by. She was my one connection in the police force, and I’d thought she would have my back . . . or that she’d at least tell me what the hell was going on.
Before my arrest, I’d learned that my gran, my parents, and Alan had all been killed in the same gruesome way. Their necks torn open as if by an animal, their bodies left to bleed out and die. And they’d all been killed in New Orleans, a point not lost on me. Gran’s spirit had been taken by someone, and I figured my best shot of finding her was to figure out who’d killed those closest to me, and why. That had been the plan before I got stuck in here.
The police had other plans.
At first, I’d thought I’d be out in no time. I knew they had no proof, because of course, I hadn’t killed Alan.
But nothing had been done in the right order.
I went back through the list of all the things that should have happened since I’d been stuffed in here and hadn’t.
No phone call.
No visitors.
No formal charges.
It was almost as if I were being railroaded.
No, not almost, I was being railroaded. I could feel it as surely if I were tied to the tracks and could hear the blasting horn of the oncoming train.
I’d helped plenty of people out of jams. Where the hell was my hero? Yeah, don’t answer that. I had to get myself out of this mess.
A semi-transparent figure strode through the closed door down the hall. I made myself walk slowly to the bars to meet Alan. He shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. Definitely not the hero I wanted or needed, but in that moment, he was all I had.
“It’s not good, Bree. I’m not your lawyer, obviously, but . . .” He frowned, pulled his cap off and rubbed his balding head before he put the hat back on. “The thing is I can see what kind of case they are building in there. They are . . .”
“They’re trying to lock me up for a long time?” I asked quietly, not really caring if the other women heard me. I mean, they were all half loopy, anyway, and the woman on the floor had gotten one thing right: no one would believe their stories.
Alan scrunched his eyes shut, and my heart sank. How could it be worse than years in lock up? Gawd, Gran would kill me when I got out. I mean, assuming she didn’t fade away. My heart clenched at the thought of losing her completely. “Alan. Tell me. I need to know what I’m up against so I can be ready to fight.”
He wouldn’t look at me, and for all that our marriage together had been a pile of shit sitting on a bunch of garbage, I knew him. And he was worried. Upset. Trying not to freak out.
“Bree . . . they’re pushing for capital punishment.”
Because I was so stressed, I didn’t fully understand what he was saying, not really, I blurted out, “They want to give me lashes? Like a spanking?”
A burst of tittering giggles erupted behind me, and one of the ladies mumbled, “I’d take a spanking from that silver fox I saw earlier. Yummy. He can spank me anytime.”
Alan let out a growl and tried to grab the bars, but he tumbled straight through them and into me, which was strange because he was dead and yet I could still feel him. Almost solid, almost not. Like weirdly cold pudding
Alan was pudding. I focused on that thought because it was easier than what was blooming inside my brain.
His hands clenched into fists and he held them near his face. “Bree, listen to me. They are trying to have you executed for my murder, which even I can see from the evidence room you did not commit. Someone wants you dead, Bree. They are doing everything they can to make it happen, and the police are helping them. All posthaste.”
“Oh.” My legs gave out and I slid to my knees, my hands on the bars the only things holding me up. Alan was still talking but I couldn’t hear him through the roaring white noise between my ears. The police were trying to have me executed for a murder I had nothing to do with.
Why?
I’d done nothing to attract the attention of the human police. If it had been the shadow world’s police force, I would