“Did you ever find out why he was brought there in the first place?” Valerie asked.
The ghost shook his head and sighed. “Nah. Johnny and I have been looking into it ever since we met but we’ve still come up short. Not to slight the kid, but while he is special by normal terms, I can’t see him being special enough to be singled out like he was. Although maybe he wasn’t and whatever brought him in was only looking for a snack.
“I happened to see him wandering the halls and I can’t tell you who was more surprised to see who.” He clenched his teeth and shook his head. “Then something…a long-armed, shadowy bastard with a ghoulish look lunged out of the dark and grabbed him, dug its nails into him, and started to drain him—blood, soul, and everything. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Vic patted his gun and scowled. “I blasted it away and it scampered into the building with a wild shriek. A banshee would be jealous of the racket it made. When I went to him, his body and soul were damaged. I didn’t know what would happen to him—a living being killed in the afterlife? Would he turn into a ghost on the spot? Would he disappear? I honestly didn’t want to find out either way. For the first time in a long damn time, I simply prayed and hoped I could think of something that could save the kid. After a while, I did—a bonding.”
“Bonding?” Valerie recognized the term. “That’s when there’s a connection between souls right?”
He nodded. “It’s not as romantic as most make it seem. There can be bonding between a living and dead person if their relationship was close in life, but ghosts can bond with whoever. It can be used rather maliciously by tough guys trying to keep tabs on their underlings and such but bonded ghosts can help each other out. Like if they get scuffed, they can give some of their phantasma to each other to help the healing process speed up.
“Again, I wasn’t sure if it would work on a living person, but the kid was in the ghost world at the time so it was better than merely watching him croak. It would heal his soul, at least.” He extended a hand to illustrate his explanation. “I placed my hand on his chest and told him what I was trying to do. All he could do was nod but it was enough. I tried to patch him up and did the best I could. He ended up falling asleep and in another first in a long time, so did I. When we woke we were back in the realm of the living, much to my shock. I still haven’t paid a visit to the guy who gave me the gig to go over there. He’s probably still pissed.”
“And you’ve been together ever since,” Valerie surmised. “His parents didn’t have anything to say about all this?”
“It’s not my place to talk about the family life,” Vic said with a wave of his hand. “But it took a while to settle. He was the one who wanted to get into this business, and after I realized I couldn’t go back to the ghost world—well, I could, but I would always pass out and reappear next to him, and he would get sick if I was gone too long. Well, to become a mentor wasn’t exactly a dream of mine but it's worked out well enough.”
“Wow, that’s…wow,” Annie muttered as if still trying to take it in.
The young officer snickered and shook her head. “So what does that make you? What does that make Johnny?”
“Technically, it makes Johnny a revenant—a living ghost,” he answered. “Although only kind of. Revenants are super-rare and generally are made when someone has a traumatic enough experience to die but their will to live and desire for something—be it revenge or to say goodbye to their loved one—is so damn strong that they continue to live in their technically dead body until they are utterly destroyed or complete their mission. But Johnny is something of an oddity.” He chuckled. “Some of the fine ladies and gentleman at the places where we get gigs even gave him a nickname, Rev. Johnny.”
Valerie nodded, impressed. “It’s not a bad nickname.”
“I don’t think he’s too fond of it, to be honest.” At a knock on the door, Vic opened it and Johnny helped Marco to limp into the room. “Do you feel better?”
“I’m not gonna die of blood loss yet,” his partner responded as he helped Marco to sit next to his sister before he collapsed on the bed behind them. “Although I’m very lightheaded. Is that bad?”
“Eh, don’t worry about it.” The ghost looked around. “Now that the group is all here, let’s go over the facts. Even if it's only to have some clue where to start.”
Chapter Fifteen
Valerie sat on the couch next to Johnny and read the letter he had found. Vic and Marco were checking on Annie, who sat on another sofa nearby, but she seemed more worried about her brother’s injuries than her own.
“I’m fine, Ann,” he assured her and touched his nose gingerly. “I need to set this, though.”
She went to touch his broken nose and winced when he did. “It hurts bad, huh? If we go to a hospital we can get you some—”
“Scooch aside for a second,” the ghost ordered as he moved closer to Marco. “It could be worse but I’ll bet it’s painful.”
“You’d win that bet.” Marco sucked a sharp breath in as he tried to correct his nose with shaking hands. “Dammit, I’ve done this before it shouldn’t be so—aaagghh!” His shout was one of pain and surprise when Vic pressed his thumbs against the bridge of his nose and pushed it into place. Annie looked at him with shock and her brother with concern. “Merda! God, that hurt.” He sniffed, wrinkled his nose for a moment, and nodded. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Vic said with a nod as he put his hands in his jacket pockets and drifted to Johnny and Val. “So, what are you looking for, exactly? Do you think there’s invisible ink or something?”
“I’m trying a fresh pair of eyes, Vic,” his partner said and sank deeper into the sofa. “Does anything jump out at you, Valerie?”
“Well…the ax is certainly appropriate.” She tapped the start of the message. “But this intro and the location—‘hottest Hell’—gives me pause. I remember something about it.”
The ghost detective shrugged. “I thought it was only the usual psycho babble. Hottest hell, darkest depths…most of these nutcases have a theatrical streak. It would be quite an accomplishment if this guy got a letter from actual Hell. For all the craziness of the afterlife, I’ve never heard of someone getting out of the big furnace.”
Valerie took her phone out and began to search the web. “I’m not saying that’s where our perp is from but the line is familiar.” She tapped it in and went silent for a moment. “Are you kidding me?”
Johnny tried to look over her shoulder. “What’s up?”
She put her phone down and hung her head. “God, I hope it’s a copycat.”
“Again, what’s up?” Vic asked. “What did you find?”
When she looked up, all eyes were on her and she frowned as she entered something else into her phone. “Are any of you familiar with the Axman of New Orleans?”
Johnny was not and when he looked at Vic’s quizzical expression, he assumed he did not know about him either. But when he turned to Annie and Marco, their gobsmacked faces made him realize that to anyone from New Orleans, the name was infamous. “I can’t say that I do but give us the short version.”
“He was a serial killer in the early twentieth century. Some compared him to Jack the Ripper.”
“Not a very distinctive comparison,” Vic commented and caught her frown. “What? How many serial killers who use bladed weapons are compared to the Ripper? Hell, some of them didn’t even use bladed weapons.”
“There is something else in common too,” Annie stated and rubbed her arms in discomfort. “They were both thought to be ghosts or demons at one point.”
The young detective nodded and thought about the era. “It makes sense. The late nineteenth to early twentieth century was when the ghost world was becoming widely known. All the pandemonium from back then and mixing that with suspicious killings probably made many people think like that.”
“He didn’t use his weapons in his crimes,” Valerie added. “Except maybe a chisel to break into ho
mes. He would always take something from the property—a straight razor or more commonly, an ax.”
Vic tapped his chin in thought. “It certainly fits with our friend’s MO and it would explain the ability to use any old ax as a memento. He’s attached to the item in general, not a particular one.”
The officer flipped her phone and handed it to Johnny. “This was a letter—perhaps the only letter—he sent to the papers.” He took the phone and read the letter as Vic moved behind him.
Hell, March 13, 1919
Esteemed Mortals of New Orleans:
They have never caught me and they never will. They have never seen me, for I am invisible, even as the ether that surrounds your Earth. I am not a human being but a spirit and a demon from the hottest Hell. I am what you Orleanians and your foolish police call the Axman.
When I see fit, I shall come and claim other victims. I alone know who they shall be. I shall leave no clue except my bloody ax, besmeared with the blood and brains of he whom I have sent below to keep me company.
If you wish, you may tell the police to be careful to not rile me. Of course, I am a reasonable spirit. I take no offense at the way they have conducted their investigations in the past. In fact, they have been so utterly stupid as to not only amuse me but also His Satanic Majesty, Francis Josef, etc. But tell them to beware. Let them not try to discover what I am, for it would be better that they were never born than to incur the wrath of the Axman. I don't think there is any need for such a warning, for I feel sure the police will always avoid me as they have in the past. They are wise and know how to keep away from all harm.
Undoubtedly, you Orleanians think of me as a most horrible murderer, which I am, but I could be much worse if I wanted to. If I wished, I could pay a visit to your city every night. At will, I could slay thousands of your best citizens—and the worst—for I am in close relationship with the Angel of Death.
Now, to be exact, at 12:15 earthly time next Tuesday night, I will pass over New Orleans. In my infinite mercy, I make a little proposition to you people. Here it is.
I am very fond of jazz music, and I swear by all the devils in the nether regions that every person shall be spared in whose home a jazz band is in full swing at the time I have mentioned. If everyone has a jazz band going, well then, so much the better for you people. One thing is certain, however. Some of your people who do not jazz it out on that specific Tuesday night, if there be any, will get the ax.
Well, as I am cold and crave the warmth of my native Tartarus and it is about time I leave your earthly home, I will cease my discourse. I hope you will publish this that it may go well with you, I have been, am, and will be the worst spirit that ever existed, either in fact or realm of fancy.
~The Axman
Vic chuckled. “It’s well written for a psychopath.”
“That’s what caught your attention?” Johnny muttered and handed Valerie her phone. “What’s with the jazz thing at the end? Did that happen?”
“Oh, yeah. By all accounts, every jazz club was filled that night,” Marco confirmed and gestured to himself and Annie “Most houses held jazz parties too. The Axman is infamous around here. Maybe not everyone knows the specifics but New Orleans, for all our parties and good spirits, can be macabre and we don’t let a story like that go away.”
Annie huddled on the couch, deep in thought. “Vic, when the radio turned on, was that jazz? Do you recall?”
The ghost scratched his skull. “Uh…it could have been. I remember it was slowed and full of static.” He looked at Johnny. “Do you remember if anything was playing on the radio when we ran into him on the way here?”
His partner shook his head and looked at the Maggios. “I can’t say but I do remember that the guy who was killed on the road was also Italian.”
“Frank Rossi,” Vic recalled. “Hmm…who did the Axman kill in his day?”
“Italians,” Valerie responded without even checking her phone. “Italian-Americans and immigrants were the majority of his victims. It made many think the mob was involved somehow.”
“It could have simply been a racist with time to kill,” Marco muttered before he caught himself. “Wait, that wasn’t supposed to be a pun.”
“It happens to the best of us, kid,” the ghost detective assured him and focused on the officer. “Well, I guess it could be a start. Although I agree with Val that there is a good chance it’s simply a copycat, it could be an apparition.”
“I think we’ve established that it’s a ghost, man.” Marco sighed.
Johnny shook his head. “Apparitions are technically made of the same stuff ghosts are, but they are little more than puppets. If someone’s hate is strong enough or if their legend grows to such a level that they are on everyone’s mind, an apparition could appear and act in a way they would.”
“But that doesn’t make sense,” Annie interjected. “If that’s what it is, why would it appear now? He would have been more well-known in the mid-twentieth century, not a century later.”
“Yeah, not to mention that if it’s the whole ‘hatred’ scenario, it again seems like it should have reacted earlier,” Marco pointed out.
“It’s only a thought.” Johnny leaned his head against his fist. “So the guy on the road was Italian, at least partly, and so is Annie. But not all his victims have been Italian. Jessy certainly wasn’t unless she has an interesting family tree.”
“She wasn’t. She was creole,” Annie confirmed and the thought of her lost friend made her clench her arms tightly around her waist.
“And in something of a twist, none of the Axman’s victims were black,” Valerie added. “We’ve had two black victims, two Italian if you include Annie—three, I guess, with the guy on the road—one Vietnamese, and one of mixed ancestry including Native American. He hasn’t seemed very selective until now.”
“Maybe his early killings were a way to get power somehow.” Johnny thought back to Frank Rossi and the descriptions of the other killings. “He seems to be able to drain the soul, life force, or whatever of his victims.”
“Wait, what?” Marco leaned forward and Annie gasped.
Vic looked at them. “That reminds me. Something interesting about this attack was that he tried to carry Annie off, not suck her dry like his other victims.”
Johnny registered the confusion and worry in the siblings’ eyes. “It probably means he’s looking for something more specific now and whatever that is, he might have found it in Annie.”
Marco looked at his sister. “Annie? What could he want with her?”
The two partners took a moment to communicate silently with each other before the young detective shrugged. “I’m sorry, man. We couldn’t tell you that right now.”
“We can’t tell you what we don’t know,” Vic added apologetically and placed a fist over his chest. “But I promise you we will find out.”
Valerie stood and prepared to make a call. “I can tell you this,” she began as she moved to the door. “You will need protection.”
Chapter Sixteen
Johnny crushed his cigarette under his boot and scowled at the front doors of the precinct. “I still say we should have dropped them at our hotel.”
“You think they’ll be safer at a chain hotel than with the cops?” Vic asked as he people-watched on the corner and tipped his hat at a kid who gaped at him while he and his mother crossed the street.
“If this guy is after Annie, wouldn’t he assume that the next place they would go would be to the cops?” he asked and looked over his shoulder. “Did you ever see the first Terminator?”
“I don’t think so. You’ll have to show me.” The ghost turned and floated beside him. “But even if he made that deduction, what would he do? Try to blitz his way in?”
Johnny ran a hand over the wound on his shoulder. “He seemed to take on the four of us just fine.”
“True, but what finally knocked him on his ass was a shot from Val’s gun and there should be more than enough of those in
there… Well, I guess that depends on how well-financed they are.” He tapped his chin as he studied the building. “We might have softened him up for her, but those things still pack a punch. Modern tech is catching up to the ghost stuff.”
“Or it could be your old pistol is finally showing its age.” Johnny patted the knife on his belt. “Although it would be nice for each of us to have a gun, just in case.”
“Val mentioned something about letting us use her spare,” Vic told him. “After we give it a test run, maybe we can see if we can find a normal black market and get one. It would probably be cheaper than the real deals at the Limbo market.”
“Not to mention we likely won’t be allowed into the Limbo market for quite some time.” He paused and turned his head slowly to his partner. “When exactly do you think we’ll have a test run for this gun?”
The ghost shrugged. “Maybe soon. I have an idea of where we should look next.”
“And that would be—”
His partner raised a hand to interrupt him. “Hold up a second. Val’s back.” Johnny took a few steps forward as she came down the steps, turned toward them, and nodded.
She carried a small black bag, handed it to the young detective, and stopped him from unzipping it. “My backup pistol is in there,” she stated. “Along with a few other things to help you. But try to take a look out of a public place.”
“Appreciated.” He held the bag under his arm. “Will Annie and Marco be all right?”
“They’ll stay the night here, then be moved into a hotel.” She looked over her shoulder. “Probably not too far from the building. Maybe the Hilton.”
“Swanky,” Vic commented. “Are you rolling with us?”
“I need to return to the crime scene.” She pressed the remote in her pocket that unlocked her car. “I only came here to drop them off and debrief. Where are you going?”
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