Murder Feels Crazy

by Bill Alive

  “MARK!”

  “Would you relax? I’m kidding, I’ll call the front desk and give the receptionist a pretext to come outside.”

  “I thought you couldn’t do that ‘pretext’ thing. Or lie. You should go in and I’ll do that part, I’m fine with lying.”

  “No.”

  “You’re the empath! You’d be able to tell if she got suspicious!”

  “No, I wouldn’t. I’d be incapacitated from an entire lobby’s worth of chronic agony.”

  “Fine, then shield, full strength,” I pleaded. “I just don’t know if I can do this by myself. You can’t get all avoidant, not now, you’re endangering the mission. This is how Ceci got hurt!”

  Mark’s glare blazed.

  Oops. I flinched, but it was too late now. “It’s true,” I said, “if you hadn’t been shielding you could have warned her, and she wouldn’t have gotten hurt—”

  “Were you planning on ever doing anything to solve these murders?” Mark snapped. “Or were you just going to leave it to the grownups?”

  Ouch. My cheeks flushed hot.

  I wanted to shout a whole long list of all the things I’d done to help.

  But nothing much really came to mind.

  He turned away and rested his hands on the steering wheel. “Sorry,” he muttered. “That’s not true.”

  “Thanks.”

  We sat in silence.

  Finally, he sighed. “Look, if you really think having me staggering in would help…” He grew thoughtful. “I don’t think it can actually kill me. There has to be some limit on what my pain receptors can process…”

  “Oh my gosh, forget it!” I said. “I don’t need to feel guilty on top of everything else.”

  But I already felt awful. No wonder Mark wanted to quit doing this. He was sitting there practically in agony, and I wasn’t even willing to endure a little fear. Okay, mild terror. But still.

  Was I really not doing anything to help?

  Screw that. I slammed out of the car.

  Ahead, in the twilight, the pain clinic entrance glared like the eye of Sauron. If the Eye wasn’t on fire. Just staring. And lethal.

  Clutched in my palm, the dark Stick of Power was slick with sweat.

  Chapter 35

  That long walk across the lot must have aged me six months. It almost felt that long, just me and my shaking body lurching step by tiny step. My thighs were literally cramping.

  I wonder if I’ll ever get used to breaking the law.

  On the other hand, is that really a lofty career goal? I’m not seeing the TED talk potential.

  (You know TED talks, right? Those self-help booster videos? I wonder if they’ll still be doing them in a hundred years, when high schoolers are forced to read these mysteries in English class. Ugh, that would be terrible. Kids hate those English books!)

  (Maybe I don’t really need to worry about that.)

  The pain clinic lobby was packed. Rows of patients sat crammed shoulder to shoulder, from a kid in a leg cast to an ancient woman sinking into a neck brace. A few were trying to chat, but most were wincing or trancing out. You didn’t have to be an empath to sense the waves of hurt.

  I felt a wave of gladness that I hadn’t dragged Mark in here. This place was empath kryptonite.

  Then I realized I’d forgotten why I was here. My thighs recramped.

  As fight-or-flight mode kicked in, my tunnel vision locked on target. At the front of the long room, the receptionist perched behind a wide desk like a hawk. Her eager eyes raced across the rows of prey.

  Flight mode won. I staggered to a seat between two stooped women who were groaning in stereo. I slunk down, mind churning, groping for my next move.

  The move was simple. Wait. Mark would call the hawk lady. Then I’d mosey on up to the empty desk.

  Right past all these people? Who would all instantly guess my nefarious plot? If they hadn’t already?

  Relax, I told my shuddering self. Don’t be paranoid. No one has any reason to even notice you’re here.

  “Sir?” snapped the hawk lady, in a piercing shrill. “Can I help you?”

  I jolted. Yes, she was staring at me.

  “Oh!” I improvised. “Um?”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  I cogitated visibly. “I don’t… think so.”

  She squawked with impatience. “Would you please come here?”

  I did. I felt like a C-minus kid walking his last mile to face an infinite long division on the chalkboard.

  But when I reached the desk, I saw it.

  The computer tower, humming away beneath the front desk.

  Behind the desk. Crap.

  How the hell was I supposed to reach the USB port on that thing?

  The receptionist was droning on about how they were so close to closing that Dr. Paul couldn’t possibly see me today, but if I filled out these intake forms… she handed me a clipboard with about an inch of paper.

  I glanced at the top form, and my eyes glazed over. Then I remembered I didn’t have to actually fill them out, and I felt such a surfer-sized wave of relief that, for a second, the whole commit-a-public-felony thing seemed relatively painless.

  Then the hawk lady cleared her throat.

  “Sir? You can do those at your seat.”

  “Oh. Ah. Thanks, but you know, I’ve been sitting for awhile.”

  “Sir?”

  “I can just fill them out here, right? No point in walking all the way back to that seat for, you know, a couple minutes…”

  Her eyes narrowed, glinting with suspicion.

  I held my ground. I glinted right back. (I assume.)

  I thought, if Mark doesn’t get this lady out of here, I can bail, right? Not my fault.

  The desk phone rang. Damn.

  She frowned, but she did pick up, listen… and then scowl, confused. “What’s the license plate? Are you sure? That’s my car!” She hung up, eyed me and muttered a crisp, “Excuse me,” and then clacked off toward the door.

  I watched her go, dumbstruck.

  My phone buzzed.

  hurry up, Mark had texted. she's checking her lights, won't be long.

  whoa! I texted. how'd you know her license? did you ask the kid?

  The return text was quicker than usual for Mark. Like, instant.

  JUST GO IDIOT.

  Right. The computer. The stick.

  And the room full of people with nothing to stare at but me.

  Okay, me and a TV blaring a perpetual news loop, but whatever. Same difference.

  My back prickled, as if from the tiny laser blast of every gaze. A horde of witnesses might be a weak spot in our plan.

  You can do this, I thought. Act nonchalant.

  “Oh, man!” I announced, casually loud. “Oh, wouldn’t you know it. My pen ran out! I wonder if she’s got a spare…”

  I considered popping around the back of the desk, but it seemed less suspicious to reach in from the front. Also, if I leaned this way, I wouldn’t have to face everyone, so I could keep telling myself they weren’t watching.

  But this theory deteriorated rapidly. Trying to jam a USB stick into a computer on the freaking floor involved leaning much further over the desk than I’d anticipated. The desk edges bit into my hip and ribs. I felt like my heels were about to fly over my head as I crashed in.

  Almost… almost… and it was in! Success!

  I huffed back up, and positioned myself at a corner of the desk where I could pretend to do the forms while I watched the screen

  Nothing was happening. Just an ordinary desktop screen.

  Crap.

  Then a little icon blipped at the bottom. USB drive recognized.

  “Yes!” I muttered.

  The message box blipped again. Please wait…

  “Damn!” I muttered.

  “Pete?” said a familiar woman’s voice from right next to me.

  I whipped to face her, my gut plummeting with dread.

  Yep. It was Ceci. />
  Chapter 36

  “What are you doing here, Pete?” Ceci said, with clear suspicion.

  “Me? Oh, you know, I keep hearing about this place, and ever since our only bar closed…”

  “The bar?”

  “Sure, I’m always looking for a new place to hack. Hang. Hang out, talk. Like this, you know, what we’re doing. This is great, chitchat. I like this place.” I nodded with vigorous approval.

  Her frown deepened. “This is a pain clinic.”

  “I know, right? That’s Back Mosby for you. How about you, why are you in here?”

  “I’m here to see Dr. Paul,” she said.

  Was I imagining, or had her cheeks flushed as she said that?

  On the other hand, this was very much not the time. Felony first, heartache later. I checked the screen, but the damn thing just said, READING DRIVE… do NOT remove drive…

  No progress bar, no nothing. Thanks, Kid. This thing might take another half hour, the Hawk Lady would be back any second, and now how was I supposed to deflect Ceci without torpedoing the last charred remains of our friendship?

  “I hope you’re not here to see Dr. Paul professionally,” I said, which sounded disturbingly like my mom. Again. Why was that becoming a thing? “You must be doing better, right? Walking around and everything?”

  “Thanks,” she said. “It’s good to be up, but I still can’t work yet. The pain’s still pretty bad.”

  “Oh no,” I said. “I would never have guessed! You look great!”

  She did look great. She didn’t usually wear makeup, but she was rocking it tonight. Different style, too; she was highlighting her eyes, which, as I am now 100% sure I have mentioned, multiple times, are quite pretty.

  She’d also leveled up her outfit. In the past, I may or may not have described her formal look as “anxious mom attending PTA meeting,” but she must have found some new Instagram channel or something. Tonight she was decked out in a loose light peasant shirt that sang with embroidery, and a flowing swishy skirt to match.

  (Sorry, future English class, Instagram was a thing. Crud, I bet it’s a joke now, like MySpace. Ugh. Well, or maybe “English class” turned out to be the joke…)

  At my compliment, Ceci looked surprised, which gave me another little stab of guilt. “Thanks,” she said, with caution.

  “No, really,” I said. “Last time I saw you, you were in a hospital bed. Now you’re like, all rocking the glam, ready to hit the clubs.”

  Not the most brilliant comment, especially since the only clubs Ceci would ever touch would probably involve golf. But I freely admit that the bulk of my limited brain power was focused on monitoring more lethal threats, i.e., the return of the receptionist and that damn neverending progress bar.

  Still, she looked pleased, even a little glowy. Which unfortunately made me feel safe enough to stop even trying for nuance.

  “Oh, hey,” I said. “Want to go bowling?”

  She frowned, confused. “You mean… like… go out…?”

  “With Mark and Gwen!” I said hastily.

  The glow vaporized.

  “I mean, they’re going out,” I said. “I think. But you and I can play on a separate lane if you want. I mean, I hate waiting so long between turns—”

  She sighed. “Pete, listen… it’s been a crazy couple of weeks—”

  “I know! Are you driving again yet?” I said. “If not, you can ride over with us. Mark’s outside, we can wait here till you get your pills or whatever.”

  Thinking of Mark brought back the whole hacking-the-bad-guy bit, and I checked the screen. READING DRIVE… do NOT remove drive… damn it.

  “Ride over with you right now?” Ceci said. “This bowling thing is tonight?”

  “Uh… yes.”

  “And you didn’t think to ask me until this second? When you randomly ran into me? Why didn’t you call?”

  “Oh,” I said. Despite my dwindling brain power, I did just manage not to say, I didn’t call because I couldn’t bear to hear you laughing so much with some other guy, even though I know he’s probably better for you, except, maybe not, since here I am hacking his network to see whether he hired a hit man…

  Ceci wasn’t done. “And now you expect me to just drop everything and do whatever you’re doing?”

  “No! Sorry!” I said. “I didn’t think you’d be super busy! You’re healing from a back injury.”

  “So you invite me bowling?”

  “Crap,” I said. “Okay, yes, that’s pretty dumb. I guess we thought you’d be better.”

  “Why? How would you even know? You only visited me one time! Because Gwen was already coming!”

  “That’s not why.”

  “Then why? Where have you been?”

  Trying not to fricking wreck your life, I wanted to shout. But was that even true? If I wanted to stay friends, what the hell kind of best friend drops off the radar when you’re laid up and in pain?

  “Sorry,” I said, and I turned away and stared at my shoes. I couldn’t look at her anymore anyway, this Prettified Ceci with mysterious allure. The last thing we needed right now was the confusion of another beauty rush… and it kind of hurt that part of me apparently appreciated makeup so much.

  “Really? That’s it?” she said. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

  “We’ve been doing this case…” I started, but it sounded so lame I couldn’t finish. “Look, I really am sorry.”

  I was still staring at my fascinating footwear, so when she spoke, the chill in her voice caught me off guard.

  “I don’t understand, Pete,” she said. “And what are you doing here?”

  “Filling out his entry forms,” snapped the hawk lady receptionist. “And taking all night.”

  I jolted. How the hell had I not seen her? She had stealth-slipped right back behind her desk.

  Crap crap crap, I thought, eyeing the USB stick that now lurked inches from the woman’s pantyhosed shin. Maybe she won’t notice.

  Ceci glared at me, her gaze stabbing me with fresh suspicion and hurt. “Pete?” she said.

  But the receptionist was already squinting at the screen. “PLEASE REMOVE DRIVE,” she read. “What drive?” She pushed back, looked down, and yanked out the dark stick. “Where did this come from?”

  “Oh, I think that was there, totally,” I babbled.

  The hawk eyes lasered into my own poor soft corneas. Watch me have to get contacts. “I don’t remember seeing it,” she said.

  “Oh, I know I saw it,” I said. “At least I think so. Can I see it up close?”

  I snatched the stick away and pretended to give it a thoughtful scrutiny.

  Now Ceci’s spidey senses were clearly blaring a Full Red Alert. “Pete,” she bit out, talking with the slow maddened patience you use with a recalcitrant toddler, “why are you getting an appointment here?”

  I shrugged this off. One crisis at a time. “You know, maybe this isn’t the one I saw after all,” I said.

  “There was another one?” the hawk lady asked.

  “Wasn’t there?” I said. “Or is that the one you don’t remember seeing?”

  “I don’t remember seeing anything!”

  “I guess you’re right,” I said, and pocketed the stick.

  “Hold on!” she snapped. “I’ll need that back.”

  “Need what back?”

  “That thing you just put in your pocket!”

  “Sorry?” I said.

  “That computer thing! I just handed it to you!”

  “I’m sorry, I’m a little confused,” I said. “Do you know what she’s talking about, Ceci?”

  I turned to Ceci with a mask of calm but, I hoped, beseeching eyes.

  Ceci frowned, hesitating.

  The receptionist must have misread that hesitation as doubt. “This is ridiculous!” she spluttered. “I know what I saw! I have the eyes of a hawk!”

  At that moment, I finally got an inspiration.

  With a voice of practical
ly adult concern, I said, “Ma’am, don’t take this the wrong way, but… are you currently taking any medications?”

  She blanched.

  I lay the clipboard gently on the table. “Maybe I’ll postpone this decision for now.”

  The hawk lady wilted in fearful defeat.

  Tingling with victory, I turned to give Ceci a glance of gratitude.

  But Dr. Paul was kissing her cheek.

  “You’re kissing? Already?” I blurted.

  Now the entire room really did stare. My tingles flashed to the burn of shame.

  “Mr. Villette!” Dr. Paul said, with a cordial, muscular smile in his lean cheeks. “Ceci’s told me so much about you!”

  “Really?”

  “No.” The smile soured to a smirk.

  “Milton!” Ceci snapped.

  Dr. Paul grinned, flaunting perfect wolfish teeth, and I realized two key facts. One, the guy had his arm around Ceci’s waist, his strong fingers pressing into her pretty thin shirt. Two, he really might have hired a hit man. Or shot a man himself.

  Ceci was frowning at his jibe… but her eyes were still shining.

  Something passed between them. He won. I was out. A thousand miles away.

  Ceci sensed it too. She flicked me a look of true sadness.

  “Please excuse us,” Dr. Paul said. “I’d love to chat, but we need to hurry or Mistique will have my head.”

  “Who’s Mistique?” I said, hopeful.

  “My chef. She’s a sweet old woman, but she’ll take it quite personally if we let the foie gras get cold.”

  They actually did have plans for a fancy French dinner. Unbelievable.

  “Ah,” I said. “No bowling tonight, then?”

  I know that sounds lame, but trust me, in the moment, it sounded worse.

  Ceci flinched. “No. Sorry, Pete. Not tonight.”

  “Tonight we have… other plans,” rumbled Dr. Paul, with a look of high significance.

  Ceci tried to scoff, but her cheeks bloomed, and her eyes flicked wide, and I swear her pupils dilated.

  “Maybe another time,” Dr. Paul said. “We’ll be in touch.”

  And he walked off down the aisle like a proud groom, flanked by the rows of his devoted patients, with Ceci close and leaning on his arm.