Chapter 15
ONCE I turned onto Pennsylvania Avenue, Robbie appeared in the passenger seat next to me. As always during daylight hours he seemed somewhat faded, as if I was seeing him through a veil of gauze. He was wearing jeans and a tight T-shirt which showed off his wrestler’s build. He slumped in the seat so that his knees connected with the dashboard, the picture of sullenness. “Where you going?” he asked, trying and failing to sound nonchalant about it.
“Jimmy’s Bar for a drink or two,” I said, “and then some food before I head back to the south side and hopefully wrap this case up.”
He turned to gaze out the window, still feigning indifference. “Jimmy’s,” he said.
“Yes.”
“A gay bar.”
“Yes.”
He let a few beats go by. “You can get alcohol anywhere. You don’t have to go to a gay bar.”
“I feel more comfortable in a gay bar,” I said.
Robbie still refused to look my way. “Wouldn’t be any other reason for going there, would there?”
“Such as?” I asked as I pulled into the lot next to Jimmy’s.
Robbie sighed heavily. “You’re looking to meet someone new, aren’t you?”
I found a spot and pulled in. Shutting off the engine, I turned to Robbie, who was studying an imaginary fleck of dust on the knee of his jeans. “I’m not actively going out to find someone to date, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I said. “But if it happens, it happens.”
He picked at an imaginary piece of lint. “So it’s over between us,” he said in a low voice.
“Robbie,” I said gently, “technically speaking, it’s been over for us for ten years now. You’re dead.”
“I know!” He planted his feet on the floor with a stomp, which indicated just how upset he was. To make any sound (including speaking) costs him spectral energy. To create a bang like that took a lot out of him. As I watched he faded even more.
“I’ll always love you, Robbie,” I said. “You know that. But at the risk of sounding like an article in Cosmopolitan, I have… needs.”
He snorted at that. “You’ve got your hand,” he said.
“It’s not the same thing, and you know it. You may not look like you’re aging, but I am. I don’t want to wait until I’m old to have someone else hold me.”
Robbie reluctantly nodded. “My feelings for you haven’t changed, though.”
“Nor have mine for you,” I assured him. “You’ve got to admit, though, our situation is a little odd. With most people, death kind of puts an end to the relationship. They generally don’t go on seeing each other on a regular basis.”
“True,” he conceded.
We sat in silence for several minutes. If anyone had walked by, they would have thought I was sitting alone in my car, staring off into space. No one did. Eventually I said, “I’ll take things slowly. I won’t just jump into something, and I promise I’ll keep your feelings in mind at all times.”
He shifted in his seat as if trying to find a comfortable position. I knew he was just pausing to come up with the right words. When it became obvious that I wasn’t going to bail him out and break the silence, he spoke. “I know this can’t be easy for you. I just… I just don’t want you to forget me.”
Hardly likely, with him haunting me on a daily basis. I knew what he meant, though. “I never could,” I said.
Robbie nodded and faded from sight. I thought I saw a tear roll down his cheek just as he vanished completely.
JIMMY’S wasn’t exactly packed, but it wasn’t a bad crowd, either, for Happy Hour. There was no one at the piano in the corner nor was there any music playing over the loudspeakers, so conversations could actually be conducted without shouting. I found a spot near the middle of the bar and sat down. The stools on either side of me were vacant. I figured that way Robbie couldn’t accuse me of trying to sidle up next to some cutie, not that he could see me.
I ordered a gin and tonic, and as I drank it, I took stock. It seemed like my missing-persons case was nearly over. If indeed Brenda Sanderson was living with Derek Schneider in the House of Too Many Kids then she, and therefore I, had nothing to do with the mysterious killer of Bethany the stripper. Well, nothing other than I was a witness. Robbie, while not overly fond of the idea, at least seemed resigned to the notion of me beginning to date. Things were looking up. I decided on a second gin and tonic. Just as the bartender was setting it down in front of me someone sat down on the stool to my right. I told myself not to look. Once you do that, of course, you have to look. I resisted the temptation but finally gave in.
He was maybe thirty, a few years younger than me. He had short black hair and a roundish face. It was a nice face. He wasn’t dressed in a suit like most of Jimmy’s patrons who’d come from downtown office buildings. Like me he wore jeans and a collared knit shirt. He probably sat next to me because I was the only other person in the place that didn’t look like a lawyer or an accountant. He smiled at me. I smiled back and then felt embarrassed, so I looked at my drink. I so wasn’t used to flirting.
Not deterred by my lack of continued eye contact, he said, “Nice day.”
Not an auspicious start. I didn’t do much better with my reply. “Yes, it is.”
His smile broadened. “I’m Nick.” He stuck out his hand. I shook it.
“Duncan.”
Admittedly, I was horribly out of practice, but I was astonished at how hard it was to hold a conversation with a stranger with the idea of seeing how well-matched romantically you could be. I searched for a question to ask but couldn’t think of one that wasn’t immensely stupid. He took a long pull from his beer and asked a question of his own.
“So what do you do?”
“I’m a private detective.”
“Really?” He seemed suitably impressed. “I didn’t think they existed outside of mystery stories.”
“There are a few of us in the world. Most work for big companies. I’m just a one-man operation.” Okay, one man, a ghost, a zombie dog, and a witch if you want to be technical and list helpers, but he didn’t need to know that. The knowledge would only make him change seats to get far away from me. “What do you do?” I asked.
“I’m a teacher. I teach history at Paul Davis High School. I also am the assistant coach for the basketball and wrestling teams.”
Robbie had gone to Paul Davis and been on the wrestling team. Ten years ago would probably have been before Nick’s time, but I didn’t want to take a chance and ask if he remembered him. Why was I thinking of Robbie anyway? Nick. Think of Nick.
“It must be exciting, being a detective,” he said.
“Usually not. Rarely do I get a chance to look for Maltese Falcons.”
Nick glanced at his watch and shook his head. “Hey, I hate to be forward, but I have to be somewhere in a few minutes.”
“That’s not being forward.”
“Well,” he said with a shy smile, “I was going to ask you for your phone number so I could ask you to dinner or something. I’d hate to lose a chance of going out with a hot guy like you just because I’m short of time.”
“I’d hate for that to happen as well,” I said. I had a few of my business cards in my wallet, but that seemed a little ostentatious, so I got a matchbook and pen from the bartender. At the last second I nearly changed one of the numbers so that he couldn’t contact me. Don’t be a chicken, I told myself as I jotted down the last number. He wants to ask you on a date, not to move in with him.
“Cool,” he said, pocketing the number. “I’ll give you a call.”
I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to or not. Was I ready to date? Okay, it had been a long time, but I still had my old boyfriend literally hanging around. Yes, I was ready. Yes, I wanted him to call. No, I didn’t. Yeah. No.
Another gin and tonic was in order.
THE man—and surely he was more man than creature now—continued to watch over Angela. For her, he began to mimic other men. He stole some clothes and even started bathing in the stream that flowed not far from his crypt. He thought of a name for himself, since men had names. Now he was Caleb, a name he’d heard at one of the many funeral services held at his cemetery. He fancied that the name was appropriate, since he’d been the one who killed the young man they were burying. Caleb had beaten the young man to death. The young man had been armed with a knife, not that it had done him much good. Caleb took the knife and used it to cut out the man’s liver. Much better than clawing one’s way into the body. Liver. Fresh flesh. Just as good the next day, too, as Caleb had brought bits back to his crypt. Much better than the long-dead flesh he was used to eating.
Angela didn’t know he existed, but that would soon change. He was becoming more and more human. And he knew of a way to become even more of a man. There had been stories among his people of a magic talisman. An amulet of great power, the talisman was said to be buried in Wales. Luckily things buried in graveyards were often known by his kind. Caleb had always enjoyed stories, and he knew everything his people could tell him about the amulet. He was certain he could find it. Normally travel was difficult for his kind, as they had to avoid contact with humans. That was no longer a problem for Caleb. He was a man now. And when he became fully human, he’d go to Angela and tell her of his love….