by H. P. Bayne
Only then did Dez look down to better study the other form. What he saw nearly stopped his heart. Not the glossy, near-black of Kayleigh’s hair, but a paler version of red, a shade his mother called strawberry blond.
“Oh, my God,” Dez breathed. He knew these two, knew them well.
He held his breath, waited, praying silently what he was seeing was real and not some cruel hallucination sparked by the cold and a head injury. Another moment, perhaps a second or two, and the pair approaching him passed through the gauzy veil separating them.
And he had his confirmation.
His dad and Aiden. Deathly pale, faces dragged down by exhaustion, Aiden dripping wet and covered here and there in mud and vegetation. But clearly them, hand in hand, each eying Dez with an intense combination of worry and love.
“Son.” Flynn’s voice. Definitely his voice.
A sob came unexpectedly, a rush of emotion Dez couldn’t have stopped if he wanted to. He closed the distance, expecting rather than hoping now he’d find this real. His dad was a solid form in his embrace, and Dez clung to him with one arm, reaching out with the other to draw in his little brother. Aiden’s hand was solid and cool against his jean-covered leg, tiny fingers pressing in as Flynn’s larger, stronger ones squeezed at Dez’s back.
“Son,” Flynn’s voice came again.
Dez pulled away, not because he wanted to leave the warmth of this surprisingly physical connection, but because he wanted more than anything to see his two loved ones, to study their forms and features, to commit them to memory in case this was his one chance to see them again.
“Are you real?” he asked.
Flynn’s hand rose to his shoulder and kneaded while Aiden’s fingers wrapped around a couple of Dez’s much larger ones. “We feel real enough, don’t we?” Flynn asked.
The question had to be asked. Dez had suddenly settled into the realization he wasn’t truly here, not in body anyway. His body was stuck in a morgue freezer.
“How?” he asked. Then, before his father or brother could answer, “Am I dead?”
“No, son,” Flynn said. “But you will be soon if you don’t fight through. You’re giving up. You can’t.”
“But if I go back, I’ll have to leave you here.”
Aiden’s fingers squeezed, drawing Dez’s attention down to his small, earnest face. “But we won’t leave you.”
Flynn cupped Dez’s chin, tugging his face gently upward to meet his eyes. “Dez, this isn’t your time. Kayleigh needs you, son. Sully needs you. Eva and your mom. You can’t leave them. Not yet. You need to go back.”
Kayleigh. All of this was about her. Everything Dez was, everything he stood for, everything he still wanted to achieve. All of it was for her, about her. If he left now, if he chose to abandon his life, he’d be abandoning her. He’d force her to grow up as he did, with the constant weight of loss pressing down on her, a never-ending reminder the people she loved the most weren’t permanent, that they could be lost to her at any time. In his own life, it had been a blessing of sorts, preventing him from taking the people closest to him for granted. But it had come at a heavy price, a loss of childhood innocence and security.
He couldn’t do that to Kayleigh.
“Is she safe?” Dez asked. “Is she all right?”
“She’s fine,” Flynn said. “We’ve been with her the whole time. But she won’t be if you don’t stop this. And, Dez, Sully’s fading. He’s lost between darkness and light, and we can’t reach him. If you can get him to hear you, we can help him use his gifts to save himself. You need him to stop Lowell—Sully, not this other person inside him. He doesn’t need to rely on that other part of himself. You need to help him see that.”
“I think I’m stuck in a freezer,” Dez said.
“You are, but you can get out.”
“You’re strong, Dez,” Aiden said. “Really strong. Just kick at it until it opens. We’ll help.”
Dez didn’t bother to ask how. The sense of urgency was growing, this feeling of needing to act now or be prevented forever.
“Will I see you again?” he asked.
“One day,” Flynn said. “But not for a while. Once you and Sully stop Lowell and Kindra, we’ll be able to cross over knowing you’re safe. But Aidy’s right. We won’t be far. We’ll always watch over you, wherever we are.”
Dez forced back tears as he moved in, sinking into one final hug with the two of them. “I love you. Both of you. More than I can say.” He knelt, facing Aiden, pulling him into an embrace all his own. “I’m so sorry I failed you. I didn’t protect you, and I should have.”
“You didn’t fail me, Dez,” Aiden said. “You were just a kid too. Lowell was the adult. He’s the one who made the choice. All you can do—all you could ever do—was try to deal with the consequences. It hurt me every day watching how badly you felt about me. I was glad when you found Sully.”
Dez pulled away and stared fully into Aiden’s eyes. “You don’t talk like a little kid, you know that?”
“I look the same to you because this is the way you knew me, but I’ve grown up inside. When I cross over, I think I might even be as tall as you are.”
The thought made Dez laugh, the joy of thinking of his little brother—growth tragically halted forever at just five—having a chance to grow up. He’d never thought much about it, about how Aiden might look as an adult. Dez realized it wasn’t so much that Aiden’s growth had been stunted by his murder; rather, it was Dez’s own thoughts and feelings that had prevented his being able to see the possibilities. Sully had shown it to him, this other world, but Dez had been too afraid to really look.
Now, standing here, faced by it, it was as if the poisons of fear and pain had been drawn from open wounds. He was being stitched together, made whole again. He’d have to say goodbye to his father and Aiden, but only temporarily. They were right. They’d always be with him. Maybe not in a way he could see, but seeing wasn’t really believing. The things he believed in the most, those had nothing to do with sight. Love for family, it wasn’t a tangible thing, not something you could look at or touch, but it was the most real thing Dez had ever known. Real enough to make him who he was, to colour every choice he’d ever made.
It was enough to make him fight for life now.
“I love you,” he said. “Always.” He stood, forced himself to take a step back from them. He drank in the sight of them, imprinted this image on his memory in a way he could carry with him forever. “Stay with me?”
Flynn smiled. “Forever and ever, kiddo. Watch for the signs. You’ll always find us there.”
The light disappeared in a blink, dropping him back into cold black. Back into this deep freeze nightmare into which Lowell and Kindra had thrown him.
The sluggish feel of sedation was gone, whether because of the impact of the temperature or some otherworldly help. Now he had only to contend with cold and cramping limbs as he lifted his arms to shove at the door.
He banged at it a few times before realizing it wasn’t going to budge that way. Aiden had said to kick at it, which seemed more likely to work. He squirmed around on the tray—his tall form making it a challenge in the cramped space—until he’d finally repositioned himself with feet toward the door. Then he started to kick at it with everything he had.
Still, after a dozen or more impacts, it didn’t shift. A cramp in one leg stalled him, forced him to take a breather. He lay there, struggling to refocus, to keep his brain from taking him back to that experience in the grave a few months back when Sully returned. This wasn’t the same thing, he told himself. Sure, he was locked in a morgue drawer where countless corpses had rested over the years, but no one was in here with him now.
Were they?
As he caught his breath, he was certain he felt a presence, the feel of eyes on him, the way you somehow knew, without seeing, when someone was staring at you from across the room. Panic seized him as he strained to stretch out the muscle cramp, The tray’s last occupant might
still be here. But as he forced himself to breathe, to relax, he realized the truth was something else. He felt them now. Dad and Aiden, beside him and surrounding him, the same way he’d felt their presence moments ago while in that dream.
A rattling against the door made him jump. It was the sound, he was certain, of the handle being manipulated from the outside.
A voice sounded in his ear, one he immediately recognized as his dad’s. “Now, son.”
Dez drew his legs back, cramp be damned, and let loose, kicking the door as hard as he could. Once didn’t do it, nor did the second impact. The third, though, sent the door flying open.
Light flooded the space, enough to bring Dez an initial dose of relief. Moments later, after some squirming, he was out, standing on the tiled floor while heaving breaths, hands on knees.
“Thanks, guys,” he whispered. He didn’t hear a response, but he knew now—knew in a way he never had before—they could hear him. And even though they weren’t here in physical presence, he felt stronger for the realization they were here nonetheless.
They’d see him through this. He knew it as well as he knew himself.
He straightened, then started for the door leading to the hall.
He didn’t get there.
It flew open before he could reach it, revealing not just Sully but two people next to him—both very clearly dead and yet on their feet. One of them was Greta. And Sully… wasn’t Sully.
Cold dread seized Dez the way the cramp had grabbed at his leg in the drawer. “Sully?”
“Sully’s not here,” came the expected Cockney accent. “Where’s Lowell?”
Dez reached into his pocket for Raiya’s chunk of wood, only to recall he’d given it to Eva.
Damn.
“Sully, listen to me—”
He didn’t get the chance to finish, shoved up against the wall of lockers before he knew what was happening. Sully hadn’t moved, and Dez sensed this was Ned’s energy, repurposed by the hangman. The hangman who clearly had no use for a meddlesome older brother who desperately wanted Sully back at the helm.
“Sully, this isn’t you. Come on, man.”
Sully entered the room, the two bodies tagging along as if rooted to him. Given they were likely only held up by Ned’s energy, Dez imagined that was exactly the reason they were kept so close.
The hangman’s focus for now seemed to be on Dez, not on the corpses he was towing along. “Sullivan has fallen back on you for protection and for strength his whole life, and I’ve been happy for it. He was too weak on his own, too scared. He’s neither anymore—but only because of me.”
“Sully’s never been weak,” Dez said. “You hear me, Sull? You’re not weak, man. You don’t need this guy. Please!”
Sully—Sully’s body, anyway—took another step toward Dez. His eyes, those strange, milky-blue irises unique to the hangman’s presence, studied Dez, dissected him. “You think he can hear you? He’s gone. The man you knew is gone forever. I’m what’s left. I’m in control, and I’m not letting go. I’ve waited centuries for this, for a descendent strong enough to hold me. I’m having far too much fun to quit now, Red, and there’s nothing standing in my way. Nothing but Lowell.” He tilted his head, peering deep into Dez’s eyes. “And you.”
“Sully, no.”
But Sully, wherever he was, didn’t seem to be in a place to hear him. The hangman glanced over his shoulder at the naked, bullet-riddled male corpse, then back at Dez. “Sic ’im.”
If there was one benefit to the hangman’s need to focus Ned’s energy on controlling the two corpses, it was the fact he subsequently had to release Dez to do so. Dez felt the energy pinning him to the wall pull back, like a suction cup being tugged free. As the large, dead man reached for him, he ducked and backed off a few steps—far enough to take in the horror scene before him: two dead bodies staggering in his direction, Sully’s face sneering sadistically as he watched. The jury was out on whether the corpses would have strength enough to rend Dez limb from limb as the hangman no doubt intended, but he wasn’t keen to find out. He could fight the bodies, but all he’d do was exhaust himself before the main battle—the one he’d have to wage against Sully himself.
“Sully, please. It’s me. Don’t do this!”
If Sully was in there, Dez had yet to see evidence of it. The bodies were still coming, nearly on him now. Dez steeled himself, bracing back against the far wall. He’d need to execute the perfect tackle, and he had to have a good running start to make it happen. Taking two deep breaths through gritted teeth and flared nostrils, he pushed off the wall, shouldered Greta out of the way and skirted past the male body as he rushed Sully.
Without warning, a force—one he couldn’t see, yet as solid as cement—nailed him. He flew back, his body entirely off the ground a moment before he hit the floor with brutal force, his head striking tile hard enough to send him back to the brink of unconsciousness. He fought to remain alert, to force his brain to settle, but the few seconds it took were seconds too long. He saw them before he could react, the two bodies closing in, falling rather than kneeling next to him. Dead hands made firm and unyielding with supernatural force seized and held his arms, pinning him to the floor, while Sully—or the hangman—stood over him.
“You were useful to me a long time,” the executioner said. “Those days are over. Know that I derive no pleasure from what I’m about to do.”
A force pressed down on Dez’s throat, squeezing so hard he couldn’t have pleaded for Sully to stop if he tried. No words, no breath. He was trapped here, left to flail helplessly as the force compressed his throat.
And he knew. Knew without a doubt. He was going to die in the worst way imaginable. Like his father, he would die at his brother’s hands.
And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it.
Riding along with Thadeus in the driver’s seat reminded Sully of late-night childhood drives with his parents. Tucking himself into the corner between backseat and door, Sully would rest his head on the window while, around him, sounds of chatter and the radio faded into the background. Not fully asleep but not awake either.
He usually had some awareness while Thadeus used his body to move around and take what action he deemed necessary, but it was a semi-conscious awareness.
Not now. Not anymore. What it was that had fully roused him he didn’t know. All he was truly aware of now was the image of his brother lying on the tiled floor, his throat squeezed by a force coming from him.
Thadeus—using the power of Sully and Ned—was killing Dez.
It hit him like a punch, drove the remaining lethargy from him, as his horror bubbled into his throat and formed one audible, whispered word. “No.”
He felt it, Thadeus’s surprise, and Sully used it, picturing himself pushing past his ancestor, reaching for the controls to his own body.
He sensed Ned release Dez, heard the evidence of it in the painful wheezing of his lungs.
But Thadeus wasn’t one to give up so easily.
The hangman’s words formed in Sully’s mind: He’s a threat to us, boy. He’s in our way. You’ll come to see it in time.
Sully had an argument at the ready, but Thadeus wasn’t prepared to hear it. He pounced, shoved past Sully, sprang back into the driver’s seat. Thadeus pushed Ned back out, against Dez, forcing him back against the floor. All sounds from Dez stopped as the pressure on his throat returned, harder—far harder—than before. Sully felt it as solidly as if he had his hands around his brother’s neck, could see the way Dez’s throat bowed inward against the compression, the way the blood pooling in his head rapidly reddened his face.
Dez flailed beneath him, boots scraping the floor as he suffocated. And Thadeus—Sully could feel it, the sadistic fascination at watching this horrific scene, at being the cause of it. That, as much as Dez’s desperation and pain, sent Sully over the edge. He dove back into this bizarre internal battle, driving Thadeus down far enough he could regain control.
; The effect was immediate. Ned pulled back, allowing Dez to attempt a series of shallow gasps that thankfully ended in a full-on round of deep, racking coughs. It sounded awful, but it meant his throat was open and allowing in air.
But Thadeus wasn’t done—not by a long shot. His energy, seemingly ever-present now, shot forward, pinned Sully down as he once again took the reins.
One word came from Sully’s throat, the Cockney accent clear. “Enough.”
The hangman’s intentions were equally and frighteningly clear.
The dead bodies flew back, freeing Dez. But any relief he might have felt was short-lived. Thadeus wasn’t prepared to fight Sully all night. He wanted this over and over quickly. That meant directing Ned’s energy fully and completely at Dez.
Sully watched, horrified, as Thadeus used Ned to pick Dez up off the floor and toss him across the room, as if he was nothing more substantial than a rag doll. Dez hit the farthest wall hard enough to shatter drywall and tile, and he fell to the floor with a groan. Before he so much as had a chance to draw in a breath, he was up again, flying hard into another wall.
Again he was picked up and tossed, into the steel locker doors this time. Up again, another wall. More tile cracked behind him before he landed, gasping, on the floor.
A sound came from Sully, a gut-wrenching wail he’d never before heard come out of himself. Yet this was him, not Thadeus. He closed his eyes, shutting out the image of Dez writhing on the floor, focusing completely inward. Focusing on Thadeus.
I’m done letting you control me. I won’t let you hurt my brother anymore.
No? Watch me.
But this time, there was nothing to watch. Sully held firm, pictured himself grabbing hold of Thadeus and wrenching him backward, further from the control he so desperately coveted.
The executioner raged at him with a fury built high through several lifetimes. I won’t let you take this from me! I’ve waited too long! You’re weak! You’ve always been weak!
Dez’s voice, though quiet and strained, filtered through the madness. “Sully? Please, hear me. You don’t need him. You’re strong without him. You’ve always been stronger than you realize.”