
I bite my lip, think about what she said, and eventually nod. She’s right. Unless... “Any sign of Charles?”
“He wasn’t on the plane.”
“You said he hangs out in his old room, right?”
Kenna murmurs, “Yes. She kept it like a shrine.”
“See if he’s there for me, would you? I’ll visit him if he is.”
She winks out of existence, then returns. “He’s there.”
I let out a dissatisfied breath. “Damn.”
“Give it time. These things aren’t miracles.”
“I know. I was just hoping he’d have crossed over.”
“Maybe he’s waiting to talk to you.”
Knowing she could be right, I ask her for directions, but as his room is down the hall, I can’t get lost. She stays behind, as do Casper and David who are busy watching ‘The Donald’ in some press conference on the TV Marla had brought in for us.
I head down the corridor to Charles’s bedroom. Fourth on the left, Kenna told me, and I make it there easily. Knocking, I don’t wait for an invitation mostly because Charles might ignore it. When I step inside, I see what Kenna meant.
It’s a shrine to the nth degree.
It’s a kid’s bedroom, turbocharged. A bed shaped like a sports car, basketball hoop in one corner with a mini court underneath it. A walk in closet peeks out at me from another corner, but beside the door and looking out onto a pool in the backyard, there’s a desk.
It’s as neat as a pin and looks like it would be ready for an occupant at any given moment.
I saw Charles lying flat out on the bed the minute I stepped in. I have to admit, this room is cool, and I want to nose around. It’s like Richie Rich’s room.
Awesome as fuck!
I walk over to his desk and drag out the chair. Before I start to pull it over to the bed, I see sheets of paper on the surface and feel a pang deep in my chest. His homework. His books. His writing. They’re all there. Some of it graded, a textbook left open where he’d been reading it before he died.
Christ.
Marla really put herself through the wringer in here.
Gulping, because the sight has made me a little teary-eyed, I drag the chair to the side of the sports car. It’s incongruous, really. A kid young enough to love this kind of bed, but old enough to be doing that level of homework.
Childhood is so short, I realize. Too short to be wasting it on schoolwork all the damned time.
“I’m still here,” Charles murmurs when I take a deep breath and settle into the seat.
“Yes.” What can I say? I’m talking to him, so he’s sure as hell here.
“You said I would pass over now.”
“I said you might.”
He tilts his head, and though his eyes are dead in a sense, to me they burn hotly with emotion. Emotion that is far too adult for this small boy’s face.
“Will he pay?”
“I hope so.”
“Kenna said he was on the plane with mother and my stepfather.”
“Yes.”
“She also said they’re on their way to Riyadh.”
“It depends on the nature of your stepfather, I suppose. If he’s a vindictive man...”
“Which we know he is. He couldn’t forgive my mother her mistake.”
I concede that with a slight nod. “True. So, a man of his nature is likely to seek vengeance. He didn’t claim you as his own, but Marla said he made sure you were provided for with a separate allowance. He paid for your schools and sent gifts.”
“I’d have preferred his attention. I’d have preferred for him to have forgiven mother.”
“He’s a powerful man, Charles. Men like that don’t appreciate being conned, and though I agree, his punishment was extreme, Marla did lie to him.” I let out a sigh. “That’s in the past. The future is what counts.”
“I want him to suffer.”
No guessing at who him was. “I know. I do too.”
“Maybe I won’t pass over until whoever brought me to this existence senses he’s been punished.”
“Or maybe it’s time for you to let go.”
“How do I that?” he spits, rearing into a sitting position. He puts his back to the wall and brings his knees to his chest. “How am I supposed to let go of what he did to me?”
“Because if you don’t, you’ll be left here. All alone.” I hesitate. “I was surprised when Kenna told me you hadn’t gone with your mother. You could have, you know.”
“I know. I thought about it,” he tells me sullenly. “But I’ve had enough of following her around.”
“So, what? You’re just going to haunt this place for the rest of time? All because you can’t let go? Who’s being punished if you do that, Charles? You. That’s who. I don’t like you, you know that—”
“And you know I don’t like you either,” he snits.
I concede that with a bow of my head. “We don’t have to like each other to want the same thing though, Charles. I don’t want you to be alone, and I don’t want you to suffer anymore.” I bend over and rest my elbows on my knees. Letting my head hang heavy, I tell him, “I’ll bind you to me if you’d like it. Like I’ve done David? It will wear off with time, but I can take you from here. You were bound to your mother, and would have been able to travel with her without anything else. But without her, you’re stuck in this place. I can change that.”
“I don’t want to go with you.”
That didn’t come as a surprise. I don’t want him to come with me either, but want is a multi-faceted verb. It’s not simply black and white.
“I know you don’t. But you’ll be left here, Charles. I don’t want that for you.”
“I want to cross over,” he tells me tiredly. “I don’t like it here. It’s cold.”
As he did when he told me about what Milo did to him, he sounds young. Every one of the years he’d passed on Earth as a living child. “I know,” I tell him, feeling my lips start to quiver. Hurt for him floods me. “I know it is. Kenna’s told me. Look for warmth, Charles. Head toward it as much as you can. You were loved on this plane, child. Your mother didn’t manage to protect you from Milo, and if she knew the truth, it would eat her alive. But she loved you. She loved you so deeply that your passing has ruined her life. It’s destroyed her. That’s how much she loved you. Embrace those memories of her love and break free from the ties Milo’s had you clinging to in this realm.”
He gulps. “I don’t know what I’m looking for.”
Another ghost, a dead mobster once told me, right before he crossed, that it was the white light they talked about in movies and books. I have no way of knowing if it’s the same for every ghost, but I say to Charles, repeat myself, “Just head toward color, toward warmth.”
He nods. “I’ll try.”
Another sigh escapes me. “Drake and I will be here until tomorrow evening. The plane comes for us then. I’ll come and check on you before we leave, so stay here. If you’re not here, I’ll know you’ve crossed over, but if you change your mind about bonding, come to me. I will bring you to New York with us.”
“I— Thank you, Jayce. I know you’ve tried for me.”
My smile is tight. “I did, Charles. More than you know. B
ut, it’s up to you now. I pray that you pass and can finally rest in peace.”
I get to my feet and return the chair to its original place. Stepping toward the door, I look at the shrine Marla made for her son, look at the boy himself, and let out a deep breath.
“Goodbye, Charles.”
“Goodbye, Jayce.”
I turn and leave the room, abandoning the boy to a future where I won’t know what happens to him. I pray he finds release.
Returning to our rooms, emotion starts to build up inside my chest, so powerful and so strong, it makes me shiver as I stagger into the sitting area.
The ghosts are there, but Drake isn’t.
I need him.
Christ, how I need him.
Chapter Thirteen
Drake
“Why did you bring him here?” Marla snarled at me, terror trembling down her limbs until she was visibly shaking before me. “You’ve ruined everything.”
The words still echo in my head even as I watch Marla fly off, destination unknown.
It was too soon for her to go. She’d only admitted, moments before her husband’s arrival, to being in any way unhappy with her life.
No wonder she was unable to compute what was happening.
She knows nothing of the good we achieved today. Doesn’t know her son might finally find peace because we uncovered his abuser’s existence, and that man will be punished for his crimes.
She doesn’t know the lengths we went to, to help her. All it seems like to her is we sold her out to the man who dumped her here in the first place.
Guilt consumes me until my head aches with the pain of it.
I’m too involved with my patients. It’s always been a problem. But since David’s passing, it’s a situation that’s grown worse. Now, I understand the pain. I’ve lost family, my brother, my parents… but David was the first to truly affect me. Not that I didn’t grieve after my parents or brother’s passing, but it wasn’t the same.
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