Spookshow V: Half-Boys and Gypsy Girls, page 19
Didn’t people in desperate situations get a burst of adrenalin that gave them superhuman strength? Hadn’t she read that somewhere? Mothers lifting a car to free their trapped children? She had a crazy notion that it would kick in for her, too, that she’d toss the Englishman over her shoulder and race for the next exit like it was nothing.
She couldn’t even get him off the ground. Maybe she just wasn’t desperate enough.
The walls shook as an explosion from above rocked the foundations of the building. Debris and dust rained down from overhead. Panting, she looked at Mockler. “What if we hid somewhere, in a room with a fire-door? Maybe the fire won’t reach us down here?”
“The smoke would still kill us. There’s no way to keep it out.” Mockler wrapped the unconscious man’s arm over his shoulder, ready to lift him again. “We just have to keep trying.”
“Wait.”
“We don’t have time, Billie.”
She gripped his arm to stop him. “Just give me a second.”
Rising to her feet, she took a breath to calm the jack-hammering of her heart. It was a long shot, but they were out of options. She opened up to the other side and uttered a simple phrase into the realm of shades.
Help us.
“What are you doing,” grunted Mockler.
“Shh.”
Nothing happened. No spectral figure materialized before her. She expected the Half-Boy to appear, rushing in to the rescue as he had so many times in the past. Was she too far away for him to hear her? Maybe the fire was masking her cries for help.
Further down the corridor, something moved in the darkness. Billie opened up her heart all the way and a figure loomed from the inky pitch like it was glowing.
She took a step closer, trying to get a better look. “I know you,” she said.
“You shouldn’t be down here,” the figure said, although it had no mouth, only a ragged piece of jaw that flapped wetly from one hinge. A young man without a face, just the cratered catastrophe left by a shotgun blast.
“We have to get out of here,” she said. “Do you know a way out?”
“There’s a tunnel,” the ghost said. I’ll show you.
She turned to Mockler and helped lift Gantry onto his shoulders. “Time to go.”
They moved on, a strange expedition through the dark as the fire raged above. Billie kept one eye on the pale figure before her and another on the man behind as he grunted under his burden. They came to a metal door.
The dead youth nodded at the rusty swing handle. “I’d open it for you if I could.”
She began to panic when the handle refused to budge. She tipped her weight into it, but the handle remained seized.
“Hit it with something.” The youth looked over the floor. “The brick yonder.”
She found the brick that he indicated and hammered the stubborn handle. The smoke was souring the air and she hit it again. It clanged down, the door popping open.
The hinges squealed when she yanked it open and Mockler ferried his burden through. They resumed their march, Billie keeping one flashlight trained behind her to light Mockler’s path. They came to a silo with a winding metal staircase. The steps clanged under their feet as they went up and Billie heard Mockler straining harder to force himself up. One more door and they tumbled out into a cold wind. Gantry flopped over onto the ground where Mockler all but dropped him.
Billie scanned the area around them, trying to get her bearings. Across the street, the night was lit by the torrent of flames eating its way through the old factory building. Forty yards away, but she could feel the heat of it on her face.
“Thank you,” she wheezed to the young man without a face, but the ghost was gone.
~
“I still think we should take him to a hospital,” Mockler rasped, still out of breath.
“We’re here now,” Billie replied. “There’s no sense arguing about it anymore.”
John Gantry lay unconscious in Billie’s bed. His face had a waxy slick to it and his breathing was ragged. The debate over what to do with the injured man had rekindled once they found the car. The detective pressed for the hospital, but Billie was adamant that they return to her apartment. Ferrying the dead weight up the two flights of stairs to her apartment had almost wrecked them both after the escape from the bowels of the burning building.
“What if he dies here?” Mockler coughed, his throat seared from smoke inhalation. “Do you really want him, of all people, haunting you?”
The thought of Gantry as a ghost knocking around her apartment was unsettling. He was creepy enough in the real world. “He’s not going to die.”
Mockler gave the prone man the once over. “We don’t even know how badly he’s hurt. Leaving aside the fact that he’s officially dead.”
Billie left the room, returning with a bowl of water and a washcloth. Dabbing the dried blood and soot away, she assessed the various incisions to his chest and arms. “None of these wounds look that serious.”
“What about the stab to the back?” Mockler asked, referencing the assault Gantry had suffered while incarcerated.
Billie tossed the cloth into the bowl and took hold of the man’s shoulder. “Help me roll him on his side.”
Mockler grunted with disapproval, but helped her roll the body over all the same. Six angry wounds puckered the flesh of his back, ragged and red like they were infected. He heard Billie gasp at their severity.
“He needs a doctor, Billie. Simple as that.”
She turned to him, her eyes bright. “He knows a doctor. I met him once. What was his name? Jim?”
Something clicked. Mockler dug out his wallet and began tossing the contents out onto the floor. “Jameson. A surgeon.”
“How do you know that?”
“Where is it?” Mockler grumbled, sifting the crush of business cards on the floor. He snatched one up and showed it to her. “I met him too.”
The ex-surgeon stood in Billie’s small bedroom 20 minutes later looking down at the pale man in the bed. “I knew it was too good to be true,” Jameson griped, speaking directly to Gantry. “Why couldn’t you stay dead?”
Billie fired a look at Mockler, but the detective just shrugged, unsure of what to make of the exchange. Jameson had initially refused to come. After barking at Mockler for calling so late, he had withered at the request to come and help the slippery Englishman. Mockler could almost hear the air leak out of the ex-surgeon like a balloon deflating, but Jameson knew the score. Taking Gantry to a hospital was out of the question.
Billie softened her tone as she addressed the man. “Can you help him?”
Jameson discharged an odd laugh, almost cruel. “You realize that we’d all be better off if we just dumped him into the harbour now, don’t you?”
“It crossed my mind,” Mockler said. He needed to nudge the doctor along. “But it’s late and none of us are really up for premeditated homicide.”
The ex-surgeon had brought his medical bag with him, a vintage collapsible case of black leather with his initials embossed in gold leaf. Laying it on the floor, he undid the clasps and then pulled the sheet down to expose the injured man’s torso. Plucking out a pair of delicate scissors, he began cutting away the filthy bandages.
Billie hovered over the man. “Is there anything you need?”
“Scotch, over ice.”
“I meant for Gantry,” she said.
“Warm water and cloths to clean him up with. Gauze if you have any.” The man slipped a pair of glasses from his breast pocket, slid them onto his nose and looked at Billie. “The number for a competent exorcist, if you know any.”
She forced a smile. “We’re going to be awhile, aren’t we?”
“I’m afraid so. Better make that scotch a double.”
The couple took turns doing nurse duty as the doctor attended to the wounds, stitching the patient up cold without anaesthetic. Gantry stirred once, a slight spasm followed by a brief spat of muttering. Jameson declared it a good sign. Billie got the man a drink after that.
Another hour passed and the ex-surgeon packed away his instruments, announcing that he had done all he could. The rest was up to Gantry. He rose and stretched his neck before addressing the couple. “One of you will have to monitor him for the next day or so. Talk to him. Try and wake him. A good smack across the face might do the trick.”
“So, he’s going to make it?” Billie asked.
“Hard to tell with that one. How many times can you cheat death without it catching up to you?” Reaching into his doctor’s bag, Jameson pressed a handful of pills into Billie’s hand, each one individually wrapped. “Administer the blue ones twice a day. If he’s in pain, give him the green ones. They’re morphine.”
“Morphine?” Billie startled. “Is it that bad?”
“Bad? For someone who was carted away in a body bag, I’d say he was doing pretty well.”
“How did he do that?” Mockler asked. “He was declared dead and taken to the morgue. How is he still alive?”
Jameson took up his kit. “With Gantry, who knows? My guess is that the manipulative bastard is simply too pigheaded to die.” The ex-surgeon marched for the door, wiping his hands over his trouser legs as if he was no more than the neighbourhood repair man. “Keep me posted.”
~
“Who do you think those men were?” Billie fell back onto the sofa, her nerves frayed from the adrenalin come-down. “And what do they want with Gantry?”
“I wish I knew,” Mockler said as he settled beside her. “They must have taken him from the morgue.”
Settling back, she propped her feet onto his lap. “And brought him back to life?”
Mockler shook his head, unwilling to venture an answer.
Billie watched him rub his eyes as the adrenalin crash hit him, too. “Hey,” she said, gently prodding him with her toes. “You did good back there. Saving Gantry.”
“You’re the one who got us out of that hellhole. I just carried the luggage.” He stopped rubbing his eyes and his hand dropped to her ankle. “Did you know we would find him there?”
“No. It was just this pull I felt. Why?”
“Those two incidents have to be related,” he said. “The man killed in the woods and you finding Gantry in that basement. I just don’t know what it could be.”
“Maybe Gantry can tell us when he wakes up.”
If, they both thought but neither said aloud. If he wakes up.
Mockler turned to her. “Did you sense any connection? Or see anything about those two goons in the dark clothes?”
“Nothing. Those two were blank to me.” She watched his eyes droop. “Here. Why don’t you lie down? I’ll go sit with Gantry for a while.”
“Don’t get up,” he said, his hand locking around her ankle. “I’m fine right here.” Then, apropos of nothing, he said, “You need to eat more.”
“Huh?”
“I can get my whole hand around your ankle.”
“Oh. You like girls with thick ankles, is that what you’re telling me?”
“Winter’s coming. Time to fatten up before the snow falls.”
She smiled. “We’ll go visit Maggie. She’ll feed us till we can’t fit out the door.”
“Have you talked to her?”
“I should call. It’s been a while.” Billie sunk further into the cushions and looked up at the man on the other end of the sofa. “I like having you here,” she said.
Smirking, he leaned back and closed his eyes. “Wait till I start snoring. You might change your mind.”
She had meant to close her eyes for only a minute, but the cushions under her were too soft, molding to her frame. Waking later with a hard jerk, she leaned up on an elbow to see the clock on the wall. A minute had turned into two hours. Mockler remained in the same position, leaning back against the sofa. His snoring was low and rumbly, but not loud enough to wake her.
He’s going to have a stiff back if he spends the night like that, she thought. Swinging her feet to the floor, she puzzled over how to get him into a more comfortable position without waking him.
The floor creaked behind her. She turned, startling.
Gantry stood before the window, looking out at the city. The sheet from the bed wrapped around his shoulders.
“Gantry?” she said, rushing to him. “Are you all right? How do you feel? What happened to you?”
He didn’t turn to her or speak; his eyes vacant like that of a sleepwalker. Billie bit her lip, wondering what to do. She took his arm and tried to gently tug him back to the bedroom. “Everything’s okay,” she cooed. “Let’s get you back to bed.”
He wouldn’t budge, his eyes never breaking from the window. She’d have to wake Mockler to get the injured man back into bed.
“You…” he groaned.
“What?” Billie jerked. “Gantry, can you hear me? What did you say?”
“You should have left me there,” he said.
Chapter 25
GOING BLIND WAS a fear that Owen Rinalto had carried with him since the eighth grade, watching his grandfather lose his sight to cataracts. He remembered how helpless the old man became, how fragile and dependent on his grandmother for everything. The powerlessness of it was what had frightened Owen the most, planting in him a lifelong sensitivity to his eyes.
Now, he was blind too, just like his grandpa.
The primordial darkness of his cell had atrophied his sight to nothing. Even when his captors pushed open the door and dragged him out, he was blind. A faint glow in the darkness, but that was all. No forms or colours, just black with a pinprick of light. Helpless, just like grandpa.
They carried him up a flight of stairs and through a door before taking him into what felt like a much larger space. They dropped him to the floor and Owen felt himself spinning around as if cast off into space. They had injected so much shit into his veins that he feared he’d never get straight again. He was no stranger to drug use, having tried everything offered to him but he’d stopped cold when he met Justin and the two of them began exploring the paranormal. Encountering the supernatural was enough of a head trip, you didn’t want to do it high.
Voices echoed around him, the men addressing one another in the dark. All Owen could do was listen.
“He looks weak,” said one voice. A low gravel tone of authority and disdain. The superior. “How bad is he?”
“Fit enough,” said one of the others, the servile ones.
“Cut the psychotropics,” said the superior. “And feed him some protein. His time has come.”
“Now?” questioned the other subordinate. “But the next moon won’t appear for another ten days.”
“Recent developments require that we move up the timeline.”
“Developments?” asked one of the lower ranks. “What happened?”
“Gantry was discovered. Two individuals broke into the site and took him. We need to move things along.”
“Broke in? When?”
“Earlier this evening,” boomed the chieftain. “One of them was a cop. Possibly the detective who’s been hunting Gantry.”
“Did Elan and Morris escape?”
“They did. They torched the place. I had hoped that the fire consumed Gantry and his rescuers, but it was not to be.” The superior paused for a moment and then, continued. “Therefore, the Englishman remains a threat. We need to perform the ceremony now, before he interferes.”
“Not if we find him first. He couldn’t have gone far in his state.”
“Possibly,” the chieftain rumbled. “What about this ally of his? The gypsy girl? Do we know where she lives?”
“Yes.”
“Then, put a team together. If the Englishman is there, kill him.”
“What about the psychic woman?”
“Eliminate her, too.”
Owen strained to hear more, but the men had ceased talking. Blinking his dry eyes, a faint sluice of hope came over Owen. Maybe he wasn’t going blind after all. With his eyes adjusting to the faint ambient light, he could see that everything around him was painted black. The floor, the walls, the pews beside him. Was it a church?
“Clean him up. We need him to be the sacrifice, the least he can do is look like one.”
Footfalls echoed again. Owen couldn’t be sure, but it seemed that the boss had left the room. Before he could hear anymore, he felt himself jerked to his feet and pushed along.
“Pretty pet,” said one. “You get to play an important role in all this. You get to be dolled up and made to look pretty for the entity circling overhead. You ought to be proud.”
They were going to kill him. Of that, there was no doubt. And they were going to do it sooner rather than later. He was thrown to the floor and then he heard the squeal of a faucet being turned. The water was icy when it hit him.
~
John Gantry looked like a ghost seated on Billie’s sofa. With his blasted stare and quivering lip, the expatriate Brit could have been mistaken for one of the many lost dead that Billie had come across since discovering her gift. Or a wasted rock star, Billie thought, coming down after a particularly nasty binge.
He hadn’t spoken since the enigmatic gurgle at the window and Billie wondered if this really was a case of sleepwalking. Gantry sat hunched with the sheet around him, gazing out a thousand yards. The tea she’d made for him sat untouched and a thread of drool dangled from his lips.
Mockler folded his arms, observing the pale man. “The look in his eyes worries me. Maybe his mind is gone.”
“It’s just shock,” Billie said. “He’ll come around.”
“The man was dead. That’s gotta do a number on one’s mind.” Mockler winced as he stretched the kink out of his back, his muscles creaking after falling asleep in a sitting position. “What was it he said?”
“Something about leaving him behind,” she said with a shrug.
“Sounds like gibberish,” Mockler said.
The man on the sofa twitched. “Clueless as ever,” Gantry wheezed. “That’s a shocker.”
The couple in the room startled. Billie rushed closer. “Gantry? You awake?”
