J Duncan: Deadworld

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t even think it’s the same spirit. This one is… bad news, Jackie. Really bad.”

The knot in Jackie’s stomach dissolved into something else. Trepidation. “And the one out there was nice in comparison to this?”

“Different.” She got to her feet, leaning lightly against Jackie’s arm. The effort had obviously drained her. “Whatever this is, it isn’t here anymore. The thing out there…” Laurel dug her fingers into Jackie’s arm for support and perhaps a little courage. “Goddess help me, Jackie. It was so strong. I felt like I’d opened a door to the other side.”

“But you didn’t see anything?”

“No. I barely kept from passing out. This sweetie of a guy noticed and snapped me out of it.”

Jackie stepped back, staring at her partner. “Just happened to notice you were in some psychic trance communing with the dead?”

She gave Jackie a dirty look before glancing over her shoulder. Jackie turned and saw the local sheriff standing behind them.

“Agents,” he said, nodding at them with a curious look. “Have you found anything useful?”

“No, nothing just yet,” Jackie replied with a smile and stepped between him and Laurel. Look at me, Sheriff, not the psychic. “It’s an incredibly clean scene.”

He nodded. “Yeah, that’s what it seems like to me. Like someone just dropped out of the sky and set the kid under the tree and then took off again. Nobody has seen anything that we can tell.”

There was something all right, but ghosts were the last thing Jackie was about to mention. The blood-draining aspect to this case was enough to turn the media sharks into a frenzy. They didn’t need any more help.

The sheriff excused himself, and the agents made their way out from under the tree. Laurel followed in a daze, glancing every few seconds toward the crowd. Jackie needed to take a few minutes to get updates from everyone and make sure the parents had been contacted. Someone was picking them up, and Jackie had a few choice words in mind for them. When Laurel absently bumped into her for the third time, Jackie turned on her.

“Is this as bad as you’re making it look? Because you’re starting to worry me here.”

Laurel’s mouth scrunched up. “Maybe? I don’t know, Jackie. I’ve never felt anything like this before. It’s like discovering an F6 tornado.”

“A what?”

“Never mind. It’s fascinating and terrifying at the same time. Okay?”

Jackie nodded. That made some sense but did not do much to ease the nervousness gnawing at her. Jackie didn’t care for spiritual involvement in her cases. Spirits didn’t follow the usual rules, and dealing with them generally fell outside typical crime-solving procedures. Worse, they were a foe you could not see or hear. Ghosts were annoying like that. “You want to go have another look around? I’m really not liking the fact nobody can tell how the boy was put there. We should check out those pics Denny took, too.”

“Sure. Let’s do that.”

The crowd was nosy and morbid, and the continuing dance of clouds and sunlight was beginning to play hell with Jackie’s head. She pointed a finger at the first reporter who caught sight of her. “Don’t talk to me now. I’ll make a statement when I’m done.”

Laurel chuckled as the reporter stopped in his tracks and let them wander on. “I wish I could do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pull up a look of murderous rage at will. It would be handy.”

She shrugged and moved on, steering them around the back side of the crowded parking lot. Laurel knew as well as Jackie where she pulled that feeling from, and Laurel wisely said nothing further. They didn’t speak at all while they made their way around the hundred or so loosely gathered people, casually scanning for anything out of the ordinary. Sometimes it was just a look someone would make, a momentary pause when they walked by or looked their way, and suspicion would be roused. But Jackie saw nothing.

Out of the corner of her eye, she kept watch on Laurel, looking for any signs of the weird “ghost trance” she would get into when she communicated with the dead. The maple stood in the center of the field like a green shroud of death. No way was someone going to be carrying a body under there without leaving any signs. A snapped twig, a footprint, there had to be something. Finally, they neared the loosely parked group of FBI vehicles. “Sense anything odd at all?”

“Nope. Sorry, it’s gone now.”

“What about your handy little helper? The cute guy.”

“No. He’s gone, but he wasn’t a ghost, Jackie. He was as real as you and me.”

“Probably. It’s still suspiciously convenient,” she said. “I’m also betting that a ghost didn’t drain the blood out of that boy. Right?”

“They don’t do that, but you’re being paranoid.”

Jackie smiled. “Yep. That’s why I’m in charge. Now I’m going to go have a little chat with the oblivious fuckups known as Archie’s parents and let them know-”

“Jackie,” Laurel said, laying a hand on Jackie’s arm. “Take the reporter. I’ll talk with Archie’s parents.”

“You saying I don’t know how to give them the once-over?”

Laurel gave her a little shove. “That’s exactly the issue. Go beat up on the reporters. We both know problem parents are not your strong suit. We don’t want to be in the papers for the wrong reason.”

Jackie frowned but walked toward the TV reporters anyway. It paid to have a perceptive partner at times.

Nick’s hands slipped on the doorknob to the offices of Special Investigations, Inc., the rather bland name for his investigation agency. A second try brought a painful wince to his face, but the latch withdrew, and he stepped into the soft light of the front office and was immediately greeted by the familiar cool cylinder slapping into his palm. Blocking his way in was the crisply dressed Cynthia, far more imposing than her 5’5” frame would suggest.

“Damnit, Nick! You look like shit. I should smack you. You do realize it’s, like, after noon? When did you last drink? Six, maybe seven this morning?”

She spit out the words too fast for him to reply. After a moment of numbed silence, Nick unscrewed the cap and took a long draught, puckering at the bitter taste. It made lemons taste like pure cane sugar. One of these days, the guys at the lab would figure out a way to sweeten the stuff. He shrugged. “Thank you, Cynthia. Always prepared.”

She rolled her eyes and walked back to her desk, her soft, full mouth drawn into an angry, thin line. A colorful bouquet of flowers obscured half the work surface. “One of these days, I won’t be here, Nick. What are you going to do then?”

“Die, I expect.” He smiled halfheartedly at her, but at least it was truthful. Four hours without, and the doorway to the other side began to pull at you with an ever-increasing force until your soul was compelled to flee the world of the living. It was a constant and inviting temptation.

“So you’re a comedian now, are you?”

“Nope. Just honest, and thanks for being there. Really.”

The taught lines on her face faded, and the hint of a smile returned. “Always will be, whether you’re an ass or not.”

“I’m far too fortunate.”

She laughed. “Yes, you are. So is this the big case you’ve been dancing around telling me about for the past few months?”

There was that hopeful look in her eye, full of curiosity and a vague sense of worry. Nick had refrained from mentioning the case, the one bit of history he had been too reluctant to reveal to Cynthia over the years. She knew him about as well as anyone could, but the truth would have scared her, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. The time for secrets ended now, and Nick’s stomach tightened at the thought of sharing the news.