“I’m not sure, but I think the guy, Luke, was driving by my house too. He had that stalkerish vibe. I kept seeing the same van go by, tinted windows, slow... You know, just didn’t feel right. And then the...” Jackie hesitated. Can’t talk about that here. “Anyway, it’s probably why I’ve been so edgy lately.”
“Well, I think you did Sally a favor, calling her out like that. I don’t think anyone’s ever stood up to her,” Clay responded.
Jackie shrugged and tilted her head to the side in a nod of agreement. Her phone dinged a text notification. She picked it up to see she had a message from Martha.
“Martha says she found some information that we need to know. She wants to come over right away.” Jackie frowned as she said the last words. It had been so long since she’d been able to enjoy good company, and an even longer time since she’d met a man like Clay. He had a gentlemanly warmth and strength that filled the room with a relaxed down-to-earth vibe. She didn’t have to put her guard up around him. That, and she could trust him with Elena. She didn’t realize how much she missed that combination of sensations until the phone call interrupted the moment.
“What do you think?” he asked.
Jackie sat back for a moment and regarded him. She absolutely appreciated the fact that, since knowing her, he’d offered to collaborate on any decision that affected them both instead of acting like a typical bullheaded male who thought he knew everything. “Should we let Michael know in case he wants to hear this too?” she replied.
“I’ll ask him.” Clay reached for his phone and sent Michael the message while Jackie responded to Martha, inviting her to come back to the hospital.
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“A what?” Sean asked. He set his food down and leaned back in his seat with an incredulous look on his face, Michael’s laptop balanced on his knees.
“A Geist, she called it. Basically, a spirit or ghost.”
Sean looked down again at the laptop screen and used his finger on the mousepad to go back and forth on the moments where Evan’s metaphysical energy had merged with Clay. He shook his head as he looked back to Michael. “So, what are we gonna do?”
“I’m not sure about that, but something definitely ain’t right,” Michael said as he spun the lo mien noodles on his plastic fork and pierced another piece of chicken.
“That’s an understatement,” Sean said as he folded the laptop and set it back on the table. He picked up his box of noodles and stirred them with his chopsticks.
Michael observed his younger brother. Although he gave him a hard time about it, he admired the fact that he used chopsticks. Michael had grown to respect this important layer of his personality. Sean had an inquisitive nature. He kept an open mind and liked to learn about and do things that were more challenging than the norm. “Anybody can use a fork. I wanted to learn how to use chopsticks,” Sean once told him. He probably took the news about Clay and Evan without too much problem because of this aspect of his personality.
Feeling the pressure from his gun belt after a big meal, Michael looked down at the rest of his food and belched. “Come on, let’s put the rest of this in the fridge and clean up.”
He and Sean collected the containers and folded the tops closed. Michael grabbed his laptop, stood, and walked over to unlock the door. Before he stepped in, he turned and paused to survey the street they lived on. Sean did the same. It was an old habit from childhood. They had grown up in a tough neighborhood and got used to making sure no one was watching them or waiting to ambush them, and no trouble was brewing before going in for the night. Michael set the laptop on a dresser just inside the door, unbuckled his gun belt, and hung it from a scissor coat rack bolted to the wall above the dresser. He went back outside and helped Sean carry the food in.
The front door opened up directly into the living room, which simply flowed into the kitchen, creating a big open space in the center of the home. A tan leather wrap-around couch sat in front of a big-screen TV mounted on the wall with a long stereo table beneath it. A vintage turntable rested on top with a decent selection of records stored below. Large wooden box speakers sat on either side. A simple dark wood kitchenette occupied the space between the living room and the kitchen. They crossed the noisy hardwood floors and put the leftovers in the fridge in silence.
That done, Michael went back to the front door to finish locking up. He pulled his firearm from the gun belt and walked it over to a biometric safe mounted on the wall just outside of his bedroom door. He had a larger safe in his bedroom, but he had installed this one here so he could quickly and easily access his weapon from anywhere in the house and then be positioned in the center, able to cover any potential entry points with ease. Once he secured his Glock, he walked over to the stereo table to pick out an album for the evening.
“Please, no more Al Green,” Sean begged as he busied himself in the kitchen.
Michael chuckled as he thumbed through his collection of old-school R&B artists. Browsing over his records after work helped him unwind and disconnect from the job. The music took him back to younger days when all seemed possible. Finally finding the one he wanted, Michael gingerly removed the record from the sleeve and set Curtis Mayfield to play People Never Give Up. A few moments after the music began, Michael disappeared into his room.
The living arrangements had been situated so they each had private bathrooms and bedrooms on either side of the house. Michael set phones, wallet, and keys on a chest of drawers. He connected both his smartphone and the flip phone to charge, then, as he did each evening, he looked into the memories held by the framed pictures that hung on the walls. He smiled as his gaze moved over the photos of his mother and father, now deceased, along with him and Sean as young boys.
As he got ready to shower, his mind went back to the conversation with Officer Hines. Something about his sudden interest didn’t make sense. Why is Hiney so concerned about this case in particular? Michael had long suspected he was a dirty cop, maybe on the take from the drug lord they called ABCs. So far, no concrete evidence had come to light. But to a uniform cop working toward detective, incongruity usually hinted at trouble. It didn’t seem a stretch to conclude that Hines might be up to something. Michael’s naturally suspicious nature had served him well, so he never suppressed his mental ramblings.
He turned over these thoughts in his calculating mind as the cool water flowed over his head, thick neck, and down his muscular back. He leaned in, his hands pressed against the wall for support, arms bulging. The daily cold showers after work soothed his powerful body.
As he stood under the stream, he heard a text notification. Unperturbed by the interruption, he turned off the water, grabbed a towel to wrap around his waist, and padded over to the phone, leaving wet footprints on the carpet. Clay sent a message to let him know that Martha was coming back to the hospital with more info about the video and asked if he wanted to join them. Michael went back to the bathroom and dried off. He dressed in his casual clothes, wondering what Martha might have found. He needed to know. He texted Clay back. “On the way.”
Michael’s suspicions were mounting, his instincts still prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. He walked back into the living room to find Sean had also finished his shower and sat on the couch in another pair of torn jeans and a plain olive V-neck t-shirt. He had just turned on the TV so he could resume the game he’d been playing. They both enjoyed the first-person shooter game, Final Floor, but Michael didn’t play nearly as much as Sean did.
Michael walked to the fridge and grabbed two bottles of sweet tea. He opened one and took a pull from it as he went over to the couch and rested a bottle on Sean’s shoulder. “I need your help.”
“What’s up?” Sean asked, taking the bottle.
“Gonna go back to the hospital. The lady I told you about, Martha, has some new information she wants to talk to us about.”
“I’m not sure it’s my business to be in on that conversation,” Sean replied.
“Maybe, but something isn’t right. Could be nothing, but my intuition is telling me to be cautious. Can you drive me over in the Suburban and wait in the parking lot? I won’t be long.”
“No problem.”
Michael knew Sean was always up for helping, never a bad attitude. Besides, he always talked about how much he enjoyed driving his brother’s Suburban. “Thanks,” Michael said as he walked over to his gun safe and released the firearm from the mechanism.
Sure to aim the muzzle down and away, he released the magazine and confirmed it was loaded. He set that on a gun cloth spread out on a nearby side table he used for this purpose, then lowered the weapon toward it and slowly moved the slide, locking it back and clearing the round onto the cloth. Next, he inspected the chamber and the mag well, twice. Clear. He let the slide snap forward, then cycled it. The slide moved back smoothly then snapped closed. Then he pointed the gun down and squeezed the trigger. Satisfied, he pushed the magazine back in. After chambering a round, he walked to the front door and slid out a drawer from the dresser. He found his hip holster and secured the firearm to his waistband before removing a set of keys and tossing them over to Sean, who caught them with one hand. “We roll in five, you want to pull my big baby out of the garage?”
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Charlie hustled through the past few pages of charts. Her shift had ended and she wanted to swing by and say hi to Clay before it got too late. As she made her way to the elevator, she sent a text to her mom that she would be about 30 minutes late to pick up Jensen. Thankfully, her parents lived nearby and actually wanted to help with her son. They understood she had only a few more months of night school before she could move on from nursing and into graphic design, maybe... landscape design.
The thought cheered her as she was lifted to the third floor. The elevator dinged and the doors slid open to reveal a mostly quiet hallway. A lot different from the bustle of the ER. She swung by the nurse’s station to say hello to a friend, who gave her a mock surprised look and asked, “Where you goin’, hot stuff?”
Charlie patted the counter, acting surprised as she passed by, then whisked down the hall toward Clay’s room. As she approached the door, she felt a small tinge of regret for not bringing anything.
She paused by the door, out of sight, to stow her phone and check herself in the small mirror she carried. As she did so, Charlie overheard conversation and music coming from the room. She stepped back, and through a small gap in the curtains, she saw the blonde woman from this morning sitting with her daughter across from Clay. They were sharing a meal.
Charlie let out a short breath of disappointment and turned away without hesitation. Of course, he’d go for her. Besides, it was her daughter he saved. On her way out, she stopped back by the nurse’s station and went behind the counter to sit and visit with her friend.
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