It had been almost a month since Taylor had last seen Rebecca, or any other ghost for that matter. Life had returned to normal, and she had yet to go anywhere near a police precinct again. So there she was, dressed up to the nines, in a short, strappy , little red number, in one of the most exclusive restaurants on the Manhattan island, on a date with the tall, dark handsome guy that she had been dying to ask out for ages.
In her opinion, it was turning out to be one of the best dates she’d been on in a very long time. She was sat listening to him talk, rather than focusing on the French food she was subconsciously chasing around her plate. Actually, that was a lie – she was more focused on his dreamy eyes.
“…And that’s how I ended up majoring in philosophy at Rice.”
Taylor smiled and went for her glass of wine.
“You know,” he told her, as she took a sip, “Red really suits you.”
Taylor smiled and was about to respond, when she saw something out of the corner of her eye. She screamed. Loudly. She jumped to her feet, knocking the table. Standing just to her left was a man, probably in his late thirties – it was a little hard to tell, considering half of his body had been badly burnt. “Help us.”
“Oh, my God, are you alright?” Taylor asked in horror. Her eyes flickered around the room, wondering why no one was trying to offer the man some form of aid.
“Help us.”
It was then Taylor realised, the man was no longer alive. “Who’s us?”
“Help us.” The man opened up his hand, and Taylor peered in. He was holding the corner of something that looked like a brown bag, with a logo on it of a pig in a triangle. “What is that?”
“Help us.” The man vanished, leaving Taylor to realise three things. Firstly, she’d seen another ghost, secondly, he was just as articulate as the first, and thirdly, she was standing in the middle of one of New York City’s most exclusive restaurants, ignoring her date to talk to ghosts.
She turned to look at him. He was busy mopping up a glass of red wine she must have knocked all over him, in between glaring at her in a mixture of anger and, well concern that she was completely off her rocker.
“I am so sorry, Matthew,” she gushed, grabbing her napkin to help mop up the wine.
“What the hell was that about?” he demanded.
“I, uh… I saw a ghost?” she offered.
Wrong answer. Matthew stood up, knocking her arm to the side. “You know what, I have to go. I have to go wash my hair.”
Taylor stood gaping after him as he walked off. She slumped down onto her seat, and glanced around. Everyone around her was staring at her as if she was crazy – some of them looking worried. Taylor reached over, set her glass upright, and poured herself a fresh one from the bottle which had miraculously managed to stay upright.
As she gulped the stuff down, her face a very similar colour to her dress, the waiter came over and placed the bill down on the table. Her “date” had disappeared leaving her to pay the entirety of a $200 bill.
By the time Taylor had paid, to say she was in a bit of a foul mood was something of an understatment. The situation wasn’t helping, when, as she was storming along the street, her heel snapped. By the time she had reached the crime lab – she had decided going to that Mac Taylor was a better option than trying to talk to another detective – her mood had decreased dramatically from “a bit.” She was also in such a foul mood, that she didn’t realise she’d left her jacket at the restaurant until she was at the steps of the crime lab, despite the fact it was the beginning of March.
As she got out at the appropriate floor, it was just as busy as it had been the first time she had gone there. The reception desk was once again unmanned and she was in too bad a mood to be waiting around for someone to appear. Instead, she somewhat limped along back to the only room she knew – the break room .
The break room was empty, so she decided to do something about her shoe. She was bent over undoing the buckle, when someone behind her let out a low whistle, “I oughtta arrest you for having a skirt that short and legs that long.”
Taylor got up slowly and turned around to find Flack – whose expression suddenly changed from one of admiration to one of shock – and another two male CSIs; Danny, and a black man she had never met before. “Does that line actually work?” she asked him, eyebrow cocked upwards.
Flack glared at her, “What the hell are you doing here? Had a visit from Casper?”
Taylor refrained the urge to throw the shoe, which was now in her hand, at his head. “Yes, actually.”
Flack burst out laughing.
“Man, is this what modern-day Ghostbusters wear, cus I’m in the wrong profession,” muttered Danny, as he eyed her up and down.
“No. I was on a date.”
Flack laughed harder, “Don’t tell me you told him you could see ghosts?”
That was it; the shoe was gone before Taylor could help it. It smacked him in the middle of his chest and fell to the floor. “Do you think I want to see half burnt bodies in the middle of restaurants?” she demanded, angrily.
Flack made to move forward, but the black man stepped in front of him, stopping him. “Have I missed something?”
“This here, Hawkes, is Taylor Turner. And she thinks she can see ghosts,” said Flack, glaring at her.
“You’re the woman that writes Crime Files?” Hawkes asked in surprise. “I really like that column – you don’t glamorize crime, but the piece is never boring.”
Taylor smiled, “Thank you.”
“Miss Turner,” said Mac, appearing in the doorway, with Stella, behind the other men.
“Hi Detective Taylor.”
“Taylor, I love your dress,” said Stella, giving the journalist a smile, “What is that? Gucci?”
“It’s not designer,” she smiled, shaking her head – she was beginning to like the female detective – nice and friendly.
“And to what do we owe this visit? More dead bodies?” asked Mac.
“With all due respect, detective, I really wouldn’t be here otherwise. However, as this one decided to ruin my date, I figured I would make an appearance.” She sighed, “I’m here about the burnt body.”
“Well, I can officially let you know, you are crazy. We don’t have any burnt body cases. So your hallucination was wrong,” snorted Flack.
Well,” Taylor frowned, “Perhaps he just wants me to help you find him.”
“He? He asked you to find him and interfere in another case? Should we be expecting to find you at gun point, later?”
Taylor crossed her arms and began tapping her fingers against one of them, “For the record, Detective Flack, I didn’t expect to find myself with a knife at my neck. I was just going to see if I could find out any information. And as for this ghost, he was there, and I could even smell him.”
“You sure the chef hadn’t just burnt something?” he scoffed.
Taylor glared at him. If she had still been holding her shoe, it would have been thrown again – she was tempted to take the other one off especially – the man just infuriated her. “Do you believe in God?”
“Yes.”
“Then why is it so hard to believe that there could be ghosts. In fact, I tell you what,” she turned to Mac, “I will find this body, and his killer. You’re going to have to do all the procedures you do, because lord knows I did a joint English and Mass Com degree, and not a science one, but I’ll get this case solved.”
Mac stared at with his grey eyes giving nothing away. And then he did the exact opposite to what Taylor expected – he nodded.
“Mac, are you serious?” exclaimed both Danny and Flack.
“You are not to touch anything. Anywhere. But you can tell us where to look.” Taylor’s mouth dropped open. “And I don’t want to see a word of this in the New York Daily.”
“Yeah, fine.” Taylor told him, agreeing quickly before he could change his mind.
“Danny,” said Mac, turning to the younger man. “You and Sheldon are going to wrap up the case you and Stella were working on,” he turned to Stella, “You want to work with me and Miss Turner?”
“Taylor,” said Taylor, still grinning, “If we’re going to be working together, please, call me Taylor.”
“Taylor,” said Mac.
“You ever get the feeling this could get real confusing,” Danny muttered to Hawkes as the two left the room.
“Alright, Taylor, what do you have for us to work with?” Mac asked her expectantly.
“A pig.”
“As in Babe?” asked Flack, an eyebrow raised.
“No, as in a logo,” Taylor responded, slowly.
Stella walked over and wrapped her arm around the younger woman, “How about we get you in something a little more appropriate, and then we’ll make our way into the lab.”
Taylor nodded and walked over to Flack. She smiled brightly before bending down to pick up her shoe, “Sorry, my hand slipped,” she told him, before following Stella out of the room.
In her opinion, it was turning out to be one of the best dates she’d been on in a very long time. She was sat listening to him talk, rather than focusing on the French food she was subconsciously chasing around her plate. Actually, that was a lie – she was more focused on his dreamy eyes.
“…And that’s how I ended up majoring in philosophy at Rice.”
Taylor smiled and went for her glass of wine.
“You know,” he told her, as she took a sip, “Red really suits you.”
Taylor smiled and was about to respond, when she saw something out of the corner of her eye. She screamed. Loudly. She jumped to her feet, knocking the table. Standing just to her left was a man, probably in his late thirties – it was a little hard to tell, considering half of his body had been badly burnt. “Help us.”
“Oh, my God, are you alright?” Taylor asked in horror. Her eyes flickered around the room, wondering why no one was trying to offer the man some form of aid.
“Help us.”
It was then Taylor realised, the man was no longer alive. “Who’s us?”
“Help us.” The man opened up his hand, and Taylor peered in. He was holding the corner of something that looked like a brown bag, with a logo on it of a pig in a triangle. “What is that?”
“Help us.” The man vanished, leaving Taylor to realise three things. Firstly, she’d seen another ghost, secondly, he was just as articulate as the first, and thirdly, she was standing in the middle of one of New York City’s most exclusive restaurants, ignoring her date to talk to ghosts.
She turned to look at him. He was busy mopping up a glass of red wine she must have knocked all over him, in between glaring at her in a mixture of anger and, well concern that she was completely off her rocker.
“I am so sorry, Matthew,” she gushed, grabbing her napkin to help mop up the wine.
“What the hell was that about?” he demanded.
“I, uh… I saw a ghost?” she offered.
Wrong answer. Matthew stood up, knocking her arm to the side. “You know what, I have to go. I have to go wash my hair.”
Taylor stood gaping after him as he walked off. She slumped down onto her seat, and glanced around. Everyone around her was staring at her as if she was crazy – some of them looking worried. Taylor reached over, set her glass upright, and poured herself a fresh one from the bottle which had miraculously managed to stay upright.
As she gulped the stuff down, her face a very similar colour to her dress, the waiter came over and placed the bill down on the table. Her “date” had disappeared leaving her to pay the entirety of a $200 bill.
By the time Taylor had paid, to say she was in a bit of a foul mood was something of an understatment. The situation wasn’t helping, when, as she was storming along the street, her heel snapped. By the time she had reached the crime lab – she had decided going to that Mac Taylor was a better option than trying to talk to another detective – her mood had decreased dramatically from “a bit.” She was also in such a foul mood, that she didn’t realise she’d left her jacket at the restaurant until she was at the steps of the crime lab, despite the fact it was the beginning of March.
As she got out at the appropriate floor, it was just as busy as it had been the first time she had gone there. The reception desk was once again unmanned and she was in too bad a mood to be waiting around for someone to appear. Instead, she somewhat limped along back to the only room she knew – the break room .
The break room was empty, so she decided to do something about her shoe. She was bent over undoing the buckle, when someone behind her let out a low whistle, “I oughtta arrest you for having a skirt that short and legs that long.”
Taylor got up slowly and turned around to find Flack – whose expression suddenly changed from one of admiration to one of shock – and another two male CSIs; Danny, and a black man she had never met before. “Does that line actually work?” she asked him, eyebrow cocked upwards.
Flack glared at her, “What the hell are you doing here? Had a visit from Casper?”
Taylor refrained the urge to throw the shoe, which was now in her hand, at his head. “Yes, actually.”
Flack burst out laughing.
“Man, is this what modern-day Ghostbusters wear, cus I’m in the wrong profession,” muttered Danny, as he eyed her up and down.
“No. I was on a date.”
Flack laughed harder, “Don’t tell me you told him you could see ghosts?”
That was it; the shoe was gone before Taylor could help it. It smacked him in the middle of his chest and fell to the floor. “Do you think I want to see half burnt bodies in the middle of restaurants?” she demanded, angrily.
Flack made to move forward, but the black man stepped in front of him, stopping him. “Have I missed something?”
“This here, Hawkes, is Taylor Turner. And she thinks she can see ghosts,” said Flack, glaring at her.
“You’re the woman that writes Crime Files?” Hawkes asked in surprise. “I really like that column – you don’t glamorize crime, but the piece is never boring.”
Taylor smiled, “Thank you.”
“Miss Turner,” said Mac, appearing in the doorway, with Stella, behind the other men.
“Hi Detective Taylor.”
“Taylor, I love your dress,” said Stella, giving the journalist a smile, “What is that? Gucci?”
“It’s not designer,” she smiled, shaking her head – she was beginning to like the female detective – nice and friendly.
“And to what do we owe this visit? More dead bodies?” asked Mac.
“With all due respect, detective, I really wouldn’t be here otherwise. However, as this one decided to ruin my date, I figured I would make an appearance.” She sighed, “I’m here about the burnt body.”
“Well, I can officially let you know, you are crazy. We don’t have any burnt body cases. So your hallucination was wrong,” snorted Flack.
Well,” Taylor frowned, “Perhaps he just wants me to help you find him.”
“He? He asked you to find him and interfere in another case? Should we be expecting to find you at gun point, later?”
Taylor crossed her arms and began tapping her fingers against one of them, “For the record, Detective Flack, I didn’t expect to find myself with a knife at my neck. I was just going to see if I could find out any information. And as for this ghost, he was there, and I could even smell him.”
“You sure the chef hadn’t just burnt something?” he scoffed.
Taylor glared at him. If she had still been holding her shoe, it would have been thrown again – she was tempted to take the other one off especially – the man just infuriated her. “Do you believe in God?”
“Yes.”
“Then why is it so hard to believe that there could be ghosts. In fact, I tell you what,” she turned to Mac, “I will find this body, and his killer. You’re going to have to do all the procedures you do, because lord knows I did a joint English and Mass Com degree, and not a science one, but I’ll get this case solved.”
Mac stared at with his grey eyes giving nothing away. And then he did the exact opposite to what Taylor expected – he nodded.
“Mac, are you serious?” exclaimed both Danny and Flack.
“You are not to touch anything. Anywhere. But you can tell us where to look.” Taylor’s mouth dropped open. “And I don’t want to see a word of this in the New York Daily.”
“Yeah, fine.” Taylor told him, agreeing quickly before he could change his mind.
“Danny,” said Mac, turning to the younger man. “You and Sheldon are going to wrap up the case you and Stella were working on,” he turned to Stella, “You want to work with me and Miss Turner?”
“Taylor,” said Taylor, still grinning, “If we’re going to be working together, please, call me Taylor.”
“Taylor,” said Mac.
“You ever get the feeling this could get real confusing,” Danny muttered to Hawkes as the two left the room.
“Alright, Taylor, what do you have for us to work with?” Mac asked her expectantly.
“A pig.”
“As in Babe?” asked Flack, an eyebrow raised.
“No, as in a logo,” Taylor responded, slowly.
Stella walked over and wrapped her arm around the younger woman, “How about we get you in something a little more appropriate, and then we’ll make our way into the lab.”
Taylor nodded and walked over to Flack. She smiled brightly before bending down to pick up her shoe, “Sorry, my hand slipped,” she told him, before following Stella out of the room.
Originally posted: 12/05/2006