The Dirt on Ninth Grave Page 40

“Like?”

“Like the time that man offered you a dollar fifty for a tryst. You were surprised.”

“I wasn’t surprised. I was insulted. A dollar fifty? Seriously?”

“Good point. But every time you spill water in men’s laps, you’re surprised.”

“True.”

“Yet when a guy tries to rob the place and shoots a gun, you’re as calm as an anesthetized patient.”

“Oh. That. Well —” She had to think about it. “I just have a high… danger threshold.”

And she did. “So that’s it? You really aren’t psychic?”

She folded her hands over mine. “I’m really not psychic. I help the police, mostly Robert, with research.”

“Oh.” It was my turn to be surprised. “You’re a research consultant.”

“Yes. Though I wish I were psychic.”

Her emotions turned on a dime and blurred. “Why?”

“I could help my lost friend if I were. And —” She hit me with her stern face. “— I would know more about you. You don’t tell me anything. Even when you’re hurting. I feel like you don’t trust me.”

That stung. “I’m sorry. My life is just really messed up.”

“Oh, it’s not you, it’s me? That kind of thing? And of course it’s messed up. You woke up in an alley with retrograde amnesia. But if you opened up to someone, if you told someone what you’re going through, it would help.”

I wanted to tell her. I wanted to trust someone. But at the same time, would I lose her? Would she think me nuts and dump me like a bad date? “Cook,” I said, shifting in my seat, “I’m different.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know. It’s just, there are some things in this world you don’t want to know about.”

“Sure I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

She leaned into me, a grin on her pretty face. “Try me.” When I still hesitated, she said, “Charley, you know you can tell me anything. I know we’ve only been friends for a month, but you are the best friend I’ve ever had.”

Could I? Did I dare? Maybe if I started out small. “Okay, so, you know how some people can hear things others can’t? Like they have excellent hearing?”

She nodded.

“And you know how some people can see things others can’t. Like, one person might have 20/20 vision while another has 50/80?”

“Yes,” she said, drawing out the word as though she were trying to figure out where I was going.

“Well, I can see and hear things others can’t.”

“Oh. Okay. So you have really good night vision?”

“Kind of. Not exactly.” I sat back when the server brought our food. After he left, I took a bite, rolled my eyes in ecstasy, then continued. “I can see other things.”

“Wait,” she said, taking a sip of water to wash down her food, “are you psychic? Is that what you’re telling me?”

I straightened my shoulders in thought. “Well, maybe, in a way.”

“Wow. What kinds of things do you see?”

And we’re off. “I see, you know, things like dead people.”

She nodded, fascinated but not the least bit surprised. Either she didn’t believe me, or she was way more open-minded than I’d expected. I pressed my mouth together. “You’re not the least bit surprised. Either you don’t believe me, or you are way more open-minded than I’d expected.”

“Open-minded,” she confirmed. “Janey, I might not be psychic, but it’s funny you bring that up. I have a cousin who is, well, she’s nuttier than almond paste, but she sees things, too. She’s the real deal, and…” She lowered her head as a blush of shame crept over her face. “And no one believed her. No one stood by her. Even after she warned us of impending doom and her predictions came through, her parents put her in an institution. She practically grew up there. And now – now she has no social skills. No one she can really talk to. It’s awful.”

“I had no idea. I’m so sorry, Cook.”

“No, it’s okay. Thank you, but my point is, I will never doubt true talent again. If you can see dead people, you can see dead people.”

“You really believe me?”

“With all my heart.”

The weight I’d been carrying around vanished in an instant. She believed me. I could feel it to her marrow. Surprisingly, tears stung the backs of my eyes. I hadn’t realized how much I’d wanted to talk to someone about all this until that moment.

“Oh, honey,” she said, her own eyes tearing. She pulled me into an awkward, over-the-table hug. “Now that this wall is down, tell me everything.”

I blinked at her. “Everything?”

“Everything.”

So, I did. I told her about how I felt the emotions of others. How I saw another world beyond ours. A volatile world where supernatural creatures really existed. I didn’t tell her about Reyes. Or even Osh. I felt like that was their story to tell. Not mine. But I did tell her about the demon in Mr. P and the angel who tried to kill me. The smoke billowing up.

She seemed to focus on one specific aspect of my story. “Another world? Like you see it within our own?”

“Yes.”

“And it’s all around us?”

I nodded.

“Wow.” She fell back in her chair, her forehead lined in thought. “That’s new.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know, just in general. It’s not something you hear every day.” After a moment of contemplation, she asked, “Anything else?”

“Yep. I know, like, eight languages.”

“No way.”

“And,” I continued, “I can stop time.” That might have been pushing it, but she seemed cool. “And,” I continued again, “apparently the departed can pass through me.”

“Well, yeah, their ghosts.”

“No, like through me through me. Like the chicken who crossed the road.”

“To get to the other side,” she said. “Janey, do you know what this means?”

I snorted. “I absolutely know what this means. Stay as far away from dead people as I can get.”

“Well, that’s not what I was going to say.”

“That’s because you’ve never had a dead person frolic through your brain.”

“True. Not that I know of, at least.”

“It is not something I ever ever ever want to happen again.”

“Understandable.”

“How are you so accepting of all this?”

“You make it all sound so fascinating.”

“Even the headless horseman thing?”

Cookie’s face softened further. “Even the headless horseman thing, though I doubt I’ll get any sleep tonight.”

“Sorry.”

“No. I’m okay. I am a big girl. I have big girl panties. I’ll put them on and be fine.”

“I don’t get it. Oh, you mean that metaphorically,” I said as understanding dawned. Her expression deadpanned, and I giggled. Just a little.