Page 44 of Joker's Ghost
“You coming to the bar?” Boa asks.
“Nah, I’m out.” My head was starting to throb again. I didn’t know if it was from the fall or all this added info, but either way, I was beat.
We tap fists, and I head out the back door to the lot. The halogen lights cast shadows over the area, but as I get closer to my bike, one of the shadows moves. I pick up the pace, and the shadow fades off in the other direction. I run after it, and when it turns, the light illuminates a familiar face—too familiar.
“Hey,” I call out. “What the fuck do you want?”
The Nomad who’s supposed to be dead just stares at me—or his image just stares at me.
“Don’t back down like a fuckin’ coward.” I spread my arms wide. “You wanna piece of me? Come and get it.”
“I don’t want you, but when you find out who I do want, it’ll be too late.”
I lunge, but the shadow evaporates. I spin around, surveying the lot, but it’s gone. I’m alone. I stomp to the side of The Gold Mine, then go completely around the building, but there’s no one.
At the back lot, I head straight to my Harley and inspect every inch of it. I contemplate getting Cobra, but what would I say?
Hey, I saw a fuckin’ ghost in the lot, and it communicated with me telepathically.
Cobra was having a hard enough time wrapping his head around the other shit I said, so this would put me in the looney bin category for sure.
My phone buzzes with a message, and I yank it out of my pocket.
Unknown Caller: “You’ve been warned twice.”
“Fuck!” I bellow into the night air. What the hell is goin’ on?
I jam my phone into my pocket and straddle my Harley. Normally, I take Boulder Highway home, but tonight I stay on the back roads, keeping my speed no higher than forty miles per hour. I won’t feel comfortable until I give my bike a thorough inspection in the shop, and until then, wiping out at forty miles per hour is much better than wiping out at eighty.
DAISY
I’ve become somewhat obsessed with organizing closets, kitchen cabinets and the containers we keep in the storage area off the garage where I am now putting away all the Halloween costumes and decorations until next year.
I’ve always been neat, which I’m sure any psychologist would say was the result of living in a falling down shack in the hills of West Virginia. Needless to say, it was impossible tokeep clean, but I swore when I had a place of my own, it would be tidy and neat.
With only six and a half weeks left of my pregnancy, all those tendencies are amped up to a somewhat manic level.
Of course, I kept all this to myself as not to worry Joker. He’s been protective with this pregnancy to begin with, and after what happened to him the other night, he’s been edgier than usual. Then me finding out about his near miss in the garage, and it doesn’t help I still feel he’s keeping something else from me.
I appreciate his need to watch over me, but I also want to be aware and be there if he needs me. One thing Joker learned in our first days together is I’m very resilient and can take care of myself. After all, I’ve been doing it for most of my life.
As I trudge up the stairs, I take a break midway to catch my breath. Our condo is set up on two levels with a garage, laundry room, and storage one flight below our living space.
At the time, we wanted a two-car garage and the extra storage unit, but that was before I was carrying around an extra thirty-five pounds. Which is no joke when I have to climb those stairs two or more times a day. I massage the small of my back, anxious for our little person to be born so I can have my body back.
I continue up the rest of the stairs and stop. The condo door is ajar, and I’m sure I closed it. Derek and Deana are already home. Maybe Joker got home while I was in the garage, but I would’ve heard his Harley, and knowing his phobia with security, there is no way he’d leave the door open.
I enter the kitchen door slowly and call out for Derek. No answer. My heart flutters. I call his name again and wait, then grab a knife out of the block on the kitchen counter. Yup, I’m the gal who believes in being prepared.
I grip the knife tighter, and few seconds later, Derek entersthe kitchen. “What’s up?” His eyes travel to the knife I’m clutching.
“Was someone here while I was down in the storage area?”
“Nah, just me and Deana. Why?”
“Nothing.” I replace the knife, then stare back at the door. “I must’ve left it open.”
“Geez, you’re lucky Dad didn’t come home.” Derek rolls his eyes. “We’d all be subjected to one of his speeches on security.” He laughs around his words, and I force a smile. I’m still not one hundred percent sure I left the door open.
