by H. P. Bayne
“Where the hell you goin’, kid?” Edgar slurred after them. “What about my walk?”
“In a minute, Eddie. Just sit tight.”
Bulldog stalled at the partially ajar door to Sully’s apartment—the only occupied suite of three up here—and refused to go any further.
“What’s wrong?” Sully asked.
“I told you I didn’t believe in ghosts, right? I might have been a little hasty.”
“Why?”
“You’d better see for yourself.”
“You coming?”
“Not on your life.”
Sully took a deep breath and put a hand on the door, steeling himself to push it open. He’d been seeing ghosts as far back as he could remember, but it wasn’t something he’d ever grown used to. Some people, he’d heard, were lucky and saw only the ones who had already crossed into the light. Others saw all manner of spirits. Sully just got the ones who had died violently, leaving his memory filled with blood, bruises, slashes, gunshot wounds, burns, horrific breaks, gore and virtually every other type of wound a person could imagine. They weren’t pretty, they weren’t at peace and they sure as hell didn’t make sleeping an easy feat many nights. The sight of them didn’t leave him traumatized as it once had, but there was still that creeping dread whenever he knew he was about to walk into a situation with one. There was the sense of the unknown, and there was past experience too. While many of the dead realized what had happened to them, some didn’t, and some were still caught up in death throes. Terror, rage and confusion could turn people into caged animals willing to bite anyone who got too close, and the only difference between the living and the dead was the simple encasement of flesh, blood and bone. The dead could lash out too, and Sully had been on the receiving end more than once.
But there was no way to know what he was dealing with until he went in there.
Sully pushed open the door, finding his apartment encased in darkness as expected. The generators were taking care of a handful of lights in the rest of the building, but the backup power didn’t extend to the apartments, which operated on their own power supply.
Sully clicked on the flashlight and stepped inside.
He’d never been able to hear them; his ability, for whatever reason, was restricted to sight, sense and sometimes smell. And yet, the first thing he was aware of was a sound.
There was nothing rhythmical about it, a series of light thuds and what sounded like flapping. A short hallway led past the bedroom and a bathroom and then into the combination kitchen and living room. The bedroom was quiet and the bathroom, too, leaving just the main room to contend with.
Sully took another big breath and released it quietly before forcing his feet forward.
He detected movement to his right and he ducked as something breezed past his head. He had dealt with poltergeists before, and they were never easy. They tended to be angry, powerful and stubborn—a miserable combination for anyone trying to help them.
But this felt different. The thing that came at him didn’t seem like a hurled object so much as something alive, and his theory was backed up by the noise he continued to hear. And he knew now what it was.
He scanned the room with his flashlight, guided by the sound of the bird’s flapping and thudding, and found it fluttering next to the window nearest the sofa. The windows were all closed, leaving Sully to question how it had managed to get inside. Not wanting to add to the creature’s existing fear, Sully headed to the other window and reluctantly opened it, receiving an immediate response in the form of a blast of cold rain. With any luck, it would be enough to guide the bird out.
Unfortunately, it didn’t take the hint, so Sully pulled the comforter from the couch and tried to get behind the bird, expecting the only option would be to catch it. He tried to shoo it toward the window but, while it flew in that direction, it didn’t find the opening, instead hitting the wall with a thud. Sully dropped the comforter and used the flashlight to find the stunned bird on the floor.
He carefully picked up the small body—a brown sparrow from what he could tell—and decided it would do better if released downstairs. He didn’t want to put a disoriented bird on the window ledge and risk it falling to the pavement a floor down.
He couldn’t carry the bird as he was and pick up the flashlight, so he left the latter where it was and walked toward the strip of light showing in the hall from the landing outside. He had nearly convinced himself all that had scared Bulldog was the inexplicable presence of the little bird—now beginning to stir gently in his hands—as it flapped against the walls, seeking escape.
Then, the landing outside just a few steps away, the door slammed shut in his face.
He stopped dead in his tracks, sensing something—someone—behind him. From the opposite side, there was a pounding at the door, an ineffectual rattle of the handle, and he could hear Dez shouting his name.
Sully knew without even trying the door that Breanna wouldn’t let him leave until she’d said what needed to be said.
Turning, he found her standing there as he knew he would, visible to him despite the lack of light. She stood a few feet away, face covered by the curtain of her hair, hands bound and reaching out in front of her.
Swallowing his fear, Sully had to try twice to form his question.
“What do you need me to see?”
She moved toward him so fast it was like a blink. Sully flinched but held his ground. He could see one of her eyes now, the blackened one, the surface distorted by the milky sheen of death. He had to force his eyes past that so he could study the hands she was now lifting toward his chest.
“Sully!” Dez shouted. “Open the damn door, man, or I’m gonna kick it in!”
“I’m okay,” Sully responded, just loud enough Dez would hear. “Give me a minute.”
Breanna hadn’t moved, save her cupped hands, which were now slowly opening. Sully watched as a purple flower with a bright yellow centre, fully visible in the darkness, came into view.
Sully was no botanist, but he had a feeling he needed to get this right. “Is that lavender? A tulip? Orchid?”
She had yet to respond. He was failing miserably.
“Dez, purple flowers. Name some.”
“What?” As incredulous as Sully had ever heard him sound.
“I’m serious. Purple flowers.”
“Okay, uh … Mom always grows irises.”
Breanna unfolded her hands and the flower slipped from between them, fluttering to the floor. Yet, there was no further response, no unbarring of the door. All that remained was the little sparrow that, its head clearing, was beginning to struggle against Sully’s gentle grip.
“The bird. It means something too, doesn’t it?”
Her glassy eye remaining fixed on him. Or through him. It was impossible to tell.
Back to the name game. “It’s a sparrow, right?”
And, just like that, Breanna was gone.
Hearing a click behind him, he turned. The door opened a crack, the dull light from the landing revealing itself as a strip along the floor and wall. That strip widened fast, broken by a Dez-shaped shadow as he pushed his way inside.
“The hell, Sully? You okay?”
Sully turned to face his brother. “I’m fine.” His answer sounded weak even to his own ears, the energy sucked out of him. This happened a little too often in these situations. Ghosts needed energy to manifest, to get messages across. Sometimes they got it from other sources, but Sully had discovered they liked to use him like a battery. Most of the time, he had some juice left at the end of it; sometimes they drained him completely.
Dez had seen the effects often enough to know, and he moved in, getting Sully in a solid grasp.
“Bull. You’re about to pass out.” Dez’s eyes drifted down to Sully’s hands. “What the hell is that?”
“A sparrow.”
“Great. Bulldog, can you take the bird outside?”
“Screw that. I’m not touching a ghost b
ird.”
Sully ended up holding onto the sparrow while Dez held onto him, ushering him down the stairs. Nudging past Edgar so they could reach the door to the back alley, Dez pushed the steel bar with his hip to open the door for the bird’s release. They watched as it flew off into the rainy night.
Dez yanked the door shut against a gust of wind, then returned his attention to Sully, dropping his brother onto a chair and shoving his head down between his knees.
Sully’s protest was muffled by his lower limbs. “I’m fine.”
As usual, Dez wasn’t giving in easily, and his hand remained firmly in place on the back of Sully’s neck. “Stop talking and take some deep breaths.”
Sully obeyed for a solid minute, nudging up against Dez when the blood had returned to its usual spot in his head.
Removing his hand, Dez dropped it onto Sully’s shoulder. “Better?”
“Yeah. Do the words ‘iris’ or ‘sparrow’ mean anything to either of you?”
Dez’s brows lowered, confusion clear on his face. “Bulldog’s ghost likes gardening?”
But Bulldog was the one looking a little pale now. “I think I know what it means. Iris Edwards. She’s a young street worker, moved into town a little while ago.”
“It’s a big city, Bulldog,” Dez said. “What makes you think this is about her?”
“She’s just this tiny little munchkin, only about sixteen or seventeen years old,” Bulldog said. “Well, people like to hand out street names, you know?”
Sully saw where this was going and finished for Bulldog. “And Iris goes by Sparrow.”
“Bingo,” Bulldog said. “So what’s the deal?”
“Good question,” Dez said. “First one we need to ask, I guess, is where she is. Do you know where to find her?”
“I know where to start looking. I’ll ask around.”
“Just don’t throw Sully’s name around when you’re doing the asking,” Dez said. “I don’t want anyone finding out where it’s coming from.”
Bulldog glared at Dez. “Hey. This is me. I don’t screw people over.”
“I know. Sorry. So why do you think Breanna would be concerned about Sparrow?”
“It could be Sparrow was involved in her death somehow,” Sully said. “Maybe she was there and witnessed something. Maybe she had something to do with causing it. Or it could be Breanna’s worried about her.”
“Bree talked about Sparrow, sometimes,” Bulldog said. “Of course, my sister met a lot of the girls the last few years since she was working with that street worker project down at The Hub.”
“You mean the one that tries to get the girls off the street?” Dez asked. “I didn’t know she worked there.”
“Clearly you don’t spend a lot of time down there,” Bulldog said. “Bree practically lived at The Hub the past couple years.”
“And Sparrow was going there?” Sully asked.
“I know I’ve seen her around the place. I’ll talk to a few people, see if I can get some better answers. But first thing tomorrow, okay? I’m beat.”
“The couch is still yours if you want it,” Sully said.
“Forget it, kid. I wouldn’t go back in that room if you paid me a million bucks.” Bulldog turned to Dez. “How about a ride to the Sally Ann? If they’re full up, I’ve got a buddy on Tenth who’ll give me a couch to crash on.”
“Yeah, sure,” Dez said. He turned to Sully. “Go get some stuff together. I’m taking you back to our place.”
In all honesty, the ordered invitation sounded pretty good right now, with visions of Breanna likely to be running through Sully’s head the rest of the night.
“Let me make sure everything’s locked up.”
He turned for the stairs and spotted Edgar, snoozing against the wall.
“Uh, Dez? Mind making one extra stop while we’re at it?”
Dez appeared unconvinced. “All right, but if he pukes in my cruiser, he’s riding on the hood.”
4
The Salvation Army was full, as could have been expected, so Dez headed over to Tenth Street where Bulldog’s friend lived.
Thankfully, Bulldog had one of those personalities that recommended him to most people, and he was welcomed in without any grumbling.
Edgar on the other hand ….
“Where to?” Dez asked, his big voice audible above the rain in a way Sully could never manage. “Hey, Eddie.”
Eddie’s only response was a snore from the backseat as he shifted on the hard plastic bench.
Sully reached back and slapped him on the leg. “Eddie. Hey. Last call, man.”
“The usual,” Edgar mumbled and emitted another car-rattling snore.
Sully met Dez’s eye with an apologetic smile and an uplift of eyebrows. Dez shook his head.
“That’s great, Sull. Any idea where the guy needs to go?”
“If I had my way, a detox centre, but I doubt Eddie would be too pleased about that.”
“So, in other words, you don’t have his address?”
“Sorry. Betty might, though.”
Sully pulled out his phone and picked Betty’s number out of his contacts, hitting the call button. The phone only rang once before he got her message manager. Sully gave it a couple minutes and tried again with the same outcome.
Dez provided a likely explanation. “A bunch of lines are down. Storm-related. We could head over to her place.”
Sully was about to respond when a dispatcher came across Dez’s radio.
“Two-six to four-seven and four-twelve.”
Dez held the button down on his radio. “Four-seven.”
“Nine-three-five-zero at eighteen-twenty-five Poulin Avenue. Woman reported her son called from his house five minutes ago threatening suicide by hanging. She hasn’t been able to get him back on the phone, and is unable to get over there to check. Says her street’s flooded.”
“Ten-four,” Dez said, flipping on the lights and siren and taking off, windshield wipers slapping against the front window.
It took less than two minutes to reach the address, by which time the other unit called was already on scene.
“Stay in the car,” Dez told Sully as he exited. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Sully watched Dez run to meet his colleagues, two of whom were emerging from the other cruiser with ducked heads and hunched shoulders as if that would keep them dryer.
Dez had parked at a T-intersection facing the house in question, and Sully watched until the trio of officers entered the house. Then, as if the rain and the wind weren’t bad enough, the storm picked up, and the house virtually disappeared.
The downpour jackhammered against the roof, the sound of it inside the car all but deafening. Sully thought he heard something from the backseat and turned to see Edgar peering at him.
“You say something, Eddie?”
“Why am I arrested?”
Sully grinned. “You’re not arrested, Eddie.”
Eddie scanned his surroundings before training his incredulous glare back on Sully. “Huh?”
“It’s Dez’s car. My brother. You know Dez.”
“You mean that huge guy with the red hair?” Eddie made a show of lifting an arm above his head to denote Dez’s height, stopping only when the roof impeded his progress.
“Yeah, that guy. He was going to give you a lift home, but he’s just taking a call first. He’ll be back right away.”
“Oh.” The answer seemed to relax Edgar, who appeared ready to drop back off to sleep.
“Eddie, hey.”
“Mmm?”
“What’s your address?”
“I don’t wear a dress, kid. Not into that shit.”
“Where do you live?”
Edgar grunted and thankfully replied with a street address that popped up on Sully’s phone. At least they could drop the man off once Dez got back. Even if Dez couldn’t get Sully all the way home right away, Edgar lived not too far from here; he’d be an easy drop-off. Sully had spent some t
ime now and again in Dez’s cruiser or hanging around the police station, waiting on his brother. It wasn’t the worst thing for someone who lived in his head, Sully’s thoughts usually enough to keep him busy.
Sully scanned his surroundings made visible only occasionally through short breaks in the rain and the glow of the cruisers’ lights, a post-war area in Riverview that had crumbled with time and neglect. Once housing young families, it was now a lower-income neighbourhood. While most families still wanted to make a go of it, gangs had ravaged the place with graffiti tags and fear, while drug users and street workers littered it with hypodermic needles and used condoms. The area was frequently on the news, the site of numerous murders, rashes of drug-related deaths, and community clean-up initiatives intended to turn the tides.
With the power out and nothing but the two police cars’ lights to go by, it appeared as bleak as most KR residents suggested. Were it not for the rain driving most indoors, there was no telling what might be lurking in the shadows.
Still Sully had the overwhelming feeling of being watched.
He turned his head and found her there.
Standing right next to his window.
Sully jumped and gave an involuntary yelp, waking Edgar who expressed his own surprise with an utterance of, “What the hell?”
Then Breanna was gone, vanishing only long enough to pop up at what looked from here, through a sheet of driving rain, to be the entrance to an alley. Sully knew without having to ask, had been at this for far too long already. She wanted him to follow.
Staying would be easier. It was warm and dry here, relatively safe. But Sully knew how this worked, had spent his youth plagued by ghosts who refused to leave him alone until he’d figured out a way to get them what they needed. Sometimes it was a simple matter of passing a message to family. Sometimes it involved a quiet word with his foster father, Flynn Braddock, well-placed as deputy police chief.
Regardless, it meant following the clues the spirits laid out for him, knowing that if he didn’t, his nights would be sleepless and his days edgy.