“You came in by the rear student entrance,” Teag said in my ear. “Stay on the first floor, and look for the gymnasium. The doors to the half-basement and mechanical rooms are near there.” Charleston has a high water table, so true basements are few and far between. More common was a half-basement that was only partially underground, and then rose several feet above ground as well, which also provided some protection against flooding for the main floor.
I thought about the young teens who had gone to school here, the ones who would have known Steven and his victims. They’d be in their forties now, with families and careers of their own, most likely. Except for the ones whose future had been stolen from them, snatched away before they even had a chance to grow up. The thought made me angry, hardening my resolve to see this through.
We found the door on the lower level to the boiler room. No one had bothered to lock it. I’d have chalked that up to the need for whoever owned the place to check on the mechanical room now and again, only it didn’t look like anyone had been in here since the last car left the parking lot when the school shut down. That made me wonder. Had the building just been mothballed, or did the owners try to sell it, only to fail for reasons far more supernatural than structural. I bet on the latter.
“Lights don’t work,” Kell muttered, trying the switch. The windows at ground level had been boarded up, so no daylight came in from them. Sorren went down the steps first, since he could see in the dark, and he’s tougher to kill. I insisted on going next, which left Kell to watch our backs.
The boiler room smelled dank and musty, and as our flashlights illuminated the cement block room, we could see a thick layer of undisturbed dust, confirmation that nobody had come down here for a long time. Kell and I both had powerful wide-beam flashlights, and we did a first sweep, Sorren still on point, but the half-basement remained silent. Almost too still.
“Any ideas where the items might be?” I murmured into my mic.
“You know the drill,” Teag replied. “Look for places he could open and close that wouldn’t draw attention. Behind a loose brick, on top of a beam, under something he could move.”
The temperature felt colder as we ventured deeper into the basement. I jangled the dog collar on my wrist, and Bo’s ghost materialized next to me, with the same happy doggy smile I loved when he was alive. I gripped my athame in my right hand and my heavy industrial flashlight in the other.
“See anything?” I asked Kell and Sorren.
“Lots of things; none of which I want to touch,” Kell replied. We’d worn gloves, for that very reason. I’d heard Kell and Ryan trade too many stories about spider bites, rusty nails, or other hazards of abandoned buildings, and I had no desire to get lockjaw or worse.
“Want to check your meter? I’ll cover you,” I offered. Kell slipped his shotgun over his shoulder and pulled out the EMF reader, as I kept watch. Sorren moved along the perimeter, examining a stack of concrete blocks. One wall had a dark spread of black slime I didn’t want to go near, and two of the walls were largely hidden from view behind huge boilers, thick pipes, and the massive furnace. Tools lay scattered as if the shutdown crew knew no one would be checking up on them.
“I’m picking up some activity, getting stronger the farther in we go,” Kell observed as the small box in his hands whined.
“Any particular direction?” I asked. Just then, I felt a cat slide against my leg, and I jumped. When I looked down, the floor around me was empty.
“Cassidy?” Kell asked.
“Nothing. Thought I felt something.”
Sorren moved around the equipment, putting himself in the most vulnerable position where visibility was limited. We followed, trying to keep him in view to cover him as well since we knew Steven’s ghost had enough strength to kill.
“There!” I said, pointing, just as Kell’s meter blasted and I heard a warning in my ear from Teag. I saw the faint outline of a young girl dressed in a cartoon t-shirt and leggings materialize to the left of the boilers, barely holding the shape long enough for me to see her.
“Did you—”
“Yeah, that’s Connie,” Teag said in a choked voice. “I recognize her from the ‘missing’ posters I found online.”
Again something slapped against my right calf, like being hit with a wagging tail. I looked down. Bo stood on my left, nowhere near where I had felt the light smack, but he turned his head curiously as if he had seen something I did not.
“Got something to share with the class?” Kell asked as the meter blipped.
“The animals the police found… I thought I felt a cat rub against me, and just now, a dog tail that wasn’t Bo’s hit my leg.”
Kell muttered curses. “Steven’s got it coming,” he added.
“There’s a block that looks out of place,” I said, pointing to where one of the concrete rectangles jutted out from the wall. I set my flashlight aside, slid my athame up my sleeve, and Kell covered me with the shotgun and his light, as my gloved hands coaxed and wiggled at the errant block. “Nothing,” I said a few minutes later. “It’s mortared in. Just bad masonry.”
“There’s another one!” Kell’s gasp and the blip of the EMF monitor got me up on my feet in a heartbeat, athame drawn and Bo ready to spring. A slightly older boy’s ghost regarded us somberly, standing farther back among the tangle of pipes. I didn’t need Teag to tell me that was likely to be Kevin, the other missing child that we knew about.
The two ghosts seemed to be leading us into the maze of equipment and conduits, exactly where I had hoped to avoid because the narrow space in between limited our movement and felt like we were being herded down a cattle chute. I tried not to dwell on the fact that in a slaughterhouse, the butcher waited for the cows at the bottom of the chute.
“There’s a box here,” Sorren said, and I saw his pale hand reach up onto one of the exposed ceiling beams. He doesn’t have to worry about spiders or tetanus. Sorren pulled down a dark metal box, and we heard hinges squeal as he pried it open.
“Never mind,” he called out. “Just instructions and special keys.” He put the box back where he found it, although the lid looked a bit mangled.
I knew from the simultaneous gasps I heard from Kell and Teag that this time, all three of us saw the tabby cat that sauntered over to a grate in the wall and sat down, waiting for us to catch up. Kell’s meter beeped, then rose to a high-pitched whine. The cat’s image blinked out.
“Let’s see what’s behind that grate,” I muttered. Sorren moved forward and ripped the metal away from the wall. He reached in as I cringed, imagining rats and roaches, and pulled out a dirty cloth bag with a drawstring. I felt my heart in my throat as Sorren loosened the string and dumped out the contents.
Even though I knew what we would find, seeing it made the horrors much more real. A metal brooch in the shape of a “P.” A woman’s gold signet ring. The crystal necklace. I caught my breath at the other items. Kevin’s baseball cap. Connie’s charm bracelet. Two other inexpensive necklaces, from victims no one ever linked to the Smiley Killer since they were part of Steven’s “practice” runs. And five or six pet collars.
Sorren rose to his feet, wary and tense, looking like the predator he was. “I think he wanted to show us his treasures,” Sorren said quietly. “He wanted to show off. Isn’t that right?” He asked the empty boiler room.
Never trust anything that goes too smoothly.
Kell’s monitor set off an ear-splitting shriek, and Teag yelled a warning that nearly deafened me. The temperature plummeted and my breath fogged as goosebumps formed on my arms.
Steven Delarue’s ghost looked almost solid when Sorren charged toward him. Steven grabbed for Sorren just as Sorren moved in a blur, slicing down with an iron dagger. The ghost vanished, only to materialize once more behind me.
“Cassidy!” Teag warned. I swiveled, sending out a blast of cold force with my athame. The magic seemed to scramble Steven’s concentration, making him hesitate just long enough for Bo to launc
h himself into the air, snapping his teeth closed on Steven’s forearm. Again, Steven vanished, and Bo dropped to all fours, hackles raised, growling into the darkness.
Kell had already fallen to his knees beside the trophies, digging out the propane torch and laying down a circle of salt around himself and the sorry pile of stolen keepsakes. Sorren added the garnet ring, Sophie’s ring, a man’s watch and a man’s class ring—from the two dead cops—and the damaged rug to the pile. Bo, Sorren, and I closed ranks, protecting Kell as Steven flickered into existence again, lunging at me this time. I got in another blast with the athame, just as Kell’s shotgun sent a salt round past me and right into Steven’s chest.
“Maybe that’ll hold him for a minute or two,” Kell muttered as he set the gun aside and handed me the salt. My hand shook as I made an arc in front of me. Bo’s ghost stepped forward, beyond the line, and Sorren finished the rest of the second circle as Kell readied the torch. I sure as hell hoped the old boiler room didn’t have a gas leak, or else we’d be ending ourselves as well as the ghost, and sending the building sky high.
The torch hissed, and its blue flame roared to life as Kell pushed welding glasses over his eyes and lowered the fire toward the trophy pieces and the mangled rug. A hideous shriek filled the basement, deafeningly loud, and Steven took shape once more, right in front of me.
The photo in his obituary showed a slightly awkward young man with an unsettling glint in his eyes. The ghost revealed the Smiley Killer, the Steven his victims had seen as they drew their last breaths, the one who made himself feel powerful by causing pain. He raged against the protective barrier of the salt circle, shrieking and wailing his fury, as Bo harried him, nipping at his heels.
“Hurry!” I yelled.
Kell lifted his head as the torch flared. “This stuff isn’t a quick burn,” he replied. “Just keep him occupied.”
“Cassidy, Kell, watch out!” I heard the creak of pipes, and the rending of metal as Teag’s warning echoed in my ear. Dust and grit fell as Steven wrested a section of conduit free from its moorings and hurled it toward me.
Sorren moved faster than my eyes could track, sweeping the metal and wires aside and absorbing the force of the blow. But his foot scuffed the protective salt line, and Steven seized the opportunity, grabbing for Sorren while he was off balance and throwing him to one side.
He tackled me, ice cold hands closing around my throat, eyes alight with madness. I thrust my athame deep into his ghostly chest and pulled hard on my power, blowing him apart. Surely the repeated hits of cold force had to have sapped the spirit’s strength, I thought. Then again, he’d had twenty years bound into a rug to rest up.
Steven was back before I had fully regained my feet, as Sorren disentangled himself from the mess of torn pipes and ruined machinery he had taken down with him in the force of his fall. Bo chomped down on one of Steven’s legs as I slashed and missed with the iron dagger. The power I sent through my athame didn’t seem to hold Steven back for long, but it was wearing me down quickly.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the flare of the torch and the flames rising as the killer’s trophies burned and melted. Steven’s ghost came at me again, hands grasping and teeth bared.
The yowl of an angry cat filled the air as two ghostly felines hurtled down onto Steven from the beams overhead. I heard angry barking, and then Bo was not alone in his defense, as three other dogs bit deep into ghostly arms and legs. Kevin and Connie jumped onto Steven’s back, clawing at him with their hands, pummeling with their feet. Steven’s ghost staggered backward as Sorren closed in, holding a length of iron rebar he had found somewhere in the debris, and I readied my athame for another blast.
Borne down under the weight of his victims, Steven thrashed but could not free himself as the other ghosts got their long-overdue revenge. Claws and nails shredded his clothing and gouged into his arms, legs, and torso, digging in deeper as the Smiley Killer tried to shake them loose or tear them free.
The flames behind me flared high, and the air smelled of hot metal and burned nylon, with a tang of propane.
“Go to hell, you son of a bitch,” Kell snarled, as the last of the trophies shrank down to a blackened pile of slag and ash.
Steven’s ghost screamed, a wail of true terror and utter desolation. Flames licked at his body, eating away at him as his outline grew fainter and fainter, and then he vanished.
I kept my athame up, expecting a trick. Sorren had the rebar ready to swing as he moved closer where Kell still knelt over the last flickering flames. Steven did not reappear, though, despite the fire, the basement remained as cold as a walk-in freezer.
The ghostly children stood side by side, staring at me with sad eyes. Spectral dogs and cats wound around their legs, and Bo returned to sit at my feet.
“Go in peace,” I murmured, raising a hand in blessing. Kevin gave me a tired smile, acknowledging a long-overdue victory, and took Connie’s hand. Abruptly, the ghosts disappeared, and with them the frigid cold.
“What do you want to do about the ashes?” Kell said as he turned off the torch and sat back on his haunches. Tears tracked down his cheeks, and I knew seeing the stolen belongings of the victims had really rattled him.
“I’ll scrape them back into the lead box, and see that they and the frying pan are disposed of properly,” Sorren said, as we scattered the evidence of the salt circles. The last thing we needed was someone finally coming down here and starting rumors of a satanic cult.
Kell got to his feet and dusted himself off, reclaiming his shotgun and putting the torch away as Sorren found a flat piece of metal to shovel away the ashes. I slipped up beside Kell and put my arm around his waist, silently supportive, and he rested his cheek on the top of my head, wordlessly accepting the comfort.
“What’s going on?” Teag sounded worried, and I realized that my camera-hat had gone askew, giving him a great view of the ceiling.
“We’re fine,” I reported, righting my cap. “Mission accomplished. Might want to have the place blessed, but that’s for another day.” Father Anne, our unorthodox Episcopalian priest and frequent ally, would be happy to say a benediction for the murdered children, perhaps back near the area where the bodies had been found. If any of the other of the Smiley Killer’s ghosts still lingered, I knew Father Anne would help us send them on to rest.
“So it’s over?” Teag asked. “He won’t be back?”
I shook my head. “Looked pretty permanent front this end. And the other ghosts flickered out, too. I don’t think they’d let go if he was still a threat.” I paused. “Anything happen on your side?”
I knew we’d get the full scoop when we got back to my house, but I couldn’t resist asking.
“Some freaky wind gusts and a power outage—I think you-know-who was throwing a tantrum,” Teag replied. “And then all of a sudden, the lights came on, and the wind died down—guess he realized he had bigger fish to fry.”
“Last laugh’s on him,” I said tiredly. “We weren’t the ones who went up in smoke.”
“Come home,” Teag urged. “We’ve got hot cookies and a fresh bottle of bourbon to wash them down with. You deserve it.”
“I’ll second that,” Kell said, and despite the slight shake in his voice, he managed to smile and pulled me a little closer.
I looked around the wreckage of the old boiler room, realizing this was another triumph no one else but we few would ever know about. Sorren might make that anonymous call to the cops, but without evidence, I doubted they’d believe him. At least he might be able to give the families some closure. I imagine the police would just assume that the Smiley Killer had disappeared again, and leave the case open, should future victims surface.
That’s okay. We knew the truth. We’d managed to put down a serial killer with extreme prejudice, free the victim’s ghosts, and do it all without anyone getting too badly injured. That earned us a celebration.
Cookies and bourbon? Hell, yes.
Part VIII
Steer a Pale Course
“Bring in those nets. Let’s head for home.” I put my back into hauling in the nets on my side of the boat. They were full of fish, but not as full as yesterday. Over the horizon, the sun was just coming up.
“Easy for you to say, Dante. You’ve got the skinny nets on your side.” Coltt grunted as he and Nesh leaned into bringing their net into the boat. Lucky for me they’re taller, with long arms. I probably would have gone over the side trying to haul in a net as full as theirs.
We should have been out to sea with the other men, and any other year since I’d been ten years old, we would have been. The rest of the men from the village had gone a day out on the water, where the big catches are this time of year. They wouldn’t be back for another couple of days, salting the fish as they caught them to keep the catch from rotting. But this year, mother wasn’t feeling well, and she normally heads up harvest, her and Nady, Coltt and Nesh’s mother. But Nady died over the winter, and mother said that she needed our help this harvest. So at night, Coltt and Nesh and I went out on our boat just far enough to catch what we could but close in enough to be back just after sunrise.
“Look, this one’s sweet on you, Nesh!” Coltt held up a big fish whose mouth was opening and closing. “Just like Letta!” He threw the fish at Nesh, who caught it and leaned back after him, holding the fish’s flopping tail to smack his brother across the face.
“And that’s just what Letta would do if she heard you call her a fish,” Nesh laughed, dropping the fish into the huge basket. Coltt and Nesh were cut from the same cloth. The Skinner brothers took after their mother. Tall and thin, with long, strong arms and a shock of straw-blond hair, they were freckled with the sun and still pink in the face from the summer just past.
Me, I was as dark as they were light. Their hair was a mop of yellow curls that looked like a bird’s nest after a windstorm. My hair fell lank into my eyes, even more limp than usual from the salt wind. I’d cut it short at the beginning of the summer, and it wasn’t quite long enough yet to catch back in a queue. Nesh and Coltt were skinny, but even at eighteen, I already had my father’s build: sturdy and strong, though I was slim-built. I wasn’t as tall as the Skinners either, and they’d had more than enough fun at my expense over the years tossing a ball or my lunch or my hat over my head just out of reach. Still, they were the closest thing I had to brothers, what with three sisters back home. And if I had to be left behind when the other men went out to sea, having them with me made it bearable.
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