New York, tattoos..and spirits, what could go wrong?

Nick took one last shot and slammed the glass down, “Okay, closing up shop.” He stood up and slipped his leather jacket on, grabbing keys from the back. “You got a hot date you’re getting home too?” Jeremy said, his new rookie bartender. Nick smirked, “Yeah, right, my wife is passed out cold by the time I get home and let’s not forget, it’s 3am.”
Jeremy and he walk out, Nick locks the door and hands keys to Jeremy, “You’re opening tomorrow, don’t look so shocked, you switched with Shannon remember?”
Jeremy scoffed anyways, “Shannon always gets special treatment, is it because she has tits?” Nick laughed, going to his motorcycle right outside the bar. His bar. He grabbed his helmet and shrugged, “I guess we will never know…, although the time she flashed me probably helped.”

Jeremy laughs back, they shake hands and into a bear side hug. They bid goodnight and Nick zooms off. He drives back to Brooklyn; his bar was one of the hottest rock bars in Manhattan, but you have to be Donald Trump to live there.

As he drags his tired feet up the stairs, wishing there were an elevator he reached his front door and went inside. A dog runs up to him, a recent birthday present to his wife, hoping it would cheer her up or feel somewhat normal again. It had been almost 4 months since they lost their baby, Lara was 6 months along. The doctors say it was just a freak accident, no one knows why these things happen, but they do. Lara of course convinced herself she was to blame, weeks before she even left their bedroom.
He sets down the pug and heads into the kitchen, which he must pass first to get to the stairs that lead up to the bedroom. He tosses the keys on to the counter, completely missing the bowl his wife has placed exactly for you to put your keys on.

Nick sees a note on the fridge, its Lara’s writing saying she picked up a shift at the hospital, she would be home at 3pm. Slightly annoyed, she never texted him that, he always comes homes to these little notes, he feels like an after thought.

Making his way upstairs, stripping down to nothing but his boxers and he hits the pillow out cold. Around 11am, the faint sound of heavy metal making its way to his ears, twitch slightly but just hugs the pillow not caring. Then he hears dragging or pushing, also swearing.

He grumpily gets up and grabs jeans on quick, not bothering to zip them up but open at the top. Barely awake, he opens his front door and sees a bunch of boxes outside of his neighbour’s door, you look further and can see dark hair.
“Welcome to the building….now shut up.” The person with the dark hair peeked around the boxes, looks at him. He almost wants to apologize because she is hot, her body is something he has a hard time taking his eyes off. He was about to go back in, but his dog runs out behind him and over to the new neighbor.

-


- Nick

- Lara (Nick's wife)

Quinn Gallagher

Quinn was certain that the good-looking, shirtless man across from her had meant to be rude, but to be quite honest with herself, it was exactly what she had been hoping for. She’d known she’d moved all the way here from North Carolina for a reason. No fake niceties, no tiny towns, no small talk in the grocery store. No one knew her business. His demeanor, however boorish, made her feel all the more welcome in Brooklyn. If she was rude right back, she wouldn’t have any relationships to nurture.

Just as she had planned it.

She offered him a sardonic grin in return. “My neighbor is a jackass. I’m going to love it here.”

The boxes in her arms grew heavier and heavier the longer she stood there, but in the doorway stood the dead guy who’d been following her since the elevator. All she’d done was retrieve a bracelet that some old lady had dropped, and by that simple touch alone, she’d made contact with a new ghost with unfinished business. As per usual.

“Can you move?”

She had asked the ghost, but the tattooed man behind her had assumed she was addressing his dog. When he called out the pup’s name, both the canine and the ghost stepped aside, only to reveal her mother sitting quietly on the kitchen counter, a warm smile on her face. She was the only accepted visitor in Quinn’s eyes -- and coincidentally enough, she was also dead. A brain hemorrhage following an aneurysm had killed her the year prior. Sudden, instant, and life-altering so had it been, but being able to talk to the dead kind of softened the blow. Her spirit had appeared while Quinn was conducting an interrogation; she was already sobbing on the floor when first responders had arrived to inform her of her passing. Yes, she was still there in spirit – pun intended – but when her mom wrapped her arms around her shoulders for a comforting embrace, she felt nothing but a wash of cold air.

She missed her mother’s hugs. They were the best.

“Your neighbor’s cute but awfully rude,” her mother said with a shake of her head. “It’s the middle of the afternoon, for heaven’s sake.”

The ghost in the ripped jeans and Hollister shirt sighed and offered his own input. “Can you get rid of him? Look, no rush, but that lady in the elevator was my aunt and I need her to get a message to my dad.” He looked in his early twenties at most, hair neatly gelled and combed into place, his skin tanned. She wondered how he died.

She couldn’t quite answer without confusing the new neighbor. No need to seem so unhinged right off the bat. With a spin and a sweep of her arms, the boxes were tossed on the floor. She stretched and bounced around a bit to shake out the numbness in her limbs but could feel his gaze upon her all the while. She had to admit, his eyes were piercing.

Her mother laughed behind her. “He’s like a deer in the headlights. You should probably adjust that tank top.”

She looked down to see her bra peeking above the material of her top. Below that, she wore short shorts and sandals. It was hot in New York. Arms now crossed, she stared down her new neighbor. “I’ll try to keep it down. You happy now?”

Nick looked at the woman in front of him, not sure if he wanted to laugh or what, but considering he was rude and she was very attractive, he felt like a jerk.

Zipping up his jeans properly, “Okay, my bad, let me introduce myself, my name is Nick and I work at night mostly and this is the time I sleep. The chick who moved out of your new place, she was barely here…so it worked out pretty great.”

The woman before him just kind of stares at him, waiting for his point. “Wow, tough crowd…, look let me help you move in some stuff, I am stronger than I look.”

Quinn shook her head, secretly grateful that he’d offered but equally stubborn. Hell, she was comfortably coasting on her mother’s inheritance for a while. Could she have hired movers? Sure, but why spend the money when you could do it yourself?

It hadn’t taken her long to understand why people hired movers. Moving fucking sucked.

Determined, she let out a huff. The indignant huff of a tough, independent woman who didn’t need no man. “So am I,” she replied, and then she reached for the biggest box of them all to prove her point. She’d gone at it the wrong way, though, and forgot to bend her knees, and she swore she felt something snap in her back. The box crashed back down onto the hardwood flooring with a heavy thud, the sound alone incredibly insulting. As if the disassembled coffee table within were mocking her. In a far away voice deep in the back of her mind, her father’s voice echoed: ‘See? A woman is too weak to function without a man. You can’t even pick up a few pieces of wood and metal.’

She and her mother had escaped from his control over twelve years ago and the mental trauma remained. Now she was a raging feminist with the witchy goth queen aesthetic she’d always wanted, just to make up for it. She embraced her ability now rather than being punished for it. It wasn’t Satanic – it was a gift. However annoying it could sometimes be.

Nick looked down at the box she’d dropped, then back at her, and was wise enough to keep silent. She glared while she straightened her back and tried not to wince from the pain. “Don’t say a fucking word.”

One look into his dark blue eyes had her feeling guilty. Dammit. He had apologized, to be fair.

Quinn softened her tone and turned her scowl into something a little more forgiving. “I appreciate the apology and the offer, but I can do this on my own. I’m 33 years old and fully capable.” She kicked the box. “Just gotta give this baby a few good shoves and we’re good to go. You can go back to sleep.”

Nick put his hands together in a prayer situation, “You know where I am if you change your mind.” He calls his dog Charlie to follow and goes back into his apartment.

————————————-
Nick looks at Lara, “Ryland is only here every other weekend and someone needs to be here, this weekend you said it would be you while I am at the bar.”
Lara drinks her wine, sitting on the couch “Yes and I also want to take a trip with my girlfriends, it’s been a long time since I’ve had any fun. Nick, do I have to say…it’s your daughter?”

Nick looks at her, insulted and pissed and Lara regrets what she said as well.Nick grabs his gym bag and headphones, heads out the door pissed and walks down the hallway, he hears a meow and looks down to see a cat rubbing against his leg.

He bends down and pets the cat, scratching its chin and picks the feline up. He heads to the hot neighbors door and knocks, she opens it and he holds out her cat, before he can say anything he sees blankets and sheets on the couch. She also looks flustered and sweaty, she’s holding what looks like a bed post.

Nick folds his arms,”Camping out in the living room?”

Quinn grabbed for her precious cat, Lurch, and nestled her chin into his jet black fur. He purred loudly in return and stretched his paws until they were draped over her shoulder, his whiskers tickling her neck. She felt like a bad mom; she’d been too focused on putting together furniture than watching what he was doing.

“Thanks,” she said, and she meant it sincerely. He was practically her baby. “He must’ve slipped out when I went to grab the mail.”

Speaking of the mess, she looked behind her and bit her lip. Project Strong Independent Woman had failed spectacularly in the bed assembly department. Bits of wood and a whole briefcase of tools were scattered all over the floor. She turned back to her neighbor, internally cursed his good looks, and sighed. “Yeah, so I’m no Tim Taylor. The couch is comfy though.”

Nick looked at her, “How about I just save you the trouble and offer to help you, before you can resist.” He just walks in and drops his bag down towards her door and picks up the supplies, “You want the bed down here?”

He strolled through her loft like he belonged there – a man with purpose, a man who probably knew all about power tools, and a man who smelled way too good for someone about to hit the gym. She tried to place the scent. It was subtle but intoxicating. Damn, she loved a man who smelled good. She did some mental math and then realized she was ovulating. That explained the hormones.

He wore a ring on his finger, though, so she decided to reinstall Tinder and see what kind of sex the men of Brooklyn had to offer. Plus, he was her neighbor. Don’t shit where you eat, or however the saying went.

She shook the thoughts from her mind and nodded. “Yeah, bed goes downstairs. I’m making the upstairs my office.” Quinn paused and shook her head. “You don’t have to do this. You were clearly headed somewhere. At the very least, I could pay you.”

Nick looks at the instructions on the flower, he tosses the paper after a once over and just shrugs, “I was but looking to stay busy with something and keep me out of the apartment for a few hours, so I’ll take manual labour.”

He gets to work, screwing things here and there. “Fucking ikea, where the hell does this bolt go?” She hands him the instructions, he takes it but not looking at her face. He looks at the instructions, “How…,what? This doesn’t make sense.”
After 20 minutes of figuring that out, he goes on to the next step. He glances to her, who is watching him but he often catches her looking to the side of her, for example right now.
She notices him seeing that, she looks back at him. “So, tell me about yourself?I can hear an accent…, still don’t have a name?”

Quinn couldn’t believe she hadn’t introduced herself yet. She knew nothing about this man and yet here they were, alone in her bedroom together.

Her mother watched from the corner of the room, enthralled. She waved excitedly at her daughter as a means of encouragement. “He’s trying to get to know you! Just don’t get too close; he has a wife.”

Quinn sighed and chose to answer her neighbor instead of talking to thin air. Or at least, in his eyes, that’s how it would appear.

“I’m Quinn Gallagher. I’m from North Carolina, hence the accent, but I got a sweet job offer and now I’m here.”

Her mother chipped in again, this time in a whisper. It wasn’t like he could hear her, but still. “They don’t seem to be too close, him and his wife. Oh, he looks to have a daughter as well. And two different women are in pictures all over his apartment, so I’m assuming one of them is the mother-“

Quinn murmured through clenched teeth. “Mom!”

When Nick glanced up, wrench in hand, she cleared her throat to excuse the noise she’d just made and pulled out her phone. It was a method she used a lot – fake phone calls to explain the random, weird things she said when speaking to the deceased.

“That is a massive invasion of privacy! You have to stop.”

Nick watched her as her gaze remained focused on the corner of the room. Weird way to start a phone call, she knew.

On second thought…

“Is she pretty?”

Her mother grinned. “To land him? Yes, his wife is pretty. She’s got nothing on you, though.”

She was a mother. She was obligated to say that, but still Quinn appreciated it. “Well thanks, but seriously-“

“I’ll stop.” Her mother held a hand to her heart and nodded sagely. “Cross my heart.”

Quinn pretended to hang up the phone and cleared her throat again for safe measure. She looked back at him and shook her head as some sort of awkward apology. “Sudden phone call. Sorry. So, what about you?”

After putting in yet another screw, so many screws! He looks back at her, funny how literally a hot chick can have him doing anything. Not that he would act on anything with this woman in front of him, he still liked looking.
He looks back to her face, after his eyes went south of there. “Not much really, lived in New York my whole life, I have been to a few places over the years…never North Carolina but I did go to Atlanta once.”
He gets a text on his phone, he takes out the phone from his jeans pocket and just shuts the phone off. Not wanting to talk, knowing full well it’s Lara and she would be pissed with him over here right now putting together a bed for a chick who has a much bigger rack than hers.
Quinn admits she’s feeling hungry and says she is going to order pizza, she calls up the place and her phone is loud so he can hear the worker on the other end say “Thanks for calling Johnny’s pizzeria..how can—“ he takes her phone from her, hangs it up.
“Never insult me and order that garbage again, I’ll order you pizza.” He grabs his phone, looks up his contacts and calls his place, he looks to her and asks what does she want on the pizza.
He gets his answer and finishes the call, he puts his phone down “Be here in 15 minutes.”

Well, Nick knew what he wanted when it came to pizza. Of course an actual local would have the scoop on all the best places. He was probably a goldmine of information. Her mind flooded with questions: Where can I get the best chicken and waffles? I’ve always wanted to try pho. Where’s the best authentic pho? Can you buy liquor on Sundays?

She couldn’t help but laugh. “My apologies. I should be asking actual New Yorkers where to get the good stuff. Hell, I’d be insulted if someone came to my town and thought Hursey’s was the golden standard for good barbecue.”

She watched him work, carefully perusing the manual while he fiddled with tiny screws too small for his big, strong hands. God dammit. Stupid fucking hormones again.

“Wait a second. How about I hold the screws in place until you can get them situated?”

Before she could think of the ethics of how close one could be to her married neighbor, she scooted beside him on the floor and took the screw from his palm. It had been funny to watch him struggle and drop them into his lap for a few minutes straight, but she also was ready to have a bed again. The couch wasn’t that great.

He lets her do it, the things were tiny and it was the 10th one. She was leaning close though and he looks at her, she looks at him but then ding dong, pizza is here.

She gets up and goes to the door, she pays and when she comes back, “Ta da, you have a bed!” Quinn can see her bed is made and just needs the mattress put down on it.

He is asked to stay for pizza and she says she has beer, “ Yuck, beer..” she looks at him, “I’m kidding and look, not many people are nice in New York, so take the kindness when you get it.”

She says “Just don’t wake you up…” Nick does a laugh, “Yes, just don’t wake me up.” But she insists he stay, she opens the pizza and the bacon smell, oh it’s been awhile.

“Alright…, I’ll have some pizza” he takes a slice and folds it like a true New Yorker as it’s huge. He sees her having trouble with it, “fold it…, my wife had this issue too.” He laughs as he says this, she finally does as he suggests and sees it is much easier to eat.

He drinks his beer.

Detective Tobias Miller, Quinn’s partner:



Later that night, as she lay on the bed that Nick had fixed, Quinn scrolled through Tinder to find a quick fix for her urges. She was a recluse on most days but she still had needs. One of those needs was pushing all thoughts of the married man across the hall out of her mind. She’d paid him in beer and pizza. It was a friendly transaction – nothing more, nothing less.

Her date was named Landon and he had long hair and a goofy smile in his profile picture. After seeing so many guys on Tinder mean-mugging the camera as if looking pissed off was attractive, she’d found someone who would do for the night. She clarified in her bio that she wasn’t looking for a relationship, he said the same, and that was all she needed.

Twenty minutes later she was riding him while he suckled on her breasts, his thumb rubbing circles between her legs as she rocked against him, and for the briefest moment she thought of Nick.

“Fuck,” she groaned, and it was one of frustration, but regrettably it worked. The mental image stayed and it wouldn’t leave. That single word spurred Landon into action, and when he flipped her over and threw her legs over his shoulders, his blonde hair changed to dark brown, his hazel eyes became blue, and his untouched skin morphed into a satisfying collection of colorful, interconnected ink.

Finally she gave in, closed her eyes, and let the thoughts take her where she needed to go.

As soon as the moment was over, she tossed him his clothes and showed him the door.

Shame enveloped her before she shrugged it away. It wasn’t as if she had control over her own desires. She was just hormonal and horny and she had done what she had to do. She still felt embarrassed, though. She didn’t think about anyone like this, much less someone she’d only known for a few hours. She wasn’t even sure what to make of it all.

‘He’s married, you whore,’ she scolded herself. Then she cleaned herself up and fell asleep.

—-

They’d found a floater in the East River and foul play was evident, so naturally Quinn was called to the scene. She investigated murders now for NYPD, and there were a hell of a lot more cases on her plate now than she’d ever had where she came from. She had a good partner, though, and he accepted her and all the weirdness that came with being her acquaintance. He asked her why her solve rate was so good for such a young detective, she casually told him she could speak to the dead, and then he laughed and brushed it aside. Eventually he’d start asking questions, but for now she enjoyed being the oddball that he couldn’t quite figure out.

Her partner, Tobias Miller, stood a few feet away from the body while the medical examiner listed a possible time of death and commented on lividity and swelling and all of the gruesome bits that her job entailed. When she stepped away, Quinn came forward and nodded her head toward her partner. “‘Sup, Miller? Got some gloves for me?”

He smirked and grabbed two from the box the ME offered, anxious to hear his new partner’s two cents because she was nothing if not entertaining. “Work your magic, Miss Cleo.”

What an insult. She knew he was joking, but still. “Medium, not a psychic. She was a hack.”

Miller bobbed his head as if she was making all the sense in the world and her purported powers were indeed legit. “Oh, right, of course. I do hope you’ll forgive such an egregious faux pas.”

Quinn snorted and threw a wink his way. “A double shot of espresso and we’re golden.” She threw on the gloves and went right for the golden cross necklace around the poor corpse’s neck. The second her latex-covered finger made contact, a figure appeared beside Tobias. She waved at the spot beside her partner, and curiously, he actually checked to make sure no one was there.

The dead guy spoke. “I’ve been hearing a lot about you.”

Quinn pursed her lips. “Yup. The spirit world is full of gossips. All good, I hope?”

He shrugged. “I guess. Clearly you can talk to the dead, because well, I fucking died.”

She smiled awkwardly. “Sorry about that. Anything you need to tell me?”

For a dead guy, he looked a little flushed. Instead of getting personal, he provided his name, which she relayed to a stunned Tobias and the small group around her. “Anthony McMillan.” She paused. “Middle name, Scott. Jeez, okay, Anthony the third. He’s really stressing that distinction. Anything else?”

The small team of forensics people and detectives stood watching her in silence. She was beyond caring what they thought of her. She wasn’t ashamed. She took pride in what she could do, no matter how batshit insane it looked to everyone else.

The spirit looked away, suddenly shy. “I got in with some people. Thought I’d make some easy money.”

“Drugs?”

He nodded. “Pure fentanyl. But then I got my buddy involved and he took off with some of it. Sure enough, I pay the fuckin’ price for stealing product.”

Quinn wanted to say sorry and sympathize, but it was cold and now she was wondering what became of his buddy. Would another floater turn up soon?

“They shot and buried him right in front of me,” he added, sensing her next question before she could ask it. “That old place on 5th Street, out behind the pallets. I took off and well, they found me.”

“So you were emissaries. Cartel shit?”

He nodded, defeated. “Juarez’s guys. It was supposed to be a one and done, Miss. I don’t do no shit like this but I was hurting for cash.”

She understood. “I’m sorry. Really.”

He seemed to appreciate the concern. He gave her a sad smile. “Hey, I made the wrong choice. Tell my fiancée I’m sorry, yeah? Her name’s Sophie.”

Quinn nodded. “I will. I promise.”

He gave her the name of his buddy, watched him disappear into nothing again, and then looked up into the faces of three very confused men and a white-faced ME. She stood up, discarded her gloves, and pulled her coat tighter to her chest.

“That ain’t a case for us lil’ old homicide guys,” she said with a sigh. “It’s cartel shit. Juarez in particular. Get narcotics involved.”

The ME, who’d remained silently studying the weirdo in the petticoat as she spoke to the empty space beside her partner, pulled out a card and a small wad of cash from a hidden pocket inside the victim’s boot. “Anthony Scott McMillan the third,” she said to no one in particular. She was flabbergasted, to say the least. “How the hell did you know that?”

Quinn threw up her arms. “Because he just told me. Catch up. Miller, let’s grab that coffee.”

—

When she returned home from a long day of filling out paperwork and interviewing witnesses who didn’t want to talk for fear of meeting poor Anthony’s fate, her mind was numb and her body was exhausted. She startled when she broke out of her haze and saw Nick outside his door with a young girl in tow, no older than fourteen. This must be Ryland. He’d mentioned her before, and now she had the pleasure of meeting the kid in person.

She was, well, goth in the purest sense of the word. Black shirt, black pants, black choker, black hair. She was damned near wearing corpse paint. Quinn loved it. It was everything she wanted to look like at her age. Her own father had forbidden black clothing of any sort, and certainly no makeup. Makeup, to him, was for whores. And whores don’t get the honor of becoming subservient wives and human incubators. For shame.

Her mood brightened at the idea of a father allowing his daughter to go through her phases and express herself. She liked him all the more now, which was a problem. She still couldn’t help but blush whenever she saw him, thanks to that night with Landon on the bed Nick had assembled for her.

She bet he’d be a considerate lover. Something about the way he looked at people when they spoke. She had his full attention whenever they conversed, his blue eyes fixed on hers. Eye contact was something she struggled with, herself, and he did it so effortlessly. She felt so exposed beneath his gaze.

Dammit, there she went again. Time for another Tinder hookup.

She snapped herself out of it and, for some reason, did a little curtsy to greet them. She cursed herself for her awkwardness. Who does that, Quinn? Literally no one, that’s who.

“Good afternoon, Nick.” She turned toward the blue-eyed, spitting image of the man himself (if he’d joined a black metal band) and offered the kid her best smile. “You must be Ryland. I’m Quinn, the weird new tenant across the hall. Killer cat eye, by the way.”

Ryland was busy texting on her eye phone, which was in a Marilyn Manson cover. She just ignores Quinn, texting away and Nick grabs the phone easily and his daughter looks at him with a death stare, “Someone is talking to you” Ryland lazily looks to Quinn, “Hi.”

She looks back to her dad, like was that enough? Nick is about to say something to Quinn, when his cell phone rings. He answers “I can’t go in tonight, Ry is here and Lara is out of town.” He listens some more,” Figure it out, no I am not bringing her down there…”

Ryland sneaks her phone back and goes back to texting.

Quinn gave Nick a smile despite how tired she was. Teens were no joke. She looked from Ryland back to her father and then back at her own door. She didn’t really like children all that much, but this one didn’t seem to be much of a talker. It suited her just fine. She also still sort of felt like she owed him one.

“I’m about to throw some smash burgers on the skillet and have a quiet night in if she wants to hang out till you get back.” She said it with a shrug like it wasn’t a big deal, but never in the history of her existence had she willingly been a babysitter.

Ryland’s gaze shot up from her phone at the mention of food. It made Quinn chuckle. “You like horror? We’ll have a marathon.”

Ryland rolls her eyes, like yeah right you like horror. Quinn mentions a horror movie and Ryland looks to her dad, “That sounds like a lot more fun…” Nick is looking at Quinn, not sure, he’s only put her bed together? What if she is a weirdo?

“Fine, Ryland has my cell number and if their is a problem, call me.I should be back before midnight, hopefully ” He says to Quinn, Ryland wants to say yay but plays it cool, she goes back to texting.

He wants to give his daughter a hug but she’s staring at her screen, “Ryland…” she looks to him, “No attitude”

He thanks Quinn and heads off to the stairs to leave.

Ryland follows Quinn into her apartment, texting as she walks. She goes into the apartment and sees how it’s all gothic style and just wow.

Ryland looks at Quinn, “You should marry my dad instead, this is awesome.” She sits on her couch.

Quinn watched as Ryland made her way around the loft, inspecting every little decoration and poster on the wall. She had finally officially moved in and made the place her home -- knickknacks and all. She had doodads in the form of skulls, Baphomet statues, cat figurines, and an assortment of haunted-looking dolls. Ryland picked up a goat-head figure and pointed to it. "What's this?"

"An Aztec death whistle. It mimics the sound of a-"

Ryland didn't wait for an explanation. She pressed her lips to the opening and blew. A loud and bone-rattling screech filled the apartment and assaulted both their eardrums with what sounded like a woman being brutally murdered. She dropped it in shock and looked back at Quinn, eyes wide. "Holy crap, that was awesome!"

A girl after her own heart. "Exactly. You can look around while I start dinner. I've got a bookshelf over there full of movies."

While Ryland perused the selection, Quinn chopped onions and prepared the beef. "I don't think I've seen most of these."

Quinn smirked. "You've a lot to learn yet, Grasshopper. We'll watch some tonight. How old are you?"

"Thirteen. My dad's not super strict about that stuff though. He knows I can handle it."

"I won't show you anything too crazy. Thirteen... that's still middle school, right?"

Ryland nodded, her arms full of DVDs. "Next year it's high school. The best years of my life, or so they say."

Quinn laughed. "Yeah, don't count on it. The best years of your life are after you graduate and you're free from all the dress codes and stupid rules. Just have fun with it because it doesn't matter like they say it does." She reconsidered her words. "Well, I mean, work hard and shit, but don't stress yourself out too much. Enjoy being a kid."

She got to work on caramelizing the onions and arranging an assortment of toppings. Ryland hopped up on one of the stools behind the kitchen island and watched her. "You cook a lot?"

"Grew up cooking."

"Do you miss home?"

"Not at all."

"What about your family?"

"There's no one to miss. Tomato?"

Ryland nodded and grabbed a plate. "You don't talk about yourself much."

The last thing she wanted to do was open up about where she came from. She answered Ryland's observation with a smile. "Gotta keep the mystery alive. What did we decide on?"

Ryland tapped the small stack of DVDs she'd collected and shoved them closer while she bit into her burger. "Evil Dead, 2013."

"Super bloody," Quinn said, nodding her approval. "Good choice."

The kid scarfed down her burger like she hadn't eaten in ages. "You should teach my dad to make this. My step-mom's vegetarian so our food sucks ass."

Quinn cackled. "I will. Let's dim the lights and start it up."

Halfway through the second movie, Ryland was asleep on the couch. Quinn arose slowly and draped a blanket over her body, then waited for Nick to arrive. She opened the door and let him in, a finger to her lips, and motioned her head toward the living area. "She's knocked out. Want a beer?"

Nick looks at that, amazed she was asleep so early…it’s only midnight. “She’s usually a night-owl, of course I’m guilty not giving her a curfew.”

He hears the offer for the beer, “ As you can see, I reak of beer right now as almost an entire keg was spilled on me tonight. I’ll pass but thanks…, for watching her. Breakfast tomorrow is on me but realistic breakfast time, noon.”

—————————————

12:15 the next day, the three of them can be seen at a diner with the worst decor but the pancakes were stacked high. Ryland talks to her dad all about Quinn and the stuff she has, the movies they watched.

—————————————
The next week, Nick is down in the garage of their building, trying to start his motorcycle. He keeps saying come on, but it’s not starting and he just had it fixed. Swearing a lot and impatient, it’s 8pm and he has to stop by the bar.

He hears a beep for a car unlocking and sees Quinn walking to her car, she gets in and he quickly jumps in the car, Quinn goes to grab his neck but sees who it is.

She takes her hand off, he looks at her “Proves me right for jumping into your car, look I need a ride…”

Quinn was still breathless from the shock he'd given her. "Okay, number one, you can't sneak up on me like that."

She gave herself a moment to calm down. "Second, I just got called to work, but if you're willing to stay in the car it won't take too long."

Nick looks at her “fine but I get to pick the music” he picks it and Quinn seems to not object to his choice.

“Ryland enjoyed meeting you, she won’t shut up about you. Apparently, their is some horror convention you told her about?”

"Yeah, it comes to New York every year. There are several, actually. I told her she'd love it, so long as you're cool with it. I'm definitely going."

It didn't take long to get to her destination. A murder had occurred the night before and the sidewalk outside the house was still covered in blood droplets. The victim lay beneath a white sheet in the doorway of the entrance, her fuzzy pink bedroom shoes peeking through the bottom. She'd met a particularly grizzly fate -- multiple stab wounds and a throat wound so deep, she'd nearly been decapitated. There was anger in this killing. The victim knew her assailant.

Nick's eyes grew wide when she got out, grabbed her pistol from the console, and hooked it in the holster hanging from her waist. "Stay here."

Without waiting for a reply, she closed the door and jogged on over to Tobias. In his outstretched hand was a pair of gloves for her to wear. "Vic's name is Nina Gilmore. 42 years old. Two kids and a husband."

"Hubby got an alibi?"

"Yep. Checks out, too."

Her eyes scanned the area. Aside from a few rubberneckers, it was mostly clear. "Nice neighborhood. House next door's got a security camera. Have one of the rookies collect footage."

"Already did, Gallagher. Do you live to insult me?"

She chortled. "I do, indeed. Let's go see if the vic wants to talk." As they walked closer, she kept her eye on the stragglers across the street. "That one guy looks a little too invested. I'd like to see what he has to say."

"I'll make sure he doesn't go anywhere," Miller promised. "Go do your thing."

They split up and Quinn trudged the stairs carefully to avoid the mess. She inched back the sheet and wasn't prepared for the sight that awaited her. Poor, poor lady. Because the woman's presence was quite literally everywhere and the home itself was her own, Quinn didn't need to go digging for some special belonging with which to make contact. Just her hand on the doorway did the trick.

The ghost before her looked a lot better than the figure on the ground. She was pretty, no doubt aided by a little plastic surgery here and there. Her lips were a little too big, her chest a little too round, cheeks a tad too full. A mother trying her best to hold on to her youth by emulating the so-called "models" on Instagram. She looked at Quinn sadly, then cast her blank stare toward the suspicious looking fellow she'd noticed earlier.

"Quick question," Quinn said, formalities be damned. "How do you know him?"

Nina blushed and shook her head. "You can't. Just leave it be. Oh, it would devastate my husband."

Ahh. "Y'all were having an affair?"

All eyes were on Quinn now. She was at her weird shit again, and she'd just said something scandalous. Nina sighed. "He's the maintenance man. He spends the night sometimes. My husband, I love him, but he's gone more often than not."

"So your husband didn't do it?"

Nina shook her head vigorously. "God, no. He's a sweet man. Wouldn't hurt a fly."

Quinn was perplexed. "Then who the hell was it?"

The ghost's face clouded over with shame. "You're gonna think the worst of me. I mean, I have a healthy appetite, okay, but he was just getting obsessed. I would've called the police but I didn't want anyone finding out."

Another guy? This Nina sure got around. "You can't faze me, Ms. Gilmore. I'm not here to judge."

She sighed. "Bob Matthews. He's the president of the HOA board."

Quinn grimaced. Okay, so she was judging just a little bit. "Point me to his house?"

Funnily enough, it was directly adjacent to her own home. She caught Miller's eye as he watched her line of sight, then made his way toward Bob's residence.

Bob, who'd apparently been watching through the windows, took off through the front door in a mad dash for his car. He barely made it to the street when Miller's foot caught him ever so casually and sent him flying face-first onto the concrete. Quinn rushed over in time to straddle him from behind and place him in handcuffs, then give Tobias a fist bump. "Nice one, old man."

He grinned and pointed to her car. "Who's that?"

"My neighbor. He needed a ride."

"Handsome young man. Sure that's all he needed?"

Quinn shook her head. "Stop it. We're just- hey, where are you going?"

For a middle aged man, he was quite the power walker. He was already almost at her car. "Consider me a concerned father. I want to meet the man and see if he's good enough to handle you."

"You're not my father-"

Miller ignored her and leaned in through the open passenger door window to offer Nick his hand. "Hello there. Detective Tobias Miller. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Nick just watched the whole scene before him, he kept his eyes on Quinn as he got out of the car and shook the mans hand, “Nick Costilano. Also, you’re a detective?”looks at Quinn, “You just pummelled that guy to the ground.”

“It’s no surprise” Tobias said, he looked at Nick with suspicious eyes. Lucky for Nick, he had quite a bit of experience with cops and Tobias could see the guy was not even phased by him at all.

Tobias looks at Nick again,”What do you do for a living?” Nick looks back, “I own a bar in Manhattan” Tobias asks which one, Nick replies once more “Going under”

Tobias nods, “I know that bar, you have some good tunes played there some times. Some of it is too young for me but I can dig it. You needed a ride you?”

Nick looks at him more serious, “Am I be interrogated here?” He pretends to be joking but is put off by the questions slightly.

Quinn and Miller shared a look, then they both laughed. "He's just fucking with you," she assured him, then climbed behind the driver's seat. She returned her gun to the console and started the engine. "I'll meet you down at the station later."

"Sure thing," Tobias replied, and then he tapped the hood of the car and took a step back. "You gonna tell me one of these days, kid?"

"Tell you what?"

"How you do it."

She knew what he was asking. She smirked in return. "You know how I do it."

"You've told me, but I don't believe you. Are they in on it? Is that what it is?"

She chose not to answer. He was having trouble wrapping his head around what she could do, but it didn't mean she couldn't enjoy making him guess the most implausible explanations. "Catch you later, Miller."

A few minutes later she dropped Nick off, returned to work, and then hit the town later on that night for drinks with her newest date.

She drank too much while the man droned on about himself and before she knew it, she was too far gone and he was way too handsy. He hadn't chosen to disclose that aspect of himself until they were at her apartment, though. He yanked her arm in the hallway and slammed her up against the wall, his wet tongue sliding down the skin of her throat. Alarm bells were sounding in her brain and getting louder by the second.

"Which one's yours?" he panted, and as she tried to shove him off, he gripped her harder. His hand reached between her legs but when she pinched her thighs shut, his fingers had already found their way inside her.

She groaned and reached for her purse when Nick's door opened.

Well, this was embarrassing.