29
LOSING A DRONE is not an uncommon occurrence, and Clayton’s new toy was a high-end model with a GPS tracker. On one hand, it was completely reckless to let a civilian like Barbara go anywhere near the hidden hospital. But at the same time…neither Jacob nor I knew how to use the tracking app. Guided by her phone, we tromped around some more downed trees—and while I’m no expert, it seemed to me there were too many of them to be a coincidence. After a good fifteen minutes, we found traces of a road again. And five minutes after that? We pushed aside some undergrowth and found ourselves face to face with Sacred Heart.
Maybe, by Chicago standards, the hospital would be considered small. But out here in the middle of nowhere, with nothing around it but trees, it felt dauntingly big. No chance of searching the place in half an hour. In fact, it could easily take us at least a week.
It was a square brick building. Utilitarian—three stories and a flat roof, and the only ornamentation was a stylized heart and cross on the pediment. The ground-level windows were boarded up tight, No-Trespassing signs plastered the doors, and the whole thing was strangled in ivy.
Barbara shielded her eyes, squinted up at the roof, and powered up the drone. Or, at least, she tried to. “The connection’s all screwy.”
Like its battery was low…or like a signal-scrambling device had been planted by the cover-up crew?
While his sister struggled with the controls, Jacob appraised the situation. “We’ll buy Clayton a new one.”
Barbara snapped him a look. “Without so much as trying to get it down? This isn’t just any old toy. His father gave it to him. And if I lose the darn thing, I’m the bad guy.”
“Barb—it’s all boarded up.”
As if something as pedestrian as a plank of wood should matter. “You know how these buildings are, Jacob. I’m sure there’s a stairwell inside that’ll take you right up to the top. And it’s built like a tank, all concrete and metal. It’s not like you’d fall through the floor.”
Jacob’s jaw worked. “There’s no way in.”
“You haven’t even looked!” As if to prove her point, Barbara stomped purposefully toward the old hospital, crunching through leaves and twigs.
The noise might’ve been intended to convey her annoyance, but it also let us hash out a quick plan.
“The burner phone,” Jacob whispered. “Pull us up on the map and take a screenshot so we can figure out exactly where we are right now and come back later. I’ll go distract my sister.”
Compared to my super slick FPMP phone, the burner was cheap, unintuitive and laggy—but eventually I managed to pull up a map with a blue pin on it that represented my current location. And the clearing I was currently standing in—the one I could see with my own two eyes? According to the satellite…it didn’t exist. I fumbled around until I grabbed a shot of the map, then zoomed out until I could see the creek and took another one for good measure. I might’ve shot a few pictures of my feet in the process, but between the plat map and the screen grab, I was confident we could find Sacred Heart again when we had more time (and privacy) to really take a good look around.
Around the far side of the derelict hospital, voices were raised. (Since when are you such a quitter?) Barbara wasn’t wrong about these square, institutional structures, and there would likely be a direct shot to the roof nearby—but everything in between would be locked up tight, and without a locksmith or a jackhammer, they’d be shit outta luck.
I double-checked the screenshots just to make sure I hadn’t screwed anything up, then decided to grab another shot, just to be safe—a little triangulation since it was so easy to get turned around. To make sure Barbara didn’t see me playing Spy vs. Spy, I went the opposite way around so the hospital building stayed between us.
The emergency bay protruded from that side of the building. The drive-up had been protected by a carport, once, but vines had crept through some delicate part of the structure. Bit by relentless bit, they’d pulled the roof down.
With that roof had come a good hunk of the door frame. The heavy plywood blocking the old emergency doors hung at a funny angle. And when I wiggled the board to see if it was still firmly attached, I found myself backpedaling to avoid getting flattened.
The doors behind the plywood had fared no better. The panels were safety glass, so they hadn’t shattered, but they’d fallen out in big, crackled sheets.
It was dark inside, cold too, and my footsteps sounded crunchy. But one thing Barbara had been right about: it didn’t feel like I was in danger of falling through the floor. Back in my patrol days, I’d picked my way through plenty of crackhead flophouses on the verge of falling in, and the floors here didn’t have that same spongy give. Other than the messed-up door, everything felt solid.
I didn’t think I’d find any crackheads here—too far off the beaten path—but wild animals were a distinct possibility. I bounced my pocket flashlight beam around the room, but nothing skittered away. The beam landed on a sign with arrows pointing to check-in, bathrooms…and stairs.
Since they were right there, I figured it couldn’t hurt to take a look.
I tried the door. It opened. Some waning daylight filtered in through an upper-level window, so my flashlight didn’t need to work quite so hard to get me my bearings. The stairwell was plain and industrial, and in surprisingly good shape. Other than the rodent turds caught in the textured grating of the steps, it probably didn’t look much different than it had back when the building was still in use.
Just a quick look. Two minutes, tops. I jogged up the three flights of stairs to prove to myself they didn’t lead to the roof…but ended up proving myself wrong. On the top floor, beside the door that led into the hospital, was another one marked Staff Only.
And that door opened, too. Without juice powering the electronic lock, the only thing standing between the hospital and trespassers was that old plywood. To its credit, the wood was awfully thick.
Well, I figured, I’d come this far. Might as well grab the drone before any covert government agencies spotted it with a drone of their own.
The final stairwell opened out onto an unremarkable flat gravel roof. I spotted Clayton’s drone just a few yards away, next to a Frisbee that was sun-faded to an indeterminate shade of off-white. Jacob and Barbara’s raised voices were audible. Still squabbling. I crunched over to the far side of the roof and called over, “I’ve got the drone.”
Their heads snapped up. “You went in?” Jacob asked. Obviously the answer was yes, since I was currently chatting with him over the side of the roof. But what he couldn’t say in mixed company was, You went in without backup? To which I answered, “Everything’s fine, I’ll be down in a sec.”
I might’ve come off pretty blasé about my decision, but hearing the anxiety in Jacob’s voice now had me reconsidering my bravado. The hospital administrator had offed himself…and suicides have got a habit of sticking around.
A shiver of dread crept down my spine and I opened my crown chakra wide, pulling down white light. It wasn’t the quick flood of mojo I’d get when a ghost popped up in the vicinity and flooded me with adrenaline, but a slow and steady top-off, just in case. With the drone tucked under my arm, I headed for the stairwell. Going down is a lot easier than going up, I assured myself, and I’d be safely back outside in no time.
Maybe that would’ve been the case, if I hadn’t paused at the second floor…and caught a glimpse of someone moving around in the shadows.
Adrenaline spiked after all, and the edges of my vision went bright and hazy as I formed a protective skin of white light and huddled inside it.
Finding a ghost in a hospital was like finding a needle in a sewing factory. Not only had this Director Mann checked out early, but plenty of other folks had died within those walls. And now the sun was setting. Spirit activity prime time.
Normally, I’d call Jacob and tell him to get his butt inside so he could do his bit as a human shield—but I had a white balloon around me, and his
sister didn’t. In fact, it might be a good idea to warn him away. But between the drone, my flashlight and my baggie of salt, I didn’t have a free hand to send a text. And chances were, even if I did get him a message, he’d do the opposite of what I said and come charging on in.
The stairwell door was set with a tall, narrow pane of safety glass. I edged up to it and scoped out what lay beyond. Across the way, glass double-doors. When I angled myself for a better look, something moved again.
Something that looked suspiciously like my own reflection.
My head throbbed vaguely and I let my grip on the white light loosen, though I didn’t drop my guard entirely. While the gawky mirror image in the glass might not pose much of a threat, the old director could still be lurking around. And thanks to whoever erased Sacred Heart, I had no idea what to look for. Young or old? Tall or short? Fat or thin? I didn’t even know for sure he was Caucasian, though given the time and locale, it was likely. The only thing I was certain of was the gender.
I decided it didn’t much matter. It wasn’t as if I had time to confront the guy tonight. Not with Jacob busy diverting Barbara’s attention.
I paused with the drone in one hand, salt baggie and flashlight in the other. I used to hide from the living folks around me when I talked to ghosts. Too much professional backlash when the other cops saw me doing my thing. But over the years, Jacob had managed to sneak in enough tendrils to pry off the heavy plywood of my distrust. Although I might need to constantly remind Jacob not to grab my white light, I’d still rather have him at my side to face off against the unknown.
Sacred Heart wasn’t going anywhere. We’d have more time to poke around after the wedding. I turned to go, and when I moved, so did my reflection in the glass.
In the opposite direction.
A shock of pain lanced through my head as my adrenal glands opened up and white light thundered down. I needed more hands. I tried to shuffle the flashlight to my newly mended hand—the one holding the drone—but my muscles cramped, and the drone hit the floor with a plasticky clatter. No time to see if I’d broken the damn thing. I stuck the pocket flashlight in my mouth instead, freeing both hands, and tore open the baggie.
A spray of salt erupted and the stairwell lit up white to my inner eye, even with daylight rapidly fading. And in that flashbulb moment, I locked eyes with the guy behind the glass.
30
HOLY CRIPES, NO wonder I thought I was seeing my own reflection. Our facial features were different enough, but his height, his frame, the way he stood? Just like me. Tall and awkward, ineffectively slouching like he was desperately hoping to be overlooked.
“You’re the priest,” I blurted out around the flashlight. No wonder Jacob’s grandmother thought she knew me. This guy could pass for me in a lineup. He was so solid I read him as a living person and had a moment of disorientation—did he live here, or had he just come to catch us snooping around? But then, in the full light of my flashlight beam, he moved. And the jerky, stilted scramble of him backing away, scuttling like a startled six-and-a-half-foot cockroach, nearly made me inhale the damn flashlight.
It says something about how far I’d go for Jacob that my drive to find out what was behind his creepy carnival overrode my impulse to turn tail and get the hell away from that ghost. Like a cockroach, he might very well slip into a crack and evade me for good if I didn’t act now. I switched the flashlight to my hand, then elbowed through the stairwell door and into the hall, where now I could see the glass double-doors were marked Chapel.
A chill tingled down my spine.
I nudged the chapel door with my foot and it grudgingly opened. I slipped through, focused on the spot I’d last seen the skittery priest…and nearly jumped out of my skin when I caught a figure looming beside me.
Bloody. Agonized. And entirely harmless, since that particular figure—Christ on the cross—was nothing more than plaster and paint. Dregs of fading daylight eked in through the stained glass windows, and the dim half-light played tricks with my eyes. I swept the chapel with my flashlight beam. Pews, kneelers, the whole nine yards. A pair of alcoves surrounded the seating, and in each one was a figure. The Virgin Mary, and Jesus again—but he looked a lot less tortured now than he did on the cross…except for the gory, anatomically correct heart hovering at chest level, painted blood red, swathed in flames and wound around with thorns.
I was so focused on the damn heart, I didn’t see the priest until he was practically on top of me. He raised a skeletal hand. I flailed, scattering salt, while white light thundered down. Dealing with both the salt and the light was like walking and chewing gum—while being pounced on by a dead priest. I let the salt fall where it wanted and focused on wrapping the light around me. His hand swooped. I flinched…then realized he hadn’t been grabbing for me at all. He was making the sign of the cross.
“…and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us…”
Not only that—he was praying for me.
I’ve got a lot better chance at connecting with a sentient ghost when I know their name.
“Father Paul,” I said.
He faltered, then added, “And deliver us from evil. Amen.”
“Father—do you know what’s going on?”
He jittered like someone had jostled whatever was projecting him into my plane of being, but his eyes stayed fixed on mine. “That’s usually my line.”
“How so?”
“Ever since my heart attack, I’ve been helping lost souls find their way. You’d be surprised how many people don’t realize they’re dead.”
“Unfortunately not.”
“What’s going on?” He jittered again, this time like he’d taken a step backward and then snapped into place again, as if his hold on three dimensions was no better than my hold on the salt. “Have you come to take my place?”
Only in my worst nightmares. “I’m here to get some answers.”
He solidified a few inches to the right of where I expected. “I knew it was too good to be true. I haven’t helped anyone find their way to the Lord in ages—but maybe that’s just how it feels. Purgatory is so cold and dark and confusing, I’ve lost track of time.”
“That’s what this is to you? Purgatory?”
Another jump—several inches closer, with a wry twist to his mouth. “At least Purgatory is temporary. I’d rather not consider the alternative.”
Ghosts who stick around to help others find the veil aren’t as common as your typical intersection repeaters, but every once in a while, they do turn up. Not only are they lucid—they’re strong. Even topped off with white light, I was no match for crossover ghost…though this one didn’t seem nearly as stable as the others I’d encountered.
Maybe that was worse. Throwing him out of whack could easily lead to a possession. And if this ghost decided to take my body for a spin, he’d find it a disturbingly good fit.
The salt—or what was left of it, maybe a handful—was the only weapon I had that could even touch it. I backed up a few steps and dumped white light into the crystals.
Cautiously, I said, “I might not be your replacement, but maybe you can earn a few brownie points with the man upstairs by setting the record straight. The malpractice scandal—the one that shut down the hospital. Did it have anything to do with…psychics?”
The ghost blinked out of existence so fast I swore I felt my eardrums flex.
So much for the direct approach.
On the off-chance the priest wasn’t really gone, just hiding, I called out, “A lot has changed these last couple of decades. Science figured out that not everyone hearing voices is actually crazy. Good to know. But the way they got their information, at least back in the early days, left a lot to be desired.” Footfalls on metal stair treads sounded, growing closer. Jacob. Barbara, too. But it was okay. The priest had bailed, and I was only talking to myself at this point. Even so, I indulged myself by adding, “A hell of a lot. I should know.”
“Vi
c?” Jacob called out.
“In here.”
The stairwell door opened. Jacob’s flashlight beam danced across the wall as he swept the hallway, never mind that he wouldn’t see anything. Police training didn’t just evaporate when the potential threat was dead.
“Well, thank gosh you found Clayton’s drone,” Barbara exclaimed. Why the hell had Jacob let her tag along? I shook my head at Jacob urgently as she bent to pick it up. Jacob wasn’t looking at my face, though. He was staring at the baggie in my hand and putting together the reason for my delay. His eyes went wide.
As realization dawned on him, the dead priest flashed into view again—right between us. I lobbed the salt. But with him skittering around a couple inches to one side or the other like he’d lost hold of his ability to fix himself in place, I missed him entirely.
The baggie smacked Jacob in the chest, dousing him with salt.
Another flashbulb moment—this one emanating from Jacob. Just a glimpse, but a glimpse was enough. The priest, staggering back like he’d taken a sucker-punch to the gut. But he wasn’t the only one. A few noncorporeal entities had been hanging in the air like a cloud of stink. Not the jellyfish-type habit demons that hooked into people with their invisible tethers, but vaguer things. Random splots. Some wavy tendrils. A few hazy, insubstantial blurs.
It was like looking at pond scum through a microscope—and only for half a second. But that glimpse was enough for me to see that we had company…and whatever Jacob did when the salt hit him? It blew that etheric flotsam out of the water.
True Stiffs were most definitely underrated.
“Would you two quit horsing around?” Barbara said. “By the time we get to the road it’ll be pitch black out.”
She didn’t need to tell me twice. As she headed back down the stairs, I pulled in enough white light to leave me woozy and got as close to Jacob as I could manage without accidentally stumbling into him. We weren’t wasting any time, and I figured we were home free.
Other Half (PsyCop book 12) Page 19