Seeing the Light (A Marie Jenner Mystery Book 1) Read online

  “Did you know that even ultimate terror can get boring?” he asked. “I bet you didn’t.”

  “No, I didn’t,” I said. “Please tell me what happened.”

  “The voice was back. Didn’t sound like anybody talking through water, this time, though. More like talking through a tube.” He shrugged. “I think the voice was saying ‘that would sell on Ebay’, or something. Then white. And then it would start all again. Thirty-five to forty seconds, tops. Over and over, for three fucking days.” He gasped as though he’d used every last bit of his strength.

  I tried to think of something to say that would comfort him, but nothing came.

  “I don’t want to go back there,” he said.

  “I wish I could stop it, but I can’t.” I meant it. What if he got stuck in that nightmare place, without the strength to make it back? He’d truly be in hell. “I still think you’re trying to figure something out.”

  “Something?”

  “Yes. Something.”

  “Like who killed me?”

  “Could be.”

  “What the hell else could it be?”

  “Lots of things,” I said. I knew I sounded way too eager, but he’d finally asked about the process. I wanted to give him as much information as I could before he shut me down again. For a second, I wondered if this was the way my mother felt, when she was trying to talk to me.

  “Remembering what happened to you could give you some insight into the way you lived your life.” I thought of Sally, and how quickly she moved on, once she realized how she’d died. It had been such a quick jump for her—maybe Farley would be the same.

  “Maybe you’ll remember somebody you hurt or helped, someone who you loved or hated. Lots of things.”

  “But it could be who killed me.”

  “Yes,” I sighed. “It could.”

  “Once I figure it out, you’ll help me get the bastards?”

  Oh. He wasn’t looking for the truth. He was looking for revenge. That explained so much.

  “No,” I said. He had to quit thinking about revenge. Revenge was dangerous.

  “No?” He struggled to sit up. “No?”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t do that?”

  “I mean, this can’t be about revenge. If someone did something illegal, I’ll make sure the police get the information, all right? However, this can’t be about revenge.”

  “Why not?” He had started whining, and, even though I was trying really hard to be sympathetic and all that, the tone was getting on my nerves.

  “Because it has to be about you,” I said through gritted teeth. “How you are with things from your life.”

  “I’ve heard this before,” he snapped.

  “I know.” I sighed, my anger collapsing into despair. Why wasn’t he getting it? “There isn’t much else to say. Examine your life, figure out what’s holding you here, and make peace with it. It’s simple, in principle.”

  He sat even straighter, and through the ash of his face, I thought I saw a faint tinge of light. “If all of this can’t be about revenge, then why the hell should I bother?”

  “Because revenge takes your light away, Farley,” I said. “Soon, not even I will be able to see you. You’ve lost so much light, I can barely see you now.”

  He stared at me like I’d stuck a knife into his gut. Then he growled wordlessly, and pulled himself to standing.

  “If you won’t help me, I’ll do it myself,” he said, wounded pride oozing through every word. The interesting thing was, he gained a little more light. Trust Farley to find a way to gain strength this way. “I gotta go.”

  “Those nightmares hold the answer, I think,” I said. “There has to be a reason you keep going there. Think about it, Farley. Think hard.”

  He didn’t answer me. He simply trudged to the door and oozed through, out of my sight.

  So, I went back to work. I mean, what else could I do? Mr. Latterson was still in his office, after all, so I couldn’t just wander off. But the bit of light Farley was emanating cheered me. Even if I couldn’t follow him. I could wait until Mr. Latterson left. Farley would still be here. I was sure of it.

  I was typing up another “I’ll pay you when I can,” letter for Mr. Latterson, when he buzzed me on the intercom. “Coffee,” he demanded. “Now.”

  I glanced at the Bunn, quickly calculating how long the coffee had been sitting. Nearly two hours. I figured if I added a bit more sugar, he wouldn’t notice.

  I doped his coffee and knocked on his door. Before he answered, I walked in. He didn’t notice me, because he was on the phone, his face purple as he screeched, “If you don’t get this done, I will kill you, you stunned son of a bitch!”

  That stopped me in my tracks. It almost made me drop the coffee cup, to be honest. Mr. Latterson finally noticed me, gasped, and slammed his hand over the receiver.

  “Put it down and get out,” he said. He was breathing as though he’d run a hard mile, and I imagined his heart was straining in his chest like a horse ridden close to death.

  “Yes, sir,” I said. “Sorry.”

  I put down the cup, thankfully without spilling any coffee on his desk, and backed away. As I opened the door to the reception area he returned to his conversation, so he didn’t notice me leave the door open, just a crack. I had to hear the end of this conversation. It could possibly have something to do with the information I’d gathered for James.

  “I only have three more days, do you understand me?” Mr. Latterson said. “If this deal goes south, you aren’t worth shit to me anymore. Am I making myself clear?”

  There was total silence in his office for a moment, and I could hear his teeth grinding as he listened to whoever was trying to soothe him on the other end of the line. I wished I was back at my desk, and not frozen to the slightly open door. If he burst out of that office, I knew I’d die of fright. However, he was still on the phone, literally choking on his next words.

  “I don’t give a flying fuck, you incredible moron! This deal has to go through. Do! You! Understand! Me?!”

  There was more quiet. All I could hear was Mr. Latterson’s ragged breathing. I could almost see him clutching the phone to his ear with a fist so tight every knuckle looked like it would pop right out of the skin.

  “Fine,” he finally said. He sounded calmer, which meant slightly less crazy. “Just do it.”

  I headed back to my desk on tiptoe. He said something else I couldn’t make out as I carefully settled in my chair, intent on not making a sound. And then he laughed.

  It was that dirty schoolboy locker room laugh all men have laughed, usually when they are talking about women in a bad way. It made my skin crawl. What had he said, and who was he talking about?

  I wished for about a second that I hadn’t snuck away from the door. That wish turned to watery-stomached relief when the door slammed open and he was at my desk. I’d barely made it.

  “Have you finished that letter yet?”

  I blinked and gaped like a fish out of water, then managed to gasp, “No.”

  “Well, get it done,” he said. He stood, staring at me.

  “Now?” I whispered. I was afraid to put my hands on the keys of the typewriter, to be honest. My hands were shaking so badly, I knew they’d give me away.

  He didn’t move. “Yes,” he said. “Get it done right now.”

  I willed my hands to calmness, and began typing. It went well, all things considered, and after just a few moments, it was done, and I handed it to him with a flourish. He ignored it.

  “I have another letter for you to send,” he said. “Take notes.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, and grabbed my dictation pad. I frantically scribbled down his rambling, this time to a lawyer. I wondered if the lawyer was his soon to be ex-wife’s. When he pleaded insolvency, I was sure I was right.

  Why was he talking about this in front of me? Maybe he was trying to have me be part of the fraud. “Oh yes,” I�
�d have to say to his ex-wife’s lawyer. “He couldn’t pay anyone. He couldn’t even pay me.”

  This thought ran roughshod over my fear, replacing it with anger. Son of a gun. I was going to get ripped off, too. The information I’d given James was going to help Mrs. Latterson and her kids, but it wasn’t going to do a thing to help me.

  “You got a problem?”

  I looked up, and Mr. Latterson was staring at me as though he’d read my mind. Maybe I wasn’t as good at hiding my feelings as I thought.

  “Are—are you going to be able to pay me?” I asked.

  “Why would you ask me that?” he glared. I wasn’t backing down. The only reason I’d taken this stupid job was because he’d promised to pay me more than I was being paid at the cab company. If he was going to rip me off, he’d have to tell me to my face.

  I pointed to the letter I had just finished typing, and then to my dictation pad. He frowned as though he didn’t understand, then laughed.

  “Oh, these?” he asked. “Nothing for you to worry about. Really. You will be paid.”

  “You guarantee it?” I asked.

  “Absolutely.” His face momentarily went to stone. “You’ll get everything you deserve.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered, and turned back to the pad.

  He hadn’t made me feel any more secure. As a matter of fact, the look on his face had frightened me more than I wanted to admit. It didn’t help that Farley decided to return at exactly that moment.

  My heart nearly jumped out of my chest as he burst through the closed door, ecto goo splashing everywhere.

  “You are in danger!” he cried, then shambled to a stop in front of my desk, and stared at Mr. Latterson. “Huh,” he said. “Took me longer to get here than I thought it would. He was in his office—”

  I glanced at him for a second, hoping he’d get the hint and shut up. I was surprised at how much brighter he was. Something out there had given him strength—but I didn’t have time to figure that out. Mr. Latterson was back to dictating his “I have no money” letter, and I had to keep up. It was hard though, because Farley walked up to Mr. Latterson and stopped, inches from him.

  It looked like he was staring at Mr. Latterson’s sweat stains. I kid you not.

  Now, Mr. Latterson was sweating more than usual, that was true. I suspected that the phone call had stressed him out. A lot. Still, it was eerie the way Farley stared at Mr. Latterson’s back. The sweat stain right in the middle of his off white shirt was growing. Even I could see that. It was so wet, I could see the skin and the hair of his back through the fabric.

  I hadn’t realized Mr. Latterson was so hairy.

  As he droned on about thin profit margins and the exchange rate of the dollar, Farley began to sway. For a moment, I was afraid he was going to drop to the floor—or worse, disappear again—but he turned to me, and stared, whispering, “I have to save you.”

  I jumped when Mr. Latterson rapped his knuckles on my desk. “Did you get that?”

  “Yes,” I said, hoping I wasn’t lying.

  “Type it now, and put it with the others,” he said, and then disappeared into his office. I heard the door click shut, but skittered over to it and made sure it was closed, anyhow. He didn’t need to hear me talking to Farley.

  “I’m glad you’re back,” I said. “I was afraid—”

  “Marie, shut up for a minute,” Farley said, staring right into my eyes. “I got something important to tell you. I heard Don, down in the furnace room. I heard Don.”

  “Mr. Latterson wasn’t in the furnace room. He’s been in his office all day. What are you talking about?”

  “I heard him—I was down in the furnace room—I could hear him through the furnace vents. He was on the phone, talking to somebody. He’s doing something . . . something.” He fell silent, still staring at me as though he couldn’t look away, and groaned. “God dammit, what’s wrong with my mind? This is important!”

  He was whimpering. He sounded so afraid that I did my best to calm him.

  “Relax. This happens, happens sometimes.” I stared into his eyes, giving him a way to connect. “You’ll come back. Give yourself a second.”

  “All right,” he said after a moment. “I feel better. Much better.”

  “I told you,” I said.

  Then he reacted in true Farley form. He got angry.

  “How the hell am I supposed to get any work done if my fucking mind keeps fading in and out like that?” he yelled, then shook his head. “Forget it. This is more important. Macho Don is going to do something sinister.”

  I tried to keep the smile from my face, but I could tell by his look that I was unsuccessful. “Sinister?”

  “Yes,” he barked. “Sinister. He’s got some big deal planned for three days from now, and he said that you’re part of it.”

  “I’m part of—?” Then I stopped in mid-sentence as another thought hit me. “Tell me again how you heard this? Mr. Latterson never left his office.”

  “Through the furnace vents,” he said, again. “Why?”

  I started to feel excited, and a little bit hopeful. Like I was on the verge of connecting a couple of really big dots. “When you were alive, did you listen to people through the furnace vents?”

  He had the good grace to look embarrassed. “Sometimes.”

  “Did Mr. Latterson’s voice sound like the voice you heard in your nightmare?”

  “What?” He glared at me as though I was suddenly speaking Greek. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Mr. Latterson’s voice through the furnace vent. Was that the voice you heard in your nightmare?”

  “Oh.” He frowned. “Huh.” Then he shook his head. “Similar, maybe, but it wasn’t Macho Don.”

  “Are you sure?” My disappointment cut through me so hard I almost checked to see if I was bleeding.

  “It couldn’t have been,” Farley said. “Macho Don moved into this office after I died. That nightmare is my death.” He shuddered. “Over and over, my death.”

  “So, it was someone else’s voice you heard,” I said. “Any idea whose?”

  “No.” Surprisingly, he smiled. “There are only a few offices that I can hear in the furnace room. So, it’d be one of them.”

  “Good,” I said, putting a clean piece of paper in the typewriter and bashing out Mr. Latterson’s letter to the lawyer. I was still massively disappointed that it wasn’t Mr. Latterson that Farley was hearing in his nightmare. I was really starting to dislike Mr. Latterson.

  “I’ll go check them out,” he said. “It shouldn’t take me too long. Promise me you’ll watch yourself, okay?”

  “Watch myself?”

  “Macho Don is trouble, Marie. Real trouble, I think.” He shook his head. “You didn’t hear him talking about you. Like you were meat or something.”

  I stopped typing the letter and stared at him. “Did he laugh?’ I asked, my voice catching in my throat.

  “Yeah,” Farley said.

  I stared down at the half-finished letter, and felt sick. He’d been talking about me. Laughing about me. I thought for a moment about leaving, then I gave my head a shake. A dirty laugh wasn’t enough to force me out. I needed to stay.

  It didn’t have anything to do with the money he was supposed to pay me, anymore. It was about helping Farley move on.

  He wasn’t going to be able to do that if he thought he could protect me. He had to quit worrying about me, and concentrate on himself. I was certain he’d never do that if he thought that I was in danger. So, I tried to lighten things, and get his mind off what he’d heard about me.

  “Men are pigs,” I said, shrugging. “What can you do?”

  “Kick him in the nuts,” Farley said. “For a start.”

  I laughed a little. “Maybe I’ll try that,” I said. “I appreciate the fact that you’re trying to look out for my best interests.”

  I smiled at him, and he smiled back.

  “I wish—” He took a deep breath and
blew it out. “I wish I could stick around and watch you finish growing up.” He said it fast, bravado leaking out of him like summer sweat. “I think you’re going to be amazing.”

  Oh my.

  “You know you can’t, right?” I asked.

  “I know.”

  “I appreciate it, though. I really do.” I turned away from him, pulling the plastic cover back over the typewriter, and trying to wrap my head around what he’d just said.

  First, he’d tried to warn me about danger, and then he’d actually said he wanted to stick around. Watch me grow up, or whatever. It sounded like maybe he was beginning to attach to me. And that was bad.

  I needed a game plan, some way to deal with this, but I couldn’t do it with him staring at me with his worried face. I was glad I legitimately had somewhere else to be.

  “Farley, I hate to do this, but I have to go.” I pulled my sweater from the hanger and pulled it over my shoulders. “I have a lunch date.”

  “Oh.” His face went from worried to snarky in a micro second. “Goin’ out with that guy—Johnson, or whatever his name is?”

  “His name is James, and no. I’m having lunch with Andrea Strickland, the woman who works in 310. Remember, you asked me to check out her boss, Ian Anderson? Apparently she has a favourite bar she goes to, around the corner from this place. She wants to ‘do lunch’. I think she’s lonely. Her boss is out of town for a few days.”

  “Know where he’s gone?” Farley asked.

  The snarky look disappeared the instant he found out I wasn’t seeing James. Good grief. Men don’t change, even when they’re dead.

  “Somewhere down south,” I said. “Las Vegas, I think.”

  “Vegas,” Farley breathed. Colour and light drained from him as he wrapped his arms around his chest as though he was going to fly into pieces right in front of me.

  “What’s wrong?” I gasped.

  “Nothing.” I watched him, and was hugely relieved to see a bit of his colour return. “Go have your lunch. Enjoy. I’ll wait for you.”

  I thought about staying, I really did, but eliminating Andrea’s boss as a “suspect” was more important than metaphorically holding Farley’s hand.