Plus, it’s really hard to spot a possession. Everyone says or does the occasional unexpected thing—and with sufficient motivation, you’d be surprised just how far people are willing to deviate from their norm. I never knew Instagram Sarah, and a few snapshots were hardly any baseline for me to go on. I’d have to resort to watching her hands and seeing if any ghostly fingers slipped out of place.
Even if I did catch someone else riding around in her skin, what could I do? I’d managed to evict Chance only because the veil was pulling hard, and all she needed from our side was a well-placed shove.
Hopefully there was just a multiple personality crisis going on. Then the shrinks could deal with Sarah, not me.
“Just make sure Sarah doesn’t know you’re onto her,” Laura told me. “In fact…maybe you shouldn’t interview her again at all.” She eyed me as if I might or might not even be myself.
“I’m not possessed,” I said. “And I’m the only one here right now who’d be able to see if she was sliding out of alignment. Chances that there’s anything for me to see are incredibly rare, but even so, I promise I’ll take every possible precaution.”
Salt, Florida Water, white light…heck, even yoga would be a good safety measure. But before I could go shed my shoes and unroll a mat, Laura got an incoming call, and stopped me in my tracks with a “wait a minute” finger. Her side of the conversationwas minimal…and her expression was grim. She hung up and said, “That was the driver I sent. Sarah claimed she had a headache and left work early.”
“What do you mean,claimed?”
“He tried to track her down by calling her from her office and heard a ring.”
That didn’t sound good. “So they were covering for her?”
“Even worse. The ring came from the trash can by the door.”
Not quite as chilling as “the call came from inside the building,” but a far bigger pain in the ass. What if Sarah was complicit in our murder? Hell, what if she was the culprit? Sledge might have brainwashed her into some sick, sadistic threesome…or he might be covering for her killing of a rival in a jealous rage. Either way, no one would go to this amount of effort to ditch authority unless they had something to hide. I said, “We don’t know what Sarah’s involvement was.”
Laura nodded. “That’s why you need to get back to that apartment. I can’t plausibly sit on this much longer. By the end of the day, I’ll have to involve the police. So gather whatever psychic evidence is left while you still can.”
That was as much of a blessing as I could expect. She was already tapping away at her keyboard before I was even out the door.
I went to grab some exorcism gear—no Jacob in the office—so I texted him to meet me by the car.
Can you handle it? Putting out fires in IA.
I sighed. Carl might flip out if I touched so much as a paper clip on his side of the desk, but at least he wasn’t spreading hisefforts between multiple departments. Yet, I was surprised to find that instead of being annoyed at the prospect of flying solo again, I was relieved. Repeaters couldn’t possess anyone, there simply wasn’t enough awareness left in them to manage it. So I didn’t need a Stiff.
But mostly, I didn’t need someone hovering while I stood around ineffectively trying to figure shit out.
I headed back to the apartment with a bag of metaphysical props and a headful of self-doubt. I’d known from the beginning that the cops would be pulled in eventually. I just would’ve liked more time.
I let myself in and headed for the bedroom. It was a blank, empty space, same as before. My eyes went right to the spot on the wall where I’d seen a spray of luminol stars lighting up the plaster. There was nothing there anymore, but the heebie-jeebies simmered close beneath my skin. I couldn’t tell if my sixth sense was hyping me up, or if I was just on high alert.
I looked, sucked down white light, and looked again. Nothing.
Not that I expected much. This repeater was one of the most uncooperative ones I’d ever had the pleasure of not-seeing.
Since getting drunk has no scientific correlation with psychic performance, I could skip the cocktail. But I did knock back a shelf-stable mugwort concoction our lab had put together for me that was a lot more convenient than tea. I found the cardinal points, marked each one with a square of tape, then set my candles. And all the while, I kept my breathing deep and regular and did my best to fill up with white light.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
If it weren’t for the blood evidence, I might convince myself there was nothing to see. That the screaming woman was some figment of my imagination. Because psychic impressions are slippery that way, and when the only one to verify my findings was several crayons short of a full box, even I began to doubt them.
My phone was out and my earbuds were in before I remembered that my only decent app was now useless. Blip popped up on a welcome screen, and I’d never wanted to punch a fish so bad in my life. To add insult to injury, instead of a normal menu, I then got a popup pressuring me to upgrade from Space Cadet to Star Captain for only $5.99 a month. I flicked out of the app so hard I nearly sent my phone skittering across the room.
“Listen,” I said under my breath. “I’m trying to find you some justice. But you’ve gotta meet me halfway.” Repeaters can’t really hear…but maybe the words were more for me. I had one skill, and I hated when it came up short. Never mind that the rest of the world was stupid with ghosts. When I can’t spot the one I’m looking for, I feel like a failure. Each and every time.
I waited. And I watched. And I listened. And all I got was more of nothing, nothing, nothing….
And then, a distant, uncannyhaw-haw-haw.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
HAIRS BRISTLED ON the back of my neck. Because the neighbor’s TV was off this time, and there was no laugh track playing. But I’d heard that creepy laughter plain as can be. Not just any laugh, but the exact same laugh that had been bugging me before. Last time, even under the camouflage of canned laughter, it had struck me as weird. And here it was again, isolated. Same pitch, same tone, same rhythm.
