The Vengeful Dead (13 page)

McManus stared at the stool for a moment. “Getting some psychic vibes or something?”

Jackie took a step back as the man got off the stool. “Something like that.” Psychic vibes, like Laurel’s little psychic radar she used to always poke fun at. It wasn’t so fun now. The man, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and sporting a wide array of tattooed artwork on his arms, much like the living man who had just left, began to speak again, his expression visibly upset. This time he was speaking loud enough to be heard.

“He’s saying something about Vasquez.” The man’s hands were waving angrily in her direction and Jackie took another step back.

“What he say?”

She turned on McManus in a panic. “How the fuck would I know? I don’t speak Spanish.”

The bartender paused in the middle of polishing a glass and eyed her curiously. Others were beginning to look more intently in their direction. The ghost stepped right up to Jackie, repeating the same phrase over and over. Jackie let out a yelp and backpedaled toward the door. Barks of laughter could be heard around the bar.

McManus came up and grabbed her arm. “Jack? What’s going on? You OK?”

She yanked her arm from his grasp. “I have to get out of here,” she said in a rush and pushed at the door, kicking at it with a desperate lunge to get out of the bar. Jackie ran for the safety of the car, narrowly missing a car that blared its horn at her as she bolted across the road. The door when she reached it was locked.

“McManus!” She yanked on the handle until he clicked the remote and then virtually fell into the seat, slamming the door shut when she was in. McManus climbed in a moment later.

“Jack?”

Deep breaths. Deep breaths.
Jackie drew in large lungfuls of air and slowly exhaled. Gradually, her heart began to slow to a sane rate. She turned and looked beyond McManus to the door of the Raging Bull. The ghost stood on the edge of sidewalk, shaking his fists in her direction, mouthing words that Jackie could not hear.

“Go, Ryan. Please. Get us out of here.”

He pulled out into the street watching the bar entrance in the rearview mirror. “Care to explain? You act like you saw . . . you saw a ghost.”

Jackie stared out through the rain wiping across the window. “I did. What does
matalo
mean?”

“
Matalo?
It means
to kill
,” he said, worried.

“He wanted Vasquez dead. I heard him say
loco,
too. He wants the crazy Vasquez dead.”

“Shit.” They drove in silence for a minute before he looked at her again in disbelief. “You really are a psychic.”

“Fucking looks that way,” she said. Jackie ran her fingers through her hair, clenching them into fists. “God, I don’t want this. I really don’t.”

“You want me to take you back?”

And the chickenshit says, yes.
Jackie sighed and looked back up at the steady, gray rain coating everything in a wet, dreary gloom. She heard Laurel’s voice then, echoing similar sentiments from when they had first encountered the feeling of Drake.
Stay away. Get off of the case.
And Jackie clearly remembered her response. She turned to McManus.

“We have a witness to interview, don’t we?”

He smiled. “That we do, Agent Rutledge. That we do.”

Chapter 16

Ninety minutes later they were back at headquarters, with no further information. How did someone hypnotize a witness into complete forgetfulness with the touch of a hand? Jackie’s first thought was
vampire
, but there were no signs from the victims of blooddraining. Everything in the evidence spoke to purely human violence. The only true wildcard here was the dead. There was an active and angry ghost at both scenes. She needed some expert advice and the one person she needed to talk to had been frustratingly unavailable. Shelby could reach her though.

McManus had packed up his carry bag and was ready to leave the office. It was nearly 8:00
PM
and neither of them had eaten. “I’m heading out to have some drinks with the guys. They invited me out for a little first-day-on-the-job celebrating. You sure you don’t want to come?”

“Thanks, but no,” Jackie said. She did not feel like celebrating anything. “I’ve got to go talk to someone about what happened earlier.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I guess that would be a good idea. You going to be all right, Jack?”

“Once I get a handle on this, I should be,” she said. She sure as hell better be. She couldn’t keep running in panic every time some ghost decided to have words with her. Her career would be over otherwise. “Sorry I freaked out on you today. Not the first day you’d hoped for, I imagine.”

“You made it memorable.” He chuckled. “Gang Enforcement was never this interesting.”

Jackie rolled her eyes. “I’ll take competence over interesting any day.”

McManus shouldered his bag. “I’ve no doubts about your competence, Jack. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Ignore whatever those boneheads say about me,” she said. “Except the part about being a bitch. I have no excuses for that one.”

He laughed and waved at her as he headed for the elevator. “Night, Jack.”

“Night.” He was a good guy. Motivated. Calm. And he appeared to take the psychic craziness in stride. She couldn’t complain. It could have been a lot worse. Belgerman had, as always, chosen wisely. Jackie picked up her phone and dialed. It was picked up on the third ring.

“Hey, Jackie,” Shelby said in her perpetually cheerful voice. “I’ve been hoping you’d call.”

“Can we talk? I had another encounter today and I’ve got a question for Laur.”

“You did? What happened?”

She did not want to talk about this shit over the phone from the office. Who knew what someone might overhear. “Not now. Can we meet?”

“Sure. Come on over. I’ll put some tea on.”

Tea. Shelby was so Laurel’s girlfriend. “Thanks.” She hung up, grabbed her things, and headed for the elevator.

Shelby’s presence emanated through her apartment door before she even opened it. The dead part anyway. The very living part beamed her wide, cherry-red smile, and stared at her with those iris-less, sparkling eyes. She wore a pair of Chicago Blackhawk sweatpants cut off at the knees and a form fitting top that wouldn’t have pulled down past her navel if you’d hung weights on it. Her perfect, matching cherry toes reflected the light from the hall.

Her smile faded after a cursory look at Jackie. “Hon, you look like you just got steamrolled. Come in.”

Jackie stepped in to the warmth of Shelby’s eclectic Victorian loft. “It’s sad that I always look more dead than you actually are.”

She laughed. “When’s the last time you put on makeup?”

“I don’t wear makeup.”

“And there you go,” she said. “Sit down. I’ll get the tea.”

Jackie was about to tell her she did not drink tea, but decided against it. Let her play hostess. She sat down on one of the ornate couches, shoving the crocheted pillows aside. “This ghost shit is driving me crazy, Shelby. I need it to stop. I’m no psychic.”

“I think you lost that choice when Nick and Laurel dragged your dying ass into Deadworld.” She walked out of the kitchen with a tray in her hands. Besides the teapot and two cups with saucers was a dark bottle. Shelby sat down on the opposite end of the couch and set the tray on the coffee table. The label on the bottle said BAUCHANT.

Jackie eyed the tea suspiciously. “What is that?”

“Drink,” she said. “It’s the best tea ever.”

She picked up the cup and sniffed at the steaming liquid. The vapors nearly burned her nostrils. “There’s alcohol in this?”

“It’s an orange cognac brandy. Lovely stuff and just what you need right now.”

Jackie took a sip and was hit with a burning wave of orange citrus with a hint of tea. The warmth seeped quickly down her throat and into her gut. She nodded. “OK. I can drink tea like this.”

Shelby picked up her own cup and drank. “Told you. Now, what happened today? Tell me everything.” After another sip, she added, “Please.”

Jackie told her, from the initial cold breath of the dead to the angry ghost following her out of the bar. Her cup was empty when she finished. “That’s pretty much it. I’m not a psychic, Shelby. I’m just . . . I’m not. I don’t want this ability or power or whatever the fuck you want to call it. It freaks me out.”

Shelby leaned forward and made Jackie another cup of tea. “First of all, I’m sorry. I know you didn’t ask for or want this to happen. It must be scary as hell. I know I was scared when I first became what I am. I was so pissed at Nick. I didn’t talk to him for months. But after a while, I realized I needed it. I wanted to kill Drake and without the abilities I received, I’d have had no chance.”

“I don’t need this,” Jackie said. “It’s just getting in the way of me doing my investigations.”

“Because it can’t help you or because you don’t know how to use it?”

“I don’t want to use it.”

“Why not? It’s a powerful tool,” Shelby said. “Didn’t you solve some cases because of Laurel’s abilities?”

“Yes, but that was Laur, not me. She grew up with this shit. She was born with it. What I’ve got is more like . . . like I’ve been infected or something.”

Shelby nodded. “I know, and I guess in a way you have. It’s incurable, Jackie. There’s no method that we know of to just make it go away. You can’t go into remission. You must learn to live with it, simple as that. Claim it and make it yours. Talking to the dead is a powerful resource that very few people have.”

Jackie sagged back against the couch, looking up at the whirling ceiling fan overhead. Shelby wasn’t helping at all. She didn’t want to claim anything. “And what happens the next time I deck someone at a scene because some ghost’s idea of talking is little more than murderous rage?”

“That’s not talking,” Shelby said. “That’s channeling, which is another ability all together. That one will take some work. It’s strength of will, selfconfidence, and control.”

Jackie groaned with frustration. “I don’t need another thing to work on, damn it!”

“I know,” she replied, her tone quieter and even more serious. “You shouldn’t be channeling right now. You aren’t in a good place for that.”

“Gee! You think?” She turned and glared at Shelby. “So, where’s the fucking off switch at? Because right now I’ve got fucking babies and really pissed dead people just jumping into my head. How am I supposed to work like that?”

“You don’t, Jackie. Right now you need to stay away from crime scenes until you can get a better handle on this.”

“No fucking way.” She had just got back on a case and wasn’t about to let that go. “Working cases is saving my sanity right now.”

“Not if your psychic abilities are going to make it worse,” she said. “You had a month off to work on yourself, to deal with Laurel’s death, and get your life back in order. What happened with that?”

“Work
is
my order,” Jackie said. “And I don’t need another shrink, thank you very much. One is more than enough.”

“I’m speaking as a friend,” Shelby said sternly. “You’ve suffered a lot. You had a breakdown and almost killed someone, and it’s been very apparent that living without Laurel has proven very difficult. You honestly think you’re ready to be effective at work after two weeks?”

Jackie sat back up. “And how has living with Laurel been? Not too difficult I hope?”

Shelby looked up at the ceiling for a moment and then sighed. “Laurel can’t see you yet, Jackie. Neither of you are ready.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means she’s afraid of being with you right now. She’s afraid of slipping back into how things were. We both agreed that taking those first steps to being healthy again needed to be on your own.”

Jackie leaped to her feet. “Who died and made you fucking queen? You’ve got no business meddling in our affairs.”

“Laurel asked me to,” she said.

“What?”

“Because she knows herself well enough to admit that she’s too weak to not help you when you should be helping yourself.”

“Oh, that is bullshit!” Jackie searched for a reason, any rationalization to go along with her exclamation. “I’m helping myself. I got my fucking job back, didn’t I?”

“Why?” Shelby asked, curious. “Did you ask yourself why you were so desperate to get back? It’s not because you were ready, Jackie. That much is obvious.”

“Fuck you.” She wanted to slap her or better yet, ball up her fist and plant it right in the middle of those faintly smiling cherry lips.

“I’m serious. You can get indignant all you want, but what’ve you done? Are you talking things out with the FBI psychologist? Are you reaching out to anyone for help or even a bit of comfort when you’re really needing it? Nick is trying but you’re too afraid of him to give him a chance.”

Jackie walked away. Her hands were clenching so tightly they were starting to shake. She didn’t need this, not one damn bit. At the window overlooking the street, Jackie stared at her reflection, gaunt and warbled by the rivulets of water running down the glass. “I’m not afraid of him. And I’m here, aren’t I? I’m asking you for help.”

Shelby’s bark of laughter made her stomach clench. “You don’t want my help, hon. You want me to make your problem go away, just like you’d want Laurel to do if she was here now. And don’t lie to me. I see through that shit. Nick terrifies you, but unlike me, you’re terrified of all men.”

She spun away from the window, jabbing an angry finger at Shelby. “That’s crazy. I’m not afraid of—”

“You are!” Shelby interrupted her and got to her feet. “I know about your past, Jackie. Laurel has told me a lot. And before you get all goddamn huffy about it, I’m the only person she’s confided this to, besides her therapist. She’s trying to get things right after being your crutch for eight fucking years, so get off your high horse and at least admit you’re screwed up.” She walked around the couch and stopped in front of Jackie, who tried desperately to stare her down and failed miserably. “Nobody who experiences what you did with your mother and stepfather comes out on the other side undamaged. They just don’t. And I saw what happened to you when Laurel died or did you forget that, Jackie? You’re not OK. Two weeks of moping around in your pj’s and a tequila bottle won’t fix that. Getting back on a case won’t fix it either.” She reached out and poked Jackie in the chest. “Take a hard look, Agent Rutledge. It’s not pretty, and nobody else is going to make it better except you.”

Jackie had started to interrupt her several times during the tirade, but she could find no words to countermand the attack. She knew it was true and it was a bitter pill to swallow. The finger jab was it, though. The words stung, but the poke went over the line. Jackie clenched her fist and aimed an uppercut for Shelby’s chin.

Two inches from connecting, Jackie’s forward momentum came to an abrupt halt, her fist suddenly clenched in Shelby’s cool, firm grip. ”You really want to do this, Jackie? Fist fighting with a vampire is a losing proposition.”

This time Jackie did stare her down, glaring into the bright depths to the darkness beyond where she could sense that doorway to Deadworld. Fucking dead people. Fucking know-it-all, meddling, Jolie-wannabe, Miss Perfect goddamn vampire. One punch. She just wanted to land one good, solid blow to that grinning Revlon mouth.

“Fuck off,” she said and swung with the other fist.

It missed. Shelby let go of the fist and snapped her arm across to block the other punch away. It threw Jackie off balance, and she stepped right into the back of Shelby’s hand, which struck her a stinging blow on the cheek. “Bit slow there, Jackie. Not good enough to land a single punch? Or, you know, just not good enough, period?”

The line between anger and stupidity is a thin one and Jackie had just erased it. She yelled something at Shelby, a garbled mash of expletives, and lunged at her. There was no plan of attack, no bloodying the lip anymore. She just wanted to take her down and wipe that smug smile off her face.

Shelby sidestepped with unnatural speed. One moment Jackie’s hands were going to land and the next she was stumbling through open air. She had to grab a dining chair to keep from falling down completely. As she brought herself back up, Shelby’s hand flicked out and stung the other cheek.

“Your energy would be better spent on yourself, you know,” she said, dancing lightly away from Jackie’s wild swing. “Or is it that you don’t believe you deserve something better?”

“I deserve to plant my fist in your goddamned face,” Jackie huffed, and this time attempted to feint with her left and sneak in a right. Shelby didn’t bite and her punch was flicked away. The stinging slap to her face quickly followed. Humiliation was the worst sort of torment. She was helpless to do anything against Shelby’s supernatural abilities. But rage was the best of motivators, even if it was utterly blind. Jackie yelled and leaped at Shelby, hoping to tackle her.

A subtle pivot, a sweeping block, and Jackie found herself tumbling over the back of the couch. Her feet crashed on the coffee table, knocking the tea set onto the floor.

Shelby groaned. “Damn it! Now look what you’ve done. Can’t even fight properly, can you?” She put her hands on her hips, a scolding scowl on her face. “Can you do anything right, Jackie?”

Jackie reached down and picked up the teapot from the floor. The voice was far too reminiscent of Carl the cop; her stepfather had uttered that phrase more times than she could remember. “I can do better,” she recalled saying to each and every admonition but, over time, the belief dwindled, because it was never better, only worse. And how could it get better when you watched your mother cry the same phrase only to be beaten down until she was nothing. In the end you just became nothing.