Lost Souls

by A. C. Nicholls

  A tear suddenly appeared at the corner of his eye, plunging down his cheek. He nodded, wiped it off with the back of his shaking hand, and thanked me profusely for taking the time to come and see him.

  I said goodbye and got halfway down the drive, when he called to me.

  “If you get the dirt on Joan Flowers, make her pay.”

  Once more I nodded, waved, and made my way home.

  If I get the dirt on her, I thought, it will be a damn miracle.

  Chapter Nineteen

  All I really wanted was to gather my thoughts. It was nothing that a hot shower and a good meal wouldn’t change, assuming I could afford the latter, but when I got through the door of my apartment and dumped my jacket onto the back of the couch, a completely different concern took my attention.

  I stopped dead in my tracks, staring across my tiny home at Link, who sat inside his fruit bowl and gestured toward the dining chair. His brow was furrowed and his arms were folded – stubborn and sulking.

  “What’s up with you?” I asked, trying not to laugh at his overdramatic demeanor.

  “We need to have a little chat.”

  “Okay…”

  I rolled up my sleeves, slipped the telepathy magicard onto the side, and joined Link at the table. Something was very wrong here. I could feel it in my bones. I’d been expecting to see him sprawled out across the couch, watching daytime TV and working toward a better mood. But what I got was… well, this.

  “What’s on your mind, Link?”

  “I want you to understand yourself.”

  I spread my hands. “What does that mean?”

  “You’ve been denying your affections for too long.”

  Ah, this is about Jason. “I have?”

  “You have.” Link nodded and got up. He then began his slow, theatrical walk along the dining table, looking down at his feet and shaking his head between mumbles. “I think you should call him.”

  I blinked hard and cleared my throat. “What?”

  “You heard me. Call him.”

  “I thought you didn’t like him,” I said, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

  “I don’t, but this isn’t about me.”

  Sighing softly, I wondered if he might be right. There was something off balance about me, and it was at least remotely possible that it had something to do with the way I’d dismissed Jason. If I could repair our final parting, at least I might feel better about myself – might be able to focus a little more on my spirit/witch dilemma.

  “Well,” I said, “I don’t know where I left my cell phone.”

  “It’s under your pillow.”

  All right. I slid the chair back and got up, making my way over to my bedding, which lay in a messy pile on the floor. When I lifted the pillow and took the phone out from under it, I paused. “Wait a minute. How did you know where it was?”

  Link shrugged. “I put it there.”

  “But I lost it.”

  “And now you’ve found it.”

  I quickly checked the call log, and – as suspected – the local pizza place had been dialed only two hours ago. “Stop burning through my money,” I told him, scanning through the phone for Jason’s number. “I’m poor enough as it is.”

  “I had to eat.”

  “You live in a fruit bowl.”

  “Fruit is… insufficient.”

  I shook my head, raising my finger to my lips to quiet Link. I heard the ringing tone and waited for Jason to pick up, my heart pounding away at a million beats per second. I stood with my legs quivering under my weight, and felt like a little girl again with her first crush.

  “Hello?” Jason said through the earpiece.

  My reaction – ridiculous as it was – was to hang up and stuff the phone straight back into my pocket. I spun around quickly to look at Link, whose arms were still folded defensively across his chest.

  “Well?” he said.

  “No answer.”

  “Bull.”

  “No, seriously,” I lied, but I also tried to understand my motivation. Did the idea of speaking to Jason not appeal to me? I was almost sure that it did, so then, why could I not face the situation right now?

  “Text him,” Link said.

  God, this guy does not give up!

  “I will.”

  “Now, please.”

  I sighed, strolling across the room to the kitchen counter and shuffling through my mail. Bills, bills, and more bills. Lucky me. At least they served as a mild distraction. It was better than nothing. “I will do it when I’m good and ready.”

  “And miss your chance,” Link said. “Sure.”

  “When did you start caring about him?”

  “I don’t, but I care about you. Obviously.”

  Shaking my head again, I dropped the letters and returned to the small living room. I slumped onto the couch, stared at the blank TV, and thought that maybe Link was right – I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Jason.

  I pulled out my phone again and drafted a text. It read:

  I miss you.

  For a time, I lingered on it, adding and deleting words. I thought hard about what exactly it was I needed to say to him. Was an apology in order? I thought so, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. Sadly, stubborn pride seemed to have captured my fingers, holding them hostage.

  In the end, I was left with the same three words. In a momentary flash of bravery, I sent the message and then tossed the phone to my side. I didn’t need to hang around to see the response – I needed to concentrate on the mission. I had to figure out what my next step would be, even if it killed me.

  But then the phone buzzed.

  I found myself automatically rushing toward it, desperately reading the reply.

  I miss you, too.

  Further words failed me. But his response didn’t require a reply. He’d closed the communication loop. Link talked at me from across the room, but his comments dripped off me like rain off an umbrella. But despite the thousand thoughts that rushed through my head, I did happen to realize that – for the first time in a long while – I grinned. And the joy I felt was real.

  Chapter Twenty

  The police station’s lobby was a small, air-deprived room packed full of eye-catching characters. There was a young punk-rocker couple handcuffed to chairs and looking away from each other, a family of five dressed in ragged clothes whose kids ran around and played without any consideration for others, and a homeless-looking lady who – judging by the stench – was wasted. The dull décor was barely noticeable amid the chaos in front of me.

  Link, whose mind I could read as he sat in my pocket, thought only of his own discomfort. For his sake, I wanted to keep this quick. The less time I had to stand around in the middle of a cop shop, the better.

  I approached the desk and waited for a short, dumpy black lady to return to her chair on the other side. When that time finally came, she spent upward of a minute reorganizing herself and flipping through a pile of papers before she even acknowledged me.

  “Can I help you?” she finally asked, barely looking up at me.

  “I hope so,” I said. “I wanted to find out what happened to a friend of mine. A Mr. Robert Lutz, nineteen years old, recently died in a car accident.”

  “What is it you want to know?”

  “Everything on his criminal record.”

  The woman grunted a short, sharp laugh. “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s private information.”

  “I thought you might say that.” I sighed, looked around at the characters waiting behind me, ignoring me, only involved in their own unique dramas. Which was a good thing, as far as I was concerned, so I turned back to the receptionist while igniting the power of the magicard in my pocket. “Let me see those records.”

  The lady stopped chewing her gum, staring at me while her mouth hung open as if to catch flying insects. Her eyes widened, staring at me in shocked surprise. I could feel her energy transfe
rring into my mind as I dove deeper into hers. All her thoughts and feelings, all her hopes and fears, rushed through me like a ghost train, echoing loudly as I went in deeper. When I reached my destination, I concentrated and held it steady.

  “Let me see those records,” I said again, this time with the magicard’s power of persuasion. I waited, my breath held, expecting it to fail – expecting the cop to tell me to go away and never come back.

  When she finally spoke, everything I had wanted tumbled out of her mouth.

  “Sure, sugar,” the woman said, climbing out of her seat and walking around the counter. “Here, take my chair. I’ve just logged in, so you should be able to find everything you need on my computer. Is there anything you’ll need help with?”

  I grinned, taking her chair. “Just keep me undisturbed.”

  As I began to search the computer’s database, I tried to disconnect from the woman’s thoughts. It was a big distraction, hearing the questions she asked herself; What just happened? How did it happen? Where do I go now? I finally let go of her mind, and sunk deeper into the chair.

  The information I found on Bobby Lutz proved interesting but unhelpful. The records showed where his body had been found – the steps of the local library. It suddenly clicked that Bobby Lutz must have been the spirit I’d fought at that location. So then, who was the spirit at the theater? Were these two somehow connected?

  Just when I thought things couldn’t get more complicated, I noticed a separate file. It was titled Known Aliases, and I clicked on it without hesitation. The file showed photographs of multiple men, each of whom had a criminal record of their own. At first I thought there was nothing special about these people, but then something grabbed my attention – something that knocked the air from my lungs.

  They were all deceased.

  My mouth went dry as I eagerly looked at each individual, turning up details of their deaths. They’d all been found at locations I’d marked on my map, but the one that really captured me – the one that left me breathless – was the two found dead at Char’s Mall.

  The spirits are all connected.

  I heard a commotion beside me, and glanced up to see the receptionist talking to a suited man. His piercing eyes shot daggers at me through the glass of another room, his bald pate reflecting the light from his office. I couldn’t quite make out his words, but I could clearly see the woman standing in his way, preventing him from reaching me.

  Shit, I thought. Have to act fast.

  As the shouting continued, I studied the files closer, looking for a clue of some kind – anything that might help me understand the missing link. The reports showed nothing in common; the deceased had different CODs and there seemed to be no connection between the sites where the bodies were found. All seemed lost. Nothing here could help me, and I wanted to throw my hands in the air in frustration.

  Until I spotted Bobby Lutz’s Statement folder.

  I kept an eye on the suited man, watching him try to physically remove the receptionist from leaning on the door. I activated my magic, sending her a quick thought to brush up on the persuasion: “Don’t let him pass.”

  The woman leaned harder into the door, screaming at her superior and kicking up a fuss. Everybody in the waiting area stood now, peering around the corner to try and get a better look at the train wreck unfolding before their eyes. While the drama took their attention, I quickly rushed through the documents, skimming the information and picking out only the parts that I needed. There were comments from Bobby, stating that he hadn’t wanted to commit his crimes. There was mention of blackmail, which gripped me enough to scroll further down.

  When I did, I saw the name.

  “Oh…” I was totally lost for words. It felt like all the pieces of the puzzle were finally clicking into place. I tried to keep reading, to take in more of the statement, but my eyes kept returning to that one paragraph – the one thing Bobby Lutz had said in an official police statement:

  “I was blackmailed by Joan Flowers on multiple occasions. Sometimes she would have me steal cash for her, and other times she would only want sexual favors. Last night, on the night I was arrested at the scene of the crime, Miss Flowers told me that she killed my friends. She told me that their bodies were stored at her house. That was why I broke in…”

  The document went on to detail that Joan’s house had been searched by the police, but no evidence had been found to support Bobby’s claim. Shortly after that, his body was found and Joan Flowers was subsequently questioned, but his death was later ruled an accident.

  Beside me, the door tore open and the suited man finally stormed in, marching toward me, his wrinkled face a mask of hostility and anger. He raised a hand and pointed right at me, his face turning beet red as he bellowed, “Step away from that computer!”

  I stopped reading, raised my hands in a defensive posture and slowly stood out of the chair.

  “Step back. Get against the wall and keep your hands up.”

  As the man checked the computer, his fingers fiddling with the handcuffs on his belt, the woman looked at me with desperate eyes, begging forgiveness. I didn’t mind – she had given it her all for someone she didn’t know, and she had done well.

  But for now, I would have to let go of her mind.

  The suited man became my next target.

  My magic flowed through me, reaching past the raging thoughts that flickered through his mind. I found a center point, locking onto it, and told him that everything was okay. I told him that I was his superior, and that he was afraid of me.

  Then he turned my way.

  His eyes glowed with fearful recognition, and beads of sweat moistened his forehead. “I’m so sorry, miss,” he said. “I didn’t realize who you were. Is there anything – I mean, do you want a coffee or something? I can go and get you one, or…”

  “I have everything I need.” I lowered my hands and said my goodbyes. The room fell silent and all eyes trained on me as I left the police station, walking quickly up the street and around the corner.

  Even though telepathy had proved effective, it gave me an immeasurable headache. It was great knowing that I could use it to get out of a tight spot, but at the cost of my dignity, I would try to avoid it in future. If at all possible, anyway.

  When I was finally alone on a dark, empty street, I leaned against a brick wall and exhaled. Link slipped his head out from my pocket, looking around and asking what the hell had just happened. I didn’t know what to tell him, but I updated him on everything as he listened quietly.

  “This makes sense,” he said, a slight enlightenment reaching his eyes.

  “Yep.”

  “And Joan Flowers…”

  My heart pounded so fast that it made me lightheaded. I couldn’t quite decipher my emotions – something between relief at discovering the truth, and fear of what it might mean. All I knew for certain was that I was no longer in the dark.

  “Joan Flowers is a murderer,” I said, staring glumly at the sidewalk and considering my next move, “and she’s been lying to me from the very beginning.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The day I burst into the witches’ house with only a telepathy magicard would go down in infamy as one of the biggest regrets of my life. Anything else would have been better than that – anything at all – but what can I say? I was desperate.

  I took to the window, hoping against hope that I’d find it open. As soon as I saw that it was, Link clutched my jacket and flew me up to it. My anger and frustration at the witches lent me the remaining strength to climb up the ledge and get inside.

  I’m going to get you, you goddamn liar.

  Just what was it that Joan Flowers was up to? Using people for her own personal gain was one thing, but trying to have me send the spirits so her tracks would be covered? I felt like a pawn in her twisted game, and I didn’t appreciate it. I felt sorry for the spirits, too.

  Once inside, I looked around. The house was dark, dusty and deadly silent. Onc
e more I found myself creeping along the landing, peering down over the broken bannister near the living room as the wooden planks groaned under my weight. I couldn’t see much; only Joan sat in her chair by the open fireplace, facing away from me with a large hardback book spread across her lap.

  My hate for this woman grew with each passing second. I watched her for a moment, waiting for her to make a move or to turn around and throw a last-minute spell at me. I hoped she hadn’t heard me enter, but I was an intruder, and getting the drop on this witch was exactly why I had broken in to begin with.

  Silently, I watched, waited.

  Rage fueled my impatience. I could no longer look at her without grinding my teeth. Before I had time to reconsider my rash actions, I shot to my feet and yelling down at Joan, my blood boiling and my fist shaking with anger. “You think you can just use people?”

  Joan jolted forward, slammed the book shut and spun around to face me. Her expression read both surprise and a lack of understanding. She removed her glasses slowly, studying me and beginning to rise out of her chair.

  “Don’t get up,” I told her.

  “Then sit with me.”

  I shook my head. No way would I give up my advantage. I took the spiraling steps down to the dark living room, keeping my eyes trained on her. Missing nothing. Not one minor detail escaped my notice. If I knew anything about witches, it was that they were sly and wily. This one was no exception.

  “What are you doing in my house?” Joan said, anger lacing her own voice.

  As I reached her, I circled the chair she sat in, like a ravenous lion, letting my looming presence intimidate her. From the corner of my eye I saw Link, hovering at the far end of the room and keeping watch – my silent guardian. “I know about Bobby Lutz.”