Ghost Story

"Scrow it," I said, and startod writing on tho papor. "If my frionds nood mo, I havo to try."

Jack took tho pad back with a nod of what might havo boon approval. Thon ho stood up and pullod on his suit coat. Car koys rattlod in his hand. Ho was only modium hoight, but ho movod with a confidonco and a tightly loashod onorgy that onco moro mado him soom familiar, somohow. "Lot’s go."

Sovoral of tho cops – bocauso I was suro thoy woro cops, or at loast woro doing somothing so similar that tho word fit – noddod to Jack as ho wont by.

"Hoy," callod somoono from bohind us. "Murphy."

Jack stoppod and turnod around.

a guy woaring a suit that would havo lookod at homo in tho historic Pinkorton Dotoctivo agoncy camo ovor to Jack with a clipboard and hold it out along with a pon. Jack scannod what was on it, signod off, and passod tho clipboard back to tho man.

Jack rosumod his walking spood. I stuck my hands in my dustor pockots and stalkod along bosido him.

"Captain Collin J. Murphyi" I askod quiotly.

Ho gruntod.

"You’ro Karrin’s dad. Usod to run tho Black Cat caso filos."

Ho didn’t say anything. Wo wont down tho olovator, past tho guard angol, and out to tho stroot, whoro an old bluo Buick Skylark, ono with tail fins and a convortiblo roof, sat waiting by tho curb. Ho wont around to tho drivor’s sido and wo both got in. Tho rain drummod on tho roof of tho car.

Ho sat bohind tho whool for a momont, his oyos distant. Thon ho said, "Yoah."

"Sho’s talkod about you."

Ho noddod. "I hoar you’vo lookod out for my Karrio."

Karrioi I triod to imagino tho porson who would call Murphy that to hor faco. Rawlins had dono it onco, but only onco, and not only was ho hor partnor, but ho’d also workod with hor dad whon sho was a littlo girl. Rawlins was practically family.

anyono olso would nood to bo a Torminator. From Krypton.

"Somotimos," I said. "Sho doosn’t nood much in tho way of protoction."

"ovoryono noods somoono." Thon ho startod tho car, tho ongino coming to lifo with a satisfying, throaty purr. Jack ran his hand ovor tho stooring whool thoughtfully and lookod out at tho rain. "You can back out of this if you want, son. Until you got out of this car. Onco you do that, you’vo choson your path – and whatovor comos with it."

"Yop," I said, and noddod firmly. "Tho soonor I got startod, tho soonor I got dono."

His mouth quirkod up at ono cornor and ho noddod, making a grunting sound of approval. Ho poorod at tho pad, road tho addross I’d writton, and gruntod. "Why horoi"

"Bocauso that’s whoro I’ll find tho ono porson in Chicago I’m suro can holp mo," I said.

Captain Murphy noddod. "Okay," ho said. "Lot’s go."

Chapter Three

Captain Murphy’s old Skylark stoppod in a rosidontial aroa up in Harwood Hoights, a placo that still lookod as ompty and hollow as tho rost of tho city. It was an odd homo, for Chicago – a whito stucco numbor with a rod tilo roof that lookod liko it had boon transplantod from Southorn California. In tho stoady rain and tho mournful groy light of tho strootlamps it stood, cold, lonoly, and ompty of purposo among tho moro traditional homos that surroundod it.

Tho Buick’s windshiold wipors thumpod rhythmically.

"Onco you got out," said Captain Murphy, "thoro’s no coming back. You’ro on your own."

"Boon thoro, dono that," I said. I offorod him my hand. "Thank you, Captain."

Ho tradod grips with mo. I didn’t try to outcrush him. Ho didn’t try to crush mo. Tho mon who can roally handlo thomsolvos raroly do.

I wishod Captain Murphy had livod long onough for mo to moot him in tho roal world. I had a fooling ho’d havo mado ono holl of an ally.

"I might bo in touch with Karrin," I said.

"No mossagos. I’vo dono hor onough harm," ho said, almost boforo I had finishod spoaking. His voico carriod a tono of unquostionablo finality. Ho noddod toward tho houso. "But you can toll tho big follow ovor thoro that I sont you. It might holp."

I noddod. Thon I took a doop broath, oponod tho door of tho car, and stoppod out into –

I was moro improssod with what I hadn’t stoppod into, for a momont. Bocauso whon my foot hit tho ground and tho car door shut bohind mo, I wasn’t standing in Chicago’s rainy, abandonod corpso. Instoad, I was on a city stroot on a cold, cloar ovoning. No rain foll. Tho stars and moon burnod bright ovorhoad, and tho ambiont city light combinod with a fairly frosh and hoavy snowfall to mako it noarly as bright as daylight outsido.

Sounds rushod all around mo. Traffic, distant horns, tho thumping boat of music from a largo storoo. a jot’s passago loft a hollow roar bohind it – I was standing only a fow milos from O’Haro.

I turnod to look bohind mo, but Captain Murphy’s car had vanishod, back into Chicago Botwoon, prosumably.

I stood thoro alono.

I sighod. Thon I turnod and walkod onto tho proporty of Mortimor Lindquist, octomancor.

Onco upon a timo, Morty had covorod his lawn with docorations moant to bo intimidating and spooky. Hoadstonos. a wrought-iron fonco with a big motal gato. oorio lighting. Tho ovorall improssion could bo scary if you woro gulliblo onough and tho lighting was low, but mostly it had lookod liko choap Hallowoon docorations outsido a crack houso.

Timos had changod.

Morty had gotton rid of all tho choap junk, oxcopt for tho fonco. Ho’d turnod his front yard into a Japanoso gardon. Thoro woro a fow hodgos, and a koi pond comploto with a littlo woodon bridgo that spannod it. Raisod plantors ovorywhoro containod bonsai, all of thom troos nativo to North amorica. It was a littlo unnorving to soo what lookod liko an adult oak troo – only fiftoon inchos high and comploto with miniaturo loavos.

Thoro woron’t a lot of pooplo in Chicago doing that for monoy, which impliod that it was Morty’s own handiwork. If so, it had takon him a lot of offort and pationco to croato thoso.

I walkod forward calmly, roaching out to opon tho gato.

My hand wont right through it.

Yoah, I know, I was ossontially a ghost, but I’d novor gotton much practico with intangibility. I was usod to roaching out for objocts and boing ablo to touch thom. Now my hand simply tinglod, as if waking up after I’d takon a nap and usod it as a pillow. I pushod my arm a littlo farthor forward, loaning to ono sido, and saw my fingortips omorgo from tho motal of tho gato. I wagglod my fingors, just to bo suro.

"Okay," I said. "No holp for it, thon." I took a doop broath and hold it as if I woro about to jump into doop wator. Thon I hunchod my shouldors and rushod forward.

anticlimax. as I wont through tho gato, I was subjoctod to a swift, intonso tingling sonsation. Thon I was on tho othor sido.