The Secrets of Westwood (The Grace Shaw Series: Book 1)

Chapter Two

I jolted out of my sleep suddenly, the sweat that covered my body the only indication of the nightmare that woke me. Six months had passed since and I still wasn't right. I didn't know how long I could go on remembering the trauma without going insane. They told me I had post-traumatic stress and countless therapy sessions had confirmed that but still, I hoped for the quick recovery. I didn't want to be the broken Detective anymore. Pushing my slick hair away from my forehead I concentrated on getting my breathing back to normal. Though I knew my flat was safe the memories from my mind kept me from attaining peace. I hugged my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms protectively around my body. 

Closing my eyes, I lay down against the pillows on my bed. It was just another Monday. I could feel the sun's rays beaming through the slit in my curtains yet the room was getting cold. Colder than it should have been with the heating on and though I knew I shouldn't have been surprised I was.

The coldness always signalled their arrival. It was the only warning I ever got. Cracking my eyes open once more, I propped myself up on my elbows and gazed across the bedroom. The coldness spread across the room till it solidified on one spot and manifested into the body of a young girl. The girl, a spirit who had yet to cross over starred at me with unblinking eyes. She had a white dress on that didn't seem to be from this decade and her black hair hung in ringlets down her back.

It was unusual but not uncommon for a spirit to appear in my flat. It had been some time since an occurrence like this. That's right, I was a Detective that could see spirits...lets leave the jokes here.

Just another sign I'm not normal.

"I suppose it was too much to ask that the silence be forever. I suppose you want me to solve something?"

I was used to the spirits as I'd been seeing them all my life.

Well, since my Mum's murder anyway.

The spirits I saw only appeared when they needed my help. It was always rather annoying really, as spirits had a limit on what they could tell you and it was always done with hand gestures. They also had terrible timing in popping up unexpectedly. More often than not I ended up looking like an idiot as I gestured or spoke to what looked like thin air. There have been many people over the years who have wanted to lock me away and I have been called every name imaginable but that didn't take away from the fact that I could see spirits and had a job to do in guiding them to the other side. 

"Help me."

I jumped back in shock, hitting my head on the top of my bed and I rubbed it angrily. My hands flexed involuntarily while my mind tried to make sense of what I had heard. 

"Excuse me?"

"Help me or he'll kill again."

Inside I was panicking like a turkey about to be roasted. Never, in all the years I'd been helping spirits, had one spoken to me. I'd become adapt at deciphering hand gestures and eye looks, since that's all a spirit could do. 

Had I not suffered enough? Was fate just bored up there and decided to shift the balance scales again?!?

"How can you talk?"

"Help me please!"

"Why now? I've had six months of silence. I thought my gift had been taken away. What right do you have to come barging back into my life and talking as well?"

"Time is short, find him before it's too late."

Frustration clouded my vision as I thought of an appropriate response but I was too late as the spirit faded out and disappeared altogether before I got the chance. Spirits could be very pesky and never gave free information if they could help it. I felt confused and vulnerable, this talking spirit could change everything. The colour drained from my face and my feet became unsteady as the impact of the talking spirit came down on me.