Wicked in Wonderland

by Lotta Smith

  When Rick didn’t answer, she looked slightly irritated. “Hello? Are you listening to me?”

  “Rick?” I touched his arm. “She’s here, and she’s asking you which kind of scene fits with this moon—romance or horror.”

  “What? The moon?” One of his eyebrows made the slightest twitch. Then he added, “That’s a good question,” meaning he was clueless and somewhat confused.

  “Yes, the moon. What kind of a scene would you use this moon for?” I said. “It’s a very important question. Our v… I mean our client wants to hear your opinion.” I was about to use the word “victim,” but she seemed to be so chipper and excited, and I had a hunch that she wasn’t aware of her situation yet. Provoking the victim wasn’t high on my to-do list, so I decided to go with the softer word “client.”

  “Hello?” Finally she took a moment to look at me. “Excuse me, but why does he need an interpreter when both he and I are using English?”

  “Well….” I offered a vague social smile in an attempt to convey that I wasn’t her enemy.

  “Oh, maybe I’m talking a tad bit too fast, right?” She clapped her hands. “That happens so often. My bad, I’ve got to talk slower so as not to confuse you guys.” She nodded, apparently to herself, then kept talking to Rick. “By the way, I really love the way you look. Do you mind if I ask you to take your shirt off and show me your chest?”

  “Excuse me?” I exclaimed. I’d seen many ghosts in the past, and some were weird and some were evil, but so far, no one had asked Rick to take off his clothes just thirty seconds after meeting.

  “What did she say?”

  The moment Rick furrowed his eyebrows, Eve said, “Look, you don’t have to play deaf, Mr. Hot Stuff. Pretending like I don’t exist is rude.”

  “Rick, she wants you to take off your clothes and show her your chest,” I informed him.

  “Seriously? It’s February.” Rolling his eyes, he asked me where she was. As I gestured toward her, he looked in that direction, saying, “The answer is no. As in nonnegotiable no.”

  “Oh, perhaps you might want to reconsider.” She tilted her head to the side and looked him straight in the eyes. “Look, it’s not sexual harassment. All I’m asking you for is a sneak peek of your upper body. My work studio is heated, so you don’t need to worry about freezing. Give me three minutes and my sketch will be done. I’ll include your name in the credits when the rough sketch turns into a character. I promise. Your boss will be thrilled, and you might get a raise or a bonus.” Making her point as if she were channeling a congressperson, she asked, “So, which publishing house are you from?”

  CHAPTER 2

  I opened my mouth and then closed it, as I wasn’t sure about the right answer.

  “You’re both editors, right?” She smiled at me.

  I cleared my throat. “Well, actually, we’re not editors.”

  “Oh really?” Her eyes widened, and her cheeks turned red. “Look, I’m so sorry about asking you weird things, and I’m awfully sorry about saying things that are considered sexual harassment. My sincerest apologies. I thought you were both editors, and I assumed you were willing to help me with creating my art.” Cupping her cheeks, she did a full-body shiver. “Oh my God! I’m so embarrassed! It’s been weeks, if not months, since I’ve talked to anyone wearing a suit who’s not an editor. I know there are men in suits who aren’t editors out there, but unfortunately, I don’t get to speak to such men. What a shame.”

  “It’s okay. Everyone makes mistakes,” I assured her.

  “And when I actually get to speak to a guy who isn’t an editor, he’s always someone like a UPS delivery person, pizza delivery person, or someone manning the cash register at a store,” she went on, rolling her eyes. “Of course, I could stumble upon my Prince Charming anytime, but so far, no luck.”

  She seemed to talk endlessly unless stopped, so I said, “Um, my name is Mandy. I’m an agent from USCAB. And this is Rick, the COO of the company and my husband.”

  “Hi.” Rick raised his hand.

  “Get out! You two are a couple, and you’re married?” Eve shrieked, throwing her hands up. “Again, I’m so sorry about asking him to remove his shirt. And thank you so much for not bitch-slapping me upon my rudeness.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. It’s not the first time something like that has happened,” I said.

  “What are you talking about?” Rick asked.

  Before I had a chance to fill him in, Eve spoke up. “Did you just say USCAB? Isn’t that a huge security company?”

  “Right. We’re talking to you on behalf of the NYPD and the FBI. We’re consulting with the law enforcement authorities,” I answered. “So, you’re Ms. Eve Wellington, a graphic novel artist, right?”

  I was almost sure the ghost I was talking to was the same Eve, but I wanted to be 100 percent sure. Even though the case file didn’t mention anything like an identical twin sister, a doppelganger could exist. Talking to the wrong ghost and wasting hours was not ideal.

  “Yes, that’s me, Eve Wellington. But what are you two doing talking to me?” She frowned for a few seconds, but then she perked up. “Oh, now I know why. You’re here to help me with research, right? I’ve been nudging my editors and publishers to help me talk to the police and the FBI. So, you’re not exactly the FBI or the police, but USCAB agents are even better. I’ve heard that USCAB hires a lot of former law enforcement and military people. So, what should I ask you first?”

  “Actually, we’re not here for your research,” I said apologetically.

  “Oh, you’re not? So, are you just a couple of USCAB agents visiting here and talking to me, like, out of the blue?”

  “Out of the blue?” I parroted. Rick pulled me aside and questioned me about what she said, so I explained.

  “Let me do the talking,” he told me, then asked where she was. I indicated where she floated, and he turned in that direction. I had half expected her to notice her life status, or lack thereof, but she seemed too occupied with her own thoughts and words. “Actually, we have a purpose for visiting here. We need your help to solve a case,” he said.

  “Wow, a case?” Eve said excitedly. “What’s happened in this neighborhood? I’m more than happy to help you.”

  She looked both thrilled and super curious.

  I cleared my throat and switched on the recorder app on my phone. Of course, the app itself couldn’t pick up the ghost’s voice, but I could record what she said by parroting her words. “Actually, a woman was stabbed here on this exact spot eight days ago.”

  “How scary!” Her eyes widened. “Any more info?”

  “The victim is a twenty-six-year-old woman who lives near here.”

  “Was she robbed?” Eve asked.

  “Yes.” I nodded. “Her purse is missing.”

  “Okay, that makes it a robbery-assault case, right?”

  “That’s possible,” I said cautiously.

  “Did you talk to the victim? She might be able to give you the mugger’s description.”

  “Right. That’s what I’m trying to do right now—by asking you some questions.” I looked at her, half hoping she’d take the hint and realize her status as a ghost, and half bracing for some kind of catastrophe.

  “Me? Why me?” Eve looked back at me innocently. For the first time, she seemed confused.

  For a moment, I felt reluctant to answer her question, but trying my best to look composed, I said, “Because you’re the person who was stabbed here eight days ago.”

  “What?” She frowned. “I wasn’t stabbed. Maybe you’re confusing me with someone else.”

  She didn’t utter the phrase, “What are you, stupid?” but her expression conveyed her thoughts loud and clear.

  Then she spoke to Rick. “Hey, your wife is making a serious mistake. Why don’t you tell her something like ‘Honey, you’re not talking to the right victim,’ or whatever’s appropriate?” But of course, he didn’t answer her. Mostly because he didn’t have the skill to see
or hear dead people.

  “Unfortunately, I’m not confused about the victim. You’re the victim we’re talking about,” I interjected. “Maybe you don’t remember what happened, but can you possibly check your lower back? The area between your spine and the left side?”

  “If you say so.” Eve didn’t seem to be convinced, but she felt for the area I’d mentioned. The moment she glanced at the blood smeared on her fingertips, her ghostly face turned a lot paler. “Holy mother of crap!” she shrieked. Her left side and lower back were literally soaked in blood, the bleeding recognizable even under the scarce light of darkish streetlights and the moon.

  “Well?” I looked at her expectantly, hoping she could come to terms with her death without my telling her.

  “Hospital! I need to go to the hospital!” she said breathlessly. “Mandy, you’ve got to call an ambulance! Somehow, my phone is missing…. Oh my God, I’m gonna die, literally bleeding my guts out…. It’s a bloodbath! A total bloodbath!”

  She reached for her wounds and shrieked again as her hands turned red with blood.

  “Unfortunately, an ambulance would be a tad bit… late for you?” I said, sounding more like a question than a statement. “Besides that, I’m afraid you’ve sustained more damage in your kidney rather than the guts.”

  “Excuse me? You’re going to let me bleed to death? What are you, a psycho? How could you leave someone bleeding so heavily without at least offering to help?” She tried to grab my arm, but her bloodied hands just went through me. She tried to whack me in the chest, and then she tried bitch-slapping me, but every time, her chubby hands went through without touching me.

  “What’s going on?” She stopped flapping her arms and looked at me in obvious horror. “Are you a… ghost or something?”

  “No, I’m not a ghost, but….”

  “If you’re not a ghost, why do I go through you without making physical contact?” she demanded.

  “That’s a good question,” I said. “Actually, you’re the one who happens to be a ghost.”

  “What?” She opened her mouth and then shut it, repeating the motion several times as if she was channeling a suffocating goldfish. Then she shrieked again. “What?” Her semi-long pink hair flew up in the air as if it had developed its own will. “What did you just say?”

  “I said you’re a ghost,” I muttered, truly loathing my job.

  “What? Why? No way! You’re lying! Okay, maybe lying is a strong word, but you’re pulling a prank on me, right? So, where are the cameras? They’re hiding somewhere, shooting every little action of mine, aren’t they?” She ran around in search of cameras. “You know what? If I were a Brit, I’d be screaming, ‘Bloody Hell!’” She suddenly developed a British accent, sounding like she had a case of sinusitis.

  “Look, Ms. Wellington… wait.” I tried to calm her down, but she was fast.

  “Is she upset?” Rick said.

  “Yes!” I nodded. “She thinks she’s being pranked. Right now she’s racing around, searching for candid cameras.”

  “Hey, Ms. Wellington!” Rick called, prompting her to stop running.

  “Yes?” She turned back to him. “By the way, you can call me Eve.”

  “She heard you,” I whispered. “And she wants you to address her by her first name.”

  “Okay, Eve. Why don’t you try touching this?” he said, tapping on the concrete wall of an apartment complex.

  “What? Why?” Looking at him as if she’d seen an alien for the first time in her life, she reached for the wall. “Oh,” she gasped. The tips of her fingers went into the building without being blocked by the physical wall. She pulled her hand away and looked closely at it.

  “Look at that. Your fingers went through the wall, right?” I said.

  “Okay, let’s try it again.” Without answering me, she shook her head and tried to push the wall. Again, her hand went inside—that time as deep as her wrist.

  “Um, Eve?” As she repeated the process in silence, I spoke to her. I thought she might break down and cry and mentally braced myself for a potential temper tantrum. When ghosts have one, things tended to get ugly, as in very ugly.

  She stared at her hands for a while, but then she muttered, “Oh my God… how cool is that?” Then she started sinking her arms in the pavement and poles, and even tried to grab Rick in his very private part.

  “Hey, what the heck are you doing?” I scolded her.

  “Take it easy, I’m just a ghost. Look, my hands just go through him instead of grabbing him.” She shrugged.

  “What the—” Rick frowned, squirming. “I feel weird. Is she touching me or something?”

  “You don’t want to know.” I rolled my eyes. “Hey, Eve, stop that or else I might have to exorcise you,” I lied. I didn’t have the skill to get rid of naughty ghosts, but she didn’t know that.

  “Okay. You don’t have to shoot me.” She sighed. “What a shame. It sucks big-time.”

  “I’m sorry about your death,” I offered, but she shook her head.

  “That’s not the shame I’m talking about. The issue is that I feel invisible.” She shrugged and confronted Rick. “Hey, why do you keep ignoring me? You’re acting as if you can’t see, hear, or feel me. If you have complaints, can’t you at least tell them directly to…”

  When she hesitated midsentence, I tried to explain. “Look, Eve, it’s not like he’s intentionally ignoring you. Like I said, you’re—”

  Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. She whispered, “Hey, I wasn’t really listening, but did you just say I’m dead?”

  “Yes, I did. Unfortunately, you’re dead,” I said firmly, even though I hated delivering bad news to her.

  “Oh my God! I’m dead?” She tilted her head to the side. “So are you two grim reapers or what?”

  “No!” I exclaimed. “Look, I told you we’re agents from USCAB, right?”

  “What did she say?” Rick asked.

  I turned back to him. “She thinks we’re grim reapers, which we’re not, so I’m trying to correct the misunderstanding.”

  “Oh yeah?” A corner of his lips quirked up into a lopsided grin.

  “Don’t even think about addressing me with the big G-word,” I warned him before he called me the angel of death. Not that I had anything to do with the grim reaper, but in the past, there was a time that people believed I was. It wasn’t a memory I cherished.

  “Of course not.” He winked. Then he asked me where the ghost was and faced that direction. “Eve, you might have already noticed, but I can’t see or hear you. Mandy happens to have a special skill to communicate with dead people, and that’s why she’s helping me with your case by conveying your words to me.”

  “Excuse me?” Eve twitched in apparent shock. “You can’t see or hear me? So that’s why you’ve been acting like I’m invisible?” She waved her hands in front of Rick’s face, and as she saw his eyes didn’t move, she took a deep breath. Facing me eye to eye, she said resignedly, “Okay, it looks like you’re telling the truth. He doesn’t see me, and he doesn’t hear me. Again, what a shame. The person who gets to talk to me is—”

  As she muttered sadly, I interrupted. “I’m sorry for not being an alpha male.”

  “It’s okay. It’s just… I guess I need to get used to being dead. Wow, it’s weird to be dead and talking to living people. So, why did I die?” she asked quietly. “I mean, I’d like to know whodunit and the reason why.”

  “You died on the night of February third. You need to recall that night so we can catch the killer,” I said.

  “February third? What was I doing?” She knitted her eyebrows. “Oh, how can I recall details about a specific date when I have trouble recalling what I had for dinner the day before?”

  “That day was the deadline for the magazine, right?” Rick chimed in as I relayed her words.

  “Yes, every third is the deadline for the graphic novels magazine The Wonderland.” The Wonderland targeted female readers. Basically, the comic
s and graphic novels industry had been a boys’ club, where the majority of the creators and the target readers were both men. But according to the case file, The Wonderland was one of the most unique and innovative of its kind, as the majority of its creators were women, as were its target readers.

  “Okay, so what did you do after submitting the complete manuscript to your editor?” I asked. I wasn’t an expert in graphic novel publishing, but I knew for a fact that she indeed submitted the manuscript, mostly because the info was noted in the case file.

  “On that night, I was going to attend a party hosted by the magazine, so we—I mean, my assistants were staying at my place—worked quickly. Luckily, we were able to finish the final manuscript at around three o’clock in the afternoon. So we changed into party attire and hit the road for Mandarin Oriental.”

  “Until when did you stay at the party?” Rick asked before I had even told him what she said.

  “We went to….” Eve took a moment to take a breath and glanced at me. “Hey, he’s not supposed to see or hear me, but he asks questions at the right moments. How does he do that?”

  “He usually does that by observing my reactions. He’s gotten good at asking the deceased the next question before I’ve relayed their words to him,” I replied. “So, until what time did you stay at the party?”

  “Until it had ended. So, that would have been something like ten o’clock that night.” She looked up as if she was trying to recall her memory. “After that, we went to a bar close to the hotel to enjoy some more vodka, then hit the club. Whenever we’ve made it to the deadlines, we always hit the bars and nightclubs to enjoy a little moment of freedom. So, even after a party at a fancy hotel, we were ready to get drunk.”

  “Okay,” Rick said as I relayed her words. “So, what happened after hitting the bar?”

  “I took a cab back to this neighborhood. Beverly Walker, one of the assistants, was with me. Kylie and Jessica, my other assistants, live in Union City, and they left on the train, but Beverly lives pretty close to my home—as in just two stations apart by train. Her apartment is closer to downtown and she got off on the way.”