Page 67 of Random in Death

“He blends, so… I need to find out what other events like these two are coming up. Geared to that age group. Crowded events. Maybe I should pull in Detective Willowby. She can pass for that age group.”

“You’ll decide tomorrow.”

“I’ll decide tomorrow,” she agreed, and began to undress. While she did, she planned out her agenda.

Then, as she had her command center, she did her best to shut down her brain as she got into bed.

“Make room, Tubbo,” she told the cat, then sighed when Roarke wrapped an arm around her. “I can’t see him.”

“But you will.”

“I will.”

The dreams took their time weaving into sleep. They came with music, crashing guitars, pounding drums. With lights flashing.

The two dead girls danced with the crowd around them no more than a frantic blur of motion and energy.

“We’re young!” Jenna said.

“And we’ll never get old.”

“I wanted to write songs that made everybody want to dance. I’d be a rock star.”

“I’d design your costumes,” Arlie told her. “You’d look so frigging mag in Dillon originals.”

“We had another hundred years coming, right?”

“Damn right. We got screwed, totally.”

“It hurt when he jabbed me.” Jenna pointed at the needle in her arm.

“Tell me! It hurt when he stung me.” A wasp the size of a golf ball sat on Arlie’s arm.

“Asshole.”

“Jerk.”

“Dooser!” the girls said together, and laughed as they danced.

“You saw him. Give me something,” Eve demanded. “I need to see him.”

“Asshole. Jerk. Dooser,” they said together.

“Why should we pay attention?” Jenna shrugged.

“He’s not in our club.”

“What club?” Too hot, Eve thought. Just too hot in here. Out here. Where was here?

“Like normal.” Jenna bopped her shoulders, her hips.

“No wheezes, weebs, flakers allowed. Normal, living our life, so no you, either, Boss Cop.”

“She’s old,” Jenna reminded Arlie. “We’re not.”

“Wasn’t a normie when she wasn’t old. I mean Jee-sus! Just skulking around when she was our age. No friends, no fam, no nothing. No normie.”

“No normie,” Jenna conceded.

---