The screen came to life with a very young Jessica close to the camera, fussing with it. She moved away from the lens and took a seat on the bed looking anxious.
“So, I’m not really sure how I should start this.” She glanced around her bedroom, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Dad gave me this camera for my birthday and the school counselor thought it would be good if I kept a sort of diary.
“Okay, so what do I talk about? Oh! School just started and I managed to land in Business English with Connor and Veronica. Writing for the school paper should be pretty interesting with them. Connor and V. Ugh, those two are driving me crazy. No one ever listens to me.” She shook her head. “I’m just so tired every day, between all the drama and the nightmares, I’m just wiped.” She picked at the pink writing on her black t-shirt. “But hey, three weeks until the trip.” She smiled, and tossed her long red hair.
“Tonight. Tonight should be fun. I found this old abandoned house that’s supposedly haunted and we’re going to go check it out. I talked Matt into leaving us a few supplies out there for tonight. I’m going to have to hook him up with Christy for it though.” Her eyes darted around the room as she frowned. “Anyway, tonight should be fun.” She leaned forward, and the camera winked out.
I switched off the wall-mounted TV and let the remote drop to the floor. I was emotionally drained. Yesterday was Jessica’s funeral and it had almost been Alison’s. We were lucky that Sarah’s place was nearby after the shootout. I forced myself to stand up. Veronica was sprawled on the futon nearby. We had stayed up most of the night watching videos Jess had shot. I was only wearing a pair of suit pants and Veronica was down to a green silk camisole with her dark slacks. The number of beer bottles on the low table, and empty vodka bottle just out of reach of Veronica’s outstretched hand reminded me how we had gotten here. I needed some air. Rubbing my face, I felt fresh stubble.
Grabbing my still damp t-shirt off the floor, I then headed down the metal stairs. While I walked, I tugged it on and fastened my pants. It was way too early to be awake, but I couldn’t help it. After all that had happened in the last week, an active imagination was really a detriment to sleep. Picking up Veronica’s blouse and my jacket at the bottom of the stairs, I remembered that our clothes were soaked from the rain after we had cleaned out Jessica’s apartment. I picked up Veronica’s jacket on the way to the couch, kicked our shoes aside and dropped the pile of discarded clothes on the cushions next to me.
Glancing around the downstairs, I took in the open space. Someone had tried converting an old shipping facility into a livable space and it left the entire downstairs as one large room with highly polished wood floors, white walls and lots of windows. The second floor was actually the former administration offices, three rooms and a bathroom with a small space near the metal stairs to serve as a lounge. I could still see Veronica’s wavy blonde hair draped off the end of the futon through the industrial railing. My black cat, Misha, stared at me from a nearby window, twitching his tail.
“Oh, you’re fine.” The cat squinted and snubbed me to look out the window. Misha hated when things changed, and Veronica staying here for the past few days seemed to be on the border for him. I had assumed that Veronica was dead, so for me it was like she had been resurrected. But her life was in shambles, leaving her homeless and unemployed. Thanks to a fire, everything she owned could fit in the trunk of her car. The result left both Misha and my partner, Alison, annoyed at me.
The pile of boxes from Jessica’s apartment at the end of the sofa caught my attention. It still didn’t feel real. I had known Jess and Veronica almost my entire life. Now, all that was left of Jess were a pile of belongings that had been rescued from her landlord.
I dragged over the nearest box, and unfolded the top. It was filled with stuff from one of her bookshelves. I picked up a framed photo of the three of us from middle school. Everything seemed so much happier so long ago. I closed my eyes, pain making my chest ache, and set the photo down on the coffee table. There were too many lost moments, too many regrets. I took a breath and resolved to keep it all out of my head until later. I had enough stress already.
I stood up, went over to the back door near the dining table, and stepped out onto the old loading dock. Breathing in the early morning sea air helped. It was cool out, but we still had a few more months before the temperatures dropped completely. I headed back to the remaining loading bay and rolled up the door. Searching through the loading bay we used as a garage, I gathered an assortment of wrenches and headed for the gray ‘78 British rover across the gravel lot. I set down my tools as a car raced past on the road at the end of the drive. It wasn’t quite rural, but I couldn’t really complain with the Atlantic on the other side of the building.
Reaching through the grille, I popped the hood and lifted it, making sure it was securely propped in place before lying down and sliding under the rover. I found that working with my hands helped me to better focus my thoughts.
Three years ago the local news had reported Jess and Veronica were murdered. I abandoned all hopes of a normal life and joined a security consulting firm that specialized in discreet problem solving. Last week, Jess and Veronica showed up on my doorstep looking for help with a stalker. I caught the stalker, but Jess was taken from me without a reason.
I let out a sigh. When a case hits a dead end, it’s often best to give yourself a break so you can see your next move.
After I finished the oil change, I was tightening a bolt under the front axle when the wrench slipped, scraping my knuckles as it fell to the ground.
“Ow.” I gritted my teeth and wiped the sweat from my brow. Picking up the wrench, I tried the bolt again. I’ve had my share of rolling wrecks and replacing parts gave me time to think. Most of the time it works, in spite of the frustration.
“I think you need a three-sixteenths,” Veronica called from somewhere nearby. I shifted my gaze to see a pair of sneakers and very seductive legs bound in tight denim. Reaching over, I dragged myself from under the rover, right into the waiting gaze of the stunning little blonde wearing one of my red dress-shirts.
“Morning.”
“You’re up early.” Her green eyes scrutinized me.
“I didn’t sleep.” I stared up at her, thinking about the events of the last week. My attempt to find answers for her and Jess could hardly be called a success. Jessica’s death had been one more mark on my heart and on my body. I looked at the fresh scab on my left hand.
“Uh-huh.” She stooped down to me.
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
“I wasn’t asleep.” She picked over the assortment of tools I had spread around, and handed me the appropriate wrench.
“Sorry.” I slid back under the rover and fixed the wrench to the stubborn bolt. “I just figured you’d be out of it for a while after everything you had last night.”
“Yeah, well, doesn’t help.”
“Are you doing any better?”
“A bit. It still hurts.” I glanced over to see her examine the fresh scab in the palm of her left hand. Just like me, the pain was still there, but it was dulled.
“It always will.”
“I know.”
“Veronica?” My voice let out more concern than I wanted.
“Yeah?” She stood up and leaned over the fender to look down past the engine block at me. I stopped fussing with the wrench to look up at her.
“I dreamed about her last night.”
“What was it?”
“We were at her funeral, and she came to me. She basically told me to get my head on straight, and thanked us for stopping Rostern.” Veronica tossed her hair and focused on the horizon, but I could still see the tears. I took another breath before returning to tightening bolts.
“Have you found out anything about him or the shooter?” Veronica retrieved another wrench from the ground and leaned in to help tighten the bolts I replaced.
“Only that Brian Rostern was killed in an accident yesterday at Northfield.”
“What?”
“Alison called me while we were at Jess’s funeral. He slipped on the wet walkway and happened to crack his skull on a concrete flower pot.”
“He’s dead?” She stared at me.
“The only thing we have to go on now is how Rostern is connected to Jo Sargent, and what their tattoos mean.” When we finally caught Jessica’s murderer, Rostern, we were attacked by something that drove him insane in a matter of seconds. Between the ranting about a mysterious ‘they’ commanding Sargent and Rostern to kill everyone I knew, and the bizarre supernatural stuff, I felt like I was losing my mind. “Rostern is dead and the disappearances have stopped. It’s a start.”
“I’m so relieved.” She cleared the excess grease off of a bolt with her fingers, before putting a wrench to it. “What about the shooter? Do we know anything new?”
“I have the cellphone components drying in the office.” Spotting a piece of copper sticking out of the firewall, I fought and popped it free. “Still have nothing on the truck but…” I rolled the copper around in my oily palm. A jacketed .308 round. “We know more than we did.” I held up the crushed bullet for her to see.
“Nice.” She took the round and examined the remains. “So, Brian is killed the day after someone tries to kill us.” Placing the fragment on the car she leaned over to look at me. “Call me crazy, but coincidence doesn’t seem right.”
“I might, but not when I’m under a car.” I smiled at her.
“You do learn.” Veronica sounded surprised. “So what’s on the table?”
“There’s the warehouse analysis tonight, and a couple of other things I need to check on. But,” I finished tightening the bolt. “I think that’s all for now.”
“Well, then where do you think we’ll be able to find something that might give us some answers? I really don’t want to be shopping, and have someone try and put one of these in me.” She tapped the remains on the fender. “Know what I mean?”
“Yeah but it’s not quite so simple.”
“I know but…”
“But it’s not as simple as a web search. We need to check with our remaining contacts and see if they know something. Most of them don’t want to talk with us after having half-a-dozen people either murdered or disappeared, on our account.”
“Really?”
“It’s not like we did it on purpose. We can’t very well predict when a psychopath is going to start killing off our associates.”
“Great, so what do we do?”
“Patience, we’ve got our feelers out.”
“Fine but what can we can do in the mean time?” The ammunition was custom, there were a few resources we could check. She saw the thought cross my face. “Connor?” My eyes met hers.
“There are a couple of things.” I admitted.