Spookshow V: Half-Boys and Gypsy Girls, page 23
“That’s different. I care about you.”
“I can’t explain it. None of this stuff follows any logic. It’s all intuitive.” Billie shrugged. Then she smiled at her friend. “But, you were right all along. You do have abilities. Welcome to the club.”
“How lame,” Kaitlin grumbled. “Feeling other people’s pain. What a crummy psychic power to have. Why couldn’t it be something cooler, like reading someone’s mind or seeing the future?”
“I don’t think you get to choose,” Billie replied. “It’s not lame to be an empath.”
“It kinda is,” Kaitlin disagreed. “It’s like being in the Super Friends but you’re not Batman or Wonder Woman, you’re, like, Aquaman.”
“Aquaman is cool.”
“What can he do?” Kaitlin asked. “Breathe under water? Big whoop.”
“He rides a big seahorse?” Billie offered. It was a stretch. Laughter trickled out and faded away. Kaitlin finished her wine and reached for the bottle. “Refill?”
Billie waved her off. “No, I need to keep my head clear right now.” She chewed her lip again, turning a thought over in her mind. “Kaitlin, do you think you could sense Owen now? If you tried?”
“I don’t know. I sensed his pain when he was hurt, but I don’t think it works the other way.”
“But it might,” Billie said. “If you try.”
Kaitlin shrugged. “Maybe, but do I want to feel his pain again? His terror? No, thanks.”
“What if it saved him from the people who want to hurt him?” Billie asked. “I need to find him, Kaitlin. The people who took him are planning to kill him the same way they killed Justin.”
Kaitlin’s posture fell, like she had already given up. “I don’t think I can do it, Billie. I’m not that strong.”
Billie reached for her friend’s hand. A tiny frisson in the contact. Then, Billie looked up, her eyes bright. “I have an idea.”
Chapter 29
THE FLOOR IN Mockler’s bathroom was porcelain tile and cold. Small mercies, Gantry thought as his head lay against it, the chill of the floor cooling his feverish brow. He may have pushed it a little too soon this time, but how was he to bloody know? It’s not like there was a field guide to clawing your way back from death.
Returning to the empty house on Bristol Street, he had pilfered the only bottle he could find in Mockler’s cupboards, an Irish whiskey of passable repute. Pouring a lethal length of it into a glass, he lit a cigarette from the fresh pack and settled into a chair in the living room to think, to plan. The rich vibe of an old Lee Hazelwood song spun out of the Hi-Fi cabinet.
Then, his guts revolted on him, sending him racing for the bog before he lost his lunch. Retching into the toilet, he crumpled to the cold floor and stayed very, very still. With his forehead cooling against the tile, he wondered if the lit cigarette he had dropped was burning a hole through the detective’s sofa. He grinned at the thought, but even that tiny effort was agony.
He pushed himself up and leaned back against the wall, wheezing from the exertion. He touched his brow, hot with fever. It was like a nasty flu and a vicious hangover mixed and shaken together. Maybe, he should have stayed dead.
It took a full 10 minutes to simply get down the stairs, but, when he reached the first floor, he felt better. Or, at least, not so absolutely wretched. His skin felt cooler and he wondered if the fever was breaking only to realize that the temperature in the house was dropping. As if a door had been left open to let the cold wind whistle through the house. Were the happy couple home already?
Something clattered in the kitchen. Followed by a scraping noise from the back of the house. Gantry felt his heartbeat ratchet up. Had the bizarro assault team found them? If they had, then he was a goner, barely able to stay upright, let alone run for the hills. The cold spell should have twigged him to who it was.
He never thought that he would be relieved to see the legless ghastly little boy, but he whistled in gratitude that it wasn’t the assault troop with their guns and stun grenades. The Half-Boy crawled over the lintel of the doorway, pulled himself along on his hands to the centre of the ceiling and stared down at the sickly-looking man below. The look on his face was not friendly.
Gantry backed up. He was in no shape to tussle with the ghostly amputee. His hands went up like a white flag. “Hold on, son. I don’t wanna scrap.”
The boy crept forward in his eerie imitation of some outsized gekko toward the man below.
“If you’re looking for Billie, she’s not here.” Gantry backed up against the wall. The front door was another 30 paces through the hall. Useless. There’s no way he could outrun the ghost, not even a legless one who walked on his hands. The gruesome Half-Boy would thrash him senseless. Think fast. “What is it with you and Billie anyway? What’s your secret?”
The boy slowed his advance, his head tilting like a dog hearing a strange sound.
“You’re a nasty piece of work,” Gantry went on. “But, she’s got a soft spot for that ghastly mug of yours. God knows why.”
The Half-Boy skittered down the wall to the floor.
Keep talking, Gantry thought. Distract the little bastard. “You know she’s trying to find out who you were. Your name. How you died. Why would she bother?”
The boy hunkered down, not unlike a cat lowering itself onto its haunches, like he wanted to hear more.
“She said you were part of a séance act put on by some charlatan. Is that true?”
There was no reply, of course, but the mute phantom flinched at his words all the same and Gantry studied the child crouched there. How dreadful was that existence? His own brief experience with death had humbled him to his core and the wily mage wondered how awful it must be for this ghost child, alone and lost in the cold netherworld of the unmourned dead, unable to communicate, visible only to those individuals with gifts like Billie. Was it any wonder that the boy clung to the bird who could see him?
“Why don’t you help her?” Gantry asked. “I know you can’t speak, but give the girl a clue, yeah? Scratch out your name with a piece of chalk at least.”
He watched the boy closely, scrutinizing how the legless child shrank from his question like he’d been stung. Gantry grinned. It was obvious, really. It even made sense. “You don’t want her to know, do you? You’re ashamed of it. Scared she’ll think less of you.”
Now, it was the ghost who backed away, pushing his truncated form toward the shadows. A wary child retreating from the fist of a wrathful father.
Gantry pressed the issue, inching closer. “She won’t judge you,” he said. “It’s not her nature. You should know that by now. Tell her who you are. She’ll understand.” He lashed out, quick as a rattlesnake. The ghost hissed and slapped his hands away, scuttling away to a dark corner.
Gantry took hold of the lamp and tilted it until the circular pool of light hit the dark corner where the phantom had retreated. There was nothing. Just the dusty baseboard. The boy had vanished. Gantry opened his hand and, looking down at the small object in his palm, smiled.
~
“I can’t do it,” Kaitlin said. “It doesn’t work that way.”
“Yes, you can. You just need to try.”
Kaitlin clenched her jaw, reluctant to even contemplate the idea. “When I sensed Owen before, it was out of the blue. I had no control over it. I wasn’t even thinking about him when it happened.”
“I know,” Billie said. “But it’s still a two-way street.”
“You want me to reach out somehow and find him? I don’t even know how.” Kaitlin dug in her heels. “He was in pain last time. Why would I want to feel that again?”
“If there’s a chance you could help him, shouldn’t you at least try?” Billie asked.
The hard set to Kaitlin’s eyes retreated. “How?”
“You need to open up that part of you,” Billie said. “Close your eyes and take a deep breath.”
“Sounds like yoga.”
“Whatever works,” Billie suggested.
“I hate yoga.”
“Think of it like meditation. Just calm your breathing and clear your head.” Billie watched her friend close her eyes and become still. “Then, think about Owen. You told me once that he wasn’t such a bad guy. Think about the good parts of him. What was nice about him?”
“He was considerate,” Kaitlin said, her eyes still closed. “He went out of his way to make me feel included in their crew.”
“Good. Focus on that and only that. Keep Owen in your mind and breathe slowly.” Billie moved closer on the couch and then slid her hand into Kaitlin’s fist.
Nothing happened. Kaitlin continued to breathe. Billie scowled, disappointed her plan didn’t work. She hoped that her ability to strengthen a ghost would work in this case, too, boosting Kaitlin’s empathic abilities so that she could sense Owen again. She was disappointed when no eerie spark emitted from Kaitlin’s touch. Maybe it only worked on the dead.
“Ouch,” Kaitlin winced in pain and pulled her hand away.
Billie gripped her hand tighter, not wanting to break the connection. “What is it?”
“It hurts.”
“Is it him?”
“I don’t know. There’s just this awful pain on my back and down my chest. Jesus, this hurts, Billie.”
“Hold on,” Billie urged. “Try to look around. See what he sees.”
“It’s dark,” Kaitlin whispered. “There’s someone else here. They’re hurting me. I mean Owen. They have a knife. A small one, like a scalpel. Oh God, they’re cutting me.”
Kaitlin flinched and recoiled, trying to get away from the pain. She tugged her hand away again. Billie squeezed harder. “Hold on, Kay. Stay with him a little longer.”
“I can’t. It hurts too much. God, there’s blood everywhere.”
“Are they trying to kill him?”
Kaitlin shook her head. She was panting hard for breath. “No, they’re just cutting his skin in weird ways. It’s like they’re carving something into him. Why are they doing that to him?”
“Look around. Find something that you can identify, something that could locate him.”
“It’s too dark and this hurts too much. Billie, I don’t want to do this anymore.”
“Open your eyes, Kaitlin. Now.”
Her eyes opened, terror flushed hard in them. Kaitlin reared back and scrabbling away.
“Tell me what you see,” Billie demanded.
Kaitlin’s eyes darted around. “I’m underground…in a basement or something. There’s windows, but they’re painted black.”
“What else? Look harder.”
“There are two men in the room, but I can’t see their faces. They’re coming back. They have knives. Oh God—”
Kaitlin gritted her teeth in agony, growling through the pain. Billie watched in horror as blood appeared on her friend’s neck, just above the collar bone. A thin line of it, as if she was being cut by a blade.
Billie released her. “Kaitlin, let go.” The naked terror remained in the woman’s eyes, still caught in the bond with the suffering man. Billie shook her, smacking Kaitlin’s cheek to make her untether from Owen. “Let him go! It’s over.”
The break was instant. Kaitlin collapsed into Billie like a house of cards coming down and her shoulders heaved as she gasped for breath. Billie wrapped her arms around the woman and held her tight, whispering to her that it was all over now.
~
The car was getting cold. Mockler started the engine and turned up the heat. He jumped when the door flung open.
“We need to get back,” Billie said, dropping into the passenger seat.
Mockler turned around as Kaitlin climbed into the back. “What happened?”
“I’ll explain on the way. We need to talk to Gantry.”
The detective spun the car out of the parking space and roared back onto Ontario Street. He glanced at the woman next to him and the pale wash of panic in her face made him stomp the accelerator.
A groan issued from the backseat. Billie turned around. “Kaitlin? What’s wrong?”
“My head is killing me.” Kaitlin sat hunched over with her head in her hands. “Is this what a migraine feels like?”
“Keep your head down and breathe through it,” Billie said. “It’ll pass in a while.”
“Does this always happen?”
“Yes,” Billie confirmed. “It hurts to open up. I’m sorry.”
Charging a yellow traffic signal, Mockler laid on the horn as a warning as he cut through the red light. The honking protests faded behind them. “Almost there,” he said.
~
“What do you mean they’re going to kill Owen?” Gantry shouted over the loud music, incredulous. “How do you know?”
The three of them burst into the house to find John Gantry sitting cross-legged on the floor before the stereo cabinet. The volume was cranked all the way and the stand-up ashtray next to him was full of crushed cigarette butts, the air poisoned with second-hand smoke.
“For Christ’s sakes, Gantry,” Mockler barked as he lowered the volume. “Smoke outside, not in my house.”
“It’s cold outside,” Gantry said. “Cut me some slack, mate. I just returned from the dead, remember.”
“Shove it,” Mockler replied. He took away the ashtray and marched to the kitchen. “You don’t get to play the sympathy card anymore.”
“Crabby tonight, are we?” Gantry scoffed and then shifted gears as he smiled up at the new arrival. “Hullo, Kaitlin. How have you been, luv?”
“I’ve felt better,” Kaitlin said, sinking into a chair.
“You look a little green, girl.” Gantry looked at Billie. “What have you done to her?”
“She found Owen,” Billie answered. “She sensed him being carved up. Just like the other one. I think they’re preparing him for the ritual now.”
Gantry shook his head. “Can’t be. The next full moon isn’t for a week from now.” He turned back to Kaitlin. “Are you sure of what you saw?”
Kaitlin nodded. “Positive.”
Mockler lifted the window sash to air the place out. “So, these people have moved up the timeline. That means Owen will die soon if we don’t find him. What else?”
“It means that they don’t need the full moon,” Billie said. “What changed?”
“I don’t know,” Gantry said. “It’s a moot point though. They’re summoning Old Scratch now. We can’t let them do that.”
Kaitlin looked at Billie. “Old Scratch?”
“It’s a demon, luv,” Gantry said. “A nasty one.”
Kaitlin’s jaw dropped as she looked from the Englishman to the psychic. “Demon?”
“It’s a long story,” Billie shrugged.
“For the record,” Mockler said, speaking to Kaitlin, “I can’t swallow the demon business either, but it doesn’t matter. If these people are performing this voodoo trick now, then that means they’re going to kill Owen. We need to find them before that happens.”
“That’s the tricky part,” Gantry grumbled. He looked to Billie. “Did you two pick up on anything about where he’s being held?”
“Kaitlin sensed a basement,” Billie said. “With the windows painted black.”
Mockler stirred. “Black?”
“It was a church,” Kaitlin interjected.
Billie turned to her. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I didn’t realize it until now, but it was definitely a church.”
The two men slapped their foreheads at almost the same instant.
“The church of the black windows,” Mockler uttered. He looked to the Englishman on the floor.
“Szandor,” Gantry snarled. “That worthless sack of shite.”
Billie and Kaitlin exchanged glances before turning to the men. “Who?”
“Szandor LaVey,” Gantry said. “The deacon of our local Church of Satan.
Mockler spoke up. “I questioned him. The son of a bitch acted as innocent as a lamb.”
“You met him once,” Gantry said to Billie. “Remember the bald prat with the face like a nun’s arse? That’s him.”
Billie shot to her feet. “Mystery solved. Let’s go get Owen.”
“Hold on,” Mockler warned. “We need to think this through.”
Billie turned on him. “What’s there to think about? Owen is at that weirdo church. We need to go get him.”
“He’s right,” Gantry said. “We can’t just waltz in there and take him. We need a plan.”
Kaitlin chewed a nail. She looked at the police detective. “Can’t you just call in more cops and storm the place?”
“Not without a warrant,” Mockler said. “Or putting all of us into trouble. No cops. Just us.” He hated seeing eye-to-eye with Gantry on any detail, but this point was crystal clear. “We need a plan.”
“Then, we’ll figure one out on the way.” Billie gripped her man’s arm and tugged him toward the door. “Let’s go.”
Mockler scowled at the idea. “Give me a second,” he said and marched into the kitchen. The cupboard next to the refrigerator was still bare except for a large bowl on the top shelf. He reached into it and pulled down his service weapon. He placed it here every night when he came home from work, a habit he had developed from living with someone who suffered numbing bouts of depression. Depressing the release lever with his thumb, he slid the magazine from the handle. A full deck. He knew for a fact that there was no round in the chamber, but he racked the slide just to be sure. The magazine slid back into place and the Glock went back into its holster.
Billie entered the room and saw the detective bring up a baseball bat, the same one that Christina had almost brained her with.
“Gantry,” Mockler said, brandishing the bat, “you ever use one of these?”
Gantry stood at the sink, filling a glass of water. “Not my sport, mate.”
“Take it.”
“Give it to Billie,” Gantry said, opening a pill bottle. He tossed a handful in his mouth and washed it down. “I don’t need it,” he mumbled through a full mouth.
