Chapter Twenty-Three
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been gaping at the hovering yellow banana, but my mouth had gone dry and my brain still refused to cooperate. My thoughts weren’t spinning. They just … weren’t doing anything at all, and my heart thundered like a herd of stampeding centaurs.
Robbie’s hand settled at the base of my spine. Not holding me back. Not pushing me forward. Just there, the way he always was when it counted.
‘Stacy,’ he murmured, pulling me back into the here and now.
‘I need another second,’ I whispered back, though I didn’t move. Couldn’t.
Dad was here.
Dad was in my kitchen.
Dad had been in my kitchen all this time.
‘Dad,’ I rasped. The word came out small like I was that lost teenager again. A tear trembled down my cheek and the banana lowered back into the fruit bowl.
Icy cold touched my cheek and wiped the tears away.
A lump rose in my throat, and I swallowed convulsively, trying to blink away any other tears before they fell. I pressed my fingertips hard into my palm until it stung.
You’re not that little girl anymore, I told myself, and I mentally pulled my badge out like it was a shield.
Loki flew to my side and pressed himself against my skin. He sent me waves of love and reassurance, and I accepted it all gratefully.
My mind calmed, the shaking stilled, and the tears stopped.
‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner?’ I asked my dad.
The kettle clicked on.
‘Dad, now is not the time for a cup of tea!’ I snapped, then instantly regretted it, because it was always time for a cup of tea.
Nonetheless, the kettle switched off.
The air around me went slightly colder. Not in a sinister way. More like a window had been cracked open somewhere.
I swallowed hard. ‘Okay,’ I said, fighting to maintain that hard-won calm. ‘Okay. Right. Bob. Marcus. Dad.’ My laugh broke halfway through and turned into something a shade away from hysteria. ‘Bob? Really? You let us call you Bob?’
The fruit bowl shifted. An orange rolled forward and stopped, the stem facing me like it was presenting itself.
I blinked at it.
‘Is that a yes?’ I asked. ‘Orange for yes, banana for no?’
The orange rolled back.
Bloody hell. I was communicating with my dead dad via one of my five-a-day. This was up there among my top insane moments in life to date.
My legs felt weak and I tried to steady them. Steady me.
I pulled out my PNB and my pen and set them down on the dining room table. ‘Can you write?’ I asked.
The pen rose and clicked on, but it kept falling as he tried again and again to write. It was like his grip on the pen was too weak.
Loki blew a raspberry.
I sighed. ‘That’s a no then.’
Robbie pulled out his phone and called someone. ‘Get me a Ouija board,’ he ordered. A beat later he said, ‘I don’t give a shit. Make it, buy it, steal it. Get one here, stat.’ He hung up.
I frowned at him. ‘Did you have to add “steal it” as an option?’
‘Your dad is here. Can we focus on that?’
He was right. Dad was here. That was far more important than Ouija theft right now.
My dad was dead. I’d seen his body. Seen it unmoving and unbreathing on the morgue table mere hours after his death. It was high on the list of the most traumatic moments in my life, including the kidnapping and torture.
Yet … his soul was here. Ghosts were supposed to be an impossibility in the Other realm, but here we were, with a ghost juggling fruit in my lounge.
The cogs in my brain started to turn. The visit with Vance Broadlake was fresh in my mind, and he’d spoken of severed souls. Broadlake had said he’d had the same conversation with my dad, and here was my father … a severed soul.
I didn’t believe in coincidence.
‘You came up against Jingo,’ I said to my dad. A statement more than a question, but all the same, after a beat the orange rolled yes.
Fucking Jude Jingo. That fucking prick!
‘Rude Jingo!’ Loki squawked.
I took some calming breaths. Now was not the time to fall apart. ‘Like Broadlake, you severed your soul to escape him.’
The orange rolled again, and my stomach was churning so much I worried I might be sick.
‘Did Jingo possess you?’
The banana rose. No.
‘Then you must have severed your soul just as he was about to subsume you rather than after,’ I mused more to myself than to him. ‘With no soul present, he couldn’t take over your body. Doppelgangers connect to the soul, not the body. Right?’
The orange rolled. Yes.
‘Something went wrong,’ I extrapolated, ‘and you couldn’t get back into your body.’
The orange rolled again.
‘And you died.’ Despite myself, my voice hitched.
Once again, the orange rolled, but slower this time, regretful. I was now reading emotions into the speed of a fruit roll. This was utter madness.
I swayed on my feet. Robbie’s arm slid around me, his presence anchoring me. He was so warm, his body a furnace against mine. I let myself lean into it, savouring it.
There was a knock at the door. Robbie drew me backward to sit me down on the sofa, depositing me safely as if I couldn’t be trusted to stand on my own.
It seemed a fair observation. I wasn’t sure I could stand on my own.
I was shaking, I realised with surprise. I hardly ever shook.
Robbie answered the door and Hanlon stood there with a Ouija board wrapped in cellophane.
I hoped that meant it had been legally bought, but frankly that was the least of my worries.
My brain circled the same series of thoughts over and over as they blurred together. Dad. Jingo. Domini. Wraithmore. Broadlake. Even the poison vials on my counter. Would they be my saviour or my damnation?
Eventually, the adrenaline drained away, leaving me hollow. Exhaustion settled into my bones like wet cement.
I rubbed my eyes. They felt gritty. My head ached. Everything ached. It’d been a long-ass day.
The kettle switched on, and I laughed involuntarily. ‘God yes. You’re right. I need a brew.’ I looked towards the kitchen and thought of all the things that ‘Bob’ had done for me over the years.
‘You made me eat breakfast,’ I murmured. ‘Made me shower. Switched the heating on.’ Hot tears stung the back of my eyes. ‘You’ve always been looking after me …’ My voice broke. ‘You’ve been here all this time.’
Sitting where I was, I couldn’t see the fruit bowl; our fruit communication system had a flaw. He seemed to realise it too, because the light switch went on and off, flickering the light in the room once. Not dramatic or violent. There were no poltergeist vibes. Just a soft pulse like a heartbeat.
Like a yes.
‘I’ll make you that tea,’ Robbie said. ‘Your dad is right. You need it. You’re ashen, Stacy.’
‘I’m fine,’ I said, but I wasn’t.
Robbie didn’t argue. Instead he blatantly ignored my weak protestations. He retrieved some Dairy Milk chocolate and Pringles from my cupboard, handed them to me, then continued making the much-needed brew.
When I touched neither, my dad pushed the Dairy Milk towards me.
My dad. Bloody hell.
‘He’s right,’ Robbie called from the kitchen. ‘You’re in shock, Stacy. You need the sugar.’
I opened the wrapper and nibbled half-heartedly on the chocolate bar.
‘This has been one hell of a day,’ I said aloud.
‘Yeah,’ he agreed, but he was assessing me to decide if I was about to fall apart.
‘I’m fine,’ I reassured him again, even as I downed the all-but-scalding tea in several large gulps.
‘Stacy,’ Robbie said, ‘you’re dead on your feet, love.’
‘Nope,’ I shot back. ‘That’s my dad.’ I winced as the words left my mouth. ‘Sorry, Dad.’
The light flickered once. Apology accepted, I assumed.
‘Sleep,’ Robbie repeated.
‘I don’t think I can,’ I admitted. ‘My mind is reeling, and my thoughts are loud in my skull. I don’t think they’ll stop long enough to let me rest. Honestly, I’m afraid that even though I feel okay … I’ll dream. Of Broadlake. Of Jingo.’
Robbie’s hand cupped the back of my head. ‘My ogres are outside. My crows are in the air. I am by your side, and so is your dad. You’re safe, Stacy. Come to bed, my love. I’ll be by your side.’
Something inside me caved, and I closed my eyes.
‘Okay,’ I whispered hoarsely, standing. ‘Okay. I’ll come to bed. But …’ I looked towards the table, towards the fruit bowl, towards the chair that had shifted twice now, and I couldn’t find the words.
Robbie seemed to understand, and he said it for me. ‘Goodnight, Mr Wise.’
The kitchen light flickered once in its own gentle goodnight.
I walked unaided into my bedroom, and that felt like a victory. I brushed my teeth by rote and slid into jammies like a zombie.
In my bedroom, Robbie had pulled back the duvet and I crawled in like I was older than Mrs Abernathy.
Robbie tucked the covers in around me. It made me feel safe, cocooned, and … like an utter idiot. Me. An Inspector. Tucked in tight for bedtime.
‘Don’t tell anyone.’ I mumbled into my pillow.
‘I won’t,’ he vowed. ‘Your reputation is safe with me, Inspector.’
He flicked the lamp off, leaving only the glow of the streetlight through the curtains. His fingers stroked my hair, the movement soothing and repetitive.
‘Sleep, Stacy. I will guard your dreams.’
Oddly, I believed him.
I let myself drift away.