Page 13 of Man of His Dreams

Chapter

Six

“The thing is,” Flip explained to Miss Amelie, “I was asleep after midnight. And even if I was sleepwalking or something, I don’t own anything that makes music except my phone. Even at full volume, it’s not noisy enough to bother the neighbors.”

She exhaled a stream of smoke and regarded him, narrow-eyed. “You don’t need me to tell you what’s what, boy. You already know.”

He shook his head and hugged himself. Although it was indeed chilly this morning, he felt as if he was freezing, in a way that endless layers of clothing wouldn’t help. “I’m afraid I’m losing my mind.”

“Maybe it’s in your suitcase.”

Fuck, his suitcase. He’d been so distracted with Tony and Scratch that he hadn’t checked on its status since the previous morning. Whatever. Tracking the AirTag and calling the airline hadn’t done him any good so far.

He needed to return to more urgent matters. “It’s not just the neighbors hearing him. I looked up the songs this morning and, sure enough, they all exist, and they all sound exactly like he played them. He told me one of them came out the year he died, and the brothels were shut down the previous year. I looked up all of those things and they all track. But I didn’t know about any of that until he told me. At least, I don’t think I did. Oh! And last night I found a busted umbrella and brought it inside, and he took it with him, and now it’s not anywhere in my apartment.”

He took a few deep breaths and wished very hard that the world would start making sense again.

Miss Amelie simply shrugged, as unruffled as if they’d been discussing the weather. “I heard on the news the other day that they’re overrun with rats over at police HQ. The rats are eating the weed in the evidence room and getting high.” She croaked a laugh. “This city got rats. And we got ghosts. Can’t do much about either. I prefer ghosts, myself. They’re cleaner. And yours is a looker. Sweet too. It’s sad when they die so young.”

“Mine?”

“Sounds like Scratch has taken a shine to you. I ain’t surprised. Been a while since we had someone with a Clear Eye, and you ain’t bad-looking yourself.”

Flip blushed. “We, uh, kissed. A couple of times.” He’d left that part out when he told her about his nighttime visitor, though he wasn’t about to go into their more R-rated antics. Not that he thought she’d be shocked. It just felt… private.

For the first time since they’d met, Miss Amelie appeared genuinely surprised. “Can you feel him?”

“Um, yeah. I mean, except that he’s not real and I’m just dreaming him.” He kept saying that even though it was feeling less and less true.

“Woo-eee! I can see ’em just fine, I can hear ’em, but I can’t touch ’em. And I’m clearer than most.” She tapped the center of her forehead. “That’s some talent you got, boy.”

“But I don’t?—”

“Must’ve been real nice for Scratch. He’s lonely, poor soul. You know there’s different kinds of ghosts? Some of ’em ain’t figured out yet that they’re dead. In denial, I guess. Some have unfinished business. Some died with such strong emotions—anger, usually—that they stay tied to this place. Scratch ain’t none of those. I asked him once why he’s stickin’ around, and he said it’s ’cause he likes the place so much. I say maybe so, maybe not.”

Flip was gaping at her. “You’ve… talked to him?”

“Course!” she said, flapping her hand dismissively. “I’m friendly with my neighbors.”

This was too much to process. If Flip thought about it hard enough, he might be able to devise a way to test her, to prove or disprove her claim. He couldn’t come up with an option right now, though. “I’m so fucked up,” he moaned.

“Why you gotta complain about this? It ain’t hurtin’ you none. You got a damn fine man keepin’ you company, playing music for you. Wish I had the same.”

Rubbing his temples, Flip stood. “I have to go get ready. I have a da—uh, appointment soon.”

“Uh-huh,” she said knowingly. But she called out to him as he started to walk away. “That was real nice of you to give Scratch a present. Don’t look so confused, boy. The umbrella?”

“I didn’t— It was just a broken one I brought inside. I have no idea why. And I don’t see what a ghost would do with a busted umbrella anyway.”

“Did it look broken when he held it?”

Flip frowned as he tried to remember. “Um, no. I don’t think so.” No evidence of busted spokes or torn fabric, at least as far as Flip had seen. Instead, it had been neatly furled.

“People ain’t the only things with an afterlife. Some animals can be ghosts too, although it’s rare. And objects too, ’specially if they’ve spent a lot of time close to people and then met a sudden end.”

“There are ghost umbrellas?” He held up his hand to stop her from answering. “Never mind. Don’t answer. I’m past my maximum weirdness level already today.”

Her laughter followed him all the way into his building.

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