by Mac Flynn
They took me to the police station and set me down on a bench in front of the main desk. It was a Friday night and the place was a little crowded with all walks of city life. Some officers brought in a couple of transvestites from a rowdy party downtown, another cop had a punk who had sprayed graffiti on the mayor's office, and then there were the clowns. A long line of them marched past me for fingerprinting and a short lockup. What I gathered from the clowns and cops was that a convention had gotten out of hand when someone made an unfunny joke.
I sighed and leaned back against the bench. What a day. First I get that scolding from my boss, and now I get an unexpected and unwanted guest.
Someone plopped down so close beside me that our arms nearly brushed against each other. I frowned and looked at the stranger. It was a handsome man with short spiked hair that poked out at all angles. His autumn-colored eyes were as sharp as his hair. The guy had a crooked smile and wore a tan overcoat with heavy black boots. He looked to be about twenty-five and had a cigarette dangling out of one corner of his mouth.
"You're Enid Runa, aren't you?" he asked me.
"Who wants to know?" I returned.
He looked at me out of the corners of his eyes and studied my face and body. "I heard about your case, and I thought I could help you."
"So are you a detective or something?" I asked him.
The man chuckled. "Or something," he replied.
He pulled a card from his overcoat and handed it to me. I read the contents out-loud.
"Paranormal Detective Ian Osman." There was a phone number at the bottom. I looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"
"Very serious, and I'd like to help you with your problem," he told me.
"How are you going to help me?" I asked him.
"I heard the details of your case from a friend and thought you had a good chance of being haunted by a malevolent spirit," he explained.
I scoffed. "I don't think there's any way a spirit would suddenly haunt the house I've been in for two years unless it's the ghost of a chicken, and that definitely didn't look like a chicken," I assured him. I held out his card and he took it back. "Thanks for the help, but no thanks."
He pocketed the card and studied my face. "It gave you a chill before you saw it, didn't it?" he guessed.
I frowned. "How'd you know that?"
"And you could see your breath, couldn't you?" he persisted.
I stood and glared down at him. "Now you're just guessing."
He looked up at me and took the cigarette out of his mouth. "But I'm guessing right, aren't I?"
I sighed and grudgingly nodded. "Yeah."
He stood and placed the cigarette back in his mouth. "Then I can help you because these guys are just going to look at you like you're nuts."
I snorted and turned away from him. "Welcome to the story of my life."
"Pardon?" he asked.
I shook my head and waved my hand in front of me. "It's nothing. Anyway, thanks for the offer, but-" He held up his hand.
"I've heard all the usual reasons for brushing me off," he interrupted me. "And I'm going to tell you I get calls back from ninety-five percent of people telling me to come over after they've had another paranormal experience. Do you really want to go through that, or can we cut it out and let me get my job done?"
"Only ninety-five?" I mused.
He grinned and shrugged. "Nobody's perfect."
I sighed and looked him over. He didn't have the appearance of a psychopath, or at least the usual tell-tale signs I got from the patients. There was consistent eye contact, a clean appearance, no fidgeting, and no aura around him like he had a god complex. An ego, but no complex.
I crossed my arms over my chest and shrugged. "All right, I'll let you come home with me, but you do anything funny and the cops will need a real detective to find your body."
"Then let's go," he suggested. He walked past me and towards the doors.
I reached out my hand. "Wait a sec. I still need to fill out my report."
He paused at the doors and turned to me with a strange half-smile. "Believe me, you don't want to waste time filling anything out here, and if we hurry I can have your ghost exorcised before the night is out or your money back."
He didn't wait for me to reply but walked through the doors.
"Hey! Wait a minute!" I yelled as I raced after him.
I caught up to him on the sidewalk just outside the police station. He walked fast and his overcoat billowed behind him. It made it hard not to get whacked by the thing.
"You never said anything about payment," I reminded him.
He chuckled. "Don't worry, I won't charge you anything for my services."
I frowned at him. "Then what's in it for you?"
The smile slid off his lips and his cigarette hung low. "Let's just say I have a score to settle with someone, and each destroyed poltergeist and spirit put to rest is a win for me."
"So it's personal?" I guessed.
"Very," he assured me. He stopped in front of a red convertible with the top down and hopped over the door and into the driver's seat. "Get in," he told me.
I looked over the car. "You sure this job isn't going to cost me an arm and a leg?"
He smiled and the end of the cigarette that dangled from his lips glowed red in the dim light. "Positive, now get in."
I slid into the passenger seat and he pulled out. We sped through the heavy traffic of the Friday night, and I clung to my door handle as we zipped through and between cars.
"Mind slowing down? I'd like to live to see another day," I called to him.
He ignored my question, but slowed from break-neck speed to break-arm. "So I'm guessing this is your first haunting?" he asked me without looking at me.
"Yeah, I'm practically a virgin," I quipped.
A grin slid onto his lips and his eyes flickered to me. "I could do something about that."
I felt my cheeks redden and I glared at him. "This is a business deal, Mr. Osman, and my occupation isn't prostitute."
He looked away from me, but the smile didn't fade. "What is your occupation, Miss Runa?"
I crossed my arms over my chest and glanced at my side of the street. "I'm a secretary for a mental health clinic."
"The pay any good?" he wondered.
"It keeps me fed," I replied.
"Well fed, by the looks," he commented.
I whipped my head to him and ground my teeth together. "I'm not fat! I'm just big-boned!"
He held up his hands and the car steered on its own. "No complaints here. I happen to like shapely women."
I sank into my chair and glared at the windshield. I was inwardly flattered, and outwardly disgusted. "Let's just get home."
"As you wish."
He drove me to my townhouse and we parked out front. Fred sat on his stoop in an old broken lawn chair. He jumped to his feet and moved over to the railing closest to us.
"Who's that guy?" Fred snapped at me as he jerked his head towards the detective.
"A-"
"An old friend," Osman spoke up.
I gave him a glare and unlocked the door to my house.
Fred's eyes swept over Osman and his look got uglier. He showed off what was left of his yellow teeth with a sneer. "Never seen you before."
"I don't get out much," the detective replied.
Fred glared at him and turned to me. "So what's going on around here? I thought I heard a TV blaring and saw the cops come."
"I accidentally turned my TV up too high and got called on by someone," I lied. "They took me to the station for a statement."
Fred's eyes flickered to Osman. "Are you a cop?"
Osman smiled and shook his head. "I don't have that pleasure."
Fred snorted. "Ain't no pleasure around here. It's liable to get you shot at, if you know what I mean."
"Perfectly," Osman assured him.
I noticed the detective's indifferent attitu
de irked my creep of a neighbor. Fred wasn't my favorite human, but I didn't want him to hate me. It would make him that much more difficult to deal with. I pushed open the door and wrapped my arm around one that belonged to the detective.
"Well, it's always nice talking to you, Fred, but we really need to get inside and-um, reminisce about old times," I told him.
Fred leaned on the railing and pursed his lips. "If you've been at the station then who was turning the TV up all those times for the last half hour?" he asked us.
I froze and felt my blood run cold, but I managed an unconvincing chuckle. "Guess I'll have to scold my dog for watching TV while I'm out. Anyway, we'll see you later."
I shoved the detective inside and shut the door hard behind us. I leaned against the door and shuddered. The detective turned to me and raised an eyebrow.
"I'm guessing you don't have a dog who likes to watch TV," he commented.
I shook my head. "Not even a cat," I assured him.
"I see."
The detective strode forward and swept the room with his eyes. I noticed his eyes had a strange tint to them, almost like they reflected light really well. His teasing demeanor was dropped for a serious look. He wandered through the dining room and into the kitchen to the hanging grocery bags, and back to the burst eggs where he paused.
"And you're sure you've never experienced anything like this before?" he asked me.
I snorted. "I think I'd-" A memory hit my brain like a punch to the chin.
The alley. That cold feeling.
The detective looked up at me and frowned. "What is it?" he questioned me.
I bit my lip. "I. . .well, I might have felt something tonight when I was walking home from the grocery store."
"What did you feel?" he persisted.
I shrugged. "I don't know. Some sort of a chill, I guess. Kind of like-"
"Someone walked over your grave?" he guessed.
I blinked at him, but gave a nod. "Yeah, how'd you know?"
He turned away and walked through the kitchen to the living room. "So you suspect that the spirit followed you?" he asked me.
I followed him and shrugged. "How should I know? But if it did I don't want to keep it." The detective stepped between the TV and the couch, and he turned to TV.
My eyes widened as I was struck with the realization that he was replaying what had happened earlier step for step. The pause at the grocery bags, my going up to the eggs, then into the living room where the TV clicked on. He was playing me. That is, he was following my steps exactly.
I stepped into the living room, but made sure I had easy access to the front door through either the kitchen or the hall.
"How are you replaying my steps?" I questioned him. "I didn't fill out a police report, and I didn't give the cops this much info."
He faced the TV and his tense face reflected in the dark glass. "Let's just say I have a keen smell for these things," he admitted.
I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him. "Let's not, and say I'd like to know who the hell you really are. Are you in on this? Is this some sort of joke by Fred or-"
I jumped when there came a heavy thud from directly above us. The detective rushed up to me and pulled me behind him. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the stairs.
"Do you have a roommate?" he asked me.
My heart thumped loudly as I shook my head. "No."
"Then stay here. I'll go see what that was," he told me.
"Like hell I am," I retorted.
"All right, but stay behind me," he ordered me.
CHAPTER 4
