The Sullivan Gray Series Box Set

by H. P. Bayne

  Not today, though. Today was different. Today, he was different.

  He was able to avoid most of Flynn, no doubt raising a few eyebrows as he hugged the exit door rather than walking straight through. But Flynn was an imposing man, and it was impossible to avoid him altogether, Sully’s shoulder passing through Flynn’s left bicep. The chill was enough to cause a muscle cramp, but Sully merely rubbed at it as he continued forward, eating up the rest of the short distance to the bar.

  He didn’t bother with the front door, heading straight for the back alley. One of Lowell’s cars, a Range Rover, was parked there already, and Sully headed for the rear entrance and the keypad that would get him inside. He’d expected another appearance by Flynn, was surprised when it didn’t come. He didn’t try to guess at what that meant, not wasting the time before keying in the entry code and stepping inside.

  There, at the base of the stairs leading to the apartments, Sully saw his father. Only he wasn’t alone. Facing him, staring with those wide, fearful, far-seeing eyes, was Harbinger Harry Schuster.

  Sully had always wondered whether ghosts saw each other, or if they passed each other without so much as realizing the other’s presence. This—at least as far as these two went—answered his question, Flynn squaring off against Harry as if anticipating a physical battle. Harry’s bushy brows lowered in response, for the first time revealing a face set more in determination than in horror.

  Caught in a mixture of worry and fascination at what seemed to be an impending ghostly duel, Sully had momentarily forgotten Lowell. But, as usual, his uncle didn’t allow himself to be ignored for long. His voice came not, as expected, from the bar, but from upstairs. Sully shifted over just enough to see Lowell leaning back against the frame of the second-storey landing’s window, arms and legs crossed as if he’d been waiting.

  “I thought we could talk in your apartment. Come on up.”

  Despite not sharing Harry’s gift of foresight, Sully could hear the invitation’s scream of danger. And yet, it was nothing more than the sight of the two spirits, suddenly meeting each other in the beginnings of a violent struggle, that kept Sully from rushing headlong up those stairs.

  As in life, Flynn was sizeably larger and more skilled in physical confrontations than Harry, but the laws of physics were made to be broken in the spirit world. As the deceased cop attempted to catch Harry with well-honed holds or hand strikes, Harry disappeared from one spot only to reappear in another a moment later.

  Flynn’s purpose was obvious: having recognized the ghost of the man who had possessed Sully, he would do everything in his power from allowing the spirit anywhere near his son again. Sully didn’t think one spirit could harm another—not in any lasting way, anyway—but there was plenty about this world he had yet to learn. And so he had to battle his anxiety over Flynn as he took advantage of the ghosts’ distraction to ascend the stairs. Lowell was, after all, the reason he’d come here in the first place.

  Lowell had moved, was standing next to the apartment door, and Sully fought against every instinct to lash out here and now, reason reminding him how close he was to the stairs. Lowell wasn’t as big as Flynn, but he was still larger than Sully, and a physical fight wasn’t likely to turn out well for the smaller man in any context. Starting anything from an even more precarious position was nothing short of stupid.

  Pulling the keys from his pocket, Sully let the two of them inside, leaving the eerily silent battle behind downstairs with an unspoken prayer to keep Flynn safe.

  Up here, he was waging his own battle, waiting until Lowell edged past him in the entry hall before lashing out with a fist, catching the taller man on the jaw.

  Rarely in his life had Sully resorted to physical violence, and he’d forgotten how much it hurt to punch a man. It wasn’t any more pleasant when Lowell, knocked on his ass as much due to surprise as the actual force of the blow, reacted with a push immediately upon rising to his feet, strong enough to shove Sully back into the wall.

  “What the hell was that for?” Lowell demanded, his voice a shout in the otherwise-silence of the deserted building.

  “I know what you did, you son of a bitch.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You killed Dad. You fucking killed Dad!”

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  “I don’t,” Lowell said. But then the dawning of realization showed in his face, one eyebrow lifting as he regarded Sully. “You’ve been talking to Thackeray Schuster, haven’t you?”

  “What?”

  “I went over today to offer my condolences, but I saw you there, sitting with him on the veranda. The man’s apeshit crazy, Sullivan. Didn’t Flynn or Dez tell you what he went to prison for?”

  “He told me he didn’t do it. He told me you set him up.”

  Lowell’s laugh matched the scoffing tone of his reply. “He would say that. Easier than admitting to the world he gets off on kids. Think about it. His father’s in the loony bin, Sullivan. Mental illness often runs in families, and a lot of people start suffering symptoms in their mid-twenties or thirties. That’s what happened to Harry, and that’s what’s happening to Thackeray. Betty told me as much before she was killed, that she was concerned Thackeray was going the same way his father had.”

  “I’ve met with him a few times. I’ve never seen any sign of mental illness.”

  “No? Not even paranoia?”

  “If he’s paranoid, it’s for good reason.”

  Lowell smirked. “Let me guess. He told you I set him up, sent his father to Lockwood, maybe even caused the old man’s stroke. Hell, he probably told you I’m behind what happened to Betty, right?”

  “That’s not all he said.”

  “Yeah, the two of you also concocted this theory I’m responsible for Flynn’s death.”

  “The day he died, Dad left our place in a rage, intending to confront you about something. Thing is, he’d found a thumb drive in my pocket, and he’d apparently looked at its contents. You know what was on it. You know because Betty told you.”

  “Betty didn’t tell me anything. I don’t know anything about any thumb drive.”

  “So why did Dad leave our place so pissed with you?”

  “He found out about the sleeping pills I’d been giving you, all right? He was pissed off no one had told him. He said they’re addictive and he didn’t want you becoming dependent on them.”

  “You want me to believe that’s the only reason he went to see you.”

  “It is. He was always protective of you. He knew you had issues, claimed to see things that weren’t there. People like you tend to be more susceptible to addictions, he said.”

  Lowell was baiting him, trying to distract him from the central issue to all this, the one Sully had quickly realized Lowell was not ever going to raise. Even so, the words stung, required a response.

  “He wouldn’t have said that.”

  “He did say that, Sullivan. He knew how disturbed you are. We all know. Why do you think the police are so keen to see you charged with Betty’s death?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “Come on,” Lowell said. “She was my employee. I was among the first people questioned about it. Let me ask you something. Did you do it?”

  Sully stared at his uncle through narrowed eyes. “You know damn well I didn’t.”

  “Right, forgot. I must know that because I did it myself, right? You’re more ill than I thought if you believe that. And if you think anyone else will believe your little theory, you’re beyond unhinged. I mean, what reason could I possibly have to kill my most reliable employee, let alone someone I considered a friend?”

  “Because she figured you out,” Sully said. “She’d realized, after several attempts had been made on Thackeray’s life in prison, that her son was right about you. More than that, she figured out Thackeray was right about what you did seventeen years ago.�
�

  Lowell had to know what Sully was talking about. The pallor that settled over the flesh of his face caused the scattering of freckles there to stand out in contrast. He didn’t ask what Sully meant, as if afraid to hear the response. The silence provided more of an answer than anything Lowell might say out loud in meeting the accusation.

  “I don’t know why, but I do know you killed Aiden Braddock. You were down with him at the creek behind the house, and you drowned him.”

  “You’re out of your mind.”

  “Really? Here’s the thing. I know you say you don’t believe it, but I see ghosts. And I don’t see them unless someone’s done something to cause their death. Aiden hasn’t appeared to me often, but I have seen him. And I wouldn’t be seeing him unless there was more to his death than a simple accidental drowning. I’ve never asked, but I’d be willing to bet you were there the day he went missing. And I’d be just as willing to bet you know exactly what happened to him, and that Dad figured it out based on Thackeray’s accusations on the thumb drive.

  “You killed Aiden and then, when Dad accused you of it, you injected him with epinephrine—enough to cause a massive heart attack. You knew no one would ever accuse you of anything other than the explanation you provided. And you knew, if they did, you could just fall back on family history of heart failure and your own panic to explain how you ‘accidentally’ killed your brother. And, yeah, I know that wasn’t an accident either because I’ve been seeing Dad too. He went to see you, Lowell, and now he’s dead, and I’m seeing him. You might be able to explain away everything else, but not that.”

  Lowell’s eyes had widened at Sully’s accusations, and now they narrowed until he was fixing the younger man with a look that threatened to put Sully in the same state as Flynn and Aiden.

  “You need help, Sullivan. And if no one else is going to get it for you, I will. You might not believe it, but it really is for your own good.”

  This was why Sully had opted to take the bus rather than run the distance to the Black Fox, leaving him stronger for the fight he now had on his hands. Lowell had size on his side but Sully had youth and, for a minute or so, the physical struggle between the two of them was more or less evenly balanced. No further punches were thrown, the fight consisting almost entirely of a close-quarters wrestling match through which Sully initially managed to stay on his feet.

  The fight went to the ground within seconds. There wasn’t much time for conscious thought, but fear was beginning to drive him now as much as the anger—fear about what would happen if he lost. Sully had wanted to confront the man, to drive a fist or two into his mid-section as he was currently doing. But it had been Lowell, after all, who had summoned him here. In his anger, Sully hadn’t given that fact the consideration it deserved, so he’d put himself in a situation without first thinking through the possibilities, the end game Lowell had in mind.

  Lowell was older, had lost some of the natural energy of youth. But he was by no means lacking in physical strength. As he did everything else in life, Lowell strove for excellence, for perfection, to come out on top. It happened so fast, Sully barely knew how he got there. But here he was, lying beneath Lowell’s not-insignificant weight, the two of them panting from the exertions of the brawl while Lowell felt back in his pocket for what Sully knew, rather than suspected, was a syringe.

  Movement to the right drew Sully’s attention to the presence of two others, the combatants from downstairs hovering next to them. Flynn and Harry were no longer fighting, and Flynn’s eyes had grown to near the size of the other ghost’s as they watched for a moment the dwindling battle between the room’s two solidly present occupants.

  A look passed between the two spirits, eyes meeting as if one was looking to the other for an answer to an unasked question. The meaning became clear only when Harry moved to stand at Sully’s feet, the chill of him causing Sully’s body to seize as the ghost first sat and then lay down—not next to Sully, but in him.

  Only, this time, Sully didn’t feel the sensation of disappearing, of losing himself to Harry’s utter physical and mental control. It was as if Harry had made room for him, was giving Sully a chance to be heard, seen and felt—empowering him as co-pilot rather than a slumbering passenger within his own body.

  Sully felt his own youthful, controlled energy emboldened by Harry’s frantic, pulse-like force, the two entwining until Sully could no longer sense where his spirit ended and the intruder’s began. Beyond that, more disturbingly, were the joining of thoughts and feelings, Sully’s anger turned to rage and his anxiety transformed into outright terror as he regarded Lowell through eyes that were currently only half his own. Sully had always distrusted and disliked Lowell; Harry, he could now perceive, loathed and feared him.

  There was weakness in rage and terror, a terrible potential for loss of control when emotion rendered mind and body incapable of the rationality necessary for mounting a useful defence. But there was also unnatural strength and power to be found there, the kind that enabled a mother to move a vehicle that was pinning her child, or a horrifically wounded victim to outrun a pursuing assailant.

  Sully felt every bit of that, this literal strength of two men he was now marshalling for the next, and likely final, phase of this battle with Lowell.

  Sully stilled under the weight of the older man, a move Lowell appeared, through the lack of suspicion in his expression and movements, to accept as exhaustion. It had Lowell removing his hold from Sully’s right arm and his weight from his upper torso, allowing Lowell to focus both hands on the task of readying a syringe full of what Sully imagined was the same sedative he’d used during the pair’s last violent exchange.

  Arms freed, and energy revving through him like high-octane fuel through a motorcycle’s engine, Sully funnelled this strange combination of his and Harry’s life force into one place inside himself, Lowell the target at the end of this particular range. He pushed against Lowell hard enough the syringe flew from his grip and rolled across the floor. Lowell reestablished his grip on Sully and, judging by the strained sound of his grunts and protests, it was all he could do to hold on. There was light at the end of this particular tunnel, a chance for escape, or even to finish this in such a way that Lowell would reconsider ever crossing Sully or anyone he cared about again.

  Sully tensed his hips and arms, the energy of two people lifting and shoving, throwing Lowell partway across the room. Sully and Lowell climbed to their feet at the same time, Lowell’s eyes having grown wide in the interim.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Sullivan.”

  “You won’t.”

  The two met again, Sully rushing him, shoving him back against the wall hard enough to cause a sizeable crack in the drywall. Grabbing hold of the larger man’s jacket, Sully pulled and spun, tossing Lowell across the room and sending him tumbling across the overturned coffee table. One of Lowell’s thighs collided with a table leg, and he held the injured spot as he dragged himself backward, away from his advancing opponent.

  An end to this was within sight if Sully wanted it. Harry desired it, no question, seeking to drag Sully’s eyes over to the knife rack. But Sully was no killer, and he wasn’t about to become one now. Not only did he not want it on his conscience, he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life ducking Lowell Braddock’s vengeful spirit.

  The hall leading to the apartment door was close, no way Lowell could catch him if he ran. He could leave this place, disappear and stay that way until he could sort out what to do, come up with a plan that didn’t require someone’s death or the strength of a partial possession.

  At this moment, he had both the upper hand and a choice to make.

  Approaching footsteps echoed in the quiet room. Sully turned his head and knew his upper hand, his choice, had disappeared. This solid form of Larson Hackman blocked his only exit.

  From his uncle’s movement, Sully could tell Lowell had spotted the Lockwood head orderly at the same time, leaving Sully no opportunity to figur
e out what the man was doing here. “Hackman, help me. The syringe. Grab the syringe!”

  For a few seconds, the appearance of the orderly proved more than Harry could psychologically manage, fear spiking to dizzying heights as he focused on the large man. Sully fought to pull Harry back, but the few seconds of distraction were costly, granting Lowell an opportunity to pull off a tackle his former high school and college football coaches would have praised. Sully landed on his side, skull thudding against the floor on the way. Head swimming, he could do little as Lowell turned him onto his belly, straddling his hips and holding him there.

  After a few seconds, his spinning vision settled on his father, who was standing just a few feet away. If possible, Flynn appeared more terror-stricken as he stepped forward to rain ineffectual blows on his brother. And Sully had to struggle to redirect both his and Harry’s attention, his own caught by the image of Flynn and Harry’s by Hackman. The orderly ensured the substance within the retrieved syringe was ready for use. Lowell was the immediate barricade that needed to be cleared, the tether Sully and Harry needed to sever in order to free themselves of this threat.

  But Harry’s dread was not easily overcome, and Sully sensed this fear was not of something the man had envisioned, but rather a reality he himself had experienced. Hackman, Sully now knew, was something more than cocky, condescending and generally repugnant; he was dangerous.

  There was little time to spare, Hackman approaching while Lowell continued to hold on. Harry seemed to understand it as he refocused himself, once again joining his energy to Sully’s.

  Flynn had taken a step back, was standing in the corner, watching the unfolding situation with an expression of the utmost dread. Sully recalled having told him the dead often used him like a battery, draining him of energy in order to replenish their own. Flynn would know Sully needed every bit of his right now and Sully’s heart broke for the sense of helplessness once so unknown to his father.