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Part 4-11: Note
Back in our less demented library, we looked for the title that Deluxe had cross-referenced, Overcoming Obstacles, but it wasn’t on the suspect shelf. So, we asked one of the clerks if they knew if it was lent out. This meant I got to practice my new wifi skills, as all the pertinent info was locked up in the ol’ cloud.
“Internet has been down for a few minutes,” explained the lady behind the big front desk, giving her clunky mouse a few illustratively loud clicks.
It took some effort to find the checkerboard pattern again. It had melted into the background of everything, snugging itself into every contour and crease of reality, like a layer of old paint hiding under a fresh coat. But the feeling—dare I say the vibe—of its patchwork force was a cousin to the Queen’s Band tingle, a sensation I now knew was every bit a part of me as the jewelry was. I found I could coax it out if I relaxed and let my eyes unfocus. Once I had it, the grey world was distracting and gridlike. Now, to make it worse!
All squares are diamonds, and the diamonds I wanted were so very bright. At first, the dark patches of the crossword puzzle waves flickered one by one, snapping from dark grey to blazing white. As more seemed to catch, they spread. The straight grid lines jittered and started to shake. Faster, brighter, and warmer until all at once—
“Oh, there it goes,” said the clerk. “Don’t you hate it when it gets spotty like that?”
“The pits,” agreed Fergus, the usual zing in his voice dulled. I felt a wave of sudden, wild anger at The Minder for screwing with Fergus’ head. But before it could fester too painfully, the more immediate pain of the wifi on my skin demanded attention.
“Ghost Alena is going to take a break,” I announced. “Deluxe, am I free of guests back there?”
“No ma’am, but it’s only a small winged Lobster attending your vessel,” she said. “Wish me to shoo?”
“How much birdshit is on me?”
“Minimal.”
“Great.”
Hungry again and in need of fresh clothes, I took 15 minutes off from spirit duty while the rest of the squad kept on sleuthing. I desperately wanted a bubble bath but that felt terribly selfish given Dack was trapped in an alternative reality prison and we’d all but confirmed that our chief nemesis was once again stalking innocents.
I settled for an exfoliating face scrub paired with veggies ‘n’ ranch dip. I came back into the living room with a cheekful of celery, leading a tiny pack of hopeful, scavenging Lobsters.
“Noms?” I asked Deluxe, presenting my half devoured plate.
She nodded and waved me over. She was scrolling through social media.
“Who we creepin’?” I asked.
“Our field agents extracted a name. Tricia Glenscot rented out Overcoming Obstacles over a month ago. This is her.”
I crunched a baby carrot as a golden retriever hopped up on the couch. I peered at the screen. There were several photos of an angsty looking brunette who wore too much eyeliner, didn’t like to smile and wore skanky clothes that seemed designed to aggravate her mother. She reminded me of my sister.
“Glenscot,” I said. “Related to the cafe proprietor?”
“Affirmative,” said Deluxe, plucking up some snap peas. “Harold’s niece’s daughter. Senior in high school.”
I got a wet dog nose in my ear, and fended it off by tossing some carrots away into the corner. Canine and avian Lobsters raced after them.
“So we what? Find her and see if she’s seen any ghosts?”
“Find her, watch her, protect her,” said Deluxe. “You and Fergus believe The Collector’s test will involve the compromise of her wellbeing. A sound theory.”
“We’re stalking a high school kid now. Super.”
“Lead’s a lead. You feeling stable?”
“It doesn’t seem to drain me much anymore,” I said, drumming two fingers on the fat yellow ring.
“Sounds like adaptive behaviour. Tell me how you felt disabling the wifi. If you can generate rogue signal at will, I think when given the chance, we recreate it locally so I can conduct more focused research.”
I gave Deluxe the squares-and-diamonds rundown, along with what I remembered of The Minder’s take on it all. She chewed her peas, staring through me, then clicked the mute switch on her headset.
“If you have a chance,” she said. “See if you can key into Persi’s bioluminescence. This ability to visualize and manipulate templates within the electromagnetic spectrum may be transferable.”
“See if Persi’s or others’ glow have squares or diamonds too,” I translated, nodding.
“Particularly if the patterns are different,” she added, then hovered a finger back to her headset. I gave her a thumbs up and she clicked it.
“Alena is back and ready for action,” said Deluxe, as I got settled and put on my own headset. “Fergus, care to explain the hallucinations to her?”
“Hallucinations?” I said, pinpricks icing themselves up my forearms.
“Don’t fret captain,” he said. “It’s boring, really.”
“What do you see?” I demanded, sitting up straight.
“It’s an old wooden bridge. I don’t really see it so much as I have a tough time not thinking about it. Guessing it’s a gift from Sir Dickweed? Anyway, we’re parked a block from Templeton High, school’s out in an hour or so.”
“Alena, do you draw any significance from such a symbol?” asked Deluxe.
“An old bridge? No. Check Miss Sass’ socials though. Do we know where she lives yet?”
“The Glenscot clan is numerous in this town, but I’ve it down to a few probable addresses.” Deluxe brought up a map, marked with four pins. She twisted her monitor towards me. Near several of them, I recognized the cross streets of a little restaurant I’d been to a billion years ago when I was scouting for decor ideas.
“I’ll start there. Guide me,” I said, and thought of the spicy scents of curry, the sound of rushing steam, and wooden chairs painted white with stark orange upholstery.
Wifi madness greeted me along with the clinking of forks and gentle conversation. Somewhat practiced now, I twisted the chain link fence into a checkerboard, moving it a few notches down from blinding fog mode to a more gentle water-wavering-over-glass. I saw the exit and made my way out before releasing my grip. The squares had not yet fully materialized, and the restaurant fell back into a fuzzy blur.
Coordinating with Deluxe, I walked down the centre of the street to avoid the worst of the residential Internet, heading toward the first Glenscot residence. When I got there, I smothered its router entirely and committed my very first home invasion. No one was around, and there were no bedrooms that matched the attitude of teenage Tricia. There was a girl’s room, but it was filled with dollhouses and colouring books.
The next residence turned out to be a gross bachelor pad inside a cheap apartment complex, wherein I came across a middle aged couple dancing the horizontal tango. Before I let the wifi come rushing back and cleanse my eyes with its fire, I noticed something interesting about their blue auras: they’d been understandably mixed together, but there had been bright sparks and flashes from somewhere inside of it, like muted lightning caught inside a storm cloud. I did not relish explaining the circumstance of my discovery to everyone, so I filed it away for later.
Third time was the charm. This house was blessedly empty as well, and the second bedroom was adorned with posters of suicide girls, punk rock bands and shirtless male models. A bookshelf packed with young adult fiction, some figurines that looked like they were from an anime show, and clothes literally everywhere, 70% of them bras.
“Bingo,” I reported, scanning the shelf for the title we sought.
“Bell went a minute ago, kids are starting to filter out, and I feel like a major creepazoid,” said Fergus.
“Fergus,” said Deluxe, “Please check Tricia’s Instagram posts from last summer. They’re approximately 300 entries down.”
“Fuck’s sake,” he grumbled, and I snorted to myself.
I did not see the library book on her shelf, so I turned to survey the disaster before me. Her desk caught my eye, partly because it was actually tidy, partly because of the knife.
It was a big switchblade, standing up straight, point buried into a book. A piece of paper lay skewed atop the hardcover.
I moved over to it. Scrawled in shaky handwriting, the message on the note read, ‘too much. sorry, ends today. bye forever’
A suicide note. But I knew Tricia Glenscot had not penned it.
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