P.S. I Spook You

by S. E. Harmon

  No explanation for why I was seeing auras, though. Kevin’s was a bright orange-yellow and surrounded his head like a cartoonish light bulb. Danny’s was even brighter still—a clear, vibrant red that backed his body, halo-like. In its purest state, red energy was good, healthy energy. It was grounded and powerful. Confident. Strong.

  Unlike my own right then. I felt dark and muddled. Confused.

  “What the hell is going on with these lights?” Kevin muttered as the back-porch lights flickered again.

  “The wiring in this place must be shit,” I said calmly.

  My calm words belied my panic. I knew exactly what was going on with the lights. I saw her standing in the window, her pale face tight with fury. Her anger was dark. It choked me, threatened me. Made my vision blur at the edges, frayed as a burned photograph. Like she was… punishing me. I knew then that Brock wasn’t the one. He wasn’t the one, and she was furious that I was wasting her time.

  I was barely aware that Danny murmured something to the others about the heat and guided me off to the side of the house, away from prying eyes. “It’s just a panic attack,” he said softly to me, and I let out a strangled laugh. It wasn’t a fucking panic attack. It was a ghost restricting the air in my lungs.

  “Please,” I managed, and suddenly the restriction was gone.

  And then Danny’s hand was on my back, large and soothing. He forced me to bend at the waist. I inhaled a lungful of muggy air and tried to calm myself. I couldn’t see the beach, but the air smelled like it was nearby, all salty and fresh.

  Nothing like that had ever happened before. I wasn’t aware that the ghosts could physically affect me. Could hurt me. I thought about my joking relationship with Ethan. Or the others—the ghosts that I’d ignored and told to get out of my face. They usually just went away quietly.

  I’d woken up to find one watching me sleep and did no more than roll over with a sigh and bury my face under the pillow. I might’ve muttered “fuck outta here.” Needless to say I hadn’t played nice with those ghosts. Apparently they’d been holding back. For the first time since I’d starting to see them, I was more than just irritated.

  I was scared.

  Danny’s hand was calming on my back, rubbing in small concentric circles with radii that grew in size the longer he rubbed. My mind raced to create a standard deviation for that strange math as my stomach struggled to settle.

  “I’m fine,” I managed.

  “I know.”

  I felt a little ridiculous, bent over like a drunk behind a dumpster. But without Danny’s hand on my back, I thought I might fall over. “Thank you,” I managed.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I’m fine, you know.”

  “Shut up,” Danny said soothingly.

  I huffed out a chuckle. Vintage.

  “You’re going to be okay.” Danny’s voice was a low, rumbly growl.

  I wanted to think so.

  Chapter 19

  THE LOCAL PD interrogation room seemed familiar in the way that all law enforcement rooms did—sterile, white, a few pieces of simple furniture. I watched through the glass, one hand on my chin, as Tabitha and Gonzalez tried to interview the surly Brock, who looked much like James Dean. Only he wasn’t a rebel without a cause. And he didn’t have a prayer of making bail.

  “You look like hell,” a voice said near my ear.

  “Thank you. I’m thinking I’ll wear the sash over my face instead of my chest in this year’s beauty pageant,” I said absently.

  I turned to find Danny slightly past my shoulder, a little nearer than strictly necessary. The desire to lean against his strong, tall body was nearly a physical pull, and I stepped a pace away. I was pretty sure two investigators cuddling in a police station was bad form. I couldn’t afford to get my ass kicked any more.

  He took my hand and pulled me back. He stroked the skin on my inner wrist for a moment. “I’m not going to touch you, so relax,” he said, his voice a low rumble in my ear.

  I was trying, dammit. But there was a reason adrenaline and sex went so well together, and right then I could still feel the effects of fighting for my life. I wanted Danny to fuck me, fuck me right up against the glass, right in the middle of a fucking police station. That deserved more than two inches of space.

  He didn’t seem to be as affected. “I told you he wasn’t going to tell them anything.”

  “They’re not asking the right questions,” I growled and turned back to the two-way glass.

  “You think you can do any better?”

  “Than getting him Coke and hamburgers and treating him with kid gloves?” I eyeballed the fast-food debris on the table. “Yeah, I think I can.”

  “Well, I’d kind of like to get out of Key West before New Year’s, so….” Danny gestured at the door. “Be my guest.”

  All I needed to hear. When I opened the door to the interrogation room, Tabitha looked up in surprise. “I need a minute,” I said curtly and limped into the room.

  “We’re kind of in the middle of something,” she said, clearly annoyed.

  “Five minutes. After that he’s all yours.”

  She and Gonzalez wore matching scowls as they marched out, and Gonzalez brushed by me a little harder than necessary. I didn’t blame them, but I was about one headache, a black eye, and a smashed knee away from giving a flying fuck.

  I slid the chair up to the table, sat on it backward, and folded my arms across the metal top. I stared at Brock for a few moments to gather my thoughts. Every suspect needed a different approach. I just had to figure out what worked with this one.

  He was brash. Young. Didn’t trust authority. Trying to be his friend was off the table. He also wasn’t new to the wrong side of the law. Bluffing was out too. I couldn’t say I minded too much cutting straight to the chase. Straightforward was always a good place to start.

  I opened the file Tabitha had left on the table, and picked out a couple photos. One of Amy by herself. One of Amy and Jenna. I slid them across to Brock’s side of the table. And waited.

  Brock sneered at me. “Is this supposed to be some sort of payback?”

  “For what? Nearly bashing in my skull?”

  “How was I to know someone would be underneath the window? Besides, I didn’t know you were a fucking Fed.”

  “Why don’t we start by talking about Amy?”

  “What about her? I haven’t seen that girl since a week before she took off.” He turned the Coke can round and around. Under my intense gaze, he finally looked up, his face set in mulish lines. “Look at me all you want. You can’t prove otherwise.”

  “So where’d you go, then? And when?”

  “We went out on a Friday night with a couple friends.”

  “What friends?”

  “A couple people I know from work. We saw that latest Avengers movie. I had popcorn, she had Sno-Caps.” He shrugged. “Same old same old. Had her home by midnight.”

  I sighed. “Please don’t lie to me.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “You’re fidgeting and looking slightly to the left of my eyes. Not in my eyes. Clear signs of deception. Plus you added a lot of unnecessary details to bolster your lie and make you sound more credible. Do you think I give a flying fuck she had Sno-Caps?”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Mock outrage?” I raised an eyebrow. “Try again.”

  Brock’s mouth opened and then closed. He glowered as he spun the Coke can faster.

  “Let’s get something straight. I know you saw her on the day she died,” I said. “Now is the chance for you to tell me your side.” Charged silence filled the space between us. I pushed a little harder. “There might not be another.”

  “I’m telling you the truth,” he insisted. “She dumped me for some chick, and that’s the last I saw of her.”

  The anger began to build somewhere deep in my stomach, and I took a quiet moment to gather myself. It wasn’t as though I wasn’t used to suspects lying. Che
ating. Killing. But for Brock to try and push this story that Amy had just gone on her merry way and that everything was all good? It hit me somewhere deep inside. Somewhere deep where I’d seen her confused, bruised ghost trying to figure out where she was and what had happened to her. I thought about Tabitha and Gonzalez, Danny and Kevin, and all the other people who’d searched for this girl so diligently. Giving them a crumb of hope was beyond normal lies. It was just cruel.

  I folded my arms. Mostly so I wouldn’t shake Brock like a vending machine that had taken my last goddamned dollar. “How long do you think you can keep up the lies?”

  “I told you the truth,” Brock said, but his voice seemed a little less sure. He glanced at the glass. “Can I go?”

  “Look at me,” I demanded, and Brock’s gaze snapped back to mine. “Before you keep lying to our faces about how good you were to this girl and how happy you made her, I want you to fucking think about it. Because this is your last chance.”

  “I… I loved Amy.”

  Loved. Past tense. “Then why did you beat her if you loved her so much?”

  “We had a couple disagreements. That’s all.”

  “I’m talking about that night. She had bruises on her face.”

  “She was trying to get back at Jenna,” Brock blurted. “They got into some stupid argument, and Amy was using me to get back at her. I guess I was going a little faster than she wanted, and things got out of hand.”

  “So you hit her?”

  “I’m sorry, okay? She ran out… she didn’t even bother to grab her stuff. But I didn’t kill her. If you ask me, it was that bitch.”

  “You want to be more specific?”

  “Jenna. Amy told me they were going to go to college together. Pemberton or something?”

  “Yeah. And?”

  “That’s all I know.”

  “Then why’d you run?”

  “Because I have warrants. Missed a court appearance. And you guys were chasing me.” Brock gestured angrily at Amy and Jenna’s photo on the table. “You wanna know who killed this bitch? Probably that bitch.”

  God, wasn’t he just lovely? A fucking poet. Move over, Keats. At least he dropped the whole loved-and-lost routine. I raked a hand through my hair and tried to think. “What did you do with her violin? And the rest of her belongings?”

  “I pawned the violin.”

  “What about everything else?”

  “I knew how it would look, okay? When I heard she was missing, I buried them out in the backyard. At my mom’s house. I didn’t want them showing up someplace, because then they’d know she hadn’t just taken off.”

  “You’re going to show us where.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Brock jerked his head in the affirmative. “That’s all I know.”

  “It better be.”

  “I want my fucking phone call. And I wanna talk to a lawyer.”

  “Assaulting a federal agent and hindering an investigation?” I stood and pushed back my chair. “You don’t need a lawyer. You need a walk-on-water type of miracle.”

  I left the interrogation room and let the door slam behind me. I ignored both the looks the rest of the team exchanged and the charged silence between them. I risked a glance in Danny’s direction, only to find him looking off, his mouth set.

  Danny’s voice broke the silence. “Kev, why don’t you see about getting Mr. Johnson his phone call. I need a minute with Agent Christiansen.”

  Agent Christiansen, was it? There was quite a bit of shuffling as the rest of the team vacated, and I pretended I didn’t see the odd looks they gave me. When we were alone, I didn’t beat around the bush.

  “You might as well say it,” I said.

  “I really don’t want to.” Danny laced both hands behind his neck, eyes closed. The move looked part stretch and part painful grimace. “Because then you’re going to say things that can’t possibly be true, and then I’m going to have to respond to that.”

  “I saw her ghost, Danny,” I snapped. “And whether you believe it or not doesn’t make a damn bit of difference.”

  My words had the effect of sticking a pin in a bouncy house—nothing but the sad sound of leaking air as someone stared at you in dismay.

  Danny’s eyes narrowed. “You do know that there’ve been rumors about you. About things you’ve said up in Quantico.”

  “They’re not rumors. Everything you’ve heard is the truth.”

  “The truth?” Danny shook his head. “Jesus. Rain, do you hear yourself? I can’t even—”

  An officer came through the double doors and headed down the hall. We both nodded tightly at the man and stayed silent until he got on the elevator. Three other people got off, and their voices shattered the quiet and echoed as they chatted.

  “We shouldn’t be talking about this here,” Danny muttered. He stalked off.

  We shouldn’t be talking about this at all. I let out a pent-up breath. It was going to be a long ride back home.

  Chapter 20

  DANNY’S SILENCE on the way home could only be described as formidable.

  I spent the three-hour trip back surfing radio stations when we changed towns. At one point we made a quick stop at a gas station to fill up and get snacks. Danny ate his one-handed while he drove, because clearly he’d rather get into a wreck than actually prolong our trip for a sit-down meal.

  I knew that, with Danny, silence was just a precursor to a big talk. It was the investigator in him. Danny liked to get his thoughts together—all his ducks in a row—and then shoot their little fuzzy, yellow, blissfully unaware heads off.

  We had just pulled into the driveway when his phone rang and I took that opportunity to escape his silent disapproval. Even his greeting, a muted “Hey Mom,” dripped with condemnation as I hotfooted it inside the house.

  I dropped my go-bag off in the guest room and grabbed a beer from the fridge. I planned to kill the wilier of two birds with one stone and drink it in the shower while the hot water worked its magic on my sore muscles. I crossed back through my bedroom again, took off my shirt, and slung a towel over my shoulder. Considering I’d been about two head smashes on the concrete from brain injury, I thought things could’ve gone worse.

  The bathroom mirror told a different tale.

  I poked at the puffiness surrounding my left eye. The tree-branch injury was still there and, thanks to my fair skin, stood out in stark relief, pink and swollen as it disappeared into my hairline.

  Fucking Brock. I should’ve hit the kid when I had the chance.

  I had a little stubble, but I didn’t feel up to shaving. I peered at the corners of my eyes—I was starting to get little lines. Life lines. My gaze drifted down my reflection, down to the tattoo on my right side. It spanned the length of my ribcage—an ankh surrounded with a heart that said “Faith,” “Life,” and “Hope” in small letters.

  The tattoo was only a year old. Doing what I do, seeing what I see at work, the daily reminders helped. I briefly wondered what a certain dark-haired, self-assured detective would think about that. Judging from the tats Danny had collected—mostly during his juvenile, “I don’t need love ’cuz I love trouble” phase—he’d probably approve.

  Not that I cared. Danny had made it clear that he didn’t want anything other than friendship. Wanting something more than that would be unproductive. Destructive. It would be a problem, and I did not need any more problems. I was just a man in a bathroom. Nothing more. A man with an unfortunate erection, but a man nonetheless.

  You remember his thick dick, don’t you? Been a while since you rode something like that, huh? He’d probably have to use those long, capable fingers to loosen you up first. That wouldn’t be a problem, would it?

  I was determined to ignore my inner voice, so I picked up my toothbrush and toothpaste and brushed my teeth with neurosurgical focus.

  “You don’t look so good.”

  I didn’t have it in me to be surprised as Ethan popped up in the mirror. “You don’t exactly
look like Brad Pitt,” I answered.

  “And here I came with good tidings. Didn’t you say Danny’s sister was named Anna?”

  I put down my toothbrush. My stomach started to cramp a little. “Yes.”

  “I found her.” Ethan beamed. “At least I think it’s her. She doesn’t talk much, but she looks to be about the right age when she disappeared. And she looks like that photo of them in the living room.”

  “Ethan, no.” That slight cramp turned into a full-blown ache. “That’s not exactly the type of news I was hoping to hear.”

  His smile faded a little. “I thought you’d be happy.”

  “To tell him that his sister is definitely dead? How the fuck am I supposed to deliver that kind of news?” I braced my hands on the countertop and looked down at the sink. I just wasn’t cut out for this medium business.

  “Don’t you think he’d want some closure?”

  “Closure is a myth,” I said tiredly. “Just like fairness and justice.”

  And hope. Hope was the most dangerous of all. I imagined that hoping his sister was alive was what kept Danny going. She could be on a beach somewhere, sipping mojitos. Or married with children in a small split-level in the ’burbs. As long as she was an open case, she could be anywhere… anyone. Not a murdered sixteen-year-old teenager.

  The knock at the door startled me. “What?”

  “It’s me.” Danny’s voice was muffled.

  “So what?”

  “So let me in.”

  “I potty by myself, thanks.”

  “I came to check on you.” The disembodied voice sounded annoyed. “Open up.”

  I sent Ethan a meaningful look. “Shouldn’t you be leaving?”

  Ethan held up his hands. “Going. I’m going. But not before I tell you that I’m proud of you for coming clean.”

  “Are you?” My mouth twisted. “I’m thinking it was a huge fucking mistake. I knew that he’d never love me again, but I wanted him to at least like me as a human being.”

  “If he didn’t know who you are, then he never had the opportunity to like the real you. He was in love with someone who didn’t even exist.”