Dying to Know

by TJ O'Connor

  I sat upright and the greasy ball in my stomach eased. “Doc? Did you call me a dumbass?”

  Doc Gilley was standing behind my desk. He smirked and folded his arms in that classic “I told you so” pose. A lecture was coming.

  “Stand up, you’re embarrassing.”

  With effort, I rose to my feet and fell back into the leather recliner normally occupied by Hercule—who, I might add, was nowhere around. I felt winded, frail, and if it were possible, starved. My limbs were rubbery as though I’d just risen for the first time after weeks in a sickbed.

  “Doc, what happened?”

  “You pushed too far, too fast. You weren’t ready for that stunt with Angela and it cost you.”

  It cost me? “What does that mean?” My head ached—well, at least I think it did. If I were alive, this would be the worst hangover in my life and I’d be wishing I were dead. Funny how that works now.

  “You never listen.” Doc didn’t feel much pity for me. “You drained yourself almost dry. Don’t ask me what would have happened then. It never happened to me. I’m smarter than that. You’ve been gone for two days. I just now …”

  “Two days?”

  “Well, two days for Angel.” He frowned. “She’s been pining over you. You made a mess of things. You stirred her up and now she’s lost and confused—more than before. Dumbass, I told you not to do things like that.”

  Dumbass? Was it proper spirit etiquette to call me names?

  “Come on, Doc. Quit griping. I saved her life.”

  “I’m not sure.” He sighed and looked at me like a teacher scolding a student. “You bonded with her and that’s okay. It doesn’t work that way every time. Bonding is one thing; contact is different. In fact, it’s downright unheard of. You were Angela’s love and those emotions allowed you to intercede in the parking lot.”

  I remembered. “Doc, I hit the guy. I actually hit him. You said …”

  “Dammit, Oliver, putting words in her head is different than appearing—or fighting. You can’t do that.”

  “Can’t or shouldn’t?”

  “Both. You’re lucky I got to you when I did. If you don’t go a little slower, I can’t be responsible. If you go too far, I may not be able to bring you back.”

  “From where?”

  “Hell only knows. No pun intended.”

  I shrugged. “Two days? What’d I miss?”

  “Your funeral. It was quite nice, too.”

  “What?” I noticed his smug expression. “I missed my own funeral?”

  “Yes.” He waved in the air. “Just a small affair, mind you. Very tasteful. It’s best you missed it. She looked rather … content.”

  “Content? Oh, sure, because she knows I’m still around.”

  “If you say so.”

  I got serious. “Doc, is Angel all right?”

  “She’s fine—for now. Oliver, you’re dead. Your senses are gone. You have to stop fighting that.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I remember—no concentrating, no thinking. Be there and all that.”

  “Then do it.” He folded his arms and lost clarity. “And stop screwing around.”

  “Doc, the last thing I heard was Angel say, ‘It’s all my fault.’ What did she mean?”

  For a moment, he started to fade, but it wasn’t his leaving that unnerved me, it is what he said next.

  “I’m so sorry. I really am.”

  “For what?”

  “You made a mistake, Oliver.” His voice was hushed and sad. “You misunderstood your premonition. It’s already too late.”

  twenty-five

  Doc’s voice faded and he was gone.

  So was I.

  I stood up from the recliner and walked toward voices in my foyer. But, once again, it wasn’t my foyer anymore. It was a strange dining room with a small, round table in the center. The voices were coming from another room. I walked through a kitchen and an adjacent breakfast nook, then into a large living room. The apartment didn’t look familiar, but the eerie déjà vu throbbed in my head.

  Bear was standing across the living room with an arm wrapped around Angel. She was flushed and upset. “Oh, my God, not again. When will this stop? Poor Carmen.”

  Not again? This was Carmen Delgado’s home. No, oh no.

  Captain Sutter stood beside Bear speaking on her cell phone. Amid hushed comments, she looked up and barked orders at Clemens; his sidekick was nowhere to be seen.

  “All right, Bear,” she said. “From the top.”

  “Damn, Cap, again?”

  Her frown made the question moot. He began, “Been here a couple times since yesterday and came back an hour ago. No answer again. It’s been two days and no one’s been home, so I thought I’d better check. The office manager let me in. I found this place like this—torn up. She was in the back room and I called for backup. No signs of forced entry. Just all this.”

  “All this” was a war zone. The hall closet door was open and its contents strewn on the floor. Bookshelves were emptied onto the living room floor. The contents from end table drawers were littered everywhere. The kitchen was the same. Someone was looking for something they wanted very, very bad.

  “And you saw nothing all the times you came by?” Captain Sutter knew the answer. It was obvious she’d gone through Bear’s report before. “Think. Anything at all?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Think.”

  “That’s it.” Bear waved his hand around the room. “You have all I got from the neighborhood canvass. No one saw shit. Same as always.”

  “Yeah they did.” Spence strode past a uniformed deputy at the front door waving his notepad. He was still writing, and when he looked at Bear, he grinned. “You forget something?”

  I hated that grin. It always came with an overdose of irritation.

  “What?” Captain Sutter demanded. “Fast.”

  “Bear’s a real celebrity, Captain.” Spence flipped his notebook closed. “Two of the neighbors saw him coming in and out—a lot—over the past few weeks. At least three times in the last two days. Earlier today, around three, he came back. Mrs. Shannon, who lives across the parking lot, got a good look at him. She saw him sitting in his car two nights ago, too. She was about to call 911 when he left.”

  “So?” Bear stepped toward Spence. “Just what the hell are you saying, Spence? I already went over this.”

  “You left out the part about visiting so much. Several times, and not just yesterday and today.”

  Bear reared up. “Go to hell—that was personal. She’s missed work and Angel asked me to check on her. I did. What of it?”

  Captain Sutter turned to Angel. “How long was Carmen out of work?”

  “Two days,” she said. “I called her but she never returned my calls. When she didn’t come to Tuck’s service, I asked Bear to check.”

  Spence cocked his head. “If you were so worried, why didn’t you call the police?”

  “I did. I called Bear.” Tears welled in Angel’s eyes.

  “Sure, right, okay.” Captain Sutter threw a look at Spence that said, ‘shut up.’ She nodded to Angel. “We have to check everything. Too many incidents like this lately and they’re all centered on you.”

  Angel flushed. “I know that. That’s why I asked Bear to check on her. That’s why he was here.”

  “Sure, sure.” Spence sealed his fate. “Unless he already knew she …”

  “Bastard.” Bear’s powerful hand snatched Spence by the shirt, and dragged him close. “I’m getting real tired of your bullshit, Spence.”

  “Enough,” Captain Sutter said, then waited until Bear shoved Spence back two steps. “Spence, take Clemens and finish the canvass. Check for any security cameras in the neighborhood.” She turned to Bear. “You need to explain the missing details.”

  “I can. B
ut later, okay, Cap?”

  “My office.” She frowned as her cell phone buzzed. “Sutter. Yeah, right. Good—no great … okay. Put a uniform on her door and don’t let her out of sight.” She flipped her phone closed.

  “Is that about her?” Angel asked. “Is she …”

  “She’s awake—concussion and some broken ribs. She’s dehydrated from being tied up for two days. She’ll be okay, but she’s pretty shaken up and doesn’t remember anything.”

  “Thank God.” Bear touched Angel’s shoulder. “She’s lucky. Whoever did this must have been scared off before he could finish her.”

  “I’m not sure about that,” Captain Sutter said. She threw a chin toward a pile of china and books in the middle of the room. “He had plenty of time to do whatever he wanted—kill her or worse. He knocked her out and tied her up instead of outright killing her. No, I think he came here for something else.”

  Angel asked, “Do you think she saw him?”

  “Fortunately no,” Captain Sutter answered, “or she’d be dead. Unfortunate for us, though.”

  “Leaving her alive was a hell of a chance.” Bear walked to the back patio doors and brushed the blinds open. “He had to be sure she didn’t see him. Or, maybe I scared him away by banging on the door. I’ve done that a half-dozen times in the past two days.”

  “I think he was here,” Sutter said, “waiting for her when she got home.”

  I leaned close and whispered to Angel.

  “Oh my God, no,” Angel whispered as her face contorted. Her words didn’t escape notice. All the eyes fell on her. “I mean, oh my God, maybe she was taken from campus. That would make sense, right? The night it rained?”

  “Why do you say that?” Sutter asked. “That’s the same night you were attacked.”

  “I spoke with her that afternoon. That’s the last time I heard from her.”

  Bear glanced at her. When their eyes met, he cocked his head. “Angela, are you okay? I know a lot has happened, but …”

  “I’m fine. Really.” She held up her hands and closed her eyes. She did that when she was flustered and confused. “I’m just, you know … never mind.”

  Angel was in denial and I guess I didn’t blame her. As much as we’d bonded in the rain that night, she was still unsure and confused. Doc said I’d been gone two days since her attack. During my absence, someone tried to kill Carmen Delgado. I guess now wasn’t the time to try to convince Angel I was truly back. As hard as it was, I stayed quiet and listened.

  Bear waited while Angel composed herself; when she looked up at him with a forced smile, he said, “It does make sense, Cap. The last time anyone saw her was at work that night, late. Her car is out front here, and no one has seen her around. I’ll have someone check the campus security tapes.”

  “Run everything—and I mean everything.” Sutter regarded Angel with a hint of doubt in her eyes before lifting her phone again. “I’ll have the uniforms start tracing her movements all week.” She nodded to Angel. “And we’ll start at the university.”

  A uniformed deputy emerged from the rear of the apartment. He handed Captain Sutter a large, clear plastic evidence bag. Inside was a folded, tan bundle. “Here you go, Cap. Her raincoat all bagged and tagged. Might have some trace.”

  I knew the coat on sight—it haunted me from my vision. Doc was right all along. I hadn’t witnessed what I thought that night. I didn’t understand. I got it wrong—all wrong.

  Angel closed her eyes. “Oh, no.”

  “She was wearing this.” The deputy threw a thumb toward the rear bedroom. “Paramedics cut it off to work on her. I bagged it right away.”

  “Thanks, Don.” Captain Sutter handed it back to him. “Get this to the lab ASAP.”

  “That’s my coat,” Angel whispered, the words catching in her throat. “She sometimes uses it if she forgets hers. It’s always hanging in my office.”

  “She was wearing your coat?” Bear asked. “From campus?”

  Angel nodded.

  All eyes fell on her again and she looked away. The same question formed in everyone’s mind, but no one dared ask it. No one had to.

  Was Carmen Delgado the real target or was Angel?

  twenty-six

  The drive home was solemn and silent. Angel looked out the window and Bear focused on the road. I stayed quiet in the back seat. Angel was distant, more than I’d seen in a very long time. She was worried about Carmen, of course. When Bear dropped her off at our front door and offered to make dinner, she just shook her head and bolted from the car.

  She didn’t even wave back to him.

  Hercule was watching out my den’s bay window and that signaled all was fine inside. No monsters roamed. No killers waited. If Hercule was happy, all was safe.

  The uniformed patrol sitting curbside helped, too.

  As soon as the front door closed, Angel dropped to her knees in the foyer and burst into tears. Her body quaked as the tension and horror, kept well hidden at Carmen Delgado’s home, burst out. Since my murder, she’s been shot at, attacked, and nearly abducted, and now Carmen lay broken but alive in a hospital bed. It was too much for her now.

  Hercule moaned and leaned into her, offering his strong, warm body as comfort. His head went over her shoulder and she enveloped him in a tight, soothing hug. Her emotions drained over him. He moaned and rubbed his head against her, lapping at her face and erasing the sadness dampening it.

  I cried, too. My tears were not fear or sorrow, but anger. So much was swirling around her, so many dangers, and so few answers. I was powerless to comfort her. I sat down on the stairs facing her. There was nothing for me to do. Nothing to say. No way to console her—no way for anything. I felt a nasty brew of rage and sadness starting to boil over, and its scent was revenge.

  I wanted to reach out and tell her I was right beside her, but feared making things worse. Her worries might explode out of control if I lumped more onto them. Doubt—doubt about me—might push her over the edge. Just now, I had no idea how close she was to it.

  Hercule looked over her shoulder at me. He always saw me, always heard me, and always knew my presence. His tail swayed as his big, dark eyes captured mine. He blinked several times and with each one, sadness ebbed out.

  “Hercule, thank God for you. Take good care of her, boy. I can’t.”

  Woof.

  Angel relaxed her embrace and Hercule lapped her face again. It took a while, but finally her laugh signaled her weeping was over. He ran into my den and retrieved his favorite ball. I’d learned a long time ago that playing ball was not for the dogs, but for us. It was therapeutic. They just let us think it was for them.

  “No, boy,” she said, rolling it back when he tossed it. “Not now. We’ll play later.”

  He picked up the ball again, this time turning to me where I sat on the bottom stair. He was eye to eye with me as he gyrated. His friendly eyes sent me a message that I just couldn’t receive.

  “Herc, what on earth?” Angel sat on the hardwood and scratched his ears. “What are you doing, boy? What is it?”

  He never broke focus on me and let out a low, even moan. Then he barked and flipped his ball onto the floor and rolled it to my feet. He looked at Angel, back to me, back to her, and moaned again.

  I touched the ball, feeling the wet, slimy rubber tingle on my fingertips. Without thinking, I rolled it back to him. He caught it in his powerful mouth, flipped it back at me as he’d done so many times, and I returned it. The game continued.

  We played ball.

  “Oh, my God.” Angel slid back across the floor and rose to her feet, watching the ball traversing between us—three times, four. “Tuck? Are you here? Tuck?”

  Oh, crap, Doc was going to be pissed.

  “Oh, Tuck.” A smile erupted on her face. “God, I miss you.”

  Hercule picked up his ball and
lay down. He tucked the ball between his paws, mission accomplished, and let out another low moan, pointing his nose at me.

  “Babe, do you hear me?”

  She turned and retreated to the door, grabbed the doorknob, and closed her eyes. Instead of running from the house, she turned back to Hercule. “Damn you, Herc. You had me going again.”

  I went to her. When I touched her hand, the sparks singed us both. Her eyes closed and her head drifted down against her chest. “Please … That night, in the rain … did I imagine that? Was it you? Did you rescue me? Am I insane?”

  “Angel, it was me. Do you feel me? I’m right here—try.” I kissed her cheek.

  She lurched back and choked in air. “Oh, God. Is it real? Are you?”

  Okay, so I’m thickheaded in life and in death. Doc Gilley warned me about pushing things, and the last time got me a two-day suspension. Nevertheless, a time-out is a good place to rest, too. So, I was fully charged and ready to rumble. What would happen if I screwed things up again? Would it kill me?

  I touched her cheek. “Angel, it’s me.” I took her in my arms—moving in close. With every emotion, I willed myself into her. Then, from mortal habit more than any spirit wish, I kissed her on her lips. The familiar scents of bath oil and perfume sent a shiver through me, and for a second the lingering taste of tears wet my lips. Then, it happened—something I’d not felt before. Something pulled me, twisted my senses, and drew me out. Angel’s eyes closed. She was willing herself to me—me to her—craving the union that we’d shared for years and that now eluded us. I felt her thoughts; felt her strength inside. She was calling me—inside—willing me to come to her. There was no lightning, no sparks; just a warm, simmering passion like our first time. I didn’t know what it was, but a week ago, before leaving her grieving over my body, I called it love. Now, that love was seizing and consuming me.

  I was no longer in control; she was.

  My eyes closed and I felt her release me. The current of passion subsided, replaced by strange slivers of warmth that shimmered around us like the northern lights on a clear winter night.