"That's right."
"He was so happy he could help the both of you," Betty said.
"He didn't get in trouble because of us, did he?" Cait asked.
"Oh no. It wasn't anything like that."
Cait bit her lip. She figured Betty wouldn't be able to give his forwarding number, but she had to try anyway. "Is there any way I can reach him?"
"I'm sorry, dear. He hasn't left a forwarding number. You could try Sara Caine though. Whatever message you have, she'll get to him, I'm sure of it."
"I'll try her, thank you," Cait said and hung up deep in thought. She'd never heard of a priest quitting the church but then with his gifts it was no wonder. He must have gotten into it with the church.
* * *
Sara Caine drove up the Pacific Coast Highway with a cassette of Chopin keeping her company. It was another gorgeous fall day in Los Angeles, and she knew she'd find Johan surfing at Malibu Point. Even if he wasn't there, she got the joy of this beautiful drive and the knowledge that she had helped solve a case and the murderer had been brought to justice.
Getting the phone call from Caitlyn Rogers had strengthened her resolve to open up her own investigative shingle. She'd talked to a bunch of private detectives in the last two weeks and had gotten a bit deflated with the hours of apprenticeship she'd need to do before becoming a licensed PI.
The trick would be to find a mentor and she never had much luck with that. Father Johan didn't exist anymore. He had quit the same day as his interrogation with the police and never looked back. She still hadn't gotten a clear answer about whom Luther was, but she'd get it out of him, eventually.
She parked off the road and locked up the car. The afternoon surf session was just beginning, and she hoped she'd catch him before he got into the water. She trudged through the warm sand to a pack of surfers and saw his broad shoulders disappear into his black neoprene wetsuit.
"Johan! Johan!" she yelled and picked up the pace. "Johan!" She saw one of the other surfers nudge him and he turned around. She waved and closed the distance between them.
"Hey, I hoped I'd catch you before you went out," she gasped between breaths. "I'm out of shape apparently," she added rather lamely.
"My offer still stands," he said still grinning.
"Me? Surfing? I don't think so. I don't want to be eaten by sharks," she quipped.
"Fair enough," Johan said.
"Wait, are there really sharks out there?" she asked, eyeing the water with suspicion.
"There are many things out there, Sara."
"Right, anyway. I got a call from Caitlyn Rogers. They arrested Sandra Morris at the clinic today," she said and flushed with excitement. "We did it, Johan. You did it!" she said and gave him an impulsive hug. His smell was mixed with salt and wind and made Sara dizzy. She pulled back, all of a sudden self-conscious. Johan stared down at her and she noticed he was just as flushed as she was. That was definitely a good sign.
"I just wanted to let you know that," she said and noticed that they were standing alone on the beach.
Johan dipped down closer to her ear to be heard over the wind. "I should go out now. Will you stay and watch me?"
Sara nodded.
He picked up his board. "I'll convince you to go out one of these days," he said and ran off to join the others, leaving Sara and her racing pulse alone on the beach.
* * *
Sam Rogers cuddled up to his mother and closed his eyes. She was reading The Time Machine and, although they had just finished it last week, he'd asked her to read it again. He loved the sound of her voice and the structure of the language of the book.
"Mom, how come you came home so happy?" he asked without opening his eyes and felt her body stiffen next to him.
"I don't know whether I should tell you, Sam. It's about Jimmy," she said in that muffled voice of hers that meant he had scared her again. He'd been on his best behavior the last four weeks and made sure to revert to the small boy he was before he saw Sandra and his past had come rushing back into his mind. He had thought it worked since she actually started to laugh and smile again. He had no idea why the nightmares and seizures had gone away, but that was just fine with him. Just as well since they scared the hell out of him. If they had caught Sandra, though, he needed to know. He'd been sneaking the LA Times when she wasn't looking but beyond some articles about the discovery of his body, there hadn't been any new information.
"Tell me," he said.
"Are you sure you want to know?"
"Yes, Mom. Tell me," he said and opened his eyes. He twisted to see her face, and sure enough fresh tears had sprung up in her eyes.
"We want to get past this, don't we?" He knew the moment he saw her face that his mask had dropped, and she saw Jimmy again and not Sam.
"They arrested Sandra today for Jimmy's murder. They came to the clinic and got her," she said and studied his face. She needn't worry though. All he felt was peace and glee. They'd caught Sandra. She would pay for what she did to him. He turned away from his mother and closed his eyes.
"Thank you," he said and took a deep breath. He had a chance at a new life. He remembered all the mistakes he'd made in his old life and would make sure not to fall into the same traps again. His imagination ran wild at all that he could do with the knowledge he had.
School would be a breeze. He would make something of himself. It was almost inconceivable to fail when he had been given an opportunity like this one. And this time around he had a parent who gave a damn. He'd heard that the confidence most successful people had, they gained from their parents. This woman, his new mother, would give him that confidence. She cared so much that she did everything above and beyond to help him. He'd never had that kind of love before from anyone.
He needed to give her back Sam, he thought, whatever that meant to her. He'd get good at hiding his true self.
He smiled at his mother as she started reading The Time Machine to him. He would have the best life.
Enjoyed Missing Soul? Book 1 in the Caine & Murphy Thriller Series is out now,
Grim Angel (formerly called The Elk)
Her eyes are closed. Her lips form a grimace as her body lays tangled in the sheets...she is not the first.
When Barney Leonard discovers the body of his beloved Barbara at an Los Angeles Assisted Living Facility, no one believes him when he cries murder.
Sara Caine wanted to be like everyone else in Los Angeles. After a suspicious car accident killed her parents and left her in a coma, Sara awoke possessing otherworldly powers. Armed with the ability to speak to ghosts, Sara gets called in to investigate Barbara's death. As Sara discovers more suspicious deaths, the killer closes in. If she could only convince LAPD Detective Eva Murphy to believe her.
Keep reading for a sneak peek, or buy it now on amazon.com / read it for free with Kindle Unlimited!
I
Chapter 1 - Catalyst
February 16, 2005 - 3AM - DAY 1
Ghosts walked the halls at this time of night, when every living thing slept, and they could roam undisturbed. It was 3 a.m., the devil’s hour. Jesus Christ died on the cross at 3 p.m. and the devil mocked the Son of God by choosing 3 a.m. as his favored hour. I thought the devil’s choice to be an inspired one and adopted this hour for myself. I prowled around the silent halls of the former Bockerman Hotel, and remembered Rudolf Valentino sneaking into starlet’s rooms every night he stayed there, or Greta Garbo sauntering down the hallway enticing Marlene Dietrich. None of them would step foot in the place now. The assisted living facility it had become had none of the glamour of its previous incarnation, but at night I could imagine it in its heyday.
The eighth floor hallway, dingy in the bright light of day, was illuminated by a soft amber light from Art Deco lamps along its length, and held a distinguished beauty with rich colors of red and orange lined with gold. Doors stood sentry on either side of the hallway, each beckoning me to enter. I ignored them all as I’d already made my choice.
Creaks and whispers filtered through the ancient vents as I walked the length of the hall towards Room 837. A moth banged against the nearest wall sconce, desperate for its light. I caught it in the palm of my hand and crushed it. I hated the damn, filthy creatures. I wiped the guts on my shirt as I reached the door. Her door.
I unlocked it with the key I’d pilfered from her last week. The lock disengaged with a low click. Such a trusting woman, our Barbara. My heart sped up as I stepped inside with one swift movement and closed the door behind me. Howard Carter must have felt the same way I did, at this very moment, when he penetrated Tutankhamun’s tomb. The treasure lay right before me.
I expelled my breath with a low wheeze and swore softly. I hadn’t accounted for my treasure hating any sort of ambient light. I stepped forward, impatient, and half-blind, towards the window. The creak of the old floorboards screamed in my oversensitive ears as Barbara moaned and gave a small snore. I held my breath and waited. The silence blanketed the room quickly and I tiptoed to the window, pulling the curtains back to let in enough light for me to go about my business. Her white blond hair shined like a beacon flashing through a thick, dense, black fog and beckoned me closer.
I leaned over, my face inches away from hers, and watched as a nightmare flickered across her closed eyelids. The sheets twisted around her frail body as her gnarled arm clutched the edge of her blanket. She rolled to her right, emitting a soft moan. She made it so easy.
I pinned her arm against the mattress and forced it straight. I pulled the syringe out of my pocket and found a good, proper vein and slid it into her arm. My finger caressed the plunger. I licked my lips and savored the moment.
One. Two. Three.
Goodbye Barbara. I pushed the plunger down and filled her vein with a syringe full of air.
A rush of adrenaline made my extremities tingle as I watched the effects of the air bubble shake her body. Pleasure rolled through me as she startled awake with a gasp, eyes wide. Her body arched as the first convulsion shook her. And then another. And another.
She clutched at her chest and moaned before her eyes closed, and her face softened. My heart thumped in my chest. The final moments of a life were a wonder to behold.
I bent over and gave her a kiss. Her cheek felt warm on my lips. I brushed a few strands of grey hair off her forehead, took out my pen, and made my mark. Maybe someone would find it this time.
I lifted the blanket, placed her arms on either side of her body and pulled down the flowered nightgown that had ridden up her thighs during the convulsions. I appraised my work and smiled. The killing wasn’t like before, but it worked well enough. Time changed everything.
A knock sounded on the wall above the headboard, and I went rigid. The knocking moved over to the wall behind me and I twisted to catch whatever it was. A wall of black greeted me as I peered into the darkness and found it empty. Blackness. Nothing but blackness.
The floorboards creaked under my feet as I rushed back towards the door. Loud knocking erupted all around me. I spun but only saw dead Barbara in her empty room.
“Barbara?” I whispered.
Fear. I remembered that feeling and didn’t much care for it. I needed to move and now. My feet felt encased in concrete as I shuffled backwards, my back hitting the door.
“Why? Why?” The whispers swirled around me. “Why? Why?”
My hands fumbled for the knob. Why was the room so damn cold? I’d read something about ghosts and cold rooms. Had I just created a ghost? I’d heard Barbara dabbled in what she called the black arts, but I didn’t believe in any of that nonsense. People were plenty evil enough without having to go about creating ghosts and demons to explain away sins. I was the perfect example of that.
“Now, you get to live forever, Babs,” I whispered as I pulled the door open.
“Why? WHY?” A gust of freezing wind pushed me out into the hallway, and the door slammed shut behind me, the impact rattling the walls. I hurried down the hall before anyone could see me, adrenaline pushing me forward.
II
Chapter 2 - Sorrow
FEBRUARY 16, 2005 - DAY 1
Sara Caine pulled her cap down further down to shield her green eyes from the harsh midday sun glaring off the concrete of 5th and Main Street, home of numerous crack dealers, and famous for nickel and dime bags strewed like confetti on the sidewalks. The march towards respectability and development failed at this particular corner of Los Angeles, with dealers haunting each of the four corners and skid row sitting two blocks away.
Even in its heyday in the 40s, Main Street resisted a good reputation and now, as developers bought up many of the grand old buildings and priced out the artists, the place was filled with a strange mix of wealthy, young professionals and the destitute.
Sara was headed toward the first of these new developments, the Old Bank District. In the 1980s, no one in their right mind ventured downtown past nightfall. Many people died on this street over the years and many of their ghosts still hung about. Sara fixed her gaze straight ahead and pretended she didn’t see them. The moment the ghosts ascertained what she was, they’d be all over her.
Sara slowed her pace as she reached the San Fernando Building on the corner of Main and 4th Street. Her client lived on the top floor.
She took a deep breath and prepared herself for the encounter. Ghosts extracted much of her personal energy to present themselves when she called for them, and it felt like getting mononucleosis times a thousand. She meditated to build walls of protection around herself, but dropping them was part of her job.
The lobby of the San Fernando was eerily silent and was, at first glance, part of a deserted building, the only clue of occupation was the stack of LA Weekly’s next to the double bronze doors. She dialed the client’s apartment number into the call box, and the buzzer sounded within moments. Sara passed through the interior lobby and called the elevator down, spreading her attention ahead for any signs of activity. Finding nothing extraordinary, she stepped into the elevator and pressed the client’s floor. The elevator shook once and began its slow ascent. Maybe she should have taken the stairs, she thought, and grabbed the handrail. The thing didn’t feel as if it’d been repaired in years.
* * *
“I’m so glad you came on such short notice,” Mr. Delancy said as he opened the door to her knocking. He was a large man well into middle age with a round belly, and dandruff sprinkled onto his shoulders. She followed him inside the loft, a strong smell of whiskey wafting after him. He cleared his throat.
“So, uh, how does this work? I’ve never done this sort of thing before.”
“It’s pretty simple. Nice view, by the way,” Sara said as she gazed west to the Continental building, an architectural gem and, formerly, the tallest building in Los Angeles. Usually, her cases consisted of bad plumbing, rodents, and ever shifting foundations, but most of her cases at the Continental ended as being real hauntings and she had a fondness for the place.
“Do you know the top floors of this building were a gambling and gin joint,” Sara asked him as she touched the exposed brick wall to her left. In some cases, her touch alone called up the spirits of the dwelling and played their story in her head as if she watched a movie. It didn’t happen often but once in a while she got lucky. She preferred this touch technique over some of the others since buildings and objects didn’t sap her energy as people did.
“Really?” he asked with a look of boredom.
“Run by the LAPD and the mob,” Sara added and took her hands off the brick. He perked up at that.
“That’s so cool. Could that be my problem?” He smiled wide. “So did anyone die in here? Can you feel anything or how does it work? Oh and my girlfriend wanted to know, how do you become a paranormal investigator anyway?”
Sara took a deep breath and gave herself a moment before she spoke. She’d been asked this question multiple times, and she still hadn’t come up with a smooth enough answer to satisfy clients. Today, she wasn’t in the mo
od to be clever and decided to just tell the truth,.
“Your building is a historical one, so yes that could definitely be the problem. I can’t entirely explain to you how it works. I see ghosts or apparitions in front of me, and sometimes I feel their thoughts in my mind. On some rare occasions, I can touch a wall or an object and the story that the ghost wants to tell comes flooding in.” She stopped and checked her client’s expression. He was still with her and looked more interested than he had the entire visit. She continued, “My parents died in the same car crash I was in when I was in high school, and when I woke up, I just had this new ability.”
“In high school?” he said, looking aghast. “That sounds horrible. I mean, high school is painful just being high school. I can’t imagine what that must have been like to lose your parents and get this new ability.”
“Thank you for saying that. I really appreciate it. And yes, I barely made it out of high school. A therapist and a priest saved me from myself and well, as I grew older, I figured out a way to help people with it. I try my best.” She shrugged. “As far as how today goes, I’ll do a preliminary analysis of paranormal phenomena in your residence. If you do have a paranormal problem then I’ll call in my cleaner, and we’ll get rid of whatever is plaguing you.”
“So you can really see ghosts?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief. “If we hadn’t seen that couple, I wouldn’t have believed in any of this. I still can’t believe what I saw with my own eyes.”
And there it was. Even when she spoke the truth, the first impulse of any client was to state their disbelief. It was almost as protection for them not to sound mentally disturbed or something. To be fair, she couldn’t wait to transition to a more mainstream profession.
Missing Soul Page 9
