by Angie Sandro
“Brilliant’s the last word I’d use.” Potentially suicidal, maybe.
“Why?” He places his hands on his duty belt and rocks back on the heels of his black tactical boots. I clench my fists to avoid giving in to the temptation to shove his ass into the puddle he saved me from. Maybe he sees the glitter of intent in my eyes because he steps back before continuing. “I’ve been thinking of ways for you to use your abilities ever since I found out.” He rubs his hands together like Dr. Frankenstein dreaming up how to raise his mad monster from the dead. “Can you imagine how many murder cases could be solved by asking the victims who killed them? You could be famous.”
My mouth drops, then shuts with an audible snap. “Saints, Georgie. Mama died from her infamy. My gift isn’t something I want broadcasted all over town, much less the world.”
“Okay, scratch being famous.”
“You’re totally missing my point.”
“No, I got it. Keep my ghost informant a secret.” He pretends to lock his lips and throws the imaginary key over his shoulder.
He’s wearing his stubborn expression. How do I talk him out of this plan when the more I think about it, the more appealing the idea becomes? One of us has to use good judgment. And since I’m the one at risk, it should be me.
“Look, it’s great that you want to use me to help solve cases. But there are hidden variables to consider. For one, there’s no guarantee this spirit’s still lingering or if it’ll even be able to communicate. Also, do you have any idea how crazy some ghosts get after they die? How powerful and strong? How scary they look?” Goose bumps rise on my arms. “Remember how Lainey and Acker tried to kill me? The ones who die by violence…the trauma drives them insane.”
My breath hitches as I force the words past the fear tightening my throat. My voice sounds hollow in my ears. He has to understand the magnitude of risk involved in what he’s asking. “Most of the time, the ghosts can’t speak outright. Like Lainey, they burrow into my dreams and show me visions of horrible things. I experience their pain, feel their fear, read their last thoughts before dying. It’s horrible. And the worst part is…I can’t get rid of them. They haunt me until I do what they want.”
“Then do what he’ll want you to do. Help me find his murderer.” George’s hand lifts but I step out of reach. His voice softens. “I know you’re afraid, but think about the victim. He would’ve been in the same grade as the twins. They probably knew him.”
Low blow, Georgie. He knows how to manipulate me since we’ve known each other forever. It’s not hard for him to cloud my judgment. But I can’t let him. The decision is too important. If I do this, deliberately use my gifts, I could really help someone. On purpose. My choice, unlike the times I did it only to survive or got guilt-tripped into it.
I helped Ms. Anne find her daughter’s ring. Because of me she moved on. Gloria Pearson disappeared after Red and Clarice got arrested. They never found her or Rathbone’s bodies, but she’s now at peace. I hope. If I take this step into the supernatural realm, I can never go back. I can never have a normal life.
I gnaw on the end of a ragged fingernail. The manicure I got in New Orleans didn’t last through falling into the tomb and raising a zombie. My life hasn’t been normal for months. It’s time to accept this fact. “I’ll go,” I say before I change my mind.
Yes, this might be the worst decision—ever. But after all the horrible things that have happened, I’d like to use my abilities for good and not evil for once. ’Sides, Landry’s still barricaded in the chicken coop. I need to get George out of here. Fast. And in truth, I’m a bit relieved about moving “call Magnolia” and “check pregnancy test” to the very bottom of my to-do list.
“What did you say?” George asks.
“I said it’s time to do some ghost-busting.”
“You’re not funny,” George says shaking his head, but he’s smiling. He has a bounce in his step when he walks, while I drag my feet. I wish Landry was coming. I haven’t had to deal with a ghost solo since he woke up with the power to see the dead.
“Should I change clothes? I’m kind of ratty.” I bite my lip, staring down at my white rain boots. “I have a pair of dress slacks and a nice shirt in the closet. How do you plan on justifying bringing a civilian to the crime scene to your superiors anyway?”
“You don’t want to wear nice clothes where we’re going.”
“Oh?” I follow him to the patrol car.
“The crime scene has already been processed. We’ll be the only ones there.” George opens the passenger door.
I slide in and buckle up, waiting for him to get in and start the car before asking, “When was the body discovered?”
“Yesterday.” He gives me a tight smile as he pulls down the driveway. “You know, I’m surprised you agreed to come with me. I thought I’d have to go down on my knees and beg for your help.”
“Ha, coyness doesn’t suit you, Deputy Dubois. You said exactly what I needed to hear to convince me.” I laugh, shaking my head. “I’m so predictable.”
“Not lately. I can’t seem to figure you out anymore.”
I twist to study his face. “Is that a good or bad thing? ’Cause, let’s face it, I used to be boring as hell. All I cared about was school and work. But lately”—I sigh—“half the time it feels like I’m running around like a bull in a china cabinet. My life feels out of my control, and I hate it—and to be honest, kind of love it.”
“Never a dull moment?”
“Boy, ain’t that the truth.”
“And it’s bull in a china shop.” He grins and continues, “But you still want to be a detective?”
“I do, but I also have to be realistic about what I can accomplish given my situation.” I wave away my words. “Enough. I’m starting to get depressed. Tell me about the crime scene. What exactly am I walking into? You said a teenage boy’s body was found?”
“Yeah, but I kind of exaggerated the body part.” George bites down on the tip of his thumb nail, then grimaces. He returns the hand to the steering wheel, making me a lot more comfortable. He blows out a gust of air. “Sorry for being evasive. You know I’ve got a problem with dead bodies, which is crazy given my line of work. At least Lainey was intact.”
Oh…“And the kid wasn’t?”
“Yeah, I didn’t want to freak you out by divulging the whole situation upfront.” His lips twist, and he swallows hard. “Pieces of the victim were found scattered across Old Lick Road—an undamaged right hand, severed at the wrist, and the index and pinky fingers ripped from the missing left hand. The fingerprints were matched to a local missing teen, Dylan Monti.”
I swallow as hard as George did. “What about the rest?”
“We haven’t found the rest of him yet.”
“Earlier you mentioned there were signs he’d been eaten?”
“Teeth marks were found on the recovered parts. Mala, this is the fourth missing boy in the last month.”
I stiffen as the implications settle in. “What the hell, George? Why haven’t I heard anything about this before?”
“Sheriff Keyes decided to keep the news out of the media. Can you imagine the panic if it got out that someone’s kidnapping and eating kids?”
“God, yes! I’ve got kids. Four boys I’m responsible for keeping safe.” And maybe another on the way if the stupid condom broke. Shit! Landry and I could be having a baby…a child we’d protect with our lives. But the world’s a dangerous place. I swear I just felt a hair turn gray from this news. How do parents survive knowing some unforeseen danger could be lurking down the block, yet still allow their kids to walk out the door without them? “What justification did Sheriff Keyes give for covering this up?”
“There wasn’t any evidence that the missing boys were anything other than runaways. We have teens taking off to the bigger cities all the time. Nobody expected foul play in Paradise Pointe. And we still don’t know if the other boys’ disappearances are related.”
“But you
think they are, or you wouldn’t have mentioned them.”
He gives me a frustrated grimace. “If those boys are dead, then there’s a serial killer on the loose. Help me prove it so I can call in the FBI.”
The word serial killer scares the hell out of me. Craptastic. I don’t want anything to do with some Hannibal Lecter or Jeffrey Dahmer wannabe. Bad enough I’ve got Magnolia wanting a kid from me and Landry, which makes me highly suspicious of the whole pregnancy thing. Since I know we used protection…Stop! Focus, Mala.
These thoughts…so not helpful. I’ve got to contact the ghost of the traumatized kid soon. He would’ve been terrified. God, please don’t let me relive his death.
I brush away the tears filling my eyes. I can do this. I’m stronger than I was when dealing with Lainey and Acker. I’ll be okay.
The storm predicted this morning has rolled in from the southeast, darkening the sky to the same pissed-off gray that Landry’s eye would get if he knew what I was about to do. Fingers crossed that the rain holds off until we search the crime scene. Now I know why I didn’t need to change out of my grungy clothes.
Old Lick Road borders Bayou du Sang, which meanders through a boggy wooded area so dank and impenetrable that I wouldn’t be surprised if Bigfoot has taken refuge inside. The undeveloped land has a darkness about it. A miasma seeps out of the earth, like the land is alive and filled with hate.
“Who was the hiker?” I ask. “Why was he even there? Everyone avoids Old Lick.”
George shrugs. “The hiker’s a she—a professor from New Orleans conducting research. Apparently, Old Lick is a botanical treasure trove for homeopathic medicinal research.”
“Do you even understand what you just spouted?”
George laughs. “Not at first. I gave you the Botany for Dummies version. I was too embarrassed to ask her to idiotproof it even more. The gist is that she was out searching for plants that might have medicinal uses. She had a whole bag full of twigs and berries.”
“She stayed that long? Didn’t she feel it?” I rub my tingling arms.
George shrugs. “My guess is she ignored her unease. Not many people pay attention when their spidey sense tingles. I bet she will in the future. She got quite a shock finding those body parts.”
We spend the rest of the drive chatting, but really we are lost in our own thoughts. It has a déjà vu feel. I always think that if I had a crystal ball to see my future, I never would’ve pulled Lainey from the bayou. Now I’m not so sure. I kind of like my life. Yeah, there are some horrible parts, like Mama and Dena, but I’ve got a family. I’m not alone.
Saints, I’m a selfish witch.
When we drive past the cemetery gates, I close my eyes so I don’t inadvertently make eye contact with one of the spirits. I concentrate on forming a shield over my thoughts. I’m not that great at holding it for extended periods of time yet. But it helps in situations like this. The shield blocks whatever psychic wavelength the ghosts tap into to contact me.
George parks at the entrance to Old Lick. It’s a single-lane road. Potholes and broken chunks of asphalt litter the roadway. I follow George out of the car, breathing in air thick and heavy with moisture, while he pops the trunk and pulls out a raincoat for himself and an extra poncho for me. “In case the storm hits.”
“Thanks,” I say, giving the steadily darkening sky the evil eye and wrapping the poncho’s sleeves around my waist. “How far in do we have to hike?”
“About half a mile to the crime scene. Are you ready for this?”
“Yeah, but I’m glad we don’t have far to go. I’m already getting the willies.” I hold out my arms so he can see the raised hairs and then follow him as he sets off at a brisk pace. “So, have you heard the old stories about this place?”
“I never believed in ghost stories,” he says with a sideways grin. “At least until you. Wasn’t there a massacre out in the woods somewhere?”
“Ha! Try multiple. The first happened back in the 1700s. Local legend says the massacre occurred during the war between the Chitimacha Tribe and the French, but nobody bothered to write down the exact story. A skirmish supposedly happened here during the War of 1812. And in 1918, a black family from Mississippi settled here. The parents and their four children were found murdered in their beds. No witnesses. After that, everyone decided the land was good and cursed. It reverted to the town. A lot of innocent blood stains this ground.”
“How do you know all this?”
My face heats, and I duck my head. “I’ve taken to researching all the areas in the parish where there may be ghosts, so I can avoid them. You owe me an expensive dinner at Jacques for agreeing to this.”
“How about a dinner party?”
I quirk an eyebrow.
“Aunt March’s birthday party is Wednesday night. You should’ve received the invitation weeks ago, but you never RSVP’d. She asked me to follow up.”
“I never received anything in the mail.”
He gives me a long look, then shrugs. “Maybe it never arrived.”
Or maybe it did. Landry picks up the mail at the box by the crossroads, but he usually stacks it on the kitchen counter for me to go through later. “I’ve got a bunch of unopened mail, mostly bills.” A few hate letters too from friends of the psychotic Delahoussaye siblings, blaming me for what happened to Redford and Clarisse. They can’t seem to believe that those nut jobs attacked me first, not the other way around. “It’s been so crazy lately…”
“Ah well, it’s nothing fancy. Just a small, informal dinner for family and friends. She asked me to invite you and Landry and Reverend Prince.” He glances at me from the corner of his eye. “I’m bringing Isabel. Dad and my mom are also coming.”
Realizing I’ve fallen behind, I take a running skip to pull even with his longer stride. “Isabel?”
“Interesting how you focus on Isabel first.”
My cheeks heat. “It’s just that I thought you broke up.”
“She agreed to give it another go once I told her you and Landry are together.”
“My relationship status shouldn’t have anything to do with yours.”
He gives me a lingering sidelong look. “But it does, and Isabel knows it. So try to look lovey-dovey with Landry at the party. Only not while I’m around to watch.”
I break out a smile oozing with false innocence. “I always do.”
George snorts. “Except when you’re fighting.”
“Landry and I don’t fight. We discuss. Life’s too short for fighting.” I sigh and shrug. “I guess I should feel honored to even be invited, given the attendees. George senior hasn’t acknowledged my existence. Much less claimed me as his illegitimate offspring. Does he know? Or is this one of Aunt March’s grand schemes to throw us together?”
“He knows it’s one of his sister’s schemes, but I think he’s secretly happy about it. He’s been walking on eggshells since Mom learned about you. She was shocked. For about a month, I thought for sure they’d split, but she’s still fighting for their relationship. Granted, she’s not happy about him cheating on her, but I think she’s willing to accept you.”
“Wow, I’m so lucky,” I drawl. “Fine, Landry and I will discuss going to this big, happy family gathering. And I’ll let you know whether you’re on your own with Isabel.” A plan to use Landry as an excuse not to go immediately forms in my head. I don’t think I’m mentally prepared for face-to-face rejection. I’d much prefer if my sperm donor and his wife continued to pretend like I don’t exist. That’s so much easier than suffering their scorn in person.
A warm hand wraps around mine, and I look up at George. “Sorry, but you seemed a bit lost.”
“Oh? What did you say?”
“We have to go off-road.”
The deer trail he points to heads toward Bayou de Sang. The underbrush thickens around us to form a tunnel of vines and leaves. George has to stoop to keep from being poked in the head. The path widens after about three hundred feet, revealing trampled g
rass and police tape attached to stakes in the ground.
“That’s where the professor found the hand. The fingers were scattered around. Andy brought out his K-9, but Rex couldn’t sniff out the trail. It’s like the body parts fell from the sky.” He turns his frown onto me. “Are you picking anything up?”
“Do you mean on my ghost radio?” I shrug, spinning in a circle. “Like I said, I’m not really good at controlling my powers yet. It’s not like I can find the right station at first. It’s more like scanning for the right…um, psychic frequency.” I take a deep breath and close my eyes.
“What are you doing?”
My eyes pop open. “Shh, I told you. Scanning. It’s kind of like meditating. It means shut up and don’t question me every two minutes.”
He grunts, but mimes locking his lips. Only this time he throws the imaginary key at my head, and I involuntarily flinch, getting a chuckle out of him. He walks over to sit with his back against a tree and props his arms across his upraised knees and then, with a negligent flap of his hand, gives me permission to continue.
My eyes shut again, and I focus on the shield around my thoughts. I picture it like a brick wall that I built piece by piece, and I deconstruct it the same way. Slowly. One brick at a time, all the while scanning the area. Goose bumps prickle. With each piece of the wall removed, my range increases, extending outward in a radiating circle. Wind picks up the ends of my hair. The stench of rotting meat fills my nose. I turn my head in that direction, inhaling deeply. Raspy whispers fill my ears, barely audible, more timbre than words, resonating through my body. My mouth dries.
I breathe out a puff of icy air, whispering, “He’s here.”
“Where?” George asks, calmly. Too calm. As if his voice were forced from deep within his chest. It sounds like he’s moved from beneath the tree. That he’s close enough to reach out and touch. “Do you see him, Mala?”
My lips feel dry, cracked. I let my tongue moisten them before speaking. “I’m scared to open my eyes.” My voice shakes. “I feel him.”
The cold spot surrounds my body. I’m trembling, chilled. A crack of thunder blasts overhead, and I jump. My eyes pop open with my scream, and then I see what I only felt deep in the marrow of my aching bones.
