Chapter 2: Eye for an Eye

When Brian arrived at Woodhaven four days later, Dennis Rafkin was waiting for him.

He followed a different nurse this time, to a different place. A room with nothing sharp or dangerous in any way; stark white surfaces only a shade paler than the occupant. There was a beefy-looking attendant standing dutifully just down the hall.

Dennis grinned as Brian settled into his folding chair by the cell door.

"Ah, Mr. Dobbs." He gestured around him. "Sorry for the less than sunny accommodations. They took away my big-boy privileges."

"I noticed," said Brian, glancing at the blank television screen on the wall. "The resident doctor told me you had a little trouble with…with some self-injury. I'm told this isn't the first time."

"Mea culpa." Dennis dismissed the topic with a wave of his hand. Brian noticed that his sapphire ring was gone.

There was another silence, broken only by Dennis' muted mutterings, apparently to himself, about the loss of his cigarettes and the loudly masturbatory mannerisms of a patient across the hall. Finally he looked up, his eyes dull and uncaring, but oddly curious.

"So," he said. "Any horrific daring-do's by our favorite dead douchebags?"

Brian hesitated with this answer. Dennis was acting quite differently than the last time they'd met; was in fact a bit put-off by the change in Dennis since the last visit, but he decided to let the topic marinate in itself for the present. For some reason when he went to answer he felt the urge to lighten his tone like Dennis had. Like he didn't really care. Brian knew better; knew the whole story of his attempt to save the Kriticos family, even if it meant sacrificing his life for total strangers.

Two can play at that game, he thought.

"Oh, just a couple that hit the papers this last week," he said flippantly, and was rewarded by a glimmer of something deep in the young man's strange eyes. " Seems these guys might be taking a bit of a rest."

"Or they've skipped town to go backpacking through Europe," snorted Dennis. Brian again chafed at the indifference in his voice.

"Look, let's clarify," the psychic said, rubbing his temples. "Spirits tend to hang around one pretty specific locale. Makes 'em feel like they're defending their territory. Otherwise they wouldn't have anything to get riled up about."

"I don't understand," said Brian. He was only half-lying.

Dennis sighed and settled into his own plastic chair, and Brian thanked whatever god there was that this kid was being so candid. He couldn't help but feel that Rafkin was being extremely generous.

"Look—think about it, Dobbs," Dennis said. "Every time someone sees a ghost, a real ghost, is where a death or another equally human disaster has happened. True ghosts, as opposed to mere energy signatures, are usually found in the approximate area where whatever made them suffer took place. Usually in the place of physical death, like the Anne Bolin sightings and the old greenbelts that used to be Civil War fields or the fucking Wal-Mart where so-and-so Smith shot himself during an overnight inventory. It's sure as if I told you the sun's gonna go down today."

He chuckled under his breath. "Can't guarantee that's it gonna rise tomorrow, though."

"But the reported findings are all in different locations," urged Brian. "There has to be a reason why they're not being stationary."

"And you think I know."

"Not necessarily…"

"You think I can figure it out."

"Warmer," admitted Brian. "But this is an opportunity you're not going get again. You know what I can do for you in exchange for helping this case. I can get things for you, help you out; do what needs to be done. Eye for an eye. I know you're on mandatory lockdown for the next week because of, well…anyway, I can help as soon as that's lifted. Take you right out of here."

"Oh yeah?" The eyes were mistrustful but curious. "You know what you can do for me?"

"Whatever I can give you; whatever you want. Anything." The desperation ran unchecked in Brian's voice.

Dennis slowly got up, limped to his cot, and turned toward the wall. "I wanna go outside again," came his voice, now muffled, "even if they have to completely supervise it. And I want my TV back. How the hell am I supposed to keep track of 'Montel' and 'Dr. Phil?'"

"Done," said Brian.

"Good," said Dennis, yawning. "Come back when they lift the lockdown. Maybe we'll just have us a little talk."

Without another word, he flapped an arm at Brian, a clear indication that their conversation, for now, was over.

As Brian turned down the hall and the door closed in Dennis' cell, he still heard the final request:

"And get me some fucking smokes, Dobbs!"