Pretty When She Kills by Rhiannon Frater

the counter and cradled her face in her hands.
    “Amaliya being a bitch?”
    “I hate her.”
    “I know.”
    “But it’s not her. Though it’s usually her.”
    Benchley leaned against the counter, nearly toppling over the pens in the jar next to the cash register.
    Jeff saved it just in time.
    “So, uh, what is it? I can maybe...uh...help.” Benchley attempted to look nonchalant.
    Samantha blew out a puff of air, her bangs flipping upward.
    “Sam, maybe we can both help.” Jeff lightly touched her cheek. “C’mon, talk to us.”
    “My life sucks, Jeff,” Samantha said, her eyes filling with tears.
    “No, it doesn’t, Sam.”
    “My ex-fiancé is fucking Vampira and I’ve gone all Sixth Sense ! My life sucks!”
    “Okay, I get the Vampira reference, but not the Sixth Sense ,” Benchley said, clearly confused.
    “Me, too. Sam, honey, can you be a little clearer?”
    Samantha wiped at her eyes irritably. “I’m so not going all Patricia Arquette. I refuse to! Because the next thing you know I’ll be all John Edwards-y and people will be banging on my door wanting the deets of their dead granny’s peach cobbler recipe!”
    “Still lost,” Jeff said, wincing.
    Samantha grabbed his t-shirt and hauled him toward her. Staring at him in the eye, tears streaking her face, she said, “I see dead people!”
    “Cian and Amaliya?” Jeff queried, arching an eyebrow.
    “No! Dead dead people!”
    “She’s not real good on the being clear thing is she?” Benchley observed.
    “She speaks Samantha-speak. It’s a variation of English,” Jeff admitted.
    “Don’t mock me, Van Helsing!” Samantha fumbled with her purse.
    “How many espresso shots did you have today?” Jeff asked, watching her shaking hands.
    “Uh, four.” Samantha jerked out a folder and slammed it onto the counter. “And two margaritas at Polvos.”
    “Did you drive here?” Benchley exchanged a worried glance with Jeff.
    “No. I got a cab. So, Jeff, you have to take me home.” Samantha flipped the folder open and shoved it toward Jeff. “I am seeing dead chicks. Okay? Like...really dead.” She pointed adamantly at a printed article from the Austin-American Statesman .
    Jeff picked it up and read it swiftly. It was a story with which he was passingly acquainted. A young woman went jogging one morning a few months before and disappeared. A picture of a pretty brunette was included and Sam kept poking it with one finger as he tried to read.
    “Her! I saw her!”
    “Cassidy Longoria?” Jeff glanced up at Samantha. “You found her body?”
    “No, Jeff! I saw her Casper!”
    “I think she’s saying she saw her ghost,” Benchley offered helpfully.
    “Don’t say that!” Samantha shushed him with her hands. “If you say it like that they’ll hear you and start bugging me like they harassed Whoopi Goldberg in that one movie!”
    “You mean Ghost ?”
    “Ugh! Shhh.” Samantha pouted, clenching her fists. “I don’t want this to be real!”
    “If you’re seeing ghosts, that kinda makes it real,” Benchley answered.
    “Oh, fuck you.” Samantha scowled.
    “Sam,” Jeff said gently, touching her hand and getting her attention. “You saw the ghost of this jogger, right?”
    She nodded, tears still tracing down her cheeks.
    “Where?”
    “The jogging trail. Under the Mopac Bridge.”
    Jeff didn’t doubt Samantha had seen something very upsetting. It was clear that she was distraught and very rattled. Also, a little drunk and on a caffeine high. “Tell me what happened.”
    In rather disjointed and sometimes incoherent string of words, Samantha related all that had happened that morning.
    “Sounds like a sentient ghost,” Benchley said, his tone very serious. Benchley was the best ghost hunter Jeff knew. He took ghosts very seriously.
    “But that’s not the worst of it, Jeff,” Samantha continued. “It was really scary, gooey, and bloody, but I think I felt her there before. Today is the first day I saw her, but I