by Mark Tufo
“Okay. And?” Scott seemed even more annoyed that he was just now hearing about this.
“It will make more sense coming from them. They have the research material, and to be honest, I’m so tired from lack of sleep, I don’t think I can tie the pieces together half as well as they could.”
Scott pointed to the barn, “Tell me they can tie those two dead kids to those felons,” he said it more as a challenge, a dare made in anger and disbelief. “Tell me that so I can try to make some kind of sense out of all of this.”
“I don’t know, boss. I honestly don’t know.”
Foo’s SUV rolled up on the scene and Eckerson and Bennie stepped out before Jon pulled the truck over to block the driveway by the road. “Justin tells me you have a theory,” Scott said to Gregory. “Do you know who’s doing this?” His jaw ticked as he stood waiting for one of them to answer.
Ben paused and looked to Eckerson who simply shrugged. Ben pulled his duffle around and unzipped it. He pulled out the reference books and his notebook. “I have some information that ties the victims together. I can’t honestly say that I know for sure who’s killing these people.”
“What about these kids?” Scott barked, hooking his head toward the barn where Guffey’s people were now pulling out a gurney loaded with a body bag.
Ben leaned to the side and glanced toward the darkened interior of the barn and then back to Scott. “What are their names?”
“Evans and Johnson. Both were just seventeen.” His voice lost the bitterness toward the end.
Ben opened Jana’s book and thumbed through the dog-eared pages. He ran his finger down the list and flipped through the pages. He went back over the list again a second time then shook his head. He glanced at Eckerson and shook his head again. “Those names aren’t on the list.”
Jeff hiked a brow and reached for the book. “Let me see that.” He flipped through the pages and double checked. “They have to be here.”
“What the hell are you two talking about?” Scott asked.
Justin remained remarkably quiet during the exchange, as did Sanders. Both had listened intently the night before and neither discounted the fact that it seemed more than just a coincidence that every surname in the book was also the surnames being targeted by their mist killer, but neither was a hundred percent ready to sign on to the whole vengeful ghost theory yet either. Before Sanders came along, Justin couldn’t see any other way that these crimes could be committed other than by a ghost or spirit, but her influence was swaying him.
Ben tried to explain to Sheriff Evans about the list of names in the book and how they matched the names of all of the victims. He retrieved the book from Eckerson and opened it, showing the page with the highlighted list of names, but Scott refused to even look. He kept glaring at Eckerson and Zimmer as if Gregory were a Jehovah’s Witness interrupting a swinger’s party.
Foo happened to choose that moment to walk into the conversation and ask, “Did you tell him about the ‘vengeful spirit’ part yet? That’s my favorite part.”
Scott erupted in a violent rage, flipping the book from Gregory’s hand and screaming at Eckerson to get the man off his crime scene before he stripped the badges from all three of them. He then accused all of them of smoking dope, threatened to have them piss-tested, and swore that if any of them ever broached the subject of these crimes being committed by a fucking ghost again, they would be finding themselves joining Knapp on vacation…PERMANENTLY!
Gregory scrambled to pick the book up from the ground and all but ran back to Jon’s truck. Eckerson stared at Scott for a moment then shook his head as he turned to leave, following Gregory back to the SUV. Jon watched the whole scene unfold and was unsure how to take it as his boss lost it. He stepped away slowly and followed Jeff to the truck to take Bennie back to town.
Zimmer and Sanders stood silent a moment while Scott calmed down. Justin gave Sheryn a slight nudge, a signal to give him a moment alone with his boss. She nodded and stepped toward the barn.
When he was sure that they were alone, Justin turned to Scott. “I know you’re under a lot of pressure, and that these particular murders struck a little close to home, but—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” Scott said through clenched teeth.
Justin shot him a stern look. “You may not want to hear it, but you’re going to. You made me undersheriff for a reason, so I feel the need to say something when you step out of line.”
“Out of line?” Scott asked incredulously. “I’m the sheriff here, did you forget that?”
Justin shook his head, his mouth forming a tight line. “No, I didn’t forget it, but I think you may have. You’re the one who’s supposed to be setting an example. You’re the one who’s supposed to LISTEN to them when they come to you with stuff, and Ben found something.”
“A fucking ghost story?” Scott asked, his face a mask of shock.
“Even if you totally discount the whole ghost theory, the fact that he found SOMETHING…that’s more than we had.” He pointed a finger at Scott, and although his voice was still low, it had an edge that Scott had never heard before, catching his attention. “He was able to actually tie all of our vics together, dammit. We couldn’t do that before.”
“All except these damned kids.”
“Yet!” Justin came back at him. “The point he was trying to get across to you was that every one of these victims are tied to a gang-style murder of a law enforcement officer in the Old West. Now their family members are being killed off. And who the hell knows? These kids may even be related to someone on that damned list if we just dig a little deeper, but instead of listening to him, you blow up and act like a fucking fifth grader!” Justin threw his hands in the air and walked in a circle. “I swear to God, I’ve never seen you treat your own people like that, much less another law officer that wasn’t under your own command.”
“It was just Bennie.” Scott waved him off, as if dismissing him.
Justin glared at him. “Just Bennie?” he repeated. “Just Bennie. You realize that anywhere else, he’s equivalent to a Chief of Police, right? Would you treat the Chief of Austin’s Police Department like that? Or are just small town officers worthy of your malice?”
“That isn’t fair, Justin, and you know it.”
“No? Imagine how Ben feels. You think he puts his ass on the line any less when he pins that badge on?”
“He’s a constable.”
“So show him a little more respect. I swear, Scott, I think you’d show a mall security guard more respect than you do our constables.”
Scott glared at him a moment before finally lowering his head and nodding. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“I know I’m right.” Justin sidled up next to him at the fence and relaxed a bit. “Look, I’m not saying they’re right or that they’re wrong about the whole ‘ghost killer’ thing, but they did find a way to tie all the vics together. The least you can do is LISTEN to what they have.”
Scott nodded. “Fine, Justin.” He patted the younger man on the shoulder. “Set us up a meeting at the office and I’ll listen. I can’t guarantee that I’ll buy it, but I’ll listen.”
“Don’t be so sure you won’t buy it. I went in expecting to blow it all off and they sold me.”
Scott raised a brow at him. “What about Sanders?”
“She won’t say. In my honest opinion, I think that means she bought it, too.”
*****
Ginger woke from the front seat of the RV with a horrible crick in her neck. She tried to stretch and the pain radiated into her shoulder making her wish she had kept her damned mouth shut about Calvin and Quinn. The two hadn’t stopped making up for lost time since Calvin’s impromptu admission and she was getting tired of it.
She crawled out of the driver’s seat and opened the sliding curtain that separated the two compartments to the welcome scent of coffee brewing. She smiled despite herself and zombie walked back to the dinette.
“Cup o�
�� mud, please,” she groaned.
“Yes, my love.” Quinn smiled at her, pulling a cup from the overhead cupboard.
Ginger scowled at her. “I’m surprised you can even walk.”
Quinn blushed but couldn’t wipe the smile from her face. “I’m feeling no pain,” she replied as she poured the coffee.
“I sure am. Those front seats suck some serious butt when it comes to sleeping.” Ginger accepted the cup and sipped the dark nectar.
Quinn slid in across from her and stared at Ginger, the stupid smile still plastered to her face. Ginger stared at her through bleary eyes and then finally narrowed her gaze. “What?”
“Aren’t you going to ask me how it was?”
“No,” Ginger snapped.
Quinn shot her a bemused but confused look. “Why not?”
“I listened to you two all night. The curtains aren’t exactly sound proof you know.”
Quinn blushed. “Oh.”
“Besides, we came here to work, remember? Don’t get me wrong, I’m totally thrilled that you two have something to look forward to once the day is done, but when the sun is shining, we have a ghost to identify.”
Quinn slid a notebook over to Ginger. “I did this early this morning.” She tapped the page. “The data that you and Cal crunched yesterday, I collated and cross referenced.”
“So what all do we have?” Ginger looked at the numbers and the graphs.
“The numbers here show that we still have ectoplasmic residue left at the scene that you were able to pick up. Judging by the amount, whatever it was that struck there, was STRONG.” She nodded, her eyes serious.
Ginger looked at the other numbers. “What is this?”
“Resonance frequencies.” Quinn pointed out the cyclic rates. “Again, these numbers show that whatever attacked and killed in that alley was powerful. Usually these references fade quickly. Whatever it was that you picked up, it’s leaving residues behind that are just scary strong.”
Ginger was suddenly a lot more awake. She flipped through the pages. “Quinn, we’ve been to a lot of hauntings, and I’ve never seen hits this high. Are you sure about these numbers?”
Quinn sat back and sipped her own coffee. “Sweetheart, I ran the numbers three times. I couldn’t believe them either. Whatever this is, it’s not good.”
Ginger felt a cold chill run up her spine as she stared at the numbers. “Do you think it would do any good to hit any of the other scenes?”
Quinn shook her head. “I thought about that too. I ran the numbers and even if this…well, whatever this thing is, if it came on as strong as it is now instead of growing stronger with each kill, the other scenes would be void of any residual energies.”
Ginger sighed and sat back. “As much as I hate to say this, we need for this thing to strike again.” Her face saddened. “We have to have data from a fresh scene.”
Quinn’s face fell, but she nodded as well. “I know. That’s the only way to tell if it’s getting stronger or weaker.”
Calvin threw open the door from the bedroom. “Gear up,” he barked. “The scanner’s alive with chatter. There’s been another attack.”
*****
Chris Anthony heard someone approaching and peered from his vantage point. He saw the smaller tweaker walking up to the shack that he called home, talking to himself animatedly. Anthony slipped back into his hiding place and pulled the camouflaged mask back over his face. The blackout makeup he had smeared around his eyes would make it nearly impossible to discern his facial features, and the heavy military style jacket would help disguise his build should anybody see him. Better safe than sorry.
He watched the tweaker enter his shack and kick the door shut behind him. Chris waited just a moment before slipping out from his vantage point and making his way down to the ramshackle home. He scooted from tree to tree, keeping to the shadows and using the brush as concealment should Casper decide to step outside for whatever reason.
He came upon the shack and stayed low, afraid that the little man may see a shadow moving outside through the numerous cracks and holes that dotted the walls of his house. Chris moved silently as he slid along the lower edge of the structure, doing his best to move silently. He pressed his ear to the side of the outer wall and listened intently as the little addict rummaged around inside his domicile.
Chris pulled the rope garrote from out of his jacket and wrapped one end around his hand, gripping the handle firmly in the other. He edged along the wall and froze, the sound of a truck backfiring and sputtering up the hill preventing him from advancing. Easing back toward the rear of the shack, he snuck to the other side of the building and watched the taller of the two idiots drive up and shut off the truck.
Roger slammed the door to his pickup and spat in the yard as he stared at Casper’s front door standing open. “You home?” he hollered into the house.
“No,” came the reply.
Roger pursed his lips and nodded. “Fine.” He paced slowly, casting glances toward the door. “When you gonna be back then?” he asked, playing along.
“For you? Never,” Casper answered, withdrawing further into the darkness.
Roger shook his head and leaned against the truck. “Well, hell. I reckon I could just set out here and wait for ya to get back,” he said loud enough for Cas to hear. “Or maybe I could just yell real loud that I’m sorry and hope you hear the echo of it when you get back. But even with a mouth as big as mine, I don’t reckon you’d be able to hear it.” He dragged his foot through the dust and dirt in the front yard. “Even with them big-assed ears of yours, you’d probably think I was apologizing to some fat lady at the supermarket for bumpin’ into her cart or something.”
Casper snorted as he tried to imagine Roger actually apologizing to anybody, much less a fat woman at the supermarket. He took a tentative step toward the door but caught himself. “Why would you be apologizing?”
“Oh, I dunno. Maybe for getting drunk and being mean to my best friend.”
“You mean your only friend.”
Roger nodded. “Yeah. That’s pretty much what I mean.”
Chris scooted to the ground and rolled his eyes. A fucking redneck soap opera and he was stuck in the middle of it. He swore that if either of these fags hugged or kissed, he’d kill them both and just be done with it. Hell, he might choke them both out at the same time just for general principle.
“Is that the only reason you come out here?” Cas asked.
“Purdy much.” Roger sspit another stream of brown tobacco juice into the yard. “And to make sure you was still okay. You went and rabbited on me, so I didn’t know if you got yourself road kilt or messed up or overdosed or…hell. I just didn’t know. I guess I was just worried a bit.”
Casper appeared at the door and shot him a goofy grin. “You was worried, huh?”
Roger flushed slightly. “Don’t go letting it go to your head or nothing.” He drug his foot through the dirt again. “I was just worried you mighta got hurt.”
“Yeah, you was worried.” He grinned broader.
“Maybe a little,” Roger admitted. He opened the door to his truck and started to get in. “I’m headed to the pizza place to get a meat pie. Wanta join me?”
Casper nodded enthusiastically. “Sure. Let me grab my hat.” He shot back into the cabin and grabbed his greasy ball cap and hopped into the passenger side of the truck. Chris sat down hard in the dirt and let his head flop down against his chest. He stifled a curse as the truck fired up and Roger turned it around.
As the truck slowly made its way back down the gravel road Chris edged away from the house and watched the dust settle back on the road. “I’ll be waiting, hillbilly.”
*****
Maria Santiago had just finished folding laundry and putting it away. She paused a moment and stared at the mirror. Something didn’t appear quite right as she stared at her reflection. It seemed as though the reflection she was looking at wasn’t hers. She recognized it, but it wasn’t her
. She took a tentative step toward the mirror, but the reflection didn’t waver. It stayed put, the eyes unmoving, staring at her as she stepped forward.
She raised her hand toward the image that she saw and the moment it made contact with the smooth glass of the mirror, her memory blacked out once more. She awoke to find herself in the kitchen, sitting at the chair, a feeling of utter helplessness and despair overtaking her. The sleeve of her blouse was soaked from the tears she was still shedding. She lifted her head, sobbing; unsure why she felt this way.
Maria looked around the kitchen, sure that she was losing her mind and noted the scent of honeysuckle once more in the air as she watched the kitchen door gently blow shut. She looked about the kitchen and saw the clock on the wall. Nearly two hours had passed, and she shook her head slowly. She pushed the chair from the table and slowly got to her feet, her legs shaky and weak, her chest still hurting from the heavy cry she had just experienced.
She quickly washed her face and stepped into the small half bathroom off the kitchen to inspect herself. Her eyes were puffy from the crying and she felt utterly and completely drained emotionally. She leaned against the basin a few moments to try to collect herself, simply inhaling and exhaling heavily. Something had to be wrong. She looked into the mirror again and remembered the image she had seen in the bedroom, but the memory began to fade. She couldn’t remember the face anymore, it was just a shadow.
She sat on the commode and held her face in her hands while she pushed against her memories. What had it looked like? It was more than just a shadow…it had features, she was sure of it. There were eyes, dark eyes. Stern, cold eyes, yet…warm and inviting. Caring eyes. The eyes of somebody who once loved another. Somehow she knew this. She could feel it. As though she had felt it in her heart. As though they had shared those feelings with her.
She sighed heavily and lifted herself up. She glanced at the time again and continued her work. She didn’t want to make Mr. Miller angry with her. Although he could sometimes do nice things, he was not a patient man, and she needed to start supper. She stepped back into the kitchen and caught the lingering scent of the honeysuckle once more. It reminded her of…something. She couldn’t remember what exactly, but it brought a smile to her face.