Phasmatta - ch 11-

Unable to help himself, Ryan adjusted his light coat. Pulling at the hem of it and forcing it tight across his back and shoulders.

Crowley, much like Daisy, and apparently the Mullins family, lived in a rural nowhere part of the state. With a good amount of land and an overwhelming amount of wild.

In the end, Tilly didn’t come with him.

She would be of more use back home, watching to see if anything got updated, changed, modified, deleted, or ‘lost’ in the shared databases. There was of course siloed databases she wouldn’t have access to that were held in Noxfield only, but she could see more than Ryan could.

On top of that, her daughter hadn’t slept well and wanted to go home.

Ryan hadn’t truly considered the complete implications of revealing ghosts to a child, but in the same breath, it’d been what he’d needed at the time. To get Tilly on board and tell him what she knew.

Which while helpful, hadn’t expanded his understanding of the situation. It’d only clarified his belief that Crowley was the only way into the situation at this time.

That or going to the police of Noxfield but that’s just-it’s a damn trap.

If I go ask questions, I’m opening myself up to someone else asking questions about me and why I’m asking about a dead cop.

Considering how obviously shady this is, they’d just immediately go to cover things up and-and… and why not

Actually, there’s no reason to not go ask the police chief directly. Or whoever’s in charge of homicide. Maybe even ask the local news stations.

It’d be far more likely to stir something up and at this point, it’s all dead ends and stagnant crap. If there’s nothing going on, I need to kick the damn bell and wake everyone up.

Blowing out the breath he’d been holding, Ryan looked for a doorbell, didn’t see one, and so grabbed the metallic knocker instead.

Giving it three solid wraps, Ryan put his hands behind his back and took a step away from the old wooden screen door. Making sure he was visible from one of the windows off to the left in case the now retired coroner Crowley wanted to take a peek at him.

Given they were in the south, Ryan expected there’d be a number of weapons in peoples hands and he didn’t want to end up on the wrong end of a shotgun.

Letting the home owner see him from a window might help.

Time ticked by and Ryan found the door didn’t budge even after several minutes. The door remained shut, no one answered, and no noise came from inside.

Given that the coroner was no longer answering his phone, it seemed he wanted nothign to do with anyone at this time. Like he was in hiding and keeping himself out of view.

Turning away from the home Ryan took several steps away and put his hand to his chin.

“Coroner doesn’t wanna talk about a cop getting killed,” Ryan mused. “Sorry Vern, sounds like Crowley’s a dead end. But… it’s also a clue in and of itself, isn’t it.

“Means someone strong enough, or with enough clout, or money, told him to shut up. Told him to be quiet. Not too many people like that I imagine in a place like Noxfield. Especially an old crotchety man.

“That leaves… the cops, a mayor, governor, something like that, or just straight up locals with means. Any of those possibilities a possibility Mullins?”

“I mean, yeah,” answered the detective. “Mayor was plenty powerful. Was the head of a bunch of city stuff and determined a lot of the politics. Threw money around a lot.

“Governor didn’t give a care much about us or any other city. That guy mostly stuck to himself and didn’t really get involved in much. Was somewhat of a blessing that he was more interested in Charleston.

“As to locals, there were a few but nothing overt.

“Cops weren’t much of an issue. We all just kept to ourself and did our thing. No big inter-police politics or anything like that.

“Before you ask, the sheriff and their deputies were more busy than we were at times. They didn’t really seem to have time to bother anything other than ranging out to the nowheres to answer calls.”

Thinking on that, Ryan scratched at his arm and moved away from the home. Walking down the long walkway toward his car he was quiet for a long time.

Then he abruptly sighed.

“I’m not a detective, I’m a paranormal detective,” he grumbled then looked to Carl. “You showed me the fancy character stuff. I admit I ignored a lot of it. Often.

“I’m asking now though. I want to know. I need to know.

“Do I have any weird abilities? Or special quirks? I know… I know I’m not normal anymore. That I can see peoples souls, or what I think are souls, and see them for what they are. Is there more? To it, or otherwise?”

“Now you want to know, huh?” Carl asked from where he was floating along near Ryan.

Where-as Vern tended to walk, move, and carry himself like a person who’d lived a long life, Carl did strange things. Carl behaved in a way that seemed whimsical and without a care for expectations.

Floating, moving throubh objects, gliding along upside-down, putting his head through walls just to peek to the other side.

Or the floor.

Carl acted as a child would, Ryan felt. Someone who was disconnected from the world and it’s rules.

“I do want to know, Carl. I’m sorry for ignoring it for so long. I had honestly thought it was just you being strange,” Ryan confessed and opened up the driver’s side door.

Only to see Vern try to open the passenger side, flinch, then just move through the door to sit in the car. The man was long dead, but hadn’t truly adjusted to it.

Accepted their death.

He’ll pass the damn second we solve his murder.

“Your primary is ability is Soul’s Mirror. It lets you see how someone views their own soul against their beliefs. Not your beliefs. Not your own viewpoint. Not your morality.

“Theirs and only theirs. Their beliefs and their morality.

“You used it on that duo from the Roman Catholic church. You let yourself see them as they saw themselves against their beliefs. They shone brightly as they were pinnacles to their beliefs.

“Given how strongly they believe, your parting words likely bolstered them significantly.

“That’s your primary ability and what you’ve got going for you at your current level. You’ve got a lot of other ones that are toggles and passives but… those are always running anymore.

“Like speaking to spirits. Seeing them. Or being able to tune it out and sleep at night. Others are your determination and strong will.

“Lots of abilities, but only one that you can activate. Right now at least.”

Soul’s Mirror.

“If I found the serial killer and looked at their soul, depending on their beliefs, they could shine just as brightly as that pretty Nun did, right?” Ryan asked.

“Exactly. A very useful ability, but not one that will acknowledge your viewpoint. Only theirs,” Carl explained. “No one can judge you, but those that you allow to do so. Which for the case of many, is their own belief.”

“Given that I’ve seen multiple demons from multiple religions… clearly there’s more to it than just taht,” Ryan stated accusingly. Leveling a look at Carl who currently had only his face sticking through the roof of the car.

“Of course there’s more. Lots! But that’s only for those that’ve crossed over to know. The living and the dead are both resigned to this material prison,” Carl answered, staring at Ryan in a way that made him feel like he wasn’t a child once again. Then the kid grinned and the moment was gone. “You’ll find out one day. When you die. So will I, when I pass over.”

Ryan felt his mind freeze up at that statement.

Carl rarely talked about his own death, why he was still here, or the idea of passing over. As if it were entirely unrelated to him and that his current existence was the only one he lived.

“I’m not… I’m not in purgatory? Or limbo?” asked Mullins suddenly.

Carl laughed loudly at that and turned to look at the detective. Looked at him for several seconds, then made a noise that sounded non-commital.

“I have no idea!” Carl answered. “Why are you asking a child that? I’m only guessing here, but I think there’s more to it.”

“You know far more than you should,” Mullins stated. It was something Ryan wanted to accuse Carl of directly himself multiple times. “You speak as if you know more. You talk to Ryan in a way that sounds like you know a great deal about him. More than he knows of himself, in fact.

“You also have been helping him with all that gaming stuff. You’re clearly more than what you’re appearing to be and I’m not going to sit here and pretend, even if Ryan is willing to do so.

“I have nothing to lose as the odd-man out, here. So. Are you just a ghost kid or are you going to admit you’re more and drop the charade?”

Ten seconds passed of Carl and Mullins staring at one another.

Before Carl merely smiled again, then withdrew his face from the car’s roof.

“To the police station then,” Ryan mumbled. “See what the hell we can shake loose.

“You said this was a serial killer case you were working, right Vern?”

“Sure was,” growled the detective with a small shake of his head. “Well, I thought it was a serial killer. No one else liked my idea and didn’t really like me moving with it. They all wrote it up as missing people. Blair Witch wannabe’s that got lost in the Appalachia.”

It took a moment for Ryan to reason Vern had said Appalachia.

It’d sounded like app-a-latch-a, instead.

***

Ryan knew he’d most definitely knocked something loose the moment he asked the desk sergeant about Vern Mullins.

The man stared at Ryan with what he could only describe as ‘cop-eyes’. Where he was judging him in the moment and trying to figure out if he needed his gun or not.

He was an older man that looked as if he’d only been stuck behind a desk because they needed to make room for rookies. Perhaps in his fifties that was still fit and had a good bit of muscle on him.

Dark brown eyes, hair going gray, and a smile that was as flat as a piece of paper.

After that, he’d been directed to take a seat and little else had happened.

No one checked on him.

Not for any reason.

He was left to sit in a chair.

Mullins had decided to go stalk around the building and see if he couldn’t overhear anything said about the situation. Since he could just walk into an office and listen, after all.

He’d left almost an hour ago when the desk sergeant had sent something electronically.

Carl hadn’t even come into the police office.

In fact, he hadn’t come back at all after Mullins had called him out. He’d simply left and made himself scarce.

Looking away from his phone, Ryan took in the desk sergeant again.

Mullins had said he’d known the man as an acquaintance but not well.

They’d been in different aspects of the job.

As Ryan looked, he opened himself up to the Soul’s Mirror ability, as Carl called it. Ryan just viewed it as an extension of seeing ghosts.

A living ghost.

Gazing into the desk sergeant, Ryan found the man was a host of shadows and lights. He was equal parts darkness and shining hope.

Someone who had seen too much.

Done too much.

Yet also had strove to do his best in all things and push ever onward.

He’d killed people, Ryan knew that.

This man had taken lives and it’d stained his belief system deeply. Whatever his religious views were, he personally thought of himself as ‘ruined’ for what he’d done.

The shining patches of light were the constant work he’d also put in to save people. Serve the public and do what he felt was correct as an officer of the law.

From Ryan’s point of view, the man seemed like the ideal police officer. Someone who would take on the ugliness out there, deal with it, and then try to continue on.

I bet this is a lot like how it would look if I peeked into service-members.

Looking back to his phone, Ryan blew out a breath through his nose.

“Mr. Hale?” asked a voice.

Looking up from his phone before he’d even unlocked it, Ryan saw a man standing beside the desk sergeant. He looked as if he were in his fifties as well.

Fully grey hair, hard blue eyes, and a face that was clean shaven.

Yet he looked even more worn down than the sergeant despite wearing a well made suit.

“Yes?” Ryan responded.

“I’m lieutenant Murphy,” the man said with a grim smile. “Would you be willing to come chat with me in my office?”

Ah shit.

Got my wish.

Standing up, Ryan stuck his phone in his pocket and ran his hands against his hips. Then nodded his head and went to the lieutenant.

Leading him away from the front lobby, the man took Ryan only a few turns further into the precinct and into a room.

It was most certainly an office for someone who’d put in the years.

There were pictures on the walls, small knick-knacks, medals, commendations, and even some sort of trophy. This was a person who was likely in line to become a captain or the chief.

The funneling effect tied to the peter principal weeded out the vast majority of people down to just a handful of people for even fewer positions.

“Have a seat,” the man huffed out and then sat down heavily in his own chair. He was glaring at Ryan even before he’d taken the proffered seat.

When Ryan had managed to take a seat, the lieutenant had clearly decided on a course of action to take.

“The hell do you wanna dig up the past for?” he hissed, his composure breaking with the question. It was as if he were angry and frightened at the same time.

Raising his eyebrows, Ryan opened himself up to the lieutenants ghost as he formulated a response.

What he got back was an ugly morass of near blackness.

Wrongness.

Whatever belief set the lieutenant had, he clearly was failing it miserably. His convictions were overwhelming him at some level and he was clearly not on the path he wanted to be.

There was also a massive writhing line of something stringing through it that seemed to be on the surface. When Ryan looked at it, he could tell immediately it was about Vern’s death.

Something ate at the lieutenant deeply and was being actively being exacerbated by Ryan’s questions and presence.

“Because he was murdered,” Ryan answered as he grasped at the live-wire of guilt over Vern’s death that twisted through the lieutenant. “Murdered and the whole thing was covered up. No one wants to talk about it. Everyone’s hiding something about it.”

The lieutenant’s guilt, his darkness, deepened rapidly. It grew and vibrated at the same time. Ryan’s words were clearly triggering a reaction in the man.

“Hah, you sound like his girlfriend and daughter,” accused the lieutenant with a wave of his hand. Leaning back in his office chair as he said it. “He had a heart-attack. It’s that simple. He overworked himself. He worked hard. He worked well. He worked too much.”

The way the lieutenant rambled that out felt strange to Ryan.

“I mean, I did work a lot,” Mullins agreed, stepping up to the lieutenants desk and peering at a photo. “A lot. Murphy did, too. He was only a little older then me but we had roughly the same amount of time on the job.

“We didn’t much like one another. Too much overlap and we often had a different way to approach things. He tended to think of people as disposable and had been overly hardened by the job.”

“Nothing to say, huh? Not a damn thing?” growled out the lieutenant. Ryan had been busy listening to Mullins rather than responding.

“I think it was a murder,” Ryan answered. “I’ve spoken to Tilly and she certainly has a reason to believe it. She knew him and didn’t think for a moment that he just had a heart attack. There was also that pool of b—”

“Blood,” interuptted the lieutenant. “Yes, we checked it. Repeatedly. It’s his blood, but it doesn’t mean anything at all. He could’ve easily split his hand open after the divorce and just didn’t get to it in time. It was quite dry by the time we got to it.

“It could’ve been there for days. Weeks. There’s no way of knowing.”

“To be fair, I was a wreck after the divorce. I remember that,” admitted Vern with a sigh.

“Still. I think it was a murder,” Ryan stated with a shake of his head. He was watching the lieutenant’s ugly ghost the whole time the conversation was ongoing.

The guilt and strange shadows that covered the man had only grown the longer the conversation went on. Getting wider, darker, and deeper.

Guilt.

Extreme guilt over Vern’s death and the man’s own part that he played in it. That he was responsible in part for the cover-up.

Ryan couldn’t see any action that was tied to it, likely due to the age of the event, but it was obvious that the lieutenant was part and parcel to this.

“It wasn’t. It was a heart attack,” growled the lieutenant, his teeth clenched tight.

“Says the man orchestrating the cover-up,” Ryan added in an exasperated voice without thought. He didn’t quite consider the fact that the lieutenant could cause Ryan some serious headaches if he wanted to.

At least until after he’d said his idiotic comment, that was.

The lieutenant’s eyes flew open, staring at Ryan with anger.

Anger and frustration.

“Fine,” Ryan said with a shake of his head. Wanting to cut the tension down a level before he got thrown into jail for no reason, only to have charges dismissed later. “Can you at least tell me where his active case files went?

“I think he was killed by a serial killer who knew Vern was getting close. That he was on a trail that’d lead to the killer and the killer killed him instead.”

The lieutenant’s eyebrows lowered and moved toward one another as well.

A strange expression on the man’s already curled lips and red flushed face.

Yet he didn’t speak.

He didn’t respond at all.

He just sat there, staring at Ryan. As if he were chewing over exactly what Ryan had just said.

“Police notes for official or unofficial investigations aren’t subject to FOIA. It’s not an agency’s records,” answered the lieutenant. “Sure as hell wouldn’t give them to a random stranger who only showed up a few days ago, either.

“So you can take your sorry ass back to where-ever you came from and leave Vern alone. He’s dead, he’s gone, and he died of a heart attack. Anything else?”

“No,” Ryan said and stood up. He’d gotten a clue or two out of all this and shook the whole tree. Shook it like it was harvesting season and it was full of nuts.

Not waiting to be dismissed, partially becuse he was afraid the lieutenant would try to arrest him on something random, Ryan left.