by Lori Drake
Marshaling his will, he managed to catch the edge of the light afghan at the foot of the bed and draw it up over her. It wasn’t done with any precision, but it was done. He didn’t bother trying to move the bottle, but he did turn off the light—or, rather, burned out the light bulb. Then he sat on the edge of the bed beside her, looking toward the window. It was creepy to watch someone sleep, no matter what the romance novels said.
She had dark, sheer curtains in the room, a rich eggplant color with a pattern of interlocking circles that only showed when light shone through them. Tonight, they were opaque. That otherworldly fog obscured the waning moon entirely.
The absence of the moon’s pull struck him most at night. Maybe that was one of the holes in himself that he couldn’t seem to fill. An empty, moon-shaped hole that made him want to lift his voice in a mournful howl. That would have sounded pretty silly, wouldn’t it? Or would, if there were anyone else around to hear it.
“If a ghost howls in the woods…”
Joey stirred behind him, shifting fitfully in her sleep.
“Chris,” she mumbled, still asleep.
At least that’s what it sounded like to him. He turned toward her.
“Shhh,” he said softly, reaching for her arm where it poked out from beneath the haphazardly draped blanket. He closed his eyes and lowered his hand until he felt the solidness of her arm under his fingers. It was strange to touch her, yet not feel the warmth of her skin. Instead, all he got was the impression of something solid, but soft. His mind filled in the rest as he rubbed her arm gently, soothingly.
Memories flickered through his mind, vivid flashes of countless occasions when it’d fallen to him to comfort or soothe her—or her him. Competitions they’d lost, wounded pride, broken hearts, all of life’s little bumps and bruises. It had been a long time since she’d come to him in the night seeking solace after a nightmare. That had gotten complicated when they were teenagers and he couldn’t quite control certain reactions to her warm body in the night. But it had happened, if rarely, since then. Those nights were some of his most cherished memories, of falling asleep with her in his arms. Now, they were like a dagger to his ghostly heart.
“I was such a fucking coward.”
She sighed in her sleep and settled down while he sat there thinking about the years they’d had together and the future that had been stolen. Sitting there, he lamented the path not taken. Many paths not taken, actually. For all that he had tried to live his life without them, he had a lot of regrets.
When Joey stirred again, the clock said ten-thirty. She woke with a soft snort followed by a groan as she rubbed her eyes and rolled over to peer at the clock. The time had gotten away from them both, apparently.
“Good morning, sunshine.”
She didn’t answer of course, just stretched and kicked off the blanket before rolling out of bed.
Chris shadowed her as she left the room, but loitered in the hallway rather than follow her into the bathroom.
“From the looks of it, you had quite a night,” he commented, from the other side of the door. When the shower came on, he sighed and resigned himself to setting pictures askew in the hallway while he waited. However, as he dragged his fingers along the wall an idea struck him—a wicked, lovely idea.
Grinning, he waited until the drum of the shower spray against the tub was interrupted, signaling Joey’s entrance into the shower. Then he darted through the bathroom door, cackling like a madman.
“Let’s see you blame this one on Ben…”
16
Freshly showered and wrapped in a towel, Joey stepped in front of the sink and froze in the act of reaching for her toothbrush. A scream caught in her throat when her eyes fell upon the words scrawled on the fogged-up mirror: CALL DEAN -C
She recoiled, scrambling backward until the door prevented her from going any farther. For a few seconds, all she could do was stand there as her brain struggled to process what was right in front of her eyes.
“Chris?” Joey’s eyes darted around the small room as she clutched her towel with one hand and fumbled blindly for the door knob with the other. Her heart hammered in her chest.
She stepped aside, yanked open the door and escaped into the hallway, where she stood watching the mirror slowly de-fog. Before her wide brown eyes, two more words appeared, drawn line by line by some invisible hand: HELP ME
What was left of her skepticism evaporated with the condensation, and she couldn’t get to her phone fast enough. Still wearing nothing but a towel, she tore apart her room looking for Dean’s card and dialed his number without hesitation once she found it.
By the time Dean stepped through the front door of the restaurant, Joey had been sipping coffee at the bar for nearly two hours. He wasn’t late. In fact, he was right on time. Joey had been early. Very early. She’d flown out the door so fast that she wasn’t entirely sure her socks matched.
Dean paused inside the door and scanned the room. When his eyes shifted in her direction, Joey raised her coffee cup to get his attention and went back to sipping while she watched him approach. He wore that same leather jacket, a sporty black number with an angular zipper. Its silver buckles, hanging from short leather sleeve straps, jingled quietly as he approached. He also carried a motorcycle helmet, so maybe the jacket wasn’t just for style. His curly brown hair was a bit tousled.
“Thanks for coming,” she said once he was in range. “I know it was kind of short notice.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I had an opening. Do you mind sitting outside? It’ll be a little easier to talk out there.”
“Yeah, that’s fine. We shouldn’t have to wait long for a table. This is kind of an out of the way place, so even the lunch rush isn’t too bad.”
They made small talk while they waited, but once they were seated on the patio Joey studied Dean in silence while he looked over the menu. He was slouched comfortably in his chair, as if this were a casual meal with a friend rather than… whatever this was. Business?
“I’m not sure how to start,” she admitted, after a lengthy pause that bordered on awkward.
He smirked, glancing up from the menu. “Well, maybe an apology is in order?” One of his dark, flat eyebrows arched subtly.
She blinked, slowly.
He smiled and set the menu aside. “Just kidding. Look, I get it. It was an awkward situation all around. Let’s start over. Why don’t you tell me about why you decided to give me a call?”
Joey narrowed her eyes, chewing on the inside of her lip. She didn’t trust him, not yet. But he was her only port in this particular storm.
“Let’s just say that I’ve had a few close encounters and I’m willing to consider that maybe you weren’t just blowing smoke up my ass the other night. I thought I’d give you a chance to prove yourself.”
Chuckling, Dean sipped his coffee. “How do you suggest I do that?” There was a confidence about him that wasn’t quite smug or egotistical. It was more like he was just intensely comfortable in this situation. She wondered how often he had meetings like this.
“Well, you said you can communicate with the,” she began, but paused and glanced around her to see who was in earshot. “Them. Him. So, I don’t know. Ask him to tell you something only he would know?”
“Mmmm. I see,” Dean nodded, rubbing his scruffy chin. “Well, there’s just one problem with that,” he said.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. He’s not here right now.”
“Well, that’s convenient, isn’t it?” Joey retorted. Her eyes narrowed.
Dean laughed. “Sorry, I can only do so much. But maybe if we have some lunch he’ll turn up. Anything you’d recommend? I haven’t been here before.”
Joey frowned, eyeing him. “You’d better not be angling for a free lunch.”
Dean laughed again, his brown eyes twinkling. “I can think of worse ways to pass the lunch hour than dining with a beautiful woman. My treat, I insist. I can write it off, anyway.”
; Joey blew out a sigh and reached for her menu, flipping it open. He really has no business being so likable.
“The BLT is good,” she said. “Unless you’re vegan. Or, uh, Jewish.”
“I’m a big fan of bacon. People who won’t eat bacon should not be trusted.”
“That’s very anti-semitic of you,” she said, barely restraining a chuckle.
“Also anti-vegan,” he said, grinning.
“One of my best friends is a vegan.”
“My condolences. But that’s more bacon for us, I suppose.”
Joey snorted softly, glancing surreptitiously at him over the top of her menu. “What makes you think Chris will show up in the next hour?”
“That’s not the right question,” he replied.
“Okay, what’s the right question?”
“Why isn’t he here, now? He’s desperate to talk to you.”
“Is he?” Joey asked, playing it cool.
Dean nodded. “Why do you think he’s making his presence felt? I mean, some spooks haunt for fun or they’re just deranged and don’t really understand what they’re doing. But he’s got it together.”
“So, why isn’t he here now?”
“Beats me. Sometimes they’re tied to specific places, but I know that’s not true because he was at the cemetery, the club and home with you. He could be anchored to an item, something special to him that you keep with you. But I doubt that, because he came to see me.”
Joey blinked, dropping her menu. “He went to see you?”
“Yeah, day before yesterday. He was having some trouble getting your attention, so I gave him what advice I could. I’ve never been a ghost, so I don’t know how much help I was—”
“Did he tell you why he wants to talk to me? What happened to him?”
Dean closed his menu and set it aside, gazing sympathetically across the table. “No, I’m sorry. Look, I don’t want to get your hopes up. The fact that he’s not here now is kind of a bad sign. Normally, I can see spirits. But I can’t see Chris. I can hear him, but I can’t see him. It probably means he’s pretty weak, and may not have the strength to manifest anymore.”
“I saw him.” The words were out before she could stop them. The idea that Chris had been with her all along, only to fade away when she was on the cusp of being able to talk to him, well, it was like a fist squeezing her heart. Desperation oozed out.
Dean drew up out of his slouched position slowly, a spark of interest in his eyes. “Oh? When?”
Joey studied the surface of the wrought iron cafe table, drawing a slow breath in an effort to calm herself. Dean’s eyes were still on her when she looked up again.
“The day of the funeral,” she said.
“Where? What were the circumstances?” He was leaning forward slightly, regarding her in much the same way Emma had the previous night.
Joey told him about the encounter in the bathroom as best she could. He listened without interruption, without judgment, merely nodding his head thoughtfully as she finished.
“That makes sense,” he said, settling back in his chair again. “Water has been used in veil-piercing rituals for a long time. You probably did see him that day.”
“Wait,” Joey said. It was her turn to lean forward. “Is that all I need to do to see him? Hop in a pool of water and look up?” Disbelief warred with hope. It couldn’t be that simple. Could it?
Dean wrinkled his nose and tilted his head from side to side, dithering. “Ehhh, it’s hard to say. There may have been something else in play. I don’t actually know any veil-piercing rituals. Never needed to learn, you know?” He pointed at his eyes with V’d fingers.
“Because you can see them, right,” she said with a sigh, hands clenched into fists in her lap. “So, now what? We just have to wait for him to turn up? Can’t we, I dunno, have a seance or something?”
She was being mostly glib, but he replied in all seriousness. “Not until after dark.”
Joey never got to find out if he was joking, because at that moment Dean’s eyes lost focus. She sat up straighter.
“What is it?” she asked, leaning forward. “Is it him?”
“It is,” Dean replied, his brown eyes focusing on Joey once more. “He’s here, and he’s excited that you—” There was a bit of a stumble before he finished. “Called me. Sorry, he’s being very, uh, distracting.”
“Chris?” Joey said, her heart in her throat, seeming to throb against her tonsils. She couldn’t help but look around, hopeful for a glimpse of him even though she knew it was pretty unlikely.
“It’s better if you keep looking at me,” Dean advised. “Fewer strange looks that way.” He smiled gently, but there was a harried, distracted look about him now. “He says that you don’t need to take the car in, he’ll stop messing with it.”
Joey blinked. Of all the things she’d expect Chris to be in a rush to tell her, that wouldn’t have been near the top. “Tell him I won’t.”
“He can hear you,” Dean told her, patiently.
“Right, sorry.” Her thoughts whirled and she twisted the napkin in her lap between anxious fingers.
There was a brief pause before Dean continued. “He’s relieved. Now, Chris,” he said, though his eyes were still on Joey. “I need you to tell me something that will help convince Joey that I’m legit. Something I couldn’t possibly know, unless you told me.” A longer pause followed, during which Dean offered helpfully, “He’s thinking.”
Joey settled to wait, fingers twisting the napkin in her lap some more. She’d put it there automatically when she sat down, not even thinking about it. Adelaide would have been pleased, if anything about this little caper could possibly please her.
It was a couple of minutes before Dean spoke again, brow furrowed in confusion. “He says he’s sorry he’s going to miss Chris-mas.” He pronounced the word carefully so she’d hear the lack of a T. Joey’s eyes filled with tears, overflowing in record time to spill down her cheeks, dripping into her lap.
She put her face in her hands, struggling not to lose it entirely. “Oh god, Chris…” It took a few deep breaths and a considerable effort of will, but she managed to get enough of a grip on herself to continue. “Chris,” she said, wiping her cheeks with suddenly trembling fingers. “I miss you so much. What happened? Who did this to you?”
Dean sat there quietly, looking down at his hands while he presumably listened to what Chris had to say. After a few moments, he nodded and looked over at Joey once more.
“I hate to be an asshole, but before we go any further we need to discuss payment.”
Joey gave Dean a long look, and he had the grace to look a little uncomfortable under her hard gaze.
“Okay,” she said, tersely. “Let’s discuss it.”
“The initial consultation is two thousand. After we determine what needs to be done to bring Chris peace, we’ll decide if it’s best to proceed at an hourly or daily rate,” Dean explained.
Joey’s eyes flew wide, and that was before Dean suddenly pitched backward in his chair. He landed on his back with a grunt and a noisy clatter as one of his booted feet impacted with the underside of the table, jostling its contents. Joey was on her feet in a flash, rushing around to help him up. There went that good breeding again.
“You’re an asshole. I think Chris agrees,” she mumbled, keeping her voice low because a waitress had rushed over to make sure everything was okay. “He’s fine,” Joey told the woman, setting his chair upright and shoving it abruptly under his legs.
Dean collapsed into the chair with another grunt, but voiced no complaint. He looked up at the waitress and smiled sheepishly. “Clumsy me, I must have leaned back too far,” he assured her, while she cleaned up some spilled coffee from the table. After determining that no one was bleeding and they weren’t ready to order yet, she headed off.
Joey lingered behind Dean, her hands on his shoulders as if she had to hold him down since he apparently couldn’t be trusted to remain seated on his own. She did
n’t, of course, but she had trained at the Adelaide Grant school of intimidation. Leaning over his shoulder, she said quietly, “So, two grand? That’s pretty steep for a one-time consultation.”
“A guy’s got to eat,” Dean said, neither apologetic nor callous. Pragmatic, rather. He twisted his neck to look up at her. “This kind of work isn’t exactly regular, and altruism doesn’t pay the bills.”
Joey straightened, gave his shoulders an unnecessarily tight squeeze, and walked back around to the other side of the table. “Fine,” she said, retrieving her dropped napkin from the ground and settling into her chair once more. “What’s it to be? Cash, credit, PayPal?”
Dean smiled faintly. “I prefer bitcoin.”
“So, you won’t tell me anything else until you’re paid?” Joey asked, impatience creeping into her voice. To be fair, it wouldn’t be hard for her to lay hands on two thousand dollars. Between prize money from competitions, her monthly allowance from her parents, and the money she earned from teaching dance lessons, she did okay. However, she couldn’t produce it at the spur of the moment unless he had a card reader or something.
“Actually, I think you’re good for it so I’ll give you…” he fished his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. “Fifteen minutes, right now.” The phone landed on the table with a quiet thud, and though Joey glared daggers at him from the other side of the table, she wasn’t going to look this gift horse in the mouth.
“Who killed you?” she asked, starting small. Or, at least simple. She hoped.
“Her name is Tasha, or at least that’s how she introduced herself. I’d never met her before that night,” Chris answered, through his Dean-shaped mouthpiece.
