An amateur medium races against the brink of her own sanity to track down a serial killer who is already in possession of his next victim.
And she only has 23 days to solve the case or else.
***
Devyn Brooks has only ever had one fear: don't becom...
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Nothing Mark said could have prepared me for this.
He's led me to the playground area, where multiple play structures spread across this side of the park. The center one is where most of the living kids play. It's a monstrous tall playground with zigzagging stairs, freakishly high monkey bars, climbing nets, and various slides. It also looks brand new and sparkly. Its gold, blue, and red colors are bold and unmarked by graffiti.
But the one I stand before is a miniature version of that. And much older. No one living is over here.
The paint is chipped and marked—its once vibrant colors faded too. The sand is littered with half-buried trash. The slide has nicks and stains. And on the double swing set is a young Black girl of about ten, talking to herself as she pumps her legs to get higher.
My heart bounces into my stomach. Ghosts can only make contact with the physical world if they channel their emotions. This little girl's will is strong. Which means she's had lots of time to develop it.
In an effort not to scare her, my phantom posse remains at a distance. I look back at them and Mark gives me an encouraging thumbs up.
Exhaling, I take a couple of cautious steps forward. "Um, hey there."
The little girl stops babbling and kicks her feet in the sand. Some of it lands on my Nikes. The swing comes to a halt and the little girl jumps off it, turning to make a run for it.
"Hey wait. I won't hurt you, I promise!"
She stops, cautiously turning back around. "You-you're one of them."
I give a gentle nod. "Yes, I am. And I'm a friend. See?" I hold up my hands in surrender as I inch closer. She may not realize she's dead yet but she understands there's a difference between those with ashen skin and those with warmth to their color.
The little girl stays where she is but as I come closer, I see that she's wearing jean short overalls and her hair is styled just the way Ma used to style mine when I was her age—in sectioned thick twists with beaded barrettes at the ends.
"My name is Devyn. What's yours?" I ask.
She looks down, not sure if she can trust me, but then eventually says, "Tanya."
"Hi Tanya. It's nice to meet you."
"You're pretty," she blurts.
I smile. "Thank you. I think you're pretty too."
"Are those your friends?" she asks, pointing behind me to Mark, Rosario, and Teegan.
Well, so much for stealth. Tanya is too smart for that.
Chuckling, I wave back at them. "Yep, those are my friends. One of them saw you and got me. They want me to help you."
