The Sullivan Gray Series Box Set

by H. P. Bayne

  “So he was living with her, then?”

  “He just got out of prison recently, as is mentioned in this poster, so, yeah.”

  “Then sorry, man. No offence to you, and I’m sorry for your loss, but I really don’t care. If she was supporting him, my sympathy for her is zero. The guy should have been left to fend for himself.”

  “You realize that only increases the chances of his reoffending?”

  “He won’t be reoffending,” Terrence said, confidence rolling off the words.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because that poster’s up all over the area, and it means people will be watching him. He won’t get the chance to hurt another kid.”

  “Technically, he didn’t directly hurt any kids himself, you know. It was a possession conviction, not producing.”

  “Two sides, same coin. It’s because of dicks like him that the skinners keep feeding the beast. If there’s no market, there’s no reason to produce and sell.”

  Dez nodded, looking back down at the poster a moment before directing his attention back on Terrence. “You made these, didn’t you?”

  “So what if I did?”

  “Take them down.”

  “Why?” Terrence asked. “Am I breaking a law?”

  “You might have contributed to the death of an innocent woman.”

  “No way she died as a result of these,” Terrence said. “People would go after him, not her.”

  Sully was approaching the till with a pair of boots, so Dez leaned toward Terrence to speak to him quietly. “If you’ve got that much spite for her, isn’t it likely someone else felt the same?”

  Dez swept the poster off the counter and folded it a few times, tucking it into his pocket next to his notebook as Sully reached the counter.

  “Find something?” Dez asked.

  Sully glanced between Dez and the manager. It only made sense a guy who dealt in beings made up solely of energy invisible to most everyone else would be able to sense mental and emotional strain among the living, as well.

  “Yeah.” The word was drawn out, the sound of questions waiting to be asked. But, for now, he simply fished some cash from his wallet and paid for the boots.

  Dez waited until Sully headed out in front of him, then fixed Terrence with one last pointed look before following.

  “What was that about?” Sully asked, once back in the car.

  Dez thought about keeping it to himself, but thought better of it, digging out the poster and handing it to Sully.

  “This is Betty’s son.”

  “Got it in one,” Dez quipped. “Saw it hanging on the bulletin board at the front entrance. I didn’t get a pat answer, but apparently the manager there, Terrence Waters, made it and posted them around town.”

  “This has their address on it,” Sully said. “You don’t think—”

  Dez interrupted. “That someone saw this and took it upon themselves to start righting perceived wrongs? I think it’s possible. I’m going to take this to Raynor just as soon as I drop you off. It’s sure as hell worth investigating as a lead. Even he’s got to admit that.”

  “Good luck with that. Listen, I was thinking, maybe I should go see Thackeray, pay my respects.”

  “First of all, the guy doesn’t deserve any respects given what he went in for. And second, no.”

  “No? No, what?”

  “No, you’re not going near the guy. You need to stay the hell away from this investigation, all right? If you’re seen to insert yourself in it, Raynor’s going to start looking to others like he’s not far off the mark suspecting you. I’m taking you home, and you’re going to stay there.”

  Sully’s mouth twitched like he was of a mind to argue, but he kept it to himself. Just as well, because Dez wasn’t of a mind to listen. Instead, Sully changed the subject—although the topic wasn’t much better than the previous one.

  “Any chance you can help me figure out who that man is I’ve been seeing? I need to deal with him ASAP so I can get him out of my space.”

  “I’ll do what I can. You wanna run that description by me, again?”

  When Sully got to the ghost’s clothing, Dez clued into something. “Were they pyjamas or the sort of garb they make patients wear?”

  “It wasn’t hospital stuff,” Sully said. “Most hospitals in KR I’ve been to just have gowns for patients. Otherwise people have to bring their own clothes in.”

  “I wasn’t thinking hospitals, exactly,” Dez said. “I was thinking Lockwood.”

  “The psychiatric hospital? You think? That would explain so much, you know that? The fear rolling off this guy is intense. I can’t imagine someone experiencing that in life and being able to function.”

  “Isn’t it possible the fear is a result of whatever happened to him when he died?”

  “Maybe, but I’ve seen some pretty awful things over the years, and I don’t remember one who felt like this. There’s something more to it. I think the fear is central to this somehow, like a clue I need to figure out. That would suggest it’s about more than just his death. Can you drop me off at the university?”

  “Why?”

  “I thought I could go see Marc Echoles. He knows about this stuff, and I could use the advice if he’s got some.”

  Dez didn’t like the idea of Sully not being somewhere today where he was being looked after. But while Marc wasn’t Eva, the professor had proved reliable enough over the past couple of years when these ghosts popped up. And, what was more, he was genuinely fond of Sully.

  “Just promise me you’ll head straight over to Eva afterward, all right?”

  Sully was silent.

  “All right, Sully?”

  “I hear you.”

  Not until Sully was out of the car and headed onto the campus did Dez realize his brother hadn’t promised him a damn thing.

  7

  Marc Echoles’s office was located within the sociology department, halfway down a narrow hallway that always looked to be short a few bulbs.

  Sully had never been able to keep the professor’s schedule straight, recalling only that he taught two classes: History of the Occult and Social Deviance and Social Control.

  Marc’s office door was closed but he’d posted his schedule on it, and a glance at the clock on Sully’s cellphone suggested the professor should be returning within the next twenty minutes or so.

  There were chairs in the hall and Sully was about to drop into one when a familiar female voice called his name.

  “Sully? Hey! I thought you’d dropped off the face of the earth.”

  He took a quick breath, steadying his nerves before turning to face Takara Watanabe. Sully had screwed up the courage to call her after meeting her two years ago, and they’d dated on and off since. Ara—as she insisted on being called—was happy most days to chatter his ear off, and Sully found he liked the sound of her voice. There was something bright and energetic about her, a clear morning sunrise to his haunted midnight, and he found a degree of comfort there.

  But not always. As one could expect of any normal human being, Ara was not content to talk forever, and she at times asked more of him than he was prepared to provide. He trusted few with the gift—or curse—with which he’d been born, and he hadn’t yet reached that point with her. Unlike with many, he didn’t worry she would whisper his secret behind his back, nor did he think she—a practicing Wiccan—could handle his level of weird. Rather, there was something he liked about the idea of having someone in his life who didn’t know that side of him, whose entire knowledge of who he was remained based on his character, his traits and the person he chose to be. Some days, it felt like there was little he could control, but he had at least retained the ability to decide what to reveal and how much should be left concealed behind his walls.

  Not to say holding back was easy. Ara wasn’t one to simply leave well enough alone, and her persistence—as well-intentioned as it was—had sent him retreating into his shell more than once. He hadn’t se
en her in a month. Their last date left him lying in bed beside her contemplating how best to extricate himself after fending off a tirade of questions he’d silenced with a kiss and everything that followed.

  Nor was it easy to say no to her when she looked the way she did today: long, glossy black hair left to hang freely over her shoulders, just a hint of makeup on a flawless face, clothes that showed off both her quirky personal style and her petite build. And those almond-shaped, deep brown eyes that revealed her soul even as they threatened to dissect his.

  “I’ve been busy with some stuff,” he said. She graciously accepted the lame excuse, though it came with a gentle-but-knowing smile.

  “I was a little hard-assed with the questions the last time,” she said. “I’m sorry about that. It’s in my nature. It’s why I decided to switch to Journalism.” She peered more closely at him, eyes back to that unnerving, soul-searching thing they did. “Something’s off with you. Are you all right?”

  Sully debated how much to tell her. He knew if he shared what had happened with the break-in and Betty, she’d insist on dragging him out somewhere for a coffee and a long chat—her chatting, him listening. The last thing he wanted, he decided, was for her to know he’d been pegged as a suspect in Betty’s death. She wouldn’t buy the idea of his involvement as truth, but he also knew she would insist on being there for him, which would end up creating more problems than it solved. Despite Dez’s warnings, Sully fully expected he was embarking on another ghost chase—quite possibly two—and he didn’t need or want a hanger-on, particularly one he wished to keep in the dark about that part of himself.

  Even so, it felt wrong to lie to her, and so he did what he usually did. “It’s not something I can talk about right now. I’m sorry.”

  “There’s a lot you can’t talk about—at least with me, isn’t there? But you’re here to see Marc, so you’re obviously okay talking to him about it, right?”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “What’s it like, then?”

  “Ara ….”

  “I’ve never demanded answers about why you clam up when things start getting real between us. I know you had a hard life before your family took you in, but you must know by now I’d never judge you. I get why there might be things your family knows about you that no one else does. But Marc? Sully, you’re not even a student here.”

  “I never meant for him to know either, but he does. It wasn’t my choice, but he’s been helpful despite that. It isn’t my intention to shut you out. You know everything about me except for this one thing. And I promise you, it’s nothing you need to know.”

  She studied him another long few seconds in that unnerving way. “You’re not some sort of pervert, are you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “And you haven’t killed or hurt anyone?”

  “No.”

  “And is this about anything bad that happened to you that you don’t think you can tell me?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that. I’ve told you all this before.”

  “I know, but I keep hoping you’ll come through with a more detailed answer.”

  “I can’t. Not yet, anyway. Okay?”

  Ara looked to give it some brief thought before following up with a small smile. “I guess that’s going to have to be good enough for now. But you do know you can trust me, right?”

  “Of course I know that.”

  Ara stepped up and wrapped her arms around him in an embrace he’d done nothing to deserve. He responded and happily met the kiss she demanded by stepping back and pulling down on his shirtfront.

  He allowed her to break the kiss first—about the only concession he seemed able to allow her.

  “I’ve got to go,” she said. “I’ve got a meeting with a prof I’m already late for. Call me later, okay?”

  He nodded and watched as she rushed off, shiny hair bouncing behind her, book bag threatening to spill its contents along the hallway floor. In the end, the bag held its ground next to Ara, just as Sully had.

  But, unlike Sully, the bag likely didn’t feel guilty about it.

  “Uh-oh.”

  Sully had just dropped into the chair across from Marc Echoles’s desk. He turned his head at the voice and found yet another set of perceptive eyes fixed on him.

  “Uh-oh, what?”

  “Dark blue. You just ran into someone you had to lie to, didn’t you? Someone important to you.”

  There were times when Marc’s ability to see and read auras was a pain in Sully’s ass. “Not lie to, exactly. Just avoid the truth.”

  “Same difference, isn’t it? What happened?”

  “Ara,” Sully said. It was all he needed to say. They’d been down this road too many times in the past.

  “I don’t get why you don’t tell her. I’ve met the young lady. She’s not the judging sort.”

  “I just want one person in my life who sees me as a relatively normal person without some weird psychic thing.”

  “That weird psychic thing is part of who you are, like it or not. The things you’ve seen, the people you’ve helped, that’s a big part of what’s molded you into the man you’ve become. You were a young kid when you first started trying to find justice for homicide victims. That’s a pretty great thing. Anyway, while I don’t know your parents, I’ve gotten to know Desmond quite well. He doesn’t think any differently about you because he knows, does he?”

  “I don’t know,” Sully said. “Maybe he’d hover less if he didn’t know about the things I saw.”

  “Desmond hovers because of the things he’s seen. He lost a little brother in his childhood. You’ve become his chance to do things differently. Maybe you need to think about doing things differently yourself. In seeking to make yourself appear normal to Ara, you’re creating just the sort of feeling you’ve been trying so hard to avoid. I know I’ve said this before, and I’m worried I’m a broken record on this point, but be honest with her. You might be surprised. Anyway, this isn’t why you’ve come here today, is it?”

  The change in conversation was a relief, albeit one that faded fast once he launched into this latest topic.

  “My boss, Betty, was killed this morning. A gunman came in and he and I were fighting for the gun when it went off.”

  “Oh, Sullivan, no. I was wondering what those greys and blacks were about. Are you all right? Were you hurt?”

  “I’m fine physically, but I’m not sure where I’m going to come out on this in any other way. I haven’t had much time to try to process since I’ve been dealing with the police more or less since. The investigator in charge of the file is trying to pin it on me, saying I invented the gunman.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “I don’t know, but he hates Dez. Could be he’s trying to use me to get at my brother.”

  “That seems like a pretty drastic way to poke at a rival. I can’t imagine a police officer would bend an investigation to try to meet a theory with no merit, simply to get at someone.”

  “It’s not quite that simple.” Sully explained about last night’s break-in, the missing thumb drive and the morning’s shooting, as well as what followed in terms of the ghosts he’d seen. “The problem is, there’s no physical evidence so far on either of the incidents that connect them to anyone else. No prints were left, no DNA evidence, nothing concrete.”

  “But you found the clothes. Surely something will be found on them, whether blood or hair or even gunpowder residue.”

  “The shooter was standing too far back from Betty to get any blood on him, and there’s no suggestion he was injured in any way that would leave his own blood on the clothes. Maybe hair or saliva will turn up on the mask, but that’s my only hope. As of now, Raynor thinks Dez or I planted them, and he’ll no doubt argue blowback can’t be connected to any particular event. He’ll say Dez could have fired his own gun while wearing the coat himself.”

  “Dez’s gun could be tested for recent firing.”

  “That won’t
help. He had to re-qualify a few days ago for his firearms certification.”

  “Even so, I still think it sounds like this investigator would be reaching pretty far to continue to look at you for this. You’ll keep me posted?”

  “I will.”

  “So this ghost you’ve been seeing,” Marc said. “What do you think is going on with him?”

  “I was hoping you might have some answers. I can’t figure out what he’s after, much less why he led me to the alley where Dez and I found those clothes.”

  “Could be he’s connected to the shooter in some way. Maybe he came to you to ….” Marc broke off, pressing his lips together and visually scanning his desk’s surface.

  Sully was never one to leave well enough alone, not when it came to finding the answers he needed to get rid of his ghosts. “Came to me to what?”

  “Nothing. Never mind. Thinking aloud, that’s all.”

  “No, you weren’t. What were you going to say?”

  Marc sighed and returned his gaze to Sully’s face. There was regret in the upturn of his eyebrows, in the tiny, apologetic smile. “Maybe he came to you the night before to warn you.”

  The answer’s full meaning settled over Sully like the feeling of standing in the pub’s beer cooler for too long, leaving him chilled and numb. He slouched back against the chair, eyes drifting from Marc’s face to a poster on the wall, an advertisement for a Beltane festival from years back. The poster featured a flame-lit phoenix and someone in a costume twirling fire. Sully had been in the office once on a particularly cold winter’s day, frozen to the bone and shivering from the walk over from the nearest bus stop. While waiting for Marc, Sully had studied that poster and had gradually warmed as he imagined the feel of the fire. Today, he felt nothing, could do nothing but accept he was currently lost within a world too dark and cold for any warmth to find a way in.