Chapter 1: Six-a-fucking-clock. AM.

 

            “Ari? Ari?  Come out, come out, wherever you are.  It is time to come and play.”  The voice flowed through the tinny speaker on my machine.  Cat had a husky quality even on lo-fi.  Bitch. 

            “It is six-a-fucking-clock.  A.M.” I said evenly into the mouthpiece, or at least I said it once I wrested it from the blue nightstand situated next to my fluffy goddess bed.  She laughed knowingly.  I do not like to play games.  More to the point: I am not a woman to be trifled with.  Or with whom to be trifled.  Whatever.  All that matters is “do not fuck with me”.   Cat knows this and yet here she was laughing in my ear at daybreak.  Someone was going to pay. 

            “Do not be a bitch, love.  We have got a live one here and I need you.  Yes, I said need so get your ass down here.  We have got kids reporting strange sounds for years at the Lake house, and now there is a witness.  Yuppie couple reporting light flickers and banging doors, making a fuss.  We just need you to give it a feel.  The faster you come, the faster we can pat ‘em on their backs and be off for breakfast.  The captain’s not pleased about my pulling you in and will not wait forever.”  Lovely, the captain.  My former captain Jack(off) Blaine.  What a way to start the day.     

            “Why’s the captain there for a nuisance call?” 

            “Why do you think? Yuppie couple renting the Lake house?  Please tourist money, you know Jack follows the cash.”

            “Tell Jack-off I will be there when I feel like it.  You, I will be there in about thirty.”  I hung up.  What can I say? Courtesy is not my strong point.

            Twenty minutes later, I was suited up.  Olive cargo pants, olive long sleeve with a soft pink tee over top.  Brown heels completed the outfit, if not the look.  Being off the force was great for the wardrobe.  Blues got old quickly.  Hell, in all honesty the pink was just to piss off Jack, who insisted on deep colors that hid the blood well. As a civilian, I could be as bloody as I wanted without any media explanations, at least in theory.  I rarely ever got bloody, to be honest.  At least I did not get bloody anymore.  The hair went in a quick ponytail, secured with an elastic band and a scarf of the palest pink, perfectly matching the tee.   Yes, this was not the right outfit for a crime scene, but then again, I had been told I was not the right officer for one either. 

            You probably want some back-story, here, do  you not ?  I used to be a cop, was not much of one.  I did not take orders well; in fact I did not take them at all. Also, I held some beliefs that did not mesh too well with small time cop work, or big time for that matter.  I believe in the following:  things that go bump in night, that man is one of the worst evils out there, vampires do exist, werewolves walk the earth and that I can see an aura.  As I said, not typical.  As a teen “The X-files” was my show, Mulder my hero.  My bookshelves are lined with books of the “unexplained”. 

            Technically, I had majored in biology with minors in political science and psychology.  Not two things one usually puts together, but I figured if I wanted to study the things that went bump in the night, I had need some schmoozing skills.  Funding always required game playing.  The plan had been to start in local law, catch the eye of the feds and eventually lead a groundbreaking paranormal department. 

The reality was that I had been asked to leave the department, told that monsters weren’t real and was currently a freelance “psychic expert”.  Not much call for that in this town, but more than you’d think.  Wheeler is a college town, and the kids get a kick out of psychic readings.  And the lay lines always ensure an interesting case every once in awhile.

            I had been kicked off the force, but Cat kept dragging me back in.  No secret there, they actually needed me and knew me.  Most of them knew I was the real deal, a sensitive with some practical knowledge.  Sure my consulting jobs basically consisted of sensing spirits, reassuring scared teens and feeling out a crime scene for clues, but I answered to myself. 

            My lay job was a bit less interesting.  I hired myself as a paranormal mercenary of sorts.  I sized up the energy of land for prospective buyers, and occasionally held séances.  The land readings were the only thing that makes the job worthwhile.  Not just monetarily, but spiritually.  It is great to check a property and “see” those who were here years before and those who are still hanging around.  I was not an exorcist, it was not my job to shoo out the remnants, and I just let the future tenants know they were there.  And, yeah I occasionally read palms too, if money was tight.  Do not laugh, cash is cash.

            Where were we?  Ah, yeah, so I was once again heeding Cat’s meow.  Eh, I would give them a few hours of my morning, maybe get some press and earn some money.  If I was a good girl, I might even get to yank Jack’s chain. Yeppers, I was a happy girl. 

            I slid into the navy blue Lancer, blasting a little chick rock on the stereo.  The Lake house was about 20 minutes away, so I settled in. Okay, Cat was going to have a fit, I was ten minutes behind, but she would survive.  At this point, all I was doing was delaying Jackass’s breakfast.  I smiled as I slowed down a little.