You’re the One That I Haunt Read online

  Terri Garey

  You’re the One That I Haunt

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  “Always remember that you’re unique…just like everyone else.”

  Chapter 2

  I stood up so fast I nearly tipped the table…

  Chapter 3

  “Possession is hardly something to fool around with, Nicki.” My…

  Chapter 4

  Forty-five minutes later I was out the door and on…

  Chapter 5

  “You went where with who?” Evan’s voice rose with every…

  Chapter 6

  “You’ve gotta do something, Kelly.”

  Chapter 7

  “What’s going on, Nicki?” Joe caught me by the elevator…

  Chapter 8

  Some days you’re the bug; some days you’re the windshield.

  Chapter 9

  “Do unto others, Nicki, as you would have them do…

  Chapter 10

  How the heck was I supposed to clear my mind…

  Chapter 11

  Three minutes later I was in my car and on…

  Chapter 12

  “Lord have mercy,” Odessa said sourly. “It’s a good thing…

  Chapter 13

  “Simple Wiccan magic,” Bijou said. “Herbs and charms. Benign, for…

  Chapter 14

  “How exciting to be present at the birth of a…

  Chapter 15

  I drove back to the shop in a daze, wondering…

  Chapter 16

  Luckily, in Little Five, you never had to look far…

  Chapter 17

  “Are you going to tell me why Evan left here…

  Chapter 18

  Tina Cowart lived in a trailer park on the outskirts…

  Chapter 19

  “You might not care about the danger you put yourself…

  Chapter 20

  I was halfway to my car when I realized that…

  Chapter 21

  After a quick in and out of the shower, a…

  Chapter 22

  I’d already had two showers today, but a long, hot…

  Chapter 23

  I woke with a start, knowing something was wrong, but…

  Chapter 24

  “You need to get yourself to church, girl.”

  Chapter 25

  “Can I get an ‘amen’?” Jimmy Boyd shouted, and at…

  Chapter 26

  “It’s not your fault, it’s not your fault, it’s not…

  Chapter 27

  That night was the first time I’d set foot in…

  About the Author

  Other Books by Terri Garey

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Life’s a bitch, and then you die.

  Usually.

  My name is Nicki Styx, and a few months ago, I found out the hard way that even though death may come for us all, not all of us are willing to go quietly. Some of us even get kicked out of the afterlife with words like, “It isn’t your time”, and “Go back and do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” Heart failure in my twenties had come as quite a shock, but being sent back to do good in the world was the real kicker. I mean, life’s hard enough, but does death have to be that way, too?

  Back in my goth days (not so long ago, if truth be told), I always figured that the “good die young” because being good all the time left them no reason to live. Now everything’s changed, and this former bad girl has to be a “do-gooder” or pay the ultimate price. Unfortunately, the people I have to “do good” to are people who are already dead—the ones who refuse to go quietly.

  Never let anyone tell you the universe doesn’t have a sense of humor.

  CHAPTER 1

  “Always remember that you’re unique…just like everyone else.”

  The TV behind the counter was blaring when I walked in the door of Handbags and Gladrags. My partner, Evan, was glued to the set, watching his favorite midmorning talk show.

  “Self-hypnosis can provide important past-life information that can help you understand your present life and transform yourself into the you that you were meant to be.”

  “Oh, please.” I slid the box of vintage jeans I was carrying onto the counter, glad to be rid of its weight. “You’re not buying into this crap, are you?”

  “Shh.” Evan waved me impatiently away, not even bothering with our usual “good morning” hugs and air kisses. “She’s just getting to the good part.”

  “My new book, Reincarnate Your Way to a New You, is available now from Atlantis Books, and can be yours for the low, low price of nineteen ninety-five.”

  “Nineteen ninety-five for a book on reincarnation? Not in this lifetime.” I giggled to myself at the unintended pun.

  Evan’s sense of humor seemed to be missing this morning, though his sense of fashion was, as usual, in perfect place. He was wearing gray pin-striped pants with a silky black button-down shirt, patterned with green Chinese dragons. “Shh,” he said again, “I wanna hear this.”

  I shrugged and went into the back room to lock up my purse and pour myself a cup of coffee. The TV was too loud to block out, and I couldn’t help but be glad the store was currently empty of customers. Business would pick up after lunch.

  “Reincarnate Your Way to a New You will give you the tools you need to tap into the three major dimensions of your psyche: your past lives, your preexistence, and the lives you’ve lived between lifetimes. Visualization is the key.”

  “It sounds like English, but I can’t understand a word she’s saying,” I called out, unwilling to pass up an opportunity to tease my best bud. “What do you think will happen if I visualize her with duct tape over her mouth?”

  The TV went dead, leaving blessed silence in its wake.

  “It worked,” I shouted triumphantly. “Visualization IS the key!”

  “Ha, ha,” said Evan from the doorway. “You’re awfully close-minded for somebody who sees dead people.”

  “Any connection between that woman’s reality and mine is purely coincidental. You know perfectly well I’d prefer not to see dead people, thank you very much, and I don’t scam poor suckers out of their hard-earned money.” The coffeemaker was empty, pot missing. “Unless they want quality vintage, which they will have to pay for. Now where’s the coffeepot?”

  “In the trash, where it belongs.” Evan leaned against the door jamb, crossing one sandaled Prada casually over the other. “Somebody forgot to turn off the burner yesterday.”

  Ugh. I got a quick mental flash of the muddy black mess we’d found at closing time yesterday—that “somebody” would be me.

  “How about a couple of large Mocha Lattes from Moonbeans?” I gave Evan a hopeful smile. “You fly, I’ll buy.”

  “Oh sure”—Evan sniffed—“ask the fairy to fly. How very politically incorrect of you.”

  “Somebody has their panties in a twist this morning.” I grinned, taking the sting from my words. “Anything wrong?”

  Evan sighed, giving me a mournful look. “I think Butch is losing interest.”

  “Impossible. The guy’s nuts about you!”

  “He’s been spending a lot of time on the computer late at night, and this morning I found out he’d changed his e-mail password.”

  I lifted an eyebrow at him. “You’ve been reading your boyfriend’s e-mails?”

  Evan shrugged. “Of course. Doesn’t everybody?”

  Remembering how I’d sneaked a peek at my boyfriend Joe’s computer recently, I had no room to talk. But that didn’t stop me. “No. You must learn to respect your partner’s privacy.”

  Evan looked at me, and I looked at him, then we both bur
st out laughing.

  “Okay. Okay. But just because Butch changed his e-mail password doesn’t mean he’s losing interest. You’re overreacting.”

  “Imagine that,” Evan murmured sarcastically.

  “And you think reincarnating yourself into a new you is the way to get his attention?”

  Evan sighed again. “I don’t know. Butch is interested in all this ‘New Age’ stuff. Maybe if I knew something about it, we’d have more in common.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Tell you what, pretty boy. You park yourself in the catbird seat and keep an eye on the store while I go get us those Mocha Lattes. You can tell me all your troubles when I get back.”

  Evan didn’t argue, which told me more than words could’ve. He didn’t even fuss at me when I stopped to adjust the ruffles on Grace Kelly’s ivory chiffon cocktail dress, a sure sign he was deep into depression. All of the mannequins in Handbags and Gladrags were made to look like film stars, and Grace was one of Evan’s particular favorites.

  I left him flipping listlessly through a muscle magazine while I went out the front door and into the rarefied air of Little Five Points, Georgia.

  If Butch was into New Age stuff, he needed to hang out in this neighborhood more often. Wind chimes in front of Crystal Blue Persuasion tinkled in the morning breeze, the perfect counterpoint to the weird electronic music they piped into the street every day to attract shoppers. The rich smell of coffee from Moonbeans vied with the odor of sandalwood incense, and if you breathed deep enough, you could smell the fresh fruits and vegetables stacked in bins outside the organic market, Garden of Eatin’.

  I dodged a dreadlocked kid on a skateboard, and smiled at an elderly black man who shuffled by, nodding pleasantly, folded newspaper under one arm. The familiar sweet/sour scent of stale beer rose from the alley as I passed the Vortex, skirting the dirty garbage bins ready for pickup.

  God, I love this place.

  “Two large Mocha Lattes, Amy,” I told the girl behind the counter. “Is that a new nose ring?”

  Amy, a chubby girl of about twenty who had more tats and metal on her body than most bikers, grinned happily at me as she filled the order. “Yeah. Thanks for noticing. Blue Screwed Tattoos got some new rings and studs in last week. Cute, isn’t it?”

  I suppose—if you don’t mind standing in line at metal detectors.

  “I prefer my studs about six-foot-two and built, but yours is supercute,” I answered cheerfully. To each his own.

  “Love the hair,” Amy eyed my pink-streaked head as she filled my order. “More pink than usual…new highlights?”

  “Flamingo Pink glam strips,” I said. “Temporary clip-ons. You should try the Midnight Blue—they’d go great with the silver in your studs.”

  “Cool. Thanks.”

  I paid and turned away, glancing around for one of the regular neighborhood winos to give my change to.

  “Nicki!”

  Speaking of studs.

  Joe’s shout caught me by surprise, very pleasantly so. We’d talked on the phone last night, but I hadn’t been expecting to see him until the weekend. He was smiling as he sprinted toward me on the sidewalk, narrowly evading a collision with a fat tourist couple in matching socks and sandals. Dark hair brushed his collar—he needed a haircut, but he looked so sexy. His surgical scrubs were wrinkled…he either needed a nap or had just woken from one.

  “Hey, baby.” I couldn’t hug him properly holding two cups of coffee, but I stood on my tiptoes for a quick kiss. “What are you doing here?”

  “I missed you,” he said simply, and my heart did that little flippy thing it does. The sensation used to scare me, but now it feels like an old friend.

  After all, if I didn’t have a wonky heart valve, I would never have met Joe.

  I kissed him again, a quick smack, which he enthusiastically returned. He smelled like antibacterial soap and male sweat. Running an emergency room was a tough job, one I could never do in a million years. Yet his green eyes were smiling, and his mood was upbeat. He looked terribly happy to see me.

  “You look good enough to eat.” Joe held me at the waist, checking out the black camisole, the hot pink tee. The jeans were my new favorites—indigo denim flares worn with a pair of thick-soled Louis Vuitton boots, circa 1980.

  I gave him a naughty grin, glad he was still hungry. “Later, baby, we’ll eat later.” I wasn’t talking about food, and the gleam in Joe’s eye showed he wasn’t either.

  We’d been dating almost six months now—definitely a record for me. A failed engagement in my late teens had left me a “commitment phobe” for the last decade, until Joe.

  “How about a Mocha Latte for now?” I handed one over without a qualm; I’d get Evan another one.

  Joe lifted the lid on the coffee cup and inhaled blissfully before taking a sip. “Ah. Just what the doctor ordered.” He tilted his head toward an empty sidewalk table. “Come sit with me.”

  I glanced involuntarily toward Handbags and Gladrags, knowing Evan was waiting to tell me his boyfriend troubles. But I couldn’t resist the chance to spend a few minutes with my own boyfriend, so I slid into a chair.

  As I did, I noticed a girl watching us. Early twenties, blond hair to her shoulders, very thin. Too thin, in fact—her shoulder blades jutted like clothes hangers beneath her T-shirt, low-cut jeans skimming prominent pelvic bones. She was staring right at us, and she looked pissed.

  “What a night,” Joe said, bringing my attention back to him, where it belonged. “Gang fight over in Riverdale, and we got the overflow. Forget the gunshot wounds—it’s unbelievable what knives and baseball bats can do to people.”

  “Ugh.” I wrinkled my nose, not really caring for the visual images that statement conjured up. “How you handle all that blood and pain on a daily basis is beyond me.”

  Joe cocked his head, smiling as he reached across the table to take my hand. “It’s like a battle,” he said, “between me and death.” It seemed an odd thing to say, yet it made sense. “Sometimes death wins, and sometimes I do.” His thumb smoothed over the skin of my knuckles. “And it’s all worth it. All I need to do is look at you to remind myself why I do this.”

  I smiled at him, squeezing his fingers. “I’m glad you were in the E.R. that night. You brought me back to life.” I leaned in over the table, letting my voice go all throaty. “In more ways than one.”

  “How sweet,” came a syrupy voice.

  I looked over Joe’s shoulder to see the blond girl, now standing right behind him. A nasty sneer curled one corner of her lip, a bony elbow jutted sharply from a hip.

  “Excuse me?”

  “True, I do know how to make you tingle,” Joe said. “Electric shocks, kissing the back of your knees…” He gave me an intimate grin, then took another sip of coffee, oblivious.

  A chill ran down my spine. I looked at his face, then back at the blonde.

  Crap. Not again.

  “What’s the matter, Nicki?” He lowered his cup. “You look like you’ve seen a gho…” His voice trailed off.

  “Isn’t he the clever one,” the girl said. “Too bad he wasn’t that clever last night.”

  Little Miss Nasty was beginning to tick me off.

  “Who are you?” If she wasn’t going to bother with the niceties, neither was I. “What do you want?”

  Joe swiveled in his chair to see who I was talking to, and of course, saw no one. “Um, Nicki?”

  Poor guy. He’d gotten a lot more than he bargained for when he started dating me—a girlfriend who talked to dead people was hardly every guy’s dream.

  More like a nightmare.

  The blonde looked at Joe, her expression getting uglier by the minute. “I’m Crystal,” she said. “Ask him if he remembers me.”

  I didn’t take orders well, and I really didn’t like her tone. Dead or alive, she was not my boss. “Why should I?”

  She lifted her eyes from Joe’s face. They were filled with hate.

  “Because he killed me,” she
snarled. “And I want him to remember.”

  CHAPTER 2

  I stood up so fast I nearly tipped the table over. Joe made a heroic grab for my cup, and caught it, but spilled lattes were the least of my worries.

  “What are you talking about? Joe never hurt anybody in his life!”

  “Hey,” he said, frowning. “What’s going on?”

  Crystal flicked him a contemptuous glance, then addressed her remarks to me. “Ask him. Ask him what happened in the E.R. last night.”

  I glared at her, fully aware that there were people all around, some of them shooting us curious looks. Taking a breath, I slid back into my chair, focusing my attention on Joe.

  “Did a girl named Crystal come into the emergency room last night?”

  His face went blank with shock. “Don’t tell me,” he said. “She’s here? Now?”

  I nodded grimly, ignoring Miss Skinny for the moment. “And she’s pissed.”

  He sat back, frowning. “She blames me?”

  Crystal moved around the table so she could look Joe full in the face. She was standing right next to me, hands on bony hips.

  “What happened, Joe?” I kept my voice down and avoided looking at the blond bag of bones next to us. Animosity radiated from her like waves of heat.

  He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “She was sick, Nicki. Very, very sick.”

  “He’s the one who’s sick.” Crystal reached out, and before I could blink, Joe’s coffee splashed all over the front of his scrubs and into his lap. He shot to his feet with a hiss of pain.

  I flinched, but it was too late. Crystal moved again, and the second cup hit the wall beside us, splattering, leaving a wet stain on my jeans and a mess on my favorite mural—pink and gray aliens in some sort of bizarre moonscape.