“They said it wasn’t a murder.” The spirit stood between his desk and the door, looking at Jude with desperate, furious eyes. He was young, college age, still carrying himself with the self importance of youth and the punchiness of the living. Jude would have mistaken him for a living person had it not been for their location; not just anyone would be allowed into his office.
Jude had no interest in speaking with the spirit. He rarely did. He sat in his chair with his hands over his eyes, taking in a deep breath; please, go away. They never did listen to him, not when he thought it, not when he said it out loud. So often they wanted something. He drew his hands away with a sigh and looked back toward his monitor, only to find the spirit directly in front of him. He jumped in his seat, causing it to roll back on the wood floor. “Leave,” he said, breathless and standing up, adrenaline rushing through his veins, “I can’t do anything for you, just go.”
“I’ll leave when you help me.”
“I’m not helping you.”
It took another day before he gave in and found himself walking into the office of the medical examiner. He didn’t want to be there, that somber place where even more spirits lurked about. They all noticed him, somehow, they knew he saw them. Several swarmed around him and Jude drew in a deep breath, closed his eyes. He must have looked rather distressed, when he opened his eyes he was being stared at by who he could only guess was the receptionist.
“Sir? How can we help you?”
He shook his head, pushed his hair back and raised his chin. This was fine. He’d get rid of the boy after he did this and if he was lucky, none of these new spirits would follow him out. “I need to speak with … I don’t know, it’s regarding a Donovan Scott.”
“Donovan Scott? His autopsy was finished a few days ago, are you the family?”
“No,” Jude said, shaking his head, “I’m not. I need to speak with whoever determines the cause of death, I think. I’m not really sure how this works.”
The receptionist pursed her lips together. Was he a reporter then? My, he seemed stressed. “How about you take a seat just over there and I’ll see who can speak with you.” She gestured to the cushioned armchairs against the wall and reached for the phone. Jude nodded and turned, briskly walking over, through several spirits, and sat.
Another day, another corpse with a terrible injury. For most that might have been a shade out of the ordinary, but for Nik it was a matter of routine. Every morning he came into work, pulled a body off the ice and got to work trying to determine cause of death. Sometimes it was obvious; a dozen knife wounds, a hole in the head. Other times there was nothing. Or rather, there was something, he just wasn't able to find it. He counted himself as certainly good at his job - adept, even. But even he didn't have a crystal ball to guide his scalpel. He was sure someone out there did, given all the new gifts that seemed to pop up on a daily basis, but he was also sure it would hold up less than well in court.
One day, he thought, my job might well be obselete. He thought about things like that often. What might the world look like in a decade? Two decades? Three? The radiation had opened up a whole host of paths in every conceivable facet of life, and it was interesting to consider where those paths might lead. Nik didn't know many people with gifts - or many people, full stop - but he thought that by and large their abilities could be used for something positive.
He'd just finished a stack of overdue forms when the phone rang. Usually it was someone informing him of a new case coming in, or a detective asking for results that never seemed to come fast enough. “I can't hack and slash,” he'd tell them. “Do you want it done fast or do you want it done right?” Inevitably, they came out with fast and right, just before they slammed the phone down.
This though, was not that.
“Oh. Connie? Is something the matter?” The receptionist never called him. It had been clear just weeks after he started that dealing with aggravated or grieving family members was not his area of expertise, and he doubted she wanted a friendly chat. “A reporter? I don't really have the - yeah, yeah, I know. Fine. I'll talk to him.”
Reporters sometimes showed up when a big case loomed. They were relatively easy to shoo away, if you were firm. Nik was never firm.
There was only one man in the waiting room when he emerged, so Nik made his way over, clearing his throat as he approached. “Sir? Is there something we can do for you?” His voice didn't sound as strong as he wanted it to. “If you're not family or law enforcement I'm afraid we can't give out any information.”