Seeing the Light (A Marie Jenner Mystery Book 1) (8 page)

When he saw me, he scrubbed his face with his hand and then pointed at me. I could tell he was yelling angrily, even though I couldn’t hear him yet. Great. Fear and anger, rolling off of him in waves. First thing in the morning. Just what I needed.

“What the fuck happened to me, Marie?” he cried, when I pushed open the door. “Why didn’t you warn me about this?”

I couldn’t talk to him in front of all the other people straggling in to work. “Come to my office,” I said, ignoring the guy from 215 who had followed me into the building and who thought I had been speaking to him. He looked confused for a moment, then wandered to the stairs, glancing back over his shoulder at me before he disappeared. He looked afraid.

I decided to take the elevator, even though it was old and clunky and scared me, and rammed myself in it with ten other people. Farley didn’t join, so I was able to try to pull myself together just a little bit before I got to the third floor and stepped out.

“So what happened to me?” I had barely walked around the corner when Farley appeared, still yelling. “I want to know, now.”

I held up my hand for silence, and unlocked the door. He followed me, and had the decency to keep his mouth shut until we were inside the office and the door was once again closed.

“Tell me, right now,” he barked. “Did you send me to Hell or something?”

All right, so I admit, I snapped a bit.

“I didn’t ‘send’ you anywhere!” I cried. “I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. Tell me what happened to you yesterday. I need details—”

“How am I supposed to know?” he snapped back. “I tell you, girl, I have about one nerve left, and you have figured out how to rub it exactly the wrong way. I don’t know what happened!”

I took a deep breath and tried again. “Can you remember anything?”

He stopped ranting. “Yeah,” he said. “I can.”

“Well, tell me. Please.”

He paced back and forth in front of my desk. “One second I’m talking to you, and the next, Poof! It was like I was having a nightmare, only ten times worse. I saw a wire in my hand. Then the lights went out. And then I was back looking at the wire and the lights went out. Over and over and over. I could hear a voice, like someone was talking underwater or something, talking about me. Then lights out. Until it started again.” He stopped and stared at me. “What the hell is going on with me?”

“No idea,” I said.

All right, I could have handled it better, but wow. On top of blinking out, he had a nightmare? I needed to think.

Luckily, Mr. Latterson walked in, scowling because the coffee wasn’t on. As I started the Bunn, he walked to his office without saying a word, and shut his door.

That’s when it hit me. Sally had lived the last hours of her life and her death, over and over, before she became aware. What if, even though he was aware, Farley was doing something similar when he blinked away?

“I think you’re reliving your death,” I said. “In your dream.”

“Nightmare,” he said.

“Okay. Nightmare.” I poured a coffee for Mr. Latterson, and added sugar. “You do know that’s weird, right? Ghosts don’t usually have nightmares.”

“That ain’t my fault,” he said.

“No, it’s not. But for some reason you’re doing it.”

“Some reason? You don’t know why?”

“No,” I said. “Not yet.”

I held up my hand before he said anything more. “Now you said you grabbed a wire that didn’t belong, and then darkness. Where was the wire?”

“In the electrical panel, downstairs,” he said. He blinked. “You think that’s what I thought I saw, before?”

“Could be. Do you have any idea who would have put a wire in the electrical panel?” I looked at him hopefully. Maybe he was saving that bit of information for a big ta-da. I didn’t get that.

“No,” he said, shaking his head.

“You’re sure?”

“I told you!” he yelled. “I don’t know!”

I shouldn’t have pressed him. I could see he was on the verge of freaking out, and I really truly didn’t want any more of that. He needed to remain calm, which meant I needed to be calm. Not my best trick, but I’d give it a shot.

“We’ll figure it out, Farley,” I said. “I think learning this is part of the passage for you.”

“Passage?” he asked, then shook his head. “Forget it, sounds like more of that mumbo-jumbo life after death crap. I don’t wanna hear it.”

That made me laugh.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, snippily.

“It feels just a little bit odd having a ghost tell me that he doesn’t want to hear any mumbo-jumbo life after death crap.” I laughed again, and I could hear the tinge of hysteria in my voice before Farley started laughing with me.

It felt good to laugh. Even if I was hysterical.

I took the cup of coffee into Mr. Latterson, who was huddled over his phone speaking urgently to someone on the other end. He didn’t acknowledge me and I heard Farley snort as I quietly closed the door, poured myself a cup, and sat down.

“What a dick,” Farley said. “Does he always treat you that way?”

“Usually,” I said. “It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not,” he replied. “He should be polite. Know what I mean?” He shook his head. “Nobody’s polite anymore. It’s—uncivilized.”

“Maybe I’ll get him a book on etiquette, when I get my first paycheque,” I said. Farley snorted something close to laughter. “However, I found out something about this building. It might be—I don’t know—a clue or something. Want to hear it?”

“Hell yes!” He parked himself on the edge of my desk. “Spill.”

“‘The Friends of the Fort,’ a historical society, found out that the main beams in this building—I think they are the main beams of the main floor, but I could be wrong, things got pretty confusing when I tried to find original blueprints for the building—anyhow, the Friends of the Fort think the main beams of this building were taken from a fort built around here in the 1800s.

“Apparently, the big fence around the fort was called a palisade, so when the original owner used some of the posts in the foundation, he decided to call the building the Palisade. His wife hated the name and made him change it to the Palais. She liked the French sound, I think she was a social climber . . . Sorry. On a tangent. I didn’t get much sleep last night.” I took a sip of coffee. “The society is pushing to have the building designated as a historical site. Do you think this could have anything to do with what happened to you?”

“Well, maybe,” he said. “Would it do Carruthers any good?”

“Carruthers? The owner, right?”

“Right. Figure out if this historical designation deal could make him any money. Or, lose him money. Because he’s all about the money, and he hasn’t been close to breaking even on this place in a while.”

“All right, I will. I’ll also check out more people who are renting offices here. Anybody you pissed off?”

“Not overly.” He sounded afraid. “But check out Ian Henderson up in 310. He’s an asshole from way back.”

“All right.” I started writing his name and room number on a pad of paper beside the phone, then stopped. “310. Why do I know that office number?”

“That’s where Andrea works,” Farley said.

The blonde who thought Farley was a lech. Oh. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Please. Just check him out.”

“Will do.”

“Thanks.”

He didn’t look thankful. He looked distracted.

“Are you all right?” I asked. He smiled.

“That’s nice,” he said. “You being concerned. I haven’t seen that in a long time, Rose—” He stopped, and blinked.

“Who is Rose?” I asked. He wouldn’t answer.

“Come on, tell me,” I pushed. He shook his head, aggravated, then sighed.

“Rose is my daughter,” he said. “She’s all grown up, has her own life, and thinks I’m a jerk.”

“Oh,” I said. “Your daughter.”

“Don’t read anything into that,” he replied. “Just because I think about my little girl—”

He stopped speaking again and cocked his head, as though he heard something. I heard nothing, and suspected he was trying to get me to quit talking about his daughter. Which made me think she was exactly who we should be talking about.

“Tell me more about her,” I said.

“Hush.” His head was still cocked. “Can’t you hear that?”

“Hear what?” I asked. “I can’t hear anything. Farley, we have to talk about your daughter—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” he snapped. “Give it a rest. There’s something wrong. Are you sure you can’t hear anything?”

“No,” I replied. My voice sounded angry tight, so I took a quick breath to relax. “What do you think you’re hearing?”

“It sounds like water,” he said. “Running water.”

“Like the water in your nightmare?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “This sounds real.”

Oh.

“Farley,” I said, keeping my voice as calm as I could, “whatever thoughts you’re having, let them come. It’s all natural. All part of the—”

“Passage, yeah whatever,” he said. “There’s something wrong. I gotta go.”

When he disappeared through the closed front door, I really wanted to throw something and yell at him, but I didn’t. For one thing, I knew he’d be back. For another, Mr. Latterson was in the next room, and wouldn’t appreciate me yelling obscenities and breaking coffee cups.

That didn’t let Farley off the hook, though. “You can run, but you can’t hide,” I whispered as I rolled a fresh sheet of paper into Mr. Latterson’s Selectric II. “You are going to move on, like it or not.”

I’d only typed half of Mr. Latterson’s letter when Farley came back, wild-eyed.

“Go down and help the idiot! He’s got a flood going in the basement, and he can’t stop it!”

He was talking about James. James was in trouble! I flew out of the office and down the stairs before I even had time to think. When I hit the big steel door for the basement, I stopped. “What should he do?”

“The shut-off valve,” Farley said. “Behind the furnace, right by the water meters.”

I threw open the door and ran down the stairs into pandemonium. Farley hadn’t been kidding. There was a flood, and James was leaping through and over the water like a demented gazelle trying to escape from a crocodile.

“James!” I cried.

He stopped for about a second, and stared at me. “It’s dangerous!” he cried. “You should leave!”

“Use the shut-off valve!” I yelled back. I couldn’t believe how much water there was. God, a person could drown in that much water. “Behind the furnace, next to the water meter!”

“I know where the shut-off valve is,” he said, and disappeared behind the furnace. The water slowed, and stopped. He sloshed back, smiling. “Thanks,” he said.

“Idiot,” Farley growled. I could almost hear his teeth grinding. I ignored him.

“Are you all right?” I took another step down, stopping just before the waterline. “Did you cut yourself? You’re bleeding.”

James looked down at his hand, and flinched. “I am bleeding—oh God, I’m really bleeding . . .”

He staggered, so I stepped down into the knee-high water and took him firmly by the arm. I pulled him over to the steps, sat him down and, grabbing a cloth that was floating by, wrapped his hand to stop the blood.

“Thank you.” He smiled, and I couldn’t help myself. I smiled back. “How did you know I had a problem down here?”

“Let’s say I had a feeling,” I said.

“He’s an idiot, Marie! A fucking idiot!” Farley cried.

I ignored him, concentrating on stopping the flow of blood from James’ ever so nice looking hand.

“Fuck me,” Farley said. “Fuck me all to hell.”

Marie:
Saving James

James was so good looking, even with the water and the blood and everything, it was hard for me to think. All I knew for sure was, he needed help.

“You have to go to the hospital,” I said. “Can you walk?”

“Yeah. I think so.” He looked at the cloth covering his wet hand and blanched when he saw blood blossom through it. “Maybe not.”

“Should I call an ambulance?”

“No, I’ll be all right.” James took a deep breath, and pulled himself off the step. “Maybe a band aid or something—”

“It’s worse than that. You’re going to need stitches.” He swayed and I grabbed his arm. “Do you need to sit down?”

“No. I’m all right.” He reached for the hand rail resolutely. “It’s just—they use a needle to put in stitches, don’t they?”

“Yeah, they do.”

He glanced down at his hand, blanched, and looked away. “It’s not going to scar, is it?”

And then I said something truly stupid. I said, “Some women think scars are sexy.” I was just trying to take his mind off the blood and everything, but he looked up at me hopefully. Even more stupidly, I looked back, into his eyes.

“Really?” he said. “Do you think they’re sexy?” He took a step up and his work boot slipped as water squelched from it in a small river. He clutched my shoulder frantically, and I grabbed him, to help him stay upright.