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Thinking about Sebastian Thomas.
She hadn’t seen him since he’d knocked over the box containing photos of her and Sarah Lennox. It was clear Laura hadn’t wanted to sleep alone in her room, but Cassie had a feeling Sebastian wouldn’t return for a while. It had taken him such a long time to speak Sarah Lennox’s name, and so much effort to knock over the box, that he was probably hanging out in that space where ghosts went when they weren’t visible.
Cassie liked to imagine it as an airport where the ghosts milled about until they were ready to fly off to their next destination. This gate leads to the Great Beyond. This gate leads to your childhood home. This gate leads to the medium in Savannah who’ll put her life on the line to solve your case. Aren’t the views amazing?
The photograph he’d sent soaring across the room sat on the floor next to her blowup mattress. She brought it close to her face, even though she had the entire thing memorized. Sarah was wearing a baggy black shirt with a wolf on it. Cassie was wearing a white shirt with a blue flower in the center. They had their heads tilted back at identical angles. Both wore the silly pink friendship bracelets they had made for each other earlier that summer.
But she felt like she was still missing something. Was there a clue in their smiles? In the blurry trees that lined the background? Was Sebastian lurking just off camera? Was Sarah’s killer somewhere nearby? What was it about this photograph that made it so special?
Cassie had spent half the night going through the other photographs. There seemed to be a million of them, but none were any more or less interesting than this one. Most were of Cassie and Laura. A bunch also featured Sarah. Her mom or dad would show up here or there, along with other people Cassie had long forgotten.
But none of those images offered her any insight into what Sebastian wanted.
She’d called his name. Repeated the story of his disappearance out loud. Asked questions but got no responses in return. If he was there, he couldn’t or wouldn’t make contact. It was up to her to figure out the next piece of the puzzle.
When the sun had gotten bright enough to illuminate her room, there was a soft knock on her door. It was Laura. “Are you up?”
“Yeah.” She pulled her sister’s sweatshirt over her head. At this rate, she’d go home to Savannah in it. “Come in.”
Laura popped her head through the crack in the door. Her face was somber. “News just broke that Connor Grayson is dead. Mom is pretty upset.”
“Oh no.” Cassie got to her feet. Her stomach clenched at the news, although it wasn’t really news to her at all. “Are they saying anything else?”
“They caught the guy.”
“Already?” Then why did she have a vision? Wasn’t she supposed to help? “Did they say what happened?”
“They’re running the story nonstop. You should come down.”
Cassie slipped on a pair of socks and followed her sister down the stairs. Her father handed her a cup of coffee, and she let the scalding liquid wake her up before she joined her mom in the living room.
Judy raised her head when they entered. Her eyes were red, and her cheeks were puffy. She hadn’t even tried to tame her hair. “Did you hear?”
“Yeah.” Cassie wasn’t sure how to console her. Or even if she wanted to be consoled. Some people just needed a shoulder to cry on. “Laura told me.”
“Horrible.” Judy was shaking her head. Her voice broke. “Just horrible.”
Cassie sat down next to her mother and leaned her head against her arm. Laura sat on her other side. The room was silent as the final commercial played out before returning to the news cycle.
“If you’re just tuning in, we have some terrible news today.” It was the same man from yesterday, but this time he wore a maroon suit. “Connor Grayson, son of North Carolina State Senator Lawrence Grayson, was found dead yesterday at age nineteen. After his car was abandoned in a parking garage, police began an investigation into his disappearance. A few hours later, his body was found in an alleyway a few blocks away from his vehicle. He had suffered a gunshot wound to the head in what police are calling an execution-style killing.”
Cassie had to blink away the images flashing through her mind. The son begging for his life. The killer raising his hand. The gun going off like an explosion. She hadn’t seen Connor’s body crumple as he died, but it wasn’t hard to fill in the blanks.
“This morning, we’ve learned that police have arrested their prime suspect.” The screen split, and the image of the news anchor shifted to the left. On the right, a podium stood outside the police station. A small group of people exited the building and made their way over to the reporters. “Nicole Rickman is once again on the scene, bringing us the latest information. Nicole?”
“Thank you, Colt. The lead investigator in the Connor Grayson case is about to provide us with more details about the investigation. Let’s listen in.”
The news anchor in the studio disappeared, and the camera zoomed in on the cluster of people around the podium. One of the older men stepped forward. It looked like he held a few notecards in his hands. Two other men, one older and one younger, stood off to the right. They wore jackets with the letters FBI emblazoned on the front in yellow. A petite woman in black with stick-straight hair stood behind them, clutching a tablet to her chest.
“Good morning. Thank you all for joining us on such short notice and so early, at that.” The man cleared his throat. It looked like it took all his willpower not to puff out his chest as he spoke. “My name is Detective Calvin Davenport. I am joined today by Special Agents Robert Mannis and Christopher Viotto from the FBI, as well as Senator Grayson’s publicist Anastasia Bolton. She’ll be answering a few of your questions, but please keep them cordial and remember that the Senator and his wife are grieving this terrible tragedy.”
Davenport took a moment to look over the reporters. Whatever he saw there must’ve confirmed his message had gotten across. He nodded his head and continued.
“As previously stated, Connor Grayson’s abandoned vehicle was discovered in a parking garage. The window on the driver’s side door was broken. There was no sign of a struggle, but due to the circumstances and his political ties, we treated young Mr. Grayson’s disappearance as a missing person’s case. Yesterday evening, after searching the area, we found Mr. Grayson in an alleyway a few blocks from his car. He had a single gunshot wound to the forehead, which had killed him instantly. Due to the location of the injury and the position of the body, we concluded Mr. Grayson’s death was not an accident. Later that night, the murder weapon was found in a nearby dumpster. It was registered to a Mr. Anthony Jamal Lewis, who has a previous record of aggravated assault and possession of cocaine with an intent to distribute. Mr. Lewis was unable to provide an alibi. I, my colleagues, and Agents Mannis and Viotto worked through the night to corroborate our suspicions and have arrested Mr. Lewis on charges for first degree murder.”
Cassie’s gaze zeroed in on the young FBI agent, with his bronze-colored hair and dark eyes. She couldn’t place the look on his face. He didn’t have the professional cool of his partner or the carefully controlled pride of the local detective. Even Grayson’s assistant looked as though she were working to maintain a neutral expression.
