The waxing moon hung in the December sky. Despite the natural haze of smog and the distraction of LA’s skyscrapers, which tried their best to outshine it, the lunar beacon beamed like a blessing . . . or a warning.
I knew Jay’s habits well by now and, as suspected, discovered him burning the midnight oil in his office. He sat at his desk working by the glow of his computer, its blueish illumination making him seem ghostly too.
In my invisible, intangible form I looked around, making sure we were truly alone. Times were different. Every year, CCD operatives had to deal with a higher risk of exposure. Which didn’t pair well with the fact that every year we also had to make a bigger splash to get people’s attention. CGI and special effects in movies had desensitized people. Once upon a time
