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“It’s a ghost’s arm. Check it out—look how it’s not registering hot like the man with the bag is. It’s incomplete, but it’s there. See, there’s an outline of a leg down here, and a boot. He’s wearing boots. It’s a ghost. ”
The rest of us kept quiet, not wanting to argue with him. It would have been difficult to argue, since it appeared he might be right; but as I’d said going into this amateur investigation, I never set out to prove the existence of the supernatural. I already knew about it. Proof was superfluous.
“This is the clearest shot of the shooter,” Dave said. “It really needs to go to the authorities. ”
“But you said you had doubles. ”
“In fact, I do. And you can have one. Here. ” He fished it out of the back of the pile and presented it to Benny, who beamed like a halogen bulb.
“What about the negatives?”
“We’ll see what the police have to say. Take what you can get, Mulder. ”
“Fine. ” He said it with a breath of a sulk, but the sulk was distracted by his new evidence. “And thanks. This is—this could be awesome. Are there more?”
“A couple. I didn’t look through these that closely; I just glanced through them when I picked them up. Oh look, a stunning shot of Eden’s shoe. And a stick. ”
“There were a lot of sticks. ”
“I’m sure there were. ” Lu tagged Dave’s wrist to make him keep shuffling.
He complied and moved onto the next somewhat-clear image. Here we saw the man again, more nebulous than before. He was looking at or away from the camera, and his head was just a fuzzy oval. His chin was angled down though, looking at the earth; and whatever he’d had slung over his shoulder now hung from his hand.
“I think he’s there to steal things, not hide them. Look at that,” I said, taking the picture and shifting it to remove a bit of glare. “He’s hunting for something on the ground. He’s out there to find something specific. I wonder what he want
s. ”
“That’s the real question, isn’t it?” Lu murmured, lifting the photo from my hand and holding it up to the light. “Benny, I believe there may be more ghostly outlines in this one, darling. Tell me, does that look like a face to you?”
“It does!” he cried happily, and Dave retrieved the double before he could even ask for it. “Are there any more?”
“Just the one, and I have to assume that this was just before all hell broke loose. Check it out—he’s closer in this one, walking forward. Not exactly towards you, but in your general direction. ”
I touched the glossy edge of the picture. “He was headed for Dana and Tripp. Christ, they were sitting ducks out there. We tried to warn them, but they didn’t get it until it was too late. ”
“There wasn’t much you could’ve done,” Lu assured me, patting my back.
“I know,” I said, and I did know it, too. But that didn’t make me feel any less bad for Dana, who was now a widow. And we’d only done the least that could be expected of us. It felt very insufficient.
“Things could’ve been much worse. You were very lucky,” Lu reminded me, in a maternal sort of way that only annoyed me because it fed my guilt.
I didn’t respond, even though she was right, and she meant well.
Benny and I caught up to Jamie on the roof of the Pickle Barrel around three that afternoon. We took a table at the farthest tip of the triangle-shaped seating area that gave us a good view without permitting anyone to see us well. Word was getting around, fast and furious. No secrets in the South except our secrets.
Everyone’s secrets.
For all my intention of keeping a low profile, I had gone and gotten myself mixed up in the biggest story in the Tennessee Valley for the last eighty years. I appear to have a gift for it, much as it pisses me off.
The funny thing about Southern gossip is the way it stacks and builds, story upon story. It’s like accumulating experience points in a video game; every new event gains you status and ability. The more people hear your name connected with local lore, the more they believe you’re capable of, and the more narrative credit you’re given.
I started out as a creepy little kid who saw ghosts. By the afternoon after Tripp’s death, Lu and Dave were fielding phone calls from reporters seeking the city’s premier medium, spiritual advisor, and Wiccan priestess.
You couldn’t buy advertising like that, even if you wanted to.
But I was just looking to be left alone, and to eat a super-greasy cheeseburger in peace.
In the middle of the day, this could be done at the Barrel. Since it was before seven o’clock we wouldn’t know any of the waitstaff, and the place was effectively empty except for us. Come nightfall, though, we’d probably have to find somewhere else to haunt if we meant to stay incognito.
