The Sullivan Gray Series Box Set #5 - 7

by H. P. Bayne

  He slumped back down, brain screaming at him to move. Kayleigh. He had to find Kayleigh. He was so close. So close.

  “Are you sure you gave him enough?” came Lowell’s voice through the fog. “He should be out by now.”

  “It was meant for Kayleigh, just in case,” Kindra replied. “Look at him. He’s three times her size. It’s something it’s doing as much as it is.”

  “Let’s get him onto one of the slabs and lock him inside one of the long-term freezer units. No one will hear him until it’s too late.”

  “The negative temperature lockers? We can’t do that, Lowell. Not to him. He’ll freeze to death.”

  “That’s the point. Hon, there’s no choice. He hasn’t left us with one.”

  “How are we supposed to explain it once they find him? Greg knows we were here, and we’ll be on surveillance coming in.”

  “We’ll take the tapes and deal with Greg. Don’t worry. I have a plan for handling this.”

  “What if Desmond told someone we were here?”

  “Enough.” Lowell’s tone suggested he was rapidly reaching the end of his rope. “If I tell you I have a plan, I have one. All we need is to buy enough time to get out of the country. That’s it. After that, we’ll find somewhere to start over, just you and me.”

  “Lowell—”

  “Stop, all right? Just stop. Help me get him loaded into the fridge.”

  Dez sensed movement, did his best to fight as he was manhandled onto something solid and cool. But his best was no longer good enough, and he could do nothing as the fuzzy bright white swimming in his vision gave way to dark, accompanied by a sound he’d heard several times in his policing days: a morgue tray being wheeled into one of the refrigerated compartments.

  Most lockers were between two and four degrees, just cold enough to slow decomposition. This was something altogether different. Even through the haze of the drug, he knew he wasn’t in one of those lockers, but the other kind, one where they kept bodies they’d need, for investigative reasons, to hold long-term.

  He might have air enough to breathe, but hypothermia would take him down fast.

  He shifted slightly on the cold slab, but while his mind played through an image of pulling himself out of the drawer and propelling himself off the tray in one quick move, his body didn’t cooperate. All he managed was to lift one arm half a foot before it dropped solidly back against the metal slab on which he lay.

  A voice sounded around the crown of his head.

  “I’m so sorry, Desmond,” Kindra said. “I don’t want to do this. I really don’t.”

  “We don’t have time for this,” Lowell said. “He’s sealed his own fate, Kindra. Let’s go.”

  Now or never.

  Dez gave it one last push, slamming a hand down against the tray to push himself to his side. He managed the move, but a second hard blow to his head sent him teetering on the brink, unconsciousness right below.

  He slipped, plummeting downward into the blackness.

  The door slamming shut was the last thing he heard.

  27

  Thadeus stopped the vehicle before he reached the morgue, considering how best to proceed now that he was here.

  It was quiet, no signs of activity through the lit main floor windows facing the street on which he was parked. Yet he knew something was going on within the building. Harry’s vision, shared with him less than ten minutes ago, was proof enough of that.

  Headlights in his rearview mirror had him pulling his attention from the building to the road behind, just in time to watch a vehicle slowing to a halt behind his. Thadeus narrowed his eyes as he peered into the mirror. Thoughts of flight faded as he recognized the person emerging from the vehicle.

  Lachlan Fields, the private investigator. If he was here, no doubt something was going on. Perhaps Sullivan’s brother had summoned him here. If so, Lachlan might have some news to share.

  Thadeus stepped from his own vehicle, rising to meet Lachlan.

  “What are you doing here?” Thadeus asked.

  Lachlan pulled up short, whether because of the Cockney accent or whatever it was that changed in Sullivan’s eyes when Thadeus took over.

  “Not again,” Lachlan said. “You need to get a grip on yourself, Sullivan.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Thadeus said. “I’m the grip.” He motioned to the building, now partially behind him. “I’ll ask again. What are you doing here?”

  “I’m sure you’re already aware since you’re here as well, but Lowell’s inside. It’s only a matter of time before the police show up. Ray Dunsmore gave Lowell up. He’s providing a full statement detailing the bastard’s involvement in more than one homicide and other illegal dealings. A warrant’s being drawn up as we speak for Lowell’s arrest. I managed to talk my own way out of an interview for the time being, given Desmond is in there and probably in some trouble.” Lachlan scanned the scene. “I didn’t tell McPhee where I was going, only that I needed to meet my associate. We’ve got the place to ourselves for now, but don’t count on it staying that way for long. If we’re going to do something, we’d better make it quick.”

  “We?”

  Lachlan snapped his attention back to Thadeus. “Yeah, we. Look, I don’t know who the hell you are, but I’m not sitting on my ass out here. I was a damn good cop, and I’m still good. Anyway, Desmond’s my responsibility just as much as yours.” Lachlan took another look at the building. “I don’t see Desmond. I highly doubt that hothead would have listened to me and sat it out until I got here. Even so, I’m going to take a quick drive around the place, see what I can see. Wait here.”

  Thadeus waited, but only until Lachlan returned to his vehicle and drove toward the building. Then he moved, sprinting across the road and slipping into the shadow of a set of shrubs that served as a fence. The branches scratched at him as he pushed between them but he barely felt it. He was close. So close to taking care of Lowell Braddock forever.

  Thadeus had waited a long time to be reborn into a life he could settle into, a body that possessed the sort of power he could make use of. Sullivan Gray was stronger than any of Thadeus’s other descendants. He could harness the power of the Spirit Caller, could consume enough energy to make him all-but invincible. What was more, Sullivan had endured a difficult, painful childhood, one he’d been helpless to change on his own. To this day, it was his greatest weakness—which made it Thadeus’s greatest strength. Sullivan was all-too-willing to hand over the reins when he didn’t know if he could handle a situation, and Thadeus was always there to pick up the slack. And every time he did, he grew stronger. The time would come when Sullivan could no longer regain control of the body he’d surrendered to this past life, and that would give Thadeus the power he’d spent generations coveting.

  But first, he’d need to take care of the uncle. Until Lowell was out of the way like the Dules, Sullivan would never be truly free—and nor, then, would Thadeus be.

  A window was within reach, but each of those on the main floor was barred. Not so for the upper floors, but as far as Thadeus was aware, his abilities had never extended to flight.

  Then again, what were bars against the might of the Ravenwood poltergeist? He could feel the spirit churning inside him, desperately seeking an outlet. Thadeus would give him one.

  He reached out mentally with the poltergeist’s power, focusing on the ground floor window nearest him. The glass broke first, shattering inward, into an office. The bars would pose a greater problem, but Thadeus sensed the poltergeist enjoyed a challenge. It pushed out of him like an explosion, the spirit’s energy pummelling not the bars, but the brick holding them in place. The bottom edge went first, mortar crumbling as bricks separated, taking bolts with them. Settled into the knowledge this was not outside his capabilities, the other sides of the barricade shattered more easily.

  Thadeus caught the bars before they fell to the floor, preventing at least that much noise. If he’d managed to avoid detection so far, he’d
be a very lucky man.

  The window now clear to enter, he crawled carefully over what was left of the sill until he stood in the middle of the office, doing his best to avoid the glass on the floor.

  Now all he had to do was find Lowell Braddock. Where he was now was anyone’s guess, but Thadeus knew of at least one place Lowell had already been or was likely to end up. Desmond Braddock had ended up in one of the morgue lockers, and chances were he hadn’t sealed himself in there willingly.

  Thadeus eased the office door open and peered out, finding himself facing an empty, white hallway. He listened a moment and, hearing nothing, slid from the room and closed the door quietly behind himself. No doubt the other doors were locked, but that meant nothing to him. If the poltergeist had managed to blast through brick, he could certainly manage a locked door if the situation required him to quickly conceal himself.

  He found what he was after along a short corridor branching off the main hall. Two doors stood either side, leading, according to a sign overhead, to the morgue’s cooler rooms. He turned the corner and chose the one on the left.

  Thadeus had expected a room with rows of steel cabinets along the side. Not in this room. Here, bodies were laid out on trays in the open, wrapped in plastic with just tagged toes emerging. The entire room was chilled, like stepping inside a refrigerator.

  He’d always been fascinated by death, by the means and mechanics of it. Perhaps that was why, in taking a moment to focus on this room’s contents, Thadeus missed what had slipped up behind him.

  He spun at the sound of a gun being cocked. He expected to find Lowell. What he got instead was Greta Raynor.

  She looked like hell, the side of her face bruised and scraped, blood caked in her hair. She still looked a damn sight better than Thadeus would have predicted.

  “I thought you were dead,” he said.

  She shook her head. “Not for lack of trying on your part.”

  “I wasn’t trying to kill you, pet. You were trying to kill me, remember?”

  “You’re dangerous. We were trying to stop you before you became a greater threat. You’re evil.”

  “That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.” Thadeus took a step toward her.

  She held the gun more solidly, no sign of drug-induced shakes in her grip. “Don’t come any closer!”

  He stopped, to placate her more than anything. If he wished to, he could use the poltergeist against her. For now, it was unnecessary. She was here because she felt some sort of duty to the crones who had been leading her like a blind puppy. She wasn’t a foe; she was a pathetic creature, lost to brainwashing and her own vices.

  “How much do you really know about me?”

  “Enough. I know you killed people.”

  “As have you. We’re each of us fighting a war. Sometimes sacrifices must be made.”

  “You killed my mother and grandmother! They were all I had!”

  “They killed themselves. And aren’t you married? Granted, the copper’s not all that much, but he seems to love you all the same.”

  “Forbes? He’s a loser and a bully. Anyway, this isn’t about him. It’s about you. Stop trying to analyze me.”

  “Fine. Let’s analyze me. You think you have me pegged. Have at it, then.”

  “You’re the Spirit Caller. You’re a murderer who devours the souls of your victims. You take in evil and you’ve become evil as a result. And the more you do, the more you suck in, the stronger you become. You’re like a black hole.”

  “And it isn’t perhaps just the slightest bit jealousy on your part, the reason you so desperately want me dead?”

  Greta scoffed. “Jealousy? Over what?”

  “You grew up the same as I did, the same as Sullivan. Unwanted. Unloved. Abandoned. Helpless to change your path in life. Defenceless against the cold world and the brutal people in it. When you killed, did you not feel for even a moment the rush of power in the act, that ultimate control over another’s fate? For once in your life, you weren’t the victim; you were the aggressor. You could do as you wished. You had the power to allow life to continue or to snuff it out like a candle. And when you stood there, watching as their lives ended, did you not feel as if no one could ever again hold sway over you?”

  Where it hadn’t before, her gun hand now shook. Her eyes narrowed, squeezing from one a single tear she made no effort to wipe away. “Fuck you.”

  “Your problem, my dear, is that for some of us, death is like a drug. You kill one, you break a seal inside yourself, one you can’t mend. You first killed as a young girl, didn’t you? Part of you hated doing it, but the larger part of you hated just how much you loved it. You spent years trying to be something you weren’t, convincing the world and yourself you were something other than a killer. But deep down, you’re no different from those witches who made you. You’re a Dule, and Dules kill. It’s what we do. You’re here not to stop me, but to feed your craving, nothing more. You’d better get to doing it, pet, because only one of us is walking out of here.”

  She took him up on it as he knew she would. Her face hardened, her eyes narrowing as she raised and stared down the sights of the handgun. Thadeus, in those couple of seconds in which time seemed to slow to a crawl, smirked as he prepared for the counterattack she’d never see coming.

  But the night’s surprises, it seemed, were far from over. Before he could react, a gunshot sounded—not from her weapon but another. The side of Greta’s head opened up, blood and gore spattering over the wall and doorframe. She fell hard, landing on the tiled floor, a red pool growing where gravity drew from the open wound.

  Thadeus snapped his head up at movement from the door. This time, he’d expected Lachlan. Again, he was mistaken.

  “Terrence Waters,” he said. “I suppose I owe you my life.”

  “Where’s Lowell Braddock?”

  Thadeus turned up a corner of his mouth. “No idea, but you can count on it the gunfire won’t induce him to stick around. How did you end up here?”

  “You asked for our help. I managed to convince Mom, so here I am. I had to borrow a friend’s car, so it took us a while to get going, but once we were on the road, Mom brought us straight here. She said she had a real strong sense of you, but like you were messed up bad. She’s still in the car, but I don’t need her for me to see she was right. Something’s not right with you, man.”

  “Nothing’s ever been right with me, mate. Do me a favour. Worry about me later. For now, focus on Lowell. It’s a big building. Take the upper two floors and listen at all the doors. He’s here somewhere. I can feel it.”

  “We’ve got other problems. The commissionaire’s dead. Someone shot him. And a couple cars were pulling up as I ran in. Not cops, either. I think they’re part of this Circle you talked about. Lowell’s called in backup. We need to get out of here.”

  Thadeus stepped forward. “You get out of here. You’ve done me a service, now let me do one for you. I intend to deal with these bastards once and for all. I took out the window on the far side, the furthest office down the hall. Use it to get yourself out and take your mother from here.”

  Terrence shook his head. “Uh-uh. I’m done running, and you’re not armed. You need me.”

  “I have no need of guns, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Thadeus reached out with the poltergeist’s energy, located two nearby corpses. It was a new use, far more focused than what the destructive spirit was used to, but if Thadeus could pull this off, it would be useful in more ways than one. If there was anything better than a living army, it was a dead one.

  Terrence lost a shade of colour. “Jesus Christ!” He had yet to come fully in the door, which was just as well because he’d have a hard time skirting past the newly reanimated Greta, now in the process of sitting up. Behind Thadeus, a large man, chest riddled with bullet holes, was doing the same on the tray that had held him.

  “I’ll tell you again,” Thadeus said. “Take your mother and leave. You don’t want to be here. Trust me.�
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  Terrence’s eyes, impossibly wide, appeared to struggle to pull away from the body on the slab to lock back onto Thadeus. “I don’t know what this is, but for God’s sake, man, don’t go somewhere so dark you can’t find your way back, okay?”

  Thadeus offered him a final smile. “Far too late for that, mate. Go.”

  Terrence finally fled, his boots pounding on the floor as he ran for the escape route Thadeus had provided.

  Then Thadeus returned his attention to the bodies in his power. If he could control these, he could do the same with others. An army of the dead.

  It was time to go to war.

  28

  Darkness turned to light, a kind of light that didn’t seem wholly natural.

  Two forms pressed into Dez’s field of vision, human figures fogged as if behind frosted glass. His first thought was of Lowell and Kindra, but one was too small—too small even for Kayleigh. She was taller than this figure; although just seven years old, she was already showing signs she’d soaked in some of Dez’s genes.

  No, this was someone else.

  He squinted, as if that would make a difference. It didn’t help, but the figures shifted forward, pressing closer, forms gradually coming a little further into focus.

  Dez saw a hint of colour crowning the head of one. Red. As the person stepped closer, he caught sight of features. While still fuzzy, they were also just this side of recognizable. He knew the characteristics typical of Braddock males: the strong jaw and green eyes shared by himself, his dad and Lowell.

  Lowell. It had to be Lowell.

  Yet Dez was no longer in the freezer. He was free. What was more, he was warm. Lowell wouldn’t have let him out, would he?