Out Of The Dark (3 page)

Mental note:
Mother--

"And the bartender's name is Darren "Dags"
McConnell."

--Guppy.

*****

CHAPTER TWO

Mornings suck.

And let me say that again with emphasis.
Mornings
suck
. Not so much mornings at Mom's house. Those I
wake up to the smells of bacon, eggs, buttery biscuits (mmmmmmm),
fresh-squeezed orange juice and coffee.

Just mornings in general--especially the ones
where I'm not at the hospital and expected to do something I really
didn't want to do. I did not want to look for Shadow People, mean
people or even imaginary people. So I lay there in the bed with the
missing-head-Mary and the over-stuffed bear in the chair with the
pillow over my head.

You know how hard it is to try and ignore
bacon and eggs? Unless you're a vegetarian, it's next to
impossible.

Especially when your friend/manager/magical
MacGyver shows up with hot chocolate.

"Oh, come
on
, Zoë," she finally said
after I kept the pillow tight over my head. "The restaurant doesn't
open for another four hours. If you don't get in there now you'll
miss your opportunity."

No.

"Chicken shit."

Bock. Bock.

"Zo-
eeeeeeeee
."

Wow. She whines better than me.

"Wow--she's not so tough looking from this
angle."

Blink.

Wait. Hold the phone. That wasn't Rhonda's
voice. That was a man's voice.

MAN!! In my room!!

I spun around on the bed--and let me tell
you, John Woo would have been proud 'cause I nearly came up off the
bed in slow motion as I turned--and landed with my elbows behind me
to see Dags McConnell standing just behind Rhonda.

I was suddenly very glad I'd gone to sleep in
my plaid loungers and not commando. I mean--a few seconds ago I'd
had my bare ass in Rhonda's face with my head buried, ostridge
style.

Wait--is that how you spell that?

Looks weird.

Rhonda had her arms crossed over her chest.
She also had her hair back in a pony-tail and wore dark jeans (duh)
and a black sweater with a high collar. Looked kinda fuzzy and
soft.

I reached out to touch it.

She pulled back--and not from anger--but from
actual fear.

We both realized what had just happened at
the same time and looked at each other. She'd been afraid I would
suck on her soul again--and all I'd wanted was to touch the
fuzzy.

"Zoë--I--"

I shook my head and waved my hand, hoping she
caught the
It's all right
I meant in the gesture. Man, being
voiceless sucked. Because at that moment Mr. Bartender-man was over
near the big bear and bent over it, his hand reaching out to my
dry-erase board I'd propped there before turning in.

I pointed to him and glared at Rhonda with my
eyebrows up.
Why is he here?
I demanded with my
eyes
.

"Nona," Rhonda said.

Okay. That explained a whole lot. Well--not
really. I knitted by eyebrows together and made the very obvious,
universal gesture for
what the hell for?

Mr. Bartender-man was back at the bed. "Your
mom left a message on my voice-mail. She was apologizing for
you--for what happened--"

I pursed my lips at him. Rhonda moved past
him and grabbed my board. She tossed it at me and I caught it
one-handed. Not on purpose, but it looked cool. I scribbled on
it.

APOLOGIZE 4 WHAT? UR THE PERV

He looked down. His hair wasn't in a
pony-tail today and was loose about his shoulders. He was dressed
in a black leather pea-coat and jeans, a silver bracelet on his
left wrist. "I explained to her that it wasn't your fault. We
didn't exactly have the stall locked."

"Did you realize who you were shagging in the
bathroom?" Rhonda piped up.

"I knew about her grandfather, yeah. But
that's what I'm paid to do--dig up intel on what I refer to as the
unconventional conventional."

Rhonda and I looked at each other and she
looked back at him with the biggest, dumbest grin I'd ever seen on
her face. Oh good grief. Was that a crush I saw coming? "We thought
you were a bartender and part-time orderly."

"That too," he looked at me. "I honestly
thought you were dead. That's a very--unusual--ability you have
there. You always had it?"

Erase. Scribble. LONG STORY. NEVERMIND.

Rhonda spoke up. "Have you always had the
ability to see spirits? I mean, you saw Zoë at the bar that day,
right?"

He looked at me and then back to Rhonda. I
wasn't sure if he was excited or frightened. His eyes looked darker
though--I could have sworn they were gray? "I saw her the moment
she came in. I also knew Daniel couldn't see her. He comes in once
or twice a week, has a coffee or a beer. We talk. Normal stuff,
really. I was working at the bar because of a report of ghosts," he
smiled. "I thought Zoë was that ghost until I realized she was
paying close attention to the cop. And then I realized she came in
with him."

I erased and scribbled. WHY R U AT
HOSPITAL?

"I was hired to keep an eye on the Chief of
Surgery, Dr. Allard Bonville."

I erased my board and scribbled. BY WHO?

"You mean whom?"

Scribble. ASS WIPE.

He smiled, undeterred. And then he shrugged.
"I don't know. I get all my freelance work through a secured site I
set up a few months back when I moved here from Savannah."

Rhonda looked back at me again and then took
a step toward him. "You set up a secured ftp for jobs? How did you
do that? Did you use standard applications or was this something
you wrote on your own? How do your clients contact you--or how do
they pay you?"

He grinned. "Well, first off I don't use FTP,
I use MTP, which is Managed File Transfers. I first learned about
it through a company called Communication Commerce, and then I
learned they were part of a larger conglomerate and I like bailed
as fast as I could. But I set up my own secured server using the
MTP transfers and then I have my own secure bulletin board."

It was about that minute my brain tuned out.
It was pretty sure it wouldn't understand any of what was said,
much of it becoming the standard Charlie Brown adult speak of
"wonk, wonk, wonk-wonk" and well--

But I did watch them for a few seconds. They
were almost exactly the same height, their hair was close in color,
though Rhonda's had the matt-black look of a spray painted car. His
was shiny and healthy. They were both kinda
gothy-emo-techno-babbly.

Hum. Was she crushing?

Not if I could help it. Did not want my best
friend involved with some bathroom-stall-romance-guy. Even if he
could see ghosts.

Grrrr.

No one noticed as I slipped out of bed and
headed to the bathroom. I turned the hot on full-blast and turned
to face some pale, strange woman in the mirror.

Gee-zus. I had really let myself go. It was
one thing if Daniel saw me like this--I mean--he'd already seen me
at some of my worst moments. Even with my teeth un-brushed.

But some strange man with a ponytail had seen
me like this.

Hell--the whole hospital had.

Now I was feeling oogie about me. My hair
looked absolutely like black straw. Even the damned white stripe
that wouldn't go away looked like old lady's hair. My skin was
blotchy, and not the smooth olive tone I was used to seeing.

Half moons hung beneath my eyes. I could see
my cheek-bones. And maybe three months ago I would have liked the
obvious drop in weight--but not at that moment. I leaned into the
mirror and looked closely at myself.

It was like--

Well, it was like I was loosing some vital
nutrient. Kinda like a plant looks when it doesn't get sun or
water.

Water. Shower maybe?

Mental Note:
need spa treatment. Check
cash flow.

After the shower I looked more like a big
wet
piece of straw. Wrapped in a bathrobe (the big blue
fuzzy one I'd bought myself a few weeks ago), I peeked into my
bedroom. Rhonda and Dags weren't there.

Hunh.

I moved to the edge of the stairs and
listened. I could hear mom, Rhonda, Dags and--

Holy moly. Mrs. Jemmy Shultz was downstairs
too. They were having a pow-wow without me!

My stomach took that moment to growl.

Loudly.

"Zoë--stop playing spook and get down here
and eat!" Mom yelled up at me.

It really sucks that even at my age my mom
can STILL embarrass me. I toweled my hair, braided it, and dressed
casually in a black long-sleeve tee-shirt with Kevin Barry's logo
(they have the best Irish Coffee evah on River Street in Savannah)
on the back and a pair of comfy jeans.

Once down the stairs with my board I saw that
everyone was huddled around one of the tables in the tea-shop, the
Great Big Book of Everything in the center. Tim and Steve were even
there.

Mom motioned me to a chair beside her and had
a plate all ready. Coffee. Creamer and whip cream already in and on
top. Yummy. Whipped cream. And then she handed me my testing
kit.

Smart ass.

As I opened the zippered pouch the
conversation continued.

"--assigned to the same floor," Dags said.
"Which is also part of the reason I was being nice to Nancy because
she has a bit of influence on scheduling--because of her
grandfather. I've known the detective for some time. So even while
I was spying on Nancy's grandfather, I've been periodically
checking in on Detective Frasier."

Dags sipped his coffee. "But I would like to
know exactly how he got into the condition he's in. I suspect it's
due to unnatural circumstances."

Ah! Ninety-three. That was a decent morning
sugar count. I shoved the read-out in mom's face. That's when I
realized everyone was looking at me. I did the equivalent to a
voiced-person's "What?"

I held my arms out, elbow bent and shrugged.
Eyebrows high on my forehead. I hate my forehead. Too high.

"Zoë," Mom grabbed my wrist, the one with the
monitor stuck in her face and read the display down her nose. Then
she smiled at me and nodded. "That's nice, but I think it's time
you shared the circumstances of Daniel's injuries with Dags."

I lowered my hand with a pout. I thought it
was a good enough score to at least warrant an attagirl or
something. I turned my morning irritation on Bartender-Boy.
Can
you hear me?
I actually threw my thoughts at him like a dart at
a corkboard.

And I was completely upset with myself when
the boy actually fell backward off his chair. I stood up. So did
mom. Rhonda was up and on the floor with him.

He didn't get up right away and I had that
sinking feeling I'd just done something awful again. I was feeling
like the kid who couldn't get anything right, not even walking
through a house carefully. One miss-step and I knocked over the
Ming vase.

"Zoë!" Rhonda's tone was upset. "What the
hell did you
do
? His nose is bleeding!"

Huh? I was around the table and standing next
to an observant Jemmy Schultz. She had on a blue housedress today,
with white stockings and matching blue slippers.

Dags on the other hand lay on his side, his
pony-tail splayed out about his head, his eyes closed and blood
oozing from his nose.

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

"Zoë," Mom's voice was a little more calming,
but I could tell she was still irritated. "I didn't see you go OOB.
What happened?"

"You threw your thoughts at him," Tim said in
a very soft voice. He was visible near the counter that looked into
the tea-shop's kitchen. "That's new."

I--I didn't mean too. I knew Tim and Steve
could hear me, but no one else. I looked about for my board, and
reading my thoughts, Jemmy reached across the table and retrieved
it for me. Guilt was an all too palpable thing at the
moment--because in truth I had
meant
to throw my thoughts at
him.

But who knew they'd skewer him like a shish
kabob???

I DIDN'T THINK THEY WOULD HIT.

Mom and Rhonda skimmed my board then both of
them gave me identical faces. Ack. Was that rehearsed?

Jemmy was abruptly in the kitchen, grabbing a
clean cloth, loading it with cold water and then returning to where
Dags was down. I stood dumbfounded.

It just seemed to me that men were constantly
getting hurt around me. And I was the cause of this. I thought of
Daniel, and realized he was all-alone in the hospital.

We were all here.

Rhonda had propped Dags' head up on her lap
and was now dabbing at his nose with the wet rag. It looked like a
sweet moment. Too bad I was the bully on the playground that
whacked him.

Then he stirred, and moaned and looked up to
see Rhonda, and totally turned seven shades of red. I put a hand
over my mouth to avoid laughing--I was gonna say hysterically--but
how can you laugh like that when you don't make noises?

Shit.

"Uh--" Dags said.

"Oh--" Rhonda said.

Both of them disengaged.

But when Dags tried to sit up, he grabbed his
head with his hands. His nose wasn't bleeding anymore, but the rim
of it was dark with dried blood. Rhonda did an awful job cleaning
it. And there was blood on his collar.

"You okay, sugar?" Jemmy was bending over and
I moved out of the way of her caboose.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry oh I am so sorry--

"All right, all right," Dags muttered in a
strained voice. "I can hear you. Just--use your verbal jujitsu
somewhere else. Okay? I'm not the enemy here."

I blinked, and stood up straight.
So you
can hear me?

Dags winced and looked at me. He slowly
pulled his hands away from his head. "Say that again?"

I pursed my lips. I said,
so you can hear
me?

He nodded slowly. "Yeah, well, no. Not really
hear you."