You get a phone call

I was discovered alone with a dead body. The bloody knife with my fingerprints was in the hall. I told the story a million times before they finally let me crash in the back of a squad car. I didn’t care if I was under arrest or not. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I’d had a serious adrenaline spike, and once it faded, I crashed. Plus I was in shock, I guess. I was taken to the station and given a little cell. No bars or anything. Just a closet-sized room with a heavy locking door. I curled up with my head against the wall, but every time I closed my eyes, I saw Darren’s face, his expression right before he died, and I woke in a panic.

I still can’t believe it. He wasn’t some still body dragged from a wreck on the side of the road that I glimpsed for three seconds while rolling past in a friend’s car. Darren Tully with the smiling friends and the nice parents and the middle senior manager job was alive right in front of me. I had my hands on him. I felt his blood on my skin — hot and thick, like egg soup. He was there. I was talking to him. And then he was just gone.

And in those moments when I didn’t see his face, I saw Kell’s. I saw her eyes as she was lifted and dragged away. Fear. Disbelief. Confusion. And I heard her pleas for me to help her.

The clock on the wall tick-tick-ticked and I just wanted my bed. Not that I could’ve gone home, which was a much bigger deal than I expected — not having a home to retreat to, at least not when where I felt at all safe. It’s an instinct, I think. Regardless of whether you can get back to it at any given moment, just the knowledge that you have a hole to crawl into is calming. But I had nothing. I was floating through the world on a wave of high anxiety that was slowly overtaking me.

Tick-tick-tick.

My big idea was that the police would know what to do. That was my plan — to drop everything in someone else’s lap. Brilliant, huh? And yet I was surprised when it failed in the worst way imaginable. Kell was missing, Darren was dead, and the police didn’t find anything in his apartment other than a few of her things. She didn’t even have any trash bags with her when she showed up.

Bastien was also living out of a suitcase, I realized. I had thought that was because he was shacking at the Sour Candy, but that was backwards. He was shacking at the Sour Candy because he was ready to run. When I left down the stairs that day, he didn’t ask about the million dollars, as if the news of big money wasn’t a surprise. He got stuck on the news of her pregnancy. I think he realized then that shit was fucked and she wasn’t coming and that if I’d found him, Lyman could, too. For all he knew, I’d led them there and they were waiting on the street.

For her part, I think the shock of the pregnancy brought Kell some clarity — not just the results but how it went down. I promise, news like that fucks with you in all kinds of ways. Some people act like ending a pregnancy is this super-easy decision. Fun even. That girls do it over and over, like shots at a bar, just to be crazy and have a few laughs. But that’s not my experience. In my experience, it changes everything. Your body. Your life. Your relationships. You lose friends. Some people lose family. I think Kell realized that if she went to him, Bastien would only talk her into doing something she wasn’t sure she wanted, or he’d at least try, and that laid bare her whole toxic obsession, and that broke the charm.

But after clarity, then what?

She said on the roof that she just wanted a couple days. To get her head straight. To come up with Plan B. I think she meant it.

I was woken by a female officer who took me to a locker room where I was told I could clean up. I thought that meant a shower, but there was only a sink.

“Can I at least have a toothbrush?” I called through the door.

Then it was back to Hammond’s desk. He wasn’t there, which meant more waiting. That’s all there is in police stations and hospitals — waiting. I wonder if that’s planned somehow, like some big important people upstairs want everyone to take a few moments and contemplate the life choices that brought them there.

“All right,” Hammond said, waking me.

He sighed deeply as he sat down. I think he’d been talking to Darren’s family. Man, that had to suck. His partner was nowhere in sight. Probably out investigating shit.

“I suppose I don’t have to tell you,” he said, “that this would’ve all been a lot easier if you had been honest from the start.”

“Yeah, because it’s totally smart to hand your life over to a giant bureaucracy, because no one’s ever gotten a raw deal from the NYPD. You guys are like frickin’ saints or something. Seriously, I’m surprised the department hasn’t won the Nobel Peace Prize.”

“All right, all right.” He waved me off.

Hammond didn’t think I killed Darren. Murderers don’t generally call the police before the act, he said, or wait around after the deed is done. He also didn’t believe there was any way I could’ve cleanly decapitated William bouncer-man, who was over six feet, or that even Kell and I working together had the strength to dump Lyman from the top of the Watchtower construction site.

However, be that as it may, Detective Hammond was still having some real problems with my story.

“Tell me more about this ‘Bastien’ guy.”

“I already told you everything. Three times.”

“So tell me again.”

The city had no record of Bastien Rops. He could’ve been anyone. I told Hammond what happened at the theater. I’m pretty sure he thought I’d been tripping.

“A potion?” he asked incredulously. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“What about the guy who was following me?” I retorted. “Did you find anything? Or is that strike three for the saints of the NYPD?”

Since all we had was my shitty description, Hammond suggested I look at mug shots to see if I could identify him. He said it was just a fact that most of the guys who did that kind of stuff had done it before. Makes sense, I guess.

Their system is pretty cool. You choose a set of descriptions and it gives you examples and then you can narrow it down by clicking on the faces that most closely resemble the person you saw. It’s totally like internet dating, swiping profiles and stuff.

Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope.

Still, it took a long time. And with so many choices, I could only narrow it down to five. There were no names or any information that could identify them. Just a mugshot on a screen. I looked at their faces, the final five. They were all middle-aged. Three of them looked like they easily could’ve been cops put there to make sure people weren’t cheating. I sighed and walked back to Hammond’s desk. He’d been typing up my statement.

“All done?” he asked.

“I dunno. Am I?”

He nodded to the chair next to his desk. It looked like they’d gotten it from a library. The odd-colored green fabric was rough. I sat.

“Almost finished,” he said, typing.

I heard the click-clack of the keys. He was a good typist.

“That’s what you said two hours ago,” I protested.

He shook his head at me, like I was a hoot. He finished typing and printed the statement and handed it to me.

“If that sounds good, just go ahead and sign the bottom.”

I held up the printout to speed-read it. It was pretty much what I said. I held out my hand for a pen. He slapped one in my hand. I signed and gave it back to him.

“Are we done now?”

“Where are you gonna go?”

When I didn’t answer, he motioned to my shirt. I had smears of Darren’s blood on me.

“Three dead bodies,” he warned. “And counting. These guys of yours are the real deal. You gotta stop with the Nancy Drew bit.”

“Who’s Nancy Drew?”

He sighed and scratched his block head.

“You need to let us find your friend. Believe it or not, we have people here who are good at that kind of thing. Like it’s their job even.”

“Sarcasm,” I said with a nod of approval. “Very nice. Well done, sir.” I saluted weakly.

He chuckled. I think by then we were both really tired.

I shook my head at him. “You guys don’t even know what they’re looking for you, do you?”

His smile faded. “I’m serious.”

“Yeah? Good. ’Cuz so am I. I had a lot of time to think in the clink and this whole sitting by and letting someone else handle thing isn’t gonna work.”

He looked through me, like he was contemplating what to do. It was serious, from the looks of it.

“Have you ever had a best friend?” I asked.

“Sure.” He tilted his head. “Yeah. I guess you could call it that.”

“I’m not talking about a friend you’re closer to than others. I mean the real thing. Someone who walks right up to you, the weird foreigner with the strange accent, and introduces herself when no one else even makes eye contact. Who patiently holds your hair back every time you puke in the toilet because you’ve never really partied before and you’re too stupid to know when to stop. Who drops everything and rushes over in the middle of night after you make a stupid decision and some jerk nearly rapes you in the back of his friend’s car. Who completely changes her life and moves in with you because now you’re too scared to be alone at night. Who knows how to pick your clothes and do your hair and order your favorite pizza. Who forces you not to quit on your dreams after you drop out of school and the only thing you want to do is crawl home a failure. I’m talking about a friend like that. Someone wonderful and infuriating and crazy and supportive and kind.”

Detective Hammond leaned back in his chair with his legs spread like guys do. It was the most relaxed I’d seen him.

“I had a partner like that once,” he said, nodding.

The soft tone in his voice suggested there was more.

“And?”

He shrugged. “She went somewhere I couldn’t follow. After that, things weren’t quite the same.”

“Then maybe you get it.” I stood.

He motioned for me to sit. Very seriously.

“What the fuck? I did everything you said. You can’t seriously think that I killed Darren. Or Lyman. Or anyone.”

“Sit,” he ordered.

I did. With a heavy, exaggerated sigh.

He looked at me for a moment. “You’re really not gonna give this up. Are you?”

I made a face like “duh.”

He nodded. He opened his desk drawer and took out another labeled evidence bag, this one much smaller. He tossed it on top of the stack of files in front of me.

My mouth opened.

“Your door’s busted. Legally, we’re allowed to enter.”

It was my baggie. From my kitchen. The one with the illegal pharmaceuticals. I had been freaking out about finding Kell and everything that I had totally forgotten. I mean seriously, of all the things to worry about at the time, a couple pills and a tab of LSD didn’t really seem important.

I looked at Hammond, mouth still agape. “That’s bullshit.”

“You’ll be out in a couple days.”

“Okay . . .” I raised my hands. “Okay, look. I know you think you’re trying to help,” I began.

“I am helping. I know you don’t think so, but this is the best thing — ”

“For who? I’m not a kid. And I’m not absent a father figure. I’m not your daughter, man. You can’t swoop in and — Fuck, why are dudes always doing this shit? Seriously, sometimes all we really need is for you to fucking back off.”

“Like I said.” He turned back to his computer and started typing. “You’ll be out in a couple days. At most.”

“You can’t do this. Please.”

Nothing.

“You’re killing her!”

“No. I’m saving you. We have people — ”

“Do any of them believe in magic?” I asked. “The occult? Anything like that?”

Hammond dropped his arm, like I’d just punched him in the kidney.

“Hari,” he said. “Detective Chase.”

“Is he here?”

He looked at me for a moment. “No. She works downtown. But of you want, I’ll see if she has some time to talk to you tomorrow.”

“Some time tomorrow? Kell doesn’t have ‘some time tomorrow.’ She — ” I stopped mid-syllable when it was clear he didn’t care.

He lifted the receiver on his corded desk phone — a big business job with a panel full of blinking red lights and a bunch of single-button presets — and handed it to me. “You get a phone call. Dial nine to get out.”

 

I’m posting the chapters of my forthcoming urban paranormal mystery in order until the book is released in early 2018. You can start here: I saw my first dead body the summer we moved to Atlanta.

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The next chapter is: (not yet posted)

cover image by Chiba Kotaro

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