Uncharted Territory (An Angela Panther Mystery Book 3)

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  We walked up to the pathology department door and Aaron tapped it twice with his fist. If I didn't know the door actually led to the pathology department, I wouldn't have known where we were. There was no sign identifying the space, just the letter and numbers B-001 glued onto the door.

  The door opened and Deana, the pathology department assistant, let us in. "Hey, Detective." She flashed her pearly whites at me. "Hey, Angela, nice to see you again."

  "Hey, Deana. I hear this is a tough one."

  Deana handled the day-to-day happenings of the dead, though I didn't quite know what that meant, seeing as they were dead and all, but I figured she had it covered. She was young and smart, with the annoyingly incredible body of a supermodel, slender and delicate and of course tall, and curved in all the right places. I'd hate her, but she was sweet as could be, plus she had an endless supply of petite Hershey Bars in a jar on her desk and gave me handfuls all of the time. Free chocolate always chumped her annoyingly amazing figure.

  Her shoulders sank and she released a slow breath. "Kids are always rough."

  I shot Aaron a glare, and he tilted his head. He hadn't mentioned the kid part. My stomach twisted and flipped, but not in the fun, butterflies fluttering, kind of way. It was more of a bounce up my esophagus and come soaring out of my mouth, crashing to the floor with a messy splat, kind of flip. Dead kids were tough. "How old?" I asked Aaron.

  "Best guess? Around fifteen, but we can't be sure. Ambulance brought him in a few hours ago. DOA. I'm hoping you can help us figure out who he was, and if he did this to himself."

  The lump in my throat swelled and pulsed, coming back to life. My son Josh was a few years younger. "So in other words, you're hoping for a miracle?"

  He tipped his head. "Pretty much."

  "Great. So far we're zero for two in the miracle department so don't get your hopes up."

  "Anything you can get will be appreciated, as always."

  Deana walked us into the morgue cooler, closing the door behind us. The temperature was at least twenty degrees colder there, and I rubbed my biceps for warmth. The hairs on the back of my neck stood, a sign that we weren't alone. I scanned the room and saw the last part of a black blur slip through the wall. Whoever it was wasn't interested in chatting, which was fine by me.

  Deana pulled a cart from the wall. A white sheet covered a layer of plastic that rested on top of a body. "Want me to pull it down?" she asked.

  I shook my head. "That's okay. Can I have a minute with him?" I asked, and then turned to Aaron and flicked my hand to shoo him out of the room. "You too, please."

  Aaron's eyes darted to the body and a hint of sadness flashed in them. He shifted them back to me, and nodded, and then they both left.

  I pulled up a chair and sat next to the body. The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention again. I tried to wait it out, thinking maybe it was the boy, and he was just a little shy, but since patience wasn't a virtue I possessed, the wait was short, and I took the bull by the horns. "Well, kid." I pulled the sheet down, and did my best to hide the shock from showing on my face. What was once a young man was now a mangled mess of broken bones and torn skin. He had to have a family, especially a mother, who missed him. I replaced the sheet over his head. "It's just you and me now." I counted four spaces on the wall, with carts inside. "Well, you and me and those four, but you know what I mean. I hope."

  I waited, but got no response. "So anyhoo." I sat on my hands to keep them from flailing around me as I spoke. "I'm here if you wanna talk or something. I'm a psychic medium. I talk to people like you—people who aren't among the living anymore. So if you wanna chat, go for it." I sat back in the chair and waited some more, keeping my hands under my butt.

  Five minutes later, the spirit of the boy under the sheet was still a no-show, and my patience had completely disappeared, so I tried another angle. "Well kiddo, here's the thing. It looks like you jumped off of a big bridge, and now all of the people who love you will have to spend the rest of their lives without you. They're going to need closure. They're going to want to know what happened, to know you're gone, instead of thinking maybe you just took off and deserted them, you know? So if you're around and can help out, now's your chance. Capiche?"

  Still nothing. I waited another five minutes, picked some lint off of my linen shorts, checked and rechecked their hem, and pulled my feet out of my shoes to check my pedicure. It was definitely time for a new one. "All righty then." I got up. "I came. I tried. I failed. Same story, different day. If you change your mind, ask around. The dead know where to find me." I made the sign of the cross, even though I wasn't Catholic, and prayed a silent prayer for his soul. I stood and turned to leave, but smacked face first into an ice-cold blast of air that pushed into me, froze my insides, and then rushed out again. At the same time my insides froze, an electrical current crashed into my chest, spreading throughout my body like I'd touched a live cord with a wet hand. I jumped, hoping the tingling sensation and vibration would disappear. When it did, I shook uncontrollably, my hands flailing like I'd just walked through a spider web. I wouldn't have minded that so much, but I knew it wasn't a spider web I'd walked through. It was a ghost. How'd I know? Because I was smart, and when I turned around, she was hovering behind me. "Didn't you see me coming?" I yelped, my body still shaking off the heebie-jeebies.

  The ghost, a teenage girl with long blond hair, draped in a white gown far too big for her, just stared blankly at me. I didn't notice then, but the gown wasn't the standard hospital issued kind. We stared at each other for a second and then her mouth opened, and her eyes widened. I thought she was going to scream, but nothing came out, and then her body jerked and flopped, and then she disappeared. She didn't shimmer away. One minute she was there and the next, she wasn't.

  I flung my hands in the air, and huffed. "Figures."

  I heard a triple tap on the cooler door. "You okay in there?" Aaron asked.

  I pulled open the door, still involuntarily shaking. "I'm fine. I hate hospitals. They're full of dead people, and it creeps me out."

  Aaron rubbed his chin. "Uh?"

  "Forget it. And no, I didn't get anything. Poor kid either moved on, or isn't interested in chatting. The girl in the white night gown though? I think she had something to say, but took off before I got a chance to ask."

  "What girl?" Deana asked.

  "The dead one you've got back in the cooler."

  "We don't have a girl in the cooler."

  "Don't ask me. All I know is I walked right through her, and I hate that." A quiver ran up my spine again and I shuddered.

  They both raised their eyebrows.

  "Stop staring at me like that."

  Deana laughed. "You're a trip."

  Aaron shook his head. "I'm not sure you'll ever make sense to me. I'll never figure out how this thing works."

  "You're not the only one."

  We said goodbye to Deana, and headed toward the elevator. I did the ignore the spirits thing again, staring straight ahead and hoping none appeared in front of me. I didn't want to walk through another one. As the elevator doors shut, an old man with disheveled gray hair and a ragged beard floated through them. He hovered in front of me, a massive grin plastered onto his face. All of his teeth were missing. "False teeth?" I asked him.

  "Again?" Aaron asked.

  I shushed him and directed my attention back to the spirit.

  "How'd you know?" he asked.

  "They don't transfer to the spirit world. Your mouth is empty."

  He held his hand to his face, but instead of feeling around, it just swiped right through him. "Drats. Those things were expensive."

  I nodded. "So were my mother's. Whatcha need?" I asked.

  "Oh, nothing. I'm just waiting for Margaret, my wife. She should be coming any minute now, and then we'll head on up to that light." He pointed to the ceiling of the elevator.

  "Is she here?"

  Aaron's mouth hung open like a boy who'd just seen his first Pl
ayboy centerfold. I held my finger up to him.

  "She is," the spirit said. "Heart attack. I'm looking forward to being with her again. She saw me at the end of her gurney when she arrived, and I told her it would be soon. She'd been talking to me for years, but never heard a word I said. When we're finally together again I'm going to get a serious scolding for ignoring her."

  I nodded. "Well, I'm sure she'll be happy to see you, too." I pressed my lips together. "So you're good? Nothing I can do for you?"

  He shook his partially transparent head. "No, ma'am. Just wanted to say hello to someone who could say it back, is all."

  I hated how they all just knew what I could do. "Well, thanks for the chat. I wish you the best."

  "You too." He tipped his head toward me and shimmered away.

  I smirked at Aaron. "All done."

  He closed his mouth and shook his head. "That's messed up."

  "Welcome to my life." I leaned against the wall of the elevator. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you."

  Aaron's eyes were heavy and red with fatigue. He blinked to push it away. "No worries. I don't expect this to work most of the time anyway, but I appreciate the effort."

  Several other ghosts vied for my attention as we left the hospital, but I didn't stop to help. I felt bad, but had been working on balancing my gift with the rest of my life because I was no good to anyone if I was always exhausted.

  Aaron walked me to my car, and we said our goodbyes. As he walked away, I plopped onto my seat and leaned my head onto the steering wheel, pressing my thumbs into my temples, warding off the headache I felt coming.

  "Yo."

  I snapped my head toward the passenger seat, and there, hovering just above it, was the spirit of the boy in the morgue.

  I leaned my head back on the seat. "Geesh, you scared the bejesus outta me, kid."

  "That girl needs you. I don't need no help. I got this."

  "Okay, but I need you to—"

  I didn't get a chance to finish my sentence because he shimmered away.

  I raised my hands to the ceiling and yelled, "I hate when ya'll do that!"

  ***

  I didn't always see spirit, but when my mom Fran Richter died of lung cancer, knowing I'd had the gift as a child, but neglected to ever tell me, she decided to test the waters and make a return visit. After I realized I wasn't crazy, I was okay with seeing her. I didn't care much for seeing other ghosts, but didn't really have a say in the matter. My father died almost a year later, and not to discount the death of my mom, but his death hit me like a brick. Losing one parent was tough enough, but becoming an orphan as an adult was brutal. When my father died, my gift went on hiatus. It took a lot of time and soul-searching to get back, and I no longer looked that gift horse in the mouth. No pun intended.

  I started working for the police department, off the record and without pay, three months ago, when a five-year-old boy from the other side chose me to right the wrong concerning his death. The police thought little Matthew Clough wandered off in the woods and fell, hitting his head on a rock, but actually, his babysitter killed him by smashing a rock into his head. My gift came back in bits and pieces, and Matthew and I eventually figured out a way to communicate. He told me what happened, and I told his family, who then told Aaron. Once Aaron verified I wasn't lying, he decided having my help might not stink. Three months later Aaron still wasn't sure he fully understood, let alone believed in my gift, but heck, it'd been a few years for me and I still didn't get it. We'd become friends though, and that friendship allowed him to accept my gift without a clear understanding, and it was emotionally satisfying for me to help.

  "So you're saying the junior John Doe appeared in your car and told you to forget about him, and focus on the girl who you saw in the morgue? The one Deana said wasn't there?" Aaron asked when I called him just minutes after pulling out of the hospital parking lot.

  "Yup. Pretty much." I flipped through the channels on my satellite radio and stopped at the eighties station. "The Breakup Song" by the Greg Kihn Band sang through my car speakers. I tapped my finger on the steering wheel to the beat. Eighties music was my favorite.

  "So what the hell does that mean?" The annoyance in his voice was obvious.

  "How should I know? You're the detective. You figure it out."

  "A detective that deals with dead bodies and the living, not ghosts. That's your area of expertise, Panther."

  "So you think I'm an expert? That's so sweet, Aaron." My lips curled upward. "It's about time someone considered me an expert at something."

  "You're funny. Did the kid, er…uh, ghost…spirit, oh hell…did you get any indication of who he was? Maybe he…hell, I don't know. Did he say anything else?"

  "Aaron, do I need to have your grandmother come down and give you a what for? They're spirits, dear. Remember?" I tried not to giggle, but it happened anyway.

  He grumbled something that sounded like fine, but I wasn't sure.

  "Can you repeat that, please? It wasn't clear."

  "I said fine, Panther. Jesus. I'll never get this crap." His voice a pinch higher than usual, and I knew he was irritated.

  "Your buttons are so easy to push. You know how long it's taken me to get used to my gift? Trust me, I'm completely fine with your issues." I paused to check traffic at a stop sign. "And no, he didn't give me any indication about who he was, or the girl for that matter. I'm sorry."

  "It's all good. Keep trying. You know, do whatever it is you do, maybe a séance or something." He paused. "Do you do those?"

  "I've got a Ouija Board. We can try contacting him through that if you'd like."

  "Hell no," he said. "The last time I did that was in junior high and it scared the shit outta me."

  That seemed to be a trend with people I knew. My best friend Mel had the same experience. "Geesh, I'm surrounded by a bunch of wimps, but fine. I'll keep my eyes and ears open. What about the girl?"

  "What girl?" he asked. "There is no girl, or at least no body to speak of. As far as I'm concerned, unless you can tell me specifics that relate to an open or cold case, she's not in my jurisdiction." He chuckled. "Huh, that was funny."

  I hadn't yet figured out cop humor. "You're hilarious," I said. "Fine. If she comes back, I'll try and get her name, too. Maybe she's someone who's not been found yet or something." I cringed at the thought, but it was a possibility to consider.

  "Could be. Thanks for coming and giving it a try. I'll call you if something else comes up, and let me know if you hear from the kid, or whatever he is."

  I chuckled. "Great. I'm happy to help with whatever they are."

  "Angela," he said, releasing a long breath. "I may not understand what you do, but I can't discount it either, and I appreciate what you did for me a few months ago. I owe you for that."

  "Stop thanking me, Aaron. I didn't do anything but relay a message from your grandmother." I waved my hand in the air, even though he wasn't there. "Ain't no big thing. Talk to you soon," I said, and clicked the end button on my phone.

  I fumbled with the radio, turning up the volume and singing along. When the song ended and Steve Perry belted out "Oh Sherry," I turned the radio up even louder and sang at the top of my lungs.

  "Ah Madone, my ears!" My mother appeared next to me, in the same blue nightgown she died in a few years before.

  "What? You don't like my singing? I'm an excellent singer." To make my point, I kicked up my voice a notch. "Oh Sherry, our love, ho-olds on. Ho-olds on."

  Her face contorted like she had a potty emergency. "My ears. Make it stop."

  "Hey, I didn't call you, you just showed up, so quit complaining. If you don't wanna hear me sing," I pointed to the ceiling of the car, "there's your exit. Float on out."

  "I don't call that singing, and all of Heaven can hear you. Angels are dropping like flies from that noise."

  I stopped the bad singing. "Seriously? They can hear me up there?"

  Ma threw her arms up and bellowed louder than Steve Perry sang.
She laughed so hard she couldn't speak, which would have been fine if she was laughing at someone else.

  "So rude."

  She bobbed her transparent head up and down. "Ah, you should see your face. If only I had a camera. That's a classic face—almost as good as the time when you were six and got humped by the neighbor's dog." She laughed harder again.

  I furrowed my brow. "I can sing just fine," I lied. "And thanks for reminding me of the dog incident. I'd worked years to block that from my memory."

  She shrugged. "It's my job to tell you the truth, and the truth is you can't sing for crap. And the dog humping you? Funniest thing I'd seen in years. I told everyone you'd be poppin' out puppies for months after that."

  I was surprised I didn't have bigger psychological issues than I did. "Did you need something?"

  "Nope. Just wanted to spare the angels' ears is all," she said. "And I gotta scoot. It's bowling night, and I don't wanna be late."

  Bowling?

  "Are we talking celestial bowling or are you planning to haunt a bowling alley?"

  "I ain't sayin' 'cause you'll get snooty and lecture me, and I don't got time for that."

  I shook my head. "That's never a good sign." I swiveled toward her. "And I do not lecture you, Mother."

  That time, she snorted. "Yeah, and I got some ocean front property for ya in Arizona, too."

  "I love George Strait," I said, referencing Ma's comment, the title of the county singer's popular song.

  "Me, too. Can't wait till he kicks the bucket so he can sing with Johnny. He's getting bored with his regular group. Told me the other day he's ready for some fresh voices."