Part 31

	The vixen glared at her watch. The long, crimson finger of the second-hand marched along its route, climbing upwards after having swooped down. The links of the silver chain about her wrist ground together like gnashing teeth when she squeezed it.
	With each twitch of the finger, a hammer hit an anvil in her head. So close. The hands were beginning to wobble with how strained her eyes were becoming, as if trying to will the hand to march faster.
	Whoom.
	Whoom.
	Whoom.
	...
	Whoom!
	Like a lawn-gnome given life from stone, she stood from her chair. White flooded her vision, and she stumbled. The rush of blood was a momentary frustration, but in a way it may have kept her in check. Once recovered, she stepped up to the window.
	She peered through the glass, attempting to intimidate it into shattering. The uniformed gentleman that it protected must have heard her pupils carving along its surface, for he turned to her.
	”Yes?” He asked. Though, the speaker that carried his voice through the protective shield came out as a muffled, artificial whisper.
	”It’s been forty-seven hours,” she growled. “Either charge him, or I’m taking him home.”
	The black-furred feline’s brows remained level and bored. “Who was this in regards to again, ma’am?”
	”Damian,” she replied with a snip. He knew full-well. He remembered.
	”Last name?”
	Like there was a need. “Damian Rangel.”
	”Right, Right...” He looked at the analogue clock on the wall behind him. It showed the same face that her watch had a minute ago. Once again, the hammer hit the anvil as he waited for his clock to catch up to the right time.
	”Your name again?” Came the droll, muffled voice, accentuated with a soft buzz from the speaker.
	”Victoria Workman.” She replied, setting her purse on the counter and fishing out her license. She slipped it underneath the glass via the metal tray. Her fingers butted against a little wall.
	The feline’s hand went to the window and flipped the latch so that the item changed to his side, and now the little wall blocked her side.
	He made sure to take his time. Go very thoroughly to inspect her license. He may as well have busted out a small chem lab and tested the coating to ensure it was the correct grade of laminate. Then, he turned to his computer.
	She could hear the little taps of his claws tic-tic-tic-ticking away. She swallowed, and licked her lips. Out of view of the officer, she curled her hand into a fist. Her knuckles popped. Every time he glanced up at her, she made sure to meet his eyes.
	He slid the license back into the tray and flipped it over for her to retrieve. “What is your relationship to the individual?”
	”I’m his employer,” she informed.
	The desk officer picked up the phone nearby and tapped an extension. His whiskers twitched and fanned as he talked, but she couldn’t hear what he said since the speaker was muted. She watched the silent clip for a few seconds, and then he hung up.
	She heard the clack just before he spoke. “Ms. Workman, if you’ll have a seat, we’ll bring him out in a few minutes.”
	Without a word she snatched her purse and stepped away from the counter. She found a spot between the chairs, in front of a plant, and stood. She wasn’t about to sit, now.
	She peered from her vantage to the station beyond. There were a few cells that could be seen into. One had a mirror facing it, and she was at an angle where she could see it. It was empty, though.
	She followed a uniform that caught her attention. The blue shirt walked with purpose before disappearing out of her vantage. She held her gaze there, like a predator ready to pounce at any sign of motion. She folded her arms.
	For a brief second, she relaxed when she saw someone emerge, but it wasn’t what she anticipated. It was a strange figure, covered in black, with a hood up. It drifted along like a shadow, before falling out of vantage.
	She wondered for a second if she had even seen that right. It looked almost like a ghost. Everyone up till now had a blue shirt or an orange jumpsuit. Before she had time to mull it over more, she caught movement in her periphery.
	Her hackles raised. The uniform she had seen a minute ago led the jaguar along.
	He looked so worn-down. Boredom and intimidation ground his usual cheery, bubbly smirk into a weary, jagged frown. His hair, kept well-groomed and styled with the coconut-scented pom-aide, was now a scraggly, greasy, matted mess of moss growing on his scalp. His eyes, like polished jade reflecting the sun, were cast down in shame and guilt, and looked like the mud from the bottom of a lake. His clothes were wrinkled and even torn in a few places.
	She gritted her teeth behind her scowl. He stepped into a double-door room, where only one door was opened at a time to ensure someone couldn’t get out. Then he was finally brought into the waiting area.
	”Okay, Mr. Rangle,” the officer said, botching the jaguar’s surname. “I’ll just get this off ya...” He fiddled with the tie around the cat’s wrists. “And… You’re good to go,” he said. “Keep out of trouble.”
	”Yes, sir,” Damian mumbled.
	”You have a good rest of your night, ma’am,” the officer bid to the vixen, and quickly made his way back through the door.
	He stood, looking downward, not meeting her eyes.
	She unfolded her arms, softening her demeanor. “You have a jacket?”
	He shook his head.
	”Okay. Wait in here. I’ll get the car.” She went to her seat where her coat was, and pulled it on. “Hold my purse?” She asked.
	He held up his hand, and the strap was looped around his forearm.
	She stepped out into the cold. The snow that covered the parking lot reflected the lights from within the station, as well as the ones casting a blue glow down from high above.
	An oddly beautiful sight, that made it appear as though the vixen was hastily trotting over sea-foam.
	When her car pulled round to the entrance, he stepped out. He waded through the wall of bitter cold, in just his jeans and tee. But it didn’t really register, just like it didn’t when he bolted from his van after hearing the vicious shouting.
	Then, it was adrenaline. Now, it was just apathy.
	When he opened the passenger door, soft violin strings tickled his ears. The music was very low, barely audible above the hum of the engine. As they drove from the station, the melody was almost instantly soothing.
	”Not gonna ask you to tell me what happened, yet,” the vixen said, breaking the silence. “But, what’d you tell them?”
	”I tried not to tell them anything.”
	”Good.”
	”...They tried to pin me… For being a sicko, y’know?”
	”You asked for a lawyer, right?”
	”No.”
	She hit the steering wheel. “Fuck. Damian!”
	He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry.
	”Oh, right,” she mumbled, her demeanor softer. “There’s water in the back, behind my seat.”
	He glanced back and saw the case on the floorboard when they passed a light. It was already torn open. He reached and plucked a bottle of water from it, unscrewed the cap, and lifted it fully upright.
	He chugged the whole thing at once.
	When he opened his eyes, they were passing underneath the golden arches. The car slowed, and stopped at the glowing menu.
	”Welgo’m tah McDawnlawld’s,” came the twangy female voice over the crackly speaker. “Wudjya loik tah troi ah’ new Angaz Boygah?”
	”No,” the vixen said flatly.
	”A’ight hun, whugan’agetchya?”
	”Can I get, like… Twenty cheese burgers?”
	”Tweh—” The speaker fizzled. “What d’hay ya gawna do wit’ twenn’ee cheezboygahs?”
	”...Eat, them.” She replied, unsure if she should be agitated, or befuddled, at the question she was having to answer.
	”Augh… Okay, anythin’ else wi’dat?”
	”Large fry.”
	”Twenn’ee cheezboygahs, lahdge froy. That complete ya oyda?”
	She turned to her passenger. “Need anything else?”
	He shook his head.
	”That’s it,” she told the speaker-box.
	”Twenn’ee-three, foytee-seven, foyst winda’.”
	She pulled around the building. The indoor playground was lit, empty of children. That made it kind of eerie. She pulled up to the first window. It slid aside, showing a rather rotund, ragdoll woman that had taken her… “oyda.”
	The ragdoll repeated the price, accepting the twenty and five that were handed over.
	”Keep the change,” the vixen said, waving her hand dismissively when the woman started counting out the cents.
	The feline paused, setting the money back in. “Moind pullin’ up t’da secon’ winda’? Gonna take me a bit t’make dat many boygahs, but Ioy’ll troy’ta make ‘em quick as Ioy can.”
	”Sure, thank you,” the vixen agreed, rolling up her window and pulling ahead to the second window.
	”I… I wasn’t… That hungry,” the jaguar muttered.
	”Hm?” His boss asked, reaching and adjusting the heater to blast a little more heavily for him.
	”They gave me food… I didn’t need twenty burgers.”
	She smirked. “You need sleep,” she told him. “We’re not eating all these at once, ya goof. I just don’t have enough in my fridge for two people.”
	”In your fridge?”
	She smiled at him. “I drove by your place. There’s reporters crawling around, like freakin’ roaches. I mean, they might not be there, now, but they’ll be there tomorrow. Hell, surprised none were waiting right outside the station.”
	His stomach creaked like the hull of a ship.
	”Psh, they fed you,” she grumbled. “Get another water. Drink it slower, this time,” she told him.
	He grabbed another bottle, lifted it up, and chugged.
	”Said slower!” She hissed in admonishment, watching the liquid drain down the bottle.
	”If you keep that up you might puke,” she warned.
	”I already wanna puke,” he countered, dropping the bottle to his feet, with the other one.
	Suddenly, his head fell into his hands, and he started sobbing.
	She rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay. We’ll be home, soon.”
	”I… I listened to him, die, Vickie...” The jaguar sobbed.
	”Shzsh! Don’t—”
	”The screaming… The banging… Then… Then the—”
	”Shut up!” She barked. “Hold on just a little bit longer. Wait till we’re at my place. Dammit, boygah-bitch, hurry up,” she growled under her breath.
	She gritted her teeth. Listening to Damian sob like that was breaking her heart. Just a few days ago he was care-free, mixing smoothies and blending beans like an apothecarian.
	Impulsively, she wished that little kit hadn’t ever set foot in The Den.
	”Finally,” she grumbled, and opened the door to the car. She waited for the ragdoll, hobbling through the snow and carrying the two bags. Steam puffed above the flaps of her three chins.
	”Twenn’ee cheezboygahs, lahdge froy. They’ya go dawrlin’,” she huffed, helping the vixen plop the bags in the backseat of the car. “Don’ eed‘m awll at once, na’,” she chuckled.
	”Thank you,” Victoria said with a shivery breath, opening up the driver door.
	“Hayv a good noyt.” The ragdoll bid even as the door had already shut. She waved as the car rolled away. She waddled back toward the warmth of the restaurant, but just before opening the door she looked back.
	”Twenn’ee boygahs’s too much, even fah me,” she shook her head, pulling the door open.

Part 32

	After the past few days of winter storm, the morning sun lit the clouds aglow in white. The light spilled into the room, causing the wood to occasionally snap and pop.
	She stirred, reaching out. But her hand felt only emptiness next to her. Groggily, she opened her eye, and saw the spot on bed beside her was empty.
	She let out a soft, knowing giggle, and sank below the sheets as if submerging into water. “Good morning, Mrs. Lennox,” she greeted.
	Mom gasped with a start, having just witnessed the mousette emerge from the ceiling. “G—Good morning, sweetie,” she said, collecting herself and continuing to tend to the pancakes she was making.
	”Sorry,” she apologized, seeing how she had startled the woman.
	”Oh, it’s all right,” Mom smiled. “Just… Something to get used to.” She admitted.
	”Smells yummy!” The mouse complimented, before dashing through the air toward the living room, phasing through the wall. “Morning, Mr. Lennox.”
	”Good morning, sweetie,” he replied, looking up from the stack of mail he was going through, which had piled up the last few days they had been displaced. He looked about the room while she alighted on the floor. “Where’s Milo?” He asked.
	She lifted a finger to her lips. “Sssh...” She shushed, lowering down through the floor as if she was on an invisible elevator.
	Dad took off his glasses after Suzy’s ears disappeared.
	Mom stepped into the room. “Breakfast is almost ready. Where’re the kids?”
	”Yahhhhhh!”
	Mom and Dad whipped their heads to the panicked scream as Suzy and Milo rose up through the floor.
	”Putmedown putmedown putmedown putmedown!” Milo ordered, flailing and wriggling in Suzy’s grasp as she floated up near the ceiling.
	”Okay, you asked for it,” she said, letting him go.
	With a yip, he dropped to the ground, bouncing up like a basketball before settling on the floor. He scrambled to his feet. “That wasn’t nice,” he grumbled at her.
	She giggled, swirling around in the air. “C’mon, you gotta learn how to fly!”
	”Well droppin’ me from the ceiling ain’t gonna help! I’m kinda averse to heights at the moment, if you kinda think about it,” he rapped his skull with his knuckle.
	The parents saw the ghost girl go sort of hazy in her appearance. There was a moment of silence.
	“Breakfast is ready,” Mom interjected. “Is everybody hungry?” She asked with an enthusiastic pump of her arm across her torso.
	The kids exchanged glances.
	”Well… No, we don’t feel hunger,” Suzy admitted.
	Mom’s demeanor shifted to mild concern. “Oh… I made enough for everyone to eat…”
	”Sorry, mom,” Milo apologized. “But, we can still taste stuff, so we still get to enjoy it.”
	”Well then let’s go. Gettin’ cold,” Dad ushered, standing up and following his wife into the kitchen.
	”You don’t need to do plates for us,” Suzy remarked, when she saw Mom setting out a third plate, and motioning to set a fourth.
	”Maybe one plate,” Milo suggested, settling into the chair. “Mom and Dad probably don’t want your face in the way when they’re eating, now that they can see you.”
	They exchanged glances. “Now that we can see you?” They both asked the kids.
	Milo and Suzy yipped and squeaked, realizing what he’d just let slip.
	Mom smiled gently. “Well, at least you’re being considerate, now,” she offered, starting to put pancakes on the plates.
	The parents started to eat. Now and again they glanced at the kids.
	Milo was sitting in the chair, while Suzy’s head stuck up from the table just above her chin. They took turns tasting the buttered and syruped pancakes. Suzy would step into the spot, and then step away. Milo would then basically face-plant into them.
	It was like dipping his face into a bath of warm water, but instead of feeling the water on his cheeks and brow, he just felt the taste of the food hazily tingling where his tongue would be. Even though the location of the taste was hazy since he didn’t have a tongue anymore, the intensity of the taste was much more than when he was alive. Since he had few other senses of touch to distract him, taste came through nearly unfiltered.
	”These are delicious, Mom!” Her son complimented enthusiastically, lifting his head up to remark to her.
	”Well I’m glad you—”
	”Uhk!”
	”Eep! Hey, you dork, it’s my turn,” Suzy grumbled, rubbing her head.
	”’M Sr’mm,” Milo mumbled, holding his muzzle.
	”What happened?” Asked Dad, who was looking at the crime-scene tape while eating a bite.
	”It looked like they bonked heads,” Mom remarked. She covered her muzzle to hide a giggle. “Guess ghosts can’t pass through each other. Hm… Kind of like that barrier,” she observed.
	Dad set his fork down, his plate bearing only crumbs and a puddle of syrup. “What do we do with that?” He asked, pointing to the stack the kids were tasting, but not eating.
	Mom shrugged. “Guess we should eat it.”
	”Yeah, I think I’m done,” Milo remarked. “Thanks Mom, sorry you wound up making extra.”
	”Yeah,” Suzy agreed. “I should probably fill everyone in on our spooooooky ways, sometime,” she said, making the emphasized word that much spookier by fiddling with the vowels and waving her arms.
	”That will certainly help,” Mom agreed. “I dunno how long it’s going to take to get used to seeing you popping in and out through walls, though.”
	”You’d be surprised,” Milo replied. “It didn’t take me long to get used to it.”
	”Speaking of,” Suzy said, pushing off into the air and twisting to face back down. “C’mon, Milo, let’s go upstairs and play.”
	”Okay,” the fox boy agreed, and hopped out of the chair, shuffling toward the passageway to the living room.
	”Where ya goin’?” Suzy called.
	He paused, turning back. “Uhm… Upstairs,” he replied, a little sheepishly, and quickly dashed for the stairs. It was odd to not hear his footfalls. The normal, rapid thumps one hears when surmounting steps was but a whisper of scurrying dustbunnies. If even that.
	He arrived at the door to his room, and eased it open, entering.
	She was sitting on his bed. “Rotten egg.” She teased.
	He playfully made a grump-face at her while he shut the door behind him.
	”Well, if you hadn’t taken the long way,” she made to hop off is bed, but really just hovered above the ground, “you wouldn’t stink so bad.”
	”I can’t stink, anymore,” he reminded her, simply carrying on with her expression as a joke; “no sweat,” he remarked, lifting up his arm to show off his armpit.
	”So,” she began to ask, feet alighting on the floor. “Why did you take the long way?”
	”Wha—addaya mean?” He questioned back, fidgeting a little as she started to pace. He was met with only silence, following her eyes as she circled about him with her hands behind her back twice.
	”You can’t fly, can you?”
	”I… I dunno,” he admitted.
	”Try,” she said, drifting up into the air.
	He watched her float, and started shaking a bit to loosen up. He stretched his neck left and right, wiggled his arms, flicked his legs, and swished his tail. He stood with feet shoulders’-width apart, took in a deep breath out of habit, and squatted low. He jumped into the air as high as he could with a bark.
	Suzy winced as she saw him collide to the ground without a sound. She settled back down and stood in front of him while he lifted to hands and knees.
	Seeing her feet, he looked up, shying back from her a few crawling steps when he met her sapphire gaze.
	”You’re not very good at this ghost thing, are you?” She asked, rhetorically.
	”Well...” He stood. “I’ve only been one for a few days,” he reasoned. “Cut me some slack.”
	She folded her arms with a smirk. “Didn’t take me more than a day to fly,” she said, proudly. “Don’t worry, Master Suzy will show you the ropes.” She extended a hand to help him up. “I’ll be your Senior Spectre, and you can be my… Apprentice Apparition,” she giggled, liking the terms she was coming up with. “If you do as I say, you won’t be such a… Goofy Ghoul, for very long.”
	This time, his grump-face was a little more genuine. “Hey, c’mon,” he grumbled. “Don’t you think you’re being kinda mean? I wasn’t expecting to be a ghost, after all.”
	The change in her attitude was immediate. “So… You’re mad at me?” She asked.
	Milo sensed her trepidation. “Well… No, I’m not exactly mad. It’s just...” In the moment he tried to think of what he wanted to say, Suzy set upon the bed and grabbed her tail. He watched her wring the end of it tightly. “Hey,” he approached her, hand reaching out to rest on her shoulder; “what’s the ma—”
	”You’re dumb!” She shouted.
	He balked.
	”You’re ugly!” She snapped, strangling her tail. “And you suck at helping others!” She saw his wide eyes and muzzle agape. “There! Now aren’t you mad!?”
	”N-No! What?—I don’t—”
	She let out sob, and tried to sink into the bed.
	His reflexes snapped him forward, and he grabbed her arm just before it disappeared. She was heavy, trying to pull away; he growled, holding firm. He managed to get footing, and yanked her out of the bed.
	She squeaked, stumbling forward and twisting about. Then, again, when he pressed against her. She stumbled back, like she was about to fall over, but he kept her upright and stumbled with her. Finally, she let out a third squeak when her back bumped into the wall next to the large window.
	The light made them nearly invisible, were they to be seen by a living fur’s eye.
	He held her tightly.
	She held back her tears.
	The house’s bones popped in the quiet moment.
	”I said… Not to run,” he reminded her.
	His voice was soft to her ear. Far softer than what she was bracing for. His hold on her loosened. Despite her every wisp wanting to flee, she merely dropped to her rump against the wall.
	He rested on one knee in front of her, trying to catch her eyes. But every time they met, she averted them away. “You want me to be mad at you?” He asked.
	”It’d be easier,” she mumbled, “if you were.”
	”Why should I be mad at you?”
	”Because I got you killed!” She blurted, curling up into a ball, nose and eyes pressed to her knees. Her big ears picked up the subtle shifts in the air; the rustling as he moved to sit beside her. She winced, when he slightly leaned into her. She had to break her curl just enough to keep from falling over—she wouldn’t have done that, except that he would fall, too.
	She didn’t want that.
	He let out a sigh.
	”Not gonna lie...” He mumbled. “It does kinda suck.”
	She tensed again.
	”But… I think… I’m more… Embarrassed, than anything.” He admitted, with a chuckle.
	”It’s not funny!” She snapped. “You’re dead! And it’s all my fault!”
	This time the house offered no break to the silence.
	”All your fault, huh?” He asked.
	Her mumbling seemed to affirm.
	”The way I saw it… It was your mom that killed me. So… I think that makes it more her fault, than yours.”
	”She wouldn’t have had the chance to kill you if I hadn’t stupidly asked for you to help me with my stupid idea to try and free Daddy—which was stupid!”
	”Hm… Well then,” he shifted in his seating, extending one leg and relieving the pressure he put on Suzy by leaning. “I think you’re daddy’s also to blame.”
	”Wha—h-huh?” She stammered, breaking her sulking curl to meet eye-to-eye with the fox. “D-Don’t blame Daddy! H-He’s innocent! That’s cruel!”
	”I mean,” Milo shrugged, “I’m not blaming him. You are.”
	”Uh-uh, I’d never...” She sniffled. “Why would you say that?”
	”Cuz,” he began to explain: “the reason I helped you is cuz you died. So if you had never died, you’d’a never needed my help. But because you were born, you died. So it’s your mom’s and Daddy’s fault for you being born in the first place.”
	She grabbed her tail, strangling it again. “B—… W—… S—...” She tried to start a thought, but each time it was like it slammed into the wall that kept her in the house.
	”Heck, I guess I could blame your grandparents for making your mom and dad be born. So I guess… Yeah, I guess it’s your whole family tree’s fault.”
	Her nose dipped. “...You’re right.” She somberly agreed.
	”Oh, stop it!”
	She flinched, her tail yanked from her wringing clutches. She followed its tug, and saw that it was in his paws. It twitched and wiggled, as if flinching in fright from the gentle strokes of his finger, still terrified from the hands that had strangled it so.
	”It’s your mom’s fault, and only your mom’s fault.” He stated, with a flare of sincerity that meant he would no longer entertain any other arguments. “The only furson I’m angry at, is her.” He stood up, but did not relinquish her tail. “And now, she’s made enemies out of all the Lennoxes.
	”It’s only a matter of time,” he turned, and finally let her tail go. “Soon, the news’ll spread. Cheryl MacAllister, killed two children, almost exactly one year apart.” He smacked his right fist into his left palm. “She’ll wish she’d’ve treated you a little bit better.”
	Suzy’s tail curled around her ankle. She hid her muzzle in her knees, but still held eyes with the fox. “You’re… Kinda scary when you say it like that.” She told him.
	”Me? Scary?” He chuckled. “C’mon. I don’t even know how to phase through walls, yet. I’m still just a Goofy Ghoul.”
	She smiled, and let out a timid giggle. “Yeah… About that...” She finally stood up. “If you’re gonna be a ghost, ya gotta at least be able to phase through walls. So… Let’s start there.”
	”Okay,” he agreed, hopping to the middle of the room. “How do I do it?”
	She took a collecting breath, and broke her curl, standing with him. “Hmm… First step is becoming incorporeal. Can you do that?”
	”Ummm...” He looked about him. “...I don’t think so.”
	”Not at-will, it looks like,” she nodded. “But you did when you slept cuz you were in the basement.”
	”Yeah… Now I know how you felt,” he pointed out.
	”Let’s see...” She tapped her chin. “How to put it… It’s like...” She snapped her fingers. “I got it! Okay… Close your eyes.”
	”Mkay,” he did so, standing still and closing his eyes. “Now what?”
	”So, right, you’re corporeal. Think of that like, you’re in church and everyone is praying and it’s all quiet, and you’re trying to hold in a massive fart.”
	”Wh-What?” He asked, bursting into chuckles.
	”I’m serious!” She said, though it was through her own fit of giggles. “That’s what being corporeal is like. Going incorporeal is basically just like giving in, relaxing, and letting it all flow out of you. But, like… In a ghosty kinda way.”
	”Okay.” He said, a few chuckles still escaping. “I’ll give it a shot.”
	”Close your eyes,” she advised. “Find your center.” She coached, in a soft voice. “Hear nothing... Feel nothing... Stop thinking… Just, let things happen… And, be the fart.”
	He couldn’t help but burst into another fit of chuckles, but then; “Whoa!” His eyes snapped open as he felt a kind of tingling. He kicked his feet and looked about. He quickly realized he was only halfway in the room—his other half had sunken through the floor!
	”Hey! It worked!”
	”Yeah! It did! I became the fart!” He said excitedly. Then, he paused. “Um… But now I’m stuck like Pooh in Rabbit’s window...”
	He didn’t quite see right away why she wound up rolling in the air, laughing.

Part 33

	”I knkchhhh—killed Suzy! You kkchhh—wn daughter!”
	The voices, interspersed with occasional static, played into her mind from the headphones that covered her ears.
	”Shut up.”
	”Ek-scewz Me?”
	She pictured them sitting at the table, as if she were a fly buzzing about.
	”Mom, you shut up, too.”
	Just then, her skin started to tingle. Not from how the boy’s voice changed. She quickly pulled off the headphones, and drew up her hood.
	”There you are,” grated the gruff voice of the Sergeant. “We—The hell do you have on your face?”
	The ermine peeled away the fabric that covered her muzzle, and removed a wad of gauze that was in her mouth. “It’s called a balaclava.”
	”You look like a thug we just put away,” he remarked, while she removed the blindfold that covered her eyes. “The heck are you wearing that for?”
	”I was listening to the Rangel recording,” the ermine said, standing up. Her voice was oddly sharp, despite the suppressive nature of the sound-dampening room.
	”We’ve heard it a dozen times already,” he reminded her.
	”And I was attempting one more,” she countered. “This time, with sensory deprivation and meditation.”
	”Voodoo,” he translated. “You can play witch-doctor later. Right now, you and I need to have a little discussion about things.”
	”Very well,” she replied, standing. “Let us discuss matters.”
	”In my office in five minutes, that way you can use the restroom, or put on makeup, or whatever if you need to.”
	”I cannot wear makeup, it irritates my skin.”
	He rolled his eyes. “Well, maybe I need to do my makeup. Any case: my office, five minutes.”
	The door shut with a muffled click.
	It would be enough time to return the recording back to Evidence. She placed the CD back in its case, replaced the playback equipment, and packed away her headphones.
	The station was busy these days leading up to Christmas. Families used this as a chance to talk with their begrudgingly-loved-ones. Letters were delivered. Maybe a small present was allowed to be unwrapped by the giver in front of the glass, if the inmate had been a good boy or girl, and their parent or girlfriend even got them one.
	Some looked at her as she whisked down the hall, her heavy boots making barely a sound with her light steps. She paid them barely a glance, resisting the urge to pick up inklings about them—one whose tie was reversed, another who walked with a slight drag in his left foot, and a woman shamefully hid her chewed fingers.
	”Hello, Samuel,” she greeted the evidence clerk, laying the CD onto the desk.
	The clerk looked up from his book, then very hastily looked at the clock. “Oh, jeez, for a second there I thought a time-skip happened,” he chuckled.
	”No. I just got called into a conference,” she explained.
	”Hmm. Well, just a moment.” He went to the ledger, wrote down the time and took the evidence back behind the counter. He then had the Agent sign. “What’s the meeting about?”
	”I am not sure,” she replied. “I presume it is to do with the case, though.”
	”I see. Well, need anything, you know where I am.”
	She gave him a nod, and departed from the desk.
	Kinsling’s office was down two halls, and she arrived with a minute thirty-six seconds to spare. She looked about, but saw no signs of Kinsling. With a black-gloved hand, she tugged down on the brim of her hood, to lessen the light.
	She closed her eyes, and reviewed what she knew thus far.
	Five individuals. One deceased. One incapacitated.
	She had a vague idea of the nature of death and injury, but needed more information before she could let her thoughts wander. She fought them, reigning them in.
	To her at this moment, there were no suspects. Only victims. More information was needed. More evidence to comb through.
	Her thoughts were disturbed. She heard the tapping of shoes, and they softened. They approached her as quietly as they could. Then, silence. The moment settled, but then was broken by a loud clap.
	Her eyes flicked open.
	”Should I wait for you to finish your nap?” The Sergeant growled.
	”No sir.” She replied, noting that he was fifteen seconds late.
	His keys jingled and he slipped one into the lock. “Come in.” He told her, and flicked on the light. “Have a seat,” he motioned.
	”I will stand, thank you.” She told him, closing the door behind her. She stood with her hands at her sides. Covered in black, she looked something like a chess-piece.
	Kinsling let out a puff of air through his nostrils. She obviously felt like a Queen, but she was just a Pawn.
	”Remind me again how you were assigned to this case, Special Agent LeBlanc.”
	”Sir. One of the victims in this case is of a particularly young age. As well, the victim had crossed state lines within the last thirty days.”
	The boxer held up his hand in a dismissive wave. “I know that part. What I’m asking is, how did you get assigned to this case?” He repeated.
	She paused, blinking once or twice. “You are asking me to explain the process by which an Agent is assigned to a case, or the course of events that led specifically to me being the Agent assigned to this case?”
	”Yes.” The canine replied, leaning on his desk with his knuckles.
	She paused again. “I did not ask a polar question,” she told him.
	”C. All of the above,” he rephrased.
	”For this case, I requested assignment. It was granted by my acting supervisor at the time, until the twenty-seventh. By then, I will need to get the approval of my regular supervisory to maintain agency of the case. However, that usually is not an issue so long as it’s done on time, of which I have plenty.
	”As well, I would have likely been the initial agent assigned regardless. I merely expedited the process. I overheard on the scanner the dispatch call. When it came to my attention the deceased was under ten, I began checking information. Once I had the information I needed to submit the request, I made the drive to town.”
	The boxer lifted off from his knuckles. “I’ll need the name of your acting supervisor, and your regular one,” he softly demanded.
	”Of course. I will send you a memo with that information. I apologize for not having done so already, but I needed to visit the hospital post-haste.”
	”Before lunch, if you would.” He suggested, and she nodded. “And… Between the two of us, so I can get a clear understanding: Who would you say is the authority on this case?”
	”I believe that, for the time being, we have joint-authority on this case.”
	”And what does ‘joint-authority’ mean to you?” The boxer growled, folding his arms.
	”Under protocol, joint-authority grants both and either of us autonomy over procedural decisions over the case.”
	”I’d like you to consider something.” The sergeant spoke, his tone simmering. “While you might have some authority over this case, you are far from having authority on this case. Do you catch my drift?”
	For Christ’s sake, she actually moved a hand to her chin with thought.
	”I apologize, but I do not believe I understand the distinction you are attempting to convey.”
	”Do you know how I became Sergeant, Agent LeBlanc?”
	She shook her head. “I am afraid I do not, though I am sure it is merited.”
	”One year ago, a little girl was murdered, in cold blood. Thrown down the stairs by a little piss-ant of a father. I was there. I saw her lifeless body, lying like a broken puppet on the floor.
	”I brought that little girl justice,” he said, his voice getting quite a bit softer, now. “I personally threw that ‘roided up coward into his cell for beating his daughter literally to death.”
	”I see.” She replied, though her voice was almost mechanical in tone. “There are several similarities you no doubt are associating to this case.”
	”Many similarities.” The sergeant replied, his growl returning. “I will… appreciate it, if you would understand.”
	”I believe I do,” she replied, with as much sincerity as a stone could muster. “I will attempt to work better with you.”
	”So then, you’ll agree to not do things like, say… Order a twenty-four hour surveillance on a comatose victim in the hospital? Or… Release my prime suspect without my consent?”
	”The surveillance of Ms. MacAllister is necessary, as she is of import to the case and I cannot risk the chance of her evading or fleeing once she awakens.”
	”She’s a victim, LeBlanc, she’s not a suspect. She’s not going to fly to Turkey. The real risk here is the creep that you let go.”
	”The only confirmed victim at the moment is Milo Lennox,” LeBlanc stated. “We had no substantial reason to further detain Mr. Rangel, he was due to be released regardless.”
	”I had plenty of reason,” the sergeant snapped. “He’s a creep, and I’ll have more reason when he winds up back here and another little boy or girl has to point to us on the doll where he touched them, or worse.” He barked. “And when that happens, it’ll be your name on the papers. I had nothing to do with it. Just remember that.”
	She blinked. “Of course.” She replied, flatly.
	He gritted his teeth.
	”So then we have reached an agreement: Henceforth, I shall consult with you prior to any procedural decisions, and you shall offer the same courtesy to me.”
	He narrowed his brow. “Agreed. For now.”
	”Is that all you needed to discuss?” She asked.
	”...For now,” he repeated.
	”Then, I would like to consult you on a matter.”
	”Already?” He sighed, and sank back into his chair, turning to the side as he did. “What is it?”
	”I will require a detective to assist me in my investigation.”
	”Fine, I’ll figure out who after lunch.”
	”Actually, I have looked over the candidates, and believe that Detective Kidd will be most helpful.”
	”Kidd? He’s a rookie.”
	”I will draft the paperwork for you to approve, along with the memo of my supervisors,” she told him, as she opened the door. “I will have these ready before lunch, but you may review them after.”
	”Hey, you—” Before he could retort, the door shut, and her blurred silhouette drifted away. He picked up a nearby pencil, and after a moment, broke it in two.

Part 34

	Mom was putsing about the house, cleaning things up. Especially around the front door. “They sure left a mess of footprints,” she grumbled, referring to all the officers and CSIs that had evidently come and gone. “Can’t even clean the whole hallway,” she added, looking forlornly beyond the crime-scene tape.
	Her eye caught the camera. It skeeved her, so she collapsed her Swiffer and went back into the living room where they couldn’t see her. Just as she was about to head toward the chairs to sit and relax for a bit, she spotted a hazy, blue wisp near the stairs.
	It spooked her for just a split-second, before she calmed her nerves. “Hello, Suzy,” she said.
	Mr. Lennox looked up from the book he was reading.
	”What are you up to?” Mrs. Lennox asked.
	”Uhm… Family meeting in the kitchen?” She asked.
	The parents exchanged glances, and the father rose from his chair, stretching. He followed his wife and the mousette into the kitchen. “Where’s Milo?” He asked, noticing his son was not around.
	A sudden sense of dread settled in the pit of the mother’s stomach.
	”Be right back,” Suzy said, before quickly running through the wall toward the stairs. True to her word, she came back through just a moment later.
	She met the stares of Milo’s parents.
	Now, even Mr. Lennox was starting to get worried. “Is something wrong?” He asked.
	”Uhm...” She held up her hand, and slipped halfway back into the wall. Her hand held up one finger. Then, she came back fully into the room. “Okay… Here we go!”
	A few heartbeats passed, and then Mom and Dad saw their son slip through the wall as if through the curtains of a stage. He emerged into the room. During one of his last steps, he was abruptly jerked back. He looked behind, and saw his tail was still stuck. He reached back, tugged it free, and gave it a little swish. “Tada!” He said, raising his hands up.
	Mom and Dad clapped, Dad letting out a cheery whistle.
	Suzy giggled.
	Milo’s hands dropped. “That’s it,” he said, bashfully. “Still trying to figure out flying. Been trying all morning,” he admitted.
	”You’ll get there, kiddo.”
	Dad’s encouragement was interrupted by a knock at the front door. All eyes turned to it, but no one moved.
	The knock came again, insistently.
	”Who could that be?” Mom asked.
	Dad headed out the passageway. “If it’s reporters...” He growled. He looked through the peep-hole.
	The rest of the family saw his ears spring up with curiosity.
	The door grunted as the heavy bolt eased, and creaked just a little as it was opened. “Hello?” Mr. Lennox greeted.
	”Good afternoon,” said the woman in a black hood.
	He had to strain his ears a bit to hear her voice.
	”You are Mr. Lennox, correct?”
	”...Yes, what’s your business, here?” He asked, cautiously.
	”I am Special Agent LeBlanc, FBI.”
	Suzy and Milo floated and ran up to the door to peek around Dad.
	They saw the woman, she was dressed in all black. Beside her was a black bear, dressed in dark blue and wearing a cowboy hat. In his right hand, the bear held a large briefcase. In his left, a black umbrella, positioned over the woman from behind.
	”Ex—Excuse me?” Dad asked.
	”I am Special Agent LeBlanc, FBI,” the woman repeated, her hand casually emerging from her coat and letting her wallet fall to show her badge and identification. “May we come in?”
	Feeling the cold on his face, Mr. Lennox stepped aside and opened the door.
	Milo finally glimpsed the woman without his dad obstructing his view. He took a step back when he saw her eyes—almost blood-red in color.
	They entered the home, unknowingly passing through the ghost children as they did.
	”I thought we were supposed to get a call,” remarked Mrs. Lennox.
	”Hm?” The woman regarded the mother. “What do you mean?”
	”Oh… Just...” The mother faltered. “The Sergeant said we would get… I think a half-hour notice, or something, before anyone would come.”
	”Ah, I see.” The woman stated. “I believe Sergeant Kinsling would be referring to notice of entry to the home by way of the combination lock.” She explained. “That is entirely under his purview. I am with the FBI, independently involved in this case. I apologize for the confusion. I will attempt to notify you in advance of arrivals moving forward.”
	All while she spoke, the black bear collapsed the umbrella he had been holding, and then stood quietly.
	”May I… Take your coat?” Mr. Lennox offered.
	”Please do not,” the woman told him, holding up her hand, which had a black glove.
	”Who’s the big guy?” Suzy questioned, floating and passing the woman’s face.
	”This is my partner,” LeBlanc’s hand transitioned to gesturing to the black bear. “Detective Kidd.”
	The bear took his hat off with one hand, and proffered the other. “Lamar Kidd, nice to meetchya,” he said to Mr. Lennox. He turned to the wife, “howdy ma’am,” he greeted with a slight bow. His hat returned to his head.
	Suzy quickly darted toward Milo, and gave him a startled look. It must have been coincidental. Surely if the FBI woman had heard or seen her, the response wouldn’t have been as calm. But, she thought back to when she had tried to talk to Milo’s dad, right after Milo had died.
	”FBI?” Mom said, with a pound of trepidation weighing on her voice. “Why on earth is the government involved?” Though she asked aloud, she was mostly talking to herself.
	”You had recently moved. Is that correct, Mrs. Lennox?”
	The vixen blinked with a start, and looked to the ermine. “Y—Yes, that’s correct.”
	”Please confirm: When did you arrive at this location?”
	”Uh… Well,” the vixen’s eyes flitted as she tried to think, clearly flustered and nervous.
	”Actually...” Mr. Lennox spoke, reliving his wife of having to answer. “It was about two weeks ago, today. Maybe even on the hour.”
	”December sixth, then,” the Agent stated. “Would you please have a seat?” She asked them, motioning to their chairs.
	Milo and Suzy followed Mom and Dad to the living room, where they hopped up onto the couch and sat next to each other, while their parents each took a separate lounge.
	All were sitting on the edge of their seats.
	The woman motioned for the briefcase, and the detective handed it over. She set it upon the table for a moment, snapping it open just enough to slip her hand in, and pull out a manila folder. She set the case down upon the floor.
	”As a part of this investigation, we will need to have you identify the body of the deceased as Milo Sebastian Lennox. Within this folder, I have a photograph of Milo’s face. The photograph was taken at the hospital, shortly after he was pronounced deceased. You may see some facial injury.
	”I will lay the photograph face-down upon the table,” she told them, opening the folder and retrieving the item in question from it. “When you are ready, if either of you would take a moment to look the picture over and simply confirm or deny that the face you see is or is not Milo Lennox.”
	With a soft pat, the photograph was gently set upon the table.
	To the parents and the ghosts within the room, it sounded like a gavel pounding the wood.
	Suzy glanced to Milo. He was staring at the photo. She quietly set her hand atop his. He didn’t so much as blink.
	The chair Mr. Lennox sat in grumbled when he leaned forward. He touched the picture with his fingers. It whispered a hush as he dragged it along the table toward him, pausing at the edge. He glanced to his wife, who had one tightly-balled fist clasped in the other hand in her lap.
	He tilted the back of the picture toward her, and pulled it off the table. Keeping the blank side facing her and the kids, he looked at the photo.
	For a moment, he was quiet and still.
	There was the once-living face of his son. Without the usual glasses, and with a patch of burned fur on the side of his muzzle. But, otherwise: “This is a picture of my son—of Milo,” he stated. He handed it back to the black glove.
	”Identity confirmed by Robert Lennox, father, December twentieth, fourteen-oh-seven.” She stated, replacing the photo back into the manila folder. “My involvement with this case and its investigation is primarily due to the fact that within the last thirty days, Milo had crossed state lines. My investigation is independent, but similar, to Sergeant Kinsling’s. Sergeant Kinsling and myself will be working together. Does that explanation satisfy your concerns with FBI involvement in this case, Mrs. Lennox?”
	The vixen looked up with a start, not realizing she was being talked to. “Uhm… S-Sure,” she replied.
	The ghosts exchanged glances.
	”If you will excuse us,” she said, lifting the briefcase, “Detective Kidd and I will be taking some time to look over the crime scene.”
	”Just… A quick question,” Dad spoke up.
	”Of course, Mr. Lennox.”
	”Is it… Are you calling it a crime scene because it’s… A crime? Or… Or just because?”
	”This is most assuredly a crime, Mr. Lennox. Unfortunately, I cannot go into any further details than that.”
	He nodded, but he had clearly retreated back into his own thoughts.
	”Detective?” She turned to the black bear.
	He nodded, “after you, ma’am.”
	When the two investigators started toward the dining room, Milo hopped from the couch. Suzy followed him.
	The detective undid the ends of the tape so they could cross through, and reapplied them after they passed into the room.
	Despite having such thick-looking boots, the ermine’s footfalls were nearly silent. She went a ways into the room, and set the briefcase down.
	”So, what you hopin’ to find? This scene’s been combed over by CSIs from top to—”
	The Agent put a finger to her lips, and shushed.
	Detective Kidd touched the front of his hat, mindfully.
	The ermine stood quietly for several moments.
	”Milo, this is nuts,” Suzy whispered.
	”I know.”
	”They’re investigating your death as a crime—maybe even as a murder.”
	”I know.”
	”That means someone’s going to get arrested!”
	”I know.”
	Suzy flinched, and felt a bit hurt. He had snapped at her. But, then she softened. He was probably really tense, just like she was.
	The Agent suddenly moved, her coat rustling. She brought her hands to the hood, and then pulled it away.
	Her head was austerely small upon the coat. Like a knock-off Barbie Doll’s head stuck to a G.I. Joe’s body. She looked about the dim room, from one corner to the other, as if scanning it.
	Then, she leaned down, and opened the briefcase. “I have no doubt that all of the evidence has been gathered by the numerous CSIs, Detective,” she stated, retrieving a digital camera. “But they are trained to look close; to account for every subtle detail that others may overlook.” The camera beeped as she fiddled with the buttons. “Do you enjoy jigsaw puzzles, Detective?”
	”I… I suppose I do,” he replied.
	”What is your method for solving them?”
	He brought a hand to his chin. “Well, it’s been a spell since I done one, but I… Suppose I find all the corner- and edge-pieces, to make the frame. Then, group all of the rest by colors, and try to put those together.”
	”A sound methodology,” she remarked. “I have not heard anyone say that they go piece-by-piece trying to match the detailed fragments together. I also find it advantageous that you can turn the puzzle, and see it from various angles.”
	She stepped over to a red x marked nearby, seemingly at an arbitrary point in the middle of the room. She set the camera down upon the spot, facing up to the ceiling, and then stepped away.
	A moment later, it flashed.
	”Would you hand me the photos that were taken that night?” She requested.
	The detective pulled up a manila envelope and leafed through it, pulling out the photos. “Here.”
	She flipped through them, until she found the one she wanted. She stepped back over to the camera. She appeared to shrink, as if part of her had just melted through the floor; her coat pooled outward, while she knelt down to pick the camera up.
	Suzy drifted over to behind the weird lady. She peered at the picture. It was of the dining-room table, which was now missing from the room—just like many other things.
	The agent lifted the camera just off the floor, only a few inches. She tilted it forward, just a tad under eighty degrees from the floor. The camera flashed again.
	”What’s she doing?” Suzy questioned.
	”So, what exactly are you doing?” Detective Kidd asked, almost just after.
	”Milo was here before he was taken,” LeBlanc stated, straightening up. “Head here. Feet here,” she pointed. “Officers recalled his head in Mrs. Lennox’s hands.” She stepped forward a few steps. “The table was here.”
	She continued to pace about, walking around where the table was. Then, she looked up. “The ceiling. How high would estimate it is?”
	Lifting his hat off his head enough to look up, Detective Kidd hummed. “Looks to be… Maybe twelve feet? Higher than usual, for sure.”
	”The table measured thirty-two inches from the floor.” The Agent stated. She looked down at the floor. Near her fate was the anomaly that interested her the most. She peered down at it.
	It was a circle, about three feet in diameter. A disruption in the otherwise immaculate flooring, where the wood had cracked and splintered, and had sunk a few inches down.
	”Kid landed hard,” the Detective muttered.
	”Be mindful of your commentary,” the Agent admonished. “I am certain the Lennoxes would not appreciate such words if they heard them.”
	Kidd put a hand to his muzzle and cleared his throat. “Yes’m,” he said.
	”What is that spot, though?” Milo wondered.
	”I dunno,” Suzy shrugged. “I don’t remember it.”
	”Besides, look at the direction of distortion,” the Agent pointed out. “Impact-craters have a depression at the epicenter, whereas here you see a camber.”
	”A what-now?”
	”The splintering of the wood. At the epicenter, it is raised slightly upward. Were this an impact—from a fall, as you proposed—the splintering would be angled downward. Whatever caused this came from below.”
	”The guys were saying this was likely something heavy that got dropped here. But you think it was something that came from the basement?”
	”This section of the house is not over the basement,” she pointed out.
	”So then… How’d this happen?”
	”I am less concerned about the how at the moment,” the ermine replied, and then turned to the tape. She took several steps toward it. “Excuse me, Mr. or Mrs. Lennox?”
	They were still at the chairs. Mr. Lennox stood. “Yes?” He asked, approaching.
	”Do you see that spot on the floor, where the wood is disturbed?”
	”Yes.”
	”Was it there when you arrived, two weeks ago?”
	”No,” the fox replied.
	”Was it there when Ms. MacAllister was present?”
	”No,” he shook his head again.
	”When was the first time you noticed it?”
	”Honestly… Just now, that you’re pointing it out to me.”
	”I see. While I have you, please tell me: What was your arrangement at the table, while you were having dinner?”
	”Uh… I sat across from my wife. Milo sat across from Cher—” He cut off from saying her name.
	”Who was sitting closest to where we are, now?” She asked.
	”She… Was,” he replied, carefully.
	”Thank you. I believe that is all, for now.”
	Stiffly, like the Tin-Man still waiting for his oil can, Mr. Lennox turned and headed back to the chair.
	”I wonder what she’s thinking...” Milo murmured.
	”I could possess her,” Suzy suggested. “Maybe find out.”
	”No, don’t,” Milo held onto her arm, as if to keep her from taking a step.
	She noticed his quick reaction. ”Why not?”
	”Because. When you possessed me, I could tell.”
	”But you knew that’s what I was doing. Your mom didn’t seem to notice.”
	”Huh? What do you mean by ‘Mom didn’t seem to notice?’”
	”Uh...” Suzy drifted up. “Wh-What’s she doing, now?” She asked, pointing to the ermine.
	Milo swished his tail mindfully, but looked to where Suzy had pointed.
	They were by the windows that had been boarded up.
	”The windows were shattered,” Kidd stated.
	”But, no glass was found on the floor,” LeBlanc pointed out.
	”There was plenty of glass on the floor,” the Detective countered. “All over.”
	”Clarification: No glass from the windows was found on the floor. The window glass was found to be only outside. The farthest piece found was approximately six feet from the house, however many of the pieces have likely been obscured by the falling snow. The glass found inside appeared to come from the various picture-frames, sconces, and the chandelier.”
	”What’s any of that to do with the kid?”
	”I appreciate and understand that everyone is focused on Milo. However, we must not forget there is another victim from this scene.”
	”You mean MacAllister.”
	”Precisely.”
	”No!” Suzy barked, and leapt into the air. “You idiot lady! Mommy’s not a victim! She’s a murderer—a double-murderer!”
	”Suzy,” Milo hissed, grabbing her ankle and tugging her back down.
	”S’matter?” Detective Kidd asked.
	The ermine’s hands went to the hood, and pulled it up over her head. “We’re finished, here.”
	”You dang well better be,” Suzy growled, darting their direction as the two investigators headed back to the briefcase. “Don’t you dare come into my house and call that bitch a victim!”
	”Suzy! Calm down,” Milo grunted, fighting against her desire to float up into the woman’s face by keeping her held at the ankle.
	”I hate you! You detectives think you’re all Batman! But you’re retarded! It’s all right in front of you, but you don’t want to see any of it!”
	”Mr. and Mrs. Lennox,” LeBlanc said, as she approached them in the living room. “I apologize for disturbing your afternoon.”
	”Apologize to my ass!”
	”It’s all right,” said Mom. “If it helps bring justice for Milo.”
	”Tell her! Tell her it was Mommy that killed Milo! Tell her right now!” Suzy shrieked.
	”Hey!” Milo growled, yanking Suzy back down to him. He glared at her in the eyes. “Don’t yell at Mom like that.”
	Suzy balked. Her form faded just a little. “I’m… I’m sorry,” she said, before abruptly dissolving into a puff of smoke. “I’m sorry,” her apology came again, a fading whisper.
	”W—Wai—” Milo tried to say.
	”Are you all right, ma’am?” The Detective asked.
	Mrs. Lennox covered her mouth for just a moment. “N-Nothing, I’m fine,” she said.
	”I am still gathering information,” the Agent stated. “I know that you have already been questioned, and I am still reviewing the statements. I will likely return soon, to ask additional questions. I will remember to notify you ahead of time.”
	”Sure, Mrs. LeBlanc.” Mr. Lennox nodded.
	”Agent LeBlanc,” she corrected.
	”Um… R-Right, I’ll see you out.” He made to stand.
	”Please remain seated,” the Agent said, holding up her hand. “We will leave on our own. It is for your protection, as footage from the cameras can be used in court. I mean nothing by it, it is just a precaution.”
	Mr. Lennox slowly lowered back down to his seat. “O—Okay,” he agreed.
	”I also advise that you keep contact with others to a minimum, and if possible have someone else perform regular duties for you, such as going to the store. I especially advise against speaking with any members of the press. Again, I mean nothing by it. It is just precaution.”
	”We’ll… Certainly keep that in mind,” Mr. Lennox replied.
	”Good. Detective?”
	”After you, ma’am,” he gestured.
	”No, after you. I will need my umbrella.”
	He nodded, and went to the door. He picked up the umbrella and opened the door, unfurling it from beyond the threshold. He stepped through, and held it over the doorway for the Agent.
	They passed through, and the door clicked behind them.
	Milo looked to his parents.
	Mom looked sullen. “Suzy didn’t mean it,” he told her. “She’s just… Frustrated.”
	”Where did she go?” Asked Dad.
	”I dunno. But, I’ll find her. Don’t worry about it.”

* * *

	”This way, Detective,” LeBlanc said, touching his arm to keep the umbrella over her.
	”Hm?” He turned, and started walking in the direction she indicated. “Where we headed, now?” He questioned.
	”While we are here, I would like to speak with the neighbors. Will you take notes?”
	”Soon as m’fingers thaw,” he replied.
	”Of course,” she agreed.
	It was a bit of a stroll, especially over the snow. The house was at least three yards away, perhaps a bit more. When they arrived, Detective Kidd’s thick knuckles rapped upon the dark-blue wood.
	The wind changed direction, and he fought to keep the umbrella over the FBI Agent. Getting impatient, he knocked again.
	The door squeaked as it opened. A gray muzzle jutted out from the rift. “If you’d like me to take a moment talk about your Lord and Savior,” the creaky voice remarked with puffs of steam spilling out his lips, “you can scram!”
	”We are not Jehovah's Witnesses,” LeBlanc stated.
	”What?”
	”I said, that—”
	”Speak up!”
	”Sir,” Detective Kidd did just so; “We are Detective Kidd, and Special Agent LeBlanc, FBI. We’d like to come inside and ask you a few questions.”
	”You need a warrant,” the creaky voice replied. “Government needs a warrant.”
	”Sir, we aren’t here to investigate, we’re just here to as—”
	”No warrant; no entry.”
	He tried to shut the door, but a black-gloved hand held it open. Despite his efforts to push it closed, the door did not budge.
	”Sir,” barked a voice that he could barely hear over the flustered wind. “Are you aware that a death occurred in your neighbors’ home?”
	”Everyone knows! It happened a year ago!”
	”Then, I regret to inform you, that there has been another, three nights ago.”
	The forces at the door went limp. It swayed inward. The old gray face could be seen. “A—Another?”
	”May we come in, sir? To ask a few questions?” Spoke the bear.
	Reluctantly, the old bloodhound stepped back, and waved them in. “Close that umbrella; it’s bad luck to have one open in the house.”
	”I apologize, Mister—”
	”Gardener.”
	”—Mr. Gardener. I need the umbrella to block the light. I promise that I will reclaim all ill omens manifest on my behalf, once we depart your abode.”
	The old man reached for the lamp that lit the hallway, and flicked it off. “No lights for you, then.” He said.
	”That will be just fine, if you are willing to accommodate,” she said. “May we move to a more comfortable room?”
	”Follow me, but stay behind till I shut off the lights,” he instructed, turning. He started to walk, stiffly and braced with a hand along the wall. As he went from room to room, he flicked off the lights.
	When they went to the living room, he closed the curtains, letting only peeks of natural light through. With all of that trouble, he was now weary, and slumped into his lounge chair. “Sit anywhere,” he told them, gesturing to the few lounges and couch that he had.
	”I will stand, thank you,” the hooded woman said.
	”Don’t mind me,” the bear grumbled, setting the briefcase down and sinking into a lounger. He snapped open the briefcase, and pulled out a notepad, while freeing the pen from his shirt behind his coat. He twisted it to draw out the point, and sat back.
	”Mr. Gardener,” the Agent began. “We’d like to ask a few questions about your neighbors.”
	”Which ones?”
	”The ones over that way,” the bear clarified, pointing out the living room window.
	”I know that,” the old hound said with a condescending snare to his voice. “I meant, the old neighbors, or the new ones?”
	”The current residents,” LeBlanc answered.
	”Dunno what answers you expect. Hardly know ‘em. Never officially met ‘em. You say there’s a recent death?”
	”We will be asking questions, for now,” the hooded figure reminded the old man. “When you say ‘officially met,’ was there an unofficial meeting? A wave, or crossing paths at the mailbox?”
	”No. But, their little boy did stop by, out-of-the-blue.”
	The bear’s meaty hand scratched the pen upon the pad.
	”When did he stop by?”
	The old hound’s head leaned to one side as he thought. “Eeeeehzabout… Maybe over a week ago? Said he’d only been there a few days. Beh, the snow,” he waved his hand dismissively, “blends all the days together.”
	”Let us say between the ninth and the eleventh,” she said to the Detective. “Do you remember the time of day?”
	”That, I do.” He said, proudly. “It was early afternoon. Around one, or so.”
	”School lets out at one on these heavy snow days,” the bear mentioned.
	”Yes, that was it. He was stopping by because of school.”
	”How do you mean: Because of school?”
	The old hound shifted uneasily, like he was admonishing himself for giving out information without being asked. He sighed. “Boy said he was doing a science experiment for school. It was about sound. Had a girl at his house, gave a signal so she could scream, listen if he could hear her.”
	The bear paused, looking up from his notepad.
	”There was someone else?” The ermine asked, black glove resting under her chin. “Did you happen to see her?”
	”Hm… Come to think of it, no. I didn’t.”
	The bear leveled eyes with the ermine, and he stood up. Setting his pad and pen down on the arm of the chair, he carefully made his way to the window, shoes softly pressing on the stiff-bristled rug. He pulled the curtain aside just enough to peek out. He could clearly see into the living room, where the curtains weren’t drawn.
	”And the experiment was for her… To scream, correct?”
	The bloodhound scratched his neck. “Uhhrwahyeah… That’s what he said. Science experiment about sound, he told me.”
	The bear sat down and hastily jotted notes.
	”What were the results of the experiment?”
	”Oh, well, we couldn’t hear her, of course. He could’ve asked me just as much, not have to go through all the trouble of getting his friend involved.”
	”Interesting project for the holiday break,” the Agent remarked. “How long did he stay?”
	”Not long,” the hound replied. “True to his word, he stopped by for his little experiment, and scampered off back home. Didn’t even stay for a swig of milk.”
	”So, perhaps about fifteen minutes?”
	The gray canine shrugged. “Not even ten.”
	”Would you mind telling me where you would have been around eight o’clock, the last few nights?”
	”Where do you think?” The man shrugged. “I’m old and gray. I rise with the turkeys, and go to bed with the turkeys. Naps in-between, too.”
	”I see. Thank you. Your information is most valuable.”
	”Now wait a tic,” the old hound said, moving to stand. “I answered your questions. You answer mine. What is this about a recent death?”
	The bear closed the notepad, and replaced his pen.
	”Mr. Gardener,” the Agent said, softly. “That boy that visited you. Milo. A few nights ago, he passed away.”
	The gray turned piqued. The hound’s knees wobbled, and he settled back down. “No… Oh no no no… H—How did he die?”
	”I am not necessarily at liberty to say… However, I can say that we suspect a broken neck, of undetermined circumstances.”
	The old hound’s face lost what little color remained. “I think… I should speak to some Jehovah's Witnesses. For sure, the Devil sleeps in that house!”
	”Perhaps another question: You had alluded before about a death everyone knows about a year ago. Would you please elaborate?”
	”To the day,” the old hound said, wearily. “Or… Would that be tomorrow? The snow...”
	”Mr. Gardener,” the Agent said, sternly but gently.
	”A young girl lived in that house. Mother and father with her. Then, on a fateful night a year ago, the father was in a drunken rage. Chucked the poor girl down the stairs, like a sack of potatoes. Every bone in her body, broken.” The old man slumped in his chair. “And now, you say, another child dies the same way? A year later? I may not have much time left on this earth, but so long as I’m here, I’ll not let it happen a third time, next year.”
	”Would you happen to know the name of the girl that died?” The hooded ermine asked.
	”Little Suzy.” The old hound murmured. “Little Suzy MacAllister.”
	The bear looked up to his partner. He saw her blood-red eyes flash as her lids subtly raised. It lasted for just a second, before they calmly settled back down.
	”I see you are weary, Mr. Gardener. We will take our leave. I will remember to take my ill omens with me, as promised. More, if I am able. Detective?” She turned to the bear.
	He dropped the notepad into the briefcase, snapped it shut, and in one swift motion he stood and picked it up.

Part 35

	“Get your hands off my baby!”
	Khnkrtktktktk!
	”Mhlh! Mh—Mihloh!” He jerked and sat up. His head sloshed and pitched. “Nnnngh...” He groaned, wincing.
	”Damian?”
	He heard his name from a voice approaching. He looked up, moving his hand to let one eye uncovered. “Vicki?” He grumbled. “Where am I?”
	”Chill,” she said, calmly, sitting on the bed. “You’re at my place.” She grabbed something from on the nightstand. “Under your tongue,” she told him.
	He didn’t have much time to react before the stick was slipped in. He winced when it nudged the frenulum of his tongue, uncomfortably set. Aside from that, the bit of quiet gave him time to get his bearings. The sloshing in his head settled.
	There was a beep, and his tongue rejoiced as the uncomfortable jab was taken away.
	”Still got a fever,” she said with a sigh. “How long were you out in the cold?”
	”When?” He asked, groggily.
	”Nevermind.”
	”Little Wise One,” he suddenly blurted, with a clear voice. “I… I need to go talk to his folks.’
	”Nuh-uh you need to stay put,” the vixen said, pressing a hand to his chest when he made to sit up more.
	”But—”
	”You need to stay with me. So you can rest. And so I can keep an eye on you. Keep you out of trouble.”
	He lowered back down. “Shit.” He grumbled.
	”Bucket-fulls of it,” she remarked. “But, as long as you’re here, you’re fine. Just don’t think about stuff. Just sleep. Want some NyQuil or something to knock you out?”
	”Vicki… You wanna know a secret?” He asked, maybe a bit delirious. “But… You can’t tell anyone.”
	”Nope. Don’t tell me nothing. I’m happy not eating the apple, Adam.”
	”...Can I take a shower?” He asked, wearily.
	”You took one earlier this morning, when we got here.”
	”...Can’t take another?”
	She shrugged. “Guess it won’t hurt. But, you’re gonna have to wear my clothes.” She warned.
	”Whatever.” He grumbled.
	”You want striped panties, or printed?”
	”Mmmmmgh...” He groaned.
	”Oh, I know just the pair. Seventies-style flowers. They’re silk, too.”
	”Can’t I go home?” He whimpered.
	”Nope, not yet. I’ll be right back.” She patted his leg, and got up. “Oh, but I don’t have a bra that fits you, so you’re out of luck, there.”

* * *

	As the afternoon turned to evening, the wind settled down. Mom was in the kitchen, making rice-a-roni and fried bologna for dinner. The smells were slithering about the house.
	Dad was reading in the living room. He heard the padding of little paws coming from down the stairs, and suddenly a bristling ran down his fur. “Oh… Milo,” he said, as his son came into the room.
	”Hey, Dad,” he replied.
	”That’s… Weird. I heard your footsteps.” He closed his book. “It was like...” He let his thought trail, unfinished.
	”Mhmm, I could hear Suzy like that, too.”
	”Speaking of… Any sign of her?”
	The fox pup shook his head. “I looked in the usual places I could think of. There’s a couple places I haven’t looked… I guess I’m not looking as hard as I could.”
	Dad set his book down. “There’s been a lot of excitement the past few days. It’s probably good to give her some space. Take the time to have your space, too.”
	”Yeah,” he agreed, though not fully. “At least I know she’s in the house,” he said.
	”The barrier?” Dad asked, and received a nod from his son. “She’s helping to teach you to be a ghost. Are you going to try and help her with her barrier?”
	”Yeah. That’s what I was thinking about, after I didn’t look real hard.” Milo replied, plopping onto the couch. “I was trying to re-live—” He paused. “I mean…”
	”I know what you mean,” Dad interjected, helping his son’s thoughts along.
	”I’m not exactly sure what I did to get through my barrier. Other than really wanting to get to her.”
	”Hm...” Dad sat back, folding his arms behind his head as he thought. “Well, maybe you need to put something on the other side of her barrier that she wants to get to.”
	”I doubt cheese would work,” the pup remarked.
	Dad let out a chuckle. “Well, at least you’re thinking.” He encouraged. “Once you start thinking, you find a way. You always do.”
	”Yeah. Um, until then,” he said, fingers fidgeting on his knees. “Suzy will be able to cross her barrier, but um… She has to do it while possessing someone. Since… Since she can’t possess me anymore, would you or mom be okay with that?”
	Dad blinked.
	”I-It’s not bad. And it’s only just to get across the barrier. Heck, I bet if you had one foot inside and one foot outside, she could pass right through you and you wouldn’t feel a thing.”
	”I bet that would be suspicious-looking on the camera, though,” Dad pointed out.
	Milo’s nose dipped in dismay. “Oh, yeah, I forgot about those.”
	”If she needs to, mom or I will be happy to help.”
	”Mom or I will be happy to help what, now?” Asked Mom, coming in from the kitchen.
	”Get possessed by Suzy so she can cross her barrier when she wants to go outside and play.” Dad replied, dead-pan.
	”Oh, right. Of course, makes sense,” mom replied, in kind. “Dinner’s ready,” she announced.
	Milo looked between his parents, not quite sure if they were being serious, or maybe they didn’t quite understand what they were agreeing to? Regardless, the smell of dinner was very tempting, even though he had no appetite.
	”Maybe that smell of yummy dinner will tease the little squeaker out of her hidey-hole,” Dad thought aloud, following Mom into the kitchen.
	Milo doubted it, but it was a nice sentiment. He scurried over to his usual spot at the table.
	”Would you like some, honey?” Mom asked.
	”Sure. Just one slice, and a spoonful. I just need it to taste, don’t waste it or anything.”
	Dad took one from his plate and set it on an empty one for his son. “There ya go, I’ll take it back whenever you’re done.”
	Dinner was fairly quiet. Everyone knew how everyone’s day went. No one really wanted to talk about the days before, or the days to come.
	Which was all well-and-fine. Sometimes, silence was golden. Broken only by compliments of how good the dinner tasted, and the occasional too-loud scrape of a fork across the plate, followed by an apology.
	Dinner was enjoyed quickly. Dad went back to the living room to shut the curtains. Milo stayed with Mom to keep her company while she did the dishes. But, after a time, he got a little restless.
	”I’m gonna go wait up in my room, in case Suzy decides to meet me there,” he said.
	”Okie-doke. Don’t stay up too late,” she told him.
	He smiled. “I won’t,” he said, hopping off the counter.
	”Hey, wait,” she called to him, shutting off the sink. “Where’s my good-night kiss?” She leaned down, cupping her hand under his chin. She pressed her lips to his cheek, giving him a peck.
	”Mooom,” he grumbled.
	”Huh. For a second there… I could kinda feel your cheek, like it was real.” She quietly marveled.
	”Uh-huh,” he replied. “I dunno if it was just my imagination, or what, but sometimes Suzy would feel… More ‘real,’ I guess?”
	Mom raised a brow.
	”Anyway, gonna go, she might even be there. Night,” he bid, and scampered off. He trotted up the stairs. As he neared his room, he sort of hung on the hope that when he opened the door, she would be sitting on his bed, waiting for him.
	But, when he got there, the reality that met him was just the wintry, crepuscular light peeking over the windowsill. With a disappointed sigh, he made his way to the bed.
	He laid there, for a time. Watching the light fade, and the shadows grow. What he found interesting is that, if he wanted to, he could see clearly in the darkness, as if it were day. A kind of night-vision power that he didn’t really notice he had until just now.
	Feeling restless again, he hopped off the bed and went to the door. He stuck out his hand, and concentrated. If ghosts could feel pins and needles, this is about how he felt. His hand and arm became more translucent, and he pushed his fingers toward the door. They slipped in, like the door was just a block of jello. He followed through, stepping forward, and soon he was halfway through the door.
	That little moment where his sight passed through the wood was a surprisingly beautiful display. He saw an interesting, almost fractal glimpse of the inside of the wood. It looked so flat, and yet had depth, like an optical illusion. He could see the pathways of the grains up close, like the veins in his own living eyes if he focused hard enough.
	Then, again most equivocal to water, he breached through the other side and the visuals slipped away. Except he didn’t have to rub his eyes to blink away blurriness. He could just see clearly, right away.
	He stood in the hallway. He experimented with using his night-vision, and then allowing it to be as dark as it was. When it was dark, it looked rather peaceful and homely; if even a bit spooky, were that not now his nature.
	With his night-vision, he could see with a clarity never before. He saw where a spider lurked, anxiously awaiting an errant roach to wind up in her web. He could see the subtle wisps of dust drifting about with the idle swish of air currents.
	He turned back to the door, and rested his palms against it, staring at it. Then, he pushed his face toward it, and into it—through it. For a few seconds it was very disorienting, for he clung to the idea that he was dipping his head into a pool of water. But he was not leaning over, he was still standing straight up. He peeked into the room, but saw it was still and quiet.
	He pulled his head free, and took a half-step away. He turned to the side, and took a strafe-step toward the door. He shimmied along though, until he found the point where he was on both sides. His right eye looked into the room, focused on the bed. His left stared down the hallway, focusing on the shadows huddled in the corner.
	He returned back into the hallway, and faced away from the door. He pressed his back to it, and then took a step forward. He concentrated, and tried to remind himself that he would feel no pain.
	He let himself fall backwards.
	Suddenly his vision blurred. He held up his hands and turned them inward, and jerked to a stop. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, watching the moonlight wax as a cloud unveiled her. He brought his chin to his chest, and saw only what he half-expected to see.
	His arms were melded into the door. His palms were pressed onto the other side, having caught his fall that way. His torso melded through as well, his legs still on the other side.
	When he willed it, his palms slipped through the door like sand. He continued his fall, until his rump hit the floor. He stood, and turned back to face within the room.
	”Thanks, for teaching me how to do that,” he said. Maybe she was in here, and she was watching him. Maybe she saw him. He waited, again finding a way to hope that she might appear to him, maybe now that she’d seen he was getting more used to phasing through walls.
	But, not even his night-vision caught more than the twitch of a shadow. A blurry tree-branch caught in the wind, waving along the far wall.
	A worry welled within him. He felt that he should stay here, and wait for her. But, if she had not shown by now, he started to feel she might not show at all.
	He took a step toward the bed. But then he looked back at the door. He turned toward it, but then looked back at the bed. Just as he had stood between the hall and the room, now he stood between two choices.
	”I’ll… I’ll be just downstairs, if you need to find me,” he said, caving in. He went to the door, and took one last glance into the room. When nothing else stared back at him, he slipped through the door one last time for the night.

* * *

	Beth turned onto her back. The light from her husband’s lamp seeped through her closed lid. She took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
	Robert mumbled an apology. “Just a page and a half left and I’ll turn it off.”
	Her eyes flicked open. “Hmm… It’s not that, you’re fine,” she told him.
	The page and a half could wait. He closed the book and set it aside. “What’s the matter, honey?” He asked.
	”Oh… It’s just… Something Milo said earlier, but it’s not really anything,” she answered, dismissively.
	”Seems to be something to you,” he countered. “What was it?”
	”Well, it was just—” She let out her breath, and sat up, to better think. “When I gave Milo a kiss good-night, I sort of… I could feel his fur. It was just, like a little tickle. But it felt so real. He said that sometimes Suzy felt real, to him, and… Well...”
	”Well?” He urged.
	”...Do you think that it’s… That it’s right, to let them sleep together?”
	He raised a brow. “What do you mean?”
	”Well, I just mean… They’re kids, you know?”
	”They were ki—uhff,” he huffed, her hand smacking his belly. He tilted his head. “Honey, c’mon.”
	”I just… I mean, are they…” She raised her hand to her muzzle. “Naked,” she whispered, “to you?”
	He nodded.
	”So, you know? It just feels… A little improper...”
	”Okay, well, I’ll tell you what,” he said, with a gentle tone of sincerity, and even resting his hand upon hers. “Tomorrow, I’ll go down the little ghost-street to the little ghost-store, and pick them up some little ghost-clo—ughf!” He grunted, when she took the hand he covered and smacked his gut again.
	”Robert!” Mom admonished. “I guess that answers my question,” she hmphed.
	”Honey, c’mon,” Dad said. “I mean, what’re we really gonna do?”
	Milo’s ear flicked, dipping into the door.
	Mom blew steam out her nose. “I just… Want you to talk to them, maybe. Let them know what behaviors are appropriate.”
	”You sure that won’t make them self-conscious?” Asked Dad. “I mean, they’re already behaving well. If anything, that might just—”
	”Whoaaafffhh!” Milo’s muzzle hit the ground on the other side of the door. He was so focused on eavesdropping, he leaned too far and phased right through!
	”Hey, kiddo,” Dad greeted.
	Mom was turned away from him, looking a bit embarrassed.
	”What’re you doin’ down there?”
	Milo got to his feet. “I-I, uhm, I was just, trying to figure out how to knock,” he said, motioning toward the door and doing so. “B-But, I just, eheh, slipped right through,” he fibbed with a nervous chuckle.
	”What did you need, sweetie?” Mom asked. “It’s well past bed-time.”
	Milo scratched the back of his head. “Um… Suzy still hasn’t shown up. And… I just really don’t wanna sleep alone, right now,” he explained.
	”What’s the matter, kiddo? You afraid of ghosts?”
	Mom gave Dad a lancing glare.
	Milo chuckled. “No, but um… I was just wondering, if I could sleep with you guys? Like, when I was littler?”
	Dad looked back at Mom, forcing her to soften her glare. For a moment, they had a silent conversation between them. Then, Dad shimmied over.
	”Sure, kiddo, but just for tonight, okay?”
	Milo grinned, and his tail swished happily as he wound up for a running leap. He let out an excited yip as he bound into the air, set to land in the spot Dad had given him.
	The peach-colored sheets took up his vision. Then suddenly he saw lots of disorganized fluff, like cotton-balls all packed together, and the winding curl of a spring.
	Mom balked as her son’s hind wriggled and squirmed right next to her, sticking up out of the bed.
	Dad managed to grab onto a flailing leg, and pulled him back up. “Careful, careful, easy does it,” he murmured, freeing his son from the bed.
	When he was back on the surface of the bed, on hands and knees, he shook like he was drying himself. “Thanks. I guess I’m still getting used to this phasing-thing,” he admitted. He patted the bed to ensure it was solid to him.
	”You’ll get the hang of it, kiddo,” Dad said encouragingly. “But, Mom’s right. It’s past our bed-times.” He reached over to the lamp, and flicked it off.
	Milo turned off his night-vision, and snuggled in between his parents.
	”G’night, kiddo,” Dad said.
	”Night, Dad.”
	”G’night, honey,” Dad said to Mom.
	”Mrghrghn,” she mumbled back.
	”G’night, Mom,” Milo bid.
	”Good night, sweetie.”