The Sullivan Gray Series Box Set

by H. P. Bayne

  Sully didn’t bother answering. Terrance probably didn’t need an answer anyway, and he proved it a moment later by offering another observation.

  “Let me tell you something. You might never know whose finger was on that trigger, or whether someone bumped it, or who shifted the barrel so it was aiming at her when it went off. I’m not going to tell you you’ll stop thinking about it, because you won’t. I was driving the TAV the day we hit that IED. I’ve replayed that moment in my head so many times, it’s burned in there like a cattle-brand. It’s never helped answer my questions. The road was full of ruts and bumps, so I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary in the spot we hit. Maybe I should have, maybe I missed something. If I’d driven a little to the left or right, I might have passed right over. Then again, maybe that would have meant the next vehicle got it. I’ll never figure it all out, and neither will you, no matter how many times you go through it.

  “You can find the guy responsible, but maybe he’s got the same questions you do. What are you going to do with your guilt, then? I’ll tell you one thing. If that scumbag hadn’t gone in there with a loaded shotgun, there wouldn’t have been a struggle for the gun, and no one would have been shot. If no one had buried a fucking IED in the road, my buddy and I would have just carried on back to base. We didn’t start this shit, kid, but you and me, we’ve got to figure out where to put it. I don’t know, maybe we never do.”

  Sully had first seen him in the park, standing next to Terrence, a young man around the same age Sully was now. He was dressed in full tactical gear, although parts of it—along with parts of his body—were missing. One arm was gone and one leg, and there were pieces blown out of his torso and face, but he remained standing upright as only the dead can. Sometimes they appeared to Sully as if they were keenly aware of their injuries, dragging along the ground or bent around whatever wound had spelled their death. Sometimes agony marred their features as if they continued to feel whatever trauma had killed them.

  Others, like this man, appeared oblivious—at least, to everything but the person standing next to him. There was not pain in his expression but a sympathy so profound it could only have been borne of the deepest friendship.

  The ghost looked to Sully, and the meaning was clear. This might be an uncomfortable conversation but it was a necessary one.

  “There was a young guy in the TAV with you that day, a good friend. His last name’s embroidered on the left front pocket of his shirt. It’s a bit torn, but it looks like Littlechief.”

  It took Terrence a moment to find his tongue. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “He was hurt bad in the explosion. He lost an arm and a leg and some pieces from his torso and lower face. He’s got dark brown hair and is roughly your height.”

  “I asked you a question. What are you talking about?”

  Sully drew in a deep breath, held it a moment and released it slowly, looking for calm in the movement. “I know how this is going to sound, but I see people after they die, usually as the result of something violent or criminal. He’s standing next to you now.”

  Terrence took a step back, stumbling as his foot came down behind him so that he ended up hitting one of the desks hard enough it would probably leave a bruise. A lot of people didn’t buy into the things Sully saw and so took some convincing, and he didn’t want to have to try to persuade Terrence of the truth with a hand wrapped around his throat.

  Sully talked fast.

  “He’s showing me a picture of the two of you with a couple other guys from the unit. He’s pulling it out of that same front pocket, along with a photo of a young woman and a baby. They appear to be Indigenous like he is.”

  “That’s his wife and little girl. He carried those two photos with him everywhere. How do you know that?”

  Part of Littlechief’s lower jaw was missing, and Sully was left to wonder whether he would have been able to understand the spirit even if he’d been capable of hearing him. Whatever the case, Littlechief didn’t try to talk, instead raising a finger and tracing a shape in the air, twice over.

  “It looks like he’s making the shape of a ‘B.’ Does that means anything to you? He’s doing it twice, and he’s pointing back at the pocket where he’s got the photos.”

  Tears had formed in Terrence’s eyes, and he swiped them away. “He called those photos his babes and his bros. How the fuck are you doing this?”

  “I told you how.”

  “That’s bullshit. You can’t know this. You can’t actually be seeing him.”

  Littlechief exuded frustration as he looked from Sully to his old friend, and then refocused to the light fixture overhead. Within seconds, it began to flicker, gently at first, and then with enough violence Sully thought the lightbulb might blow completely. When at last the flickering stopped, Terrence’s face had taken on a ghostly cast to rival that of Littlechief’s.

  “Why is that happening?”

  “It’s happened before, hasn’t it?”

  “Here, at home, sometimes when I’m out. Lightbulbs do that, the TV goes on and off by itself. Hell, I’ve even had to replace a microwave.”

  “Spirits are made up of energy and they can manipulate electricity as a way to interact. He’s been trying to get your attention, and he’s getting really frustrated.”

  Terrence had been breathing heavily, but now he stopped completely, round eyes fixed on Sully with what could only be described as dread. It took him a moment to form the words, as if he’d been debating whether he wanted to say them out loud. “He’s pissed at me, isn’t he? I’ve felt him sometimes, like he’s around me. Like he’s mad.”

  “He’s not angry for the reason you think,” Sully said, watching Littlechief for the confirmation he needed to forge ahead. The ghost provided it with an enthusiastic head nod, face turning between the two living people in what appeared to be an indication he wanted Sully to continue. “He’s pissed at you because you’re blaming yourself for something that’s not your fault. He’s sticking around because he’s trying to help you, to have your back like he used to, like you used to do for him. But you’re not hearing him, so he gets frustrated and starts screwing with your electricity. It probably happens mostly when you’re having bad moments, doesn’t it?”

  Terrence’s reply, coming amidst tears he’d given up on wiping away, was a whisper. “Jesus Christ. Chief? God, Chief, I’m so sorry, man. I’m so sorry.”

  Littlechief rolled his eyes and shook his head side to side.

  “He doesn’t want to hear it,” Sully said. “He’s rolling his eyes.”

  That drew a laugh from Terrence. “Jerk used to do that to me all the time. Knew it pissed me off. So, you’re trying to tell me he forgives me?”

  Littlechief shook his head again, leaving Sully to interpret. “I think he’s trying to tell you there’s nothing to forgive.” Sully met Littlechief’s eyes and received an approving head nod. “He’s telling me I’m on the money. You’ve been blaming yourself, and it’s been screwing you up for a long time. And he can’t move on until he knows you’re going to be okay.”

  Terrence’s eyes swept the room as if trying to see his friend for himself, before finally settling back on Sully. “Chief knows me, so he knows I’m a skeptical S.O.B. I need one more sign from him, something just between the two of us. I landed next to him after the explosion, and there was a moment, before the next vehicle came up on us, where it was just Chief and me. He couldn’t talk, but he did something right before he died, something he used to do to be a smart ass.”

  Sully waited while Littlechief played it through, revealing the answer with movement. “He’s pinching your cheek.”

  Whatever walls Terrence had erected to cope with that tragic day’s events crumbled to the ground, his throat releasing a sob that led to others. Sully waited him out, Littlechief standing at Terrence’s side until, at last, he quieted and blew his nose into a fast food joint’s napkin.

  He didn’t apologize for the breakdown, l
ikely didn’t want to acknowledge he’d even had one. Instead, his focus went back to Littlechief. “Is he okay? I mean, will he be okay if I am?”

  “He can’t really heal while he’s stuck here, if that’s what you’re asking. He looks like he did after the explosion. I mean, he doesn’t look like he’s in physical pain like some people I see, but he won’t be back in one piece until he can cross over.”

  Sully had been to the store a number of times in the past, and the smile breaking on Terrence’s face was the first Sully had ever seen on the man. “Then he can go. I don’t know how this is possible, but it feels like a weight’s gone. I’ve been living in the dark all this time, and I didn’t know I was keeping him there too. I thought there was no way to right my own wrongs, so I went out trying to right those of others. I don’t know, man. I don’t remember how to live outside of this box. But I’ll figure it out, okay, Chief? You get out of here, stop fucking with my electricity. You’re costing me money.”

  Sully passed along Littlechief’s response. “He’s laughing.”

  “Yeah, he would.”

  If there was a saving grace to seeing the dead, it was these moments, watching as death fell from the ghosts, as light filled and surrounded and healed them. Limbs appeared on Littlechief where they’d been missing, gaping wounds in his body filled and blood and gore faded from his now-crisp uniform. Littlechief’s expression, at first one of surprise, gave way to serenity and strength, peace radiating from him and through him.

  “I wish you could see him,” Sully told Terrence. “You just healed him, man.”

  “So he’s really okay?”

  “Oh, yeah. He’s more than okay.”

  Littlechief gave Terrence one last squeeze on the cheek before gracing Sully with a smile that sent a wave of warmth through him.

  Then he was gone.

  25

  Sully did Terrence one more service, manning the till for a poorly timed customer while the store’s manager got his emotions back under control in his office.

  When Terrence re-emerged, he was a different man from the one who’d gone in there. This Terrence Waters looked a little sheepish, but it was tempered by a smile that only grew as he regarded Sully.

  “Thanks for looking after that guy,” he said. “He’s not likely to be very understanding of me standing here blubbering like a baby. Sorry about losing my shit on you.”

  Sully returned the grin. “Forget it. If people don’t lose their shit on me, I’m not really trying.”

  Terrence pulled up a stool, joining Sully behind the counter. “You helped me, now I wanna help you. Whatever you want to know, I’ll tell you.”

  Sully was building up the nerve he’d need to face Forbes Raynor in an interview room. He’d come here looking for answers, expecting he might emerge with a suspect to pass along to the investigator. Now, the last thing Sully wanted was to hang Terrence Waters out to dry.

  “Maybe I don’t want to know.”

  Terrence wasn’t having it. “If the cops are gunning for you on this, you need answers to give them, ones you don’t have and likely won’t find. After I was medically discharged, I came back here and found there weren’t a whole lot of things I could do anymore. I was fucked with PTSD so bad I couldn’t hold a job, and you add in the physical injuries …. Well, there just wasn’t much I was trained in that I could still do. I tried to retrain, went to take a course in starting your own business, but I couldn’t finish. My head just wasn’t there. I damn near ended up on the street when money got tight. I got lucky, got a job here and worked my way to manager pretty quick. It’s not great work, and the pay’s crap, but it’s something. Anyway, I’ve been trying to support Chief’s wife and daughter with anything extra I have and, a couple weeks ago, I got a visit from a guy offering to pay me a decent amount of money to break into his business for him.”

  “Lowell Braddock.”

  “Yeah. Said there would be nothing illegal about it, since it was his place and I was doing it on his say-so. He’d actually come to me a few weeks before that with a bunch of posters he’d made up of that Schuster guy. Said he was out of prison and likely to reoffend, that I’d be doing everyone a favour by making sure the pervert stayed straight. Then, right before the break-in, Braddock came back and told me he believed his manager was using her office at the bar to conceal a thumb drive containing files that would incriminate her pervert kid, would prove he was back at the same shit. Braddock was worried if the drive was found in his business, he’d be implicated somehow, that people might think he was allowing it. He asked me to find the drive, but he warned me you lived in an upstairs apartment. He told me he passes you sleeping pills, but wasn't sure if you always took them. He said if you caught me at it, you weren’t to be harmed—not like I needed that direction. Sorry, I took you down a little hard. Adrenaline was pumping and I was in a rush to get out of there before the cops showed.”

  “You didn’t find anything.”

  “Nada. But then, I didn’t really have a whole lot of time to look. Had to report back I hadn’t had any luck. I’m glad I only talked to him on the phone. His tone suggested he’d have been looking for someone to bury his fists in.”

  The statement drew a smile from Sully. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d be worried about going toe to toe with Lowell Braddock. Dez is bigger than Lowell and better in a fight, and you gave him a run for his money.”

  “I wasn’t worried about getting hit,” Terrence said. “I was worried about doing the hitting. Someone like Lowell Braddock doesn’t take too kindly to having to explain a fat lip. He could make life real bad for me. It was one of the reasons I said yes when he came to me about the break-in, and the one you caught me at in the Schuster house. You don’t say no to people like him. He’s dangerous. Not in the way people like me are dangerous. But he’s a man people don’t refuse, and he’s got the money, power and connections to see to it you regret it if you do anything but go along with him. He risked a lot, asking in the first place. Because it meant someone else knew what he was up to, which made me a threat right from the get-go. Signing on to help removed that threat, put me right in there with him. I’m not going to report anything because I’d be implicating myself and, for someone like me, a jail cell with nothing to do all day but think would be next door to hell.”

  “Did he approach you about killing Betty?”

  “No, but I can guarantee he’s got something up his sleeve to send me up the river for it if it starts coming back on him.”

  “You think he did it himself?”

  “Break-ins are one thing. Him paying me to get into his own business, it’s probably doubtful whether there’s anything illegal in that. And the way crime’s been going up around here, cops and folks in the courts have better things to do than chase some pharm bigwig over a break-in at one of his own businesses. As far as the Schusters’ place, he had a key. Told me he owns the place, that Betty was just renting from him.”

  Sully hadn’t heard that, Betty always having referred to the place as hers. It was possible, of course. Lowell owned a number of rental properties in the city.

  “In any case,” Terrence continued. “The risk’s negligible to him, bringing someone else into that part of his plan. But involving someone else in a kill plot, that’s something else. Some things you’re better off doing yourself. Friends bury friends rather than do their time for them. Sure as hell won’t get loyalty from strangers.”

  There was little Sully could say to that, his brain chattering on at him in a way that made physical speech next to impossible. He realized he’d been silent longer than intended when Terrence’s voice cut into his thoughts.

  “If you’re thinking of a way to confront Lowell Braddock, let me give you a piece of advice. Don’t. Just don’t. I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but I think you need to just leave this be. That woman’s gone, and she’s not coming back. You pursue this, you go after Braddock on this, you’re going to come out the loser. People like him, they
don’t lose. It’s not in their makeup, and I’ll tell you another thing. Society’s built to take the word of a rich man over a poor one, and a big business leader over a bartender or a manager of an army surplus store. Face it, kid, you’re built to lose this one. Just let it lie.”

  “I wish it were that easy.”

  “Why isn’t it?”

  The answer to that one wasn’t right here, staring Sully in the face as it so often did, but it was close, never far away, never forgotten. “What you said about the dead being gone and not coming back, that’s true for most people. Not for me. They come to me for help, for justice, and they don’t leave me alone until I get it for them. I could ignore one. Maybe I could ignore a dozen. But all that means is that I wake up one morning, and I’ve got twelve ghosts staring down at me instead of just one new one. I was given this ability for a reason, and I realized early on in life ignoring it isn’t an option. And I’ve got my own conscience to wrestle with too. I couldn’t just let someone suffer when it’s in my power to help, and I sure couldn’t leave a friend to fend for herself—especially one I might have had a hand in killing.”

  Terrence regarded Sully a long moment before offering a reply. “I’ve given you my advice, but I hear what you’re saying. Conscience is a powerful enemy sometimes, and it’s not one you can easily kill. I know that better than most. You and me, we’ve got our own ghosts to lay to rest, I guess. I can’t come down on you for wanting to deal with yours when I’ve struggled under the weight of mine all this time. Listen, you helped me with mine. You need anything, you just tell me and you’ve got it.”

  Since he’d already ruled out the possibility of Dez’s involvement, the idea of having a man like Terrence Waters at his back when facing Lowell was a welcome one. But Sully squelched it almost as soon as it formed. If Sully was right, Lowell was behind at least two deaths, both people he knew, at least one he claimed to love. Confronting Lowell would be a dangerous task, and Sully was entertaining no ideas that his foster uncle would spare him. And, if Terrence showed up, too, he’d be nothing more to Lowell but another walking and talking target. The last thing Sully needed was another ghost, another death on his conscience.