Celeste Files: Unjust (11 page)

“I thought it was worth checking.”

“Since Gabe isn’t willing to talk to Celeste,” Lola began, “maybe she could do a reading using the photographs of the women.”

“Nick won’t like it, but I’m intrigued and can’t see how it’d hurt. What’d you say, Celeste? Mind doing whatever it is you do to try to connect with the women?”

“
I’m warning you, sugar. Leave. Now.
”

Staring at the gray cloud haloing Jerry, she fought the pressure pounding against her skull and dragged in a deep breath. Unable to fill her lungs, the room temperature becoming increasingly warmer, Denis’s whispered threats filling her head, she panicked, gripped the table and stood. “I need out of here.”

John quickly rose, and wrapped an arm around her. “What’s wrong?”

“At the trailer I accused Denis of murdering those women. When I did, he did something to me.”

He wiped the sweat trickling along her temple with his thumb. “You said you became very hot and couldn’t breathe. “Is that happening now?”

She nodded. “I don’t think he liked being accused of murder,” she said, then glanced from Lola to Jerry. “Sorry. We need to leave. He doesn’t want me here.”

“Is he here now?” Jerry asked, his tone curious.

She looked to the detective, then to the cloud. “He’s right behind you.”

Jerry’s gaze never wavered from hers. “What does he want?”

“I’m not sure, but I don’t think he wants me talking to the women.” Taking shallow breaths, she hung onto John’s arms, and looked to the manila folder resting where Nick had sat. They’d found forty-eight pictures in that old wooden box. Forty-eight. How many of those women were dead? How many were still alive and suffering? Either way, they
all
needed justice.

“Come on, hon.” John pressed his hand along her back. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“No. Just give me a second,” she said, and sat back in her chair. “What does a ghost care about being accused of murder or human trafficking? Why would Denis care if I tried to talk to the dead women?”

Tendrils from the cloud uncoiled and stretched to a point directed straight at her. “
Leave the women alone. Talk to Gabe.
”

“Or else?” The fluorescent light gave a brief flicker. She glanced from it, to the cloud. “He wants me to talk to Gabe.”

“I can get you an object from him for your reading,” Jerry said, his eyes holding a strange combination of interest and disbelief. “But I can’t make him talk to you.”

“
No object. You talk to him.
” The cloud hung over the table, emanating malevolence and hatred. “
Now. I need revenge.
”

Memories of the way the smoky mass had pried its way into her mouth and body, dragging her into the unknown, filled her head with determination. “No.”

“I’m confused,” Jerry said. “I thought you needed an object for a reading.”

“Sorry, I wasn’t talking to you.” Celeste met the detective’s gaze. “I don’t want to do a reading for him yet. I want to talk to the women.”

“
Leave the women
,” Denis repeated, his tone desperate yet threatening.

The lights buzzed, then flickered again. The cloud darkened. Her head pounded as she stared at it. But she wouldn’t allow the dead man to bully her. He’d wanted her to find out what he was, and now she knew, or at least suspected that he had abducted and sold those women to the highest bidder. Not wanting to speak out loud and have Jerry and Lola think she’d lost her mind, she attempted to speak to the dead man with her inner thoughts. “
Why? What do you care? And what did Gabe do to you?
”

His soft chuckle sent tension up her spine. “
What do you think, sugar?
He killed me.
”

Chapter 8

“A FREAKING SÉANCE?” Celeste overheard Nick ask Jerry.

She turned away and drank the Diet Coke John had bought from the vending machine. She couldn’t blame Nick for not believing her. She could have made the marks on her body. What she and Barney had found at the trailer would have eventually been discovered. And the evidence they had against Gabe was enough to charge him with Denis’s murder. After all, it was a little hard to believe that Gabe was innocent when it had been just him and Denis on the boat that night, and Denis had ended up dead, a knife wound to his chest.

“Don’t listen to him,” John said, his focus on Nick. “The guy’s a dick.” He glanced to Lola. “How do you work with him?”

“He’s usually not like this. But I’ve never brought him a psychic.” She looked to Celeste. “Are you sure you’re okay? You still look a little pale.”

Once Denis and his cloud had disappeared, the headache, the heat and the roaring in her ears had gone away, leaving her exhausted and drained. “I’ll be fine. I really want to see if I can connect with the women.”

“Should you call Maxine first?” John asked.

Lola raised a brow. “Who’s Maxine?”

“I like to think of her as my psychic mentor.” Celeste smiled. “She’s a friend of Ian’s.”

“Ian has a psychic friend?” Lola cocked her head. “Interesting. Has he used psychics on cases before?”

Since Ian was marrying Lola’s mom, Celeste and Lola would soon be family by marriage. But they weren’t blood, and although she liked Lola, she didn’t really know the woman. Divulging that Ian had used Celeste’s mother—who was also psychic—during his days with the FBI was something she’d leave for Ian to share. As it was, other than the journals Celeste had from her mom, along with a few stories from Ian, she still didn’t truly know the full extent of what her mom had done for Ian.

“That’s something you’ll have to ask him,” she said, then looked to John. “I’ll call Maxine later. I don’t want the detectives cutting my time short because they think I’m wasting theirs.”

He brushed a knuckle along her cheek. “Do you want me to sit with you?”

She thought about the grounding method Maxine had taught her. How she could hold an object in one hand, and scribble on a piece of paper with the other. How that scribbling had helped to keep her grounded as she drifted to another plane, another place or time.

How it could lead to a trance she might not remember.

With a ghost stalking her.

“You don’t mind?” she asked. “You and Lola should be at Polina’s Paradise for training.”
 
“We’ll make up the training session later. I want to be with you.”

Lola sighed. “Aww, that’s so sweet.”

Celeste grinned when John rolled his eyes. “I prefer supportive.” He took Celeste’s hand. “Looks like the detectives are ready for you.”

After drawing in a deep breath, Celeste and John walked toward the two men. Nick opened the door to the same room they’d been in earlier and let them inside. On the center of the table was a cardboard file box labeled CASE #77721. Next to the box, someone had brought in the notepad and pen she’d requested.

“Where’s the silverware box?” she asked.

“That and the pictures are inside here.” Nick tapped the file box. “The wooden box is in a brown bag, and each individual picture is in a plastic bag.” He set a couple of pairs of latex gloves on the table. “Forensics has already checked for prints. Since this is an ongoing investigation, we’d prefer if you wore gloves.”

“Will that affect your reading?” Jerry asked.

She shrugged. “There’s only one way to find out,” she said, taking a seat.

Once John was also seated, Jerry said, “We’ll let you at it. There’s a deputy in an office next door to the left. When you’re finished, or if you need anything, have him contact me or Nick.”

She thanked Jerry, then once the detectives and Lola had left the room, shutting the door behind them, she looked to the mirror on the opposite wall. “Do you think they’re planning on watching me?” she asked.

“Count on it. For all they know you could take a black marker to the pictures and destroy important evidence.” He handed her a pair of gloves. “Is being watched going to give you stage fright?”

She grinned and finished tugging on the gloves. “I don’t know about that. I was more concerned the detectives were going to want to stay in the room and watch. I don’t think I would’ve minded Jerry and Lola sticking around, but Nick’s negativity made me uncomfortable.”

“If Nick’s listening, then he now knows.” Wearing the other pair of latex gloves, John pulled the brown bag from the file box. “So you might want to watch what you say.”

She couldn’t care less what Nick, or Jerry for that matter, thought about her. But she did want to be able to obtain something for the detectives to use to help discover what happened to those women and give them the justice they deserved. “I’ll be good,” she said, as John took the wooden box from the brown bag and set it in front of her.

“You’re right. It’s an old silverware box,” he said, then set another bag next to it, this one filled with the individually wrapped pictures. “Okay, what do you need me to do?”

“Not a thing.” She touched the initials Denis had carved on the wood box with one hand, and picked up the pen with the other. She scribbled on the notepad and stared at the box, hoping, searching for that familiar tug and pull to her psyche that would take her to another time and place.

Nothing.

“What’s wrong?” John asked when she pushed the box aside.

“I can’t get a reading.” She picked up one of the photos. “I’m going to try the pictures.” She focused on the picture and once again scribbled on the notepad. Still nothing. She picked up another photo and tried again. “Damn it,” she muttered. “I don’t get it. At the trailer they weren’t shy, and Denis was in the room.” She turned to John as a thought occurred to her. “I wonder if the women aren’t just connected to the pictures, but to him.”

“Like ghost groupies?”

“That’s not the term I would have used, but yeah. Sorta. If he abducted and sold them, then he is the reason they’re dead.”

“He caused a chain reaction.”

“Which, to me, makes him just as guilty of murder even if he never touched the women.” Determined to talk with at least some of the women, she opened one of the plastic bags and plucked the picture free. “What happened to you?” Frustrated that the woman’s spirit wasn’t responding, she glanced to the mirror. “If you’re watching, don’t be mad, but I’m losing the gloves. If I don’t get anything off a couple of pictures, I’ll call it quits,” she finished, and took off the gloves. Since neither detective burst into the room, or commented over the intercom, they either were good with this, or not watching her after all.

With her bare hand, she lifted the photograph and studied the woman’s face. The moment the camera had been snapped it had forever frozen the terror in her eyes, the tears staining her cheeks, the slight lift of her chin which caused her lips to tilt downward as if she fought to stop from crying. Celeste ran the tip of her finger along the photo, outlining the contours of the woman’s sad face.

“Please let me help you,” Celeste said. “Tell me what happened.”

“
El monstruo me sacó de mi familia.
” The woman’s whispered words chased goose bumps down Celeste’s arms. Her Spanish might be rusty, but she understood monster and family.

Celeste closed her eyes and thought,
No hablo español.

“
Prisa. Ver al monstruo,
” the woman replied, but Celeste had no idea what the spirit had said. “
Ver.
”

Celeste kept her eyes closed, and tried to gain a vision of the woman. “Can you use your phone to look up the Spanish word
ver
?” she asked John.

“It means ‘watch’,” Nick’s voice came over the intercom.

“How do I say, ‘I’m watching. Show me the monster’?” she asked.

“
Estoy viendo. Muéstrame el monstruo,
” Nick replied.

Celeste repeated the words in her mind, then winced when the sharp pierce to her skull returned, along with the roaring in her ears. Like a strobe light, bright white flashes suddenly appeared behind her closed eyes. The flashes grew faster, longer and narrowed to a tiny black pinpoint. As she sat still in the chair, motion sickness set in and her stomach grew nauseous. Wanting the pain in her head to end, afraid she was going to vomit, she opened her eyes.

Panic gripped her. She blinked but the flashing light, the sensation of being propelled forward, remained. “John,” she called, yet couldn’t hear her own voice over the roar echoing through her head. “Can you hear me?”

“¡Apresúrese antes de que vuelva!
” the woman shouted, her voice frantic, her energy becoming stronger.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Celeste yelled back with frustration. “
No sé, no sé.
Don’t you get it? I don’t understand.”

Everything went black and eerily silent. Panic morphed into fear. Breathing hard, she reached out, searched for her own hand, but couldn’t see a damned thing. “John? Can you hear me?” When he didn’t answer, she said, “
¿Hola? Señorita
, are you still there?”

The blackness shattered. As if a box of crayons had suddenly exploded, the world around her became vibrant and colorful. The scent of salt water filled her nostrils. Traffic and car horns sounded in the distance over the crash of waves.

“
Ver,
” the woman said, the single word becoming an echo.