The Departed

Denny’s, for crying out loud.” He lifted the menu, studied it with a scowl, and tossed it back down. “They serve it all day. This won’t take but twenty minutes and you’ll understand, I promise.”
    Hell. Giving him a dark look, she slid out from the booth, watching as he tucked the contract back into his blazer. They were the focus of much attention as they left the restaurant, and she had the bizarre desire to make a face at everybody over her shoulder as the door swung closed behind them.
    She resisted. Barely.
    “This better be good,” she said, not bothering to disguise the bitchy tone. She didn’t work for him anymore…why should she disguise it? And unless he had a damn good reason, she wasn’t signing that contract, either.
    “Just walk with me.” He slid a pair of sunglasses on, shielding his eyes. He looked polished, smooth…even wearing the jeans and blazer. But when did Taylor Jones ever not look polished and smooth, completely in control?
    Well, that day…when he was inside me. He didn’t look so in control then . A wave of heat washed over her and she rolled her eyes, looking away so he wouldn’t see the flush of color that flooded her cheeks.
    Shoving her hands into her pockets, she stared at her toes. The worn tips of her boots weren’t exactly fascinating, but a lot easier on her brain cells than Taylor Jones.
    Moments of silence passed.
    She was about to grit her teeth and snarl at him, or swear and demand he say something, when she felt it.
    It was a whispering, quiet rush. It started as a whisper but it got louder, oh, so very loud, until it was a roaring scream in her head, one that had her fighting the urge to clap her hands over her ears just to get away from the noise.
    She shivered and backed away a few feet, but it didn’t do any good. They still lingered, their presence wrapping around her, calling out to her. Familiar. So very familiar. It left her shivering, and automatically she huddled into her coat, reaching up to tug the collar closed. As the ghostly whispers danced along her consciousness, she realized that Taylor had stopped.
    Foreboding crept through her and she looked up, found herself staring at the graceful old building. In elegant scroll across the windows, she saw the words French Lick City Courthouse . Below that, in small print, she saw the words French Lick City Jail .
    “They wouldn’t keep anybody here for too long. Just a few nights. Anything big goes to the county jail. But if they just wanted to talk to you, detain you for a couple of hours? If they decided to keep you overnight? You’d come here.”
    He wasn’t looking at her.
    But she could already tell he’d seen her reaction.
    A fist was lodged in her throat, choking the air out of her as the presence of the departed edged in ever closer. She could hear them, feel them—faint, weak…and so many of them. There was an aged feel to their presence and it ripped at her heart. Fuck, how long had they lingered?
    “This courthouse has been here for two hundred years, in some form or another,” Taylor continued, still not looking at her. “And it was used more actively as a jail for a good long while. Small-town place like this, they did their own executions here for years—that stopped a long time ago, but I imagine there are still echoes. And just because executions stop, that doesn’t mean death stops. I guess you can probably tell a number of people have died here.
    “They are old, you know. I can’t feel them, but even I know that. They are old and fragmented and some of those who died here did die for crimes they committed—you can’t give them peace. Maybe you could help some of them, but as old as they are, you may not be able to help any of them. There may be nothing left but echoes.”
    Now he looked at her, pushing his sunglasses back onto his head. His steel blue eyes locked with hers and he asked quietly, “Do you really want to go in there? For a night? A few hours? Even for five minutes?”
    Dez swallowed and shook her head, backing away one slow step at a time.
    After she’d put about fifteen feet between herself and the courthouse, the weight of the departed lessened and she could almost breathe. Almost. Rubbing a hand over her chest, she whispered, “Damn it.”
    “Are you going to sign the damn contract or not?”
    Slowly, she looked at him. “Is this why? You just want to make sure you’ve got a legit reason for me being here?”
    “I want to make sure I’ve