Haunted Humans Part 16

D.J. went cold, remembering the last time he'd given her that look. She couldn't look away. He seemed frozen in position, one of his hands clutched tight on the couch's arm, the knuckles white with strain, the other hand biting into the couch cushion between him and D.J.

"Morgan," she whispered.

A voice came from the police radio. The officer listened, his eyes closed in concentration, shoulders hunched. Then he blew out breath and stood up. "It's over."

D.J., staring into Morgan's unblinking wild eyes, knew the officer was wrong.

EIGHT.

Harley staggered into the office and headed straight for the coffee table. He had lost his suit jacket somewhere, and sweat dripped from his forehead, patched his shirt under his arms and suspenders. After he had mixed up a cup of instant from the hot water in the big pot, he turned to D.J. and Morgan.

Morgan was leaning back on the couch, his head lax, only white slits of eyes showing. D.J. sat forward on the edge of the couch, her face chalky, her eyes dark, her hands clenched on one another.

"You don't look relieved," Harley said.

"The fight's here," she whispered, and glanced toward Morgan without turning her head.

"Shee-it!" said Harley. Clift's list of qualifications for ghost-possession came back to him: believe in ghosts; have a mission; violent death; resonate right.

"They wouldn't invite him in!" he said.

"He's never waited for an invitation."

Morgan's jaw worked, made a clicking nose. His mouth closed. His eyelids fluttered, then opened, their pale blue stained with brown. "Puny," he said, his voice low and thrilling. He flexed his hands, then looked around. "Dorothy Jean!

At last! You don't know what I've gone through to get to you."

"Yes, I do," she said. "Get out! Die, Chase! Just -- die!"

"I already did that," he said. His face darkened. "It hurt, and not in a good way."

"Get out of Morgan!" She pulled her hands apart, made fists, and began pummeling Morgan's chest.

"Hey! Is this any way to treat the one who loves you? Although it does feel . .

. so good . . ." He smiled at her. Suddenly she remembered one evening, before she knew much about Chase. They were having a candlelight dinner at her apartment. She had made a spectacular meal, because she was sure Chase was the one she'd been looking for all her life, and the way he responded to her had her convinced he felt the same way about her. They had finished dessert and were looking at each other. D.J.'s mind, at least, was in the bedroom, where she had covered the lampshade with a pink scarf and left some sandalwood-scented candles burning.

Chase picked up one of the candles on the dinner table and tilted it so that hot wax poured onto his palm. "Mmm," he said. "So good. So good." He slowly dripped a circle on one palm, then switched hands and dripped more wax on the other.

Wondering if it was some erotic turn-on she'd never heard of, D.J. had packed up the other candle and tried dripping a drop on her own palm. At the stinging pain of the burn her hand jerked. She set the candle upright and looked at Chase with horror; he was so absorbed in what he was doing that he never noticed. She blinked. Maybe she was hypersensitive to pain. Maybe that was it.

Pretending she had to go to the bathroom, she went to her room and blew out the candles there. People did have different ideas of pleasure, she told herself, but she didn't want him practicing his brand on her.

Still, she had thought Chase was near enough to perfect not to worry about.

She stopped pounding on him. He gripped her shoulders, drew her against him.

"The hair, you have to change that," he said. "It's ugly. Not like an angel's anymore. But now you're a dirty one. I forgot. Now you're a dirty one." Then he ground his mouth against hers, forced hers open and thrust his tongue in. After her first startled fury, she was going to bite down on his tongue, but Harley grabbed her from behind and pulled her out of Chase's arms.

"Gary!" Harley said. "Can't you do something?"

Chase laughed. "Invoke your little police friend," he said. "I killed him once, and I'll do it again."

"Clift?" asked D.J.

"Detective?" said a strange voice from behind them. D.J. and Harley turned.

A uniformed officer stood there. "They need you for testing," he said.

"Something's come up," said Harley. He reached behind him, then turned to Morgan and handcuffed him. "I need to question this witness before I wrap it up. I suggest we go somewhere more private," Harley said to D.J. He turned back to the other officer. "Okay if we borrow your cruiser, just to sit in?"

The man shrugged, then held out keys. "Right there," he said, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

"Thanks, Fletcher. This shouldn't take long." He dragged Morgan up off the couch by the handcuffs, then took him outside and pushed him into the back seat. "Sit up front, D.J.," he said, climbing into the car.

She got in beside him and looked back through the divider at Morgan. "Can't you do something?" she asked, not knowing to whom she was appealing.

"I'm trying Deej!" cried Clift. He gulped.

"The little professor," Chase said. "I'll step on him like a bug. The s.l.u.ts I shall slit from crotch to throat. I missed my chance to do that to the old lady, but now that I have another chance, I'll do it correctly. I haven't decided what to do to that pesky nine-year-old boy yet, but it's delicious to think about my options. And the baby. I don't know if she's dirty yet." He frowned. "But she will be. Maybe not right away. But after I deal with the others." He sat back and smiled. "The cop. The cop. He was so much fun the last time. I'll make it even better this time."

"Morgan!" D.J. said. "Kick him out. Kick him out."

Morgan blinked, then looked at her with his own pale blue eyes. "Kick him out?"

he said in a slow voice.

"You don't want to keep him, do you?"

"No! I don't like him at all."

"Kick him out."

"I don't know how."

"Ask the others."

"Okay." Morgan closed his eyes.

D.J. sat back. Business mode, she thought. Business mode. Everything has a place; how do I get rid of something that doesn't belong? Delete it on the computer. Shred the file. For a minute she visualized Chase as a paper ghost, going into the shredder whole and coming out as narrow crimped strips of paper.

See him get out of that one.

Dump the trash. Edit the bad phrases out of the report. But Morgan wasn't a computer.

What would Dr. Kabukin do?

What was she always trying to get Morgan to do? Integrate. And Clift said nos it would make them all disappear, and leave Morgan confused. What if they each grabbed a piece of Chase and wouldn't let go, though? Maybe if they pulled him to pieces, the pieces would be easier to get rid of.

Shredding.

"Morgan," said D.J.

"I'm trying to kick him out but he won't go! Even Gary can't hold him!"