Grim and Bear It
Chapter Fifteen

Jake

Despite having a full five hours to sleep, I spent most of it lying on my back, looking up at the poppy painting. She had stood in this very room, touched that painting, pressed her body into mine. She fit in my life again in an instant, as if twelve years were twelve minutes, and we'd just been separated by walls instead of worlds.

A text message lit up my phone. It was Paris.

Paris: Call me when you've read the autopsy.

I checked the time and groaned. Already six and only exhaustion to show for my efforts. I opened my email, read the report, hit Paris's number, and put the phone on speaker.

"Good morning," she greeted, chipper and well rested.

Jealous. "Morning."

There was a beat of silence. "Did you sleep at all?"

I didn't bother to respond. "All died from fentanyl overdose."

"All with terminal or degenerative illnesses."

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, trying to get my foggy brain to make the connection. "Why fentanyl? Are they mercy killings or are they trying to cure people? It doesn't make sense. Why use it to dilute stock they're not selling? Why risk overdosing test subjects?"

She paused to think over the comment, a trait that I appreciated, yet it tested my patience. "That remains the question of the day. Speaking of, does any of this apply to the near-accident yesterday?"

I winced. "I should have told you. I'm sorry, I was exhausted."

"Jake, I know we haven't worked together very long, and I know I'm likely not your ideal partner, all things considered, but I need you to communicate better with me."

The memory of me giving Mina almost the same speech-she had been completely out of her element falling in love with Carma-was a kick to the stomach. I had yelled at her for not keeping up on the case, for not communicating, for being too much in her own head, and here I was doing the same thing and not thinking twice.

"I'm sorry," I admitted. "Truly. I'm struggling with something personal and didn't realize how much it was affecting my work."

"I appreciate you saying that. I just worry-oh, text from Jim."

My phone buzzed with a text. I opened it to read the address of a new crime scene. "Who's driving?"

"I'll pick you up in ten with coffee."

Despite being in a small storage unit instead of a house, the scene was almost identical to the place we'd been to earlier in the week. All different ages and body types, all slumped over in chairs. A cardboard box as a makeshift table with powder residue.

I checked the pulse on the young man closest to me. "He's still breathing! Paris, call for medics. We gotta check the rest." I pulled the guy to the ground, swearing at the pain as I knelt and began performing CPR.

Paris spoke quickly into the phone stuck between her shoulder and ear, feeling for pulses with both hands. She crouched in front of a young woman, slapping her face on both sides and trying to shake her awake. "Come on, come on, wake up for me."

The woman opened her eyes. "Was supposed to..."

"Was supposed to what? Come on, talk to me. What'd you take?" Paris pleaded, then into the phone. "We need medics! We have two victims still alive." She returned her attention to the woman. "Why are you here? What did they promise?" "...heal us. He promised." She slumped forward. Paris caught her and laid her down on the floor, then hit speaker on her phone.

"What was going to heal you?" Paris begged, leaning her head close to the woman's nose and mouth. "No!" She started doing compressions.

Was supposed to heal us. The phrase repeated over and over in my head as I kept up my compressions, stopping to push breath into the man's lungs. My arms hurt and my leg was on fire, but if we could just keep these two alive until we got some answers, it would be worth it.

The air changed around us, smelling sweeter, and the ambient noise grew quieter. I knew Poppy was here before I saw the flash of purple, before I heard the somber sound of her violin. Her hand touched my shoulder and I stopped compressions, looking up at her, and leaned into her touch for just a moment.

"He's on the manifest," Poppy explained quietly. She gestured to the woman Paris was working on. "So is she."

"Can you ask what happened, what they took?"

"Not gonna help!" Paris shouted.

"Talking to my ghost friend," I explained, purposefully avoiding the word reaper so she didn't panic.

Poppy glared at the center of the room. "I know!" she snapped at the air, before turning back to me. "Sylvia says we have to go."

I looked up to where Poppy had indicated. "Sylvia's here? Why can't I see her if I can see you?"

Poppy looked behind her then back to me. "I don't know, but I'll take it as reassurance I'm not here for your soul. You and Sylvia don't have the same connection that we do." She looked back over her shoulder. "Do they make chill pills for reapers because you need one."

"Sylvia," I tried, "I know I was never your favorite, but please help us figure out what's going on."

"This is why she didn't like you," Poppy explained. "Why, because he wants to help people?" she retorted back. She paused then crossed her arms. "Fine, yes. Please."

I couldn't hear Sylvia's side of the conversation, but I could guess. Poppy and Sylvia were opposites. She thought I had a stick up my ass, and I thought she was the personification of an internet troll.

"They say it was supposed to fix them," Poppy explained. "Like the Thinner shakes. They said it was a supplement called Vixen." She stilled; her head snapped to the right. She tucked away her violin and brought out her sword. "Get out of here. Now."

"Paris, get to the car!" I ordered.

She paused doing compressions on the woman, looked at my face, and then ran over with hands extended. "Hands, now."

I shook my head. I was going to be too slow. "Right behind you. Go!"

She shoved her hands beneath my arms and started dragging me back. "Not leaving you."

"Get out of here!" No way my leg would be able to support my weight after kneeling on concrete. It would take several minutes of straightening, massaging, and swearing before I could stand, let alone run.

Poppy bent low and wrapped her free arm around my legs and lifted me off the ground, while keeping the sword in front of her. I straightened my leg as they carried me, grunting at the spasm of pain from my hip to my ankle. "Should I ask why you're floating?" Paris grunted.

"Later," I said.

"Coming!" Poppy yelled, just as we reached the passenger side of Paris's car. Poppy set me down, then ran back toward the unit.

Paris opened the door and I hopped on my good leg, then dove inside the car. My partner slid across the hood and climbed into the driver's seat. When I looked out of the windshield, I saw Poppy in a standoff with two demons and a ragged shadow.

Poppy brought her sword down on one of the demons' head, slicing it in two before it pulled itself together and disappeared. The weird shadow fell next, presumably due to Sylvia. But the second demon had disappeared. I turned around in my seat, looking out every window trying to replace it.

"Jake!" Paris warned.

I turned to face her, then followed her gaze behind me. A dumpster was rolling toward my side of the car alarmingly fast. Paris turned on the car and threw it into reverse, flooring the accelerator. She honked the horn before she cut hard to the left, turning us down another row and nearly plowing into an unloading U-Haul.

The dumpster rolled past the opening followed by a streak of purple, and the crunching of metal. Paris and I jumped out of the car and stared down the aisle. Poppy stood over the remnants of a demon. The dumpster had hit an empty security booth, which was now collapsing in on itself.

I ran a hand down my face and shook my head in disbelief. That dumpster weighed more than Paris's car. At the speed it had been moving, it would have done some serious damage, especially to me.

Poppy met my gaze across the space, the truth settling between us. This wasn't an accident. She'd been right. That email wasn't an empty threat.

Paris turned to face me. "I think it's time you and I had a talk. We can start with who or what-you can see that I can't."