Medium Chris Wilson is used to the dead, but the living Derek Brandt is her biggest challenge yet. As they hunt for his brother's killer, the wall between skeptic and believer begins to crumble. In a house full of restless spirits, their uneasy alliance might just become the one thing they can't live without.
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At nightfall, Ron stepped through the front door onto the porch and waited for Joe to join her. “You ready?” she asked once he appeared.
“Yep. You sure you got this?”
“I ought to. I studied the heck out of that picture on the police website. I’ve got a pretty good picture of where we’re going.”
“All right, then. Let’s go.”
Ron took his hand. “Just like last time. Don’t let go.”
He smiled. “Never in my life.” Then his smile wavered and he added, “Well, you know what I mean.”
She squeezed his hand. Then she closed her eyes and focused on their destination. When she opened them again, she and Joe both stood in the parking lot of the police station, looking at the building from the exact angle at which the photo had been taken.
More specifically, they stood in the middle of a police cruiser parked in that spot. Thankfully, this didn’t work like the transporter beams on Star Trek, and their insubstantial nature prevented them from actually becoming one with the police car.
They both removed themselves from the car. “Where to now?” asked Joe.
“Inside.”
“Do you know where inside?”
Ron shrugged. “Wherever it is they keep the case files, I guess.”
“And do you know where that is?”
“Not a clue. Guess we’ll have to look for it like actual living people.”
“Well then.” Joe offered her a little bow and a wave of his hand. “After you.”
The station was busier than Ron had expected at this time of night, although she supposed it made sense that business would pick up here after dark. Both police and civilians bustled in and out through the front doors. There was no need for her and Joe to go around people as they made their way inside, but they did anyway, because walking through people felt oogy.
Passing right through the sergeant’s desk, on the other hand, was no problem. They soon made their way to a room full of desks and people, both in uniform and plain clothes, doing apparent police-related work.
Joe pointed to the right. “Looks like the jail’s that way.”
“Let’s check back here.” Ron led the way toward the back where peeking through some walls led them to a big room full of file boxes and stuff that looked like evidence. “Okay, so where do they keep the cold cases?”
“Beats me. In my day, the local police station was one room with a couple of jail cells.”
“Well, welcome to crime prevention in the twenty-first century. Let’s split up. We can cover more ground that way.”
With a nod, Joe headed to the back of the large storage room. Ron turned to examine the shelf nearest her, hoping to get her bearings and at least figure out what section she was in. The drug paraphernalia covering the shelves told her she probably wasn’t where she wanted to be.
A few aisles over, she found rows upon rows of neatly stacked filing boxes, which looked more promising. She pried the lid off of one to look at the contents and found files relating to a case from 1984. This must be the cold case files, then. Examining the box labels made it evident that the cases were filed by year, but each was assigned a case number instead of the victim’s name. She decided to focus on finding the right year and cross the next bridge when she came to it.
She made her way to the end of the ‘80s when Joe called out, “Found something!”
In a flash, Ron stood at his side, looking at a wall of boxes labeled with the right year. “Think it’s one of these?” he asked.
“Most likely. Good job, honey!”
He beamed as she patted him on the back. Then she reached out and grabbed a lid. “Guess we just have to check each box until we find the right one.”
Joe nudged her. “Um, Ron?”
“What?”
“Have you noticed we’re not alone?”
“What?” She looked up at him. Then she followed his gaze to the end of the row, where several sets of phantom eyes watched them. More shapes milled about behind, some barely more than shadows. Ron stepped closer to Joe and whispered, “Do you think those are victims or perpetrators?”
“Not sure I want to find out.” He nodded toward the stacks. “Let’s find what we came for and get out of here.”
After a few minutes of searching together, Ron pried open a box and pulled out a file with a name she recognized. “I think I found it.”
They had to concentrate and focus their energy, but together, they managed to pull the box off the shelf and onto the floor. The box felt light. But moving it, combined with the effort involved in searching and traveling there in the first place, took more energy than Joe was used to exerting in such a short time. He began to lose solidity. “Do you need to go home?” Ron asked. “It’s okay if you do. I’ve got this.”
He glanced around at their company. So far, nobody had made any moves to approach them. Most didn’t even seem to be aware of their presence. Ron wondered whether they were intelligent spirits or simply apparitions attached to pieces of evidence. “I’m not leaving you alone here,” said Joe.
“Okay, but rest. I can do this.”
The box’s contents were disappointingly paltry. A file folder held the police report, the detective’s notes, and a description of the stolen gun. There was no physical evidence. There really hadn’t been much to go on.
She put the papers back in the folder and managed to put the empty box back on the shelf. She was getting tired herself, but she could rest for a while once she handed the files off to Chris. For all the good it would do. “I guess we’ve got what we came for. We should get back.”
“You sure this’ll work?”
Ron shrugged. “Not really. I’ve never transported a solid object like this before. All we can do is try. Ready?”
Joe stared intently at her. “Maybe we shouldn’t head out just yet.” Ron opened her mouth to ask what his deal was when she realized he wasn’t staring at her, but past her. She turned and jumped at the sight of a man standing not more than a foot away from her. She moved to Joe’s side and he put a protective arm around her. “Can we help you?” he asked.
“You…you’re like me?” the young man asked them. Tall and way too skinny to look healthy, his reddish-blond hair stuck up in every direction and his face was covered with freckles and acne scars. He had the hollowed out eyes of a drug addict. Ron would put his age when he died around twenty.
“What do you want?” she asked him.
He nodded to the file she was holding. “That’s the kid’s file. Jimmy.”
“You knew Jimmy?” When he simply looked at the floor in silence, she amended her question. “Did you kill Jimmy?”
That got a response. He looked up at her, his eyes wide, and shook his head emphatically. “I didn’t kill him! I never killed no one.”
“But you were there.” She recognized his voice from Jimmy’s vision. “You know who did.”
Still shaking his head, he broke eye contact and looked at the floor. “That wasn’t supposed to happen. Nobody was supposed to get hurt. Not like that.”
“What was supposed to happen?” asked Joe, but Jimmy’s attacker just continued to stare silently at the floor.
“What’s your name?” Ron asked him. No answer. “Look,” she began, taking a step toward him, but Joe placed a hand on her arm, gently holding her back.
“Your partner that night,” he said. “Is he dead, too? Is he here?”
“No,” said the ghost. “He got busted for selling weed and his dad sent him to get straightened out. Erased his record. Now he’s a real upstanding citizen. At least, that’s what he wants people to think.”
“What does that mean?” asked Ron.
Their skinny friend scoffed. “How do you think I got here?” He held out his arms as if to indicate his present state of non-being. “You think he didn’t do this, me knowing what he did to that kid?”
“Tell us his name,” said Joe. “We’ll see to it that he’s brought to justice.”
“Nah, man. I ain’t no snitch.”
“Seriously?” Ron pulled her arm out of Joe’s grip and took that step forward. “The jerk killed you. You’re dead. Nobody can hurt you if you tell. Nobody’ll even know.”
“He’ll know. And what if he gets the death penalty or something? What do you think he’ll do to me if he gets to this side?”
Joe moved next to Ron. “If you tell us who he is, we can help you move on. Cross over to the other side. He won’t be able to touch you there, ever.”
This elicited a laugh, and not a happy one. “Right, man. Where do you think I’m headed if I leave here? You think what’s waiting for me on the other side is all angels and light and stuff?” He waved his hands in a “get out” gesture. “I’ll take my chances here, dig?”
“Yeah,” said Joe. “I dig.”
“I don’t.” Ron advanced on the other ghost. “You know what I think? I think this is your second chance. And it’s the only one you get. One chance to think of somebody other than yourself for once in your miserable existence. And then maybe, just maybe, it will be ‘angels and light’ for you on the other side. Now tell us his name!”
He backed away from her and looked at Joe. “Control your woman, dude!”
“Oh, you son of a—” Ron raised her fist, but before she could get any further, he faded out of sight.
“Ron,” Joe murmured behind her.
“Coward!” she shouted at the ceiling, hoping the skinny loser could still hear her.
“Ron!” Joe shouted. She spun around and found him fading fast. “I think we’re done here,” he managed, his voice weak.
Swearing, Ron grabbed his hand. “Let’s get you home.”
She closed her eyes and hoped she still had enough energy for the both of them to make the trip, along with the file folder she still held. When she opened her eyes again they were safe in their attic. Joe collapsed on the sofa and she joined him. She needed to rest a bit before she headed off to find Chris.
“Son of a biscuit eater,” she muttered.
“Hey, cheer up.” Joe sounded like it took a lot of effort to speak. “It wasn’t a total loss.”
“Yes, it was. There’s nothing useful in this file, and we didn’t learn anything from that jerk.”
“Sure we did. We know what he looks like. And we know that Jimmy’s attackers were teenagers at the time. That’s more than we had before.”
Ron looked at him—or tried to. He’d gone so dim, she could barely make out his outline on the sofa. “You’re right. You did good tonight, babe. Now rest.”
She couldn’t tell if he closed his eyes, but his silence told her he was happy to comply. With a sigh, she set the file folder on the table and leaned back to rest beside him. He really was right. If Derek could put her and Chris in touch with a sketch artist, they’d have a good chance of identifying the mystery ghost. That would be their biggest lead yet. It wasn’t much. But it was something.
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