by Erin Hayes
At one-thirty Kyra got into the elevator with her assistant, Ellie, to go to lunch at The City Deli.
“I still think it’s a miracle,” Ellie mused, “You’re in a rollover accident on the freeway at rush hour, you plunge two-hundred feet into a ravine, and you emerge from a burning vehicle without a scratch. It just doesn’t seem possible you could have survived without divine intervention.”
The hairs on the back of Kyra’s neck stood up. She hadn’t survived without intervention of some kind. The divine part was Ellie’s spin, but someone had interposed himself between her and certain demise. She’d always scoffed at TV specials on weird phenomena like near-death experiences. Problem was, she had lived the premise now, and while there hadn’t been any garishly lit tunnel, she had experienced another dimension that operated outside of every physical law she was familiar with. She shrugged. “Incredibly lucky, I guess.”
“There’s a reason you’re still here,” said Ellie, a faraway look on her face.
Kyra glanced away, a subtle pulse picking up in her left temple. Was there a reason she was still here other than her own will to live? Was someone else calling the shots? If there was an unseen world of spirits out there, she was keeping an open mind on what that meant exactly. Several times in the days since she’d been discharged, she’d sensed a dense, inexplicable presence like a damp shadow in her space. Then the sensation disappeared, leaving her feeling neurotic and disgusted with herself for succumbing to paranoia. For giving any credence to Soul Stalkers.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Ellie said. “I shouldn’t have brought the accident up.”
“You didn’t upset me,” Kyra replied. “I’m still struggling with the emotional fallout. It’s complicated.”
If only Ellie knew how complicated.
Back in her office, Kyra reviewed her notes for the management meeting. Everyone knew she was back, but she had cloistered herself in her office all morning, committed to keeping a low profile and avoiding any tough questions about the accident. The last thing she wanted to do was jeopardize her reputation for level-headedness now that Don’s retirement was imminent. It would take his unequivocal endorsement to secure her promotion.
She took several deep breaths and grabbed her iPad before walking into the department meeting.
“Welcome back, Kyra.” Don threw a scant look in her direction and flipped open his planner. “Okay, listen up everybody. The deadline for the Lottery ad campaign has been brought forward. Don’t give me bleeding-heart eyes on this one. We go to print Wednesday. Make it happen.” He slurped his coffee, monitoring the reactions with a flinty gaze.
The low rumble of discontent around the room came to a head with Todd. He stood, eyes flashing, and slammed his legal pad down. “You want a run-of-the-mill shoot, Don? Because creativity doesn’t bloom on the assembly line, and that’s how this place is beginning to feel.”
In the pause that followed, Kyra sensed her window of opportunity. “Todd, I think you might have inadvertently resolved the deadline issue with your assembly-line analogy. How about we have Active Printing run with Phase One right now, wrap up Phase Two proofs over the next couple of days, and hire Graphic Systems to do the shoot printing as a stand-alone job? That should buy you enough time to find your muse.” She fixed a casual gaze on Don. “Cut the job queue and still deliver on time.”
Don slurped again, his pinched features impenetrable. He took off his glasses and spun them around, the only motion in the silence that fell. After a moment, he got to his feet and slid his glasses into his jacket pocket. “Cut and deliver. That’s a wrap then.” He nodded in Kyra’s direction, tossed his Styrofoam cup in the trash, and strode out of the room.
Todd wheeled around, and glared at her. His mouth twitched, as if laboring to put words to what he’d witnessed. She couldn’t resist smiling to herself behind the flap of her briefcase as she slid her iPad inside. She’d completely upstaged Todd, while ostensibly giving him the credit for navigating the time crunch. He’d looked ridiculous in front of the entire management team. Best part about it—Don understood what she’d done, and the look in his eyes said he approved.
“I suppose you’re going to tell me you were bailing me and my big mouth out with your little exercise in solution-based problem-solving,” said Todd, tucking a shock of hair behind his ear as he shoved his papers into a leather satchel more cracked and worn than a dried-out riverbed. “So why do I have the feeling you just played me like a deck of cards, while keeping The Don appeased?”
“I don’t take cheap shots,” she said, mirroring Todd’s gaze, as she rose to leave. “I just play the hand I’m given.”
Todd’s expression darkened. “Remind me to shuffle better next time.”
She almost felt sorry for him as she watched him lope out of the conference room. Todd couldn’t run with the pack in the dog-eat-dog corporate environment. She, on the other hand, was made for it. She had learned the hard way how to hide her emotions, and now she was using it to her advantage.
She was still buzzing from her triumph at the management meeting when her dad called later that evening to check on her, and she couldn’t resist sharing the moment with him.
“Better watch your back,” he replied. “Not every department feeding frenzy is going to end in your favor.” His voice quieted. “Had any more oddball memories?”
Kyra gripped the phone tighter. How about there was no one behind the wheel of the truck? “No. It all seems so crazy looking back.” She grimaced. She was rapidly becoming a pathological liar.
“That reminds me,” her dad added. “Jim’s going to stop by and ask you a few questions.”
“Jim? Why? I already told the police everything I know.”
“He wants to help, as a friend. Maybe he can take a look at the police report, see if anything strikes him as odd or unusual. He’s an experienced cop, he might be able to resolve some of your … confusion.”
She groaned inwardly. She didn’t want to answer any more questions. There was nothing she could possibly tell Jim without perjuring herself. There was no evidence of the semi that had run her off the road. And there was no evidence of someone else being at the scene before the firefighters had reached her. She’d just have to tell him she couldn’t remember anything and blame it on concussion. “All right. If it’s off the record. Not that I think he can be of much help.”
“Give him a chance. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Get some sleep.”
Kyra sank back in her couch. There wasn’t much hope of sleep. Every time she turned out the lights and laid her head on the pillow, the questions whipped around inside her head like rabid bats. She had tried sleeping with a light on, but there was no point in even going to bed. Shadows disturbed her now, and at night there were so many of them. She could never be sure if they were material objects, or visitors from an invisible realm. She couldn’t get past the chilling premonition that a shadowy audience watched her at will, waiting for another opportunity to strike.
At two in the morning, she broke down and called her sister.
“What you need is some earthling company,” said Bridget, yawning loudly. “Hanging out on your own is what’s doing your head in. That, and whatever narcotic cocktails they drip fed you in the hospital that are messing with your brain.”
“I hate to drag you into this. I know I sound deranged.”
“You’re getting there.” Bridget chuckled. “I could move in for a bit. Burn some incense to chase off spirits that come calling, that kind of thing.”
Kyra let out a snort. “That would cover a big part of the job description. Let me think it over.”
They talked for a few more minutes before hanging up. Kyra got up from the couch and dragged herself into the kitchen, rolling her shoulders back and forth as she mulled over her sister’s offer. Picturing Bridget crashing in her immaculate Zen guest room did nothing to soothe her mental state. Coming home from work to Bridget’s bacteria farm in the kitchen sink, and random piles of
shoes and clothing would only add a different strain of stress to the mix. Kyra rapped on the counter with her nails and reached for a mug. Maybe a cup of tea would help. She flicked on the kitchen light and reached for the kettle.
A manila file folder lay in the center of the kitchen island. She stared at it, the kettle poised in mid-air. She hadn’t left anything out on the counter. A cold dread congealed in her veins. Someone had been in her house. She swallowed, running her tongue nervously over her lips. Slowly, she reached out and picked up the folder. A quick scan of the room didn’t erase the ominous feeling that her every move was being monitored.
The folder felt empty in her trembling hands. The highlighted tab read Williams, Kyra. Personnel, Marketing. She furrowed her brow. How had her Personnel file ended up on her kitchen countertop? Heart thumping, she flipped the folder open with her thumb. A solitary typed memo was taped to the upper right hand corner. As she read the words, the blood drained from her head.
Williams, Kyra. Deceased.
Advertise executive position, effective immediately.
Chapter Eight
It had to be a sick joke.
Kyra lay curled on her couch, the discarded file folder on the floor by her feet. She couldn’t put a supernatural spin on this. This was the work of someone close to her—someone who knew about the accident and had a way to access her personnel file. Someone who had a motive for enjoying a warped laugh at her expense. Someone like Todd!
The ongoing rivalry between them had always included a fair amount of practical joking—often with an edge. But, on the scale of twisted, the file folder was indefensible, his version of a dead animal on her doorstep. Not an ambiguous statement. He wanted to break her. She had gone too far by compromising his credibility in front of the entire management team.
She had grossly underestimated Todd’s ambition. He wanted Don’s job every bit as much as she did. And she’d hurt his chances. He was behaving like a wounded animal. And wounded animals were almost as dangerous as stalking spirits.
Kyra woke with a start when the phone rang. She rubbed her eyes and pulled her afghan throw around her chin. The clock on her smart phone read 7:15 a.m. She yawned and let the call go to voice mail.
“Babe! Why aren’t you answering your cell? Got the contract and we’re signing today so I’ll be back in Detroit Thursday. Can’t get you out of my mind. Let’s do dinner Friday night. Call me.”
Kyra groaned. With his dark, wavy hair and jade-flecked eyes, her financier boyfriend, Brian Ferguson, scored a perfect ten on her eligibility checklist. He had a swagger about his six-foot-two frame that struck just the right balance between arrogant and sexy, and the mythological lines of his jaw when he smiled made women look at him with eyes that couldn’t seem to get enough. They had only been dating for three months. On paper they were the quintessential corporate couple, career junkies who’d even traded resumes before they dated. But, the fire just wasn’t there. Maybe the secret of the elusive spark was not to have all the boxes checked.
At least Brian appreciated her ambition. Most men with the drive she admired were looking for a hot cake-topper to crown their own success, not eclipse their pay checks.
She emerged from her cocoon and stumbled into the kitchen to turn on the coffee machine. Brian would have a thousand questions about the accident. She’d have to doctor the truth to sound even halfway balanced. With caffeine in hand, she called him back.
“Hi, gorgeous,” he crooned. “Missed you.”
“Congratulations, tycoon. That’s quite the commission check you have coming.”
“You sound tired. How are you feeling?”
“Great.” Her harrowed reflection bobbing in her oversized cappuccino cup said otherwise.
She fed Brian a few benign details about the accident. A version she’d grown accustomed to repeating, one she could almost believe herself.
Brian’s voice cut into her reverie. “So how about it—dinner Friday night?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll make reservations for nine at Sophia Toscana.”
She mumbled a good-bye, and sank back into the couch cushions. She couldn’t pretend to be the same woman she had been when Brian left for Europe. Life had become too short, too precious, too desperate to play games. If there was a reason other than blind luck she was still alive, it would take her undivided attention to find out what that was.
Twenty minutes later, Kyra stepped out of the steaming shower and reached for her towel. A loud, persistent rapping on the front door interrupted her routine. She dried off, threw on some sweats and hurried down the hall. “Coming!” Her stomach lurched when she pulled open the door.
“Hey, Jim. Dad said you might stop by. Come on in.”
“Thanks.”
“What’s with the uniform? You on duty?”
“Just finished my shift. Mmmmm. Smells like Italian roast,” he said, as he strode into the kitchen ahead of her. She poured him a mug of coffee and handed it to him.
“You know, you’re one lucky young lady.” He held her gaze and slurped his coffee. “Everyone who’s ever gone into that ravine comes back up in a body bag.”
She grimaced. “I would imagine so.”
He set down his mug, folded his arms, and leaned against the counter. “What exactly do you remember about the accident?”
She went through the motions of racking her brains. “Not much. I blacked out.”
“Did anyone force you off the road?”
Kyra hesitated. The memory of the eighteen wheeler charging her SUV came rushing back. Fear like a monstrous constrictor tightened in her chest. She fiddled with her coffee mug. Everything inside her urged her not to bring up the truck. After all, there had been no one behind the wheel, and no one would believe that.
“Gosh, Jim. I … don’t remember anything,” she said, looking into her empty mug. She reached out a shaking hand and poured herself another one.
Jim pursed his lips. “See anyone else before the firefighters got there?”
Kyra’s heart skipped another beat. Jim’s reptilian stare bored into her. It was getting harder to keep the story straight. Had they found something? But what? She shook her head. “I tried to call for help but …”
She let her voice trail off. That part at least was true. She was shocked at how easy it was to lie to a uniformed cop. But she had no choice. She couldn’t trust Jim with her story, she didn’t want to go on record as seeing things that didn’t exist.
Jim adjusted his Sam Browne belt and straightened up. “You’re not taking anything illegal are you?”
Her jaw went slack. “What? Is that what this little off the record visit is all about?” She stared at him, incredulous. “You think I was high when I crashed.”
Jim shrugged. “I’ve seen it happen to the best of kids, especially the driven ones. Your father told me about the hallucinations.”
“I had a severe concussion, Jim. It was a long ride to the bottom of the ravine. Now, if you don’t mind, I have to get to work.”
Heart pounding, she watched through the kitchen window as Jim drove off. He didn’t buy her story. And she didn’t trust him with the truth. He couldn’t help her. Whatever she was up against, she was on her own. There was another dimension to this accident, and no amount of police investigation was going to resolve it.
Chapter Nine
At work that day, Kyra said nothing about the file folder. Ignoring Todd’s idea of a morbid joke was the best way to discourage any more imaginative acts of sabotage. He would never admit to it anyway. But she hadn’t missed that dark look in his eyes when he congratulated her after the department meeting—or his haunting words. Remind me to shuffle better next time. It was a game to Todd, and he’d made a calculated move to intimidate her.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how freaked out she was but she had learned a valuable lesson. As laid back as he came across, he was not about to let her succeed Don without a fight. She made a mental note to r
emove the key from the planter by the front door when she got home. First place someone would look.
She shut the door to her office and buried herself in her work until a knock mid-morning interrupted her. Deborah Lopez, a freelance graphic artist and friend since college, stuck her head in the door.
“Hey! I was just dropping off some proofs and heard you were back.” Deborah plopped her curvaceous frame into the chair across from Kyra. She leaned her elbows on the desk and propped her head in her hands.
“So, are you the walking dead or what? How exactly did you pull off that stunt?”
Walking dead. A chill passed over Kyra. She forced a weak smile. “It wasn’t a stunt I planned, that’s for sure.”
“How did it happen?”
She sighed as she met Deborah’s penetrating gaze. “Tell you what, let’s go for a drink after work. I’ll tell you all about it.”
At six-fifteen that evening, they slipped into a booth at Mulligan’s Pub and ordered the Happy Hour half-price special, Irish coffee with mint whipped cream.
“So, what’s going on with you? Is it Brian?” Deborah stuck a pudgy finger in her cheek. “Let me guess. An epiphany. Now you do want to tie the knot, you were daydreaming the morning of the accident, torn between the sequins or the beading on your stinkin’ size-two wedding dress. And before you knew it, you’d veered off the road.”
Kyra gave a nervous laugh. “Not even close.” She swallowed a mouthful of her drink and set the glass back down slowly. “You know when you have a dream that’s so vivid you can’t tell if you’re awake or asleep?”
Deborah leaned in, eyes wide. “Yes, and …?”
