The Departed

birth on up to now. If there was any way you could think to discredit me, you would. And we both know you didn’t have any luck…don’t we?”
    “I guess we do,” he said slowly, nodding.
    “Then there’s really nothing left for us to say. You have a good day.” She went to step around him. But then, because curiosity had a grip on her, she reached inside her pocket, tugged out a card. “If you’re so moved, I wouldn’t mind knowing how the investigation turns out.”
    He accepted the card but when she tried to go around him, he caught her arm. “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing.” The whisper was already back. Help…damn it, can’t anybody help…
    There was an edge of desperation there. What was this?
    “Don’t tell me that,” Morris said, shaking his head. “Five seconds ago you were fine, and then your pupils go all pinpoint—now they are all dilated and your skin’s cold. You don’t look like the pill-popping type, either.”
    Dez pulled her arm away. “I have to go.”
    Help me…
    * * *
     
    THAT morning, she woke up in Springfield, Missouri.
    By sunset, Dez Lincoln was pulling into French Lick, Indiana. It had been one hellaciously long day and she knew it wasn’t about to end yet, either.
    Her hands were icy, but despite that, sweat trickled along her spine.
    The voice was driving Dez mad. The ghost was trying to drive her mad.
    Pulling her too hard, too fast. And now that she was here, it was loud. So loud. It was almost a scream in her head.
    Swallowing, she turned off the narrow, two-lane road onto a drive that led to a small cemetery.
    Strange —
    Most of her ghosts were people not at rest—unfound souls. Murder victims. And although some of them were found and laid to rest, many of her ghosts weren’t.
    There was something odd about this, though.
    She could feel it, like a buzz in her brain.
    She bypassed several dozen stones before she found the one she needed. She had no doubt it was the right one, either.
    After all, he waited there for her.
    Her ghost.
    According to his grave marker, his name was Tristan Haler.
    He had been a boy when he died, but just barely—hovering on the edge between boyhood and manhood. And when he turned to look at her, she saw something in his eyes that backed up her suspicion—too much knowledge.
    “Why did you call me here?” she asked softly.
    “I…I didn’t mean to,” he said, his voice insubstantial and distant. “You can see me, hear me, though, can’t you?”
    “Yes. I see those who’ve left this world.”
    To her surprise, he laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound, though, and the temperature around her dropped. She didn’t shiver, but she couldn’t stop the goose bumps from breaking out along her skin.
    “Those who have left this world,” he echoed. “You make it sound so easy. Like I checked out of a hotel. Like I picked this—wanted it.”
    He looked at her then, and his gaze was hot and angry, even as the air around her grew colder, tighter, all but freezing the oxygen until it felt like she was dragging in air straight from the Arctic. “I didn’t .”
    He went to his knees, staring at his grave. “But everybody thinks I did. My mom and dad, my sister. They all think I killed myself. I didn’t.”
    Dez closed her eyes. Then she looked at him. “You’re certain. Do you remember?”
    “What happened…?” He looked away. “No. But I know I didn’t do it. I know what they think I did. I wouldn’t have done it. I know who did, though. And I know why.”
    Dez shoved her hands into her pockets.
    Just barely, she resisted the urge to swear.
    Well. The good news was…he was from around here. If he was from around here and she could find out enough information on her own, or maybe even just freak out the killer enough—once she found him—maybe he’d confess. She didn’t have the resources she’d once had, and helping murder victims was a lot harder than it used to be. And somehow, she knew this boy wouldn’t move on until he had justice.
    It was written all over him—he had a mission.
    Okay. She could handle this. Maybe she wouldn’t have to make a phone call. That was all she wanted. To get through a few more jobs without making those damned phone calls.
    Actually… all of her jobs without making those phone calls.
    But even as she thought it, she found herself pulling out her phone. Found herself running her thumb along the keypad, the number burning bright in her mind, even though she insisted she didn’t