Final Breath

Bitch-Sydney? She took a deep breath, then her fingers worked over the keyboard: 'Who are you?' was all she wrote. Sydney didn't even include her name. As she clicked SEND, Sydney felt as if she were opening up a can of worms.

Just a moment later, she heard a click, signifying incoming mail. She opened up the mailbox:

MAILER-DAEMON...Returned Mail

User Unknown: [email protected]

'Just as well,' Sydney muttered to herself, sipping from that third cup of coffee. She hadn't received any follow-up e-mail from that duet person and figured maybe it was best to just leave it that way.

All that coffee had done a number on Sydney's stomach. Plus her arms and back ached horribly from hauling Eli from that storm drain last night. She was limping pretty badly this morning, too. She hoped Sally Considine wasn't averse to the smell of Bengay--if she ever answered her door.

Sydney pressed the doorbell again.

'Coming, coming!' she heard Sally call.

A moment later, the door flung open. Sally was a large, buxom woman with a pretty, oval-shaped face and close-cropped auburn hair. She wore a white sleeveless blouse, plaid shorts, and sandals. A smile lit up her face. 'Well, hi, Sydney!' Then she immediately seemed to regret it, and covered her mouth. 'Oh, I just read online about that nice couple from Portland you interviewed. I'm so sorry. How awful! Would you like to come in for some coffee?' She opened the door wider.

'No thanks,' Sydney replied, a hand on her queasy stomach. 'That's sweet of you, Sally. I don't want to take too much of your time. I was just wondering. Were you home last night?'

Sally stepped outside. 'Well, yes, as a matter of fact. I was a regular couch potato. I stayed in and watched the fireworks on TV.'

'You didn't happen to see anyone--any strangers--out here in the courtyard, did you?'

'Last night? No, I didn't notice anybody. Why?'

'Well, it might be nothing. But when my son and I got back from my brother's last night, we found the front door open--'

'Oh, my goodness,' Sally murmured. 'Was anything missing?'

Sydney shook her head. 'Not a thing. There was a small mess in the kitchen, a broken teapot, and some food from the cupboard was spilled onto the counter--nothing else.'

Sally blinked at her. 'Maybe you accidentally left the door open and a squirrel got in or something.'

'That's what I thought. But my son swears he closed and locked the door when we left.' Sydney felt like an idiot for double-checking with her neighbor, but she wanted to give Eli the benefit of the doubt. She sighed. 'Sorry to take up your time, Sally. Maybe it was a ghost or something.' She started to walk away.

'Funny you should mention that,' Sally said. 'How are you folks getting along in the apartment?'

Sydney turned and half-smiled at her. 'Are you asking if we've had some things go bump in the night?'

Her neighbor hesitated. 'Um, maybe...'

'Then you know about it,' Sydney said.

'I wanted to say something sooner. But the property manager would have killed me if I'd blabbed. They've had a hard time trying to rent out that place...'

In a hushed tone, his mother started to describe some of their night visits. From his open bedroom window, Eli could only hear snippets of what she was saying. He peeked past the edge of his curtain down to the cobblestone courtyard, where his mother and Sally stood by Sally's front door. He couldn't see their faces, just the tops of their heads.

'My brother's in real estate and he told me about some of the previous tenants and the high turnover rate,' his mother said. 'I gather they had experiences similar to ours.'

'Well, I've lived here three years,' Sally said. 'And the people in number nine have usually moved in and out so fast I've never gotten to know many of them. But I became chums with this gal, Nancy Abbe, who lived here a while back. She was very cute, very fun. Anyway, Nancy told me that in the upstairs hallway, she once spotted a woman in a long robe. Only she could see through the woman. She said the woman was there for only a few seconds. At the time, I thought Nancy might have been pulling my leg. But since then, I've heard other stories about things going on in that apartment, and now I don't think she was kidding. You know, Sydney, if what happened to you last night is because of this ghost or whatever you want to call it, then it's a real first.'

'What do you mean?' Eli heard his mother ask.

'Well, from what I've heard, all the disturbances have occurred on the second floor,' Sally explained. 'But you said the mess was in your kitchen.'

Eli bit his lip. Their neighbor was right. Until last night, there hadn't been any night visits on the first floor.

Sally scratched her head and shrugged. 'I always figured the disturbances happened upstairs, because that's where they found the bodies.'

'Bodies?' his mother repeated.

Eli leaned closer to the window opening. He saw Sally take a step back. She put a hand over her heart. 'Oh, dear, the woman who showed you the apartment told you, didn't she? She's required by law to tell you--'

'Yes, she said a woman committed suicide in there. It was supposed to have happened back around the mid-seventies.'

'That's right, but--'

'Listen, Sally,' his mother said, lowering her voice again. 'I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention anything about this suicide to Eli. He doesn't know. He's already well aware that the place is haunted. I don't want to pour gasoline on that fire.'

Frowning, Eli watched Sally just nod. She didn't say anything.

'You know, for a minute there,' his mother continued. 'I thought you said bodies.'

'I did say bodies, Sydney,' their neighbor whispered.

Eli felt a chill race through him.

'The woman who committed suicide in your apartment had a son,' Sally explained. 'Before killing herself, she murdered him--in his sleep.'

CHAPTER SEVEN

Chicago--Three nights later

She'd managed to slip out of Houlihan's without him noticing. Angela Gannon hurried across East Michigan toward the eighteen-story office building where she worked as a paralegal. It was 9:45 on a sultry Tuesday night. Angela still had on her work clothes: a black skirt and a mint-green blouse that complemented her tan and her shoulder-length ash-blond hair. She was thirty-one, and what she lacked in natural beauty--Angela always thought her nose was too long and her chin too weak--she compensated for with a toned, trim body and lots of panache. Still, Angela was always surprised when a guy told her she was beautiful. And sometimes, she fell for that guy, even though he was a mega-jerk.

Kent, the man she'd stealthily abandoned at a table for two in Houlihan's, was the most recent example of that 'whatever did I see in this asshole?' phenomenon. He worked in the same building, but on sixteen, two floors above her. They had started out flirting in the elevator, then had a few brushes in the lobby, and finally a date for lunch. Her friends at the law firm warned her that he was a shallow pig--and married to boot. And if she took a good look at his gorgeous wavy brown hair, she'd notice early signs of male pattern baldness. Angela convinced herself she just wanted to be friends with this cute, married guy who thought she was beautiful. He was a total sweetheart and very much a gentleman all through their lunch date.

Too bad he wasn't the same way at Houlihan's. She'd been wary about having drinks with him after work