Page 16 of The Midnight Frequency

So did humans and paranormals alike.

They made a fortune.

Unfortunately for Ashlee, though, she couldn’t really do much with her portion of the riches. It wasn’t like the dead could enjoy nine-dollar lattes or even change their outfit. She often went on diatribes about how unfair it was that she had to spend eternity in her hot pink tank top and ultra low-rise jean mini skirt combo, covered in blood from her slit throat.

“Good evening and welcome to Dead Air,” the melancholic voice spoke through my phone speaker. “This is Detective Alan Rich.”

“And I’m Ashlee Butler!” the ghost’s bright, pop star voice said.

“Today, we are covering the most requested—”

“And totally crazy!” Ashlee piped in.

“Story of the Ace couple and the mysterious death many are attributing to the occult.”

I knew the case. It had dominated the news cycle for months. Mostly due to the insane details and the fact that the cops seemed hopelessly deadlocked on it. Once the true crime podcasters got wind of it, they kept it in the public’s faces almost endlessly. But the Dead Air duo had surprised everyone by dragging their feet on it.

As I listened while I worked on some order forms, though, I understood what took so long. While other podcasts had been full of speculation, Detective Alan Rich had clearly been hitting up old contacts in the police force to get facts instead of conjecture.

It was no wonder Dead Air was such a hit.

I didn’t realize I’d completely abandoned my work until there was a startling commercial break at the end that had me jerking upright in my chair.

I reached to turn off my phone but quickly got distracted by the blinking LIVE button at the top of the screen.

It was the station’s way of double-dipping on ad revenue. You could listen to the radio on an actual radio, or on the app with lots of pop up ads.

My finger lingered over the button before finally clicking. I couldn’t tell you why. Maybe I was a little more impacted by the weird interaction in the hallway than I was willing to let my roommate know.

Because while I would take this information to my grave, there had been a second there when I was sure there was something like heat or interest in Silas’s stormy blue eyes.

Only like one Mississippi, though. Max two.

I closed out three pop-up ads then had to listen to another for life insurance ad for vampire thralls before Silas’s voice filled my little office.

“And we’re back,” Silas said. “Jack, do we still have Rebecca on the line?”

I wondered what poor Rebecca did in her life to have to stay on the line to continue what was sure to be a condescending speech about how stupid she was.

“I’m here,” Rebecca answered. “What were you about to say about my relationship?”

“Ah, yes. The man who won’t propose to you after eight years.”

“Yeah. I mean, I’m getting tired of waiting.”

After eight years, who wouldn’t?

“And I’m just starting to wonder if maybe I should be the one to propose to him. I just… I want to know he is going to be mine forever.”

“Forever is a bold promise from a species that can’t even keep New Year’s resolutions,” Silas said.

I couldn’t object to that. My last resolution to stop buying potato chips lasted exactly eleven days. A record for me. But a failure nonetheless.

“But—” Rebecca started to object.

“Rebecca, if I may,” Jack piped in. “A man who loves you will make it clear. A man who doesn’t will leave you confused.”

That was pretty solid advice.