No one was going to mess with Everly, not if Ronan had anything to say about it.
4
Tennyson
Half a mile from the medical examiner’s office, Ten started feeling sick to his stomach. Pain, like he’d never felt before, ripped through his abdomen and chest. His stomach felt like it was on fire. He tried taking slow, deep breaths, but it wasn’t helping. “Ronan, pull over. Quick!”
Wearing an alarmed look, Ronan did what Ten asked. “Do you need to get out of the car?”
“I don’t think so. I feel a bit better now.” Ten bent forward and rested his head on the back of Ronan’s seat. Slowly the pain began to ebb.
“What happened?” Jude asked, turning in his seat to look at Ten.
“All of a sudden I felt sick to my stomach and my chest hurt, like the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life.”
“Since you feel better now, do you think it was motion sickness or gas?” Jude asked. He reached out and set the back of his hand against Ten’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”
“I’ve had my fair share of stomach bugs,” Ten said with a grimace. “I thought maybe that’s what this was for a minute, but things changed quickly. My stomach and chest felt like they were on fire.”
“But that’s all gone now?” Ronan looked concerned. “If you need to go to the ER, say the word.”
Ten shook his head. “I don’t think I’m psychically sick. I think this has to do with the morgue.”
“You got sick all the time on the way to the prison in Walpole, but never on the way to the medical examiner’s office. You think this is a message from a spirit there?” Ronan looked worried.
“There’s only one way to find out.” Ten caught a look at Ronan in the rearview. He looked scared. “I’m okay, Ronan. Let’s get this over with. I have a feeling I’m gonna need tacos when we’re done.” Every time Ten’s body reacted this way, his go-to, feel better food was always Mexican. Tacos. Burritos. Enchiladas. Free chips and salsa.
Ronan pulled back onto the road. His eyes bounced between the road and the rearview mirror.
The Essex County Medical Examiner, Max Greenfield, didn’t know Tennyson like Vann Hoffman did. Vann was totally on board with Tennyson’s gift and even made use of it a time or two in his personal life. Ten wasn’t ready to reveal himself to Greenfield. “Jude, is there anything that would make me feel like this? A poison maybe?”
“You said it felt like your stomach was on fire, right?” Jude asked, digging his phone out of his back pocket.
Ten nodded. “My chest too.” It had felt like his body was about to burst into flames.
“Potassium cyanide burns when ingested,” Jude said. “Same with strong acids, sulfuric and hydrochloric to name two.”
“Drain cleaner would do that,” Ronan added. “Anything caustic.”
“I can’t tell the medical examiner what happened to me. Can you bring it up if it’s pertinent to the Head Doe case?”
Ronan nodded. “Is your gift suggesting this information is from the head?”
“I’m not sure.” Ten didn’t know what to think. He felt like his old self again. His stomach and throat weren’t burning anymore. Maybe it was acid reflux or gas like Jude suggested, and not a spirit reaching out with a message. Ten saw the morgue up ahead. He’d find out soon enough.
Ronan parked the car and got out, moving the seat forward to let Ten out. “Code word is Everly. If you feel like you’re going to blow chunks out of either end, say her name and make a run for it. Same goes if you can’t handle the spirits coming at you.” Ronan handed Ten the keys to the Mustang.
Ten nodded and pocketed the keys. Ronan had always put his health first in situations like this. Ten was going to hang in there as long as he could to see if there was something helpful he could learn, like the name of the person who belonged to the head.
Ronan entered the building, holding the door for Ten and Jude. They walked down a long corridor, stopping in front of the double doors leading into the morgue. Ronan knocked before pushing the door open. “Dr. Greenfield?”
“Come in,” a man wearing a white medical coat over a pair of clean, blue scrubs called. “You must be detectives Byrne and O’Mara.” He pointed between them, getting their names wrong.
“O’Mara,” Ronan said. “This is my fellow detective, Jude Byrne. Lastly we have Tennyson Grimm, a Salem Police consultant.”
“Nice to meet you.” The doctor walked to the morgue drawers and pulled one out. He pulled a cloth covered bin from it and pushed the door closed with his shoulder. “This is your Head Doe.”
The smell of bleach assaulted Ten’s nose when he entered the morgue. Everything in the room was cold and sterilized. All the same, Ten shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. The lastthing he wanted to do was touch something. He followed behind Ronan to the table where the doctor had set the remains.
