Esprit de Corpse

“Yes, but that was clearing the air regarding your reapage a year ago. The reaping we’re concerned with now is Conrad’s own unauthorized scything by you. I need more evidence before I can make up my mind.” Dante held out one hand, as if expecting me to understand.

“You should take my word for it,” I said, feeling betrayed even as I told myself he was only doing his job. “But seeing as you won’t, let’s ask the other person who was there.” I turned to Shannon, calling her name, but she seemed fixated on her father, who was once again being led toward the van. You’d think a prisoner transport vehicle would have parked closer to the door, but I guess the media had hogged all the better spots.

“Shannon. Shannon!” She blinked at me, finally, as the van doors slammed shut. Detective Leo and Officer Phelps strode back toward the precinct, once again battling the gang of reporters. “Would you tell Dante what happened at the time of my death, please?”

Shannon hesitated. She looked lost and scared. “My dad was trying to get me to sign that document. The contract amendment. Then, I think the next thing that happened was that Kirsty woke up. And she fell on the floor, but then she got up and she. . .” Shannon’s eyebrows drew together as she tried to remember. “She came at my dad like the walking dead, arms stretched out before her. He had no choice but to defend himself.”

Defend himself? From me? He’d been big, strong and healthy, wielding the solid metal stapler. I’d been dazed and weak, my muscles wasted. All I’d had was a few sticky plastic disks.

“And then,” Shannon continued, sobbing softly. I was a little sick of her veil of tears. “And then, he—He—He died. Of a heart attack they found out later. Yes, it happened just like she—I—Like Dad just said.”

That wasn’t right. She was upset. She was in shock. She was suffering from schizofriendia.

Dante glared at me with such malevolence I stepped backward. If he believed Shannon, then he must think our entire relationship was built on lies. He turned Shannon around so both their backs were to me. “Come, Shannon. We must go with them in the van. I cannot teleport you since your body is still alive and your time on the Coil may not yet be done.”

I remembered Dante and me first figuring that out. Together. Was he thinking about our first meeting as well? Was he getting sentimental? Feeling bad for how he’d treated me?

“Kirsty can find her own way.”

I stood there, mouth gaping at what had gone down. When Conrad had manipulated me out of my life, I’d felt used, angry and helpless. I hadn’t imagined I could ever feel worse. When I needed him most, Dante hadn’t just let me down; he’d actually turned on me.

My hands fisted in anger, while my insides clenched with fear. What if he never believed me? What if I’d lost him for good?

And lost was exactly what I felt. Lost and alone. So alone I wished I could die.

Sadly, that was no longer an option for me.

Chapter 8 Jails Pitch

THE TRANSPORT VAN idled in the parking lot, spewing fossil fuel by-products into the air while it waited for the newspeople to clear out. Eventually the last media vehicle sped off into the dusk and the van rumbled across the asphalt and away from the precinct.

I wished I could have bypassed the awkward journey to Vanier and teleported myself directly there, but oddly enough, as a law-abiding citizen, I had no clue where it was.

I knew the name Vanier, of course. He’d been governor general or something. He had a high school named after him, the all-important intercollegiate football trophy and now a women’s prison. Did this reflect an expected career path? High school, college, prison? His mother must be so proud. I’d have to ask next time she passed through Hell.

I waited until the van was almost out of sight before activating my scythe and teleporting into the interior.

“Ow!”

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, having landed half on Dante and half on Shannon. Not the most graceful teleportation, but it was only my second time outside the classroom exorcises. With burning cheeks (no, not those cheeks; I hadn’t landed that hard), I squeezed into the empty space between Dante and the rear doors. The bench across the way had more space but then I would have had to look Dante and Shannon in the eye. Eyes. Whatever.

Besides, then I’d be sitting beside the other prisoner, Maddy Stryker, and she scared the bejesus out of me.

And I’d met Jesus once. Nice guy.

So the three invisible souls plus Theresa Mudders all crammed on one side of the van, while the two accused murders sat facing us.

Up front, the radio played a forgotten song as an unseen driver ferried us toward the highway.

Predictably, Conrad began his litany of lies and self-pity, now directed at Theresa. Unlike the detective who had ignored Conrad’s monologue during the drive from the office to the precinct, Theresa remained focused on Conrad, nodding and commiserating in all the right places. Did some of Conrad’s Deal powers linger or was he just really good at gaining sympathy?

He’d certainly played those reporters like a lyre.

The drive through rush-hour traffic to the small city of Milton, where Vanier was located, took forever. Traffic on the 401 grew heavy and aggressive. We’d stop to let one car in only to have three more jam their way in front of us. The words Ministry of Community Safety and Correctional Services printed on the side of the van didn’t earn us any special treatment.

Tired of being jostled on the hard metal bench (now those cheeks were burning, as well), I was about to push through the metal mesh to the more comfortable passenger seat up front near the driver when Maddy Stryker suddenly struck.

Like Conrad, both her hands and feet were chained to a big D-ring welded to the floor of the van so her only remaining weapon was her head. She head-butted Conrad’s shoulder hard enough to knock him sideways before his own chains reined him in. That had to hurt.

We’d all jumped at the sudden attack, but Theresa quickly regained her composure. “Now, Maddy, that wasn’t necessary. Why did we feel compelled to assault Shannon?”

Theresa reminded me of the shrink my aunt took me to after my parents died. I hadn’t gone very often, but I remembered the infinite patience with which the doctor had asked me questions.

I hadn’t been inclined to answer either.

Conrad struggled upright again while Theresa waited.

“She talks too much,” Maddy eventually replied, jerking her head toward Conrad.

He cowered at the movement, pulling his hands up as far as they’d go. Raw looking flesh peeked out from beneath Shannon’s jacket. Her—his wrists looked red and in one place, a fine crease of blood paralleled the thin plastic cuffs. Handy if he needed to sign anything.

I almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

Conrad remained silent for the rest of the drive but I could tell the wheels were spinning. Could he access Shannon’s thoughts, memories or feelings?

Or morals. Maybe he’d catch something—like a severe case of remorse—and return Shannon’s body to its rightful owner.

But if that were going to happen, it didn’t happen during our ride to Milton.

Finally, we pulled into a bleak expanse of property. As expected, fences, razor wire, and locks figured heavily into the landscaping. Once inside, the big gates clanged shut and the van drove up to a prisoner loading and unloading dock. Two new guards supervised, hands resting on stun guns as Theresa unchained first Conrad, then Maddy from the van. They remained cuffed as they were led through the facility by guards.