“You know, Detective O’Mara, I’m not one for conspiracy theories, but within hours of my son’s death, the university and the fraternity were spewing company lines about Bash’s death being a tragic accident and espousing the dangers of underage drinking on campus. Both offered me their deepest condolences but never responded to my calls after the funeral. Hell, the bastards didn’t even come to the funeral. Same went for the police and members of the fraternity.”
Ronan could see the anger welling up in Paul Stark. After his son died, he’d been blocked from information at every turn, with no one working to find out if Bash truly had died in an accident or if foul play had been involved. If he were in Stark’s shoes, Ronan would feel the same way.
“Salem State sent me an honorary degree in Bash’s name, as if that would somehow lessen the blow of never seeing my only child again.” Stark shrugged. “As for the evidence, I’ve got the names and last known addresses for all the guys who were members of Sigma Chi the night my son died. Same for the higher-ups in the frat. I’ve tried reaching out to various people over the years, and after taking my first call, no one ever spoke to me again. I’m hoping that with your badges and search warrants and whatnot, you’ll be able to break through the bullshit and get me some answers. I want people to be held accountable. The cops for not investigating. The frat for pouring booze down my son’s throat. The asshole who pushed my son down the stairs. Find them. Punish them.” Flexing his fisted hands, Stark got up from the table and left the room.
Ronan had worked several cases over the course of his career involving colleges and frat houses. He’d run up against the same roadblocks with people being unwilling to cooperate for fear of making the school or the fraternity chapter look bad. He’d also dealt with students who had been too drunk to remember anything from the night in question.
With three years having passed from the time Bash Stark died, Ronan knew he was in for an uphill battle. Unless, of course, Ten was able to speak with Bash’s spirit and hear the account of that last night from the man himself.
10
Tennyson
It was strange sitting in someone else’s living room. Ten was surrounded by the metaphorical ghosts of Maya and Sebastian Stark. Unfortunately, their actual ghosts were nowhere to be found. Bash’s trophy and his friendship bracelet sat on the coffee table in front of him.
Ten couldn’t help but think about Everly and Ezra. If anything happened to them, what would be the keepsakes Tennyson would cherish the most?
“Ten?”
Ronan’s voice startled Ten. He jumped up and spun around to see his husband standing behind him. “You okay?”
Ten shook his head to dislodge his thoughts about their kids. Thinking about contacting Paul Stark’s lost wife and son wasn’t much better. “I will be when I can reach Bash and Maya. Neither of them are here.”
“I don’t want to add to your anxiety, but Paul’s really hoping you’ll be able to speak with one or both of them.”
“Him and me both.” Ten looked behind Ronan to see Fitz and Jude with Paul Stark. They took seats around the sofa, being careful to avoid the empty gaming chair favored by Sebastian. Taking his own seat, Ten reached out and picked up the bracelet. It had the name Simon on it. “Who’s Simon?” Ten asked.
Stark shook his head. “I don’t know. Well, not for certain anyway. The president of the local Sigma Chi chapter was Simon Westlake. From what I understand, he’s now the regional president and lives here in Salem. Other than that, there were noboys named Simon at his high school. He’s not gay, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I wasn’t thinking that at all,” Ten said. He’d worked cold cases long enough with Ronan to know that the bracelet was a definite clue. Parents didn’t always know the ins and outs of what their teenagers were up to, especially when they were out of the house and away at college. If they could find this Simon, it might get them a lot closer to finally finding out what happened the night Sebastian died.
Closing his eyes, Ten focused on the bracelet he held in the palms of his hands. He opened his gift and reached out for Paul Stark’s lost son. “Sebastian, my name is Tennyson Grimm. Your father asked me to come here today to speak with you about what happened the night you died. If you can hear me, please let me know.”
The house remained silent.
Ten took a deep breath. It wasn’t uncommon for spirits to be shy, especially ones that had died violently at the hands of someone else. “Sebastian, can you let me know if your mother is with you? Your father would finally be able to find some peace if he knew you two were together.”
Beside Ten, Paul Stark set his face in his hands. Ten could feel the man’s despair and desperation. He wished there was more he could do for the bereaved father, but without Sebastian stepping forward, there wasn’t a lot else he could do.
“I’m scared,” a voice said.
“Bash, is that you?” Ten asked. “What are you afraid of?” Ten felt Paul Stark tense beside him. There would be time to explain what was happening to him later. Right now, Ten needed to focus all of his energy on the spirit.
“I’m afraid my father won’t forgive me for drinking the night I died. I didn’t want to see the look of shame in his eyes, so I stayed away. I stayed away from Mom too.”
Ten gasped. “Bash is here. He’s saying that he’s afraid you’ll be mad at him for drinking. He’s also been avoiding your wife for the same reason.”
“I’m not mad at him. I could never be angry with my son. Never.” Pausing for a moment, Paul took a deep breath. “Can you ask Bash to prove it’s really him? That you’re really speaking to him?” Paul Stark sounded tired. As if he could sleep for a month and still wake up tired.
“Tell my dad I wanted to dress up like Captain America when I played one of the wise men in our church play.”
Ten snorted. “Bash wants me to remind you about the time he wanted Captain America to be one of the wise men.”
Paul gasped. “There are no pictures of that or mentions anywhere on social media or in the interviews I gave the press after Bash’s death. I’m sorry to have doubted you, Tennyson, but I had to know my son was really here.”
“I understand completely.” Movement out of the corner of Ten’s eye caught his attention. Bash had made himself visible and settled himself into his gaming chair. The chair swiveled so the spirit was facing the sofa instead of the television.
“Holy shit, is that you, Bash?” Paul asked, sounding as stunned as he looked.
