by Ghost Walk
“Uh, right.”
But when they moved away from the center of activity in the Quarter, Brent did start to walk in the shadows, and when they neared the cemetery, he had them walk single file by the wall.
“There’s a good place to hop over,” Julian whispered.
“The gate will be opened,” Brent said.
“How do you know?”
“Just a feeling.”
It was open. Either someone had come before them, or Huey had managed to get the gate open. They slipped in. The graveyard was heavy with the sound of silence.
Brent inhaled.
Closed his eyes.
Opened them.
And Huey was there. “Not yet. Maybe not at all, but not yet,” the old haunt said softly.
Brent nodded, indicating that they needed to find hiding places. He knew a few, but he wasn’t surprised when Nikki lifted a hand, pointing. They hurried past a society tomb and on to one with classic Greek columns and a wrought-iron gate.
The gate was open, and they slipped inside.
Coffins lined the walls. Dust lay heavy on the concrete flooring. Broken stained-glass windows looked out onto the rest of the site. A slender thread of moonlight dusted the angels, cherubs, tombs and mausoleums beyond.
“What now?” Julian mouthed.
“We wait,” Brent said.
Julian nodded. He sat against one of the inner sarcophagi in the small space.
Outside, the heated earth met the cooler air of the night. A soft ground fog was swirling.
As Brent stared through a ragged break in the once-beautiful glass, he saw forms of thicker mist moving within the fog.
An eerie light drifted toward the mausoleum where they waited.
He held his breath, praying that it would not disappear.
It came closer, closer….
He felt Nikki at his shoulder. He could hear the pounding of her heart. It was a drumbeat, loud and staccato.
“Oh, God,” she whispered.
And he knew. She didn’t want to be afraid. She didn’t want to fear the fog.
But it was growing….
And a sense of cold was forming all around them.
“Man, what the hell are we doing out here?” Joulette demanded.
He was in the passenger seat. Massey had driven.
“Staring at a cemetery,” Massey said.
Joulette looked at his watch. He shook his head, then sipped at the coffee in his hand. “What the hell is wrong with us?” he asked. “Why don’t we work normal hours?”
“We’re cops,” Massey said.
“Shit!” Joulette said, straightening.
“What? Where?”
Joulette pointed with the hand that held his cup. And Massey saw that a figure, dark as the night, was moving along the fence.
“Shit,” Massey repeated.
He started to get out of the car. As he opened the door, it slammed back at him. Stunned, he looked up.
There was another figure in the night.
And that one was right at his window.
The form began to materialize in front of the mausoleum. Julian, still seated against the tomb, suddenly seemed frozen there.
“What…what…?” he whispered.
Nikki ignored him. She touched Brent’s shoulder.
“It’s him?” Brent asked quietly.
“I think,” Nikki said.
The terrible sense of cold was filling the tomb. Nikki felt it seeping down her spine. She closed her eyes for a moment, then turned.
Andy was with them.
“Andy, we need you,” she said, her voice light as the air.
Brent turned, too, looking at Andy. “We need his help, too,” Brent said. “For justice. For him and for you.”
Andy nodded, frowning. “It’s difficult…difficult to be here. I don’t know why. But I’ll try…I’ll try.”
“His name is Tom Garfield,” Brent reminded her. “Tom Garfield. I need him. I need his help.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Andy murmured.
Julian spoke up from his place against the tomb. Shivering, lips chattering, he said, “You’re both…you’re both crazy. Talking to the air. Oh my God, it’s cold in here. Cold, in New Orleans, at this time of year. It’s the stone, of course…all the stone.” There was no conviction in his voice.
Andy looked at Julian and shrugged. “He’s still a good guy,” she murmured.
Then she walked out of the tomb, a moving trail of light, mist and cold. The somber spirit of Tom Garfield stood dead still, wary as ever as he watched Andy approach. But she reached him. And as her astral hand touched his shoulder, she spoke softly, then turned to face the mausoleum.
“You go first. You’re the one he’s trying to reach,” Brent said.
“Crazy, both crazy,” Julian said, shivering still.
“Julian, you’ve got to be quiet,” Nikki said.
“Maybe spending the night with that sexual barracuda would have been better,” Julian said, arms clenched over his chest.
“Julian,” Brent said in a low voice, but sharply. Julian looked up at him. “You’ve got to shut up. The ghosts in this cemetery are not the danger.”
Julian stared at him, nodded, and seemed to find some resolve. “Right.” He only mouthed the word.
Nikki looked out. Tom Garfield was standing next to Andy, not moving, looking from her to the mausoleum. He seemed faint and pale at first, made of narrow light and nothing more. Then his form became more solid. At first his feet weren’t there, and then, slowly, they were, and he appeared as much alive to Nikki as he had in the street, as he had every time she had seen him.
Alive, and strong, and determined.
“He’s trying,” Brent whispered. “And he’s…”
Nikki moved quickly then, exiting the mausoleum. She shuddered at the creaking sound the gate made in the night, seeming incredibly loud.
“Tom,” she said, walking forward. “You’ve tried to talk. I haven’t known how to listen.”
Brent was at her side. “My name is Brent Blackhawk. You have no reason to trust me, except that Nikki trusts me,” he said. “But I’m here to help. We’re both here to help. To find the people who murdered you.”
Julian had promised to be quiet. He had seemed to understand, but maybe it was all a little bit too much for him. They could hear the soft echo of his voice from within the tomb.
“Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. They’re at it again. They’re talking to ghosts. And asking for help. Talking to ghosts,” Julian murmured. But there was no mockery in his voice.
Nikki glanced back. She could see the shadowed form of her friend hunkered down low in the mausoleum.
Julian had his hands over his face. “What am I doing here?” he groaned.
She turned back to Tom Garfield. He was staring at Brent. Judging him. He seemed to take a long time in the chill, charged atmosphere of the mist-shrouded graveyard.
Then he spoke. His voice sounded grating, harsh, like the scrape of heavy equipment.
As if he were learning to talk all over again.
But he spoke. And the sound was clear on the air.
“Soon…the rear…the ovens. They come here…there’s a stash. I’m not sure where. They’re always masked.”
“Let’s go,” Nikki said.
“No. You stay here, in the tomb with Julian,” Brent said.
“I have to go with you.”
“No. Please, Nikki. I’m not alone. The cops are out there.”
Just then, like a strange thunder in the night, they heard a series of soft thumps from the rear of the graveyard.
Brent shoved Nikki toward the mausoleum. “Please?” he whispered desperately.
All around them, the mist seemed to swirl.
There were more and more forms around them.
And the cold brought on shivers.
“It’s easier for me to fend for myself, Nikki. When I know you’re in danger, I’m not as sharp,” he said, and she
knew that his words were sincere.
Tom Garfield had turned. The ghost of Andy Ciello watched, then slowly began to fade.
Brent followed the earthly remnants of the soul of Tom Garfield.
Nikki exhaled slowly, then turned and quickly found a place inside the tomb again. Julian was on the ground, still shaking, teeth chattering. He looked at her miserably and winced. “And I’m protecting you?” he said wryly.
“Ghosts do exist, Julian,” she said, taking his hands, holding them both to reassure him and for the warmth they provided.
He didn’t agree, but he also didn’t deny her words. He just stared straight ahead, through the wrought-iron gate of the mausoleum.
“Nikki?” he said on a breath.
“What?”
His eyes seemed fixed on the gate.
She looked out herself. And saw, even as Julian spoke again.
“Nikki…someone’s coming.” He looked at her tensely and added, “And it isn’t any ghost.”
“You!” Massey exclaimed.
Joulette was swearing. He’d spilled his coffee.
“What are you two doing here?” the man at the window asked harshly. Haggerty! Of all the damn times for him to show up.
“You’re in our way,” Joulette said.
“I rank, fellows, and I repeat, what are you doing out here?”
“We heard a rumor about some hooligans being in the cemetery,” Massey said. He looked at Joulette with a frown that demanded, Did you call him?
Joulette was looking back at him just as suspiciously.
Massey looked back at Haggerty. In his customary suit, he was standing by the driver’s door, staring down at them as if they were errant schoolboys.
“A girl was attacked out here the other night,” Massey said.
“Yeah? And that’s a big deal these days?” Haggerty asked.
“She might have been killed.”
The darkness suddenly seemed to close in. Haggerty looked up. “Clouds over the moon,” he said.
“Yell, well, there’s someone in the graveyard, too,” Massey said, angrily forcing his door open. “I am an officer of New Orleans, sworn to uphold the law, and this is my territory. Excuse me, will you?”
Joulette, too, exited the car. Before he could close his door, they heard the explosion as a shot was fired in the night.
19
Ghosts were invisible to most people.
Brent was not.
He had moved carefully among the tombs, even as he followed Garfield. But the shot that was fired out of the mist was fired at him.
Instead, the bullet hit the nose of a winged angel at his side.
He dove to the ground, and rolled, finding safety behind a society crypt just as another shot rang out.
Then there was the sound of thundering footsteps from all directions. In the swirl of fog, he saw a dark-clad figure running back in the direction from which he had come—toward Nikki’s hiding place.
He pulled his Smith &Wesson and got to his feet, following. He dodged between the crypts and sarcophagi, angels, cherubs, broken stone and masonry, damning himself. He had known that something was going to happen. Come hell or high water, he should have found a way to keep Nikki out of the cemetery. How in God’s name anyone could know she was hidden in a crypt…
Tom Garfield was ahead of him.
And ahead of Garfield was a figure, staring into the tomb where Brent had left Nikki and Julian. And he had a gun.
A gun that was aimed into the tomb.
A series of shots from the rear wall of the graveyard sounded, sharp like the bark of thunder in a fierce storm, exploding in the night.
The figure paused briefly, but not for long. It took aim again.
“Stop!” Brent shouted.
The figure turned.
“Put down your weapon.”
The figure took aim at Brent.
With no other choice, Brent fired. He aimed for the wrist. And he aimed true. The gun went flying.
But before the figure could do more than scream in agony, another shot was fired in the night.
From behind Brent.
Nikki’s would-be assassin fell to the ground. Even as he did so, sirens sounded in the night, so loud that the noise seemed to dispel the mist. Brent looked behind him. In the fading mist, he could see the shooter. The gun was pointed at him now.
He lifted his own weapon again.
“Drop it,” came the command.
Brent held his ground, blinded in the night.
“FBI! Drop it!”
“Haggerty?”
“I just saved your life. Now drop your weapon.”
Footsteps pounded behind Haggerty.
“Blackhawk? That you?”
It was Massey, shouting.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
He lowered his weapon. Haggerty did the same. “God above us,” Haggerty swore. “It’s not bad enough you two clowns are running around in here, we have to bring in the Indian ghost buster, as well. Shit. You ruined it. Ruined the sting. You guys keep out of my way from now on, do you hear? And the fuckin’ paperwork is yours, too!” Haggerty bellowed in disgust. He turned and walked away, disappearing in the mist.
Both Massey and Joulette pounded quickly toward Brent. “You all right?” Joulette asked.
“I’m fine. The one in front of me…”
Nikki. Nikki and Julian…
Brent broke off and hurried to the mausoleum, throwing open the iron gates. His heart leaped into his throat and lodged hard.
There was no one there.
Nikki fell over the wall, right behind Julian. He caught her, breaking the distance to the sidewalk.
“This is insane. This is all insane,” he said. He glared at her. “Nikki, for the love of God, what the hell are you into? You know, I like Blackhawk, but he’s a wacko, and he’s dangerous. What in God’s name was going on in there? We could have been shot!”
Nikki stared at Julian. “I told you not to come.”
The sound of another siren tore through the night.
“Let’s get the hell out of here before we wind up involved in all this.”
“We are involved,” Nikki protested.
“No, we’re not. We’re outside the cemetery.”
“Brent is in there somewhere.”
“And you think he can’t take care of himself? He’s like this with the cops.” Julian raised his hand, showing entwined fingers.
“Julian, someone’s shooting in there and—”
“And we’re lucky as hell the guy about to kill us was shot, and that we were able to escape unseen. Nikki, if we go back in, if we get involved, what would we do? What would we say? You had a feeling that you needed to go to the cemetery. You talk to ghosts. Oh, they’re going to believe that. We’ll wind up under arrest ourselves, if we’re not killed first. Nikki, please, let’s get away from here.”
“Julian, I can’t just walk away while Brent is in there.”
“There are a million cops in there.”
“And it sounded as if there were a million shots fired. How do I even know he’s all right?”
“Because he is who he is,” Julian said, and his voice sounded just a touch bitter. “He’ll be fine. I’m willing to bet he’s CIA or FBI or some kind of alphabet-agency person. He’s tough as nails. He’ll be fine.”
“I can’t leave him.”
Julian stared at her for a minute in exasperation. Another police car went past them, its lights flashing, its siren blaring. He grabbed Nikki, dragging her into the shadows.
“I’ve got it,” he said.
“What?” she demanded.
He reached into his pocket.
“Blackhawk!” Massey called. “What the hell are you doing?”
Brent shoved past Massey, anxiously scanning the nearby crypts. His veins felt as if they were filled with ice.
“Blackhawk?”
He barely heard Massey speaking. “Nikki!”
There was no answe
r. He started to run down the nearest path, searching the shadows and mist, shouting her name.
“Blackhawk?” Massey was chasing him.
Brent stopped dead. Huey was standing before him. “They got out of here, Injun boy. Jumped the fence.”
“What?”
“Blackhawk, what the hell…are you talking to me?”
“She got out of here. It’s all right,” Huey said.
“Blackhawk, sweet Jesus, but you’re giving me the willies.”
Staring at Huey, knowing he was hearing the truth, Brent felt such a surge of relief that he nearly sank to the ground.
“She’s all right,” he murmured, closing his eyes. “I was so afraid that I’d find corpses!”
“There are corpses. Three of them,” Massey thundered. “What in God’s name are you doing?”
At that moment, Brent’s pocket vibrated. He reached for his cell phone.
“Nikki?”
To his relief, he heard her voice.
“We’re outside, Brent,” she said quickly. “Julian thinks we should get the hell out of here as quickly as possible. He says we don’t know anything. But I had to make sure you were all right.”
“I’m fine.”
“What should I do? I wouldn’t know what to say to the police. They already think I’m crazy. They must really think you’re crazy, but at least you’re ‘officially’ crazy—sorry, an official of some kind who’s crazy—and…oh, God, you are all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“Blackhawk,” Massey protested. “Are you listening to me? We’ve got three corpses in the cemetery. We’ve got hours and hours’ worth of paperwork, and you’d better have some kind of explanation for all this. And what are you doing? Romancing your girl on the phone.”
“I’m fine, Nikki. Listen, go—” He paused, in an agony of indecision. He was almost positive that Julian was innocent of any wrongdoing. He would be willing to bet that neither Patricia nor Nathan was involved, either.
The problem was, there wasn’t going to be just one guilty party in this.
And he didn’t know just who was involved, or how deeply.
“Go to the police station, Nikki. Tell Julian to walk you there, and if he doesn’t want to hang around, he can go home. Just tell them you’re waiting for me, all right?”