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Ella could indeed speak to the dead, she thought. She did it every week. Every murder she investigated was an effort in practical clairvoyance. Digging into a victim’s life to uncover their secrets was a telepathic conversation with those who’d passed on to the other side. But she couldn’t say that to this man in front of her. More concerning was her sudden realization that she could act as a medium for dead strangers but not for her own flesh and blood.
A lull in the conversation signaled that they’d reached the end of it. Ella had no more questions and it seemed like Dennis had no more answers. She decided to let the man get back to his fishing.
“Thank you, Dennis.”
“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help. Stay if you want. Grab a java.”
“Wish I could but I left my wallet in the car.”
“It’s on the house.”
The man’s longing for companionship tugged at her heartstrings, and she couldn’t help but wonder if her dad would have been in the same position if he hadn’t been so cruelly taken away before he had time to reach this point in life. Would he be sitting on his porch, inviting strangers to sit beside him just to make the days a little less lonely?
“I’d like to, but I just need to be somewhere. I could come back another day. With money, this time.”
“Sure. I’ll hold you to that.”
Ella said her goodbyes and headed out the door. Another brick wall, no closer to understanding what these items in her dad’s possession signified. Heading towards the car, propelled by new adrenaline brought on by the lack of progress, she had an urge to address the next problem in her life.
This little foray into adventure had given her the courage she needed. She could face serial killers every day of the week, but tackling personal issues required a different kind of strength. Before she got home, she had someone she needed to apologize to.
***
Ella went to knock on the door to Ben’s apartment but instead rested her knuckles against the wood. She prayed that he might be watching her through the peephole right now, begging her to knock and make herself known so they could rekindle what they used to have. The door, made of nothing more than flimsy wood and metal hinges, seemed impenetrable to her, as though it had been reinforced through the owner’s fury.
Ben had been her once boyfriend. He had the alluring combination of maturity, courtesy, and the lean body of a Roman statue, and she’d foolishly let him go. He’d been nothing but a gentleman to her throughout their short relationship, despite her constant expeditions onto the investigative battlefield that left Ben alone for indeterminate amounts of time. He understood the needs of her work because, unlike all her past lovers, Ben could process perspectives other than his own. He didn’t have a selfish bone in his body. He was an old soul in a 28-year-old’s skin. She’d even exposed Ben to the hazards of her job, but Ben had fought Ella’s old nemesis by her side, coming close to death on several occasions and doing it all with a smile.
The truth was that she didn’t deserve him. He had every right to get the hell away from her, but he’d endured the battles and the near-death experiences and come out stronger on the other side. They’d been bonded by blood and a myriad of more intimate matters, but Ella had been blindsided by her own misplaced instincts.
In a moment of world-weariness, she’d stupidly searched Ben’s name on the FBI database. She indeed found a file belonging to the same man who’d promised her that he had no secrets. After refusing to look out of respect for his privacy, curiosity had eventually won the battle and she’d discovered that Ben had been a murder suspect five years ago. Ben’s then-girlfriend had been found strangled, and Ben had been the last one to see her alive. The evidence, or lack thereof, went in his favor, and Ben was cleared of any involvement.
The only other person who knew about this little incident was Ella’s partner, Mia Ripley. Ripley had told Ella to drop it, stop overthinking, and believe the evidence. Law enforcement had found him not guilty and that should have been enough.
But Ella had persisted, thought about nothing else for a month, convinced herself that Ben must have been a cold-blooded killer. When she confronted Ben with the information a week ago, she found herself staring at the same sight as now. A closed door.
Her calls had gone ignored, text messages unanswered. Ben had shut himself off from her, and he’d done so believing that his ex-girlfriend thought him a murderer. If she knew Ben half as well as she thought she did, then that little fact would eat him from the inside out. Every story had two sides and now that she’d had time to dwell on it, she wanted to hear Ben’s version. Did he owe her an explanation? Absolutely not. Did she owe him one? Yes she did.
Finding the courage, she knocked on the door and waited for what felt like an eternity. Someone shuffled on the other side, the footsteps getting louder as a body approached the door. Beyond the wooden barrier, she could feel his presence. That warm, comforting aura that he had about him. He was there, watching her through the spyhole, waiting to make a decision.
“Leave me alone,” a voice said from the other side.
Another disappointment, but Ben’s reaction was understandable.
“I’m sorry,” she called. “Please talk to me.”
Silence for a moment, then “Not interested in being called a murderer, thanks.”
“I don’t think that. I was wrong. Come on.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t do it.”
If she had to grovel, so be it. “Please, Ben, I didn’t mean it like that. I was just… overthinking.”
“I know,” Ben called back.
“I just want to hear your side of the story.”
The door shot open so fast that Ella felt the draft. Ben stood there half-dressed, bloodshot eyes like was on the final stretch of a three-day binge. She’d never seen him look so haggard.
