Sean turned back and inspected Robert.
“A question,” he corrected him. “I promised that I would answer a question.”
Robert nodded and swallowed. He had had a lot of time to think of his query on their long ride back to Hainsey County, and he had eventually come up with something.
“The man in the hat and the jean jacket,” he began, lowering his voice several octaves, “Leland Black…who is he? Is he the devil of some sort? Are you God?”
Sean’s eyes narrowed and he remained silent for so long that Robert thought that maybe his question was too broad, offensive, maybe, and that the man wasn’t going to answer him.
But eventually, Sean did speak, and Robert listened.
“God? Me?” he chuckled. “No, Robert, I am not God. There is no God. At least, if there is, I’ve never met him. And what is the Devil without God?”
Robert narrowed his eyes. He didn’t care for the ambiguous answer.
“Well then, what is he? What the hell is the Goat?”
Sean’s expression remained flat and there was another uncomfortable pause.
“You promised—”
“Leland Black is your father, Robert.”
Robert recoiled.
“He’s what?”
His thoughts immediately turned to his father, or the image of the man that had died when he was only ten. A short, balding man with an infectious, rumbling laugh and eyes that glittered even at night.
“He’s not—he’s not my father,” he said quickly.
Sean shrugged.
“Think, Robert. If you think about it long enough, you might remember.”
Robert just stared, his head suddenly feeling light from fatigue, pain, and confusion.
Sean took this as his cue to leave, and started to turn. Robert wanted to stop him, but his mind was soupy.
Think about it? My dad was not the man in the Marrow. My dad was a good man.
Sean was halfway down the driveway before Robert snapped out of it.
He was no longer concerned with anyone in the estate hearing him.
“Wait!” he shouted. “Sean, wait!”
The man didn’t turn.
“You can’t just drop that bomb and leave. What do you mean he’s my father? Sean!”
When the man still didn’t turn, Robert started descending the steps, grimacing at the pain in his calf.
With every step, his vision became increasingly red.
“Well, what about Danny Dekeyser, then? He was a good man…you—what—fucking sent him there to do what? To clean the place, even though you knew what was hiding in the Seventh Ward?”
Sean finally stopped, and Robert was encouraged to continue.
“Yeah, Cal and Shelly saw him. Spoke to him. Described a fucking guy just like you who paid him to clean the place. So that’s what you’re into now, sacrifices? Is that what you’re all about?”
In the back of his mind, Leland Black’s words started to echo.
How much do you really know about Sean Sommers, Robert?
This time, Sean turned, the expression on the man’s face catching Robert by surprise; it was soft, almost caring.
Then it hardened.
“Danny was dying—he had terminal cancer. I gave him an opportunity, a decision to leave his wife and daughter with some cash when he goes.” Sean shrugged. “Like you, I gave him a choice. He knew the risks.”
For some reason, this comment made Robert even angrier.
“Risks? Risks? Do you even know what we faced in the Seventh Ward? Huh?”
Sean simply stared, and Robert threw his hands up.
“You know what? I don’t need you. I don’t need you to go back.”
The man’s face darkened and he shook his head.
“You’d be best served not to go back, Robert. Not to see him. There is a rift in the Marrow—there’s something brewing. And every time you go, you make the link between this world and his world stronger. Do us all a favor and don’t go back—ever.” The man paused for a moment before continuing, allowing his words to sink in. “If you think your father Leland is the devil, take a moment to consider what that makes you, Robert.”
With that, the man spun and continued toward the iron gates at the front of the Harlop Estate.
“You can’t walk away from this! Sean! Sean! You can’t run away from this—not while he has Amy!”
This time, however, the man kept walking, leaving Robert alone to stare at the exhaust from the black Buick as it sped away.
Epilogue
Leland Black stood on the shores of the Marrow, staring out over the calm waves. He took a deep breath and shut his eyes. There was a girl sitting on his lap, and he reached out and stroked her blonde hair.
“It’s okay, don’t be afraid,” he whispered.
When he opened his eyes again, serenity had vanished. In its place, the sky had become an inferno.
Lightning ripped through the air, which was promptly followed by a soft thump from somewhere behind him. Leland gently eased the girl to her feet and then he himself stood.
Even before he turned, he knew who was standing behind him.
Dr. Shaw’s eyes were downcast, his complexion clammy. He opened his mouth to say something, but the Goat raised a hand and the man’s mouth snapped shut.
Another bolt of lightning struck, and George appeared beside Dr. Shaw.
Leland observed both of them for a moment, taking in their revolting appearances with a scowl etched on his face hidden beneath the shadow of his black, wide-brimmed hat.
He walked up to Dr. Shaw and ran a pointed talon across the man’s cheek, sending a shiver up his spine.
“You failed, Andrew,” Leland said softly.
“They were—they were…I didn’t—”
Leland moved behind Dr. Shaw and cut his words off by drawing a line across the man’s throat, slicing it from ear-to-ear.
Andrew gasped, and tried to hold his neck, to force the gushing blood back in. With a growl, Leland opened his palm and raised it upward. Andrew levitated for a moment before ascending into the flames, his face incorporating with all of the other tortured souls that ebbed and flowed in the fire.
“I’ve had enough of you.”
Leland turned his attention to George next. For all of the man’s size and terror-inducing appearance, he was visibly shaking in front of the man in the hat and faded jean jacket.
“And you,” the Goat whispered. “You were duped, weren’t you? But loyal to the end, no?”
George bowed his head in shame.
Leland toyed with the beast, reaching out with a finger. George visibly recoiled from the digit, clearly thinking that his throat would be slit next, but instead Leland sliced the remaining sutures above his ear.
A hunk of rotting flesh fell away, landing in the tar beneath his feet. Frenzied hands snatched it up, pulling it down into their depths.
“He said—he said that he was coming for you,” George said. With a trembling hand, he held out a small square photograph, which Leland snatched.
It was a passport photo of Amy.
Leland stared at that photo for a long time.
“Go join the others,” he whispered, eyes still locked on Amy’s face. “I have plans for you yet. You and Andrew and James Harlop. This isn’t over.”
He raised his hand again as he had done with Andrew, and George started to lift off the ground. But before sending him to the fire above, he spotted something on his calf.
He made a ‘stay’ gesture, then reached out and tore off the newly sutured hunk of meat. George cried out, but Leland didn’t even look at him as he raised his hand again and George ascended into the flames.
As Leland observed the piece of flesh in his taloned hand, a smile crept onto his face.
“You won’t need to come to me—I have a piece of you now. And I can find you.” He put the photograph in his pocket. “Tsk, tsk. You can’t hide from the Goat, Robert Watts.”
Leland offered a
dry chuckle and walked back to the girl, who was obediently standing where he had left her. When he neared her, Leland pushed the brim of his hat up to reveal his horrific face.
The girl didn’t flinch.
“You can’t hide from Leland Black, Robert.”
He brought the girl into his embrace, and stroked her head again as he stared out over the soothing waves.
“Isn’t that right, Amy?”
Her answer was immediate.
“Yes, Grandpa.”
End
Author’s Note
The idea for The Seventh Ward came to me during research for a completely unrelated topic. I came across the idea that organs can have a memory of sorts, dubbed ‘cellular memory theory’, which may influence recipient behavior and or personality. Yeah, I stretched this idea to the extremes when I conjured up Andrew Shaw, but that’s what fiction’s for, isn’t it?
The Haunted Series is far from over. As I write these tales about Robert, Shelly and Cal—which, to be honest are quickly becoming favorites of mine—I realize that there is much more to be written in their world. Consider it a calling from the Marrow, if you will, but I see more than the four books I have promised in this Series. Right now, you can pre-order the third book, Seaforth Prison, on Amazon. It’s due out in December.
And to all my fans of the Insatiable Series and The Family Values Trilogy, I haven’t forgotten about you; Stitches and Daughter will be out soon, I promise.
As always, reviews are very much appreciated. And if you want to pop in and say hi, head on over to my Facebook page (@authorpatricklogan) or drop me a line at [email protected]. I reply to everyone, even mean people (but don’t be mean).
You keep reading, and I’ll keep writing.
Best,
Patrick
Montreal, 2016
Seaforth Prison
Book 3 of The Haunted Series
Sometimes prisons are designed to keep people out as much as they are to keep people in...
Robert, Shelly, and Cal barely made it out of the Seventh Ward with their lives, let alone their sanity. But now, flush with cash, they have settled into a comfortable routine.
Underlying it all, however, are nagging questions that continue to bother all three, questions that can't be ignored once Robert starts experiencing dreams–dreams of a prison isolated on an island with ties to Leland Black. Before long, he comes to the uncomfortable conclusion that their encounters with ghosts are only the beginning.
Robert believes that they all have a role to play in something larger, something with even greater consequences than what he has already lost.
Now he needs to decide how much he is willing to risk to uncover the truth about his friends and family.
Pre-order your copy today!
Other Books by Patrick Logan
The Haunted Series
Book 1: Shallow Graves
Book 2: The Seventh Ward
Book 3: Seaforth Prison
Insatiable Series
Book 1: Skin
Book 2: Crackers
Book 3: Flesh
Book 4: Parasite
Book 5: Stitches (Winter 2016)
Family Values Trilogy
Witch
Mother
Father
Daughter (Winter 2016)
Short Stories
System Update
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents in this book are either entirely imaginary or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or of places, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © Patrick Logan 2016
Cover design: Ebook Launch (www.ebooklaunch.com)
Interior design: © Patrick Logan 2016
Editing: Main Line Editing (www.mainlineediting.com)
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, cannot be reproduced, scanned, or disseminated in any print or electronic form.
First Edition: November 2016
The Seventh Ward (The Haunted Book 2) Page 18