The Truth of Yesterday
Book 4 of the Killian Kendall Mysteries
By Josh Aterovis
Copyright 2026
Chapter 9
I sat in my room that night, brooding—about what else?—Micah and my so-called gifts. The truth was, I didn’t want to deal with either. My go-to defense strategy could be summed up as Ostrich Syndrome: bury my head in the sand and pray the problem goes away. Spoiler alert—it never does. All it really does is give the problem time to circle around and sink its teeth into your exposed ass.
I should know. I've been bitten more than once.
Where Micah was concerned, we clearly needed to talk. I just wasn't ready.
As for the gifts, Judy's warning still haunted me. I knew I needed to learn how to control them. My experiences with Amalie had made it painfully clear. But how was I supposed to do that without a teacher? It wasn't like I could just do a Google search for psychic teachers. Or maybe I could, but I had a feeling most of them would be crackpots and kooks.
And what if learning to control them just flung open the floodgates to even more psychic weirdness? What would be next? Reading tea leaves at brunch? Telling fortunes at carnivals in a headscarf and bangles? Or maybe I should skip the small stuff and aim straight for my own reality show — Psychic Killian: Ghosts, Gossip, and Guilt Trips.
Then again, reading soggy leaves sounded a whole lot better than seeing dead people.
Someone knocked on my door, causing me to jump.
"Come in," I called, but no one entered. "Hello?" Still nothing.
With a sigh, I got up to check, but the hallway was empty.
"Very funny, Kane," I said.
I shut the door and turned back to the bed, only to practically jump out of my skin.
"A bit on edge, aren't we?" Seth asked. He was lying on his side, head propped on one hand, his lips twitching with barely suppressed laughter.
"I suppose that was your idea of a joke."
He waggled his eyebrows. "Well, you said you don't like it when I just appear unannounced, so I knocked this time."
"Admit it. You love scaring me."
"Hey, it's one of the only perks of being a ghost."
"If you weren't already dead..."
"Be nice. I came to talk to you."
"And that's supposed to make me want to be nice?"
Seth rolled his eyes expressively and sat up. "Seriously, Killian, we need to talk."
"About what? If this concerns my so-called gifts, I've already had one lecture about them today. Unless you're going to be my mentor, I don't need another."
"Oh, well, I was going to bring that up, but it's not the main reason I'm here. While we're on the subject, though, what's happening there? No luck finding a teacher?"
"Not yet. Judy says she's still looking but all this stuff with Jake has taken her attention...understandably. She did scare me half to death—" I realized what I'd said and broke off. "Er, sorry."
He snorted. "Why be sorry? We both know I'm dead. It's not a taboo subject. How did she scare you?"
"She said one of the reasons I needed to learn how to control my gifts was that I'm essentially a beacon that could attract unwanted attention from certain entities."
Seth nodded. "She's not wrong. You're like a fuckin lighthouse."
"She also said that some entities might want to harm me, but I don't know what that means? Do you?"
He looked away and shrugged. "Beats me."
"You know more than you're saying," I accused.
He gave me a helpless look. "You know the rules."
"No, actually, I don't know the rules. You just keep talking about them without telling me what they actually are."
"I've told you..."
"Yeah, yeah. The first rule of ghost club is that you can't talk about ghost club. Why are you even here, anyway? You said my gifts weren't the main reason you came."
“They’re not. This thing with Micah…”
I groaned. “I should have known. You’re always meddling in my love life.”
“It’s not like that,” he said defensively.
“Oh really? So you’re not about to tell me not to make snap judgments? You’re not going to recommend I talk things out with him? And you’re not going to suggest I give him the benefit of the doubt?”
“Ha! You don’t know me as well as you think you do. I was also going to say it wouldn’t hurt to educate yourself before you made any decisions.”
I stuck my tongue out at him, then frowned. “Educate myself?”
“Yes. I think you need to be more sex-positive. You’re kind of...puritanical.”
“Hey!”
“Well, you are. You flinch every time the subject comes up, like it’s radioactive. Maybe you should do some research on escorts and sex work in general. Find out what it actually looks like instead of leaning on the stereotypes.”
I made a face. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Because right now you’re walking around with blinders on. You keep thinking of it as dirty, or dangerous, or morally bankrupt, but at the end of the day, it’s work. People trading their time and energy for money. That’s all a job is, Killian. You think it’s more noble to shuffle papers in an office for forty years? Or to bust your back in a factory until you can’t stand straight anymore? At least escorts are honest about what they’re selling.”
I shifted uncomfortably. “That’s not the same thing.”
“Why not? You think your boss isn’t renting your life by the hour? Only difference is, your job comes with health insurance and doesn’t scare the neighbors. But it’s still your body, your mind, your hours on the clock. You give pieces of yourself away to pay the bills, same as anyone else.”
I opened my mouth, then shut it again.
He smirked. “See? You want to look down on it because it makes you uncomfortable. But that’s not about them. That’s about you. You want Micah to trust you, you’re going to have to get over the idea that his former job made him less than. It didn't then and it doesn’t now. It makes him someone who figured out how to get paid for what people are already desperate for. Some folks would call that smart.”
“I’m not condemning anything,” I muttered.
“Aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not.” A pause. “...am I?”
He gave me a look that clearly said, Figure it out for yourself.
"Why is everything always so hard?" I asked plaintively. He opened his mouth to answer, and I rushed on, "And please don't say I make it hard."
He grinned at me. "Then I don't have any other answers."
I grabbed a pillow from behind me and threw it at him. I was more than a little surprised when it went right through him.
"Neat trick, huh?" He gave me a self-satisfied smirk. "Oh, close your mouth. It's really not cute."
"You know," I said slowly, "I almost forget sometimes that you aren't really here."
"I'm here. You just forget that I'm not really alive."
"Why is it that you don't creep me out but Amalie did?"
He thought a minute before responding. "Well, you knew me. The fact that we were friends may make it easier. Plus, she and I aren't quite the same thing. Amalie wasn't here by choice the way I am. She couldn't just come and go, she couldn't leave whenever she wanted to. She was trapped by her pain and anger, and you couldn't help sensing those emotions."
"What do you mean, I couldn't help it? Was it because I could see her?"
"No..." He dragged the word out.
"Is it because I could talk to her?"
"No..."
"Oh, great? Is this another gift?"
"Possibly."
"Possibly? It either is or isn't. So which is it?"
"I shouldn't have said anything," he said sheepishly.
"Well, you did, so explain what you meant."
"Have you ever heard of empathy?"
"Judy said I'm probably an empath when we were dealing with Amalie."
"Yes. It's part of what makes you such a good investigator."
"How would that help?"
"It usually makes it very easy for you to read other people, to understand their true intentions and judge their character — the way you just get an instant impression about someone."
"Or the way I can sometimes just know someone is lying to me without really knowing how?"
"Yeah. Most of the time it's probably not even something you do consciously. It's pure instinct. It's a part of who you are."
"That seems like that could actually be a useful gift."
"They're all useful, Kill. They're tools, just like anything else. Empathy can also be a handicap, though. It can sometimes cloud your judgment. You get so caught up in someone's pain or loss that they can manipulate you, maybe without even trying to."
"Like with Caleb."
My last big case had involved a kid accused of murdering his abusive father. I'd known instinctively there was something wrong about him, but I'd let his story of abuse and his pain overshadow that...and almost ended up dead in the process.
"Right. Understanding your gifts, both their strengths and their weaknesses, could help you to avoid similar situations in the future."
"Do I have other gifts?"
"I don't know."
I gave him a skeptical look.
"Really, I don't. I only know you're an empath because it's pretty obvious. It's already manifested. I've told you before, I'm not a fortune teller. I can't see the future."
"Oh." I flopped back on the bed, disappointed.
He grinned down at me.
"What?"
"At least I've got you interested now."
"Between you and Judy's vague warnings, of course I'm interested. I'm also terrified, but I guess that's nothing new."
Seth gave a little bow. "And scene. Well, I've done what I came here to do. I guess I'd better be going."
"Wait," I called, sitting up suddenly.
"What?"
"Don't just vanish. Do you have any idea how creepy that is?"
"Nope." He gave me a broad wink, and then simply wasn't there anymore.
"Jerk!" I yelled at the thin air.
The bedroom door swung open to reveal a rather startled-looking Kane. "What did I do now?"
"I wasn't..." I started to say I hadn’t been yelling at him, but stopped short. That would only lead to the obvious question: Then who were you yelling at? Explaining that his dead brother had been the target of my outburst wasn’t exactly going to make things better. I tried to think of an excuse, but my mind went blank.
"You know," Kane said with an injured expression, "you're the one who's been a jerk lately. You're always in a bad mood, and I'm really getting sick of it. You're not the only one with problems, you know."
I suddenly felt like the biggest asswipe in the universe. "You're right. I've been selfish and moody. I really am sorry."
He looked somewhat mollified but just gave a noncommittal shrug. He wasn't ready to let me off the hook that easily.
"You want to talk about it?"
"Do you really care?"
"Of course I care. You're my little brother." I patted the bed next to me, the very spot Seth had just vacated.
With a sigh of relief, he shut the door and came to sit next to me on the bed. "It just seems that everything's been going wrong lately."
"Like what?"
"Whoa." That was a lot to unpack. I figured I’d start with what seemed like the easiest piece. "Okay, back up. What happened with you and Jen?"
He shrugged. "I dunno. I thought things were good, and then out of nowhere, she just dumped me."
"Were you even that into her?"
"I mean...not really. She was cool and all, but…I wasn’t planning on marrying her or anything."
"So you're not crushed because she was The One. You just bummed because your rizz took a hit?"
He turned red but smirked like he kind of enjoyed the accusation. "Nah, my rizz is fully intact, thanks."
"Then what’s the big deal?"
He hesitated. "I guess...I dunno. She caught me off guard. Like, I didn’t even see it coming."
"And you were probably gonna break up with her anyway, right?"
"Yeah, actually. I’d been thinking about it for a couple weeks."
I raised an eyebrow. "So what you're really upset about is that she beat you to the punch."
He gave a sheepish grin. "Okay, yeah. I guess that’s it."
"So, bruised ego. Got it."
He groaned. "You make me sound so shallow."
I grinned. "I mean, if the shoe fits..."
He chuckled, the tension easing just a little from his shoulders. "Okay, fine. I'm a little shallow."
"Only a little?" I teased. "Wow. Personal growth."
We laughed, then I quickly turned serious. "What's this about Jake?"
The question was professional, but I worked hard to keep that out of my voice. I didn’t want Kane thinking I was asking out of anything other than brotherly concern.
“Well, you know how when Jake first moved back, we hung out a little?” Kane said. “We weren’t, like, besties or anything, but we did stuff. Talked. Now I barely see him. And when I do, he practically acts like we're strangers. I asked around. His friends say he’s ghosting them too — either ditched them outright or avoids them like they’ve got the plague.”
I frowned. The more I heard, the more ominous it all felt.
“Do his friends know what’s going on?”
Kane shook his head. “Nobody has a clue. A couple said it happened gradually. Others said he just flipped a switch. Either way, whatever’s going on, he’s hiding it really well.”
I sighed and figured it was time to let him in on what Judy had told me.
“Judy’s worried too.”
Kane’s eyes widened. “She doesn’t know either?” His voice was tinged with disbelief. In his mind, Judy was practically omniscient. If she was stumped, then we were officially in uncharted territory.
“She’s another person Jake’s shut out. He barely even comes home anymore. She’s so worried she hired me to look into it.”
His mouth fell open. “You’re investigating Jake?”
“Yeah.” The guilt hit me again, just as strong as ever.
Kane blinked a few times, then his face shifted from shock to something more thoughtful. “Well… I guess if he’s not telling anyone what’s going on, it’s not he's left anyone much of a choice. If someone you care about is in trouble, you don’t just sit around doing nothing.”
I stared at him, caught off guard. That was...surprisingly mature.
“I mean, it sounds like he’s into something shady, right?” Kane continued.
“Maybe,” I admitted. “Got any theories?”
He leaned back, thinking. “Sex? Drugs? Rock and roll?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Hey, you asked.” He threw up his hands. “I haven’t seen anything to go on.”
“Well, I might have.” I told him about the stash in the hidden compartment—the cash, the Ball ticket, the photo.
Kane’s eyebrows shot up. “Maybe he’s dealing drugs?”
“Then what’s with the Equality Ball ticket? And who’s the guy in the picture?”
“Maybe he’s hoping to make connections at the ball. You know, network.”
I gave him a skeptical look. “With who? The governor? Oprah?”
“I don’t know how this works! Do I look like I sell drugs?”
“Define ‘look like.’”
He gave me a look. “Okay, fine. That doesn’t explain the picture either.”
“Exactly. Who’s that guy?”
“Maybe he’s Jake’s supplier.”
I shook my head. “He looked like a politician. Definitely not sketchy enough for a drug lord.”
Kane was quiet for a second. Then he said, “Maybe he’s a target.”
I blinked. “A target?”
“You know...maybe Jake’s supposed to...kill him or something.”
I burst out laughing. “You think Jake’s an assassin now?”
Kane grinned. “It sounded less dumb before I said it out loud.”
“Oh no, trust me. It was dumb the whole time.”
He chuckled. “Okay, fine. But seriously, if Jake’s not dealing drugs, and he’s not moonlighting as a hitman, where’s all that money coming from?”
I hesitated. “There’s...another possibility.”
He gave me a wary look. “I don’t like the way you said that.”
“You remember what Micah told me? About how much money he made as an escort?”
Kane’s eyes widened. “You think Jake’s...turning tricks?”
“Where did you learn that phrase? Who even says that? Actually, never mind. I don't want to know. But it’s just a theory. We shouldn’t jump to conclusions yet. I’ve only just started looking into this.”
Kane nodded slowly, then said, “Too bad you can’t get into that Equality Ball. If Jake’s going, it’d be interesting to see what he’s up to.”
And just like that, a lightbulb flicked on over my head. “Who says I can’t get in?”
He blinked. “Aren't the tickets, like, crazy expensive? Can you afford that?”
“No, but Novak has contacts out the wazoo.”
He winced. “That sounds painful. Think he can get you into the Ball?”
“I don’t know. I’ll ask him tomorrow. In the meantime, would you keep your ears open at school? Listen for anything — gossip, rumors, whispers in the locker room. Even if it sounds stupid, let me know. Sometimes the dumbest stuff holds a kernel of truth.”
“You got it.”
“And Kane? You know you can’t tell anyone about this, right?”
He gave me a look. “No duh, Killian. I’m not thirteen anymore.”
“Sorry. I just... I’m really proud of you, you know.”
He blinked. “Really? You’ve never said that before.”
“Seriously?”
He nodded. “Yeah. We’re not as close as we used to be. None of us are.”
“Is that what you meant earlier? About the family falling apart?”
“Yeah. I hardly see Steve anymore. He basically lives at the stupid B&B. Dad’s almost as bad. When they are here, they’re too busy to talk. And now you’re busy too. School, work, Micah...it’s like I’m the last one at the table and all the chairs are empty.” He sighed. "I guess I do sound like a little kid, huh?"
“You don’t sound like a kid,” I said gently. “You sound like someone who's paying attention. And you’re right. I’ve been just as bad.”
He nodded. “I know.”
“Well, that’s going to change. I want us to spend more time together. And maybe talk to Adam and Steve too?”
He hesitated. “They’ve got enough stress right now. Business is slow, and they’re barely seeing each other as it is. I’ll wait until things settle down.”
“What if they don’t settle down?”
He gave a small, mature shrug. “Then I’ll suck it up. I’m a big boy, remember? I can live without my daddy.”
"Okay, but I'm here now, and I promise I'll do my best to be around more."
Kane gave me a long look, like he was trying to decide whether to believe me. Then he smiled — small, but genuine.
“Okay,” he said, standing and heading for the door. “But if you turn into a workaholic again, I’m dragging you out for milkshakes.”
I chuckled. “Deal. But where are you going? You just said you wanted to hang out more."
"I do, but not right now. I have a date."
"Already? You were just whining about Jen dumping you!"
He grinned and gave me a wink. "I move on quickly. Just call me the rizzler."
"I will never call you that."
He laughed as the door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment, the room was still.
I sat there in the quiet, wondering just how deep this rabbit hole with Jake was going to go — and hoping, for all our sakes, that it wasn’t too far to climb back out.
My plan to ask Novak about the Equality Ball was promptly derailed the next morning. The moment I stepped through the office door, I could tell it was going to be one of those days.
Our tiny reception area — barely big enough for my desk and the two hideous orange chairs Novak liked to pretend were vintage — was filled beyond capacity. A woman I didn’t recognize sat perched nervously on the edge of one chair, holding her purse in front of her like a shield.
The other chair was occupied by Mrs. Knox — yes, that Mrs. Knox, wife of the perpetually unfaithful Mr. Knox — currently mid-rant, loudly accusing Novak of overcharging her.
This was not uncommon. Clients were happy to pay when we brought back good news. Bad news? Not so much.
Also crammed into the room were our regular UPS guy, waiting patiently with his device, and a man from one of the insurance companies Novak occasionally did freelance work for. He was one of those bland, forgettable types — someone I’d seen enough times to know I should recognize, but who somehow erased himself from memory the second he walked out the door.
It was about four people too many for a space that already felt like a closet with delusions of grandeur.
I dealt with the UPS guy first, signing for the package so he could escape. Then I ushered the insurance rep into Novak’s office to wait. By the time I returned, Novak had somehow managed to not only calm Mrs. Knox down but had also charmed a check out of her.
A true professional.
Once Mrs. Knox was gone — check in hand and parting glares delivered — Novak vanished into his office without a word, leaving behind only the small, birdlike woman still occupying one of the hideous orange chairs.
Now that I could get a proper look at her, I took in the details: mousy brown hair in a boxy, outdated cut that did her no favors, pale and slightly watery blue eyes, a rather beaky nose, and an outfit that was clearly expensive but managed, somehow, to look frumpy rather than fashionable. She was extremely thin, so her clothes just sort of hung off of her. Her shoulders were drawn in as though she were trying to disappear into herself.
She looked absolutely terrified. I got the impression she would have bolted long ago if not for the sheer number of people who had stood between her and the exit. Even now, with only the two of us in the room, her gaze kept flicking toward the door, as if still debating whether to make a break for it.
I approached gently, not wanting to spook her further. “Can I help you?” I asked.
She flinched at the sound of my voice, then blinked rapidly like a startled deer. “Um, I...I don’t know...”
Her eyes drifted longingly back to the door.
“Are you here to see a private investigator?”
That got a reaction. Her eyes darted to mine for a split second, but just as quickly slipped away again.
“Maybe.”
Okay, not the most decisive person I’d ever met.
“If it would make you more comfortable,” I said, softening my tone even more, “you can speak directly with Mr. Novak.”
Sometimes clients — especially the nervous, reluctant kind — preferred to speak only with the real investigator. I was used to being mistaken for just the receptionist, especially by people who didn’t expect a PI’s assistant to look like someone still in college. Or detention.
She hesitated, her knuckles whitening on her handbag. “Is he...very busy?”
She’d seen him go into his office with the insurance guy, so she knew he was occupied.
“At the moment, but if you'd like to wait, he shouldn't be long. What’s your name? I’ll let him know you’re here once he’s free.”
That simple question seemed to rattle her even more. Her eyes widened. “I...I’d rather not. Maybe...maybe this was a mistake.”
She made a slight move to stand, panic blooming in her expression.
I offered what I hoped was a reassuring smile — though, judging by her wary expression, I might’ve looked more like a shark baring its teeth.
“If you’d rather not give your name, that’s fine,” I said calmly. “Happens all the time here.”
“Really?” She sank cautiously back into the chair, though she stayed perched right on the edge, clearly still weighing her escape options.
“Really,” I said, nodding. She relaxed a bit more — if only by a millimeter.
Just then, the office door flew open again, and she flinched hard, as though expecting someone to burst in waving a weapon.
I turned toward the noise, already bracing myself for whatever fresh chaos had just arrived.
It was Micah.
"Hey," I said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"
He gave me a funny look that I couldn't quite read. "I came to talk to you."
"Oh..." I glanced toward the woman, who was trying desperately to pretend she wasn't there. "This isn't a good time."
He sighed. "Relax, Killian. I'm not here to talk about that."
"Then what do you want to talk about?"
"I want to hire you."
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