It took a great deal of effort, but Suzanne managed to get almost every phone (that mattered) in the lobby to start ringing. It took even more of her concentration to keep up several different conversations at the same time, and imitate several parents and spouses. And if she was a bit off in some spots, it was okay, because the officers weren't prepared for the phones to start ringing like that. Perhaps it would seem strange, but she could only hope they would investigate all the same.
But one thing she kept in common with every call. "Where is Detective Norgaard?" It had to be him. She knew it would seem odd that all these people would ask after a specific detective, but she didn't really care. Nor did she have the brainpower to spare on coming up with logical excuses.
As soon as the last phone was hung up, Suzanne let go, breathing a sigh of relief. Well, as much as she could, given she wasn't completely in her body at the moment.
There was a roaring in her ears, then ringing, and her head pounded mercilessly as what she could only think of as her consciousness snapped back to where it was supposed to be. Later she would think of it as some kind of out of body experience, if you could call it that.
But she hit what she could only describe as a wall, and she bounced off of it as a wave of indescribable pain washed over her. Then everything went blissfully, painlessly dark.
{ { o } }
Tom let out a vicious curse, trying to figure out what the hell to do about Suzanne's bloody nose. She was out cold, slumped back against the wall, and he didn't know why. "Hey, Fred," he said, turning to the taller boy. "Got any idea what's wrong with your girlfriend?"
"She's not my girlfriend," Fred snapped, though it seemed more like a programmed response than anything else. Fred tore a strip of fabric from the bottom of his shirt, wadding it up and pressing it over Suzanne's nose. He carefully tilted her head back, his other hand on her shoulder to keep her steady.
It didn't escape Tom's notice that Fred handled his 'not-girlfriend' like she might shatter at any second. Then again, it could be that he was just trying to avoid touching her skin. But Tom didn't want to jump to any conclusions. Well, not too many at least. "So what's wrong with her? Why's her nose bleeding?"
"How the fuck should I know?" Fred demanded, though he didn't look away from Suzanne's face. Even in the dimness of the stairwell, Tom could see the concern in his expression, but decided not to comment on it.
Eddie, however, wasn't so considerate. "Careful, Freddie," he said. His voice sounded strained, like it was taking him a great deal of effort to sound normal. "You get any more protective of her and I'll have to insist on an invite to the wedding."
"Shut up, Eddie," they chorused.
After a moment of silence, Syd said softly, "We should probably get out of here."
"I don't really think that's in the cards for us right now," Tom argued, though not with much enthusiasm. He mostly felt, and likely sounded, tired.
"We can at least get off the stairs. Maybe find someplace a little warmer," she countered.
This was met with silence, but no one seemed to disagree.
"How are we getting Suzanne down there? I don't think I'm strong enough to carry her for very long," Fred said.
There was a contemplative pause, and then Eddie shifted, seeming almost nervous. "I can probably do it."
Tom stepped aside, making room for Eddie to slip one arm under Suzanne's knees, and the other behind her shoulders. He paused, backing up for a second to get one of her arms over his shoulder before grabbing her again.
Then he hefted her up, grunting slightly as he stood. "Wow," he said, a clear note of surprise in his voice. "She's much lighter than I expected."
Tom shook his head. "Whatever, let's just go downstairs."
{ { o } }
Suzanne woke slowly, her fuzzy mind gradually reminding her where she was, and what was going on. Except... She was in the back of a car? No, a truck with an extended cab. There was a crackle of fuzz, and a voice started talking. The sound seemed to come from far away, but she knew that it was coming from the radio in the front seat. Perhaps the volume had just been turned down?
But no, why was she here? Shouldn't she be at the school with the others?
What happened?
Then the doors opened, and through the gap between the front seats she saw a strong bony hand reach for the radio, answering the hail.
She couldn't quite hear what was said, and she leaned forward between the seats to get a better look at the owner of the hand.
She instantly recognized that face as soon as her blurry vision focused on him. "Norgaard," she tried to say. But no sound escaped her lips.
She looked to the other side, and saw the younger Indian man. With her attention on him, the blurriness cleared from his features, showing the faint frown of concern directed at his partner. Looking back and forth between them, something else became clear to her. Her mind, or consciousness, or whatever you'd want to call it, had not returned to her body.
God, this sounds like a cliché fantasy novel...
Still, there was no other way to look at it.
But, though she needed to get back, there was something else... Something she needed to do. She just needed to figure out what it was.
For now, she would settle for finding out if the looks on the two men's faces meant that they'd gotten the message.
She reached out — well, not so much a physical reach as it was a mental one — towards Detective Norgaard, his words finally making it into her head. She didn't hear them, but she... what? Received them? Sure, she would call it that for now.
"How many kids go to school there?"
The Indian — what was his name? Suzanne couldn't quite remember — thought for a second, then answered. Whatever he said made Norgaard go white as a sheet.
In that instant, she "heard" exactly what he was thinking.
Sweet Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Melody is back.
Suzanne started, and if she had eyes then they would've gone wide as soccer balls. "How do you know Melody?" She asked, only to remember that she couldn't speak in this form. That was something she'd have to experiment with later on, for now, she needed to get back.
The question was: how she was supposed to do that? The last time she'd tried, something — or, perhaps more accurately, Melody — had stopped her.
So what do I do?
{ { o } }
"Why won't she wake up? And why's her nose still bleeding?"
Fred didn't know who had asked the question, nor did he particularly care. "What is with you people and asking me questions that I don't have the answers to?" He grumbled. But he wasn't really paying attention to them.
His full focus was on trying to stop the bleeding.
They'd decided on a classroom on the third floor, one that hadn't been used at all. A layer of dust blanketed the entire room, more particles of it hovering in the air. Eddie had laid Suzanne out on top of what must've been the teacher's desk back when the whole building had been in use. Fred made sure her head stayed tilted back, but he had to replace the wadded up cloth over her nose. It had soaked completely through with blood, and if it didn't stop soon, he was going to have to rip off a third strip from his shirt.
Her mouth hung open slightly, and her could feel her even breath on his wrist. He hesitated only briefly before pressing two fingers to her throat. Her pulse was steady.
The only thing that seemed to be wrong was the bleeding and lack of consciousness.
"Goddamnit," he cursed, the word coming out lower and harsher than he'd intended. Only then did he realize how angry he was. "What the fuck are we supposed to do? What did she do to cause this? What kind of mental psychic bullshit was she trying?"
This is getting boring, a calm, feminine voice behind him said.
Every single one of them froze.
Slowly, ever-so slowly, Fred turned and looked over his shoulder.
There, just beyond the threshold of the classroom doorway, stood the ghost. Melody. She was little more than a vaguely humanoid mass of swirling shadows. He would've called it smoke, if it hadn't been pitch black. She had fire for eyes, the twin points glowing a hellfire red, sparking with delight when she saw their obvious fear.
Now, with looks like those on your faces, things just might get interesting.
Her attention shifted, for a moment settling on Fred, then on Suzanne next to him. He ground his teeth together, clenched over a sudden snarl of rage. He stood abruptly, planting himself firmly between Melody and Suzanne. He met Melody's hellfire gaze head on, refusing to back down, despite the fear eating away at his gut.
On either side of him he felt Eddie and Tom step up, and beside Eddie, Syd completed the line. They all traded glances.
And then it hit him. I consider them my friends...
He could feel it, looking into their eyes, one by one. They'd come this far together. They'd left others behind, but not each other. They'd survived this long, but only because they'd had each other. A line from his history book came to his mind then, and he couldn't stop the fierce grin that split his face. 'We must learn to live together as brothers or perish together as fools.' He couldn't remember who said it, but the meaning was all he really cared about.
It was kind of strange.
Just yesterday, none of them could hardly stand each other, save for a few tolerances. He and Tom had got along fine, they mostly just sat in what he now realized had been companionable silence when they were together. He hadn't minded. Tom hadn't bothered him, he hadn't bothered Tom.
He would not have called Tom a friend.
Now...
They all found themselves standing together, protecting one of their own while she was down.
Fred turned his grin on Melody, who blinked curiously at them.
Well, she said. That is interesting.
Then there was an earth-shattering crack, and Melody jerked back as if she'd been slapped, a mind-numbing screech deafening them all.