Stella and Flack were watching Taylor. She had been alternating between wrapping her hair around her finger, pacing up and down, and flicking through Chloe’s notepads – Stella had pulled them out so she would have something to do.
“You ever feel like we don’t know enough about her?” muttered Flack.
Stella stared at the journalist – she was currently flicking through a notebook. “I know what you mean. We have spent almost as much time working with her as we have Lindsay, but because she isn’t actually one of us…” Stella sighed, trailing off.
“Do you actually think she sees ghosts?” Flack asked, his eyes on Stella.
Stella sighed again, “I – she told me something once, something that I never told anyone, about an imaginary friend I had when I was younger. The only way she could have known that is if… I don’t know, Don. But she wouldn’t be here this much if she truly didn’t believe it.”
“So you’re saying she could be crazy?” said Flack, glancing back at Taylor.
“That’s just it. I don’t think she is crazy,” Stella explained. “But every cell in me is telling me that ghosts don’t exist.”
“Ghosts don’t exist, Stelle,” Flack firmly pointed out.
“There is no experiment out there to prove they don’t,” Stella returned with a shrug of her shoulders.
“You ever feel like we don’t know enough about her?” muttered Flack.
Stella stared at the journalist – she was currently flicking through a notebook. “I know what you mean. We have spent almost as much time working with her as we have Lindsay, but because she isn’t actually one of us…” Stella sighed, trailing off.
“Do you actually think she sees ghosts?” Flack asked, his eyes on Stella.
Stella sighed again, “I – she told me something once, something that I never told anyone, about an imaginary friend I had when I was younger. The only way she could have known that is if… I don’t know, Don. But she wouldn’t be here this much if she truly didn’t believe it.”
“So you’re saying she could be crazy?” said Flack, glancing back at Taylor.
“That’s just it. I don’t think she is crazy,” Stella explained. “But every cell in me is telling me that ghosts don’t exist.”
“Ghosts don’t exist, Stelle,” Flack firmly pointed out.
“There is no experiment out there to prove they don’t,” Stella returned with a shrug of her shoulders.
* * *
Taylor rested her head in her hands as she poured over the notebook, completely oblivious that she was being watched. The pages were covered in squiggles and lines – shorthand – but she was so distracted, her brain wasn’t translating it for her. Finally, her eyes caught a word, well, a squiggle – ecstasy. She frowned and reread the page. This was why the ghost kept sending newspapers in her direction. She reread it to make sure, and got up, surprised to find Stella and Flack watching her. “Oh, hello.”
“How you holding up?” Stella asked her.
Taylor shrugged. “There’s not much I can do, at the moment. I’m just tired of feeling helpless.”
“What’ve you got?” Flack asked, pointing to the notebook.
Taylor looked up at him and smiled, grateful he had changed the subject. “It’s Chloe’s notebook.”
Flack glanced down. “It’s a bunch of squiggles.”
“Ah, come on, Flack, it doesn’t look much different from your handwriting,” joked Stella.
“My writing isn’t that bed,” Flack objected.
Taylor smiled, she knew they were bickering for her benefit. “It’s shorthand. She was investigating a new supply of ecstasy on campus. From the sounds of things, she found a lead – the football team.” She flipped to the last page, “She says here that she was going to check out the local student bar on Saturday night. Last night.” She looked up at the two detectives, “We should check the bar out.”
Stella pursed her lips. “We shouldn’t be doing anything.”
“Oh, come on!” Taylor muttered, rolling her eyes. “It’s a student bar - it’s Fred’s. I used to go in there all the time.”
“Which is precisely why we should hand this case over to narcotics,” Flack told her, firmly.
“Don is right, Taylor,” Stella agreed. £You are not a detective.”
“Yes, but-”
“But the last time you decided to go undercover, you ended up with a knife being held to your throat,” Flack scowled at her.
Taylor pulled a face, scoffing loudly. “For the record, I didn’t go in undercover. I went in as a journalist.”
“Whatever!” said Flack. “You still ended up with a knife at your throat.”
“Fine,” sighed Taylor. She was too tired to argue. “I’m going to go home then.”
Stella and Flack exchanged a look, “Fine,” repeated Flack, “But I’m walking you.”
“I am perfectly capable of walking the few blocks myself,” Taylor retorted, scowling at him.
“Taylor, this is New York City. You’ve seen what can happen to women who walk the streets alone,” Stella told her.
“I’ve done it plenty of times before,” Taylor objected.
“Humour me,” Flack told her.
“How you holding up?” Stella asked her.
Taylor shrugged. “There’s not much I can do, at the moment. I’m just tired of feeling helpless.”
“What’ve you got?” Flack asked, pointing to the notebook.
Taylor looked up at him and smiled, grateful he had changed the subject. “It’s Chloe’s notebook.”
Flack glanced down. “It’s a bunch of squiggles.”
“Ah, come on, Flack, it doesn’t look much different from your handwriting,” joked Stella.
“My writing isn’t that bed,” Flack objected.
Taylor smiled, she knew they were bickering for her benefit. “It’s shorthand. She was investigating a new supply of ecstasy on campus. From the sounds of things, she found a lead – the football team.” She flipped to the last page, “She says here that she was going to check out the local student bar on Saturday night. Last night.” She looked up at the two detectives, “We should check the bar out.”
Stella pursed her lips. “We shouldn’t be doing anything.”
“Oh, come on!” Taylor muttered, rolling her eyes. “It’s a student bar - it’s Fred’s. I used to go in there all the time.”
“Which is precisely why we should hand this case over to narcotics,” Flack told her, firmly.
“Don is right, Taylor,” Stella agreed. £You are not a detective.”
“Yes, but-”
“But the last time you decided to go undercover, you ended up with a knife being held to your throat,” Flack scowled at her.
Taylor pulled a face, scoffing loudly. “For the record, I didn’t go in undercover. I went in as a journalist.”
“Whatever!” said Flack. “You still ended up with a knife at your throat.”
“Fine,” sighed Taylor. She was too tired to argue. “I’m going to go home then.”
Stella and Flack exchanged a look, “Fine,” repeated Flack, “But I’m walking you.”
“I am perfectly capable of walking the few blocks myself,” Taylor retorted, scowling at him.
“Taylor, this is New York City. You’ve seen what can happen to women who walk the streets alone,” Stella told her.
“I’ve done it plenty of times before,” Taylor objected.
“Humour me,” Flack told her.
* * *
An hour later, Taylor was stepping out of a desperately needed shower.
“Stop them.”
Taylor glanced up from the leg she was drying, “Hello Chloe,” she greeted the ghost tiredly.
“Stop them.”
She sighed. “I’m going, alright. I just needed to get changed first.” She wrapped the towel around her and stepped around the ghost to get to her room. She pulled some clothes out of the bottom of her closet – things she hadn’t worn since college. A pair of tight denim jeans, black pointy stilettos and a black halter-neck top.
She let her hair dry without straightening it – she always looked younger when her hair was curly, and only put the most basic of mascara on. She only really needed to drop a couple of years, as she looked younger than she was anyway. She grabbed her purse and left, grateful that Marty was at work.
Fred’s was a fair walk, so she hopped on the subway. As she emerged on the street level on the other side, she had the strangest feeling she was being followed, but when she looked back, there was no-one there. She shrugged to herself and walked the remaining block to Fred’s. It hadn’t changed much since she used to frequent it – just different music. She paid the door fee, got her wristband and went it.
The place was busy, for a Sunday night, but not that busy she couldn’t navigate or see across the bar with any difficulty. Not that much scoping of the place was needed. She spotted the football team with a bunch of girls – probably cheerleaders – playing beer pong in the back. She leant against the bar and ordered a drink, watching them.
She knew she was generalising, but after the cheerleaders at her high school made her life miserable the entire time she was there, she really had no sympathy for them. Put another way, they bullied her. The only reason that she got through high school was because of her job on the school paper, and of course, Maddy.
She swallowed her drink and ordered another one – just an orange juice this time. She was debating what to do, when a guy went up to one of the football players. It was the same time Chloe appeared and pointed to him.
The football player got up and started walking in Taylor’s direction, the other guy close behind. Taylor turned quickly to face the bar, hoping they wouldn’t have noticed her watching them. They didn’t seem to, and Taylor followed them out under the pretence of using her phone. Outside, she ducked behind the hood of a car and watched as they walked over to another car, a Ford, on the other side of the street and opened its trunk.
“What the hell are you doing here?” came an angry whisper.
Taylor nearly leapt four foot in the air as she spun around. “You followed me?” she whispered back, angrily.
“Of course I followed you,” Flack hissed at her. “I knew you would end up here, even though me and Stella told you specifically not to.”
Behind them, the trunk came crashing shut, and the two guys started to make their way back in Flack and Taylor’s direction. Taylor panicked, and did the first thing that came to mind. She grabbed Flack and kissed him.
The next thing she knew, his hands were in her hair, and she had grabbed his belt – he had changed into a button down shirt and pair of jeans – and pulled him closer. They fell heavily backwards into the car behind her. Well, Taylor could honestly say, that at that moment in time, Chloe, the drugs… even Maddy, were completely forgotten about – all she could concentrate on were his hands, and his tongue, as she ran her hands up his back. That was until oxygen became an issue. She snatched herself away from him, ducking under his arms, “They’ve gone,” she muttered, her face flushed.
“What the hell was that?” Flack asked, not even bothering to whisper as he stared at her, dumbfounded.
“It was a cover, doofas. Get over it.” she told him, straightening her hair with her hands.
“What about Marty?” Flack asked.
“What about Marty?” Taylor returned.
“He’s my friend.”
“He’s my friend, too. God, Flack, it was one kiss. It’s not going to happen again – don’t worry about that.” She stalked back into the club.
“What are you doing here?” Flack asked her as he caught up with her, after paying the doorman.
Taylor turned to stare at him. “Chloe’s ghost wanted me to come here, which I told you earlier, but you didn’t take me seriously then. You’re not taking me seriously now, which leads me to the question, what are you doing here?”
“Making sure you don’t get hurt,” he told her furiously.
“You don’t trust me,” realised Taylor. “You don’t think I can look after myself.”
“You have had a knife held to your neck by a murderer.”
“THAT HAPPENED ONCE!” Taylor finally snapped. “Are you going to hold it against me for the rest of my life?” she yelled at him, thankful that because of the music, not many people were able to hear their conversation.
“It’s not the best track record you’ve got going there. And it’s not just that incident – look what happened at the hospital today,” Flack responded. “Your friend’s boyfriend nearly hit you.”
“Is everything alright here?”
Great, they’d attracted security over there. “Everything is fine, thank you,” answered Taylor – to whom the question had been directed.
Flack nodded in agreement.
“Look,” said Taylor, as the man walked off. “Just go home. You don’t believe me about the ghosts, so there is actually no reason for you to be here.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Taylor,” Flack told her wearily. “If Stella knew I let you ride the subway by yourself, she would actually have my head.”
“It was you following me on the subway?” Taylor said, incredulously.
Flack took a deep breath. “I am not going to say anything.”
Taylor rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the football players. Except, by this point, they had all left. “Great!” she cried, throwing her arms in the air. She hurried back outside, but they were nowhere in sight, and the Ford had gone.
Taylor sighed and began heading back towards the subway, Flack right behind her. It wasn’t until they had gone underground that the two noticed they weren’t alone. Three of the football players were stood waiting for the same train as they were. “NYU sucks!” one of them yelled at her.
Taylor froze.
“What?” Flack asked her, noticing her tense up.
“You know how the other day someone threw a beer can at me?” Taylor asked Flack carefully. “That’s him – that’s his voice.”
Flack looked over Taylor’s shoulder at the three guys who were now playing a small, drunken version of soccer, kicking a can around. “You sure?” As Taylor nodded, he pulled out his cell phone and called dispatch, requesting backup. He was about to tell Taylor to stay where she was, but she had already started walking over.
“You owe me an apology,” she told the one who had thrown the can at her.
“I think it is you that owes the apology,” he told her. “An apology for being that fine.”
Taylor shot him a disgusted look. “Let me refresh your memory. A week ago you threw a beer can from your car at a girl in an NYU cheerleader outfit.”
The guys started laughing. “NYU sucks!” the guy told her.
“So you keep saying,” said Flack as he came over, throwing a glare at Taylor.
“And who are you?” the guy demanded, squaring up to him.
“NYPD,” Flack told him, pulling his ID out of his pocket. “And you are under arrest.”
“Under what charges?” the guy scoffed.
“Assault.”
The guy pulled a face, “Are you serious?”
“Don’t make me add being a jerk to that charge,” Flack said, turning him around and handcuffing him. He handed him over to the two uniforms who had appeared, and then turned to face Taylor, his face like thunder.
Taylor winced. The journey home was not going to be a pleasant one.
“Stop them.”
Taylor glanced up from the leg she was drying, “Hello Chloe,” she greeted the ghost tiredly.
“Stop them.”
She sighed. “I’m going, alright. I just needed to get changed first.” She wrapped the towel around her and stepped around the ghost to get to her room. She pulled some clothes out of the bottom of her closet – things she hadn’t worn since college. A pair of tight denim jeans, black pointy stilettos and a black halter-neck top.
She let her hair dry without straightening it – she always looked younger when her hair was curly, and only put the most basic of mascara on. She only really needed to drop a couple of years, as she looked younger than she was anyway. She grabbed her purse and left, grateful that Marty was at work.
Fred’s was a fair walk, so she hopped on the subway. As she emerged on the street level on the other side, she had the strangest feeling she was being followed, but when she looked back, there was no-one there. She shrugged to herself and walked the remaining block to Fred’s. It hadn’t changed much since she used to frequent it – just different music. She paid the door fee, got her wristband and went it.
The place was busy, for a Sunday night, but not that busy she couldn’t navigate or see across the bar with any difficulty. Not that much scoping of the place was needed. She spotted the football team with a bunch of girls – probably cheerleaders – playing beer pong in the back. She leant against the bar and ordered a drink, watching them.
She knew she was generalising, but after the cheerleaders at her high school made her life miserable the entire time she was there, she really had no sympathy for them. Put another way, they bullied her. The only reason that she got through high school was because of her job on the school paper, and of course, Maddy.
She swallowed her drink and ordered another one – just an orange juice this time. She was debating what to do, when a guy went up to one of the football players. It was the same time Chloe appeared and pointed to him.
The football player got up and started walking in Taylor’s direction, the other guy close behind. Taylor turned quickly to face the bar, hoping they wouldn’t have noticed her watching them. They didn’t seem to, and Taylor followed them out under the pretence of using her phone. Outside, she ducked behind the hood of a car and watched as they walked over to another car, a Ford, on the other side of the street and opened its trunk.
“What the hell are you doing here?” came an angry whisper.
Taylor nearly leapt four foot in the air as she spun around. “You followed me?” she whispered back, angrily.
“Of course I followed you,” Flack hissed at her. “I knew you would end up here, even though me and Stella told you specifically not to.”
Behind them, the trunk came crashing shut, and the two guys started to make their way back in Flack and Taylor’s direction. Taylor panicked, and did the first thing that came to mind. She grabbed Flack and kissed him.
The next thing she knew, his hands were in her hair, and she had grabbed his belt – he had changed into a button down shirt and pair of jeans – and pulled him closer. They fell heavily backwards into the car behind her. Well, Taylor could honestly say, that at that moment in time, Chloe, the drugs… even Maddy, were completely forgotten about – all she could concentrate on were his hands, and his tongue, as she ran her hands up his back. That was until oxygen became an issue. She snatched herself away from him, ducking under his arms, “They’ve gone,” she muttered, her face flushed.
“What the hell was that?” Flack asked, not even bothering to whisper as he stared at her, dumbfounded.
“It was a cover, doofas. Get over it.” she told him, straightening her hair with her hands.
“What about Marty?” Flack asked.
“What about Marty?” Taylor returned.
“He’s my friend.”
“He’s my friend, too. God, Flack, it was one kiss. It’s not going to happen again – don’t worry about that.” She stalked back into the club.
“What are you doing here?” Flack asked her as he caught up with her, after paying the doorman.
Taylor turned to stare at him. “Chloe’s ghost wanted me to come here, which I told you earlier, but you didn’t take me seriously then. You’re not taking me seriously now, which leads me to the question, what are you doing here?”
“Making sure you don’t get hurt,” he told her furiously.
“You don’t trust me,” realised Taylor. “You don’t think I can look after myself.”
“You have had a knife held to your neck by a murderer.”
“THAT HAPPENED ONCE!” Taylor finally snapped. “Are you going to hold it against me for the rest of my life?” she yelled at him, thankful that because of the music, not many people were able to hear their conversation.
“It’s not the best track record you’ve got going there. And it’s not just that incident – look what happened at the hospital today,” Flack responded. “Your friend’s boyfriend nearly hit you.”
“Is everything alright here?”
Great, they’d attracted security over there. “Everything is fine, thank you,” answered Taylor – to whom the question had been directed.
Flack nodded in agreement.
“Look,” said Taylor, as the man walked off. “Just go home. You don’t believe me about the ghosts, so there is actually no reason for you to be here.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Taylor,” Flack told her wearily. “If Stella knew I let you ride the subway by yourself, she would actually have my head.”
“It was you following me on the subway?” Taylor said, incredulously.
Flack took a deep breath. “I am not going to say anything.”
Taylor rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the football players. Except, by this point, they had all left. “Great!” she cried, throwing her arms in the air. She hurried back outside, but they were nowhere in sight, and the Ford had gone.
Taylor sighed and began heading back towards the subway, Flack right behind her. It wasn’t until they had gone underground that the two noticed they weren’t alone. Three of the football players were stood waiting for the same train as they were. “NYU sucks!” one of them yelled at her.
Taylor froze.
“What?” Flack asked her, noticing her tense up.
“You know how the other day someone threw a beer can at me?” Taylor asked Flack carefully. “That’s him – that’s his voice.”
Flack looked over Taylor’s shoulder at the three guys who were now playing a small, drunken version of soccer, kicking a can around. “You sure?” As Taylor nodded, he pulled out his cell phone and called dispatch, requesting backup. He was about to tell Taylor to stay where she was, but she had already started walking over.
“You owe me an apology,” she told the one who had thrown the can at her.
“I think it is you that owes the apology,” he told her. “An apology for being that fine.”
Taylor shot him a disgusted look. “Let me refresh your memory. A week ago you threw a beer can from your car at a girl in an NYU cheerleader outfit.”
The guys started laughing. “NYU sucks!” the guy told her.
“So you keep saying,” said Flack as he came over, throwing a glare at Taylor.
“And who are you?” the guy demanded, squaring up to him.
“NYPD,” Flack told him, pulling his ID out of his pocket. “And you are under arrest.”
“Under what charges?” the guy scoffed.
“Assault.”
The guy pulled a face, “Are you serious?”
“Don’t make me add being a jerk to that charge,” Flack said, turning him around and handcuffing him. He handed him over to the two uniforms who had appeared, and then turned to face Taylor, his face like thunder.
Taylor winced. The journey home was not going to be a pleasant one.
Originally posted 22/05/2006