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Killian Mahoney glared at me.Ghost or dream apparition, he still appeared mighty impressive as he snarled, “What were you doing in my garage?”
“Yourgarage?” I snorted. “It’s mine because you’re not real.” A firm claim despite my subconscious apparently worrying that he might exist. Did I fear Mahoney coming back to take the junkyard from me? Legally, he didn’t have a leg to stand on and would be arrested if he tried.
“You’re the one who’s unreal. Who gave you permission to mess with my stuff? I saw you touching my bike.” His brows tugged together in a mighty frown.
That didn’t scare me. “It’s my stuff now. I bought it all, fair and square.”
“Like fuck, you did. This place and everything in it belongs to me. And, right now, that includes you.” He growled menacingly.
“You did not just try to claim me as property,” I huffed. I went toe-to-toe with the tall Mahoney and glared up at his chiseled chin. I poked him in the solid chest. Definitely a dream because ghosts didn’t have bodies. “I am not a woman who’s going to let a man treat her like she’s worthless. You’re the worthless one. You left and didn’t pay your bills. Now, the junkyard is mine. Legally. And even if youdidexist and came back, you wouldn’t be able to sue me for it ‘cause the cops are still looking to arrest you for murder.”
“Fucking cops. They had no case ‘cause I didn’t do it.”
“As if you’d admit it,” I scoffed. “The evidence is pretty convincing.”
“Evidence of what?” he riposted.
“You going to deny that your old gang used to like slicing people into ribbons?”
“They did. I didn’t. Although, being associated with those who did, landed me in the hospital with multiple gunshot wounds. I cleaned up my act when they released me from rehab.”
“Did you? Or were you good at pretending?” I fired a counterargument. “The cops wouldn’t arrest you without evidence.”
“Then you’re obviously not well acquainted with the law. They’ll do anything to declare a case closed.”
“Let me guess, next you’ll claim they were framing you.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me. The detective on the case hated me.”
“I’m sure he had a reason. Perhaps your obnoxious personality, for starters.”
That got Mahoney glaring. “Fuck if I know why he kept coming around, harassing me.”
“Because you were a killer.”
“Don’t you think if I was a killer, I would have taken care of him?”
“A smart murderer wouldn’t kill the cop suspicious of him.”
“How about a guy who didn’t murder anyone and didn’t have a way to convince said cop of his innocence?”
I rolled my eyes. “It doesn’t really matter anymore. You disappeared. The junkyard went to auction for unpaid taxes. I bought it, fair and square. So, I have nothing to feel guilty about. You’re just a figment of my imagination anyway.” I waited for him to disappear as I confronted my conscience.
Mahoney continued glowering. “Fuck you, I disappeared. I would never leave the Ottawa Valley area.”
“Facts say otherwise.”
“I wouldn’t,” he insisted, pacing in my dream. “Not without my sister, and I’d have needed the money from selling the junkyard to take care of her properly elsewhere.”
Well, that took an unexpected twist. “What sister?”
“My baby sister. Ginny. She was born with Down syndrome. Since she couldn’t take care of herself when my folks died, I had her placed in an assisted care place in West End Ottawa.”
“I don’t know anything about your sister.” But I did love how my brain was trying to make his story more interesting. “If you didn’t leave, then what happened to you?”
He glanced down at his body. “Nothing. I’m right here. This dream makes no sense.”
I outright laughed. “This is my dream, not yours. Nice try, though.” Then, on a lark, I asked, “What year do you think it is?”
