Dying to Know by T. J. O'Connor Page B
Authors: T. J. O'Connor
Tags: Sarah Glokkmann. But the festive mood sours as soon as a well-known Glokkmann-bashing blogger is found dead. When Mira's best friend's fiancé becomes a top suspect, Battle Lake's premier fall festival. To kick off the celebrations, she wades through mudslinging and murderous threats to find the political party crasher., the town hosts a public debate between congressional candidates Arnold Swydecker and the slippery incumbent, Beer and polka music reign supreme at Octoberfest
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quick steps. For an
instant, I saw the dim outline of a woman’s face before she pulled her raincoat hood tighter over her head. She stopped for a second and studied the parking lot, then hurried into the first lane
of cars. She hesitated under a streetlamp, perhaps believing the
light was safety. My senses burned and recognition singed my
nerves, sending alarm bel s raging in my head. Her coat was a
tan, double-breasted English trench coat. I knew the coat. I knew
the shop in Old Town where I’d bought it just a year ago. It was
Angel’s coat.
The earrings brought me to her. But, brought me where?
When? No— why ?
“No. Angel, go back. Go back inside.”
Her pace quickened along the front row of cars. At the fourth
car, she stopped, looked down, and fidgeted inside her coat. She
was digging for her keys. I’d told her a million times to have them 109
ready—ready to get into safety. A key protruding from the fist
can stop an attacker if thrust and slashed into his face. Angel
didn’t have her keys ready. She never did.
She shifted her raincoat and leaned forward. Her hand
pointed to the door to activate the electronic lock.
That’s when he struck.
He lurched from the darkness before she knew he was there.
He struck from behind, driving her into the car door. She stag-
gered back. He pounced again, gripped her neck and hair, and
slammed her into the doorframe—once, twice. Her body
slumped.
“Angel, no. Stop, you bastard. Stop!”
It was no use. Rage vibrated through me—arching and churn-
ing to escape my shackles. “No, please, no. Leave her alone.”
It was over.
He stuffed her into the car and followed. A second later, the
engine started and the car disappeared into the drizzle and dark-
ness.
No one saw. No one helped. No one witnessed her abduction.
No one but me.
“No. Please … no. Doc, help me!”
The aurora of light swal owed me again. This time, the jour-
ney was empty. No electricity charged me. No welcome tingle of
anticipation warmed me. I col apsed into a chasm of hopeless-
ness. When the light took me, I had no desire to leave the dark-
ness I was in—no will to escape. Perhaps it was the darkness—
my darkness—that held me firm. Perhaps this was what death
was for me now.
110
I was lost. Hopeless. Alone.
I’d been unable to manage doors and office files. I had little
control of movements. There was nothing I controlled—nothing.
Yet, I had to find a way. I had to be more than a spectator; more
than an onlooker. Nothing was more important. Perhaps this is
why I was back—why I never left.
Doc told me I was only a witness, a bystander—no killing. I
had to prove him wrong.
Somewhere, sometime in the future, someone was going to
take my Angel.
111
nineteen
“No.”
“No?” I opened my eyes to Doc Gil ey. He was standing be-
hind my recliner where Hercule sat enjoying a petting. “‘No’
what?”
He frowned, raising his eyebrows like the answer was too ob-
vious. “I know what you’re thinking, Oliver. You can’t change it.
You can’t stop it. It’ll be whatever it will be.”
“You know where I’ve been? What I saw?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me. Where is Angel going to be attacked? Who
takes her? Tell me when.”
He shook his head. “Slow down. I don’t know. I know what
you know—perhaps a bit more. What’s important is that you
were there for a reason—and it’s not to change things. Didn’t you
ever see that flick? You can’t change events.”
“Bullshit.” I sat behind my desk and studied the ceiling for
answers. They were hiding elsewhere. “I also saw the movie from
112
the forties about ghosts solving crimes. Don’t give me that crap
about changing time. Nothing makes sense; my being here makes
no sense.”
“It will.”
“Tell me what to do, Doc. Please.”
“No. I couldn’t even if I knew. All I do know is that you can-
not change what happened.”
I caught that. “What
instant, I saw the dim outline of a woman’s face before she pulled her raincoat hood tighter over her head. She stopped for a second and studied the parking lot, then hurried into the first lane
of cars. She hesitated under a streetlamp, perhaps believing the
light was safety. My senses burned and recognition singed my
nerves, sending alarm bel s raging in my head. Her coat was a
tan, double-breasted English trench coat. I knew the coat. I knew
the shop in Old Town where I’d bought it just a year ago. It was
Angel’s coat.
The earrings brought me to her. But, brought me where?
When? No— why ?
“No. Angel, go back. Go back inside.”
Her pace quickened along the front row of cars. At the fourth
car, she stopped, looked down, and fidgeted inside her coat. She
was digging for her keys. I’d told her a million times to have them 109
ready—ready to get into safety. A key protruding from the fist
can stop an attacker if thrust and slashed into his face. Angel
didn’t have her keys ready. She never did.
She shifted her raincoat and leaned forward. Her hand
pointed to the door to activate the electronic lock.
That’s when he struck.
He lurched from the darkness before she knew he was there.
He struck from behind, driving her into the car door. She stag-
gered back. He pounced again, gripped her neck and hair, and
slammed her into the doorframe—once, twice. Her body
slumped.
“Angel, no. Stop, you bastard. Stop!”
It was no use. Rage vibrated through me—arching and churn-
ing to escape my shackles. “No, please, no. Leave her alone.”
It was over.
He stuffed her into the car and followed. A second later, the
engine started and the car disappeared into the drizzle and dark-
ness.
No one saw. No one helped. No one witnessed her abduction.
No one but me.
“No. Please … no. Doc, help me!”
The aurora of light swal owed me again. This time, the jour-
ney was empty. No electricity charged me. No welcome tingle of
anticipation warmed me. I col apsed into a chasm of hopeless-
ness. When the light took me, I had no desire to leave the dark-
ness I was in—no will to escape. Perhaps it was the darkness—
my darkness—that held me firm. Perhaps this was what death
was for me now.
110
I was lost. Hopeless. Alone.
I’d been unable to manage doors and office files. I had little
control of movements. There was nothing I controlled—nothing.
Yet, I had to find a way. I had to be more than a spectator; more
than an onlooker. Nothing was more important. Perhaps this is
why I was back—why I never left.
Doc told me I was only a witness, a bystander—no killing. I
had to prove him wrong.
Somewhere, sometime in the future, someone was going to
take my Angel.
111
nineteen
“No.”
“No?” I opened my eyes to Doc Gil ey. He was standing be-
hind my recliner where Hercule sat enjoying a petting. “‘No’
what?”
He frowned, raising his eyebrows like the answer was too ob-
vious. “I know what you’re thinking, Oliver. You can’t change it.
You can’t stop it. It’ll be whatever it will be.”
“You know where I’ve been? What I saw?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me. Where is Angel going to be attacked? Who
takes her? Tell me when.”
He shook his head. “Slow down. I don’t know. I know what
you know—perhaps a bit more. What’s important is that you
were there for a reason—and it’s not to change things. Didn’t you
ever see that flick? You can’t change events.”
“Bullshit.” I sat behind my desk and studied the ceiling for
answers. They were hiding elsewhere. “I also saw the movie from
112
the forties about ghosts solving crimes. Don’t give me that crap
about changing time. Nothing makes sense; my being here makes
no sense.”
“It will.”
“Tell me what to do, Doc. Please.”
“No. I couldn’t even if I knew. All I do know is that you can-
not change what happened.”
I caught that. “What
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