Spookshow V: Half-Boys and Gypsy Girls, page 21
Gantry didn’t respond, like he hadn’t heard anything.
“Hey.” She touched his knee. “What is it?”
He folded his arms to still his trembling hand. “Just not in a chatty mood. Being dead will do that to you.”
“That must have been terrifying,” she said, unsure of how to respond. How do you console someone who’s been dead?
“I don’t think all of me came back.”
“What do you mean?”
He shook his head slowly. “Something isn’t right. Down deep not right. I feel bloody hollow.” Gantry’s eyes darted about the room like a bird flitting from perch to perch, unable to land. “If I had a poetic inclination, I’d say I came back without a soul.”
“I don’t know if that’s possible.” She studied him anew, this uncharacteristic introspection. “Are you getting sicker? You seemed almost chipper earlier.”
“That was a poker face, for your boyfriend’s benefit,” he mumbled. “Pride’s always been my downfall.”
“I see. No poker face for me?”
“You’re different,” he said.
She smiled. He reached for his cigarettes, but she stopped his hand. “Why don’t you lay off that for now? Go get some sleep.”
“The Florence Nightingale thing is getting a bit much,” Gantry groused, but he dropped the pack all the same. He turned around, looking over the apartment like he had misplaced something. “Where’s that little bastard of a pet you keep?”
“He’s not a pet.”
“He’s a fucking junkyard dog is what he is. Did you finally give the tosser the heave-ho?”
Billie crossed to the small window that the boy often left open. “I tried to help him move on, but that blew up in my face. So, I’m trying something new.”
“An exorcism?”
“Your rotten humour’s coming back.” Pushing back the curtain, she scanned the street below. A couple walking arm-in-arm were the only pedestrians within view. No sign of the little ghost creeping along the side of a building. “Mockler and I are trying to find out who he was.”
“Oh?” he sneered. “With you and Scooby-Doo on the case, I’m sure you’ll crack that mystery in no time.”
“Be nice,” Billie scolded. “He carried your sorry butt all the way out of that deathtrap.”
“Then, we’re even.” Gantry snatched up the crumpled pack and lit up. “So? Have you dug up anything on the legless wonder?”
“A few things. He died in 1906. His body was found in the harbour. And he used to be part of an act put on by a clairvoyant.”
Gantry sat up. “Clairvoyant? You’re joking.”
“This guy used to put on séances and he used the boy as a medium. The conduit, he called him.” Billie took one of the printed pages from her desk and handed it across. “This guy.”
“Archibald Crump,” Gantry said, reading the old advertisement. “Sounds like a complete git. Was he the boy’s dad?”
“Dunno. That’s as far as we’ve gotten.”
“That’s more than coincidence, the boy being a medium,” Gantry stated, reading the column a second time. There was no reply. Gantry turned to her. “Billie?”
“Someone’s here,” she said, her eyes on the front door.
“I don’t hear anything,” he said.
The door blew in with a thunderous crack, as if kicked open by an explosion. Three dark-clad figures stormed inside, rushing the startled psychic and the shivering man wrapped in a bed sheet.
~
Running errands never sat well with Detective Mockler. Running errands for that no-good limey prick was even worse. Locking the door to Gantry’s flat behind him, Mockler had a wicked notion to call Odinbeck and have the cramped apartment seized for evidence. Just to piss off Gantry. The only thing that held him back was Billie. She might need the slippery bastard’s help.
Despite what had occurred over the last few weeks when Gantry had helped them to locate the remains of Mary Agnes Culpepper, Mockler still resented the fact that Gantry was a part of Billie’s life. Disaster followed the man around like a puppy dog and he didn’t want Billie caught in the fallout of any of that fool’s madness.
The truth of the matter was that John Gantry was still a wanted criminal. He was duty-bound to arrest him. Billie would be furious with him, but, at least, she’d be out of danger with the man locked up. The real crux was whether he himself could betray the man like that now, after everything that had transpired.
Parking across the street from Billie’s building, Mockler climbed out and opened the backdoor to fetch the bundle of clothes from the backseat. The sound of shattering glass made him turn around. Shards of it rained down across the pavement. Mockler looked up to see the source, a third floor window in the top apartment. Billie’s flat.
~
There was no time to react. Billie’s jaw dropped, frozen in shock at the intruders storming the apartment. She felt Gantry shove her away.
“Billie,” he snarled. “Run!”
She counted three of them before she was slammed into a wall by gloved hands and thrown to the floor. Gantry, naked save for the sheet and weak as a newborn foal, went down even faster. It was over that quickly.
The knee pressed into her back kept Billie pinned flat to the floor. She screamed at the invaders to get out, to get off of her. The gloved fist smacked hard across her mouth as the brute barked at her to shut up. Squinting through the sting, she saw Gantry struggle against the intruder until he crumpled under a rain of blows.
There was little to distinguish the men who had burst in. They were clad in black fatigues like a SWAT team, their faces masked under inky balaclavas. For a moment, she thought this violent raid was a mistake, that these men were a police assault unit busting down the wrong door, but the way they viciously beat the Englishman told her otherwise.
“The target’s subdued,” said one of the men.
“Check,” said another. “Is that the gypsy?”
“Has to be her,” hissed the one with his knee hammered into Billie’s back. “What do we do with her?”
“Take her with us. Bind them.”
Billie panicked, kicking her feet, trying to buck the man off, but it was hopeless. Her wrists were yanked behind her back and she felt a plastic tie wrap over them. All she could do was curse at them, spitting a blue streak of obscenities at the invaders.
She stopped cursing when she felt something shift in the room, a subtle change in the atmosphere. She almost smiled when she felt the temperature plummet as a cold wave passed over her. The cavalry had just arrived. He always did.
“Hostile!” barked one of the men.
All three shot to their feet, heads up, alert to any danger.
Billie caught a glimpse of something scuttling across the ceiling like an enormous spider. There was a flash of snarling teeth as the Half-Boy dropped onto the heads of the assault team. A wicked thought flared through Billie’s mind as she watched him.
Hurt them.
The moment was brief, hope snapping off and blowing away in the wind. One of the black-clad invaders had a weapon of some kind, a dark metal contraption that didn’t look anything like a gun. The sound it emitted was so sharp it hurt her ears. The Half-Boy bounced off of the piercing noise, scrabbling away as if he was on fire. Charging across the floor, his teeth popped in an outraged snarl as he sprang at the invaders. The weapon came up, levelled a full frontal blast and the boy was blown clean out the window, shattering the glass as he was ejected into the night.
The pain in her ears scrambled her thoughts. What had they done to him? How could they hurt something that was already dead? Clamping her hands over her ears, she saw the dark men confer, but she couldn’t hear a word they were saying. She couldn’t hear anything at all beyond a high-pitched tone that whined hot in her eardrums.
To her left, Gantry struggled to get up. A thin line of blood trickled from his ear. Billie watched helplessly as he was kicked down under a heavy boot. The plastic ties came out as the marauders set about binding the Englishman’s wrists. The one with the strange weapon slung the device behind his back and turned on her but, then, he suddenly froze, looking past Billie to something at the door.
Mockler. Gun locked in both hands, the barrel aimed at the intruders. He was barking something as he advanced, but Billie was deaf to it. The dark men took a step back. One of them hurled something at the floor and white light exploded across the room. Billie fell backward as her retinas were scorched, now blind as well as deaf.
Chapter 27
THE FIRST SENSE to awaken was touch. A low rumbling through her bones that puzzled her until she recognized what it was. She was in a car, driving somewhere. The stinging in her ears had subsided but the sound was muffled. She wondered if she would have permanent hearing damage. Her vision was a different story, clouded by a white flare that didn’t recede no matter how many times she blinked.
She felt a hand on her wrist and knew immediately that it was Mockler. He was on her left, which meant that she was in the passenger seat. She could hear his voice, but his words were squelched by the ringing in her ears.
“Where’s Gantry?” she asked. “Who were those men?” She kept asking questions, but was unable to hear her own voice, let alone his. She felt his hand squeeze hers. A signal. Stay calm. Everything’s going to be okay. At least, that’s what she hoped his gesture meant.
The hot flare in her retinas had dimmed by the time the car shut down, allowing her to just make out the exterior of his house as she climbed out of the car. Gantry brushed past her, a hazy outline as he stumbled out of the backseat. The detective took hold of their arms and led the pair up the porch steps. Once inside, she was settled onto the old sofa where she sat with her head down until the nausea passed.
Music filtered through the ringing in her eardrums, a jazzy musical riff like something from an old movie. Lifting her head, Billie turned to the sound to find an unlikely sight. John Gantry was leaning over the old Hi-Fi cabinet in Mockler’s living room, sifting through old record sleeves.
“Hey,” she said, grateful to hear her own voice.
“Do you hear that?” Gantry said. He adjusted a knob on the old sound system. “So warm. They don’t make ‘em like that anymore.”
Gantry seemed a new man. Gone was the bedsheet and the blasted void in his eyes. His hair was still wet from a shower and he was dressed in a familiar dark suit, but somehow Gantry still managed to look haphazardly thrown together. She wondered how much of it was pure affectation. He turned and hollered into the next room. “She’s up!”
“Ouch.” Her back muscles squealed in protest as she straightened up. “How long was I out?”
“Long enough for your friend to make himself look pretty,” Mockler said as he came into the room. “How do you feel?”
“Dizzy,” she said. “But at least I can hear you. What happened back there?”
“We were hit with this.” Mockler placed something into her open palm. A metal cylinder with holes bored into the barrel. “Flashbang grenade.”
Billie turned the piece over in her hand. “A grenade?”
“It doesn’t explode shrapnel; it disorients a target with light and sound.” Mockler took the cylinder back. “This is military grade. Whoever these people are, they’re dangerous.”
“Let’s not give them too much credit,” Gantry said. “They’re a pack of tossers in Rambo gear.”
“They had you flat on your face, didn’t they?” Mocker challenged. “These are the same people who held you captive until we sprang you. Let’s not underestimate them.”
“How did they know where I lived?” Billie got to her feet, steadying herself. She looked to Gantry. “And how did they know you were there?”
Mockler’s gaze was unfriendly. “Did you tell them about Billie?”
“I told them bugger all,” Gantry snapped. “You know that.”
“Then, how did they track you down?”
“Clearly, they have a few tricks up their sleeves. Minor hocus pocus.”
Mockler shook the grenade in his hand. It rattled. “I wouldn’t call this minor. These people are hardcore. We need to know who we’re up against. Time to spill the beans, Gantry.”
“I’ll sort these fuckers; don’t worry about that. Just stay out of the way and I’ll bring you their heads on a platter.”
Mockler crossed the floor, chest puffed. “Not with Billie in danger. You need to cut the man of mystery bullshit and level with us. If not, I’ll just take it into the office and make this an official police matter.”
The two men were nose to nose. Billie shook her head at the posturing. “For God’s sakes, don’t start.”
“Aye, bring in the filth,” Gantry scoffed, too caught up in the brinkmanship to hear the woman. “I’m sure the constabulary will handle this mess forthwith. Exactly how are you going to explain your involvement in this, detective?”
“They can fire me for all I care, asshole. At the very least, they’d ensure that Billie was safe rather than leave her in the lurch like you.”
The threat of violence rippled in the air. Fed up with the blustering, Billie had no stomach for playing referee anymore. The overhead light flickered rapidly, stuttering the room in strobes of light. “Enough. I’m in no mood to referee another punch-up. Just sit down and shut up.”
Mockler stepped away. He had sense enough to be shamed. Gantry sulked, unwilling to give up the juvenile posturing. “He started it.”
Billie massaged her temples, dreading the whopper of a headache coming on. “Gantry, you said that we have eight days until they try another ritual with Owen. What are they after? And what does it have to do with you?”
Gantry stepped toward the window that looked out onto the backyard. “I made a mistake a long time ago. And I’ve been paying for it ever since. Others have paid the price too.”
His voice trailed off. Billie watched the Englishman, his face turned away. Whatever he was digging at was buried deep, so she waited for him to continue but he went silent. “Who paid?”
“Ellie,” he said. “She paid the most.”
“Who?” Mockler snapped, impatience lacing his tone. Billie gripped his wrist, returning the non-verbal communication of earlier. Let him speak.
Gantry leaned back against the mahogany stereo cabinet. “In 2006, a construction crew was excavating a carpark in Norfolk when they broke open a hidden tomb. Archaeologists from the uni were called in to identify it. Their best guess was a minor lord from the late medieval period, but they were wrong. I was a hundred miles away at the time, pissed out of me skull in Covent Garden, but my radar went off like an alarm when that crew broke the seal on that tomb. I got my arse up there in a flash to have a boo. I knew straight away this wasn’t some two bit chief, but something much more interesting. It was the burial site of Margaret Read of King’s Lynn, burned at the stake in fifteen-ninety for being a witch. Now, most people executed for witchcraft were completely innocent but old Margaret was a different story. A true matriarch of power, and Margie knew lots of secrets.
“Being the arrogant prick I was, I wanted to know her secrets. So, I conjured her. A little hocus pocus, like a trawl line down into the underworld, and I dragged the old girl to the surface. Margie was none too pleased to be disturbed, but everything blew up in my face when I realized she wasn’t alone. Something else had scratched its way to the surface with her.”
Here, Gantry paused to light a cigarette, the look in his eyes far away. Billie felt Mockler grow impatient beside her. The more outlandish the tale became, the more he fidgeted. She clamped his wrist harder to keep him still.
“Old Margaret, she was the real deal. A true witch, but not the wicked kind from the fairy tales, yeah. When they burned her, Margie’s heart leapt from the fire and left a mark on a wall that’s visible to this day. Her village was being decimated by something evil and Margie was trying to get rid of it. That’s when she was accused by the church of witchcraft and lashed to the stake, but old Margaret, she was a fighter. Just before they set fire to the kindling, Margie invited the demon into her and they both went up in flames. The old girl sacrificed herself to save the very people who had condemned her.”
“Hold on,” Mockler interrupted, no longer able to stay quiet. “Did you say demon?”
“I did. That’s why her heart burst from the flames, still beating. Margaret had gone down fighting and, stupid me, when I conjured her back, that thing came, too.” Gantry blew smoke from his nostrils, like some nether thing himself. “Then, it got loose.”
With a flourish of defeat, the detective rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want to hear anymore.”
Billie looked up at Gantry. “Is that what happened to Ellie?”
“He’s a spiteful bastard, this one,” Gantry nodded. “With a flair for cruelty. Instead of coming after me directly, it skulked about, waiting to see who I cared about. It took hold of Ellie on a June night. We had gone round to see some friends, but Ellie said she wasn’t feeling well. So we went home and she went to bed. I found her the next morning on the stoop, stark naked in the rain. Her eyes as lifeless as glass. That’s when it started. Ellie was never the same again.”
Piecing together the hints that Gantry had dropped since she’d met him, Billie guessed what happened next. “You performed an exorcism.”
“Bingo. And I failed. Ellie died. The filth suspected me of murder. I went underground for good.”
“What happened to the demon?” Billie asked, faltering over the last word.
“It got loose. I’ve been chasing it ever since. Manchester, Glasgow, Oslo, Madrid. Then, finally here.” Gantry locked eyes with the detective. “That’s when you and I crossed paths.”
Mockler’s hands dropped into his lap. He looked pale. “The Jane Doe in the tenement.”
“It’s last victim,” Gantry confirmed.
Billie took a breath, trying to take all of it in. “Why did it come here? To Hamilton?”
