“You can really see me…” Sniffle. “Please, help me.”
“We really need to talk about a concept I like to call latent self-image.” Kirsten clasped the woman’s hand. “You’re not required to stay looking exactly like you did at the instant of death for eternity. If you concentrate on how you want people to see you, your appearance can change.”
“I didn’t kill myself!” yelled the girl. “My name is Kylie Moore. I was twenty when I was killed fourteen years ago. I’ve been stuck in this apartment ever since. My girlfriend Gerri thought I was going to leave her for this boy from the Mars Academy of Tech, but we were just friends. That jealous bitch knocked me out with something and cut my wrists.”
Kirsten cringed. “Is there any possible physical evidence you can lead me to? I’m sorry, but I can’t do anything from a legal standpoint with ghost statements.”
“Oh. No.” Kylie sighed, casting a sad look at the ground. “Gerri killed herself already… two years later… right here. Guilt got her. I forgave her, but she got pulled through this silvery thing.”
“Why didn’t you go with her?” asked Kirsten.
Dorian tapped his chin. “Parents. She doesn’t want her parents thinking she killed herself.”
“Wow. Yeah.” Kylie beamed at him. “You’re like smart or something. But please don’t do it over the vid. Can they come here?”
Kirsten bit her lip. “That’s not up to me. It’s up to the Shorts, but I’m sure they’ll be open to the idea if it lets you move on and stop haunting the apartment. Of course, I doubt your parents are going to accept me coming out of nowhere and telling them that their daughter was killed… you’ll need to be part of the conversation and tell me things only you’d know until they stop thinking I’m trying to scam them.”
“Yeah, I kinda figured.” Kylie looked down. “I can appear in the bathroom… my energy is strongest there. I tried to say hello a couple years ago, but I think I killed someone.”
“What?” Kirsten blinked.
“Old guy. I appeared in the mirror and he fell down. People in white came and took him out. I never saw him again.”
Dorian cringed.
“Let me talk to them and see. Do you have your parents’ PID by any chance?”
“No. I always used the contacts thingee. I don’t remember it. Mom is Veronica and my Dad’s name is Harvey.”
“That shouldn’t take too long to find. How many married couples with those names can there be?”
“Never ask that.” Dorian winked.
An hour later, Kirsten emerged from the elevator. The Shorts had agreed to invite the Moores over next week, which of course meant Kirsten had to return to act as translator. Kylie promised not to scare the daughter again in the interim. Mrs. Short wanted Claire brought to the Division 0 facility as soon as possible for tests to determine what she could do, but both parents were so thrilled to have a psionic child that Kirsten felt sick to her stomach. Not that she begrudged the girl her family, but envy left a lingering heaviness in her gut.
The elevator doors closed with a hiss.
“What’s wrong?” asked Dorian.
“Guilt and jealousy. Why’d I have to get such a shitty mother and that kid gets parents who adore having a psionic kid? And I feel horrible for feeling jealous.”
She walked about thirteen paces toward the patrol craft before six orb bots flew out from behind parked cars. Her brain leapt back to a barefoot sprint across a grey zone while having orbs shooting at her, and she pulled her E-90. Before she could aim, a woman in a long red coat over an expensive looking suit ran out from hiding, followed by a pair of men. One had a backpack full of electronics, a huge beard, and appeared to have a knack for choosing cheap, ill-fitting clothes. An anticipatory air surrounded the other man, like a weasel looking for an opportunity to steal something.
Two of the orb bots sprouted microphones, the others glowed with spotlights.
Kirsten relaxed and let her E-90 slide back into the holster.
“Agent… Uhh, sorry, Lieutenant Wren,” asked the woman. “I’m Andrea Somers, NewsNet special reporter. Is Division 0 ready to destroy NewsNet property to keep their secrets?”
“The last time orb bots came at me, they had guns, not cameras. Maybe I should be asking you why you’re sneaking around? Ambushing any officer of the National Police Force can be dangerous.”
“Sorry.” Andrea flashed a plastic smile. “What can you tell us about the recent declaration of war between Division 0 and the Reverend Harris’s Church of the Redeemer?”
Kirsten sighed. “Well, if there’s a war, it’s a one-sided one. We are not at war with anyone. Those cultists are at war with reason and logic.”
“What about the unprovoked attack on a small family only a few hours ago this morning?” asked Weasel.
“I’m sorry. I’m not able to comment on that at this time as it is still an ongoing investigation.”
“Be strong, Kirsten.” Dorian smiled. “I’m proud of you.”
“We’ve learned that a family of four was taken into custody earlier today, with some violence. The Church of the Redeemer has released a statement claiming they were targeted for being faithful.”
“Asking the same question in a different way isn’t going to change the fact that I cannot discuss an ongoing case. You’ll need to contact our media liaison, Captain Shanté Miller. Out of respect for the suspects as well as the officers involved, we are not speculating about anything at this time.” Kirsten flashed an ‘I wanna choke this bitch’ smile.
Dorian clapped.
Weasel leaned in. Three of the camera orbs followed him. “What do you have to say in regards to reports that the Devil is involved?”
“Regardless of what exists on the other side, it’s easy to get isolated, suggestible people who crave any sense of belonging to follow a cause when you scare them with words like ‘devil,’ and whip them into a frenzy of intolerance and hatred. I can assure you that even if such a thing as ‘The Devil’ exists, he, she, or it had nothing whatsoever to do with the creation of psionics.”
Andrea glanced at a datapad for an instant before looking back up. “Isn’t it true you have a significant bias against people of faith because your own mother didn’t want you, claiming you were sent from the Devil?”
Kirsten shuddered with rage. The look on her face made the reporters lean away.
All six orbs fell to the parking deck with a resounding series of clangs. The lights on the backpack man’s gear went out.
Dorian shimmered into transparency, his voice as icy as the energy wisping around him. “This interview is over. Go talk to the media officer if you want more. Now, get out of here.”
Weasel screamed and ran. Andrea backed up for a few steps, wide-eyed, before she bolted without making a sound.
“Whoa. That’s fuckin’ so cool.” The equipment tech stared at Dorian. “Hey man… you fall in the line of duty?”
Dorian, trembling from exertion, managed a single nod before solidity crept back into his extremities. Once he ceased manifesting, he slouched, gasping as if out of breath.
“Sorry for us botherin’ you. Thanks for your sacrifice.” The NewsNet tech bowed his head, and walked over to the dead bots.
Kirsten stared down, caught between wanting to cry and wanting to scream and rant. She wound up staring without any visible emotion on her face. At a swath of cold across her back, she concentrated and infused her body with power, rendering herself solid to spirits.
Dorian pulled her into an embrace. “Your mother is only going to haunt you as long as you let her.”
She patted him on the back. “Yeah, I know. I’m good. Thanks.”
He held her for another two minutes. “Come on. It’ll be almost three by the time we get back. After this morning, Evan needs you around.”
Kirsten closed her eyes and attempted to meditate away the last of her anger. “Yeah.” Thinking of her son shattered any thought of religion, idiots, getting shot at, or wantin
g to strangle stupid people out of her head.
The orb bots rebooted and zoomed off, careening around concrete pylons and parked cars.
Dorian shook his head. “Maybe I shouldn’t have done that… who knows what they’ll accuse you of now.”
Kirsten slipped into the patrol craft. “You know? I’m not really that worried about it.”
mages on the holo-panel moved about; voices murmured, but little reached Kirsten’s consciousness. Some sitcom she’d never watched before continued as a background element to her reality while her brain chewed on too much information. She remembered starting to watch one of those viewer-submitted video shows where a crew of supposed comedians offered commentary on last week’s best videos of people doing stupid things or making fools of themselves. At some point, the program changed to a sitcom about a human who’d married a synthetic woman.
Evan sat to her right on the couch, knees up so he could use his thighs as a desk for his datapad. He’d been busy with homework since they’d gotten back, except for the time they’d set aside for dinner. He caught her looking at him and smiled.
He’s too pale… he looks worried and hiding it.
Her mind circled back to the ghost she’d been tracking. At Evan’s unusual nightmare, she’d first thought the ghost had targeted her by going after random, unrelated people to drag her around the city and eventually go crazy trying to attribute a motive where there wasn’t one. Now, at least, she had an idea of what went on. Someone got killed for parts… but who? None of the net crawls, not even Sam’s efforts had located anything usable yet. Between that, the Harris political shitstorm-in-a-box waiting to get out, and an upcoming meeting with two parents who’d spent the past fourteen years believing their daughter had killed herself… she wanted to go back on vacation. Well, technically not vacation. Eze had given her a month to ‘recover’ from Konstantin.
She wanted two more.
Of the victims so far, Lamb and Seraphina were the two most likely to have the resources to hire a ripper doc to source a matching organ. Lamb’s new liver required tweaking, so it couldn’t have been him, but maybe Julia could’ve done it. The Service Member’s Medical Association had a reputation for being monolithic. The old joke went something like they save money by taking so long to approve treatment payouts, a third of veterans die before they had to spend credits on them.
Seraphina’s been sick… live-in medtech. It fits, but I can’t prove anything. I don’t even know if she’s had an organ replaced.
She slid a hand over the sofa cushion and onto Evan’s ice-cold foot.
He laughed. “Your hand’s warm.”
“How’s your homework going? You’ve been working on it for hours…” She tried to rub some heat into his leg. “You’re freezing.”
“I’m doin’ extra work to burn off some cit points.” He yawned, and his stomach growled.
Kirsten poked him in the tummy. “You’re still hungry? We didn’t eat that long ago.”
“Nah.” He shrugged, not making eye contact. “Guess I’m still digesting.”
She encircled her grasp around his left ankle and pulled his leg straight, threatening his sole with a finger of her other hand. “Evan… please don’t keep stuff from me.”
He looked up; fear, shame, and worry in his expression drained her intention to tickle his foot.
She slid closer to him. “What is it?”
“My back hurts.”
“Did you bend wrong or get hurt at school?”
He flopped the datapad up and down. “No… not that kinda hurt.” With a defeated look, he sat up from leaning on the sofa arm and scooted to the edge of the cushion before pulling his pajama shirt up to expose his back, and a large yellow spot―a healing bruise.
“Evan!” Kirsten pushed his shirt up more. “Who did this to you?”
“A dream.” He scissored his feet back and forth on the carpet. “No one hit me for real… I dreamed it.”
Dreams don’t leave bruises. “Did you fall out of bed?”
He shrugged. “I don’t think so.”
Kirsten pulled the shirt down before running to get a stimpak. She returned and sat next to him, debating if she should document the mark first… If something happened, not doing so might seem suspicious to the wrong people. “Let me get a good look at that, hon. I need to record it.”
“Okay.” He stood and peeled his shirt off. Another mark darkened his left shoulder, discernible fingerprints as though a large man had grabbed him about the neck from behind.
Directionless rage swirled in her. She pulled him into a hug and cried on his unbruised shoulder. “Ev… what’s happened to you?”
“I don’t know.” He sniffled and started crying too. “Nightmares. I keep dreaming I’m locked in my old room and asshole comes after me.”
She rocked him side to side for a few minutes before gaining the ability to let go long enough to retrieve her NetMini. After recording five images of the marks on him, she set the device on the cushion, and pulled him around to face her. Hands cradling his cheeks, she held eye contact and peeked into his mind. Images of his former stepfather flashed by, a titanic figure looming in the glowing doorway of an otherwise dark room. Evan tried to run, but the man seized him in one hand and hurled him against the wall. The scene reminded her too much of Mother, only without all the religious rhetoric. He simply loved to hurt this boy. As far as Evan knew, he woke up with bruises after going to sleep unharmed.
Kirsten stared into nowhere after dropping the link. He squirmed out of her grip on his face and grabbed her in a shivering hug. She held him, one hand sliding up and down his back. “It’s okay, Ev. I’ll figure out what’s going on.”
His hair tickled the side of her head as he nodded. “I know.” When he leaned back to look at her, he wore a huge grin.
Kirsten pulled his shirt over his head. He hopped back up on the sofa next to her, wriggled into the garment, and resumed doing his homework. She bundled the images into a single file, and sent them to Captain Eze with a request for help, plus a description of what she’d lifted from his mind. As she typed out the message, she wondered if a ghost might’ve attacked him in his sleep… and why.
Eyes closed, she beaconed for Theodore. Never thought I’d do this… She smiled.
Theodore traipsed out from the back hallway about six minutes later, black semi-curly hair hanging wet down to his waist. His long, olive drab trenchcoat seemed drier than usual, and his baggy black shirt was thankfully free of bullet holes. Sneakers squished with each step across the room.
“Hi, Theo,” said Evan without looking up.
“Hey, kiddo.” Theodore smiled at him before winking at Kirsten. “And hey to you too, angel.”
She rolled her eyes, and pondered taking the conversation out of earshot of Evan. Oh, heck. It’s his life too. “Theo, do you know if spirits can inflict bruises on the living?”
He hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his dark fatigue pants, and rocked heel to toe. “Didn’t that old doctor at that asylum come after you with a mace? Broke boards and shit, right?”
“That’s different. That was probably an astrally bound weapon. I mean bare-handed.”
Evan looked up. “I think somethin’ hit me when I was sleeping.”
Theodore’s mirth faded to a grim scowl. “Now who would do a thing like that?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Kirsten ruffled Evan’s hair. “He wasn’t awake for it.”
“Any spectral traces on the spot?” Theodore raised both eyebrows.
Kirsten slid her hand up under Evan’s shirt, making him squeal.
“Cold!” he yelled.
She concentrated, but didn’t feel anything unusual. “No.”
Her left breast exploded with pain. Kirsten clamped her hands over her nipple and yowled.
“Mom!” Evan jumped on her. “What happened?”
Theodore whistled innocently.
“Theo… You’re a…”
“P
ervert?” He grinned and bowed. “Why yes… yes I am.”
Evan concentrated until his eyes glowed, and glared at him. “You gave my mom a tittie twister?”
“Evan!” Kirsten tried to shout but wound up laughing. “Where did you hear that from?”
“Did it bruise?” asked Theodore.
Kirsten pulled the neck of her tee shirt away to look… sure enough. Purple. “Ow, dammit. What was that for?”
“You asked a question, and bein’ the law-abidin’, honest, upright, helpful soul I am… I had to provide you with the requested assistance.” He smiled for a second before giving her a serious look. “Do you feel a trace on the spot?”
Kirsten held up a finger. “Wait. It’s still throbbing. Ow.” She grabbed her breast, cradling it until the pain subsided before concentrating. Indeed, a paranormal residue appeared in her senses, right where two fingers pinched… it even ‘felt’ like Theodore. “Yeah. Was that really necessary?”
“It was either that or slug you… and I ain’t hittin’ the kid.” He raised his hands.
Evan shrugged. “It’s okay. You could’a punched me to test. Mick hit me alla time, and I healed it.”
“No way kid. Your mom would wrap that whip of hers around my throat.”
Kirsten pointed at him, smiling. “You remember that.” She blinked. Healing. “He’s got healing abilities… Of course.” Her throat tightened. Probably the only reason he was still alive. She grabbed him and squeezed, making him gurgle. When the overwhelming sorrow at what might’ve happened passed, she sniffled. “Can it go backwards? Could he have caused the bruises himself, subconsciously?”
“How the fuck should I know?” Theodore shrugged. “When I died, psionics were only in movies. Ask me about ghost stuff, sure… mindwankery? I ain’t got nothin’.”
Evan’s brows furrowed together. “Doesn’t that mean you have something?”
“Smartass.” Theodore swiped a hand across Evan’s head, leaving a blot of clear slime.
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