“I take it black. I’m not legal yet anyway.”
He laughs. “Technically, neither am I—not until June. I’ve yet to see anyone get plastered on Baileys, though. I think you’d barf before you even came close.”
I sip the coffee, which is still a bit too hot to drink, and take one of the cookies. “So . . . how did you really know about the van? And to call for an ambulance in advance? Because I’m not buying the story about how you happened to be hanging around and those guys looked suspicious.”
“It would be so much easier if you would buy that story.”
I just stare at him. He holds my gaze for a moment, then looks down at his mug, shoulders slumping.
“Sometimes, I . . . sense things. When there’s going to be trouble. People planning violence, mostly, but occasionally it’s more . . . vague. A bad vibe, a feeling that someone is in danger.”
“You’re saying you have spidey sense? Can you also shoot webs out of your wrist to swing from building to building?”
He raises an eyebrow. “No, Anna. I cannot. And I really can’t believe I’m taking crap from the girl who speaks to dead people.”
Now it’s my turn to give him a questioning look. “First, I don’t speak to them. It’s more like they . . . hitch a ride for a while when they can’t move on. When they have something they need to finish. And second, how do you know about that?”
He shrugs. “My grandfather was a cop in Silver Spring, but he started up his own detective agency a few years back. He and Porter were partners when he was on the force. They’re still close. Porter’s like family. And my brother is on the police force in DC now. Porter called a few weeks back, wanting us to check up on some crazy girl—his words, not mine,” he adds when he sees my expression, “who was stalking him and claiming she was in contact with Molly’s ghost.”
A solemn look spreads over his face. “So, is it true? Molly’s hitching a ride with you now?”
I nod, running my finger around the edge of my mug. “I’m not sure for how much longer, though. She needed to talk to Porter and we finally managed to do that this afternoon, so . . . I doubt she’ll stick around.”
“I don’t suppose I could . . . talk to her?”
Molly surges to the front for a moment, then fades back before I can respond. She wants to talk to him, but she won’t ask. Probably because she knows what my answer would be.
Aaron seems to know as well, so it must be written all over my face. “It’s okay. It’s just . . . I wanted to tell her I’m sorry I wasn’t around. Maybe I could have sensed something in time to . . .” He trails off, shaking his head.
Tell him it’s not his fault. Craig’s fault, Lucas’s fault, maybe even a little my mom’s fault. My fault for not listening to Pa and staying home with him and Mimmy. But not his fault.
“She says you shouldn’t blame yourself.”
He looks up, surprised. “Just like that? You heard me, so Molly heard me?”
“Yeah. Two for the price of one, at least for the time being.”
“What will happen when she . . . leaves?”
“I won’t hear her thoughts anymore. But I’ll know what she knew, or at least a lot of it. I can already feel it starting. I don’t know how to describe it—sort of like there’s a data dump going on in the background right now. If I seem sluggish, it’s probably because part of my processor is working on another task.”
“So you have memories that aren’t yours? How many different sets?”
“Nine that I can remember, but I think there were a few others when I was younger and . . . maybe those memories didn’t get processed very well. They’re muddled, in the same way my own early childhood memories are. I’d probably have a lot more sets, but I’ve gotten better at protecting myself. Molly caught me at a weak moment, when my defenses were down. Hard to be on alert 24/7.”
“How do you keep all of those lives straight?”
“Well, accessing their memories isn’t quite the same as actually living through something, at least not after a while. I mean, about half of these people were married and had kids, but I don’t think of their family as my family, you know? I remember how they felt about being married and about being parents, but it’s more like a book I’ve read or a movie I’ve seen. Just a lot more vivid at first. Facts and skills I pick up from them seem to be a bit more permanent, but even they seem to . . . I don’t know . . . atrophy a bit over time, especially if I don’t use them.” I take another sip of the coffee, then add, “And yes, I know how freaky it sounds.”
He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, the guy with spidey sense doesn’t get to say other people’s superpowers are weird.”