Chasing Happy Page 2

  "She wants to know if her mom is mad because she didn't make her bed that day."

  "What?" Butch whispered.

  "She said it was an accident. She didn't mean to go with that man but she couldn't hear what he said, so she leaned closer and then he grabbed her arm." Happy looked up at him, her face pale, sweat leaving trails of dirt down the sides of her temples. "She said it was black for a while and then she woke up here."

  Butch looked around, desperate, but still saw nothing.

  How could Happy know about Lainey's cat or her unmade bed? How could she know about the man that snatched Lainey?

  "Where is she, Happy?" He asked. "I don't see anything."

  "Are they mad?" Happy asked.

  "Is who mad?"

  "Her parents," she explained. "She's afraid they're mad."

  "No," he breathed. "They just want her back. They're not mad." He turned himself from Happy and spoke to the air. "They love you so much Elaine. They aren't mad. They just miss you like crazy. Gizmo misses you too, I just saw him last week. Your mother was having a fit because he got outside and was sleeping on her porch swing." He rubbed his face again and muttered, "What am I doing?"

  "This way." Happy picked her way through the grass and pulled him along behind her. They trudged around the side of the abandoned house, gray with age and boarded up tighter than a drum. She pulled him past the back door, into the back yard and across what used to be a stone pathway. He could feel the hard concrete of it beneath his feet even if he couldn't see it. When they approached an overgrown laurel hedge, Happy stopped.

  "In there," she whispered as she slowly raised her hand and pointed.

  Butch scanned the area before letting Happy's hand go and drawing his weapon. He slowly approached the thick overgrown hedge, filled with vines, so choked it was impossible to see what was on the other side. As he got closer, he noticed a small break in the plant and something dingy hiding inside. Using his sleeve to push the plant back he realized it was an appliance of some kind, a refrigerator or possibly freezer. He put his gun away and approached again, finding the top hinge of the chest freezer and breaking the seal.

  He knew then, before lifting the lid, there was something dead inside. The smell permeated the air around him as he pressed on and looked inside, seeing what was clearly Elaine Kinsley's personalized LL Bean backpack. The rest of the freezer’s contents were human remains, decomposed and rotting. Dropping the lid, he covered his mouth and turned back to Happy.

  "Holy shit," he breathed, blinking the tears out of his eyes.

  If someone had asked him that morning if he believed in ghosts or spirits or psychics, he would have answered with an unequivocal, absolutely not. Yet there was no other way to explain what he saw after he found Lainey's remains.

  Happy stood there, where he'd left her, holding Elaine Kinsley's hand. The missing girl was vague, not there, but clear as a bell and wearing the same clothes she'd been wearing the day she went missing. She and Happy looked at each other before Elaine turned to smile at him. She said something he couldn't hear and before he could blink she disappeared and Happy was on the ground.

  He ran to her, finding her freezing cold, pale, and bleeding from her nose.

  "Happy!" He called.

  Her eyes blinked open, for a second and then closed again.

  "She's gone," the little girl mumbled. "Saw her Gramma and left."

  "Stay with me, Happy."

  Butch groped for something to press against her bleeding nose but came up empty. In the end, he used the tail of his shirt, her head resting on his lap while he groped for his radio to call in the discovery of Elaine's body and an ambulance for Happy.

  Happy's mother had been wrong. She wasn't nuts.

  She was some kind of psychic.

  1

  Rosie Knight never thought she'd find joy cleaning toilet bowls. Sure, it wasn't a joyous occasion, and it didn't exactly put a smile on her face, but she found a certain soothing appeal to the whole thing. She had a nice routine when cleaning a bathroom and found the repetition and reward of it relaxing.

  Most days at least. Today, however, was not one of those happy, peaceful days. Today was one of those days where her boss's harpy grandmother followed her from room to room criticizing the job she was doing.

  "Oh, that spray smells terrible, Dear."

  "That glass cleaner leaves streaks. We'll have to talk to Wendy about changing brands."

  "You should use a different vacuum when you're cleaning Berber."

  The litany of critiques was never ending. Not unkind, just never ending. Headphones helped. Rosie found herself, on days such as this, wearing her headphones often.

  She'd been lucky to find this job. Being an unskilled worker complicated things enough. Add in being an introvert and job prospects seem nonexistent. But nighttime housekeeping with hours she liked to keep, not interacting with customers and half decent money sounded too good to be true. But it hadn't been. It had been real, and she'd somehow gotten the job.

  Except her perfect job came with her boss's pushy grandma.

  Most weeks she worked overtime and for the first time, she experienced having enough money to spare. It felt good to be secure and comfortable providing for herself. She'd been on her own since she was sixteen, and some of those seven years had not been easy.

  Living in a cute little Florida beach town, with a steady income made life seem almost simple.

  Most days.

  "I don't think the cleaner you're using on the bathroom counter is doing enough disinfecting." Mrs. Murphy made another note on the obnoxious clip board she was constantly carrying around.

  "You should go see what Marta's using," Rosie mumbled. It was nearing midnight, she and Mrs. Murphy in the law offices of the Jacob's Beach Professional Building. Marta, one of the other maids, was on the sixth floor working on the accounting firm.

  "That girl doesn't' speak any English!" Mrs. Murphy complained.

  "I know," Rosie laughed. "You guys would get along great."

  "Funny," the older woman chuckled. "Listen, Rosie-,"

  Rosie stood up from the toilet and gave it one last flush, interrupting the woman.

  "No," she told her when the noise died down. When the woman opened her mouth to speak again, Rosie repeated herself. "No. Absolutely not. Not gonna happen."

  With a huff, Mrs. Murphy wandered out of the room, passing through the wall as if it wasn't there.

  Nearly done for the night, Rosie and Marta had one more office to clean together. If only she could get through the rest of her shift without another Grandma Murphy sighting.

  She wondered what the chances were that would happen.

  The next evening, she went into the Murphy Maid's office downtown to double check her schedule, gather supplies and catch a ride to the office they were cleaning that night.

  She'd just grabbed her schedule from the main office and was heading out when she bumped into Lisa, the office manager.

  Rosie took an immediate step back. Then contemplated taking another. When Lisa was near, Rosie's instincts screamed at her to stay back, and as much as she hated them sometimes, Rosie had learned to trust her instincts.

  Then there was the dream she'd had.

  "I see you've got your schedule," Lisa said.

  She said it in a normal, business like tone. There was nothing Rosie could pinpoint or voice that didn't make her sound crazy. Nothing that could explain the way she felt around Lisa.

  There was just something off.

  "I did, thank you," Rosie replied, her lips stiff. She let out a breath when Lisa walked away.

  "Hey girl!" Wendy popped out of her office. "How's it going?"

  "Good. How's it going with you?"

  "Well.” She drew the word out. Rosie knew, from experience, her boss had something up her sleeve.

  "Oh God, what now?" Rosie covered her eyes.

  "Hey!" Wendy protested. "It's not bad."

  "Last time you said that, we drove
a hundred miles to some convention that didn't have anything to do with housekeeping."

  Wendy rolled her eyes. "Okay, so that was my fault, but this isn't that. Besides, that trip turned out great. You found that little shop that makes the eco-friendly cleaners. It's my best seller."

  "Okay, what is it now?" Rosie asked.

  "I've got a few really great business clients that want their homes done too. I was thinking you could move to days and clean while they're at the office and I can hire some other night maids."

  "Wendy-"

  "I know, we've talked about this. You like the night shift. You don't drive. You don't really want to have to interact with a lot of people." Rosie nodded because she had, many times over, repeated her love of the night shift to Wendy.

  "But, just hear me out. You're the best I've got."

  "No," Rosie argued.

  "Yes," Wendy laughed. "You don't argue when your boss tells you you're their best employee. You're great at the job, you're thorough, you're meticulous. But that's not all I want you for."

  "Oh crap. There's more?" Rosie put her hands on the sides of her face, faking a scream.

  "Jeez, you make it out like I'm putting you in front of the firing squad," Wendy joked. "Come into my office and we'll talk more about it."

  Rosie looked around, catching a glimpse of Marta moving around the storage room.

  “I really don’t have time right now.” She took a step back. “Marta and I are headed downtown. Maybe later?”

  Wendy consulted her watch. "Tonight's your short night, right?"

  "Yeah." Rosie held in a wince. Of course, Wendy would remember that. "We're done around ten."

  "I'll go downtown and we'll meet when you're done."

  Rosie laughed. "Wendy, I'm in my scrubs."

  "I know you have a change of clothes in your bag. You always do."

  Her face heated.

  "C'mon," Wendy laughed. "What's the big deal?"

  The big deal was that Rosie hated being in public. Too many people, too many conversations all going on at once and too many people noticing her. Her hair stood out, such a distinct silver white, people couldn't help but stare. If they happened to catch her eyes, they never looked away.

  That was saying nothing about spirits that lingered in certain places or followed people around. Nothing about auras that weaved their way into her personal space.

  Avoiding crowded places had just become a habit. One she enjoyed.

  "No big deal," she lied, knowing she couldn't say no forever. "Just tell me where and I'll be there."

  "I think now's the time, dear," Grandma Murphy repeated for the hundredth time.

  Rosie's head was throbbing, the woman's repeated requests and the consequent music blaring through her headphones catching up with her.

  "Wendy's such a smart girl. It's so important she know everything. How can she reach her full potential if she doesn't know the truth?"

  "It's none of my business."

  "It's time to make it your business," the spirit argued.

  Rosie scrubbed and scrubbed. She just wanted to be home and alone, so she did her job and tried to ignore everything around her. She emptied trashcans, which in an office building you wouldn't think would be gross but that just wasn't true. She couldn't count the number of used condoms she'd seen in office trash cans.

  Trash, counters, windows, mirrors, toilets. She did them all. Meticulously.

  "Miss Rosa!" The shout came from behind her and Rosie jumped a mile, holding her heart in her chest.

  Grandma Murphy was nowhere to be seen.

  "I'm sorry, Miss Rosa, I finished downstairs." Marta was standing in the doorway looking like a deer in the headlights.

  "Oh my God, Marta, you scared the crap out of me!" When the initial shock wore off, Rosie laughed. "Let's lock up. You can head back without me."

  "I will drive you," Marta said.

  "Not tonight," she explained.

  Marta smiled like she knew a secret, "Ah, you meeting someone."

  "Yeah, I'm meeting someone."

  "You have a boyfriend," Marta assumed.

  Rosie wanted to laugh. Having anyone in her life was the last thing she wanted, let alone a boyfriend.

  She'd learned long ago that nothing lasted. Not family, not friends, not anything. Money and health came and went. Homes and cars, stability could be wiped out with the wind.

  Family and friends? Well, they went even faster.

  2

  Rosie walked the three blocks to a bar that was jam packed with twenty-somethings, all with drinks in their hands. She'd never gotten into the bar scene but she could see where it would be fun. She watched through the glass as girls her age laughed and flirted, all of them having animated conversations and enjoying themselves.

  When she opened the door, she got blasted with a wave of noise, her skin prickling with awareness of the people around her. Their auras melded together, swirling around her and creating a buzz inside her head that made her temples pound. The can lights were so bright her eyes burned and she wondered how she'd ever be able to carry on a conversation.

  "Hey! There you are.” Wendy appeared and pulled her into the bar.

  "I grabbed a table. I thought I'd see when you got here. Sorry."

  Rosie let herself be pulled to a high-top table, Wendy sitting across from her. "You look great. How do you always look so great?"

  "I clean toilets for a living," Rosie replied, narrowing her eyes at Wendy. "I'm sure I don't even come close to great. Are you trying to butter me up?"

  Wendy waved the comment away. "Have you ever been here?"

  "No," she replied. Wendy had to have known without asking.

  "I think now's a great time to just lay the cards out on the table.” Rosie looked to the seat next to her and held in an eye-roll.

  Grandma Murphy.

  The woman was relentless.

  A group of women behind them burst out laughing, the noise deafening and joyous. All Rosie felt was seething jealousy. When she turned to look she realized it was a bachelorette party, and although they were all smiling, someone in that group was not happy. Rosie's head swam with spite and hate, an angry red aura cloud surrounding her.

  "Rosie?” Wendy asked. "You okay? All of a sudden you don't look so good. You're sweating and pale."

  The care and concern coming from Wendy was nearly enough to overpower the group behind her but the red just kept creeping in.

  "It's okay," Rosie told her.

  The waiter appeared at the table then, a man in a shirt and tie smiling and saying all the right things. A muted grey energy surrounded his body, his sadness creeping up the back of Rosie's neck, like bugs trapped under her skin. Even after he walked away, she noticed a black spot emanating from his midsection.

  She knew what it meant.

  He was sick. She wondered if he knew.

  "Oh, Rosie, you're bleeding.” Wendy jumped up and moved to her side of the table.

  She'd known it was a possibility. It wasn't the first time being in a large crowd affected her and it wouldn't be the last. Quickly grabbing her napkin and pressing it to her nose she waved Wendy away.

  "It's okay. I'm alright. Sit down."

  "C'mon. It's not okay. We're leaving."

  "No, I'm fine. It's just a bloody nose."

  Eventually, her boss sat opposite her, but looked like she might jump up and drag her out of the bar at any moment.

  "What the hell is going on?" Wendy asked.

  "You're the one who invited me here. What's going on with you? What did you want to talk about?"

  "Yeah, right," Wendy scowled. "Like I'd ever let it go that easily."

  When piqued, Wendy was rabidly determined. Rosie had always intended to keep her home in Jacob's Beach private, but when Wendy found out she'd been walking home at night, she insisted on seeing it to make sure it was a safe walk. She'd even weaseled her way into the camper to take a peek around. Then she'd driven Rosie to a used bike shop and helped her
pick out the cutest bike they had.

  As Rosie was contemplating telling Wendy what was going on, she felt a shift in the air around her. The sad, sick energy detached itself from her neck and dissipated. The angry red, jealous haze receded and the static buzz in her mind quieted.

  She sat up and looked around.

  Everything was just as it was before but her personal space wasn't being invaded by auras. She felt...safe.

  It was disconcerting.

  "Oh, good. Max is here. He can give us a ride to your place. I want you to go home and get some rest."

  Wendy started gathering her things while Rosie sat there stunned. She'd never felt such peace inside herself unless she was completely alone. She'd tried, years ago, to manage having other people's feelings and emotions surround her, inside of her, trying to control seeing people and colors that weren't there, that no one else could see. Worse, seeing things that hadn't happened yet that she wasn't able to explain. She'd never gotten the hang of it. Peace was something she'd never achieved on her own.

  "There's my generous big sister that promised to buy me a drink.”

  Rosie lifted her head to see two men standing at their table and quickly looked away. One was a broad blond, her muted senses barely reading anything but the royal blue color of loyalty that surrounded him. The other was shorter but still tall in his own right and was clearly Wendy's brother, the same shade of brown hair on his head with matching caramel eyes. A shiny emerald green aura emanated from his body.

  "We're leaving," Wendy told them. "I need you to bring us out to Rosie's place. I had a few glasses of wine and I can't drive."

  "What's the big rush?” the tall one asked.

  When Rosie looked to Wendy, she found her boss indicating that she, Rosie, was the big rush.

  "I told you, I'm fine.” And, in the last few minutes, it had strangely become true. She was fine. The noise had disappeared.

  Wendy's brother bent to get a closer look at her face, smiling as he inspected the napkin pressed to her nose.

  "Still bleeding?” he asked.