by H. P. Bayne
Lowell shook his head as much as his position would allow, wide eyes fixed on Sully’s. “You—you’re dead. I killed you. I know I killed you.”
“There’s no such thing as death, Lowell. There’s only this life and the one that comes after. People like me, we exist in both worlds. You can only kill me if I allow it, and I won’t. We’re going upstairs, and you’re turning yourself over to police.”
The head shake was back. “No. I can’t go to prison. I won’t. Kill me. Do it. Kill me.”
Kindra gasped. “Lowell!”
“Do it,” Lowell said. “Kill me. I mean it. I can’t live like this. I’ve worked too hard for everything I have. I’ve sacrificed too much. You’ll have to kill me.”
“I could,” Sully said. “Easily. Thackeray wants me to. So does Prescott Montague. They’re here, you know. They’re all here. Everyone you murdered. But they deserve justice. If you die, chances are the truth dies with you, and the public needs to know exactly what you are.”
“No,” Lowell moaned. “No.”
“You should thank me,” Sully said. “You won’t face anything better on the other side. You won’t find peace there, Lowell, not even for a moment. You’re better off sucking every moment you can out of what’s left of your life on earth. What comes after for you… well, let’s just say you’re better off not knowing.”
The terror in the depths of Lowell’s eyes brought a thrill of excitement to at least a few of the spirits Sully carried inside him. Harry certainly was enjoying this, perhaps a little too much. Sully was happy to help.
“Your choice,” Sully said to Lowell.
“Okay,” he breathed. “Okay.”
The feeling was nearly back in Sully’s limbs by the time they reached the top of the stairs with their prisoners in tow, Lowell’s wrists lashed behind his back with his own belt. Kindra wasn’t going anywhere, a concussion keeping her senses too dulled for her to accomplish anything of real use to her or her husband.
Dez opted to steer them toward the front entrance rather than the back, most likely wanting to avoid tracking through any evidence present around Greg’s body. Dez drew them to a halt in the hallway, and Sully felt his brother’s eyes on him.
“Hey, Sully? You’ll probably want to do up your coat. All that blood—police are going to ask.”
Sully moved to do up his zipper, but Mara was already there, grinning up at him as she took care of the task. He met her smile with his own, one he shared with the still very-present Flynn and Aiden.
“And Sull?” Dez said. “Um, I don’t know how to say this exactly, but you’re, uh, kind of glowing.”
“I’m carrying a bunch of ghosts inside me,” Sully said. “Kind of hard to avoid.”
“Are they keeping you alive?” Dez asked. “They’re not, are they? Oh, shit, man, tell me they’re not.”
Sully shook his head. “They already saved me.” He thought, anyway. He released them, one by one. Montague first, of course. Then the Schusters. Then, more reluctantly, Flynn, Aiden and Lucky.
He held onto Ned for now. He felt nearly empty without the others, deflated and weakened, as if he had just come through a serious illness.
Or had just returned from death.
“Better?” he asked.
“Jesus, Sull. You okay?”
Dez’s response was adequate to convince Sully he’d pass for a guy without a freakish paranormal ability. “I’ll make it.” And that was enough.
Dez made the quick, obligatory call to Lachlan, asking him to advise police they were coming out the front. They gave it a minute, then emerged into a blinding wall of takedown lights melded with flashes of blues and reds. One voice, coming through a loudhailer, had them all face down on the ground, limbs splayed until officers could surround them.
Sully could quite happily have stayed there, the snow blessedly cool against the building headache.
Police replaced Lowell’s belt with a pair of handcuffs. The ghosts of Lowell’s victims formed an honour guard of sorts as he was led to the back of a police cruiser, an officer reading rights and warnings from a card he’d pulled from his pocket. Kindra received similar treatment as she was escorted to a second police car.
Unbeknownst to anyone but Sully, Montague had climbed in next to Lowell, was now fixing him with a stare as cold as death. He turned back to Sully only long enough to offer a quick, approving nod.
Job done.
The others remained behind for the moment. The Schusters came together, and Sully watched as their wounds fell away and light filled the space around them and inside them. He exchanged smiles with the family, nodding as Betty mouthed the words, “Thanks, kid.”
Then they were gone.
Flynn, Aiden and Lucky stayed, and Sully expected they’d stick around a little while yet. His job with at least two of them wasn’t quite finished.
Dez stood with the permission of officers, then helped Sully to his feet. The snow beneath Sully was stained red with his blood, prompting an immediate and urgent assessment by a pair of officers. But there were no injuries to find, nothing but a pair of freshly healed scabs surrounded by an ungodly amount of dried blood.
“Whose is this?” one officer asked.
No point in lying. The answer would become clear should they choose to test for DNA. “Mine,” Sully said. He offered what he could of a smile. “I’m a fast healer.”
Police headquarters was a beehive despite the early morning hour, detectives from Major Crimes and other units joining uniformed officers in what had become overnight a massive investigation into corruption, fraud and murder.
Sully spent two hours in an interview room with Staff Sergeant Duncan McPhee, clothed in plastic police-issued coveralls while detailing his comings and goings of the past two years. His phone, complete with his edited recordings of Montague and Gerhardt, were in the hands of police technicians, and what evidence they didn’t provide, he did. He left out the parts McPhee couldn’t handle; few people, in Sully’s experience, were equipped to deal with the invisible truths surrounding them. Maybe he’d share the full story once the camera was turned off, if he ever found himself sitting across a kitchen table from McPhee. But, for now, there would just have to be a few unanswered questions.
As it stood, the answers he did provide were plenty.
“Lowell’s been officially charged with the kidnapping of your niece and first-degree murder in the deaths of commissionaire Greg Kipling, Aiden Braddock and Thackeray Schuster,” McPhee said. “We’re awaiting DNA for added confirmation on Thackeray, but we talked to a neighbour who recalls hearing some banging and shouting over there on what we believe was the night of the man’s death. She said she saw Lowell Braddock leave about an hour later, then return with the makings for cement. She didn’t call it in at the time because she thought maybe he was doing home renos and had gotten into an argument with his contractor.”
Sully nodded. “And Greg?”
“Ballistics on the bullet used to kill him come back to one of the weapons Lowell had in his possession. Plus, he had gunshot residue on his face, hands and clothing. We’ve got some gaps to fill, but his wife’s doing a good job of that. Seems she’s trying to talk her way out of an accessory charge. She’ll cooperate. We’ve also had a fair bit of luck with the Circle members we’ve corralled, our own members among them. The one who shot Forbes pinned the blame on Lowell too. Said he put her up to it by telling her Forbes was snooping around, asking questions about him at the gun range. We haven’t figured out yet whether Lowell actually gave the order to kill Forbes, but we’re working on it. And we’ll keep working on the others too. Kindra gave Lowell up on Aiden’s death. We think she’ll rat him out on the others as well. She’s going to be in questioning a few more hours, at least.”
Kindra. Reynold Dunsmore. Sully. Dez. Lachlan. Mara. The witnesses against Lowell were stacking up. If Lowell didn’t give in and plead guilty, the city was in for a long and sordid trial.
“I’ve still got som
e questions, more than I’ve got time for now,” McPhee said. “A few things are really bugging me, though. We don’t have a shooter in relation to the Greta Raynor death. None of the guns we’ve found match to the bullet used to kill her. Then there are the Circle members we picked up at the morgue. They all said the two bodies we found down there—Greta and this shooting victim we found on the street a couple of nights ago—were being used by you as zombies, that they were walking and everything. And Kindra swears up and down Lowell killed you, that the bullet wounds we saw on you should be fresh. What do you make of all of that?”
“I don’t know who killed Greta,” Sully said. “I didn’t see. As for the rest of it—” He paused, quirking up his lips in a smile. “It sounds to me like those people should spend a little time in Lockwood.”
By the time Sully emerged from police headquarters, the sun had risen.
The snowfall that blanketed the city overnight had lessened and was now floating lightly, as if the clouds overhead had already shaken off the worst of their burden.
Sully, too, felt as if he’d shed a massive weight. Lowell had been charged; once the news broke today, his life would be in tatters.
It was the most just punishment Sully could imagine.
As he walked down the front steps in a fresh set of clothes one of his family members had dropped off for him, he spotted his mom’s car parked curbside. Dez pried himself from the driver’s seat and met Sully halfway, pulling him into an emotional hug.
“I thought I lost you,” Dez choked out.
“I thought I lost me too,” Sully said. “More than once, and in more ways than one.”
“How?” Dez asked. Sully knew what he was really wanting to know.
Sully pulled back enough to meet Dez’s eye. He provided what he could of an explanation, of how the ghosts had loaned their energy to help him heal.
“But this wasn’t the same as you getting shot at Lockwood,” Dez said. “You were dead, Sull. I know you were.”
“Lucky said something about my brain still functioning. I think as long as it’s still firing, I can get back in.”
“No one questioned all the blood on you?”
Sully fell into step with Dez as they returned to the car. “Oh, there were questions. Just nothing I had a good answer for. I think McPhee finally agreed to let a few things slide. He’s got enough on his plate to deal with without having to worry about the paranormal.”
“What are you going to tell him when he decides he needs the answers?”
Sully shrugged. “I guess I’ll tell him the truth.” He quirked up a corner of his mouth. “He’s got about half a dozen ghosts attached to him, so I don’t think it’ll be hard to convince him.”
“Gotta say, I don’t mind the idea of you being able to use this gift of yours to heal yourself.”
Sully had given it some thought. A lot of thought, actually. Enough to come to a conclusion. “Don’t get too comfortable with it. I’m done. The risks are too high.”
“What risks?” Dez asked. “You’re only alive because of it.”
“And you almost died. I’m pretty sure I can control it, but pretty sure doesn’t cut it. Every time I use that ability, I risk unlocking the door for Thadeus. I can’t take the chance. I’ll communicate with the ghosts, but that’s it. I’m done with the rest of it. Shouldn’t be such a big deal now that everyone who wanted me dead is out of the way.”
The two of them got into the car, which Sully found blessedly warm. He felt cold, weak and stiff, as if his body hadn’t yet fully recovered from extreme blood loss or death. “Where’s everyone else?”
“Home,” Dez said. “And I mean our home. Eva and Mom wanted to get Kayleigh into bed as soon as police got a quick statement from her. Poor kid was beat.”
“She’s okay, though?”
“Yeah. Near as we can tell, Lowell and Kindra didn’t expose her to anything awful, so there’s that much at least. Kayleigh was confused as to why we didn’t tell her she was going to be spending time with them, but that’s about it.”
“Are you going to tell her the truth?”
“Eventually. But not now.” Dez started the car as the windows began to fog from their breath. “I want her to have a chance to be a kid.”
He pulled away, steering them from police headquarters, setting a course for home. “You looking at any charges over any of this?”
“Not yet. Guess it’s possible. I mean, they haven’t connected me to the incident with the Dules and the assassins, and I didn’t provide information otherwise. I suppose they might find Greta’s blood on my clothes if they run DNA, but they tested me for gunshot residue and I was clean, so I can’t see them charging me with her death. I told them I didn’t see what happened. Terrence shot her to save me. I don’t want him dragged into this. He’s got a chance at starting over. I want to make sure he gets to take advantage.”
Dez stopped at a red light, and Sully, sensing his stare, turned his direction.
“What about you?” Dez gave a half smile. “You’ve got the same chance now. What are you going to do with it?”
Sully shrugged. “I don’t know. Funny, I guess. I’ve been so stuck on the idea of nailing Lowell that I never stopped to think what comes after.” He grinned. “Maybe someone needs a bartender.”
Dez provided an answering smile. “I think I’ve got a better idea for you—and I’m pretty sure Lachlan will agree.”
Sully lifted a brow. “The three of us, working together full-time, solving unsolvable homicide cases?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
Sully nodded and turned back to face the windshield just as the light turned green.
“Sure,” he said. “I think I could live with that.”
31
Christmas Eve found Sully crammed between his brother and mom on Dez’s downstairs sofa. Eva lay stretched out on the rug in front of Dez’s feet next to a napping Kayleigh, while Pax drooled in his sleep next to them.
Mara had insisted on their yearly tradition, the 1951 version of Scrooge—a movie that used to bore the hell out of the men in her life. She was in her element while Dez sat with head propped in his hand.
Sully remembered a time he’d rolled his eyes at the notion of this particular Christmas routine. He’d long since moved past that.
Last Christmas had found him staring at Dez’s house from the outside, watching his family enjoying the holiday without him. He could think of nothing better than this, than his being here now.
That the show featured lessons imparted by ghosts wasn’t lost on him. Nor was the fact it was being watched by ghosts. Flynn, Lucky and Aiden were here, too, though their eyes were fixed more often on their family than on the black and white film.
To Sully, it suggested something he wasn’t ready for.
They were preparing to leave.
Mara always timed the movie to end at midnight, once the clock ticked over to Christmas morning. As the tradition came to its close, the family exchanged goodnight hugs and wishes for a merry Christmas, and Dez carried Kayleigh off to bed.
Sully waited until the others had gone upstairs, leaving him with Pax and his ghostly family members.
He rose to his feet to speak with them. “You’re ready, aren’t you? You’re ready to cross over.”
Flynn met Aiden’s eye, then focused back on Sully. While Flynn’s face showed peace, his gaze wasn’t without sadness as he answered the question with a slow nod.
Sully nodded back, offering what he could of a smile, before turning next to Lucky. From her came a headshake.
“Why?” he asked her. “The Dules are gone. You don’t need to protect me from them anymore.”
She stepped forward, placed a hand on his chest, over his heart. He expected an image to flash into his brain. What he got instead was a feeling of the most intense love, and a thought passed onto him through the sensation. She didn’t need to protect him from the Dules anymore, nor was it likely she needed to guard him against himself. B
ut she would protect him all the same.
Flynn approached him next, settling a hand on his shoulder. He needed to get Aiden into the light, but they, too, would look in on their family often.
“I won’t see you,” Sully said. “I can’t see ghosts once they’ve crossed.”
Flynn nodded. I know. I’m sorry. But it’s the way it has to be. Flynn smiled down on Lucky. But you’ll have this girl. She’s a tough little nut.
Sully smiled, but a tear dripping down his cheek belied his attempt. “I don’t want to say goodbye to you.”
Then don’t, came the thought from Flynn. You don’t need to. Goodbye is just an illusion.
Sully barely slept, dreading what the day would bring. They hadn’t said as much, but he knew. Flynn and Aiden would stay for Christmas with their family before taking their brief journey into the light.
Kayleigh, bounding down the stairs shortly after six in the morning, was the medicine he needed.
“Uncle Sully! You’re awake! Good, you can help me wake up Mom and Dad. They’re hopeless.”
Sully laughed, folding the girl into a hug. “I think everyone was pretty tired last night, kiddo.” He watched as Pax awoke with a massive yawn and climbed to his feet, welcoming Kayleigh with a round of licks to her face. “Why don’t you play with Pax for a bit? I feel like I’ve been neglecting him lately. Anyway,” he added, “I think he likes you better.”
“Of course he does,” she said, taking Sully up on his offer by wrapping her arms around the dog’s neck. “Dogs like kids better.” She peered up, meeting Sully’s eye with an impish grin. “But I like you better than almost anyone.”
Sully grinned back. “Same with you, kid. I love you, you know that?”
“I know,” she said. “Love you back. Now let’s go wake up Mom and Dad, okay?”
Christmas dinner was a potluck. It had to be, given the number of people coming.