Phantom Prey

borrowed money from a neighbor, and then murdered the neighbor so he wouldn’t have to pay him back—two hundred and twenty dollars that he used to get his snowblower fixed. He killed him.”
    “That’s not even crazy,” Austin said. “That’s beyond crazy.”
    Weather didn’t want to get into crazy cop stories—Lucas would kill her— and so she asked, “Is the funeral still on Saturday?”
    “Yes. They’ll release her, and it’s Saturday morning. I just . . . I just . . .”
    Weather said, “She’s in heaven, now, Alyssa. She’s fine.”
    Austin’s chin trembled and she used another tissue on her nose and said, “I really don’t believe in heaven, I’m afraid. She’s been released from this incarnation into the next; I hope she found a good spirit guide. Maybe her father, if he hasn’t yet been reborn. She was a good girl; she took care of people. I think her karma, her energy, will take her higher yet.” She snuffled some more.
    Weather said, “Well.”
    This time, Austin produced a small smile and said, “I know what all you good Christians think, and I just don’t think that way. I think her spirit may still have been out there, waiting for satisfaction. I never conceived of the possibility of Helen . . . I just can’t grasp it. Lucas is sure?”
    “He got a detailed statement, and he tells me that it’s all supported independently by laboratory evidence. They’re sure.”
    “I was so sure those other three . . . there was negative energy about them, a black karma, I was sure they were involved.” Austin had changed, and Weather sat back, disturbed by the look on her face.
    “I have a friend, my friend Loren, who has, well, he’s in a space that intersects with another plane, and he tells me that boats take our souls to the next life; and some boats are glorious, and some boats are dark and dank, like slave ships, going down the Mississippi. They load right there on the St. Paul waterfront, at night. . . . Oh, shit.”
    She began weeping, rocking back and forth in her easy chair, and Weather stood up and sat on the arm of the chair and wrapped her arm around her and hugged her, and they both cried together for a bit, then they heard Lucas coming back, and Lucas stopped and looked at them and finally said, “Guys—this was a good thing that happened tonight. ”
    “I know,” Austin said. “But I’m sorry about Helen and Ricky, too. Oh, God.”
    “Should I call your parents?” Lucas asked.
    “No, no, I’m fine. I’m better, really. It’s over. It’s all over. I’m going to go ustairs, take a couple of pills, and I think I’m actually going to get a good night’s sleep for a change. God, I’m so tired. I’m so tired it feels like my heart is caving in.”
    Back in the car, Lucas asked, “Well?”
    Weather looked out the passenger-side window and didn’t say anything for a bit, then, “I’m like you. I get a bad feeling. She thought the other three had black karma that indicated that they were tied to the murder of Frances. And she had a friend who thought the same way. If that’s true, and if they were looking for revenge . . .”
    “Revenge works as a motive. It’s not as common as it is on TV shows, but it happens,” Lucas said.
    “She said this friend—she said his name was Loren—said there were riverboats of souls going down the Mississippi, and some of these were glorious riverboats, and some were like slave ships. The bad souls, obviously. She thought Frances might still be here, but on a different plane. Not on a boat yet.”
    Lucas interrupted: “Her friend was named Loren?”
    “Yeah, that’s what she said. A male Loren. She said, ‘he.’”
    “Her friend Loren is dead,” Lucas said.
    He explained in a few words, and Weather said, “She said he was in a different space. One that intersects with the plane of death. He’s the one that sees these riverboats.”
    “I think Alyssa has a problem,” Lucas said. A moment later: “She has a problem, and damned if I could prove it.”

25
    All of alyssa’s nights were bad, even when there was only one of her. When there were two, and a ghost in the mirror, they were beyond nightmares. She struggled with the blankets, first too hot, then too cold. She fought the pillows: first they were too hard, then too soft, then too hot, and flipped over, blessedly cool, but only for a few moments. And she woke every few minutes to stare at the clock, where the hands moved at a snail’s pace, grinding