Ghostly Investigations

Chapter 1-1

Chapter 1

Jon never thought, in all his twenty-eight years of life, he might have to solve his own murder—or at least try to. Not until he saw his body sprawled face down in the lot behind the apartment building where he’d lived for the last five years.

“No wonder I have a headache,” he muttered, even though no one could hear him.

There were police, and people he figured were crime scene investigators from what they were wearing, hovering over his body. It was obvious how he’d died. His skull was crushed in.

“Do we have any witnesses?” one of the detectives asked a police officer, pulling on latex gloves as he spoke.

“Nope,” the officer replied. “At least no one who’s come forward to say they saw something. Not too surprising, given the hour.”

“Do we know who he is?” the detective asked the man examining the body.

The man handed the detective a wallet. “Found it under the body.”

“Jonathan Calvin Watts,” the detective announced after opening the wallet to check the driver’s license.

“That would be me,” Jon said from the top of the retaining wall surrounding the parking lot. Of course I can’t tell them that, damn it. Or who killed me, because I haven’t a clue.

“It wasn’t robbery,” the detective commented. “There’s over five hundred dollars cash in here.”

There’s what? Jon’s eyes opened wide in shock. Me and five hundred dollars in cash do not belong in the same sentence. I’m lucky if I made twenty in tips—on a damned good night.

The detective crouched beside the—Jon figured it was the medical examiner, from the TV shows he’d watched. “Any idea what was used to kill him?”

“Something heavy?” The ME smirked, but then sobered. “Not yet. I won’t begin to guess until I do the autopsy. Could have been a pipe, a bat, maybe a tree branch. There’s enough of those around. Looks like someone was getting rid of a dead tree.” He pointed to a spot a few feet from where Jon was perched. It was littered with branches surrounding a sawed-off tree trunk.

“Weapon of opportunity,” the detective said, getting a nod from the ME. He stood, going to talk to a pair of officers. They immediately went over to the pile of branches. Jon was certain they were checking to see if one of them had been used to killed him.

Not that he had the remotest idea. The last thing he remembered was parking his car in the lot and then starting toward the back door of the building where he lived. There was a sound from behind him, he started to turn and…

Pain, blackness, and now this. He touched the back of his head. It felt fine to him. Maybe when you die and come back as a ghost, the damage goes away? Hell if I know. He didn’t like that idea. Not because the head on his ghostly shoulders wasn’t bashed in. It was the fact he was a ghost in the first place that pissed him off.

Why aren’t I…He waved his hand toward the dark, star-studded sky. Or even in the other place. How come I’m still here?

He’d read stories about ghosts, and figured they were a bunch of BS. “Ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties and things that go bump in the night,” he said under his breath. “Stories to scare kids at Halloween.”

Still, at the moment, he was beginning to wonder if there was some truth in the part about not moving on because a dead person had unfinished business. Like figuring out who killed me, and why? How the hell will I do that? He thought about it and figured maybe he wouldn’t. After all, that’s what the police are for. Right?

“How long has he been dead?” Jon heard the detective ask.

“Rough estimate, two to three hours,” the ME replied. “I’ll know better when I get the body on the table for the autopsy.”

Jon shuddered. It wasn’t like, in one part of his mind, he didn’t know that would happen. But the idea that his corpse was going to be cut up didn’t do much for him right now.

He watched with morbid fascination when his body was finally encased in a black bag and one of the people pulled the zipper up until Jon could no longer see anything of his mortal remains. He was tempted to follow when the bag was put into the coroner’s van.

Not that I can. I’d probably get to the edge of the lot and whatever runs this whole dead thing won’t let me go any farther.

Instead, rather than hanging around to watch the police and crime scene people keep doing their jobs, he drifted to the back door of what had been his apartment building. He reached for the door handle. It went right through his hand.

“Damn it to hell.”

“You’ve got a lot to learn, kid,” he heard from behind him.

Jon spun around to find a man standing there, grinning. Well, not a man, Jon realized, since he could faintly see the lights surrounding the crime scene through the guy.

“You’re a ghost, too,” Jon said. “And by the way, I’m not a kid. I’m twenty-eight.”

“You were twenty-eight. Now you’re a couple of hours old in afterlife terms.”

“As compared to you?” Jon replied belligerently.

“Yep. Have been this—” The ghost swept his hand down his body, “—for the last five years.”

Jon frowned. “I don’t remember anyone talking about another murder in the lot.”

“Why would they? I didn’t die here.”

“But I thought…” Jon frowned.

“Like I said, you’ve got a lot to learn.” The ghost held out his hand. “I’m Brody, by the way. Brody Ellis. I know you’re Jonathan.”

“Jon. I hate Jonathan.” Tentatively, Jon reached for Brody’s hand, although he was certain they couldn’t touch. To his surprise, they did. “So it’s only real things I can’t move or feel?” he asked.

“Not yet. Give it time. You wanted inside?” Brody replied, gesturing to the door.

“I live there. Lived. Damn it!”

Brody smiled compassionately. “I remember how it feels. You’ll get used to it in time.” He gripped the door handle, stared at it for a long moment, and managed to pull the door open. “You gotta concentrate. At least I still do, for heavy things. I know a lady who’s been around for more years than I have, who can deal with anything.” He chuckled. “Of course you don’t have to use the door. Just walk through it.”

“I’d…rather not,” Jon told him as they entered the building. “Then I’ll know I’m really, truly dead.” He shivered.

Brody smirked. “Like watching them work on your body didn’t clue you in?”

“Yeah. Well.”

“What floor do you live on?” Brody asked.

“The fourth.” Jon started down the hallway leading to the lobby.

“Let’s…No, let’s not. Not yet.”

“What?”

“I was going to say we could go straight up.” Brody pointed to the ceiling. “But you better get used to lateral travel first before trying vertical. We’ll work on that when we get to your place.”

Jon nodded as they entered the lobby.

“Well, aren’t we the lucky ones,” Brody said a moment later. He and Jon arrived at the elevator at the same time as the detective and one of the police officers Jon had seen by his body at the crime scene. The officer pushed the Up button.

As soon as the door opened, everyone stepped into the elevator. Obviously the detective and his companion weren’t aware they had company on the ride up.

When they got off, the detective said, “Number four-o-four should be this way,” as he started down the hallway toward Jon’s apartment. He was holding a set of keys that Jon recognized as his. The detective unlocked the door then switched on the lights in the living room. “Not bad, for a waiter,” he told the officer.

The officer nodded. “Even waiters can have good taste, Detective Harris.”

“I told you, call me Mike. Okay?”

Jon frowned as the detective began going through the drawers of the desk in one corner of the living room. “He’s prying.”

Brody shook his head. “He’s looking for anything that might tell him why someone wanted you dead.”

“He won’t find anything, since I don’t know why I was killed.”

Brody studied Jon. “What happened before the guy bashed your head in?”

“Huh?”

“Okay. Rephrase. Where were you before you got to the parking lot?”

Jon was thrown off by the question. “At work? I mean, yeah, I must have been.”

“You don’t remember?”

Jon squeezed his eyes shut, trying to picture it. “I drove into the lot, parked, got out, then walked toward the building. Something hit me—” he touched the back of his head, “—and that’s it.”

“Nothing before then?”

Taking a deep breath, Jon slowly shook his head. “Nothing. Well, I know I was a waiter, and how old I am. Stuff like that. But no details. Can ghosts get amnesia?”

“Got me. But if a blow to the head can cause it while you’re alive, maybe it carries over?”

“Do you remember your life, before you died?” Jon asked.

“In living color,” Brody said tightly. “I was thirty-four and they finally let me go undercover to bring down a drug dealer we were after. A feather in my cap, as far as I was concerned, since I’d been trying to get them to let me do undercover work. Anyway, I was walking down the street, about a week after I made it into the dealer’s gang. It was around two in the morning and I was heading to a meet. Some bastard shot me—once in the back, once in the shoulder. I’d bled out by the time someone found me.”

“Damn,” Jon whispered. “You were a cop?”

“Yeah.” Brody almost smiled. “A good one, until that happened. It made all the papers. They never found out who did it, even though it probably had to be someone in the gang who figured out I was a cop and decided to eliminate me. I guess I wasn’t as good at undercover work as I thought I was,” he added dryly.

“That sucks.”

“It did.”

Jon turned his attention to Detective Harris and the officer, who were now in the bedroom off the living room. “What do they think they’ll find in there, other than my clothes?” he asked Brody. Then something occurred to him. “They can’t hear us, can they?”

“Nope. We’re on a different plane of existence. At least that’s how I figure it. Here, but not here. Make sense?”

“I guess.”

Brody chuckled. “Go with it. Some people can see or hear us, but they’re few and far between.”

“I wish the detective would find something, even if it meant I was a crook. At least it would explain who wanted me dead.”

“There’s one thing you should consider, other than that,” Brody replied. “It could have been a mugging, pure and simple.”

“And they left a wad of cash in my wallet?”

“How much?”

“Five hundred bucks. I’m…I was a waiter, damn it. That much I do remember. Waiters don’t make that kind of tips.”

“Depends where they work,” Brody replied.

“Do I look like a guy who had a job at a high-class place?” Since he was wearing jeans, and a T-shirt under a plain blue work shirt, Jon knew he didn’t.

Brody shook his head. “Not at the moment. But you could have changed clothes before you left.”

“I guess.”

Jon paused when he heard the police office say, “I haven’t found anything that’ll help us figure out why Mr. Watts was killed. Maybe it really was a mugging, Mike.”

“What kind of mugger leaves without taking the vic’s wallet? Remember, it was on the ground under Mr. Watts’ body.”

Jon winced at the body part, while shooting a look at Brody. “See. He agrees with me.”

“Maybe the mugger got frightened off by someone,” the officer replied to the detective’s comment. He frowned. “But, if that was the case, why didn’t whoever saw it happening come forward to talk to us? Or at least call it in?”

“That, I can’t answer,” Detective Harris replied. “Okay. I think we’ve learned all we can in here, for now. Let’s get back outside and see if the crime scene people have found anything.”

Jon started to follow them, only to have Brody stop him. “We can find out later. Right now, you need a couple of lessons on getting in and out of places without using doors.”

“Like walking through walls? That’s only in movies.”

“Oh?” Brody walked to, and then through the wall. Jon saw him fade out of sight as he did.

When Brody came back, a few feet from where he’d left, Jon walked to the wall, ending up nose to paint with it. “How did you do that?”

“Believe you can. From what I’ve read, some theories say we’re made up of neutrinos.”

“Huh?”

“They’re particles that are smaller than atoms so they’re able to pass through objects. Other theories say we’re plasma. I’m no scientist, so I couldn’t say. All I know is, once I believed I could walk through walls, or go through floors, it happened.”

“Well, I saw you do it, so maybe…” Jon imagined himself walking through the wall. Seconds later he was in the hallway.

“See,” Brody said, joining him. “It’s all mind over matter.”

“Literally,” Jon replied, then tried it again. He was in and out of his apartment before he could have counted to five. “Okay, I’ve got the hang of that, now. Another question.”

Brody lifted an eyebrow. “Only one?”

“For now. Why are you here? And how can you be? I thought ghosts were stuck where they were killed, or died.”

“Come on. How could we right the situation and move on if that was the truth?”

Jon thought about it then nodded. “Makes sense.”

“Yep. Ready to go see if our intrepid detective and his crew have found any clues?”

“Sure.” Jon started toward the elevator before realizing Brody wasn’t there. Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to go through the floors. He pumped a fist when he ended up beside Brody. They walked out back the fast way, without the benefit of opening the door.

Detective Harris was talking to some of his people.

“Nothing in his car,” one of the men said. “The glove compartment’s empty. So’s the trunk, other than the spare tire, a jack, and a lug wrench.”

“There should have been stuff in the glove compartment,” Jon said to Brody. “The usual junk, but…”

“Maybe whoever killed you grabbed whatever was there to go through later. Presuming they were after something they thought you had, or knew.”

“I don’t know anything!” Jon protested. “I’m lucky I remember my name and what I did for a living.”

“Unfortunately—which is not going to help us find your killer. But what about before he killed you?”

“Meaning I did know something, or…something?” Jon grimaced. “My language skills suck right now.”

Brody shrugged. “I got what you meant.”

Jon glanced at him in question. “Why do you want to get involved? Why are you here anyway?”

“I’m here because I heard about your murder on my police scanner.”

“Right. Sure. You have one, why?”

“I was a cop. Remember? Five years ago, but I still try to keep up with…things.”

“Like finding ghosts who hang around after they’ve been murdered?”

“Yep, though you’re the first one I’ve found in quite some while. I suspect that the ghost of the dead guy usually knows why he was killed, and who’d done it, so he can move on. Or the cops figure it out, which is basically the same thing.”

“Are you still looking for your killer?”

Brody nodded. “I haven’t had any luck. Obviously. I wouldn’t be here if I had. I was ambushed and whoever shot me didn’t leave any clues behind.”

“But…”

“Umm?”

“Even if you do figure out who did it, or I find out who killed me, what good does it do if they don’t get caught? It’s not like we can go to the cops with our proof.”

“Yeah,” Brody admitted. “I haven’t quite figured that part out yet.”

“Meaning we’re still stuck here.”

“Don’t give up hope. Maybe just knowing who the killer was is enough to let us move on. At least I hope it is,” Brody added under his breath.

“What do we do now?” Jon asked when he realized the police and crime scene people were getting ready to leave.

“Ride along with the good detective and see what goes into his report. He’ll do one before he heads home for what’s left of the night.”

“You’re sure?”

“Jon, I was a cop. Remember? I know the routine.”

With that said, Brody and Jon got into the detective’s car—without opening the doors.