Last Impressions (The Marnie Baranuik Files) (18 page)

I stared down at the toes of my boots, stuck in some slush,
covered in a white film of road salt. Harry would have a fit, the best part of that being that I was alive for him to yell at. Neil Dunnachie was not. Britney Wyatt was probably not.

The Blue Sense reported Schenk’s uncertainty at my side, and
the longer I took to work up to the task before me, the more his
mood
swirled into a blend of impatience and concern. It was the concern
that was unique to Schenk; I’d encountered sympathy from SSA Chapel and Sheriff Hood on more than one occasion, but unless you counted
Batten’s angry-at-my-risk-taking attitude, I didn’t think anyone
except
Harry had been worried about my well-being like Schenk. I sensed an overprotective streak in him, which
could
have come with the responsibility inherent in his badge, but felt like it came naturally to
a man his size, accustomed to being physically able to offer a wing to hide beneath to anyone in his circle of friends and family who might need him.

I waited a moment longer, curious to see if his patience had an end, and he’d prod me to hurry up. When he didn’t, I began an uncomfortable
game of crouch-and-touch, putting my bare palm to the ground to find traces of Britney, moving a foot to one side or the other to touch
again.
It was awkward with the handcuffs. Schenk had to crouch with me, mirroring my movements. I’d seen the crime scene notes, but only briefly, and I hardly had a photographic memory. Standing here in
person, it
was difficult to pinpoint exactly where she and Simon had been. I tried to remember where the little yellow markers were in the photographs, pointing out footprints and tire tracks in the snow and
grit. I was
beginning to lose faith in my abilities when the first trace of her fluttered under my right hand. I stopped in a knee-straining crouch near the edge of the canal, willing the swell of psi to amplify any
connection.

She was like a wisp, teasing at the very edge of my senses.

I took a long, deep calming breath, then motioned at Schenk to back off as much as the cuffs allowed. I clenched both hands, feeling
my cold knuckles ache, promising myself I’d seek out more hot
coffee as soon as I was done here, and blocked out the
scree-ting
from the boats. I dropped my palms to the asphalt.

Britney filled my mind’s eye, laughing, handling a clothes hanger with a white silk robe on it.
A store. A friend with her. Holding
up big pink
satin granny panties. A lingerie store. Tiger print thongs.
The vision started to fade and I clung to it, spreading my fingers to cast a wider net on the broken pavement, summoning more psi to do my
bidding, cramming
it down the pipeline of the Blue Sense, dragging Britney back to
center stage.
A close friend. Spritzing different perfumes, helping her pick one out.
A special occasion coming
.
Some sort of… sexual celebration. Girl talk
between racks of lace teddies and leather corsets. Private consultation in that hushed, out-of-the-corner-of-your-mouth voice used in public. Giggling, two heads bent together
. My lips opened softly and I suggested quietly, so as to not break the spell, “She knew Simon was going to propose.”

Schenk said nothing, but I sensed his attention. He gave me the space to do my job.

They’d spotted Simon at the jewelry store, marked the place where he’d
been talking to the salesman for so long. Ducked their heads together, whispering excitedly. Ordered frozen yogurt they never wanted, just to have an
excuse to linger across the mall hallway and watch him. Hurried into the store after he left to check the glass case where he’d stood. Rings.
Diamonds.
Engagement rings. Two girlfriends, stunned by happiness. Linking arms and hurrying out to the parking lot. Jumping up and down. Celebratory hugs.

I shuffled forward. Schenk lurching awkwardly with me but not
complaining. I could hear the water in the canal now.
Britney walking on cloud nine. Too excited to feel the cold. The only things on her mind the young man strolling nervously on her left, and the new lace bra digging
into her side. Simon. Broke and lovely. Moody and brilliant. An artist’s hands. Magic fingers. Simon and his guitar. His sweet voice, singing to her
while they lay on the couch together, her head on his chest, his hands playing through her long hair. Now the ice crunching under his boots. Her
heart soaring. Was it healthy to love someone this much? His hand in his pocket. She knew the ring was there. Waiting patiently, chewing her bottom
lip.

Something intruded, and in the process of trying to trap Britney in my vision, I let out an involuntary noise. The Blue Sense swelled, and I knew that Schenk’s knee-jerk reaction was to reach out to me, but he wisely reined that in and waited.

Tiny pricks of light. Appearing only for a heartbeat.
Britney pausing,
her vision blurring slightly. Mind soft. Her heart tugging her back toward Simon, but her eyes… Tiny pricks of light. Drifting under the water. Skimming the surface, they wink at her and snuff out. Britney leaning closer. A face. It grips her.

COLD! COLD! COLD! A dark plunge. No control. Body heat fleeing
quickly. The side of the canal, upside down, darker, darker, darker. Head down. Deeper. Must get out. Must get out. Deeper. So dark. SO COLD! Can’t move. Can’t breathe. COLD! SIMON! Don't breathe, don't, don't
don't haveto...
The pain, the pain, ohgodthepain —
rocked me out of the vision and I
gasped for breath, hauling air into my lungs loudly, falling out of my crouch to my backside.

I was about to tell Schenk what I saw when his wrist yanked me
to my feet. I gaped up at him. He stared at the still, ebony canal
water. When I scanned the canal with him, I saw them.

Tiny pricks of light.

Schenk moved to step closer to the edge and I slapped one hand around his arm. Our cuffs rattled. He paid me no mind.

“Where ya goin', Thag?”

He just stared at the water in an absent way that made my guts drop.

“Schenk?” I shook his arm a little. “Longshanks?”

His eyelids did a sleepy flutter. His body leaned toward the
canal almost imperceptibly, but the movement made the nape of my neck prickle and I shook him more forcefully. Our cuffs rattled again. The wind picked up to shriek through the rigging on the boats, a somber refrain.

“Schenk!” I barked.

“Hunh?”

“Wake up.” I stepped between him and the edge of the canal, and used my iPhone flashlight app to shine light in one eye and then the other. His pupils were huge.

He blinked rapidly, frowned, and stared down at me. “Eh?”

“Sure you’re all right?”

Schenk frowned, squeezed his eyes shut, rubbed them. “Tired,” he said.

Part of me knew that wasn’t entirely true. I glared at the seemingly-calm canal. “No. There’s something in there.”

“Something?”

I looked up at him again, unhappy with his single-word
answers, even though he’d never been the chattiest guy in the world. “Yes. I’m sure of it. It wants you.”

“Wants?”

“Yeah,” I said, my tone warning. I shook his arm again; if he was
going in the water, I was going with him, cuffed as we were. I wasn’t going to be strong enough to hold him back. He outweighed me by nearly two hundred pounds. “Let’s talk in your car. Where did you park?”

He had to think about this and closed his eyes. It took longer than it should have, and when he answered, his voice was groggy. “Behind your car. On Cumberland.”

Five words. Better.
“I don’t know the way back,” I lied, watching the lack of reaction on his face. There should have been a
yeah-right
lip pucker. There wasn’t. “You’ll have to take me there.”

“Right,” he said, and turned away from the canal.

And stood there.

Back to the water. Boots in place. Not budging.

My breath left me in a punch of wind, and I felt my eyes grow large and darting.

“Patrick?” I whispered.

As though he was frozen everywhere but his eyes, his gaze slid down at me. I thought I saw fear in those slate-hard eyes.

“It’s okay,” I told him, not sure of that one bit. I peeled off his
left glove. “It’s going to be fine. I’ve got you. Just don’t…”

He swung his gaze at the black water of the canal. His whole
body rocked with a shudder.

“No, no,” I scolded, my panic ramping up. “Look at me, officer. Eyes forward. Right here. Chin forward.” I moved to stand on his toes, pointed at my face, waited for his eyes to join mine, and then took his left hand. It was wrapped in a hard fist and vibrating like he was holding a live wire. I tried to wriggle my fingers into his. It was a real battle, but finally they unclenched, and I dug my hand into his sweaty clutch, shook the hand, making a lot of noise with the cuffs. “Okay, take a step with me. Forward, not back. Don’t break this.” I used two fingers on my free hand to point between my eyes and his.

For a heart-strafing moment it looked like I might lose the battle, and all I could think about were Britney’s last moments (
The pain, the pain, ohgodthepain--).
Without thinking, I reached up with my free left
hand and slapped him as hard as I could. It felt like hitting a frozen side of beef, and for a long moment, nothing happened. Then, mercifully, he began a slow shuffle forward, like a physiotherapy
patient learning to walk again; I kept a tight hold on his hand, although it felt like his was crushing mine. I didn’t let up until we got to the tree line. His
grip loosened enough for my pulse to roar back into my fingers. For a second his eyes rolled back, and then he shook his head. His pupils were big, to see in the darkness, but not spooky-huge like they'd
been, and there was some calm awareness returning to them.

“I don’t know about you,” I said, “but I need a high five. In the mouth. With a pie.”

When we got through the stand of trees and came out at the cars, he pointed at his to indicate I should get in. I did.

“What was that?” he asked, digging out the key to his cuffs and releasing us both.

I rubbed my wrist, and hurried to put my gloves back on. “How do you feel now?”

He stared at the steering wheel. “I heard your voice coming from the water.”

I felt my entire body go still, as if any movement would alert chaos and disaster to my presence and make me a target. While the defroster cleared the windshield, I stared at the side of Schenk’s face. “
My
voice?”

“Yeah,” he barely breathed, more exhale than speech. “The part of my brain that was telling me that you were still handcuffed at my side got real quiet. What the hell is that?”

Siren?
my preternatural biology side suggested.
Mermaid?
“We’ll figure it out,” I promised. “We got you out of it, right? It’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid of ghosts,” he said.

“Good. Even if it is a ghost, it can’t hurt you.”

“Neither can your left hook, apparently.”

I stuck my tongue out at him. “I had to do something, dude. You were all Easter Island, gazing stolidly into the watery abyss and whatnot. You gonna book me for assaulting an officer?”

He rolled his eyes and didn't dignify that with a response. Since
he'd already un-cuffed me, I had my answer. After a moment of silent thought, he stuck his key in the ignition and turned the car on to warm up. “Can it feed off of fear?” he wondered. “Like in the
movies?”

“No, that’s ridiculous. Fear isn’t a source of energy.”
But thermal energy…

“Nine forty-eight.”

I let out an involuntary squeak and then took a shaky breath,
glaring at the dash clock. This canal business had rattled me, and it shouldn’t have, damn it. Still pondering the possibility of thermal
energy and ghosts, I let thermodynamics stew on the back burner
and gave my focus to Schenk. “So, you can set the clock, but not shut it up? I'm only kinda-impressed here, Thag.”

He sighed heavily and remained on task. “When I don't have a ghost clouding my senses and conning me into thinking you’re in
the
canal, and that I should go in after you, yes, I'm smarter than the
car.”

“A ghost can’t do that,” I said firmly. “It can’t mess with your head that much. But if you tell yourself that’s what it can do, you’re gonna fuck with your own mind.”

“Right,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced. He tried again, nodding this time. “Right. Thanks for snapping me out of it.”

“That was only part of what pulled you back. Whatever it is, a ghost can't force you to do anything you don’t want to do. Ghosts do not have mind control. Remember that. They're like hypnotherapists with lame hours and terrible ideas.”

“Don’t know the way back to Cumberland, eh?” I got Schenk’s version of the side-eye, complete with lip pucker. It cheered me to see it. Longshanks was himself again.

“It was plausible,” I said, working up half a smile for him. “There’s a lot of shit I should know but don’t.”

Schenk snort-laughed and turned the sound up on the radio. The
Tragically Hip informed us that New Orleans was sinking. Longshanks didn’t want to hear it so he turned the dial until he found a sportscaster discussing the hockey game. The clock,
thankfully, shut up when the radio was on, which was a small mercy.

“It’s late,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Right. Tomorrow.”

I climbed out of the car, gave him a little wave, and went back to
the BMW. I had to brush a dusting of snow off the windshield; Schenk stayed in his Sonata, pretending to amend his files while I did so. He waited until I pulled onto Grandview before shadowing
me down Arthur Street to Lakeshore; he followed me across the bridge at Lock One before turning into a parking lot and doubling back into St. Catharines proper to go home. I smiled in the rearview mirror at his taillights and made my way towards the winter-quiet vineyards of Niagara-On-The-Lake.