Colm & the Ghost's Revenge

by Kieran Mark Crowley

  It had only taken McGrue a couple of minutes to overpower Colm and his friends. It was embarrassing to have been subdued so quickly, but then McGrue had moved swiftly, and his punches had been quite persuasive. Lauryn and The Brute were now sitting in the back seat of the car being held in place by Pretty Boy and Uggo, who had been happy to accept the bounty hunter’s authority once they’d seen what he could do, while Colm had for some reason been given different accommodation. From the brief snippets of conversation he’d heard before he’d been bundled into the boot, Colm reckoned that Boris, the wiry man, had paid for his mistake in letting them get away at Colm’s house. Paid with his life. Still, he wasn’t worried about Boris. He had plenty of other things to worry about.

  His brain was in overdrive, trying to figure out what to do next. He wondered where they were going – the logical assumption was that they were being taken to The Ghost, but he wasn’t sure how logical The Ghost’s plans were. If they were being taken to The Ghost then presumably he was going to kill them, and how could a twelve-year-old boy stop him? Plus it was pretty clear at this point that The Ghost had Colm’s parents and Colm knew that if the criminal mastermind threatened them he would do whatever he was told. The same went for The Brute and Lauryn. From what he could figure out it looked like The Ghost held all the cards and Colm couldn’t see a way of getting himself and everyone else safely out of this mess.

  He was so frustrated that he let out a roar. Just for the sake of roaring. To try and get rid of some of the anger and the stress in order to calm down and think clearly. The pressure was really getting to him. People often moaned that the teenage years were the most difficult, but if Colm’s life was anything to go by, being twelve wasn’t exactly a stroll by the seaside either.

  The car hit a pothole and Colm’s head thumped against the floor of the boot. He tried to blank out the jolts of pain, the car sickness that threatened to overcome him and the feeling of misery and terror that wanted to wrap itself round him like a cashmere cloak and smother his thoughts. He took a couple of deep breaths. He had to focus. He may not have prepared himself physically like Lauryn, but he’d spent a long time obsessing about the Lazarus Key, The Ghost and The Book of Dread. It had taken up too much of his life, but he’d done it for a moment just like this. He had to prove to himself that he hadn’t wasted all that time in the library. He needed to sift through all the information and pick out the bits that were useful.

  What had he learned? That there were three keys and he’d destroyed one. If he was in The Ghost’s position and he was planning a revenge worse than death for his enemies, he’d find the other keys and use them. Most of the stories claimed they were buried in hidden tombs thousands of miles away, with only a sketchy record of their location. However, he guessed that a super-rich criminal wouldn’t have any problem using all his resources to have them located and then fund an expedition to retrieve them.

  What was the next logical step? Gather up all the people who were involved that night and make them pay. His parents had been there and although they had spent their time locked in a room for the whole thing, The Ghost wouldn’t care about that. They had been captured. At least he had to assume so. The Brute, Lauryn, Lauryn’s mum and the Prof had met the same fate. But then why had The Brute’s mum and stepfather been taken – they hadn’t been involved at all. And that detective – what was his part in all of this? He’d helped them twice now. Why? He didn’t come across as the helpful sort. What reason would he have otherwise? Private detectives didn’t detect for the fun of it, they did it for money. So, who was paying him to investigate and how had he avoided being captured up to that point? Presumably The Ghost wanted revenge against him too. It was a real brain mangler.

  The car must have zoomed over a hill because suddenly Colm was thrown in the air. His upward trajectory was only halted by the collision between his nose and the boot’s steel sheeting. He landed on his back with a pain in his shoulder and a brand new idea in his head.

  Maybe Cedric Murphy had been paid to help the rat-faced man find the key! That would explain how he’d got involved first time around. That’s why he had arrived at the hotel in the middle of the night. He’d found out the key’s location for Ratters and given him directions. But when he had seen that the man was willing to hurt children, he must have felt guilty and decided to swap sides. It was the only explanation. The only one Colm could think of anyway. Did that make Cedric Murphy good or bad? It was hard to tell, but it didn’t really matter either way now. He’d risked his own life to help them back at the house, so clearly he was on their side this time. Which could be handy later, if he was still alive.

  It felt like all the pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place. The only problem was the jigsaw they formed was a picture of him and his family in terrible danger. Also, figuring out what The Ghost was up to, if he was right about the plan, wasn’t quite the same as being in a position to stop him from doing it. One thing was for certain: being stuck in the boot of a car driven by a goon wasn’t helping his case.

  The car screeched to a halt. The engine was switched off and the rattling ceased. Colm heard a door open, then footsteps. Muffled sounds in the night. A girl’s voice protesting. That must be Lauryn. If they hurt her he would … what? What could he do when he was stuck here?

  The voices drifted away. No more footsteps. Everything was quiet now. Too quiet. He tried to concentrate on an escape plan, but his mind didn’t seem to want to go down that road. He had nothing. But he couldn’t just give up, so he began kicking against the metal above him. Again and again and again. It didn’t work. It hardly even made a dent.

  He was on the verge of giving up when the boot opened. Colm’s eyes were well adjusted to the darkness and he easily made out the features of the man standing above him, although he couldn’t see any of his surroundings. To his surprise it wasn’t one of the men who had taken him. He was slim and pale. He was wrapped up in a winter coat and wore a beanie hat that was pulled down so low it almost covered his eyes.

  ‘You still alive,’ the man said matter-of-factly.

  ‘I think so. Who are you?’ Colm asked.

  ‘I am Alexander. I seek revenge. I help you. You help me. We move fast.’

  Twenty-One

  Colm could hardly believe his good fortune. Of course he was still in the boot of the car and was being flung around again as it was being driven at high speed, but Alexander finding him like that had been a huge stroke of luck. They’d only had a couple of minutes to talk as the tall Russian was anxious to get on the move before McGrue and the other two goons returned from wherever they had taken Lauryn and The Brute, but in that short time Alexander had explained that he was a mercenary who had been in Transylvania trying to uncover one of the Lazarus Keys. He’d barely escaped with his life and his colleagues had been killed by one of the undead, but Alexander had managed to make it to Dublin and was here to take revenge on The Ghost. Even better, the Russian knew where The Ghost was hiding out. Colm didn’t know what he was going to do when he met The Ghost, but at least he’d be a lot safer with Alexander on his side.

  Then, as the adrenaline from escaping wore off and Colm’s euphoria ebbed away, he began to wonder about a few things: How had Alexander managed to find him? And why did he want him to stay in the boot? He’d said it was because if Colm was spotted the goons would soon be on his trail and that made some kind of sense, but still, they’d left the goons behind and even if they were chasing them wouldn’t they recognise the car registration number? Plus, how had Alexander managed to track down a master criminal so easily? And was it really a good idea for one man and a young boy to be racing towards such a dangerous man with no real plan or idea of what they were going to do?

  As he thought about all of this a sliver of doubt seeped into Colm’s mind and he wondered if he had just gone from the frying pan into the fire.

  The car had come to a stop. The man who was calling himself Alexander got out. For a moment he felt weak
and leaned against the car door breathing deeply.

  ‘Not feeling too good, huh?’ said a voice.

  ‘You,’ said the impostor who was The Ghost.

  He was seeing his brother again. Another hallucination. The doctors had said they would become more frequent the closer he got to death. There wasn’t much time left now.

  ‘If I was the one who was dying, I wouldn’t be spending time driving a car around in circles only to end up in the exact same spot I’d started from.’

  The Ghost glanced at the shopping centre and smiled. His brother was right. This was almost exactly the same place McGrue had left the car. He’d have to track down the bounty hunter later, when he was feeling like himself again. The man had done exactly as he’d requested, but The Ghost didn’t like witnesses. There were too many people who’d seen him in the last few days. Dying was making his work sloppy. In the past, he’d have killed McGrue on the spot, but he’d already ended a life tonight and his strength was waning. That Russian who had managed to follow Camus all the way from Transylvania had been a tough one. Must have been to go to all that effort. He’d almost got the better of The Ghost. Almost.

  ‘Lost in a reverie?’ the rat-faced man asked.

  ‘Stop annoying me. You’re not real.’

  ‘Yet you’re still talking to me.’

  He was right. Why was that? He rarely talked to anyone made of flesh and bone, yet here he was talking to the ghost of his brother. The Ghost talking to a ghost.

  There was a moment’s silence and then the rat-faced man said, ‘I get it now.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The driving around in circles. It’s for the Abbatage. The participant must come willingly to the ritual, otherwise it won’t work. You’ve tricked the boy into thinking you’re on his side. So he’s chosen to come here with you.’

  ‘You always were slow on the uptake,’ The Ghost sneered.

  ‘You’d better hurry. Dawn is less than an hour away. From the dullness in your eyes, it looks like you won’t be strong enough to wait another day.’

  ‘Then I’d better get started,’ The Ghost said.

  Colm was confused. He could hear someone speaking out there. It sounded a little like Alexander, but at the same time it didn’t. There was only one voice. Was he talking to himself?

  The boot opened and The Ghost reached in, holding his hand out for Colm to take.

  ‘You come with me?’ he asked, expertly faking a Russian accent. ‘You are willing participant?’

  Colm wasn’t certain it was the right thing to do, but what other choice did he have? This Alexander looked dangerous. His eyes were cold, almost lifeless. It was also the way he held himself, the way he spoke, or was it something else? He was certain he was missing something, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it might be.

  ‘You bet,’ Colm said, feigning cheeriness. He grabbed the man’s hand. The fingers were icy to the touch and, just for a moment, an image of death flickered in Colm’s mind, as if the man had sent him a signal. With a growing sense of unease, he clambered out of the boot.

  He found himself in front of a building that looked very familiar. ‘The shopping centre? The Ghost is in the shopping centre? Why would he be there?’ But Colm had the answer to his own question before The Ghost replied. ‘Of course! This is where my dad works. He’s holding my parents here. That’s it, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said The Ghost as they walked through the mostly empty car park and around the back of the centre, which was half-illuminated by the full moon.

  The shopping centre was huge and relatively new, only three years old. During the day it was packed with shoppers, but at night it looked bleak, like a giant empty shell. Colm could hear an occasional car pass by on the main road almost half a kilometre away, but otherwise it was as if they were in the middle of nowhere.

  ‘What about the others? Where are they?’

  ‘We stop Ghost. Rescue parents. Then we find others, OK?’

  ‘OK,’ Colm agreed. ‘But you have a plan, right? I mean it’s The Ghost, the most dangerous criminal in the world. We’re not going to go in there without a plan.’

  ‘I have plan,’ The Ghost said.

  ‘What is it?’

  The Ghost smiled at Colm. He didn’t smile very often and it showed. It sent chills through Colm’s soul.

  ‘No time to explain. Come with me now.’

  Colm stopped dead. ‘No. I’m not going up against The Ghost without knowing what our plan is.’ Something’s definitely wrong, he thought, very wrong. His heart had begun to pound and he felt sick to the pit of his stomach. What was that phrase the man had used before he’d got out of the boot of the car? A willing participant. Colm had thought it sounded strange, but he’d put it down to the fact that Alexander was speaking a language foreign to him.

  ‘You figure it out?’ The Ghost asked, but Colm barely heard him, still lost in thought. Willing participant. He’d heard that phrase before, but where? No, not heard it, read it. The Lazarus Key notes. Abbatage. The ceremony to end all ceremonies. The one that would give the holder of the keys immortality. It needed a willing participant.

  Him.

  He looked at the man again. ‘Did you say something?’

  ‘I say nothing.’

  Every last cell in his body sent a signal to his brain telling him to get out of there as fast as he could.

  ‘You know, maybe this isn’t such a great idea. You and me against The Ghost? I don’t think that’s going to work out too well for either of us. We need back up,’ Colm said.

  ‘Back up?’ The man was trying his best to stay calm, but Colm could sense the anger bubbling just under the surface.

  ‘The gardaí. We should ring them.’

  ‘They won’t believe. Then it’s too late.’

  ‘Too late for what?’

  The Ghost rubbed his temples. The pain behind his eyes was back and it was worse than ever. His brother was right – his time was coming to an end. He had to hurry. He had to start the ceremony.

  ‘You can go in if you want, but I think I’m going to …’

  ‘You’re going nowhere,’ said The Ghost. The Russian accent was suddenly gone.

  Colm turned and ran. He didn’t even know where he was going and he didn’t care, just as long as he put some distance between himself and this man.

  The man.

  It was The Ghost, Colm realised, it had to be.

  He pumped his arms, trying desperately to move faster. He couldn’t hear any footsteps behind him, only his own on the silky, black tarmac. That had to be good. Perhaps the man wasn’t following him. He wasn’t going to look back and check. He just had to keep running. When he was safe, he could figure out what to do.

  But then he felt a sharp pain in his head and everything faded into black.

  Twenty-Two

  It took a few moments for Lauryn’s eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness. She wondered what had happened to her. I must have been knocked out, she thought, although she didn’t remember getting an injection or a blow to the head. She realised she was lying on a floor. The cool tiles pressed against her cheek. It was actually comfortable there, which she knew meant she was exhausted. It’s not as if a tiled floor is the type of bed you’d choose for yourself. She forced herself to sit up. Her head began to swim.

  She heard a groan of pain coming from her right-hand side. It was excruciating, but she managed to turn her head and saw The Brute was face down on the ground only a couple of metres away.

  ‘Hey, Mikey, wake up. We gotta get moving,’ she said.

  The Brute groaned again. He rubbed the back of his head. A bruise the size of a ping-pong ball had formed just above the top of his neck.

  ‘I don’t feel too good,’ he mumbled. ‘Where are we?’

  Lauryn stood up.

  ‘It looks like we’re in some sort of store.’

  She let her body go limp, trying to relax enough to shake off the aches and pains. The Brute struggled to
his feet.

  ‘What happened to us?’ he asked.

  ‘Dunno. The last thing I remember is those guys dragging us out of the car. Why would they put us in here though?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ The Brute said. He usually didn’t.

  She looked around. She was right, they were in some kind of store, more specifically, a two euro shop. The shelves were stacked with cheap goods of all kinds: sweets, plastic guns, cleaning products, and what seemed like a million other things.

  She moved forward fearlessly, checking out every part of the shop by the light on her watch until she was satisfied that there was no one else in there. She returned to find The Brute by the counter halfway through a packet of extra-cheesy crisps.

  ‘You’re eating? At a time like this?’

  ‘I’m starving, girl. I haven’t had a proper meal in like, twelve hours,’ he said, cheese dust spilling down the front of his Eagles t-shirt.

  ‘I hope you paid for them.’

  ‘I’m out of cash. I’ll leave an IOU.’

  He was regretting choosing the crisps though. If Lauryn wanted to kiss him later his breath would probably stink. Now that he thought of it, maybe being trapped in here wasn’t such a bad thing. It would give them some alone time.

  ‘You’re a strange kind of guy,’ Lauryn said as she began looking for the main light switch. She nipped behind the counter. It seemed to be the most likely place to find it. Back home they always seemed to control everything in shops from behind the counter.