by Terri Reid
Stanley peeked in to the bedroom. Sure enough, Rosie was sound asleep. He carefully pulled the door closed, being sure not to make a sound. He paused for a moment as a chill ran down his spine. Then shook his head. It was just his imagination, but just in case, he’d better make that trap and make it quickly.
The canning jars were on the top shelf of the cupboard. Stanley stared at them for a moment and then chose a quart jar, just to make sure there was enough room for that large ghost. He pulled a tea candle out of the drawer and set it inside the jar.
Looking around the room, he decided the best place for the trap was the coffee table. It was close to the Christmas tree but also pretty centered in the room. He moved the magazines and the Christmas bouquet onto the couch so the table was empty. Then he placed the jar on a ceramic coaster in the middle of the table.
He stepped back and nodded satisfactorily. The trap was set. Now all he had to do was get a lid, light the candle and wait.
Chapter Fifty-two
Stanley grabbed a plastic lid that would fit the jar and then stopped by the fireplace to remove the lighter wand from the mantle. Placing the lid in his pants pocket, he clicked the lighter on and then lowered it into the jar to light the candle.
A moment later, the candle flame was dancing in the bottom of the jar, casting shadows around the room. His heart beating rapidly, Stanley pulled the lid out of his pocket and kept his eyes glued on the jar, waiting for any signs of a shadow to appear inside the jar.
His arm up over his shoulder ready to pounce at a moment’s notice, and his gaze focused on the coffee table, Stanley didn’t notice the furtive shadow moving out from behind the tree.
“Come on, Tony,” Stanley whispered. “I thought you liked flames. Come on, check out this flame.”
Sniffing the air, Stanley was surprised to discover that the tiny tea candle was putting off such a strong odor. He hoped it wouldn’t reach all the way to their bedroom, because then he’d have some explaining to do. Then he thought about Rosie’s reaction when she learned that he’d caught the ghost all by himself. He didn’t need Bradley. He didn’t need Mary. And most of all, he didn’t need that Casanova, Ian. He smiled and nodded.
Yeah, who would be Rosie’s hero then?
The scent grew stronger, and then, in the corner of his eyes, Stanley saw flames. He spun around, terrified. The Christmas tree was ablaze, and the fire had already spread to the drapes and wall.
“Rosie!” he screamed. “Rosie, get out of the house!”
He started to run towards her when Tony appeared before him. Not a shadow, just a boy.
“Get out of my way,” Stanley yelled at him.
Tony shook his head. “But I thought you liked flames, Stanley,” the boy mocked. “And won’t they all shake their heads when they blame the fire on you? Stupid, old man lighting candles at night.”
Stanley stepped forward, and a piece of wood from the ceiling came crashing down onto his shoulder. He screamed with pain but knocked the stud away, pushing to get to Rosie. A blazing section of drywall fell forward, landing on his chest, but he pushed through the pain.
“Rosie!” he screamed. “Rosie!”
“Stanley?”
He heard her voice.
“Rosie, get out!” he yelled. “Get out through the window!”
I’m not going to leave you,” she cried back.
“Don’t worry,” he gasped, feeling a new pain shooting down his left arm. “I can get out through the front door. Go now!”
He heard the bedroom window open, and he turned to Tony, who stood there looking down at Stanley with a smile on his face. “You didn’t win,” Stanley gasped. “You didn’t win.”
And then all went black.
Chapter Fifty-three
Mary sat in the recliner, her feet drawn up next to her, watching the fire crackle in the fireplace. Ian sat on one side of the couch and Bradley on the other, the mirror between them.
“It’s interesting, isn’t it,” she mused, “that something so warm and comforting as a fire can also be terrifying.”
“It’s just a tool,” Ian said. “The hands that yield it will determine the good or evil it does.”
Mike appeared in the room and glided over to the coffee table. “Clarissa is sound asleep dreaming about Christmas,” he said.
Mary sat up. “Do you realize that Christmas is less than a week away?” she exclaimed. “I don’t have nearly enough gifts yet.”
Bradley smiled at her. “I think we’ll be fine,” he said. “You have our entire closet filled with gifts as well as two shelves in the basement.”
Mike turned and smiled at Mary. “What did you get me?” he asked.
“Aftershave,” she teased.
“Funny,” he replied. “Really funny.”
She sat back in the chair and chuckled. “You’re going to have to wait, just like everyone else,” she said, and then she looked around the room. “I just realized how much my life has changed in one year.”
Bradley nodded. “Yes, last year at this time we were working that job in Chicago,” he said. “And I ended up at Cook County hospital.”
“Remember that sweet, old man who died just as we were escaping?” she asked.
“You escaped from the hospital?” Ian asked. “Well, remember how you did it. It might come in handy.”
“What do you mean?” Bradley asked.
“We were trying to figure out why Tony would leave the asylum,” Ian explained. “Because he really was running the roost there. He was sucking energy from all the spirits in the place. He had a good deal. Why leave?”
“Power,” Mike said.
“Yes, exactly,” Mary agreed. “But then how could he get power from coming here? I don’t see as many ghosts in a month to equal the number of spirits in the asylum.”
“What did you come up with?” Bradley asked.
“That some event would have to occur in a large building, with Mary in it, in order to attract and trap the spirits for Tony,” Ian said. “The only building with enough occupants would be the hospital.”
“So, is he planning on waiting until the baby comes?” Bradley asked.
“No, he’s not,” Mike inserted.
“What do you mean?” Mary asked.
“You’re assuming that the baby is the reason you’d be in the hospital,” Mike explained. “But you’d be there if one of your family had been hurt, wouldn’t you?”
“The fires,” Mary said, nodding. “If he set fire to our house…”
“Well, he’s not going to burn this house down,” Ian said. “Not with his mirror in it. And, except for making sure he doesn’t try and open it, we’re fairly safe.”
Mary sighed. “It feels good to not worry,” she laughed. “Goldurn good.”
Then she sat up and her eyes widened. “Stanley and Rosie,” she said, a pit growing in her belly. She turned to Mike. “Mike…”
“On my way,” he said and then disappeared.
He reappeared a moment later. “You’ve got to get over there,” he said. “Their house is on fire.”
Chapter Fifty-four
The cruiser flew down the side streets to Rosie and Stanley’s house. They could see flames in the window when they turned onto the street. Bradley pulled the cruiser over the sidewalk and across their front lawn, stopping just in front of the porch.
Rosie was on the porch in her nightgown, pounding on the front door. She turned, tears rushing down her face, when she saw them.
“He’s inside!” she screamed. “He’s trapped inside.”
“Where?” Bradley asked, knowing they would probably not be able to see because of the smoke.
“The living room,” she said. “He told me to climb through the bedroom window. He promised he’d come through the front door. The key won’t fit. The lock’s melted.”
“Go sit in the cruiser, Rosie,” Bradley said. “And wait for the fire department, okay?”
She nodded and hurried down the steps.<
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Bradley turned to Ian. “Ready?” he asked.
Ian nodded. The two men took a couple of steps backward and then rushed at the door, ramming their shoulders and arms against it. The door gave slightly, but wasn’t quite open.
“Again,” Ian said.
They stepped back and rushed it again, the door splintering in the center and breaking open. Flames, invigorated by the fresh air, blazed before them, and smoke as black as pitch enveloped them.
“Stanley!” Bradley called. “Stanley, where are you?”
Down on all fours, Bradley moved towards the kitchen, and Ian moved towards the hall.
A piece of burnt drywall lay at an angle on the floor. Ian kicked it to the side and gasped. Stanley lay motionless underneath the rubble.
“Bradley, over here!” Ian yelled.
Stanley body was burnt, his shirt melted to his flesh, and his eyes were closed.
Ian leaned over and pressed his hand to Stanley’s neck, searching for a pulse.
Chapter Fifty-five
Mary sat on the couch, a hammer in her hand, guarding the mirror. But her focus was on her cell phone next to her. Bradley, Ian and Mike had been gone for more than an hour, and she hadn’t heard anything about the fire. She picked up the phone, tempted to dial Bradley’s number, but she realized he was dealing with a crisis and would call when he could.
No sooner had she placed the phone down than Mike appeared next to her. His face was drawn, and he looked worse than she’d ever seen him.
“What?” she asked, tears pooling in her eyes. “What happened? How are they?”
“Rosie’s fine,” Mike said. “She had a little smoke inhalation and minor burns. They’re taking her to the hospital for overnight evaluation.”
“Stanley?” she asked, her throat tightening.
Mike shook his head. “Not so good,” he said.
“He’s not…” she began.
“No,” Mike said, coming closer and sitting on the coffee table in front of her. “No, he’s not dead. But it looks like the fire started in the living room where Stanley was located. He was burned, and he inhaled a lot of smoke. He…”
Mike sighed and met her eyes, his own now filled with tears. “He won’t wake up,” he said. “He’s in a coma. They don’t know if…”
Mary stood up, wiped her eyes with her sleeves and hurried over to the closet. “I have to go to them,” she said. “I have to see Rosie. I have to see Stanley. Mike…”
She leaned against the wall and started to sob. “It’s my fault, Mike,” she cried, her voice catching. “It’s all my fault. If he dies… If he dies…”
Mike moved to stand in front of her. He put his hands on her shoulders, and she could feel the cold pressure. Tears streaming down her face, she lifted her eyes to look at him.
“If he dies he gets to go back home,” Mike said. “Isn’t that what you told me?”
She shook her head. “I don’t care what I said. I don’t want him to die.”
She reached into the closet and pulled out her coat.
“You can’t go,” Mike said.
“He might be dying,” she replied. “I might never see him again. I have to at least say goodbye.”
“You can’t go,” Mike said.
“I don’t care,” she cried. “I don’t care about the mirror. I don’t care about any damn spirit. I don’t care about anything except seeing Rosie and Stanley.”
She had her hand on the door and was about to open it when Mike said, “and what happens if Tony detonates the hospital once you walk in that door because now he has you where he wants you?”
Her hand dropped from the doorknob, and she leaned her head against the door, her body shaking as she cried. “This isn’t fair, Mike,” she cried, her voice thick with tears. “This wasn’t supposed to happen to them.”
Mike came up behind her and whispered. “I know, Mary. This is so unfair. This is so hard,” he said. “Does it help you to know that God is crying too?”
She shook her head. “No. No it doesn’t,” she said. Then she paused. “Okay. A little. It helps a little.”
She pulled a tissue out of her coat pocket and wiped her nose, then turned to look at Mike. “It hurts, Mike,” she whispered. “It hurts all the way to my soul.”
He nodded. “I know, sweetheart,” he said. “But Stanley would want you to be strong for him.”
She took a shuddering breath and nodded. “No,” she said. “He’d want me to be goldurn angry.”
Mike smiled. “And are you?”
She shook her head, and more tears flowed down her cheeks. “No,” she whispered through her tears. Then she took a gulping breath. “No. Because I’m too scared for him.”
Chapter Fifty-six
Bradley stood next to the window looking into the burn unit surgical suite as the doctors cleaned and debrided Stanley’s burnt arms and torso. It was almost a blessing that Stanley was unconscious, Bradley thought, so he didn’t feel the surgeons removing the damaged skin and irrigating the area with a saline solution to prepare it for an eventual skin graft.
An array of IVs surrounded the top of the bed, and a heart monitor pulsed a steady, slow beat, assuring him that even though Stanley looked pale and wan, he was indeed still alive. The door behind him opened, and Ian, covered in the same black soot as Bradley, walked up beside him and looked at the procedure.
“How’s he doing?” Ian asked.
Bradley shrugged and took a breath before he spoke. “He’s still alive,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “How’s Rosie?”
“She’s fine,” he said with a sad smile. “Well, she’s fine physically. She’s near frantic that they won’t let her see Stanley. I told her I’d flash my doctor badge and see what I could find out.”
“I should have known he’d be after them,” Bradley said quietly, but Ian could hear the restrained anger in his voice. “I should have forced them to spend the night.”
Ian shook his head. “Why do we do that to ourselves?” he asked.
Bradley turned and looked at him. “What?”
“Why do we take the blame upon ourselves when a loved one is hurting?” he asked. “I do it myself. As a matter of fact, I was just blaming myself for not thinking of the whole hospital scenario earlier so we could have warned Stanley and Rosie. Why do we do it?”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Bradley said.
“Aye, and it wasn’t yours either,” Ian replied. “And really, if we want to go down that road, it wasn’t Mary’s fault that Tony was drawn to her because of her ability.”
“It was God’s fault,” Bradley said. “If he hadn’t given Mary that choice—”
“She’d be dead now,” Ian interrupted.
Bradley sighed and laid his head against the glass window, the coldness relieving the heat on his face. “So whose fault is it?” he asked. “Because it has to be someone’s fault.”
Ian winced as he placed his hand on Bradley’s shoulder. With no coat to protect him, the splinters from Stanley’s door had pierced his shirt and embedded themselves in his skin. Eventually he’d need to remove them, but for now, he had more to worry about than just a few pieces of wood.
“Well, we can certainly blame Tony,” he said. “Because whether or not he can feel remorse, he does know right from wrong. And he chose to do evil.”
He sighed and looked at Stanley, looking even older than usual. “And I suppose if we really need to blame someone, we can place a little blame on Stanley for being a stubborn, old coot with too much pride,” he said, his voice catching and his eyes misting over. “But I wouldn’t change him for the world.”
Bradley wiped his hands over his eyes and nodded. “I haven’t called Mary,” he admitted. “I don’t think I’m strong enough to hear her tears.”
“Aye, I understand,” Ian said. “I’m sure Mike’s told her by now.”
“When we broke through the door and I saw Stanley on the ground, I thought…” Bradley shook his head and took
a deep breath. “I thought he was dead.”
Ian nodded. “So, did I,” he said. “And I’ve never been so grateful to feel someone’s pulse before in my life.”
“He has to be fine,” Bradley whispered harshly. “He has to pull through and be fine.”
“If love counts,” Ian said, “he’ll pull through.”
Each man, unbeknownst to each other, thought about their respective fathers at that exact moment, thought about how they were taken away from them much too early in their lives.
Bradley sighed. “Sometimes love doesn’t count,” he said sadly. “We think it should, but it doesn’t always count.”
“Aye, that’s the truth,” Ian agreed. “But this time. This time it has to count.”
Chapter Fifty-seven
Bradley and Ian watched the surgery for a few more minutes, Ian’s hand still on Bradley’s shoulder. Then Ian carefully removed it and started to step away. Bradley turned and met Ian’s eyes.
“Thank you,” he said, and he gave Ian an appreciative pat on the arm. He was instantly alarmed when he saw the look of intense pain and the sudden paleness on Ian’s face. “What the hell?” Bradley asked. “What’s wrong?”
Ian tried to shrug it off. “I just got a few splinters in my arm when we broke down the door,” he said. “I’m fine. You watch Stanley, and I’ll—”
“The hell you will,” Bradley said. He hurried over to the door and motioned for a nurse. “Can you get a doctor in here? Ian was injured during the fire, and I’d really like someone to look at it.”
Bradley turned back and studied his friend. He noticed the rips and tears along the side of his shirt. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.
“It’s not a big deal,” Ian insisted. “I was going to get some tweezers out of my toiletry kit when I got back to your place.”
There was a knock on the door, and a young, female doctor entered. “Chief Alden?” she asked. “Is there something you need?”