by H. P. Bayne
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 bird.”
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 Sa
lvation 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 time 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.
Sully opened the glove compartment and located a flashlight. He’d need it if he was heading out in that.
Edgar wouldn’t be able to get out of the car from the back, thanks to the disabled door handles, and Dez had taken the keys with him, a fortunate force of habit. While Sully didn’t think Edgar would be able to climb in front and drive off, it wasn’t worth the risk of Dez having to explain to a disciplinary committee how a drunk senior had made off with his police car.
“Eddie, sit tight. I have to go check something out.”
“Where ya goin’?”
“I saw someone I think I know,” Sully said. “If Dez gets back before I do, tell him I headed down the alley to the right and that I saw Breanna. Can you remember that?”
“Deanna?”
“Breanna, Eddie. Breanna. Got it?”
Eddie waved a hand and nodded heavily, grumbling a reply his own mother probably wouldn’t have been able to understand. Hoping for the best, Sully got out of the car and clicked on the flashlight.
It took him just a few seconds to get to where Breanna was standing, and he was soaked through by the time he reached her. He pulled up his hood and swiped at his eyes, clearing them of water; when he returned his gaze to where she’d been standing, she was gone.
He spotted her again, a dim, pale glow through the rain down the back alley, and he headed toward her, trying to keep to the edges to avoid the pooling water. He was grateful for the work boots he’d picked up at a secondhand store, his feet the only remaining dry part of him.
Breanna vanished as he approached her position, appearing again a couple of houses down. Thinking about the warm protection of the car, Sully gritted his teeth as a gust of wind threatened to blow his sodden hood from his head. Sully held onto it and continued forward, bracing himself against the pelting rain.
Breanna wasn’t similarly affected, of course, her hair not whipping around or dripping as his
was where it escaped his hood. He reminded himself she had things far worse, haunted as she must be by what had happened to her, by her purpose in coming for him.
At last, as they approached the end of the block, she stopped, allowing Sully to catch up before she turned and walked into the unfenced and overgrown backyard of a clearly abandoned house. There were enough of those around here, some left vacant by landlords who had tired of fixing damage caused by bad tenants, others simply given up when previous owners moved on or died with no prospect of a sale. This was quite possibly one of the latter, judging by the lean to the house, suggesting structural and foundation issues bound to cost more to fix than the property was worth. Into that, Breanna stepped, disappearing into an enclosed rear porch and waiting for him there, her form visible through the rain-streaked windows.
As unpleasant as it was standing outside in the rain, Sully was even more uncomfortable with the idea of walking in there. Houses like this might have been abandoned by their owners, but that didn’t by any means translate into their being empty. Many had been illegally converted into makeshift homes by squatters, while others were taken over by junkies. Most gangs relied on houses owned or legally rented by members or associates, but that wasn’t to say certain illicit dealings didn’t go on in places like this one, places where no one was likely to come looking.
Despite his reservations, Sully knew if he didn’t follow her, she’d never stop following him.
Heaving a breath, he walked up the rickety back steps. The door to the porch was broken, making that entry an easy one. Breanna had, by now, entered the actual house and Sully could make her out through the smashed window of the back door. His view of her was unobstructed thanks to the vandalism, a good sign Sully wasn’t the first to have made this trip.
Tucking his hand into his sleeve, Sully used the wet material to turn the doorknob. It gave easily in his hand, and he opened the door only far enough to slip through into a long-disused kitchen.