Nearing the entrance, I reminded myself that I needed to get the ghosts out of the building. Leveling this place wasn’t a good option.
I tried to picture the legendary battle in my mind on the approach. I was near where the low wall had been … where Crocket and his Tennessee volunteers had been stationed. Since there were a couple of spirits roaming the outside, I approached them instead of going inside the chapel.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” I said.
They were startled and I enjoyed the irony of me scaring ghosts.
“I’m looking for Colonel Travis. I’ve heard he’s top dog around here.”
“Who are you?”
“My name’s Charlie Snowden.” I borrowed the name of an asshole that crossed my path a few months ago. He wasn’t in any position to protest. “I’m from St. Louis and looking to relocate either here or further west. I want to stop in and pay my respects.”
From my other adventures, I’d learned that it was customary for a ghost or Skinwalker to pay their respects to the “head honcho in a particular area. The ghosts sized me up. The larger and more menacing of the two men said, “No one walks up here and gets to see Colonel Travis. Who the hell do you think you are?”
Great, tough guys! “Like I said, my name’s Charlie Snowden. I’m here to pay my respects and see if I like San Antonio. If I stay, I’ll need a pipeline and would be willing to offer my services.”
“Wait here,” the taller ghost commanded and walked off. “Keep an eye on him, Clark.”
The thin and haggard looking man, named Clark, glared at me. The other man had been in regular clothes while Clark was in a uniform. I decided that he was probably a member of the New Orleans Greys. After suffering a few sour looks about my knowledge of History, I used the last few days to take a crash course on The Alamo.
“Nice weather today,” I offered trying to be friendly.
“Why’d you up and decide to leave St. Louey, Skinwalker?”
“Got a new body and decided to take it somewhere else – the usual. How are things down here?” I answered nonchalantly and realized how adept I was becoming at lying.
“You ain’t gonna see Colonel Travis today. If yer lucky, you’ll meet Capn’ Forsyth.”
“Why not? I’ll need some energy pretty soon.” I didn’t want to sound desperate, but I wanted them to think there was some urgency.
The ghost spread his lips in a smile and I noted the gaps in his teeth. “I guess that’s yer bad luck then on account that Colonel Travis ain’t here right now.”
“Where is he?”
Clark started to answer, but clammed up, probably realizing that he was giving away too much information. After about ten minutes, the ghost who’d left came back with another pair following him. The mustached ghost stepped forward.
“I’m John Hubbard Forsyth. To whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?” He was a New Yorker originally, but the years had significantly altered his accent.
“Charlie Snowden. Pleased to meet you, Captain Forsyth.” From my reading, Forsyth would have been the next in line for command after Travis died at the start of the battle and Bowie being sick and stuck in a bed. He was a cavalry man and my innate distrust of military officers reared its ugly head.
“What brings you to The Alamo, Mr. Snowden?”
“I’m looking to stay in these parts for a time and was hoping to do business with your Colonel and the rest of you.”
Forsyth stroked his mustache and said, “I’m afraid the Colonel is away on pressing matters at the moment and I am uncertain if he will be interested in taking on another Skinwalker. We’re not terribly interested in the matters of the mortal world.”
This wasn’t going so well. “No disrespect intended sir, but I’d like to make my case to the Colonel personally.”
“None taken, Mr. Snowden. I reckon that the Colonel will be back in forty-eight hours. He’s out reviewing the forces in Austin and making a visit up to Killeen. I can extend a ration of energy to you if you don’t think you can wait that long.”
“No, I’ll be fine,” I answered and smiled. It was partly from the hospitality, but mostly because I knew Travis would find all the ghosts in Killeen were gone. It was a good bet that when the ghosts in Austin stopped getting energy from Killeen, they weren’t sure what to do.
“I can send a messenger when he arrives, if you’d like.”
“I appreciate the offer, Captain, but I’ll return in two days time.”
“As you wish, Mr. Snowden. Until you have been granted official residency by Colonel Travis, do restrict your activities in this area.” The Captain nodded to me and turned to leave. I had no doubt they would try to find or follow me.
Walking away, Silas rose to follow me from a safe distance. I did my best to act like I didn’t notice him. From the corner of my eye, I spotted a ghost wandering through the road in our direction. It was the one I’d spoken with, Clark. My guess was that he would get our license plate or find out what type of car we were driving. They probably had a Skinwalker out there on a police force either here or in Austin.
At the entrance to the parking lot, I let Silas catch up. I looked around as I brought my friend up to speed. “Travis is up in Killeen right now. They don’t expect him back for two days. My guess is he’ll be there longer trying to figure out where all the ghosts went to.”
“One of their ghosts is following us,” Silas said.
“I know. I’ll just tell them that you’re another Skinwalker, or someone from my body’s previous life.”
The Caddy didn’t turn over until the second try and I was starting to worry that I might have to call Pastor Duncan and see where I could take this thing in for warranty service on the “mysterious” problems with the electrical system. I couldn’t escape the suspicion that car trouble was going to become an occupational hazard in my life.
Nodding to Clark, I paid the lot attendant and pulled out onto East Crockett Street.
Oswald was waiting for me like some kind of caged beast. “When do we strike?” He demanded.
“We can’t do anything until Travis gets back. They said he wouldn’t be back for about two days. Things went pretty well. I think I sold them on me being a ‘walker from St. Louis.”
“I don’t want to wait two days!”
“Then go back to Dallas, Oswald. I’ll come back and get you when I have the information,” I said. Frankly, working with Lee Harvey Oswald was starting to sound like a losing proposition. Our trip down here was filled with him lecturing me on the failures of the current president’s administration. Honestly, I didn’t care for the man either, but the ghost was pretty far over on the fringe left.
Oswald shook his head and a semblance of sanity settled over his face. “No Mike, I’m cool.”
“Good to hear,” I replied. “I’m going to go hit the pool and relax.”
“Paul, what are you thinking?” Tabitha asked after Paul brought her back up to the beach and toweled her off. I justified my “paranormal” voyeurism by thinking about it like a science experiment. The interesting thing about it was each time I fell asleep the story of Paul and Tabitha kept advancing a few more minutes. I was wondering how much of their life was stored in this ring.
“Just how lucky I am to have you,” I said. “Sorry I ruined your perm.”
She flashed a smile at me and said, “Keep complimenting me like that Mr. Lawrence and I may just remember why I married you in the first place. Besides, I should be able to do something with it back at the hotel before you take me out for an expensive dinner.”
“I saw a hot dog cart over there. I should be able to barely afford that, if your father is to be believed.”
Tabitha rolled her eyes. “Give him time. He’s just a little frustrated at losing his youngest daughter. Mom says it makes him feel old.”
“Actually it was more of him telling me that you were worth more than just a high school English teacher, who could only afford a week in Galveston instead of a cru
ise in the Caribbean for a honeymoon.”
Tabitha placed a hand on one hip and gave me a wry smile. “I happen to like Galveston and English teachers. The islands are overrated. Give me Texas any day of the week! If he had his way, I’d have married one of his junior partners at his practice.”
“Doctors … bleh, can’t stand ‘em,” I said. It was nice to see that Paul and I were of a like mind.
“Hush! Now, be a dear and put some of that lotion back on that just got washed off. Unlike you, I care about what happens to my skin.”
Grabbing the plastic bottle and putting some of it on my palms, I waited for her to get comfortable on the large beach towel. She had very soft skin. Like most redheads, it was dusted with freckles.
Opening my eyes, I was back in the hotel room in San Antonio. For a second, there was the distinct smell of suntan lotion in the air. Maybe it was my senses fooling me, or a manifestation of my Ferryman abilities. The sad part was I was enjoying being Paul Lawrence. I’d seen the newspaper he was reading and it was August of sixty-six. That was almost forty-two years ago. If they were still alive, they’d be in their late sixties.
There wasn’t much to go on, but I started googling Paul, Tabitha, and various locations in Texas to see. After a couple of hours, I gave up and decided to catch up on some emails. I deleted a bunch of spam and wrote a quick “I’m okay” email to mom. It was both short on words and details. My mouse hung over the one from Jenny Goodman. We’d shared a little kiss before she left to go to Europe for the summer with her well-to-do boyfriend, Carleton – otherwise known as Chaz.
Did I really need to see how good of a time she was having? No, but I clicked it anyway.
Dear Mike,
Europe is unbelievable! Everything is so old and cool at the same time. I just saw the Leaning Tower of Pisa today!!! I bet there are some really old ghosts over here. How is everything back where you are? Have you found your dad yet? I worry about you and hope you’re being careful.
Jenny
Attached was a picture of her smiling and doing a “hands over head” jump with Pisa’s famous monument in the background. At least she was having the time of her life. Just to be a little turd, I attached the Dealey Plaza picture in my reply.
Jenny,
Glad to hear you’re having a great time. Wish I was there instead of here. Haven’t found Dad yet. For your entertainment, here’s a picture of me, Silas, and a blur named Lee Harvey Oswald in Dallas. I’ll tell you the real story behind it when you get back.
Mike
Okay that was probably mean, and I knew that she’d give me hell for it, but I considered it appropriate.
After taking care that, I started compiling a list of so-called “Gentlemen’s Clubs” in the vicinity of Amarillo. While I looked through the offerings, I idly wondered if I had somehow set up a legitimate paranormal investigation business, could I have deducted going to them as an expense.
I filed that question away for the next ghost with accounting skills I ran into.
The next two days were things of beauty. Oswald checked in before breakfast each day and then left us alone. I had nothing else to do but exercise and take Silas out on the prowl for the best Tex-Mex San Antonio had to offer. For a short period of time, it was almost like a real vacation, which was a foreign concept to me. This time last year, I was nursing my injuries. The year before that I was in Iraq. It was difficult to remember the last time I had free time and was healthy enough to enjoy it.
The only downside was that cash had started to become scarce. It wouldn’t be too long before I’d have to break out the plastic.
I parked the Caddy in the same lot on East Crockett Street where we’d been just a short time ago. The sun was going down. I’d wanted to confront William Travis while it was still light out, but waiting for the missing Oswald had cost time and there were too many living people around during the day.
“Where do you think he is?” I asked Silas. Oswald was nowhere to be found.
The preacher shook his head and said, “I wish I knew. Do you want to wait here for a few minutes and see if he shows?”
I couldn’t stop the tiny alarm bells ringing in my head. “No, he’ll either show or he won’t,” I said reaching back into the car and grabbing the gloves coated with iron filings. I went ahead and stuck them in back pockets of my jeans and hoped they wouldn’t be too noticeable. Just to be sure, I dropped two plastic bottles filled with iron filings into each front pocket.
“Wish me luck,” I said to Brother Silas after helping him to the bench.
He patted me on the arm and replied, “You don’t need luck if you have faith, Michael.”
“I’ll take what I can get, Silas. Besides, the guys in there,” I said gesturing to The Alamo. “They probably had all kinds of faith back in 1836.”
Crossing the street, I didn’t see any ghosts. Even the one that had been on top of the structure was gone. The little alarm bells in my head were ringing a bit louder. There were plenty of folks at the entrance, but it might as well have had a big poster of that fish alien, from the Star Wars movies, screaming that it was a trap. I decided to walk through the park surrounding the structure. If someone was in there, they’d see me soon enough and come out.
“Ross,” a voice said. “You’re late.”
I spun around and spotted Oswald stepping out from behind a tree. Maybe it was the sunlight, but he seemed noticeably dimmer.
“There he is! Destroy him and his ally!”
I didn’t like what that implied. The sinking feeling in my stomach was only matched by the trickle of bile that made its way in to my throat. Ghosts came charging out of the chapel directly at us.
“You didn’t!” I practically spat at Oswald. I yanked a bottle of filings out of my pocket and poured it into my left hand. As soon as that was done, I discarded the bottle and jammed my right hand into one of the gloves.
“Your plan stunk, Ross.” Oswald cackled like a schoolboy. “But you did tell me Travis was out of town. I came down here and cleaned a little house, to give him a proper welcome home. Old ‘Billy-boy’ is missing most of his little ghosties, now!”
Needless to say, I was furious. He’d gone in “guns blazing” and then hid until I was here.
“I should let them have you,” I countered and released the handful of charged particles into the air. I might as well have thrown a canister of napalm. The ghostly screams rattled my teeth and sent a shiver up my spine.
The first four that had run headlong into the filings collapsed onto the ground.
Oswald pounced on one, laughing while saying, “Quit your whining! We’re still going to get the information we need. This is the way it had to be!”
More a savage animal than the remnants of a rational human, Oswald tore at the injured ghost. The hapless spirit leaked vapors for a moment. There was only a second for the ghost to process the horror before he lost his material form, disappearing into the ether and gone forever. The malevolent specter was already on the second injured spirit before the grey smoke from the first had fully dissipated.
The others who hadn’t been hurt by the filings skirted the area and came at us from both sides. I barely had time to get the other glove on my hand. There were maybe ten of them and only two of us. Oswald didn’t care. The energy still trapped in the filings didn’t bother him in the least. His wail of pain wasn’t an injury, but caused by ghosts three and four disappearing back to their anchors before he could destroy them.
“Destroy Oswald first and then we’ll finish his Skinwalker!” The shout was full of authority and the mouth that uttered it belonged to William Travis. He looked a bit different than the drawings and portraits of him. I didn’t have too much time to dwell on it; my hands were a bit full.
“You meant to say, ‘Ferryman’ Travis!” I yelled, latching onto one of the first few that tried to pile on Oswald. The ghost screamed in Spanish at the burning touch of my gloves. I tossed him aside and hoped he would take the hint and fle
e.
If a ghost could look ashen, Travis did. “Ross? You can’t be here! She said you weren’t real.”
Leaving Oswald to his fate, I locked horns with Travis. He tried some kind of directed burst of energy, like Oswald’s lightning strike, but the gloves blocked most of it and sent the rest behind me. There was a crack of wood where and several thuds as tree branches fell.
The Skinwalker Conspiracies - 02 Page 9