“Such as the fact that maybe someone wants your artwork preserved.”

  Chapter 21

  Tasmin stared at her friend, knowing it would be a hard pill for Pinch to swallow, but, since he’d managed to turn the tables by creating a theory about how this was good for her business, she did feel justified in bringing up the fact that it could just as easily be about his business. And, right before her eyes, Pinch aged a decade.

  She walked closer and sat down in front of him. “Talk to me,” she said. “What’s going on?”

  He shook his head. “I have no idea,” he whispered, but tears were in his eyes, and she knew that he knew more than he was saying.

  “Is somebody trying to preserve your artwork?” she pressed.

  “I don’t know,” he muttered. “Just the thought of it is enough to make me throw up.”

  “Yeah, that’s about how I feel at the thought of somebody doing it so I had more business. Yet most everybody in my world would rather see me shut down and not succeed.”

  Pinch stared at her for a long moment, before he shook his head and asked, “Why would they want that?”

  “My father absolutely detests what I’m doing. My sister wants me to work exclusively for the funeral home, and my mother just wants to bail. So there’s basically no end of headaches in my world right now. None of it has to do with anybody wanting me to succeed.”

  “But that’s BS,” he cried out, staring at her. “What you’re doing is a valuable service.”

  “I want to think so, but you also know as well as I do that it freaks out a lot of people. Including you sometimes.”

  Instantly he nodded. “I know. We’ve had quite the conversations about it. But the good news is that most people in my industry are quite positive about the concept.”

  “It’s not them who you need to worry about. It’s the people who they leave behind. They might leave their tattoos in a will to somebody, but it doesn’t mean that somebody wants it,” she explained. “What I’m seeing is that an awful lot of people are grossed out by the concept. Some have been very appreciative, particularly the one I finished today. She’s absolutely over the moon to have a piece of her daughter back and because it looks so good. It doesn’t even look like skin, and certainly not as if I just lopped a piece off her daughter.” She pulled out her phone and brought up the picture that she had taken and held it up for him.

  Immediately Pinch whistled. “Good God, that almost looks better than how it did on her.”

  “Right?” Tasmin murmured, as she stared at it. She looked over at Hanson, who came over and studied the photo.

  He held out a hand. “May I see it closer?”

  “Sure. It’s also sitting over at my place, waiting for the courier.”

  “Speaking of which,” Pinch began. “any reason why you’re here?”

  She nodded grimly. “Yeah, I thought an intruder might be at my place.”

  At that, Hanson stiffened and stared at her in shock.

  She nodded. “Up in the loft. So, rather than go investigate, considering what’s recently happened, I just booked it.”

  “Damn,” Pinch muttered.

  Hanson returned her phone. “Stay here with Pinch. Did you lock up the store?” he asked, as he walked out to the front.

  She shook her head. “Honestly, I didn’t even think about it. I just ran.”

  With that, Hanson turned and raced down the sidewalk.

  She sank down beside Pinch. “Jesus Christ, Pinch, what the hell’s going on in our world?”

  The saddest look came to his eyes, and he shook his head. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “If they aren’t trying to drum up business for you, is it really possible that somebody is trying to preserve my art?”

  “I don’t know. Or is it a case of somebody trying to destroy it, yet somehow I’m interrupting and preserving it? I just don’t know. We can start to get all kinds of mixed-up motives here.”

  “Seems they are all mixed up,” he noted. “And it sucks. All of it sucks.”

  “I’m right there with you on that,” Tasmin agreed.

  “And now you think you have somebody in your shop?”

  She nodded. “I really don’t know what was going on up there, but all kinds of noises weren’t making me happy. So believe me, I didn’t stick around.”

  “Yeah, I would think not,” he muttered.

  She looked around. “Where’s Puggs?”

  “He’s at home. He’s pretty upset. He came in this morning early, but the detective was here. When he found out what happened, he turned around, tears in his eyes, and just walked out.”

  “He’s such a gentle soul,” she murmured. “Something like this will devastate him.”

  “Yeah, he was pretty upset with the latest death,” Pinch noted.

  “And he doesn’t know anything about who might be doing this?”

  Pinch looked at her. “Why would he? Do you really think he knows something?”

  “I’m not sure,” she murmured. “I guess it was just a question, just wondering.” She shrugged. “Like everything else right now, we have to explore every possibility. If he happened to know anything about it or thought he might, it would be good if we could ask him.”

  “You’re welcome to ask Puggs whatever you like,” Pinch explained, “but I can tell you right now the answer will be no. He doesn’t get involved, but he’s always been kind of sweet on the girls around here.”

  “Ah.” Tasmin winced at that. “Then I’m doubly sorry for him.”

  “Puggs has always been here, kind of a silent background personality.”

  “And a big favorite with all your customers.”

  “He was a bigger favorite than even I understood,” Pinch admitted. “And maybe it’s a good thing that something like this happens. It kind of shakes us up and makes us realize who our friends are—and who they aren’t, in a way.”

  “I guess.” Tasmin sighed. “Yet it’s kind of sad.”

  “It’s all sad.” He bolted to his feet, pulling at his hair. “What’s going on is absolute insanity. I just don’t get it. I don’t understand, and I don’t like it.”

  She waited till his outburst was over, then nodded. “Do you have any coffee?”

  “Why? Don’t you have any at home?”

  Such a wry look was on his face that she had to laugh. “Yes, but I was just thinking it might help you.”

  “Sure, go put on a pot of coffee.” He waved his arm in that general direction. “I probably have enough business to pay for at least a pot or two.”

  She stopped in her tracks. “That’s another aspect we didn’t discuss.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I mean, we’re talking about preserving your art, but what about destroying your business?”

  He blanched. “Yeah, I thought of that one earlier, but again I don’t have any clue why someone would do this, or who would even want to. It just doesn’t make any sense to me who hates me that much.”

  She walked into the back and put on coffee, knowing a full pot was back at her place, but she wasn’t heading there anytime soon. Yet she couldn’t just sit here either. With the pot dripping, she heard the door open and headed out, expecting to see Hanson, but it was another one of the tattoo artists.

  With Pinch now talking with some of his artists, Tasmin tried to keep out of his business, knowing that this would be an ongoing thing all day, as everybody came in and found out what had happened. A tattoo artist, who she thought was named Kit, looked over at her, as if looking for acknowledgment.

  Tasmin just nodded.

  Kit shook her head, looked over at Pinch, and said, “I think I’ll go home then.”

  “Don’t you have appointments?” Pinch asked.

  “Yeah. I guess I do at that. Let’s take a look.” She walked over to the schedule and muttered, “Once the news filters out …”

  “I don’t know,” Pinch said, staring out at the window, a forlorn look on his face. “It’ll either make business go nuts, or it’ll kill us.”

  “Right. Weren’t you talking about heading back to California?”

  He looked at Kit, then shrugged. “I was considering heading back to California.”

  “Really?” Tasmin asked him. “I thought you didn’t like it there.”

  “I initially left because of several problems, and I ended up here because this was home. But, at some point in time, this no longer seems to be home. Honestly, it’s leaving a very ugly taste in my mouth.”

  “What about your sister?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, raising both hands. “I don’t know what the hell to do about any of it.”

  Just then the bell on the door jangled again. All three of them turned to look, and there was his sister.

  “Hey, Rosie,” he said, with an affectionate smile. “How you doing?”

  “I’m fine,” she replied in that gentle voice of hers.

  Rosie was recovering from a severe accident, that resulted in some brain trauma, but she was a sweetheart. She was very high functioning, whatever the problem was. Tasmin had never really asked for any details, but it was obvious that she was special in many ways. “Hi, Rosie,” she said cheerfully.

  Rosie looked at her, and her face broke into a big grin. “Tasmin.” Then her voice lowered. “Did you guys hear?”

  At that, Pinch nodded. “Yeah, we heard.”

  She stared at him. “Isn’t it awful?” she asked.

  “It sure is,” Pinch agreed.

  She just nodded, then beamed. “I smell coffee.”

  “I just put a pot on,” Tasmin replied, with a wry look. “I was taking advantage of his generosity.”

  At that Pinch laughed. “Come on. It’s a pot of coffee. You’ve brought me plenty of business.”

  “And ditto,” Tasmin said in return. “This is just a big mess. That’s what it is.”

  Kit looked at her and nodded. “It’s beyond a mess. It’s threatening our livelihood.”

  “I know. Mine too,” Tasmin pointed out.

  At that, Kit frowned at her. “You’re the one who preserves the tattoos, aren’t you?”

  “I am,” Tasmin confirmed, surprised that Kit didn’t know who she was. But then why would she? It’s not as if Tasmin visited Pinch at his shop all that often. They usually spoke by phone.

  Kit continued. “There’s some talk that you’re doing this on purpose to get the business.”

  “That talk would be just that … talk,” Tasmin declared, sensing a turn in the conversation to sheer aggression as Kit needed an outlet, somebody to blame. She looked over at Pinch, who stared at Kit as if she were a bomb about to explode.

  Deciding it was time to leave, even if it meant foregoing the coffee, Tasmin got to her feet and looked over at Pinch. “I’ll head on out.”

  He looked at her with relief on his face. “Thank you,” he murmured.

  “Yeah, I know,” she muttered. Then she headed out again.

  “Hey, wait,” Pinch hollered. “You can’t go. What about the cop?”

  “Yeah, if he comes back, tell him I’m already gone.”

  With that, she walked out, knowing that staying would just make things uglier. That was just the tip of what would happen now, as people tried to work their way through all this to figure out who was to blame. Because that was human nature. Everybody needed somebody to blame. Even when nobody was right in front of them, they would pick the closest target. It didn’t matter whether it was fair or not. That’s just the way life worked. And, with that, she turned and resolutely headed back to her business.

  *

  Hanson had no problem getting into the store; after all, Tasmin had left the door wide open. Hanson made a quick search on the ground floor and then raced to the stairs. He stopped and cocked his head to listen. But absolutely nothing was up there. As he stared at the darkness, he realized shadows were separating all around.

  Feeling that inner knowing, he slipped up the stairs and stood at the top to survey the loft. He found no sign of a physical body, no intruder per se, but definitely something was odd about the energy.

  “Hello?” he whispered into the darkness.

  No response came, but the shadows shifted and moved, undulating toward him. He stood his ground, watching the shadows, looking for any sign of what they were doing, at what insanity had brought them here.

  He calmly spoke to them. “I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing, but you need to leave now.”

  One of the shadows shifted enough that it became slightly opaque, as if changing form of some kind.

  He stared at it in curiosity, having seen all kinds of things over the past year, but none showing him anything such as this. And an explanation, although it would be nice, hadn’t been forthcoming at any point in time up until now, so he couldn’t imagine it would be any different this time. He tried to sort out what he was feeling and what he was seeing.

  Suddenly he sensed Stefan in the background. “What do I do with this?” he asked Stefan.

  Try to get an entity behind it.

  Stefan’s voice came through Hanson’s head, strong and clear.

  See if you can identify who it is, Stefan instructed, what it is, what they want.

  “They’re not talking.”

  That’s because you’re using your vocal cords, Stefan replied. Use energy to talk to them. You’ll get further that way.

  Not exactly sure was he was doing, and feeling like a fool, Hanson closed his eyes and sent out a message. What do you want?

  Freedom.

  The answer slammed back into his head, he jerked backward in surprise. He opened his eyes and stared at the shadows that even now were surging. “Stefan? Did you hear that?”

  I did, he said, his voice calm. And I can’t say that I’m surprised.

  “What, that the ghosts want freedom?” Hanson asked. “What the hell does that even mean?”

  They’re looking to live again. They’re looking to get out of this space that’s locked down, that they can’t change. They don’t realize that it’s their own feelings, negativity, and possessiveness keeping them tethered here. That’s the reason they can’t leave. So they’re looking to blame the people around them. To use them as a reason, an excuse, for them to get out of here, without too much effort.

  “And yet,” Hanson noted, “it takes effort. It takes a lot of effort.”

  But it may not look that way to them, Stefan murmured in Hanson’s head. Try to talk to them again.

  “Will that do any good? It’s obviously stronger than I thought.”

  I’m not sure it’s even an it, Stefan muttered. I’m here, just watching, trying to get a sense of what’s going on, so the more you can communicate with that energy, the better.

  “Says you,” he muttered. He shifted so that he was leaning back against the pony wall that stopped him from falling over the loft to the floor below, then spoke quietly to the entity in his mind. There is no life for you here. You need to go home.

  The entity roared, as if it had no power, no ability to do any more than that.

  Hanson nodded, trying hard to stay in control himself, and let it speak. You know that you can’t live again. You know that your time here is over and that you’re supposed to go home to wherever that is.

  Can’t came the hard voice.

  Why can’t you?

  There was an odd sense of a struggle, as if more than one person were involved, where one person wanted to speak, while the other was trying to stop them. It was a weird thing to get the sense of a war happening on another level, something that Hanson had never even contemplated.

  Finally deciding to shake this up a bit, Hanson shared via his thoughts, I can see more than one of you are here. Let me talk to the other one.

  No came the same voice. You can’t.

  Well, I’m going to, he snapped. Hating the fact that, even in the ethers, somebody was trying to stop him from finding out what he needed to know. He spoke to the other entity. Speak up. What is it you want? What are you here for?

  To help her came the voice. She needs help.

  He stiffened at that. Tasmin?

  Yes. And then the voice started to fade away, as if the relief of finally being heard took more energy than they could handle.

  I know she’s in trouble, Hanson shared. Somebody is trying to lock her up.

  Yes. And, at that, she sighed a faint sigh but one of relief. Help her.

  I’d like to, but we’re not sure what’s going on.

  At that, the other spirit seemed to jump into the fray in front of her and added, Freedom.

  Yes, you mentioned that before. Hanson turned his attention to the other energy, which even now was almost tethered in place.

  Are you tied to the storefront? he asked in sudden enlightenment.

  But when the No came back instantly, he groaned. I don’t understand any of this. I don’t know why you’re haunting her or haunting this place.

  Not haunting. Freedom.

  Got it. You want your freedom, but you won’t get it here, he snapped.

  Yes, I will.

  At that, Hanson sensed the same internal war between the two spirits going on again. “Stefan, you got anything to add to this? We’re not getting anywhere.”

  But the fact that Hanson wasn’t getting anywhere also allowed him to detach a bit emotionally, so he could see this for what it was, almost like prisoners tied to a spot, desperate to move but unable to. They were fighting, their energy wiggling and twisting about, as if they wanted to get at him but couldn’t. And then he wondered. “Stefan, are you stopping them from coming forward?”

  Stefan replied, I’m not, but somebody is.

  Confused, Hanson tried to get clarity, but then another roar came from one energy, as it took another surge toward him. He instinctively shrunk back, and the entity laughed.

  Fear is good. And, with that, the spirit disappeared.

  Shaken, Hanson stood at the top of the loft and whispered, “Stefan?”

  Yeah, I’m here. I don’t know what that was though.

  “Great,” Hanson muttered. “Since when are ghosts like this even a thing?”