A Clean Break #2
This wasn’t anything close to the first time Stone had ever seen a ghost—or an echo, as mages called them, since true ghosts didn’t exist—but it was the first time one had surprised him while he was in nothing but his shorts in a manky motel room.
“Can you speak?” He kept his voice even and gentle. Now that she was here, he didn’t want to scare her off. She was the most interesting thing that had happened to him all night.
She made no reply. Her intense, pleading eyes sought his.
“Is there something you want me to do?”
This time, her features twisted in frustration.
Before he could ask her another question, angry male voices rose from a short distance outside the door. Stone couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they were obviously having some kind of argument.
The ghostly maid’s face flushed silver with sudden fear, then deeper anger. She shot Stone another frustrated glance and disappeared once again through the wall.
Outside, the voices kept arguing. They didn’t seem inclined to stop anytime soon.
Most people would have left it alone and hoped it would go away.
Stone wasn’t most people. A couple of drunk mundanes held little danger for him, and besides, they’d scared the echo away before he’d had a chance to figure out what she wanted.
He pulled on his black Dancing Dragon Inn T-shirt and faded jeans, shoved the door open, and stepped out onto the walkway. “Oi! Want to keep it down out here?”
Two arctic glares settled on him. Stone had encountered the men’s type before: the hard gazes, the flashy clothes, the confidence. These were not drunken idiots arguing over whose turn it was to buy the beer.
“You better go back in your room, man,” one said, his low, steady voice conveying subtle menace.
Colorful tattoos covered a muscular torso in a white tank top.
The other one, shorter and thinner, tweaked his denim vest aside to reveal the butt of a gun sticking out of his waistband. Neither blinked.
The display intrigued Stone more than frightened him, but he had no wish to cause trouble that might delay his exit from this hellhole.
He assumed an appropriately fearful expression and raised placating hands.
“Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to bother you.
I’ll just be on my way.” Mindful of their eyes still on him, he hurried back to his room.
The old-fashioned lock chose that moment to stick—because of course it did.
Good thing popping locks with magic was easy.
Inside, he immediately peeked through a tiny opening in the curtains.
The two guys had already lost interest in him. They stopped talking and opened the door to the room on the far side of the gated alcove. A moment later it slammed shut.
Well. That was interesting.
Even more interesting: the ghostly maid was back.
This time she was on the far side of the room, and she wasn’t looking at Stone.
She was looking at the door.
“Do you know those two?”
She didn’t reply.
Stone waited several more moments to make sure the men were going to stay in their room. The echo remained where she was, clearly annoyed she wasn’t getting through to him.
“Let’s see if I can get some more information, shall we?” he muttered to her. “If you can’t tell me, maybe somebody else can.”
He still didn’t see the two men as he headed downstairs to the front desk. The clerk looked up in surprise when he appeared.
“Whaddya want now? We ain’t got any extra towels, and you missed teatime.” He snorted at his joke.
“Just a bit of information.”
That thoroughly flummoxed the man, who probably didn’t get too many inquisitive Brits around his sterling establishment. “Huh?”
“Has anyone died around here?”
The guy gave him a look. “What the fuck?”
“It’s a simple question. Has anyone died here at the motel?”
“Why?”
In Stone’s experience, the easiest way to get cooperation in cases like this was by monetary incentive. He pulled out a couple of twenties and laid them on the counter next to a small nameplate that read Frank—Night Manager. “I’m doing research.”
Frank the Night Manager didn’t miss a beat.
The twenties disappeared so fast Stone almost couldn’t follow the motion.
“We had a few, I guess. Couple ODs…some guy shot some other guy a couple years back…I told you it ain’t that safe around here, specially after dark.
Surprised some fancy-ass dude like you would even wanna stay here. ”
“What about the maids?”
“What about ’em?”
“Was one ever killed here?”
Frank glared. “Listen, dude, I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about. Ain’t no maids ever got killed here. Why you even askin’?”
Stone had been watching Frank with magical sight as he answered. Auras weren’t foolproof lie detectors, but he was good enough he could usually pick up deception. This time, he saw none. Frank wasn’t lying. “Just curious. Never mind. You have a good evening.”
He was about to turn away and exit the office when Frank called, “Hey.”
“What?”
“Gimme another twenty and I’ll tell you somethin’ about a maid.”
Stone turned back around. “I thought you said no maids died here.”
“They didn’t. But I got another story. You wanna hear it or not? I don’t give a shit either way—I got stuff to do.”
His “stuff to do” was probably watching porn on his phone, but Stone shrugged and produced another twenty. “Let’s have the story.”
Frank grinned and squirreled the bill away. “We had one disappear a couple months back.”
“Disappear?”
“Yeah. She worked here a couple weeks, maybe. Then showed up one night and by mornin’ she was gone. Never saw ’er again after that. She didn’t even show up to pick up ’er check the next day.”
“Does that happen often?”
“Them not comin’ to work? Yeah, sure. Lots of ’em are illegals, so somethin’ spooks ’em and they take off, or ICE picks ’em up or whatever. But not pickin’ up their check? Maybe this might come as a surprise to a fancy type like you, but round here, nobody skips out on money.”
Stone narrowed his eyes. “Did you call the police? Do anything to figure out where she might have gone?”
Frank barked a laugh and looked at him like he was crazy. “For some maid? You’re shittin’ me. What do I care? Maids are a dime a dozen. Always a bunch of ’em lookin’ for work. We had a new one the next day.” He glared at Stone. “What diff’rence does it make to you, anyway?”
“I told you—I’m doing research.”
The clerk gave him a long, appraising stare, then snorted and waved him off. “You know what? I don’t give a shit why you wanna know. I get enough weirdos in here every night, and at least you don’t stink. You got what you wanted, now get the hell outta here.”
Stone turned to leave, then stopped. “One more question, if I may?”
Frank was already focusing on his phone screen. “What?”
“Do you happen to remember her name?”
“Seriously? The maid?” He scratched his ample gut thoughtfully. “Uh…it was Luisa somethin’, I think. Don’t remember ’er last name. Prob’ly fake anyway. Now out.”
She was still in his room when he returned.
She stood in the same place, at the foot of his bed, and turned slightly to look at him as he entered. Her silvery eyes still burned with the same combination of rage and pleading in her bizarrely angled face, though it was hard to tell which—if either—was aimed at him.
He dropped into the room’s only chair, which creaked alarmingly even under his tall, slim frame’s weight. “Right, then,” he said casually. “Frank at the front desk is a bit unpleasant, but he might have given me something useful. Are you called Luisa?”
Her eyes widened.
“Ah. Brilliant. Now we’re getting somewhere. Frank says you disappeared one night. But you didn’t, did you?” He shot a pointed look at her twisted neck. “Someone murdered you. Here at the motel, I’m guessing, which is why you’re stuck here.”
Luisa’s frustration couldn’t have been more obvious. She clenched her fists and drifted back and forth, passing through the out-of-order TV as if she didn’t even notice it. The ghostly equivalent of angry pacing.
Her behavior didn’t surprise Stone. Most people who believed in ghosts at all got their ideas about how they conducted themselves from too many horror movies or paranormal romance novels.
But echoes—the leftover psychic energy of people who’d experienced a violent death or had compelling unfinished business—were frustratingly single-minded things.
Communicating with the living wasn’t something most of them found easy to do. Sometimes, they needed a little nudge.
“Listen,” he said, joining her in pacing.
“I want to help you. I truly do. But I’m tired, it’s hot as the devil’s armpit in here, and I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.
So either give me something to go on, or kindly bugger off and let me get some sleep.
” To punctuate his words, he sat down on the edge of the bed and reached down to pull off his T-shirt.
Luisa growled. There was no sound, but she conveyed the effect just fine in silent pantomime.
And then, before Stone could move or even react, she was there in front of him—and a split second later she’d passed through him.
The incandescent rage in her eyes burned flashing, staccato images into his brain, like a stuttering old film reel unspooling almost too quickly to allow conscious comprehension.
Pushing her cart along, whistling a cheerful tune.
Opening a door to what she thought was an unoccupied room.
Two shadowy figures, hunched over a table.
Two faces look up.
Surprised. Angry. Cold eyes.
Killers’ eyes.
Drugs and money spread out on the table between them.
Fear. No. Wrong room.
Run! Get away!
She’s too slow and they’re too fast.
Big hand over her mouth. Rough hand. Can’t scream.
Another grips the side of her head.
A sharp, savage twisting motion. A sickening crack.
Sudden pain. She’s falling.
Darkness.
And then, just as suddenly, the world wrenches.
Her perspective changes. She’s looking down on them from above.