Seeing the Light (A Marie Jenner Mystery Book 1) by E. C. Bell Page A

flooded.”
    Mr. Latterson reacted to this news, strongly. “What happened in the furnace room? A flood? How the hell—”
    “I don’t know,” I said, deciding for the moment not to mention the spigot. I had no idea why it had blown apart, but I wanted the chance to discuss it with Farley, alone. I hoped that talking about it would spark something in his memory. I hoped.
    “James hurt himself, so I helped him. Then I had to take him to the hospital.” I pointed at the phone sitting on my desk. At the red flashing light, indicating a voicemail message. “I called.”
    Mr. Latterson stared at the phone. It was obvious he hadn’t seen the light. “Oh,” he finally said. “Oh, well, that’s good.” He patted me on the back, called me a hero, and then disappeared into his office.
    Then Farley and I were alone.
    “Somebody messed with the spigot, Farley,” I said.
    “Your face is flushed,” Farley said acidly. “What, are you falling for that guy?”
    I stared at him for a second, then sat down and stared at the top of my desk. “No, I’m not. Give it a rest.”
    “Well, quit looking like that, then.” He frowned ferociously, then blinked. “What did you say?”
    “I said I’m not—” I started. Farley shook his head impatiently.
    “Not that,” he said. “You said something about a spigot. What about it?”
    “Oh. Somebody screwed with it. That’s how James cut his hand. He went to turn it on, to run water, you know, and it blew apart.” I pulled the piece of twisted metal out of my sweater pocket and put it on the desk.
    Farley stared at it for a long time. “Did the idiot—”
    “His name is James. James Lavall. Don’t call him an idiot.” I felt warmth as I blushed. God, now I’m standing up for him. What was wrong with me?
    “Did he use a hacksaw on this?” Farley asked, pointing at the spigot.
    “No. He said he found it this way. He was trying to change it, when it blew.” I really looked at the metal piece, and understood why Farley had asked the question. It did look like it had been cut. I touched one of the edges, gingerly, then pulled my finger back. No wonder James hurt himself on it.
    “Why would someone do this?” I asked.
    “The bigger question is, who did it,” Farley replied.
    “I don’t have a clue.”
    “Maybe Carruthers,” Farley mumbled. “Maybe him.”
    “Carruthers? The owner of the building? Why would he do something like this?”
    “I don’t know,” Farley said. “Just a thought.” He leaned in, getting as close as he could to the spigot. The piece of metal had cut the varnish, leaving a small white scar.
    “Is it ever sharp,” Farley said. “No wonder the kid—James—cut himself. Those edges look like so much razor wire.”
    And then, he faded. Most of his light left him. He looked like a smoky smudge curling over my desk, staring at the sharp edges of the broken spigot.
    “Farley!” I cried.
    “What’s wrong with your voice?” Farley asked, his eyes never leaving the spigot. “You sound like you got cotton in your mouth.”
    He faded even more, and when he looked up at me, his eyes looked like two burnt coals, dead black in the grey of his face.
    “It’s funny,” he said. “Razor wire that close doesn’t look dangerous at all.”
    Razor wire? What was he talking about? Why was he fading so quickly? This was bad. Even worse than the time before. He was like a black hole, sucking all the light and colour from everything around him. He just kept staring at the spigot as though his eyes were glued to the thing.
    “Farley!” I cried. “I can barely see you, what’s going on . . . Farley, don’t go!”
    Then Mr. Latterson stuck his head in the room, demanding to know what all the yelling was about. And blink. Farley was gone.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

Farley: To Hell, Again
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    My hand on the wire, the sound of the hacksaw, the voice, like hearing it through a tube, and then white. Then it would start