“They’ll listen,” she replied. “You’re the best they’ve got. Your opinion matters.”
Laughing, she turned back to the boy. “Come on. Let’s fly.” She cradled him close and spun, growing into a vortex of colors.
Once they became
a blur of stardust, Luc watched them soar upward into the platinum sky.
Too damn soft.
And her softness just might be the death of him.
Chapter 12
Before Luc got the opportunity to discuss Jodie’s future as a bounty hunter with the Board, the call came to return to the Soho loft and retrieve Mr. Finch.
Once again,
Luc led the way inside the warehouse space on the sixth floor of the industrial building. This time, Mr. Finch’s welcome was a lot warmer. He actually attempted to embrace Jodie. But their ions simply bounced around each other, repelling like mercury shavings with a magnet. Strange. Jodie almost seemed to shy away from getting too near Finch, which might not have baffled Luc if he hadn’t recalled how open she’d been with the math teacher and the little epileptic boy.
Women. Who could figure them out?
Apparently, not him. Whether in life or death, he still struggled to read their machinations. This time, however, he wouldn’t permit a woman to have control over his future.
Regardless of Luc’s thoughts
, Finch took no offense to Jodie’s cool demeanor. Maybe he didn’t notice. Or more likely, he didn’t care. After all, he’d already received what he wanted. His family had won the right to receive compensation from the stolen art works.
“You delivered on your promise,” he exclaimed with a broad smile. “How can I ever thank you?”
“You can start by telling me everything that happened,” Jodie replied. She backed farther away, but flashed a smile meant to offer no offense to her standoffishness. “I haven’t exactly been in the loop lately. Did you work with Mr. Sachs?”
Nodding, Finch
wagged an index finger. “Very clever of you to have that reporter write an article regarding the anniversary of my unsolved murder. Mr. Sachs approached my family, said he read about their predicament in the
New York Times Magazine
. Then he offered his services pro bono.”
Luc nearly slapped his forehead to wake up his brain. A newspaper article. T
hat explained how the Board manipulated the situation. Simple yet brilliant.
“He
’s a very gifted young man,” Finch continued waxing appreciation on Gabe, the artist’s hero. “Tenacious. Talented. An excellent artist in his own right.”
Jodie beamed, every inch the proud
lover. “Yes, I know.”
“
In fact,” Finch added, “perhaps he works a little too hard.”
The happiness bouncing off Jodie slowed, and then stopped altogether.
“What do you mean?”
“He looked a bit
gaunt to me.”
“Gaunt?
” Anxiety sped up her diction, clipping each word. “How gaunt?”
“I don’t know. Tired, I guess. Thin. Pale. Dark circles under his eyes. Like he’s working too hard.”
A play of emotions crossed Jodie’s face. Confusion turned to concern turned to worry. Lines puckered her forehead. Her normally vibrant gold aura dimmed to dull, flat, lifeless beige. Even after all this time, the concern she showed for her former lover went above and beyond the call of duty. Didn’t it? Annoyance twinged, and Luc stepped between the two clucking old hens.
“In accordance with our agreement, Mr. Finch,”
he said, “the time has come for you to accompany us onward.”
Finch nodded.
“I know.”
“You’ll come along willingly?”
“Of course. I always keep my promises.” The artist flashed a grateful smile in Jodie’s direction. “Just like you. Thank you.”
But Finch’s open appreciation
didn’t lighten his partner’s sudden somber mood. She simply nodded and led the way out of the Soho warehouse and back to the Welcome Level where Sherman waited for his newest arrival.
~~~~
Thin.
Pale.
Dark circles under his eyes…
Jodie tossed
and turned in her lumpy bed, rerunning Finch’s description of Gabe’s condition over and over again like Instant Replay. She could almost see the chalk x’s and o’s on a big green board, drawing attention to the exact moment she’d irrevocably screwed up his life.
His pain was
her fault. She’d killed herself and destroyed his future in the process. Of all the stupid, selfish, shortsighted things to do. Self-pity rolled over her in waves, threatening to drown her. Too bad she didn’t have anyone to throw her a lifeline. No friend to take her for a manicure or some retail therapy. Now that she thought of it, the Afterlife could really use a Starbucks and a nail salon. Maybe a strip mall or two. A big problem with this place was that she had too much downtime. Too much time to think, to allow her fears and weaknesses to absorb her mind.
Oh, she kept busy.
Not that she had a choice. All she and Luc did was track souls and, between jaunts to and from Earth, sleep. No other distractions broke up the monotony of the Afterlife. No sunrise, no sunset. No breakfast, lunch or dinner. No midnight snack. There
was
no midnight. Only eons of time. In a place where time did not exist.
Sighing, she yanked the covers up to her chin. One lousy mistake and now she’d have to
spend eternity caged in a box, allowed out only long enough to free some other caged soul.
Bzzz! Bzzz! Bzzz!
Naturally, the Board chose that particular moment to page them once again. Which meant Luc would show up any minute. Rising from the bed, she grabbed the buzzing device from the floor beside her. She slapped her palm atop the surface and waited for information regarding their latest quest.
“
Amanda Kroger has remained at the Rushing Waters Lighthouse for nearly one hundred years,” the Voice began. “After murdering her abusive husband and anchoring his body in the sea in 1915, Amanda ran the lighthouse on her own, shining its guiding beacon over the treacherous shoals, keeping her crime a secret from everyone. Until ten years later when the governor assigned a new keeper, and Amanda could not explain why her husband did not appear before the committee to relinquish command. She was imprisoned, tried, and finally executed in 1930. Immediately after her death, she returned to Rushing Waters, intent upon maintaining the light in her late husband’s absence. Although the lighthouse was decommissioned in 1985, ships’ crews have repeatedly reported seeing a light coming from the isolated island, most often on stormy nights…”
While Jodie’s subconscious absorbed the details of the infamous Lighthouse Widow, her gaze kept straying to her door.
Funny. No sign of Luc. Normally he was already knocking before she had the clipboard in hand. Still, she planned to wait for his arrival before answering the summons. But the buzzing grew louder and more frantic. And Luc never appeared.
The worm of doubt wriggled into her brain.
Had the Board finally granted her wish to go solo? Excitement sparkled inside her. Better to be on her own altogether than to continue under Luc’s icy tutelage.
With the data safely stored in her memory bank, she
closed her eyes. Once her body filtered into particles of light, she aimed for the solitary keep of Rushing Waters Lighthouse. After all this time, she’d grown so accustomed to the transformation, she barely had to think about it. By now, the mere process of visualization sufficed to transport her to her destination.
When she opened her eyes, s
alty rain stung her face with the prick of a million needles.
Brrrr! Cold
, too. Time to slip inside the lighthouse, away from the elements.
Spinning wildly, she
studied the brick tower, looking for a chink in the mortar. Nothing. A solidly built structure. She soared up toward the dome.
Yes! A crack in the window pane. Not perfect, but any old port in a storm. And this was one hell of a storm. She managed to squeeze through
the slim aperture an instant before the thunder rumbled.
Inside the old tower, musty air cloaked the service room. Thick cobwebs and thicker memories stuck to the rough-surfaced walls.
The rainfall intensified, slapping the glass panes surrounding the brilliant Fresnel lens in an almost deafening kettle drum beat.
Though Jodie saw no one in the service room with her
, illumination sparked, refracting white light off the plastic ridges and diffusing beams over the miles of pitching gray ocean.
“
Amanda?” Jodie called.
No answer.
“Mrs. Kroger?” she tried.
Still no answer.
A low hum rippled the air behind her, but before she could turn, a crushing blow sent her reeling into the glass wall. White hot stars sprayed inside her. All her energy scattered like marbles dropped from a sack. Her vision dimmed, and then went black. Alarm bells screamed in her brain.
Don’t lose your
focus. Keep your composure. Something’s wrong with this scenario. You’re going to need all your wits to piece this puzzle together.
The pep talk strengthened her resolve, and her energy
returned in slow increments. After she blinked several times, the edges of her sight grayed. Gray sharpened to lines of color. Lines became images. And then at last, full awareness returned. Not a moment too soon. From behind the massive lens, an unholy roar erupted. A screaming black cloud sped toward Jodie. Ravens, hundreds of them, descended from the rafters. The flapping of their wings beat a battle cry.
Traitor! Traitor! Traitor!
Jodie turned her gaze skyward where t
he rainwater, cascading in sheets down the panes of glass, turned blood red.
Chapter 13
Thwap! Hisssss! Thwap! Hisssss!
In the basement of the Halfway House,
Luc watched the spinning green orb speed toward him. Focusing all his concentration on the velocity and arc of the missile, he waited until the perfect moment, and then…
Thwap!
He sent the orb bouncing off the far wall and toward his opponent.
Hisssss!
Sean Martin
o’s searing blue eyes never strayed from the trajectory of the spinning orb, and seconds later, he relayed it back toward Luc.
A while
ago, he and Sean had discovered these four empty walls while commiserating over their shared frustration with the ennui of the Afterlife. Sean, angry at the results of a particularly nasty hunt, had fired up an orb and hurled it toward the wall as a means of disposing some excess rage. The orb had bounced off the wall and careened toward Luc, who quickly slapped the spinning ball of light with his own pent-up disgust. Thus, a makeshift racquetball game—and fast friendship—was born.
Once again, today’s orb sizzled a trail toward Luc. He readied enough focus to send it screaming toward the wall.
As the fiery ball neared, Martino chimed in with, “How’s your trainee working out?”
Luc’s gaze swerved to his opponent. With his energies directed elsewhere, the orb flew past him, fell to the cement floor, sparked once and died.
“Goddamn it!”
The younger man
arched a brow, leonine smile flashing white in his ruddy face. “That good, huh?”
Luc stared at the burn mark on the ground. “Shit. You’re so desperate to win, you’d cheat?”
“Since when is casual conversation cheating?”
“Since you brought my trainee into the discussion.”
Raucous laughter erupted, and Martino doubled over, one finger extended in Luc’s direction. “Wow. She’s really got you going, eh?”
“No.”
Martino straightened, keeping his arms folded over his chest. “Gimme a break, Luc. You’re gonna try to bullshit one of New York’s Finest?”
“You’re not one of New York’s Finest anymore.”
True enough. Detective Sean Martino had put his service revolver in his mouth two days after accidentally killing an unarmed suspect in a seedy alley in Bedford-Stuyvesant. Despite his superior’s assurances he’d be cleared of any wrongdoing—the man Sean shot had waved a toy gun that looked suspiciously real in the dark—Martino couldn’t live with the guilt of knowing he’d killed an innocent man he’d sworn to serve and protect.
Looking at him now, though, with that smug grin splitting his lips, no one would know the t
orment the detective had suffered after that single incident.
“Once a cop, always a cop,” He tapped an index finger against his temple. “I’ve still got the instincts, you know.”
“Save those instincts for bounty hunting. You’re wasting your talent on someone as shallow as me.” He amassed another orb, floated it between them in an enticing dance. “You wanna go another round?”
A quick head jerk toward the wall. “Go for it.”
Luc sent the new orb, purple this time, sailing in a line drive to the far corner.
Martino returned it easily.
Thwap!
“Is she pretty?”
Hisssss!
“Who?”
“Your new trainee. What’s-her-name.”
Thwap!
“Jodie. Jodie Devlin.”
Hisssss!
“So is Jodie, Jodie Devlin, pretty?”
Luc dared a glance at Martino, but the cop’s expression stayed blank. Cocky bastard.
“Isn’t every resident of the Afterlife pretty?”
“Yes and no.”
Thwap!
“There’s pretty…”
Hisssss!
“…And then there’s
pretty
. Which one’s your girl?”
Luc wanted to roll his eyes but he sensed that was exactly why Martino steered the conversation in this convoluted direction.
Keeping his focus trained on their makeshift ball, he growled, “She’s not my girl.”
“
Shit.” Martino’s voice remained calm, matter-of-fact, detective-in-questioning-mode to the max. “She must be something else to get you so riled up. What is she? Like, runway model material or something?”
“No.”
Thwap! Hisssss!
“As a matter of fact, she’s scarred, stubborn, and a major pain in the ass.”
“Scarred?” He paused, allowing the orb to fall to the ground,
where it created an identical burn mark to the previous smudge on the concrete. “What do you mean scarred? You mean she’s got mental problems or something? Hell, we
all
do—”
“No
, you idiot. She’s got
physical
scars.” He ran one fingertip over the back of his hand. “Pink striations all over her hands and feet. Like scar tissue. Looks like someone used her as a human torch.”
Martino swiped the air. “Get outta here.”
“I’m serious.”
“Does she know she can erase those scars?”
Lips twisted in a grimace, Luc cocked his head. “Got her back all up when I suggested she get rid of them.”
“
So they must have some meaning for her. Hmmm…” The former detective scrubbed his temple as if awakening his investigative skills. “Do the scars have to do with how she wound up here?”
“No
t that I know of. She’s a dumb suicide like—” He stopped. But judging by the way Martino’s eyes darkened, he cut the words off a little too late.
“Like me?”
A flush of heat crept up Luc’s throat. In an attempt to draw attention away from his obvious embarrassment, he rubbed his hands across the words on his t-shirt:
I love poetry, long walks on the beach, and poking dead things with a stick.
“You can say it, Luc
.” Martino kicked his toe along the scorched cement. “I’m not gonna react like a whipped puppy. I fucked up my life and I know it. I think that’s why the Board presses suicides into service.”
Luc arched a brow. “Did you recently go into deep therapy with your Elder or something?”
“Scoff all you want, but I’m serious. Oh, I know Sherman spouts crap about our reservations not being ready, but I think the Board wants us to realize what we threw away. Me? I’ve made peace with myself.”
Winded from the exertion
as well as the conversation, Luc pulled up an old wooden crate and sat. “Yeah? How’s that?”
Martino s
ank down beside him. “When I was on the force, I’d always considered myself above the people I served—stronger, wiser, you know? But the first real hardship I was forced to face, I took the coward’s way out rather than challenge my demons head-on.”
“So?”
“So, by spending time with all these other spirits, I’ve gained perspective.” He cupped his hands between his knees. “Hell, how many horror stories have you heard in your duties here? There’s hell on Earth, and then there’s hell in death. Given the choice, I’d opt for the Earth one every time. At least, there’s hope for a better day tomorrow. But in death, you’ve got nothing but your pain. If those souls can survive their hardships in death and release their hold when called to do so, I know I can stand tall against my own failures. Next time I’m challenged, I’ll take a different path. And when the Board calls me to move on to my next life, I’ll be ready. Smarter and braver than this last time around.”
Gaze locked on the stupid words on his shirt, Luc mumbled, “
That works great for you, Sean. But I’m not a suicide, remember?”
“No
. But I’ll bet there are lessons in the souls you seek, too.”
“Like what?”
Martino shrugged. “Beats me. Each person has to find his own solutions. But I’m guessing your trainee is part of your lesson plan.”
“
I think your instincts are rusting, pal. Do you honestly believe the Board has nothing better to do but test me? As in, ‘Let’s see how many times she can screw things up for Luc before he loses his mind’?”
“Why is she a screw-up? From what you told me, she bagged two bounties back to back.” Martino
twisted his lips into a thoughtful pucker. “That hardly sounds like screw-up material to me.”
“She’s too damn soft for bounty-hunting. You should have seen her with that kid.” Luc forced his voice up two octaves. “
Play with him. Play with him.
” An impatient snort escaped his nostrils. “And I told you how she fucked up my capture of Finch.”
“I think you’re overreacting.”
Martino wagged his index finger. “Could it be that Jodie, Jodie Devlin is here to teach you something in exchange for your training her?”
“Like what?”
“Like…” Martino shrugged. “I don’t know. I just find the scenario odd. Of all the women who come and go through this place, why was this one chosen to work with you? Not Samantha, not that sassy little redhead who works behind the welcome desk. But scarred, soft Jodie, Jodie Devlin was assigned by the Board to be your girl. Makes me think they’ve got a powerful reason.”
“She’s not
my
girl.” Anger flared, blazing heat over his throat and cheeks.
“Uh-huh. Sure. Don’t bullshit me, Luc.” He tapped his temple. “Instincts, remember?”
Luc snorted. “Rusting, remember?”
“Wanna bet?”
No. Hell no. And he didn’t want to continue this discussion anymore. Jodie Devlin took up too much of his time on hunts. He didn’t need her intrusion in his downtime too.
“
Forget it. You won’t listen.” With a last wave of his hand, Martino rose and turned away. “Forget I said anything.”
Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeet!
A shrieking alarm sounded inside Luc’s head, and he fell to his knees. Jesus, what the hell was happening to him? The hunger, the gunshot wounds, the electro-shock he’d experienced while fetching that kid from the asylum. All bizarre events he’d never felt here before now. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear he suffered from some Afterlife brain fever. Now, this siren in his head? What the hell? Christ, he had to get a grip. But the alarm screamed in his skull until the searing pain brought tears to his eyes.
Helpless, he reached a hand toward Martino
, but then pulled back. His friend was sinking to the ground, hands over his ears. Relief poured through Luc, even while he covered his own ears. Yet, the siren continued to wail inside his head.
“Christ!” he shouted over the din. “What the hell is that?”
“Dunno.” Martino crouched beside him, head ducked inside his folded arms. “Sounds like some kind of air raid siren.”
Luc scanned the room for
the source of the ear-splitting noise. A haze, fierce as a raging forest fire, blazed a circle around them. Meanwhile, an army of red-coated characters marched up the walls in double-time.
The clipboards! He and Martino had
dropped their communication devices on the floor near the door while they played their game. But now, the boards glowed angrily, neon claws scraping the room like nails on a chalkboard. And not in the normal happy purple hue, but in blazing red-alert red.
Crawling forward against the painful noise reverberating in his head, Luc fumbled for the two boards. After tossing Sean’s to him, he picked up his own and slapped his palm across the frantic characters.
Urgent words coursed through him.