Kindred Spirits

by Jean Marie Bauhaus

  “Oh, that’s right. We still have to pick up the supplies.” She looked at Chris. “You and Derek are welcome to come.”

  “Thanks.” Chris smiled. “We already have plans.”

  Derek returned to the table just as the waiter brought the bill. He surprised Chris by reaching for it, but her dad beat him to it. “My treat,” he said. “After all, I’m the one who called this little meeting here today.”

  “Thanks,” said Derek. “That’s generous of you.”

  “That’s being a dad.” He winked at Chris as he took out his wallet and removed a few bills. He stuffed them inside the black folder with the bill and laid it back on the table. “Tell the waiter to keep the change. Derek, it was nice meeting you.” He held out his hand.

  Derek reached across the table and shook it. “You too, sir.”

  Chris got up to hug her dad and plant a kiss on his cheek. “Drive safely.”

  “Will do.” As soon as he released her and stepped back, another pair of arms flung themselves around her.

  “It was so great to meet you,” Marsha said, squeezing her a bit too tightly.

  “Oh! Um, you too.” Chris patted her awkwardly on the back, then withdrew herself from the hug.

  “We’ll have to do this again soon. Hey, maybe you two can come down to Dallas sometime. I can show you my design studio.”

  “Sounds great.” Chris did her best to sound sincere.

  “Looking forward to it,” said Derek, doing a better job of it.

  “Great! Bye!” She gave them both a little wave before turning away. Chris’s dad nodded to them both, then put a hand on Marsha’s back and ushered her out.

  Chris plopped back in her chair with a loud sigh. Then she took a big gulp of her margarita.

  Derek waited, watching, until she was done. “Everything okay?”

  “It’s fine. You know, family stuff. I’m so sorry for dragging you into the middle of it. I owe you big time.”

  “Hey, with everything you’re doing for my family, I’m the one who owes you.”

  “Okay, you really need to stop that.”

  Derek’s eyebrows lifted. “Stop what?”

  She waved a hand at him, as though it should be obvious. “That! Being so…”

  “So…what? Annoying?”

  “No. So great. Could you just stop that, please?”

  He stared at her like he couldn’t decide whether she’d had too much tequila or simply lost her mind. Then he let out a little laugh, tucked his chin, and looked at her from beneath his lashes in a way that revived all the flutters. If he tries to kiss me right now, I’m done for.

  But instead, he said, softly, “You first.”

  She had half a mind to reach over the table, grab him by the collar, and plant one on him right there. She was saved by the waiter, who came by to clear their plates and pick up the check. It gave her enough time to refocus her gaze on the empty tablecloth in front of her and pull herself together. Reminder to self: booze and being alone with this guy? Bad combo.

  “Look, Derek,” she said once the waiter left, “I like you.”

  “I like you too, Chris. I’m pretty sure you know that already.”

  She smiled. She’d been denying it, but she knew how stupid that was. Even so, it felt nice to hear him say it.

  “However,” he said, “I sense a ‘but.’”

  She nodded, still looking at the table instead of at him. “But.” She forced her gaze up and looked him in the eye. “I think we should keep this about helping Jimmy.”

  The smile that played on his lips fell. It was his turn to look at the table. “Okay. If that’s really what you want, I’ll respect it. But when Jimmy’s gone and this is over?” He looked at her and leaned closer. “If you expect us just to go our separate ways, I’m going to need a reason.”

  Chris let her gaze drift down to his lips, which were so close. She would only have to lean forward a few inches to find out how they tasted and felt. She forced her gaze back to his eyes, but he closed them and leaned back. “I’m an idiot,” he said, propping his elbow on the table and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Of course the reason’s obvious.”

  “It is?”

  “My story. You’re still hurt by it.”

  “No, I’m not. Really. I’d actually forgotten about it, with all that’s happened since.”

  He looked at her, but he seemed skeptical. “I talked to my boss earlier about doing a correction next time I go on air. I even suggested doing a story on you—a legitimate piece, looking at how you operate.

  “But now you’re on vacation.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is that a permanent vacation, or…”

  “Three weeks. I had the time saved up. My boss basically said I could take it or take a suspension instead.”

  “Ow. I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not your fault. I”m the one who keeps screwing up.”

  “That didn’t really seem to be a problem for you before you met me, though.”

  “That’s because you make me crazy.” He looked at her slyly. “In the best way.”

  Chris smiled in spite of herself. “Mutual.”

  They held each other’s gaze for a moment—a moment that stretched to the point that it would be weird if they didn’t either start talking or making out. Chris tore her gaze away and took a deep breath, practically gasping for air.

  “I suppose we should get out of here and let someone else have this table.”

  “Where are you parked?”

  “Across the street.”

  “I’ll walk you to your car.” He started to get up, but just then, his phone started to blare the Doctor Who theme. Chris snorted. “You really are a geek.”

  Ignoring her, he took it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. “I need to take this.” As he answered, he held up a finger to indicate it should only take a minute. Chris waited and tried her best not to eavesdrop, but that became impossible when he rocketed from calm to agitated to angry.

  “That’s bull and you know it. I’m family. I have a right to—” He listened a moment, his jaw growing tighter and tighter. “But it’s my brother’s case!” he practically shouted. Then, his voice tight, “Yeah. You too.” He disconnected the call and slammed the phone on the table, cursing loudly enough to make himself flinch. He glanced around at the other diners, then at Chris. “Sorry.”

  “What was that all about?”

  He leaned back and rubbed his face. “That call I made earlier was to the detective on Jimmy’s case. I’d left a message requesting to look at the case files and evidence. He just called back to tell me that those files are restricted to police personnel only.” He shook his head. “I’ve looked at case files before. I know he’s wrong. Either that or he’s lying.”

  “Why would he lie about it?”

  “That’s a really excellent question.” He sighed. “I’m sure I can go around him, but it’ll be a pain in the butt and probably take a lot of time cutting through red tape.”

  “Maybe not,” said Chris, an idea beginning to take shape. “Do you know where those files are kept?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  She smiled. “Secret weapons,” she reminded him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  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 the apparition.

  “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, baby. 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.