Dead to Me Read Online Free PDF Page B

phantasm.
     
    “Thanks?!?” I asked. “For what? I should be thanking you!”
     
    “These things feed on fear, kid. And frankly, I’m too seasoned to go all weak in the knees, so I really couldn’t get the drop on it all on my own, you know?”
     
    I dusted the filth of the alley off me as I stood and moved to recover my now dirty bag of collectibles from a nearby pile of debris. The bag looked like crap from the outside but I hoped everything in it would look better once I was home. I was soaked through and pissed.
     
    “So what does that make me in all this, exactly?” I shouted at Connor. “Bait? That’s it, isn’t it? You knew it would scare the crap out of me, feed off that, and totally forget about you, right?”
     
    Connor shrugged and stoppered the empty vial before slipping it back into his pocket. “That’s one way of looking at it.”
     
    “And what’s another?” I fired back.
     
    Connor slapped me on the shoulder, turning all smiles.
     
    “Calm down, kid. You’ve been an integral part of this operation. It’ll look good on your performance record with the Department. Think of it—the Inspectre might even grant you some sort of commendation.”
     
    “I’m not here to be your personal worm on the hook,” I said, pulling away.
     
    “I’m sorry, kid,” Connor said with a hint of sincerity. “Really.”
     
    Connor leaned toward me and brushed his hair over his forehead. The new streak of white was even more pronounced now. “Look, I don’t like how this went down, kid, or the fact that we’re doing Haunts-General’s work, but what are we gonna do? With all the budget cuts, Other Division picks up the slack. It’s what puts the Extra in the Department of Extraordinary Affairs.”
     
    Connor was right and it really wasn’t his fault. We were overworked and caught up in the red tape of New York City bureaucracy. I let go of my anger. After all, my hair had been spared. Who was I to complain?
     
     
     
    By the time Haunts-General finally showed up and decided it was time for them to do their goddamn job, Connor looked ready to pass out. He pointed out the mist-shrouded spirit in the alley to them, along with the strange broken pieces of clay scattered everywhere. I looked like an Olympic medalist comparatively, even covered in a mix of something both stickyand pungent from the puddle. The nappy brown suede of my knee-length trench was a mess, not to mention that it also reeked of the patchouli-scented concoction that Connor had used to trap the ghost. I wasn’t sure which was worse—smelling like a dirty hippie or smelling like garbage. Either way, I was in dire need of a shower.
     
    The pains and aches of my overexerted muscles set in during the ten-block stumble back to my apartment. By the time I hit my elevator, I felt like the Tin Man right before Dorothy used the oil can on him. As I worked my way through the door and across my crate-laden living room, I hesitantly opened the shopping bag. I expected to find shattered circuit boards and soggy cardboard boxes covered in street sludge, but somehow they had survived intact. I slipped the console and games onto the shelf with the rest of my collectibles. Figuring out how to find Kevin Matthews would have to wait until morning. For tonight, I decided to stick with the basics in order of importance: (1) a shower, and (2) sleep.
     
    The night’s events had proven a perfect remedy for the insomnia I had been suffering from earlier. I was exhausted.
     
    I struggled out of my jacket—my arms stuck helplessly to the wet sleeves—as I stumbled toward the bathroom. I was so tired, I felt drunk. My apartment phone rang. A call at this hour meant one of three things: someone I knew was dead, someone from my past wanted money, or worst case, Tamara was calling to talk things through. The first two possibilities were ones I could contend with. Death, for instance, while often unpleasant, was a universal inevitability (except for