Twice Cursed

by Marianne Morea

  “Remember when I said I wasn’t sure if my talents ran toward channeling?”

  “Yeah…” he answered cautiously.

  “Ding. Ding. Ding.”

  Martinez took a step forward and stood next to Lily. “Here? Now?”

  “Yup.”

  Lily slid her eyes to the side expecting to see the detective’s face blanch. Instead, he looked quizzical.

  “Are you all right? Do you hear something too?” she whispered.

  His shook his head, again. “Not a thing.”

  “Hey! I’m over here, there’s no need to whisper…”

  Lily slid her gaze back to the front. The ghost stood next to the cadaver tray, a young man, his face pale and translucent white. He was so young, it broke her heart. Way too young to have been involved in all this. “Um… Who are you?”

  “Patrick Quinn Kelly.”

  Lily sucked in a breath. “It’s the Kelly kid,” she whispered to Martinez, and felt him stiffen beside her.

  She took a step forward, keeping her movements slow and non-threatening. Outside of Terry, she didn’t have much experience with talking to the dead, but the kid looked scared and as ludicrous as it sounded, she didn’t want to frighten the ghost further.

  “Patrick, can you tell us what happened in the bar? Can you remember?” Lily’s heart clenched at the regret that shadowed his pale, translucent face. His wounds were raw and puckered, even in his ethereal form, but the terror that had hit Lily in the gut earlier was gone. There was no trace of physical pain, either, only a pervasive sadness and regret.

  “Tell my mother I didn’t mean it,” he said, flickering in and out. “I never meant to hurt anyone…it…it got out of control.”

  “Didn’t mean what? Patrick, wait,” Lily said, reaching out as if she could touch him, help him.

  “What? What’s he saying?” Martinez’s eyes flicked back and forth between Lily and the blank space on the other side of the gurney.

  “Please…” The ghost said, placing a hand on Lily’s forearm, making the hair on her arm stand on end. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do; where I’m supposed to be…” he trailed off, his face a mask of fear and uncertainty.

  “Tell my mother I’m sorry. I should have listened to her…I never did. Tell her I love her…” He dropped his head. A glistening tear dripped from his cheek, disappearing into nothing as it fell toward the gurney.

  The fluorescent lights above them flickered and popped, and the air crackled subtly with electricity. The ghost turned abruptly, and Lily’s gaze followed his toward the back of the room. “Something’s coming…” His voice cracked with panic. He took a step and then turned back. “Don’t forget,” he said, and then vanished.

  “No!” Lily yelled, banging her hand down on the stainless tray. “God, I hate when they do that! One magnanimous, all-encompassing statement and then poof, they disappear.”

  “He’s gone? For good? Did he say anything about the attack?”

  Lily shook her head, raising her hand in frustration. “I don’t know.”

  “What does that mean? You said ‘an all-encompassing statement’. Does that mean he told you who did this?”

  Lily shook her head.

  “Then would you mind telling me exactly what he did say?” Martinez asked, his voice rising.

  Lily’s shoulders slumped. She turned to face him, knowing full well he expected more than what she was about to tell him. “He wanted me to tell his mother he loves her.”

  Martinez blinked. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “Detective. He was just a kid. He’s disoriented. I’m not even sure he knows he’s dead, let alone where he is, and I’d bet dollars to donuts he doesn’t remember what happened—at least, not in any kind of cohesive way.”

  They stood in awkward silence for a moment. Ryan nonplussed, and Lily not knowing what else to say.

  “Doesn’t matter, anyway,” she said, shoving her hand through her hair. “Ghosts are historically unreliable. Their perception is skewed by their own personal unfinished business, and you can never tell if the clues they give you pertain to the questions you ask, or to some random memory.” Exhaling, her breath fogged out into the cold from the open refrigerated unit. “It’s better if we do this the old fashioned way.”

  Lily rested her hand on the body’s “Y” incision, just above the heart. Immediately, her shoulders hunched and she gagged, her senses overwhelmed by the smell of booze and blood. Disjointed images flash through her mind: Patrick sliding a c-note across to a bartender, a private room, drugs, sex and…

  Lily’s eyes flew open and she jerked her head around toward the detective’s waiting gaze.

  “Jesus Christ, what now?”

  Lily’s gut matched the apprehension she read on Martinez’s face. If what she sensed was true, they were in for a shit load of trouble. Her eyes met his. “We need to go to the crime scene. Now.”

  ***

  Lily looked at Ryan’s profile as he wound his way through midday traffic. The man had high cheekbones and a strong jaw, with a tiny cleft in the center of his chin. Two dimples graced his cheeks whenever he smiled, crinkling the area around his green eyes. He was dark haired and olive skinned, a model for the cliché of tall, dark and handsome. He was the complete opposite of Sean in every way, except for an unwitting sex appeal they both wielded with ease. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something familiar about the young detective, and it nagged at her every time he looked at her.

  He clicked the directional and glanced her way as he switched lanes. “You gonna tell me what spooked you so bad back in the freezer section?”

  Lily blew out a breath. “Not until I get a better handle on it. It’s too vague, but I’m hoping the crime scene will give me more precise residual impressions. Right now, I can’t be sure of anything. Images are often muddied. Besides whatever impressions I’m specifically looking for, I sometimes get snippets of entirely unrelated thought.”

  He shot her a look, taking his eyes off the road for a moment. “Are you saying there are variables that can skew the images you get from a victim’s corpse?”

  Impressed, Lily cocked her head to one side. “Very good, Detective, succinct and professional. But not to put too fine a point on it, yes. I once caught flashes from a movie a victim had seen with his girlfriend only hours before he was murdered. It made my job very difficult, to say the least, trying to sift through what memories were his and what belonged to the film.”

  “Jeez.”

  Lily exhaled softly, and rested her head back against the seat. “Exactly.”

  They drove the rest of the way in silence. Lily looked out the window, watching the lunchtime throng fill the sidewalks despite the cold. They were just people going about their daily business, unaware of the darkness lurking in the shadows, waiting for nightfall. Two months ago, she had been just as innocent. Unfortunately, if she was correct in her assumptions, the detective was in for just as rude an awakening.

  Horns blared as traffic merged past roadwork further choking the already congested streets. Lily ignored the noise. If her gut was right about what she sensed, then they were all in deep shit. She chewed on her bottom lip, weighing the options. How was she going to tell the cops she believed a vampire was at the root of all this mayhem? She knew vampires existed—but the average person? Not outside books and movies.

  According to Ryan, his boss wanted to make sure she wasn’t some kind of a kook. If this went badly, Shaw would have a field day, and she’d lose all her hard-earned credibility. This had the potential to be a lose-lose situation all the way around, but she’d be damned if she would allow that to happen without a fight.

  Blood bath. Phillips didn’t know how close to the truth he might be, and she prayed her gut was wrong. If what she suspected was even remotely true, then she needed to keep things quiet—at least until she called Sean.

  Ryan pulled his car to the side of the street and double-parked. Though CSI had finish
ed its initial investigation, the length of sidewalk outside the crime scene was still marked with yellow police tape, including the small section of asphalt covered in debris from the blown out bar. Uniformed officers were still on traffic patrol, directing cars away from the scene and keeping pedestrians moving along on the opposite side of the street.

  Lily opened the passenger door and squeezed out between the parked cars. Without so much as a nod, Ryan took her by the elbow, steering her across the street.

  “I don’t think I need to remind you how bad it would be for you spout off about ghosts or other weird shit at this point. For the time being, we keep this just between us.” Raising both eyebrows, he dropped his chin slightly. “Got it?”

  Lily blinked, tactfully disengaging her arm from his grip. “Detective, I’m a professional. In my line of work, discretion is not only good business, it’s a necessity.” Her answer was soft, but to the point.

  Outside the bar, officers manned the perimeter, but from what she discerned, there were no other detectives on site. Ryan flashed his badge, and the two crossed police barricade.

  Lily’s breath puffed out in front of her as she took in the exploded frontage and scattered debris.

  “Where do you want to start?” Ryan asked.

  Lily was silent for a moment, and then slowly shook her head. “The answers aren’t out here, that’s for sure.”

  She took a step toward the darkened bar, peering through the shattered doorway. A wall of stench hit her as soon as she stepped through the threshold, sending her body’s alarm systems into overdrive and her trace amount of Were blood racing through her veins, intrinsically registering the stench as dangerous.

  Ryan came in behind her. “CSI has been through here already, but they’ve asked that you not touch anything or disturb the scene. I suppose they’ll have to sift through all this again at some point if we come up empty.”

  She regarded him, her expression deadpan.

  “What?” When she raised one eyebrow at the essentially rhetorical question, he blew out his breath. “Okay…I get it. Just try not to touch too much. There’s a box of latex-free gloves in the squad car, if you want,” he said, raising one hand toward the door and letting it drop.

  Ignoring him, she walked further into the room, fragmented glass crunching under her boots with each step. She moved slowly, her attention pulling her across the room toward a pile of broken chairs. She squatted down, her reflection fragmented and distorted in the shattered pieces of the bar mirror lying amid the rubble.

  The silvered glass was jagged-edged, and clearly, razor sharp, but Lily picked up one of the larger shards, resting it gingerly against the flat of her palm. She curled her fingers over the edge and closed her eyes. The image of a young girl, her face, sharp planed and her body thin to the point of being gaunt, flashed through Lily’s mind. She was heavily made-up, and despite her youth, the girl’s eyes held a desperation so profound it made Lily’s heart clench. Pain, sharp and quick, raced up Lily’s arm, and she knew. This sad teenager was a heroine whore.

  She dropped the shard from her hand, letting it clatter to the floor, taking the image of the girl with it. But it was too late. She had opened the channel. Violence had left an imprint on the room so deep, that images bombarded Lily’s mind one after the other, hitting her like uppercuts to the stomach. She wrapped her arm around her middle, biting back on the feeling of vertigo.

  “Are you okay?” Ryan asked, putting his hand on her back.

  She sucked in a deep breath. “Yeah. It’s just a lot to process at once.”

  He frowned, pulling his hand away from her back. “This is nuts,” he mumbled, raking his fingers through his hair. “First, the freezer section freak show, and now this.” He pressed his lips together and glanced toward the exit. “We’re outta here. This isn’t working, and I’m not standing around with my thumb up my ass while you make yourself sick or whatever it is that’s happening to you.”

  She dragged in another breath, holding it for a moment as she composed herself. The detective was doubtless a Type A personality. With his jaw clenched, he looked as though he was ready to bolt. “Just give me a minute. I’ll be fine.”

  He made a face. “Maybe you just need a break, a cup of coffee or something…some fresh air,” he said, glancing toward the exit again.

  Lily moistened her dry lips, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Type A, definitely. “Trust me. I’m good. I just need to find my center.”

  Looking at his drawn expression, she couldn’t help but feel for him. He was completely out of his element, unfortunately, the only thing she could do was reassure him. “There’s no other way to do this, Detective, and besides, a hazmat team couldn’t clear away what I sense and smell.” She studied him for a moment. “You smell it too, don’t you?”

  He hesitated, giving her a cautious nod, before turning away. “I thought so,” she said, straightening up.

  Lily regarded him. He seemed upset, as if unsure of what he’d just revealed. So she waited, not saying a word, and when he turned back, his professional veneer was once again in place.

  With a nod, she took a deep breath through her mouth and exhaled. “Let’s get to work.”

  Careful not to touch too much, she picked her way through the bar. A green clock in the shape of a Heineken bottle dangled precariously above the dirty outline where the mirror had once hung. It was the only thing left untouched in the entire place. Lily stopped equidistant from where it hung, turning left, then right. “This room is not the epicenter. What happened here took place after the fact.”

  The stench of old blood and an underlying bitter tang, she knew but couldn’t place, grew stronger as she headed toward the back of the bar. She moved slowly, her stomach roiling with each step. The feeling of vertigo hadn’t subsided, and bile rose in her throat.

  Lily lurched forward and gagged, swallowing back on the sour taste. She gulped down air to quell the nausea, but the scent permeated everything, and she grabbed the edge of the broken bar for support.

  As soon as her hand made contact, the image of a fat man in a stained t-shirt, with a limp dishtowel tucked into his dirty apron, shot through her mind. Missing front teeth showed through a wheezy chuckle as he palmed money from the bar and signaled for two girls—one of them the same young girl from Lily’s previous vision. He watched, leering as the teenager coated her lips with bright orange lipstick, before slinking through a side door marked as private.

  “There.” Lily pointed from her half-hunched position. “That’s where it started.”

  Whatever remained of the private entrance now hung suspended by a single broken hinge. Ryan pulled on a pair of leather gloves and carefully maneuvered the door open for Lily to enter first. She stepped through the ruined threshold into what looked like the backroom to an illegal social club.

  Echoes of illicit partying and sex for hire lived in the air like noxious fumes. Amid the wreckage, a pool table sat dead center of the room splintered in half, its green felt shredded, and covered in dried blood and chalk dust.

  A slick coating now congealed to a red gelatinous state, covered the floor. It didn’t take much to envision the kind of blood loss necessary to saturate the floor to that point.

  Beads of sweat formed on Lily’s forehead and between her breasts. Ryan called to her, but his voice was thick in her ears. The room was spinning and she gagged again, more bile rising to the back of her throat.

  With her hand over her mouth, she held her breath, searching for an unobtrusive place to vomit. The last thing she wanted was her DNA mixed up with anything CSI might yet find.

  “Here,” Ryan said shoving a plastic bag her way.

  She grabbed the baggie and turned away, retching, until there was nothing left but dry heaves. Her back was to him while she waited for the last wave to pass.

  “This place is pretty ripe, despite how cold it’s been,” he said, handing her his handkerchief. “Sorry about that.”

 
; She wiped her nose and mouth. “Thanks,” she muttered, glancing back over her shoulder. Head down, she sucked in a ragged breath. “I think I threw up everything, including my dignity.”

  “It’s all part of the job,” he said with a shrug.

  Lily frowned, sealing the top of the zip-lock bag. “I suppose. This has never happened to me before. She glanced down at the contained mess in her hand and sighed. “Is it common practice for detectives to carry zip-locks around in their pocket? Not that I’m not glad you did.”

  His lips formed a lopsided smirk. “A lot of detectives carry them, for evidence or whatnot,” he said, lifting one shoulder and letting it fall. “But, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re not the first rookie to lose it at a crime scene, and you won’t be the last.”

  “So you think I’m a rookie? And here I thought experience was the key.”

  He laughed, folding his hands in front of his chest. “It is. That and how many times you’ve vomited behind the yellow tape.”

  “Ha! Leave it to men to quantify skill through bodily emissions,” she mumbled, resting the baggie on the floor by the door and wiping her hands once more on his handkerchief. “…and on that note, we’ve still got work to do.”

  Lily walked to the center of the room and stopped. She took a single cleansing breath and turned her body slowly, sending her senses out like a web. Images darted through Lily’s mind at high speed, but this time she was ready for them.

  Laughter. Drinking. Loud music. The room was in shambles, and its story played out in time with the kaleidoscope of color and noise that flashed its way through her mind.

  Along the wall, a wide rolling bar had been turned on its side, its chrome edges bent, and its frosted glass countertop and LED panels smashed. She reached out and slid her finger over what was left of the counter, bringing it to her tongue. A rush of euphoria flew through her veins, and she was numb. In a flash, there were crack pipes and methamphetamines, or Ice, as it was known on the street, piled high across the bar. The scenes were sordid, filled with images of drug-induced sex.