It's raining. I'm wearing heels and I'm in a hurry. I'm always in a hurry.
I rush down the block, past the bodega, the Asian grocer and the pet store at which window I pause every morning to make funny faces at the puppies. But not today, not in this weather.
The subway stop is within sight. I could be on the R train in minutes. Find a seat, open a book. Tempting but I crave coffee. A vanilla flavoured macchiato with an extra shot of espresso. No, make that a double shot. My sluggish brain needs all the help it can get.
Last night is a bit of a blur. It started with a birthday dinner for a friend, followed by bar hopping and dancing till dawn. I'm feeling a little worse for wear but I don't regret staying out late on a weeknight. What's the point of partying if you are going to hold back? Only, I must clear my head before I make it to the precinct. Staring at fingerprints all day requires razor-sharp focus.
Coffee first, everything else later. Having made up my mind, I cross the street and slog through the puddles to my favorite coffee shop.
The Lost Bean is my sanctuary. It is the ideal place to escape from the storm; the perfect spot to hide from the world with a cup of coffee and a good book, go on a first date and hang out with friends on lazy Sunday afternoons.
If you love coffee as much as I do, you'll know what I mean.
As I'm about to enter, a man in a black trench coat cuts in front of me. He elbows the door open and I thank him, assuming he is holding it open for me but he is simply closing his umbrella. I steal a glance at his face as I squeeze past. He has very blue, deeply set eyes and a hooked nose; reddish eyebrows and a shaved head. He looks familiar but I can't quite place him.
The door jingles shut behind us and the heavenly smell of freshly roasted coffee beans envelopes me like a protective power field. I close my eyes and breathe in. I feel safe, warm, loved.
"Excuse me?"
Startled, I open my eyes.
I know the black man standing in front of me. He has closely cropped hair, a booming voice, and a big heart. Detective Kessler. We work at the same precinct. Last month I helped him solve a brazen murder by matching a partial print lifted off a toilet seat with one in our database.
"Oh, hi!" I smile coquettishly. He's hot. "So, I'm not the only one running late this morning."
Detective Kessler doesn't return my smile nor my greeting. His face is drawn, his jaws clenched. I might be a bit woozy but I can tell something is wrong.
Kessler is a sharp dresser but his suit is crumpled and his shirt - wrinkled. He has been up for a while.
I look around me. That's when I notice the chalky outline of a body on the floor. Oh my God, he's not here to grab a coffee. This is a crime scene!
He motions towards a table.
"Care to join me?"
"Of course," I mumble, embarrassed to have been flirty earlier.
To my shock, the bald man who arrived with me, pulls a chair and scoots down by my side. He slumps forward showing me his thick neck where the razor has missed a few hairs. His audacity infuriates me.
There are other seats free, I'm about to say but Detective Kessler doesn't seem to mind. I don't want him to think me rude, so I bite my tongue.
The detective leafs open his small notebook and takes a deep breath.
"The owner arrived around 6 a.m. to open the coffee shop. The back door had been forced. He thought that there'd been a break-in but nothing prepared him for what was waiting inside." Kessler nods at the outline on the floor. "A young woman, strangled to death. He recognized her. Apparently, she was a regular."
"I come here daily," I blurt out. "I've probably met her."
The thought disturbs me more than I would like to admit. It's one thing staring at anonymous fingerprints in the safety of the lab. Knowing the victim and spending time at the crime scene, is quite another.
The bald man cracks his knuckles one by one. The sound creeps me out but not as much as the sight of the fresh scratches on the back of his hands.
Kessler continues.
"You fit the description of the person who was seen arguing with her last night."
What, me? No way.
I shake my head.
"I don't remember being here last night or arguing with a woman."
But last night is a blur.
The bald man clears his throat.
"Eyewitnesses are notoriously unreliable," he says slowly. His voice makes my skin crawl. I have heard it before.
I have seen him before.
Kessler doesn't appreciate the remark either.
"It's not only eyewitnesses. We have forensics. The victim scratched her attacker."
"People are fools to volunteer DNA," says the man snootily. With each word, I dislike him more and more. "You're never getting mine without a warrant."
Kessler finally has enough of the stranger and asks him for an ID. The man produces a driving license which Detective Kessler turns around, holding it by the edge as if it were dirty.
"Joshua Sanglot, a Manhattan address."
I remember now. We met last night in a bar. He bought me a drink, told me he's a lawyer.
Kessler glides the plastic card across the table and pulls out his phone.
"Do you mind taking a look at our victim, Mr. Sanglot? I wonder if you recognize her."
The bald man shrugs. This is a giant waste of my time, his body language says. Still, he leans in and so do I.
I have seen plenty of crime scene photos but this one is different. Not because it is gory but because it is my face staring at us from the screen.
My eyes are clouded. My lips - blue. A ligature - a pantyhose maybe? - is wound tight around my neck.
I gasp in horror.
"What kind of a sick joke is that?" I demand.
Detective Kessler ignores me and so does the man.
"This is not funny!" I shout.
"No?" asks Kessler.
"I've never seen her before," lies the man.
I glare at him, then at Kessler. Neither makes eye contact.
That's when it dawns on me. They are not ignoring me. They don't know I'm here.
I hold up my hands in front of my face and look at my palms. I see through myself.
How is that possible? Only one answer would explain everything.
I start shaking. This can't be happening. I can't be dead.
I have plans and dreams, places to visit, milestones to achieve. I think of my parents and what this would do to them.
Slowly the shaking subsides. The shock gives way to sorrow, and then to an all-powerful fury.
Who is this monster and who gave him the right to take my life?
"If that's all..." the bald man stands up and buttons up his trenchcoat.
Kessler eyes him with disgust.
"You'll be hearing from us, Mr. Sanglot. In the meantime, don't leave town."
The bald man's thin lips curl in a cold smile.
"Of course. Anything to help."
Detective Kessler pushes back the chair and gets up too.
"The victim, she's one of ours. A smart girl with a passion for life and an eye for detail like no other. Just last month she helped me put away a murderer. I'll put away her murderer too, you have my word."
"How old was she?" asks the man.
"Twenty-eight."
"Heartbreaking really." He picks up his umbrella from the bin by the door and adds with a smirk, "Good luck, detective."
The coffee shop door slams behind him and the glass rattles. Kessler sinks back in his chair and cradles his head in his hands. He's tired. And sorry. For me? There's no need. I am still here.
I scramble up. I can't just let the man in black leave. He is the one who killed me. He must pay.
I see my murderer open his umbrella on the sidewalk and head north towards Central Park. The rain is blurring the street. A few seconds more and I'll lose him in the sea of umbrellas.
Without thinking I bolt after him. I brace myself for impact but I breeze through the closed door as if it's nothing. Next, I slice through a woman walking her dog. What kind of a psycho takes their pet out in the middle of a downpour?
I channel my anger and flip her hat, sending her scurrying after it, wet dog in toe.
The sidewalk is crowded but I catch up with the bald man easily. I slide under his umbrella and hover over his shoulder. He is humming to himself. There is a spring in his step. The encounter with Kessler didn't intimidate him, on the contrary. It cheered him up. This is a game to him and one he's good at.
He'll skip town, change his name, alter his appearance. He'll give the cops the slip but there is no escaping me. I'm not bound by legal rules and police procedures, I will not be held back by jurisdictions and the constraints of the physical world.
I'm a ghost and for once I'm not in a hurry.
I have an eternity to get even.