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It didn’t matter what she did, the spirits just kept coming. Would always keep coming. She was too used to Mel keeping them away, too accustomed to his protection. There were so many holes left in her life with him gone, each one feeling like the bullet holes that had killed him.
Mind reeling and finding no answers, she didn’t know what to do now that she was alone again. The idea stabbed at her chest. Pain and anger drove more tears down her face as she choked back the sobs she refused to let escape.
Panting breaths came as the din of spirit voices rose around her. Mel’s absence left her no choice. Calming the spirits and stopping Knight before he killed anyone else was completely on her now.
All on her.
The realization crashed down on her like a brick wall.
“All of you, shut up!” she screamed, tears gone, her focus pinpointing each spirit, in turn, to show she did, indeed, see them. The voices faded to a low rumble, they stood frozen under her glare. She cleared her throat, the yelling not helping her voice still rough from Curtis’s murderous attempt. “I can hear you, I can see you. I understand you all have something that needs to be finished. But so do I. You aren’t the only ones dealing with death and loss. You have nothing but time. I, on the other hand, have very little time left. So, unless you have something to actually say, leave me alone.”
For the first time since leaving Mel’s apartment, it was completely quiet. The ghosts faded, leaving her to her own devices. At least for the moment. She saw the lingering dark soul at the end of the hall, a light flickering above it as it stared at her through the one eye not covered by pulsing darkness.
“That means you too, Blinky," she spat.
Confused by her willfulness, it turned and walked out through the building door.
Her phone vibrated at her side, finally holding a charge. She took a breath and called the closest precinct.
The officers were pleasant enough and assured her rumors wouldn’t reach her station house just yet. With Franz having been suspended over a week ago, retaliation may be in the mix. Anastacia didn’t want Knight to know she had popped back up just yet. He and Curtis probably had a bit to talk about. Especially if Curtis was on a psychiatric watch, if her knowledge based on hospital dramas was something to go on. Anyone screaming about a vengeful ghost would probably be committed, or at the very least, placed on a psychiatric hold.
“Have you found anything missing?” the officer next to her asked as the other took photos.
“Not that I can tell. I had little to begin with.” She eyed her case notebook, shredded with the cover face down on the floor, torn completely from the pages.
“You said you stayed at a friend’s place last night?”
“Yeah, they've been out of town and let me use their place off and on.” Anastacia didn’t like how easy it was for her to lie, but the truth never went over well. “I was at the hospital before going to my friend’s place. I had been attacked and didn’t feel comfortable staying at the hospital, so I left.”
“You think your attacker may have done this, too?”
“I don’t think so. I was told the attack was random, and that I was unlucky. It’s important to me that none of this gets back to the precinct I work out of. You know how protective you all are. I don’t want to be sheltered in the middle of an investigation, you know?”
“We’ll do what we can with the report. Are you able to stay at your friend’s place until this is followed up on?” The first officer slid the closed notepad into a pocket as the other officer finished his search.
Anastacia shivered at the thought of going back to Mel’s apartment, to the emptiness and the memories, but it may be the safest place for her. “It shouldn’t be a problem for a bit of time.”
“We’ll be in touch. Grab what you need, but don’t linger for too long. We’ll keep a watch outside until you leave. Are you sure you don’t want us to drive you?”
“I’ve got it. Thank you, officers.” She grabbed their cards before turning back to her apartment. They walked out,closing the door behind them when they left.
Anastacia stood in the middle of the apartment. The quiet was more than unsettling. The only thing she could hear was the patter of rain on the window and the roof above her. It was going to be a bit of a walk back to Mel’s apartment, and she wasn’t sure if her umbrella was going to be in the last place she had put it.
The packing didn’t take too long as she shoved what clothing she could into a small gym bag. She tossed in some toiletries, before placing her favorite pillow next to the bag.
She made a quick change of clothes, never wanting to think about the borrowed clothes again. Her thoughts shifted back to Mel, hoping for some feeling, some sign to let her know he was safe. There was still nothing and, in that nothingness, she found something that scared her more than death ever did. Loneliness.
She looked out the window just like Mel had done night after night. Condensation began to gather from the storm outside on one of the bottom panels of glass, revealing an imprint stain of a hand. Putting her hand over it, hers was small in comparison. She rotated her hand just enough to where her fingers aligned perfectly between those on the window. Her fingers fit so well with his. A tear rolled down her cheek before she could catch it and she tore her attention away from the window.
“Now where is that damn umbrella?”
The energy shifted in the room from too quiet to the air holding a slight buzz, like the building of a static charge. The feeling of being watched, of someone else in the room with her, burned at the back of her neck. She glanced toward her kitchenette, gaping as a few cans floated off the ground and back into her cupboard. The light flickered in time with the jerky movements of the can. With a deep breath, she focused until the couple— from what she had assumed was a car accident— materialized. They stopped, staring at her expectantly as if waiting for her to give them directions.
“I thought you guys would have been a little louder. You talked a lot before I yelled at you.” Anastacia didn’t move from her spot. “What’re you doing back?”
“We wanted to help,” the woman offered softly.
“I don’t know how much help I’ll be for you. I’m not going back to the hospital.” Anastacia grabbed her gym bag, tucking her pillow under her arm and flinging her cross-body bag over the other.
