Gina Grant - Esprit de Corpse

I almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

Conrad remained silent for the rest of the drive but I could tell the wheels were spinning. Could he access Shannon’s thoughts, memories or feelings?

Or morals. Maybe he’d catch something—like a severe case of remorse—and return Shannon’s body to its rightful owner.

But if that were going to happen, it didn’t happen during our ride to Milton.

Finally, we pulled into a bleak expanse of property. As expected, fences, razor wire, and locks figured heavily into the landscaping. Once inside, the big gates clanged shut and the van drove up to a prisoner loading and unloading dock. Two new guards supervised, hands resting on stun guns as Theresa unchained first Conrad, then Maddy from the van. They remained cuffed as they were led through the facility by guards.

We passed occupied cells as we all trooped along the uniformly gray corridors. A few inmates eyed the new prisoners, but nobody called out threats or insults or promised to make either of them their bitch. One older guard welcomed Maddy back. Maddy ignored the sarcastic greeting.

So much for prison drama. I don’t think we’re in Oz anymore.

Maddy and Conrad were assigned a cell together and locked in. Once inside, a guard requested first one and then the other to stick their hands through the bars so that their plastic cuffs could be clipped off. Another guard stood by, stun gun at the ready. I figured it was to keep either prisoner from attempting to grab the heavy-duty cutters. Neither woman tried. After double-checking the lock, the guards departed.

“Top bunk’s mine, bitch,” Maddy announced, vaulting up.

Conrad gusted out the sigh of the long-suffering, muttering under his breath about lawyers and lawsuits. He plopped down on the lower bunk, old springs creaking under Shannon’s 130 pounds. Oh, sure. She’ll tell you she’s 125 . . .

“And shut the fuck up,” Maddy added, making herself comfortable on her chosen bed.

Conrad puffed up and for a moment, the ghostly outline of his demonic form hovered over Shannon’s body. But he bit his stolen tongue and punched the saggy gray pillow instead.

I released the breath I’d been holding out of habit; the breathing, not the holding.

“Dante,” I whispered. As if anyone other than Shannon could have heard me. “Stick close in case you have to materialize. In fact, maybe you better teach me how to show myself and move stuff right now.”

Dante stared at me as if I were speaking another language. Oh, I guess I was. Our scythes carried a universal translator microchip so we could understand each other and the souls we came for. Mostly. Had mine failed this time? I thwacked my scythe on the palm of my hand then held it to my ear. I couldn’t hear any ticking, but then it hadn’t ticked before I’d thwacked it.

“Now, Kirsty? This certainly isn’t the time nor the—”

“Dante. Much as I’d love to see Conrad punished, that’s Shannon’s body and we need to keep it safe and whole.”

His eyes opened and so did his mouth. But then he closed it again and nodded. “You are right. If Shannon gets her body back, it should not be harmed.”

“When, Dante. Not if.”

He nodded again although it didn’t ring with commitment. I could tell he was humoring me. We hunkered down to wait for whatever came next.

The two newcomers had missed dinner, so trays were delivered to their cell. Maddy demanded the meat off Conrad’s tray. He looked like he might protest, but again, he backed down, although whether wisdom was the better part of valor or the better part of not eating those greasy gray chunks, I couldn’t tell.

They hadn’t been issued uniforms or nightclothes, so Conrad washed out his panty hose in the sink, carefully hung up his suit as best he could without hangers and lay down in his bra and panties.

I glanced over at Dante to see if he were ogling the seminaked female body, but he’d turned his back and was examining the vacant cell across the way. Whoever had been in there before had really trashed it.

Conrad tossed and turned in his bunk. I doubted he would sleep at all and I was glad that while on the Coil, Reapers were free of such bodily functions as eating, sleeping or visiting the little Reaper’s room. The three of us—Dante, Shannon and me—watched over him all night, tensing every time Maddy moved in her sleep.

Surely we were the strangest flock of guardian angels in the history of the Coil.

THE NEXT DAYbegan with Conrad and his cellmate being brought breakfast trays. Maddy promptly redistributed Conrad’s breakfast to her own advantage.

Then Maddy harassed Conrad while he dressed, calling him names and at one point, spitting on Shannon’s silk shirt.

To his credit, Conrad kept his head down and fought his way into the unfamiliar panty hose. Maddy tossed one of Shannon’s shoes toward the toilet, but Dante was able to deflect it, making it look like a failed basketball shot.

I so needed to learn to do that.

Then we all shuffled off to the prisoner loading dock. Once again Theresa Mudders accompanied them, perky and compassionate as ever. She even asked their permission to study during the long drive to the courthouse. She informed them she was taking night classes, but she dropped the subject and opened the book when it became obvious neither prisoner was interested in anything outside of themselves and their immediate circumstances.

To be fair, if I were facing the loss of my freedom and my future hung in the balance, I might not have cared either.

My mind drifted and I wished for a distraction when Conrad suddenly asked, “What are you studying?”

Theresa wasn’t as shocked as I was. Instead of gaping as I was doing at his apparent interest in someone other than himself, she smiled at him, marked her place and closed her book. “Social work,” she answered, seemingly not at all bothered that she’d told him that not ten minutes before.

She held the book up so he could see the title. It was the same massive text Shannon had lugged around during her final year of undergrad. Putting the “work” in “social work,” I’d teased her. I glanced over at Shannon now, but she stared unseeingly at her feet.

That, if anything, told me how worried and depressed she’d become. Only a year ago, the mere mention of social work would have grabbed her attention, eyes gleaming and brain humming. She’d been so passionate about her chosen field of study that she could almost make it sound interesting.

As Theresa seemed to be doing now.

“Ah,” Conrad nodded, returning her smile. “My daughter was studying—I mean, I was studying social work at one point before I, well, before my wonderful father convinced me that my place was alongside him, working in his successful public relations business.”

“That must have been hard for you. Social work is a calling and to give that up to work in the family business . . . I admire your sense of responsibility.”

Conrad nodded, a thoughtful expression on Shannon’s face. Perhaps he’d never looked at it that way before.

“But Detective Leo said you weren’t interested in working in that business. Was that true?”

“That was misinformation. I love public relations. Besides, my father needed me.” He shrugged. “It was no hardship.”

I glanced over at Shannon again. This time she was listening. “Yes, it was, you bastard,” she snarled, her features dark and angry. “I wanted to go back and finish my master’s, but you always had one more project that needed my special touch, one more client who would only work with me.”

I hated to see Shannon this upset, but I was glad to see her finally understand what a selfish and manipulative creep her father had been. Was. Is.