We made good time—a half-hour ride on the bus followed by a five-minute walk to the building. The one bedroom apartment was on the third floor. The hallway housed bare white walls and grey carpeting with eight other rooms on each side. A couple of newspapers were curled up outside of the door. I tried the knob. Unlocked. Shit.
I motioned for Michael to be quiet and fished the gun out of my inner pocket. I nosed the door open an inch at a time until the light from the hallway shone in. The first room was clearly a den with a squishy, faded black couch and a glass coffee table covered in sheet music and magazines in front of a decent-sized television set. I took slow, measured steps to make sure my feet made no noise and checked behind the couch. Nothing.
Pausing, I removed the flashlight I’d brought just in case and held it parallel to the gun. The kitchen was clear as well, sporting only dirty dishes and opened cereal boxes. The last room was to my right. Probably the bedroom. I took a deep breath and turned the doorknob.
“RROW!”
I shrieked, nearly firing off a shot as a black cat scurried past my knees with an indignant meow. The animal gave me a curious look with its golden eyes. She had a red collar with the name “Bast” on it in white lettering. Only Michael would name his cat after an Egyptian goddess. I let out a relieved sigh before shoving the door the rest of the way open with my foot.
“You’re lucky you didn’t get shot, furball,” I muttered, flipping on the light to the bedroom. Nothing in here, either. The bed was a queen-size with rumpled blue sheets and a black comforter. A bookshelf that sagged under the weight of its books had been shoved against the far wall. Pocketing the flashlight, I checked underneath the bed, but there was nothing under it but unwashed socks and lint. Why had the door been unlocked? Nothing appeared out of place like he’d been robbed. My gut told me something was up.
I checked the bathroom and closet before heading out of the room only to find Michael crouching in front of the cat.
“Jordan, you’re not gonna believe this—the cat can totally see me.”
I put the gun away. “No way.”
“Yes way.” He held his hand outstretched and moved it from side to side. The cat’s head moved from side to side as well.
I knelt, rubbing the cat under her chin. “You guys really are half in and half out, huh?”
“What?”
“Nothing. C’mon, it’s time to start looking for clues to who you are.” I stood and brushed off my knees, sliding the gun back in my pocket. We split up. I went around the den to search for his wallet in case it was here instead of with his body and Michael disappeared into his bedroom. The television sat on top of a small cart with DVDs packed into it, everything from Citizen Kane to Independence Day. From the looks of it, Michael was nothing more than your average American guy. Across from the coffee table, I discovered a one-drawer file cabinet and opened it, hoping to find something interesting. The bulk of the files inside was sheet music, but the very last folder held something interesting: hospital bills and a page with a diagnosis on it.
“Michael, get out here!” I called.
He reappeared, jogging over to me. “Found something?”
“I’ll say. According to this, you were badly injured in some sort of fight. You had a skull fracture and they treated you here in town. They say you suffered from retrograde post-traumatic amnesia.”
Michael’s eyes widened. “What? I thought amnesia wasn’t even real?”
“As far as I know, it’s possible. It’s just extremely unlikely. The way I hear it you have to be both injured and have witnessed something emotionally traumatizing. The records say this happened a couple years ago.” I frowned, trying to mull the new facts over in my head.
“So I was severely injured two years before I died? There’s no way that’s just a coincidence,” he said, damn near reading my thoughts.
“Agreed. Did you find anything in your bedroom?”
“Nothing but clothes, books, and old pizza boxes. The room, though…it feels familiar. I knew where stuff was almost unconsciously. It was weird as hell.”
“Good. You’re making progress.”
“Thank you, Dr. Phil,” he said, pointing back to the file. “What else have they got on me in here?”
“You’re twenty-four years old, your blood type is AB negative, and…damn.”
“What?”
“Your parents aren’t listed. Not sure if I can find your next of kin without reporting you missing, which we can’t do since your body’s not here.” I let out a sigh. “I swear, I am just going to drop this case.”
Michael laughed. “Wow, thanks.”
“Oh, cut me some slack. I’m not a detective. I’m a damn waitress. Some of this stuff is beyond my resources.”
“Hey, you’re a pretty smart waitress. I doubt the average person could have figured out half as much stuff as you did.”
I resisted the urge to frown. Again, compliments. Not used to them.
I flipped the folder closed and folded it enough to fit in one of my pockets. “Just…help me search for receipts. If we can figure out what places you frequent, maybe we can find out where your body is.”
I sifted through the piles of sheet music and magazines on the coffee table, locating a handful of receipts in the process. Michael went into the kitchen to search there as well. I sat on the couch to go through them. The black cat hopped up next to me, pushing her head underneath my hand. I scratched the spot between her ears as I read them aloud.
“A few from McDonalds, Starbucks, Guitar Center…nothing too special. It’s all stuff around this area. At the very least, we can take your picture around and ask if anybody’s seen you recently.”
“Sounds like a plan. Shouldn’t we stop by Devil’s Paradise tonight too?”
“Yeah. Your band might be there. Still, we don’t know what they look like.”
“This might help.” I glanced up to see Michael holding a digital camera. He handed it to me, taking a seat. The cat crawled across my lap to settle on his. How unnerving. I started flipping through the memory card: pictures of the park, a couple of instruments, and at last Devil’s Paradise.
“I think these may be photos from your performance the other night.” The first picture of the club had a massive crowd in line outside. The next depicted a blurry but definite picture of Michael on stage with his band. He stood out in front beside a short brunette with a streak of white in her bangs. Behind him stood a tall black guy with a faux-hawk and a skinny blonde girl with short hair. I could just barely make out the drummer in the back—a dark-haired Hispanic guy. There were a handful of these pictures all taken from different angles but the date at the corner confirmed they had been taken August 5th, 2010.
“Alright, now at least we know who we’re looking for,” I said, standing.
Michael scooped up the cat and deposited her on the couch. She hopped to the floor and wandered into the kitchen to drink water from a bowl on the floor by the counter. I made a mental note to come back and feed her.
“Anything else you think we need?” Michael inquired.
I thought about it and then an idea hit me. “Spare key?”
“Oh. Sure.” Michael opened the file cabinet and stuck his hand inside, bringing out a key that had been taped to the inside of the drawer. After a second, he realized what he’d just done and shot a surprised look at me.
“How’d I do that?”
“Habitual memory. I figured you’d react without thinking about it,” I explained, stashing the key in my pocket. At least now we could actually lock the door.
Luckily, we’d gotten out in time to catch the next bus to Devil’s Paradise. When we pulled up to the stop across the street, I began to regret coming here on a Saturday night. The line stretched down the block: Goth punks, girls in tiny skirts, and guys with faux-hawks. Two bouncers stood outside the double doors, eyeing each person before allowing them inside and refusing those who didn’t make the cut. The white guy on the right had a neck as thick as a ham and a body like the trunk of a Redwood. The black guy on the left was easily over six-feet tall and could probably bench-press a Volvo. Great.
“I can see this being a problem,” Michael said, letting his eyes scan over the long line. I raked a hand through my hair as I tried to figure out what to do. My outfit was far too casual to get me in. It wasn’t like I could bribe the bouncers: I had maybe twenty bucks.
“Any bright ideas, rock star?”
“Prostitution?”
I sent him a hateful glare while he just held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry. I got nuthin.’ There’s no point in having me sneak in there because I can’t talk to anyone.”
“Wait, does that mean you figured out how to turn intangible?”
He stuck his hand out to touch the bus sign. It passed right through like magic. “Yep.”
I nearly slapped my forehead. “You could have told me that earlier.”
“You didn’t—”
“If you say ‘you didn’t ask,’ I am going to call that exorcist.”
Michael closed his mouth and merely smirked. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
“Hey, Jordan!”
A female voice called to me from across the street. I spotted the girl from Guitar Center, Chloe, waving me over from near the front of the line. I checked for cars and then jogged over to her with a surprised smile.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
She waved a hand at the club. “I came here to meet up with some friends. Are you still looking for Michael?”
“Yeah. I called the number you gave me but he didn’t pick up.”
Chloe frowned a bit. “Sorry to hear that. Do you want to come inside and see the band? I know at least two of them are here tonight. Maybe they know where he is.”
“Yeah, that seems likely,” I replied, indicating the huge line behind her.
Chloe flashed me a crafty grin. “You’re with me. Don’t worry about it.”
I watched with shock as she tugged me in next to her and waved to the bouncers. Their stony expressions softened and they nodded for us to go in. When I turned to ask her how the hell she’d done that, she told me she had been the baby sitter for each guy’s kids on weekends. Small world.
Inside, the club was deceptively large. The stage at the far wall had a band of six going in full swing, swallowing me in thrumming music as soon as I stepped through the door. The main room was separated into two parts: the immense dance floor packed with bodies and a surrounding area of booths where waiters were serving food. Chloe led the way up the stairs to the left. Michael trailed behind us, watching with wonderment as people passed right through him without noticing. I sort of envied normal people sometimes.
We approached one of the booths near the bar on our left where I recognized two of Michael’s bandmates: the brunette with white streaks in her hair and the black guy with the faux-hawk.
“Hey, guys! Having a good time?” Chloe asked with a bright smile.
The short brunette groaned, leaning forward in her seat to shout over the music. “I would if they had a better band on stage. These guys are amateurs with a capital A.”
The black guy shook his head at her. “Give ‘em a break, Casey. Everybody’s gotta start somewhere.”
She shrugged, arching a thin eyebrow at me. “Who’s the new girl?”
“This is Jordan. She’s looking for Michael.”
Casey snorted. “Aren’t we all? I can’t believe he up and left right after we had such a good premiere. Here, sit down.”
She scooted over and patted the open spot to her right. I sat and Chloe took a seat opposite me by the black guy. He stuck out a hand, smiling. I took it.
“Name’s Stan. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too,” I replied, impressed by how friendly they all were. Michael may have been annoying, but he kept good company. Speaking of whom, Michael stood beside my side of the booth so he could keep up with the conversation. A waiter wandered by, asking for drink orders, but I declined. I knew for a fact how expensive alcohol was at popular clubs in the city. Besides, no sense in drinking while I was “working.” Casey and Stan ordered beers while Chloe stuck with a tried-and-true Vodka soda. I wracked my brain for inconspicuous ways of asking what happened to Michael in the last few days.
“Does he always disappear like that from time to time?”
Stan waggled his hand in the “kind of” motion. “He sucks at communication. Sometimes I’ll go three days without talking to him and then he’ll call me the next day to chat for four hours.”
“Same here. I haven’t been able to keep up with him since I met him,” Casey admitted, absently folding a paper napkin into triangular shapes.
“Why are you looking for him anyway? He’s not in trouble, is he?” Stan pressed, adopting a somewhat wary look. Good instincts. Crap.
“No, it’s nothing like that. I found something of his that I thought might be important to him. It’s an old watch with his name on it. I would have brought it with me but I was worried it would get stolen in this crowd.”
“Oh. I was starting to think you were a reporter,” Stan said in a sheepish voice.
“Or a cop. Especially because of this,” Casey pointed to the duster.
I managed a faint smile. “Yeah, I guess I do sort of look like a cop in this getup. Sorry if I made you suspicious.”
Chloe waved the comment away. “Trust me, we’re honestly shocked there aren’t any warrants out on him.”
Behind me, Michael snorted. “I’m loving the solidarity.”
I cleared my throat to hide a laugh. “So you guys don’t think he’s in any trouble?”
“No more than usual. Last time I heard from him was after Thursday’s performance when he left to head home. He always slips out the back door right after we finish so he can beat the crowd to the bus.”
A red flag went up in my mind. This club happened to spill out into an alleyway that was dark, damp, and far away from the street. That would mean few to no witnesses for our potential killer. I hid the interest with a passive nod and made a mental note to check there as soon as I could get away from the group. I hoped that would be soon because the longer I sat here, the more horrible I felt that these guys didn’t know their friend was dead. It wasn’t like I could tell them his spirit was hovering not a foot away from the table. Besides that, there was no absolute proof. Not yet, anyway.
The waiter returned with the drinks, asking for food orders. Chloe ordered some wings but the other two declined since they’d eaten before they got to the club.
“Hey, where’s the bathroom?” I asked Casey.
She pointed past my head to the right of the stage. “Go by the stage and hang a right. Good luck, though. The line’s a bitch this time of night.”
“Thanks. I’ll be back. It was nice meeting you guys. Thanks for your help.” They all waved as I retreated through the crowd. The bathroom was my cover. I’d only needed an excuse to sneak out of the club and didn’t have a pack of cigarettes to use as a ploy. Michael and I passed the insanely long line to the Ladies Room and found one of the exits that spilled into the alleyway. Luckily, it hadn’t been a fire exit so an alarm didn’t go off. I stepped out into the dark and noticed that there wasn’t a knob to let us back in. Smart. Didn’t want anyone sneaking into the club without paying. I found an empty cigarette pack on the floor and wedged it in the door. If we got lucky, we could check the area before one of the bouncers noticed.
“What are we looking for? It’s been a couple days since I would have been here.” Michael watched me examine every inch of the concrete around us. The alley stretched a good ten feet and then turned into a right. Behind me, there was faint noise from the street, but its view was obscured by a large dumpster.
“True, but unless you were killed by an expert, they may have left some kind of evidence.” I slipped on a pair of purple surgical gloves that I kept with me specifically for snooping purposes and flipped on my flashlight. The Exit sign above the door shed an eerie red light over the area but that was about it. Aside from the dumpster a few feet away, there was a trio of trashcans against the wall opposite the exit. Great. My favorite part of the job.
Breathing as sparingly as possible, I peeked into the trash and carefully sifted through, looking for traces of blood or anything that may have been on Michael’s body when he left the club. Michael started to join me but I stopped him.
“What? It’ll go faster this way.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Michael, if someone happens to look this way, they’re going to see trash floating in mid-air. That’s not very inconspicuous.”
“Neither is a hot chick in a grey overcoat with purple gloves sifting through garbage,” he said, his voice flat. Damn. The man had a point.
“Just help me look around. And don’t touch anything.”
“Why?”
“Because shut up.”
Sighing, Michael walked past me to inspect the bits of garbage that hadn’t made it into the cans. I searched the three containers and found nothing out of the ordinary, which made me groan internally because that meant I’d probably have to check the dumpster. Did I like this guy enough to get that horrible smell in my clothes? No. Would I do it anyway? Maybe.
With a regretful moan in my throat, I stepped towards the dumpster, but stopped as my foot kicked something metallic into my line of sight. I stooped and picked it up, examining it in the dim light. A broken silver chain with a tiny padlock on it.
“Michael, come here for a second.”
When he walked over, I held the necklace up to him. They matched perfectly. Hot damn.
“I’d say this is a clue,” I muttered, inspecting the edges to detect any traces of blood. None. Still, this was definitely proof that something had gone down in this alley.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Michael said with half-hearted sarcasm, too busy staring at the chain to commit to sounding dry. “I’m guessing it snapped off in the struggle. Maybe I fell.”
“Yeah. Judging by the fact that there’s no blood around, I’d say whoever attacked you either broke one of your bones or used something quiet to take you out, like a syringe. The question is still why, though. As far as I can tell, you’re not an incredibly important person.”
He gave me a look. I winced. “No offense. I mean, your band is doing well but it’s not doing that well. I’m starting to worry that we need to involve the police. There are some questions I can’t go around asking without raising suspicion. You saw how your band mates reacted when I did.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I wish I could say everything’s rushing back to me, but I’m only getting a feeling that I really did die here. Someone said something to me, and when I turned around, it happened. I just can’t remember what, though.”
“Don’t stress too much about that. The point is to find out about your life and why you died. When we do that, your final wish should become clear. Come on. We’ll do one final check and then go back inside. Your band mates might be getting curious.”
We walked up and down the alley, as well as the one next to it that led to a dead end, but there wasn’t anything else. Afterward, I carefully placed the necklace in my pocket and threw the gloves away. I poked my head into the door of the club. Nobody. Lucky us.
Quickly I removed the empty cigarette pack and slunk back towards the main area of the club with Michael behind me. The girls in line to the bathroom gave me funny looks but I brushed past them, heading for the booth.
Chloe had gone off meeting her other friends, as Casey told me. Shame. I wanted to thank her again for getting me in. I left my number with Casey and Stanley and said good night, happy once we were out of the flashing lights and pounding music. We reached the bus stop, which was thankfully devoid of other people, and Michael exhaled slowly, glancing at me.
“So what’s the plan for tomorrow?”
“I have to take Linda to her funeral to speak to her Mom. I think that’s her final wish. We might get lucky. If I get her to cross over, Gabriel will show up and maybe I can ask him for help. He’s not allowed to directly help me solve cases by order of the Big Guy, but he can offer advice.”
Michael shook his head. “What’s that like, having an archangel drop by every once in a while?”
I shrugged. “It was nerve-wracking at first, but…I eventually got used to it. Gabriel’s really easy to get along with. He’s probably the closest thing I have to family. I guess being God’s Messenger has something to do with that.”
“Are you allowed to ask him questions about Heaven and Hell and stuff?”
“Sort of. There are rules. He told me he’s not allowed to tell me anything that would reveal the ‘true nature’ of God or Heaven because I’m supposed to find out on my own when I die.”
“So I take it you tried asking him about Mr. N?”
I lowered my eyes, forcing myself not to wince. “Yeah, but he said that’s on the list of things I’m not allowed to ask him. He told me I don’t understand now, but it’s for a good purpose.”
He made a soft, scornful noise in the back of his throat. “Can’t be that good of a purpose if it means you have to have nightmares every night for the rest of your life.”
That sounded like honest-to-God sympathy. I couldn’t help but glance up at him. He met my eyes with a solemn look that made my breath catch for a second. There was something strangely compelling about his face when he stared back at me like that. It was a quality I had recognized in someone else, too. Gabriel.
His voice was quiet. “The bus is here.”
I faced forward to see the rusty vehicle in front of us. Just like that, the spell broke and I climbed aboard, shaking off my thoughts.