He has everything going for him. I’ve kept an eye out for years. It helps me sleep at night to just check in.

He doesn’t need someone like me. He’s going to be a cop, for fuck’s sake. Melancholy drifts into the darkness of my mind when I turn the corner and no one’s there. Hell, maybe one day he’ll arrest me.

I wonder if he’d know it’s me. I don’t see how he would. I’m dead and long gone and he’s the man everyone thought he’d become.

“Hey kid,” I say, tilting my chin up at one of the smaller kids a good bit away from the others. In his striped shirt and baggy black pants with more pockets than anyone would know what to do with, he’s trying to do some trick on a skateboard that looks far too big for him. “Want to earn a dollar?”

“Yeah,” he says with his eyes wide.

“Would you go in there and get me a bag of jerky?” I ask him, digging out five dollars and handing it over.

“You just want me to buy you jerky?” he says, hesitantly staring at the money I’m holding out for him to take.

“It only costs a few bucks, bet it’ll be a bit more than a dollar left over.” His hazel eyes peer up at me and then shine with delight when I add, “And it’s all yours.”

“You got it, mister,” he says, picking up the skateboard at the same time as he snatches the five.

It would be easy to just buy the damn thing myself, but this is how you meet people. It’s how you build trust. And no one suspects kids. They don’t know what’s going on. They don’t talk to people and if they do, they aren’t taken seriously.

Maybe I shouldn’t set myself up here, not when some woman I don’t even know recognizes me.

I’m just … checking in and then I’ll be gone.

Back to the barn where I belong.

Cody

Nine years ago

This town is haunted. Or there’s someone following me. There isn’t any other explanation for it.

At first I thought it was nerves from starting this job. Working murder cases and being called out to dead body after dead body would take a toll mentally on anyone.

But I keep seeing him. I swear I see the same man over and over again.

I swallow thickly, the folded note tucked safely in my hand as I sit at the busy bar. I used to think I saw him back home too. Every so often, a block or two behind me. More than once I’ve chased after a figure that ran when I called out his name.

The grief counselors said it was in my head. But to follow me here?

I’m either haunted by him, or he’s here.

“Another?” the waitress asks and I nod my head, adding a yes, please. The first four beers should be enough. I’m already hearing his voice again and remembering the last time I said goodbye. It wasn’t good enough.