Taylor awoke the following morning feeling very safe, despite an annoying itch under her cast. With her eyes still closed, she snuggled deeper into the pillow, trying to forget about the itch, only the pillow wasn’t all that squishy, and it had a heartbeat. As she frowned and tried to recall the previous evening, the blanket around her tightened its grasp of her.
Taylor finally opened her eyes and found that she was actually laying on top of Flack, who was still fast asleep, his mouth slightly open. She frowned, unsure as to how and why she was in his arms and bed… well, couch, again.
She tried to wriggle her way out of his grasp, but his hold on her only tightened. She sighed, unsure as to how she was going to get out of this one, when her arm spasmed, because of the itch, and she jerked herself and him, off the couch and onto the floor.
“What the?” Flack cried, waking with a start.
Taylor looked up at him. “Um, sorry.”
Flack looked back down at her. “Morning.”
“Morning,” she groaned. “Are you going to stay on top of me all day?” she asked him, when he didn’t move.
Flack was off her in an instant. “I’m going getting a shower,” he informed her before disappearing.
Taylor stretched as she tried to remember what had happened. The only thing springing to mind was the Everclear – and that had clearly done what it said on the bottle – and kept her mind ever clear.
A while later and she had swapped positions with Flack and was in the shower, her cast carefully sealed in a plastic bag. Unlike last time, he had actually saved her enough hot water for her to have a somewhat enjoyable shower. She was wrapped in a towel and trying to brush her curls with Flack’s comb when Maddy and the ghost appeared. “What?” she asked Maddy, who was staring at her with her eyebrows raised.
“What, she asks?” Maddy said, “Someone didn’t sleep in their own bed last night.”
Taylor rolled her eyes, “I liked it better when you were alive and not keeping tabs on me,” she muttered.
“Yeah, can’t say the feeling’s not mutual. However, if you can extract yourself from the blue-eyed wonder, Danny found Casper’s body.”
Taylor turned to ‘Casper’ and narrowed her eyes,. “Are you aware,” she asked Maddy whilst not taking her eyes off of the male ghost, “That Casper here isn’t such a friendly ghost and belongs to a gang?”
Maddy shook her head, “I don’t think so,” she told her. Taylor diverted her gaze to her dead friend. “I think it was a clue.”
“I got that,” Taylor muttered. The ghost nodded in agreement and lifted up his shirt. The tattoo was no longer there. Taylor frowned. “Fine,” she sighed, “I’m going to get dressed and head into the lab.”
“That’s the spirit,” said Maddy cheerfully, “You can play cops and robbers with the detective later.”
Maddy and the ghost disappeared before the comb Taylor flung could pass through her.
Taylor finally opened her eyes and found that she was actually laying on top of Flack, who was still fast asleep, his mouth slightly open. She frowned, unsure as to how and why she was in his arms and bed… well, couch, again.
She tried to wriggle her way out of his grasp, but his hold on her only tightened. She sighed, unsure as to how she was going to get out of this one, when her arm spasmed, because of the itch, and she jerked herself and him, off the couch and onto the floor.
“What the?” Flack cried, waking with a start.
Taylor looked up at him. “Um, sorry.”
Flack looked back down at her. “Morning.”
“Morning,” she groaned. “Are you going to stay on top of me all day?” she asked him, when he didn’t move.
Flack was off her in an instant. “I’m going getting a shower,” he informed her before disappearing.
Taylor stretched as she tried to remember what had happened. The only thing springing to mind was the Everclear – and that had clearly done what it said on the bottle – and kept her mind ever clear.
A while later and she had swapped positions with Flack and was in the shower, her cast carefully sealed in a plastic bag. Unlike last time, he had actually saved her enough hot water for her to have a somewhat enjoyable shower. She was wrapped in a towel and trying to brush her curls with Flack’s comb when Maddy and the ghost appeared. “What?” she asked Maddy, who was staring at her with her eyebrows raised.
“What, she asks?” Maddy said, “Someone didn’t sleep in their own bed last night.”
Taylor rolled her eyes, “I liked it better when you were alive and not keeping tabs on me,” she muttered.
“Yeah, can’t say the feeling’s not mutual. However, if you can extract yourself from the blue-eyed wonder, Danny found Casper’s body.”
Taylor turned to ‘Casper’ and narrowed her eyes,. “Are you aware,” she asked Maddy whilst not taking her eyes off of the male ghost, “That Casper here isn’t such a friendly ghost and belongs to a gang?”
Maddy shook her head, “I don’t think so,” she told her. Taylor diverted her gaze to her dead friend. “I think it was a clue.”
“I got that,” Taylor muttered. The ghost nodded in agreement and lifted up his shirt. The tattoo was no longer there. Taylor frowned. “Fine,” she sighed, “I’m going to get dressed and head into the lab.”
“That’s the spirit,” said Maddy cheerfully, “You can play cops and robbers with the detective later.”
Maddy and the ghost disappeared before the comb Taylor flung could pass through her.
* * *
A good while later and a semi-uncomfortable ride in silence to the lab, Taylor could still feel her cheeks burning. Not only was she still in yesterday’s clothes, but after struggling for too long, she’d had to ask Flack for help to get dressed. She’d had the cast on for a day and she was already fed up with it. On top of that, the arm underneath still hadn’t stopped itching.
She sighed and headed to the thirty eighth floor in a search for Danny. She found him in the ballistics lab with his glasses perched on his head as he peered into a microscope.
“You found him then?” she asked warily, unsure as to whether or not he was going to bite her head off again.
“I found someone,” said Danny as he brought his head back up and watched the journalist perch on a stool opposite.
“Someone?”
Danny flung a folder over. “He didn’t have a Bullet’s tattoo,” he told her as she flicked through the photographs of the victim.
Taylor shook her head. “No, you have the ghost – I think the tattoo was a clue as to who killed him. Do you have a name for him?”
“His prints weren’t in the system, but he has a relative who matches his DNA that is. A sister.” He nodded to the folder.
Taylor flicked through the pages until she found a rap sheet for Amanda Andrews – three priors for drug possession. “Drugs? Perhaps that is the link to the Bullets.”
Danny nodded. “That and the bullets. They match to a gun which was used in another murder a year ago, which was registered to a Raymond Cook – the father of William “Biggs” Cook, who is quite high up in the hierarchy of the Bullets.”
“So let’s go get the gun and make a comparison,” said Taylor.
“It’s not that simple,” Danny sighed. “The gun was listed as stolen sixteen months ago.”
“Well, that’s a bit of a coincidence,” Taylor muttered. “So where does that leave us?”
“Us?” Danny repeated. “I told you, Taylor. There is no us.”
“Danny,” Taylor sighed. “Whether or not you like it, or even if I like it, Andrews’ ghost is going to continue to visit me until he feels he can move on. Frankly, the sooner that happens, the less likely I am to have another bone broken by some angry ghost.”
Danny stared at her for a while before sighing. “You can come with me to see Amanda. She needs to know her brother is dead.”
Taylor nodded and, after Danny had put the evidence away, followed him out to the company Avalanche. It wasn’t until they were waiting for a red to change that Danny turned to her. “What?” she asked him, suspicious as to the look he was giving her.
“You smell of Flack, again.”
Taylor rolled her eyes. “Mind out of the gutter, Danny,” she muttered.
Danny grinned. “You can be too easy to wind up.”
With one dead friend, and the majority of others being CSIs, the prospect of Taylor having a private personal life was slowly drifting away.
She sighed and headed to the thirty eighth floor in a search for Danny. She found him in the ballistics lab with his glasses perched on his head as he peered into a microscope.
“You found him then?” she asked warily, unsure as to whether or not he was going to bite her head off again.
“I found someone,” said Danny as he brought his head back up and watched the journalist perch on a stool opposite.
“Someone?”
Danny flung a folder over. “He didn’t have a Bullet’s tattoo,” he told her as she flicked through the photographs of the victim.
Taylor shook her head. “No, you have the ghost – I think the tattoo was a clue as to who killed him. Do you have a name for him?”
“His prints weren’t in the system, but he has a relative who matches his DNA that is. A sister.” He nodded to the folder.
Taylor flicked through the pages until she found a rap sheet for Amanda Andrews – three priors for drug possession. “Drugs? Perhaps that is the link to the Bullets.”
Danny nodded. “That and the bullets. They match to a gun which was used in another murder a year ago, which was registered to a Raymond Cook – the father of William “Biggs” Cook, who is quite high up in the hierarchy of the Bullets.”
“So let’s go get the gun and make a comparison,” said Taylor.
“It’s not that simple,” Danny sighed. “The gun was listed as stolen sixteen months ago.”
“Well, that’s a bit of a coincidence,” Taylor muttered. “So where does that leave us?”
“Us?” Danny repeated. “I told you, Taylor. There is no us.”
“Danny,” Taylor sighed. “Whether or not you like it, or even if I like it, Andrews’ ghost is going to continue to visit me until he feels he can move on. Frankly, the sooner that happens, the less likely I am to have another bone broken by some angry ghost.”
Danny stared at her for a while before sighing. “You can come with me to see Amanda. She needs to know her brother is dead.”
Taylor nodded and, after Danny had put the evidence away, followed him out to the company Avalanche. It wasn’t until they were waiting for a red to change that Danny turned to her. “What?” she asked him, suspicious as to the look he was giving her.
“You smell of Flack, again.”
Taylor rolled her eyes. “Mind out of the gutter, Danny,” she muttered.
Danny grinned. “You can be too easy to wind up.”
With one dead friend, and the majority of others being CSIs, the prospect of Taylor having a private personal life was slowly drifting away.
* * *
They pulled up outside a grotty looking apartment block, only a few blocks away from the location Andrews had given Taylor and the two of them trudged up to the eleventh floor. The elevator was out of order, much to Danny’s annoyance, which he took out on the door as he knocked, or rather, hammered on it. Finally, the door was answered by a small blonde who clearly looked like she was on something illegal. “Ma'am, are you Amanda Andrews?”
The blonde gave him a very spacey nod.
“Could we come in for a few minutes?” he asked her, flashing his badge.
Amanda seemed to spring to life, slamming the door closed in their faces, but not before she had punched Danny in the face. Danny had broken the door down and placed the handcuffs on her before Taylor’s brain could process what had happened.
“Are you alright?” she asked him after he had finished reading Amanda her rights.
Danny nodded, pushing Amanda out into the corridor and towards the stairs. “Yeah, she’s that high she didn’t hit very hard.”
Taylor nodded and followed the two back down the stairs. As Danny was loading Amanda into the back seat of the Avalanche, she suddenly became aware of eyes on her. She looked up at the building and realised that three men were watching them. As they saw she was looking at them, they disappeared back inside. Taylor shuddered and got in the car.
The blonde gave him a very spacey nod.
“Could we come in for a few minutes?” he asked her, flashing his badge.
Amanda seemed to spring to life, slamming the door closed in their faces, but not before she had punched Danny in the face. Danny had broken the door down and placed the handcuffs on her before Taylor’s brain could process what had happened.
“Are you alright?” she asked him after he had finished reading Amanda her rights.
Danny nodded, pushing Amanda out into the corridor and towards the stairs. “Yeah, she’s that high she didn’t hit very hard.”
Taylor nodded and followed the two back down the stairs. As Danny was loading Amanda into the back seat of the Avalanche, she suddenly became aware of eyes on her. She looked up at the building and realised that three men were watching them. As they saw she was looking at them, they disappeared back inside. Taylor shuddered and got in the car.
* * *
Danny sat down opposite the blonde and stared at her, subconsciously rubbing his cheek. Truth be told, the young woman had managed to get a good punch on him and it was stinging like a bitch. Not that he was going to admit that to Taylor, even though the thought of being mothered wasn’t too unappealing at that point. “Assaulting an officer,” he said. “Great start to the day, don’t you think?”
Amanda sat swaying in her chair, seemingly unaware as to where she was, or why she was there.
“Amanda, did you know that your brother is dead?”
Amanda slowly focused in on Danny. “Robert?”
Danny sighed and pulled out one of the photographs of the body and placed it gently in front of her. “Is this your brother?” he asked her softly.
Amanda stared at the photograph, the tears slowly building up in her eyes. “What happened to Bobby?”
“He was shot.”
The tears began to splash on the table.
“Amanda, does the name William Cook mean anything to you?” Danny asked. Amanda shook her head. “What about ‘Biggs’?” Danny tried again. This time Amanda froze, a look of panic washing her face, before she quickly shook her head. “Amanda, if you withhold any kind of evidence, you could be preventing us from finding your brother’s killer, and you could also be finding yourself with a charge of withholding evidence being added to assaulting an officer.”
Amanda just shook her head again. Danny tried a few more questions, but she clammed up. He nodded to the uniform and watched as Amanda was escorted from the room.
Amanda sat swaying in her chair, seemingly unaware as to where she was, or why she was there.
“Amanda, did you know that your brother is dead?”
Amanda slowly focused in on Danny. “Robert?”
Danny sighed and pulled out one of the photographs of the body and placed it gently in front of her. “Is this your brother?” he asked her softly.
Amanda stared at the photograph, the tears slowly building up in her eyes. “What happened to Bobby?”
“He was shot.”
The tears began to splash on the table.
“Amanda, does the name William Cook mean anything to you?” Danny asked. Amanda shook her head. “What about ‘Biggs’?” Danny tried again. This time Amanda froze, a look of panic washing her face, before she quickly shook her head. “Amanda, if you withhold any kind of evidence, you could be preventing us from finding your brother’s killer, and you could also be finding yourself with a charge of withholding evidence being added to assaulting an officer.”
Amanda just shook her head again. Danny tried a few more questions, but she clammed up. He nodded to the uniform and watched as Amanda was escorted from the room.
* * *
Taylor sighed and watched as Danny gathered up the papers from the table in front of him. She cast a sympathetic glance at Robert who had been watching the interview with Maddy, who had wrapped her arms around him, looking clearly upset. She let herself out and met Danny in the hallway.
“Oh my God, Danny, are you alright?”
Danny and Taylor turned around to find that Lindsay had spotted them and was making a beeline towards them. Her eyes had widened in horror at the bruise that was already beginning to form on his cheek. “I’m fine, Montana,” he said gruffly.
“What happened?” she pressed.
“Junkie with something to hide,” he told her, indicating to Amanda as she was being led down the hallway. Instead of chatting, he left, following the suspect.
Lindsay turned and finally noticed Taylor. “Have they discharged you already?”
Taylor looked down at the floor and scratched her head.
“What happened to your hand?” Lindsay cried, noticing the cast. “Did she attack you too?”
“No, it was, um…”
Lindsay’s eyes narrowed as she studied Taylor. “This has something to do with what happened to you at the subway station?”
Taylor sighed, “Something like that.”
“Taylor!” Lindsay exclaimed. “Mac told you to stay in the hospital.”
“Lindsay, I broke my arm in the hospital,” Taylor objected.
“Who are you protecting, Taylor?”
“I’m not protecting anyone,” she protested, “I’m only trying to protect myself.”
Lindsay shook her head. “There are some things I just don’t understand about you,” she muttered.
“Lindsay,” Taylor pleaded, but Lindsay had already turned and walked away. She sighed and leant back against the wall. “What is it going to take for you to realise that I’m not making it up?” she whispered to the retreating back.
Lindsay was turning out to be a good friend, and Taylor was pretty certain that should she ever need it, she would have her back… unless there were ghosts involved. She let out another sigh and hurried down the corridor to catch up with Danny. “Where to next?”
“Nowhere,” Danny told her firmly.
“Surely we should be bringing Biggs in now?”
“No, Taylor, we shouldn’t be. How many times do I have to say this for it to sink in? There is no we,” Danny said, his anger beginning to resurface. “The Brooklyn Bullets are dangerous. They kill people and get away with it because they dispose of any evidence.”
“Danny-”
“Taylor, I am not going to have this discussion again,” Danny said, cutting her off. “You are not a cop, or a criminalist – you’re a journalist. You stick to your job, and I’ll stick to mine. If you want to watch interviews, or volunteer information, fine, but you are not coming with me,” he snapped at her.
Taylor stepped backwards. As Danny had been talking he had been walking towards her. She nodded at him, but instead of allowing her to say anything, he stalked off. Taylor watched him leave, unsure as to what it was that was working him up so much about the whole case
“Oh my God, Danny, are you alright?”
Danny and Taylor turned around to find that Lindsay had spotted them and was making a beeline towards them. Her eyes had widened in horror at the bruise that was already beginning to form on his cheek. “I’m fine, Montana,” he said gruffly.
“What happened?” she pressed.
“Junkie with something to hide,” he told her, indicating to Amanda as she was being led down the hallway. Instead of chatting, he left, following the suspect.
Lindsay turned and finally noticed Taylor. “Have they discharged you already?”
Taylor looked down at the floor and scratched her head.
“What happened to your hand?” Lindsay cried, noticing the cast. “Did she attack you too?”
“No, it was, um…”
Lindsay’s eyes narrowed as she studied Taylor. “This has something to do with what happened to you at the subway station?”
Taylor sighed, “Something like that.”
“Taylor!” Lindsay exclaimed. “Mac told you to stay in the hospital.”
“Lindsay, I broke my arm in the hospital,” Taylor objected.
“Who are you protecting, Taylor?”
“I’m not protecting anyone,” she protested, “I’m only trying to protect myself.”
Lindsay shook her head. “There are some things I just don’t understand about you,” she muttered.
“Lindsay,” Taylor pleaded, but Lindsay had already turned and walked away. She sighed and leant back against the wall. “What is it going to take for you to realise that I’m not making it up?” she whispered to the retreating back.
Lindsay was turning out to be a good friend, and Taylor was pretty certain that should she ever need it, she would have her back… unless there were ghosts involved. She let out another sigh and hurried down the corridor to catch up with Danny. “Where to next?”
“Nowhere,” Danny told her firmly.
“Surely we should be bringing Biggs in now?”
“No, Taylor, we shouldn’t be. How many times do I have to say this for it to sink in? There is no we,” Danny said, his anger beginning to resurface. “The Brooklyn Bullets are dangerous. They kill people and get away with it because they dispose of any evidence.”
“Danny-”
“Taylor, I am not going to have this discussion again,” Danny said, cutting her off. “You are not a cop, or a criminalist – you’re a journalist. You stick to your job, and I’ll stick to mine. If you want to watch interviews, or volunteer information, fine, but you are not coming with me,” he snapped at her.
Taylor stepped backwards. As Danny had been talking he had been walking towards her. She nodded at him, but instead of allowing her to say anything, he stalked off. Taylor watched him leave, unsure as to what it was that was working him up so much about the whole case
* * *
By the time it had gotten dark again, Taylor had been back at the computer doing more research into the Brooklyn Bullets by reading through old newspaper articles. They had actually done a really good job of keeping themselves out of the papers as there were never more than a handful of mentions.
Robert and Maddy hadn’t turned up again, so she decided to call it a night. If nothing else, her arm was driving her mad from the itching and she was determined to find something like a knitting needle and poke it under the cast. Not that she had a knitting needle. She didn’t knit. But she had to have something suitable.
That and it was about time she went home to talk to Marty.
She decided to walk the few blocks, rather than get a cab, hoping the walk would relieve some of the tension. It helped a little and by the time she headed inside to the living room, where she flopped onto the couch with Marty, using him as a human foot rest, she was feeling a bit better.
“You’re back then,” he told her, not taking his eyes of the television.
Maybe not for long.
Taylor swung her legs around onto the floor. “Oh, Marty, please tell me you aren’t about to start with what I think you’re about to.”
“You could have told me you were seeing him.” he told her, turning off the TV.
“I’m not seeing him. He’s a homicide detective – he happens to be in the crime lab when I am!” she exclaimed.
“Uh huh? And where were you last night?”
“Marty, you are not my boyfriend, and you are not my father. If I decided to go out, then damn it, I will. You’re the reason I stayed there, anyway.” She got up and stormed into her room, slamming her door behind her, where she pulled out a pair of shorts and top and her running shoes and put them on.
Grabbing her phone, (Lindsay had returned it to her whilst she was busy on the computer), she plugged the headphones in and turned on the mp3 player. Selecting some Dubstep, she turned up the music, as loud as it would go, and left the house, ignoring Marty who was trying to say something to her.
She ran to Central Park and began to pound it along one of the footpaths, amongst the trees. She was fuming. It was none of Marty’s business who she saw. Not that she was seeing Flack nor was she even considering it, considering the guy drove her crazy.
Not only were thoughts of Flack occupying her thoughts, for all the wrong reasons, there was this case. Murder was never good, but this case was annoying her. Everything about it was… wrong. And then there was Danny who was reacting badly to the case. Sure it was dangerous, but it was only a ghost which was hurting her – he definitely knew something more than he was letting on. Which led her to the violent ghost. At this rate it wasn’t going to be just the spirits who visited her who needed a guardian.
She glanced down at her phone. She had been running for the best part of an hour with all these thought running around her head and it was now completely dark. She slowed to a walk, realizing that she was exhausted, and tried to catch her breath. With the music still blasting into her ears, she didn’t hear the movement behind her.
A cloth bag was shoved over her head and her phone ripped out of her ears as someone grabbed her arms behind her back and pushed forward until she slammed into a tree. She was pulled away and someone clamped a hand over her mouth, pushing the cloth into her mouth, before forcing her face first into the ground.
“Running by yourself, in the middle of Central Park, in the middle of the night? Not really the cleverest of ideas, was it?”
Taylor froze. Even if the material wasn’t in her mouth, she wasn’t sure she would be able to breathe. Her head was pounding from when it had connected to the tree, and her arms were twisted painfully. She wasn’t completely certain, but she thought she had felt something else crack.
Taylor listened carefully. If she was to come out of this alive, the only senses she had to go on was sound and smell. Other than the smell of sugar and urine – a strange combination, she could smell a scent. An aftershave which she didn’t recognize. Sound wise, she could hear three people breathing and a car engine in the background.
“Stay away from things that don’t concern you,” came another voice.
Taylor stuck her nails into the hands holding hers: one thing was for certain, it wasn’t a ghost attacking her this time. She never got to hear what the message was because something came crashing down on her head.
Robert and Maddy hadn’t turned up again, so she decided to call it a night. If nothing else, her arm was driving her mad from the itching and she was determined to find something like a knitting needle and poke it under the cast. Not that she had a knitting needle. She didn’t knit. But she had to have something suitable.
That and it was about time she went home to talk to Marty.
She decided to walk the few blocks, rather than get a cab, hoping the walk would relieve some of the tension. It helped a little and by the time she headed inside to the living room, where she flopped onto the couch with Marty, using him as a human foot rest, she was feeling a bit better.
“You’re back then,” he told her, not taking his eyes of the television.
Maybe not for long.
Taylor swung her legs around onto the floor. “Oh, Marty, please tell me you aren’t about to start with what I think you’re about to.”
“You could have told me you were seeing him.” he told her, turning off the TV.
“I’m not seeing him. He’s a homicide detective – he happens to be in the crime lab when I am!” she exclaimed.
“Uh huh? And where were you last night?”
“Marty, you are not my boyfriend, and you are not my father. If I decided to go out, then damn it, I will. You’re the reason I stayed there, anyway.” She got up and stormed into her room, slamming her door behind her, where she pulled out a pair of shorts and top and her running shoes and put them on.
Grabbing her phone, (Lindsay had returned it to her whilst she was busy on the computer), she plugged the headphones in and turned on the mp3 player. Selecting some Dubstep, she turned up the music, as loud as it would go, and left the house, ignoring Marty who was trying to say something to her.
She ran to Central Park and began to pound it along one of the footpaths, amongst the trees. She was fuming. It was none of Marty’s business who she saw. Not that she was seeing Flack nor was she even considering it, considering the guy drove her crazy.
Not only were thoughts of Flack occupying her thoughts, for all the wrong reasons, there was this case. Murder was never good, but this case was annoying her. Everything about it was… wrong. And then there was Danny who was reacting badly to the case. Sure it was dangerous, but it was only a ghost which was hurting her – he definitely knew something more than he was letting on. Which led her to the violent ghost. At this rate it wasn’t going to be just the spirits who visited her who needed a guardian.
She glanced down at her phone. She had been running for the best part of an hour with all these thought running around her head and it was now completely dark. She slowed to a walk, realizing that she was exhausted, and tried to catch her breath. With the music still blasting into her ears, she didn’t hear the movement behind her.
A cloth bag was shoved over her head and her phone ripped out of her ears as someone grabbed her arms behind her back and pushed forward until she slammed into a tree. She was pulled away and someone clamped a hand over her mouth, pushing the cloth into her mouth, before forcing her face first into the ground.
“Running by yourself, in the middle of Central Park, in the middle of the night? Not really the cleverest of ideas, was it?”
Taylor froze. Even if the material wasn’t in her mouth, she wasn’t sure she would be able to breathe. Her head was pounding from when it had connected to the tree, and her arms were twisted painfully. She wasn’t completely certain, but she thought she had felt something else crack.
Taylor listened carefully. If she was to come out of this alive, the only senses she had to go on was sound and smell. Other than the smell of sugar and urine – a strange combination, she could smell a scent. An aftershave which she didn’t recognize. Sound wise, she could hear three people breathing and a car engine in the background.
“Stay away from things that don’t concern you,” came another voice.
Taylor stuck her nails into the hands holding hers: one thing was for certain, it wasn’t a ghost attacking her this time. She never got to hear what the message was because something came crashing down on her head.
Originally posted: 22/06/2006