Chapter Two


There was no answer to Edward's persistent knocking, and that meant trouble. In his world, trouble was dangerous.

"Maybe nobody's home." James's disembodied voice floated from Edward's left side. Whenever they faced vengeful spirits, his cousin went invisible. He was a bit of a coward, not that Edward blamed him.

James, and other spirits like him, sometimes controlled what humans could see and hear unless someone had gifts similar to Edward. Most of the time he could see it all. It had been five years since the accident and he had yet to meet anyone with his type of gift, but he wanted to believe there were others.

Edward knocked again.

James stuffed his eye into the socket in his gaunt face. It took a moment for it to roll it into place right. "Yeah, nobody's here, let's go."

"Don't you hear the melody of screams inside?" Jane, a spirit that looked very much like one, decided to grace them with her presence.

Edward spared Jane a glance. She had died young but had no memory of her life, only her first name. Of all the spirits that stuck beside Edward since the accident, she was the one he wanted to see at peace the most. Her almost childlike features reminded him of his cousin, Alice. She seemed so young, with a tiny bow mouth set in a round face. Her blonde hair, pulled in a severe, high ponytail was a sharp contrast and made it hard to figure out exactly how old she'd been when she died.

"I see you finally decided to join the living," Mrs. Cope stated primly, arching a slim gray eyebrow.

Jane's lips twitched into a wide smile, one that didn't fit her cherubic face. It was sinister as if she had the power to inflict pain with her mind. "You should try getting laid in the afterlife, Shelly."

She laughed, causing another shudder to move through Edward. High emotions in spirits always translated in some way onto the living.

Jane smirked, pretending to straighten out her clothes. "I guarantee you it'll take you to a whole new spiritual level."

Mrs. Cope scoffed, her knitting project hanging in midair, still working. "As if anyone could handle all of me." She fluffed her hair with both hands, a tiny smile on her lips.

Edward rolled his eyes. Jane and Shelley fought as if they were related; a sort of grandmother/granddaughter thing that they seemed to love to do. Most of the time, he didn't mind the dynamic, unless it interfered with work.

A scream tore through the air—a human one. Edward shared a look with the others.

Jane gestured toward the door, pretending to do what she suggested next. "Kick it open, Chuck."

Standing back, Edward landed a hard kick between the double doors to the side of the handle. It groaned under the force but stood strong. Expensive sometimes did mean built to last. Another swift kick and nothing; it didn't budge much more than an inch.

Edward frowned. "Is she keeping it locked?"

Jane shook her head. "I don't think so. Let me see if I can pop open the lock." She disappeared through the double doors.

Edward stood back as the doors started to rattle and groan under the weight of Jane's influence. They blew open, each of them hitting the walls and threatening to swing closed. His hand stopped one of the doors from hitting his face as he stepped inside.

"Tada," Jane teased, giving them her best Vanna White impersonation.

"You're such a pain in the ass." James followed as Edward walked inside, trying not to roll his eyes.

"You're just jealous you're not as hot as me." Jane popped James on the back of his head, forcing his eyes to fall out again.

"Damn it!" James cursed as he dropped to his knees to look for his missing eyes.

"Quiet," Edward demanded, taking in the chaos. The interior of the house was in shambles. He dropped the bags and grabbed a few items from inside one, intending to search the house for the occupants, living and dead.

There was no time to set up cameras. Fuck, so much for paying the bills, Edward thought.

Jane whistled a high-pitched sound that sent chills down Edward's spine, definitely not human. "She's pissed."

Edward agreed. It appeared as if a tornado had blown through the foyer and main living room, and clear into the kitchen. A path of destruction had ravished even the wood floor, leaving deep gouges against the grain. Two couches, a coffee table, and lamps lay on their sides, several other pieces stacked to the ceiling. Forks, knives, and even spoons were embedded in wood molding, cabinets, and walls. Over a sizable fireplace, a painting on the wall tilted to one side, slashes ripped through the canvas.

Ghosts had limited energy most of the time, but Edward rarely saw that level of destruction. He had learned a lot in the five years since the accident that had claimed James' life and gave him the ability to communicate with the dead. Yet, there was still much more he didn't know.

"Alec!" A woman's scream seemed to come from all around them.

Edward recognized the name of his client, running toward the voice. He needed to announce himself in case Alec and his wife had armed themselves. "Mr. and Mrs. Williams," Edward said as he slowly approached the room the voice had come from. "I'm Edward Masen, you called me for help."

James hummed the Ghostbusters theme song somewhere behind him, Jane joining him in the chorus. Shelly simply continued to knit but kept one eye on the door.

"Good help is so hard to find." Jane floated ahead. "Let me see if I can find them." She usually scouted the area ahead for Edward, giving him time and precious information, to prepare for whatever waited for him behind closed doors.

After a minute, Edward started to worry. It wasn't long before he realized what had happened as he opened the door on its own. The master bedroom was a disaster. Everything, not a permanent fixture was in pieces and those that had been hung loosely on exposed electrical wires.

Jane stood in the middle of the chaos, staring at what appeared to be a walk-in closet, where Edward's clients had likely hidden.

"What is it?" He crossed the threshold of the bedroom with some caution. The second he did, a blast of wind nearly tossed him off his feet. His hand grabbed a hold of the doorframe for support, calling out for Jane.

Jane's eyes appeared different, softer than he'd ever seen him. "I remember him."

"Who? The husband?" Edward cautiously stepped into the room.

She nodded. "He's my brother."

.

.

.


Meanwhile across town

"I told you, Detective…" The woman Detective Riley Biers brought in for questioning, leaned closer to read his badge. "Biers, I happened to be hiking in the area when I came across the body."

Dark, long hair, a slender body, pale skin, and a mouth to die for, she appeared too innocent to the detective. Yet, there was something in her whiskey-brown gaze indicating that she'd seen a lot. There was no mistaking the wisdom behind her eyes, despite her age.

Riley moved away from her, uncomfortable for the first time in the room. He didn't remember ever being attracted to a person of interest. He carelessly tossed the folder he'd brought in on the table. The woman flinched as he expected, and put as much distance between her body and pictures spilling out across the table.

Bodies tended to pile up around her and he needed to know why.

"Do you know what is in this file?"

Her eyes fell on her lap, her slim fingers fidgeting and twisting. Slowly, she lifted her head to look at him, the once soft, pink mouth thinned. She looked almost angry. It was gone in the blink of an eye, making him believe it hadn't even happened. It had been too many long shifts in a row when her report caught his eye and his boss asked for a favor.

"You have a file on me." The accusation was deeply embedded in her tone. The wide eyes started to glaze over with unshed tears. "I don't understand. I'm not responsible for their deaths! I just happen to find the bodies!"

Her hand pressed against her chest as it started to rise and fall too fast, heading toward panic. "Don't put me in a cell, please."

He tried to say something, but clearly, she wasn't ready to listen.

"Where's Detective Clearwater? Leah? They'll tell you that I'm the unluckiest person ever. I didn't kill any of them and a few of those were not murders."

The woman thrust her shaking finger toward one of the photos, sliding it away from her. She had found the body a mile off a well-known hiking trail a few days after the investment banker had gone missing. The examiner said the man died from natural causes while camping.

Riley hardened his heart, he had to in the face of those beautiful, tear-filled eyes. He needed answers. "I'd consider it a coincidence if you had found one or two bodies, but twenty-five in the last three years?"

She pouted for a moment as long, inky lashes fluttered. "Twenty-six, with the John Doe I stumbled on this morning."

Riley cocked an eyebrow. "Again, that is far too many to be a coincidence." That time, he did lean toward her, entranced by her perfume, something delicate with a hint of spice. "You can tell me."

Her eyes flashed toward the two-way mirror, glaring at it. There was no possible way for her to know that someone was listening. After a moment, something close to defeat filled her eyes.

Her attention turned to him again, a slow exhale releasing the tension in her shoulders. "What do you want to know?"

"How do you find them?"

She folded her arms over her chest, keeping her eyes on him, disarming him. The panic attack she seemingly had earlier was now gone. Was it an act? The tears seemed real enough. "Ms. Swan?"

"They tell me where their bodies are."

His heartrate picked up and his hands wanted to shake, but he beat back the thread of fear. "Who does?"

"The dead, Ribee."

Riley's heart seemed to stutter to a stop, only to pick up at an alarming rate within a few beats. "How do you know my old nickname?" Not even his most trusted friends knew it.

"Your dead sister told me."