Free Strange Neighbors by Ashlyn Chase

over, then exhaled loudly and opened the door. Chad thought she must have been expecting a pipe-smoking, tweed blazer–wearing, clean-cut, bespectacled man.
       She held the door for him and he skirted around it as if she might slam it in his face. She was making Chad's job too easy! If he didn't drive the professor off, Dottie would.
       She led him to the elevator and punched the button. Chad wasn't crazy about riding elevators. Being in spirit form, he had to time his ascent and landing just right so he wouldn't wind up on the other side of the floor or ceiling.
       He managed the take-off and stuck the landing just fine. Whew. Why spend the energy to penetrate solid objects like walls, when it's so much easier just to zip into spaces when the doors open? Plus it's fun to see people shiver if I happen to touch them. He laughed to himself.
       He'd have given this guy a nice chill down the back of his neck, but a collar and long, curly hair covered the sensitive skin there. The professor didn't bother removing his jacket.
       Chad liked the place nice and cool, and it was a good thing since the owners didn't like wasting oil and kept it just warm enough to prevent the pipes from freezing.
       The boxes had been moved from the living room to the closets. While he strolled down the hall, Chad used his telekinesis to open the closet door. That task presented no challenge. He could give it a good slam, too, but would wait until they were in the room so they could see it close with no draft.
       He managed to move one of the boxes right into the traffic pattern. There, now when they round the corner, someone will trip over it and fall splat. That'll be far-out.
       Now that gravity was no longer his problem, he loved watching people fall down. If they were even a tiny bit psychic, they'd hear him laughing his ass off.
       I have to let them know the unit's previous owner bought the farm right here in his living room and isn't happy about it. Heh heh. I get what little revenge I can.
       He still couldn't get over how they had explained his cause of death. It was officially listed as cardiac arrest. Well, sure. When a bullet enters the brain, the heart stops. Voila. Cardiac arrest.
       He had been a journalist in the sixties and lived in interesting times. Protest marches, riots, and LSD were some of the stories he had covered. Unfortunately, so were conspiracy theories, and one of those had landed him in hot water with the Feds. Me and my fucking integrity and first amendment rights. The public deserved to know the truth, but as he found out, someone didn't agree with that.
       The story never came to light. Back then, he used an actual typewriter and had been working on the piece at home. He was dedicated. Laboring under a false sense of security, he hadn't used the dead-bolt and two guys broke down the door. One held him at gunpoint while another confiscated all of his notes and the unfinished story. Chad tried to fight back.
       If I ever find out who tipped them off, I'll kick his wrinkly old ass. And, speaking of kicking asses, they were coming back toward the living room.
       Making eye-contact, Dottie was grilling the professor about his daily habits—if he played loud music, held wild parties, etc. She completely missed seeing the box in front of her, tripped, flipped, and landed spread-eagle on the gleaming hardwood.
       Bull's-eye!
       Chad laughed so hard he forgot to slam the closet door.
    ***
    Jason had shown up at Merry's apartment a little early to prepare her for the bachelor auction. He only had a couple of hours before the event and a vague, uncomfortable feeling had descended upon him. Ever since he had visited her hospital, he wondered if she could tolerate his celebrity and the challenges it would bring. She teased him about it and seemed okay afterward, but they had only run into a forward female fan once— so far.
       They had spent a lot of time