Phoenix: A Hunter Novel

by J. V. Speyer

Whatever the man had been sent here for, the “treatment” had only made him worse.

  Luis moved on in the dark, the first patient’s laughter echoing down the corridor.

  A glow from across the hall, roughly kitty-corner to the first patient’s cell, brought Luis over. “You had to wake him up, didn’t you?”

  This speaker was markedly different from the first. He wore a suit and tie, and only his hat marked the outfit as dating to a time before the modern era. Luis had no illusions about the man’s status as a ghost—bits of flesh seemed to drop from his bones even as he spoke. Still, he seemed to be fairly cognizant of his surroundings.

  “He was awake when I found him, but I do seem to have agitated him.” Luis grimaced. “I’m afraid I didn’t get a lot of information when I arrived.”

  “I can’t imagine the dame with the frozen face would have given you much dirt to begin with. You were in rough shape.” The ghost’s rotting lips twisted into a grin. “There’s an evil creature for you. You’re going to have to put her down, but I think you knew that.”

  Luis almost flinched at the casual way this patient talked about killing Hyena Lady. “It’s a possibility. What’s your name?”

  The ghost scoffed. “I’ve subsumed myself in the Archangel Michael. You can call me Mike. These bastards keep telling me it’s Walter, but that’s not a name anyone’s used in decades.”

  Religious delusions. Luis made the diagnosis almost without thinking about it. “Okay, Mike. Do you know his name?” He jerked his head toward the still-laughing fire starter.

  “No one knows. He won’t tell. He was dead before I showed up, so it’s not as if I heard staff call him anything. I’m guessing he’s a fire bug though. Unlike me, he actually belongs here. Hey—can you put him down? I know you’re a medium, but I don’t know just what you all can do.”

  Luis blinked at him. “You know I’m a . . .”

  “You must be new at this.” Mike scoffed again, sending a spray of blood over the space in front of him. “Figures. You’re a medium. Someone who can see and interact with and talk with ghosts. Michael tells me you’re favored by Gabriel because Gabriel’s the messenger. I’m just here to do the smiting.” He rubbed his hands together, and then he hung his head. “But I can’t smite ghosts, not in my state.”

  “Is that why you’re here? And, er, where exactly is here?”

  Mike grinned again. “Oh, yeah. I smote a bunch of demons and a massive creature from the Abyss before Lucifer’s minions caught up to me. They locked me into that infernal place up in Danvers. I almost made my escape there. I took out two of ’em, but the bastards managed to break my leg so they caught me again and shipped me down here.”

  Luis could read between the lines. Mike had religious delusions causing him to act out against people he believed were demons, or otherwise not favored by his angel. “And where exactly is here?”

  “You know, I’m not entirely sure.” Mike took off his hat, revealing a neat, surgical hole in his skull. “They botched the lobotomy. Accidentally, or so they say.” He snickered. “I still managed to take out the ‘surgeon’ after the fact, before he could do it to someone else.”

  Luis shuddered, but he shook Mike’s hand. “Good work.” He wasn’t sure he believed it, not fully. Lobotomies weren’t considered appropriate treatment anymore, and they were cruel even when they were considered standard. Still, if the surgeon had truly killed Mike by accident, it didn’t necessarily merit death.

  On the other hand, if he’d resorted to murder to alleviate overcrowding, Luis could hardly fault Mike, even with his delusions.

  “Have you found a way to get out of your room yet?” Luis tilted his head. Mike was definitely a danger to himself and others during life. Captain Lightfoot was a murderer, both in life and in death. Luis couldn’t afford to be picky right now.

  “Are you kidding? Do you honestly think if I could get out of here I’d still be moldering away in this box? They even buried me in this dump!” A wind picked up as Mike’s rage grew. “Outside, in the yard, without even my name. Just a C and a number.”

  Luis nodded slowly. Mike still had hold of his hand, and he was going to have to recover it eventually, but he wasn’t going to interrupt his companion’s righteous anger. He’d certainly encountered this kind of thing before. Most families didn’t claim the remains of their institutionalized dead, not back in those days. They were hastily buried on the grounds of the hospital. Where the patients received a marker at all, they’d be marked with a P or C to indicate Protestant or Catholic and their number. Nothing else.

  “And that’s terrible.” He gave Mike’s hand a little squeeze. “I might come to regret this, but I want to try something.”

  “What, you think you can get me out?” Mike sneered at him. “You really are new at this, aren’t you?”

  “My friend Captain Lightfoot has his freedom. Millie, who was locked up here, seems to have the run of the place at least. I can try to offer you that much. Keep hold of my hand and focus on me, not the bars.” Luis focused on Mike, tightened his mental grip, and pulled.

  It ached, somewhere deep in Luis’ head, but it worked. Mike was on the other side of the bars, right here with him.

  Mike laughed out loud, tossing his head back in sheer delight. “Hang on,” he said, and disappeared. “I’ll be right back.”

  Luis moved on to the next room. The ghost in this one was a woman, dressed in the same uniform as Millie. She looked relatively sound and even smiled sweetly at Luis.

  Then she opened her mouth to speak. Her teeth were jagged, sharp things, as though they’d been filed to points. She had no tongue to speak but managed to get words out anyway. Luis chose not to question the physics of the undead.

  “You want to know where you are? You don’t need Archangel Boy. I’ll tell you where you are, for a price.”

  Everything in Luis cringed away from this woman, but he approached her room anyway. “Who might you be?”

  “My name is Cora. I’m a good girl. I promise.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

  One of her eyeballs fell out and onto the floor. It bounced.

  “Okay, Cora.” Luis struggled to keep his composure. “What’s your price?”

  “I just want a little bit of your blood. Just a tiny bit. You won’t mind. You’ve got so much of it, and you’ll share plenty before it’s all over. Won’t you, handsome?”

  Mike reappeared in front of him. “Shut it, Cora. The medium’s protected by the Archangel Gabriel and has no time for devil spawn like you.”

  He turned to Luis. “We’re in Medfield, Gabe. We’re at the Medfield State Hospital, or what’s left of it.”

  Donovan’s phone reminded him it was midnight. The phone Alex had sent to Luis wasn’t pinging anywhere, which meant wherever he was being held didn’t have a signal. Or Miss Chelsea was jamming it, somehow. Either way, they couldn’t use it to get in touch with him.

  Donovan tried not to panic about that. He knew Luis was awake and cognizant enough to send messages through Captain Lightfoot. That had to be a good sign, right? Of course, he hadn’t heard anything new from Lightfoot since that first conversation. Who knew what had happened since then?

  This was Luis though. Luis had taken down a serial killer even after he’d been shot in the chest. Luis had electrocuted a ghost with nothing but the power of his own mind—while that ghost was trying to drown him. Luis could do incredible things, amazing things, and Donovan should have more faith in him.

  Faith was all well and good, but Donovan couldn’t expect him to do everything by himself.

  His phone rang, and he jumped. Surely, this was Luis. He must have found a way out by now.

  The name on the phone wasn’t Luis’. It belonged instead to Steve Wong.

  “Donovan—Steve Wong here. I just came on shift and heard the news. You’ve got to be a wreck, buddy.”

  Donovan slumped and hoped he could keep the disappointment from his voice. “Something like that. How are th
ings downtown?”

  “Oh, you know. Had the joy of busting a real brain trust yesterday. If you’re going to bring a box truck full of weed into Boston, don’t dip into your own supply and don’t drive it down a one-way street. I’m just saying.” Wong chuckled for a second.

  Wong was the brother of State Medical Examiner Dr. Wong and as unlike Donovan’s eternal nemesis as two brothers could be. He was closer with Luis, but he’d provided Donovan with a safe place to stay when Donovan had been laboring under false accusations.

  “Christ.” Donovan managed a little laugh at that because sometimes it did seem like criminals were lining up to be arrested.

  “I know, right?” Then Wong sobered. “You know we’ve got your back. All of us. We’re ready to pitch in the second you hear something you can act on.”

  “Thanks, Steve. I appreciate it.”

  “You’d do the same for any of us. You have done the same for any of us. And so has Luis.” Wong cleared his throat. “And while we’re on the subject, I wanted to give you a quick heads-up. My captain called your mom when he heard.”

  Donovan froze. “Shit.”

  “Yeah. I’d expect a phone call anytime now. Or she might just show up, who knows? Captain Carey is a force of nature. She’ll be good to have on your side.”

  “Sure. Once they peel her off the ceiling.” Donovan closed his eyes. “Thanks for the warning.”

  “No problem.” Wong’s radio crackled in the background. “Got to go. Domestic.”

  “Good luck.” He’d need it. Domestic disputes were the most dangerous type of call any cop had to respond to.

  “Thanks.” Wong cut out.

  Donovan reported the call to Kevin and Alex, who’d been dozing but woke up during the conversation. “It’s good to know Boston PD has our backs, all things considered.”

  Kevin pressed his lips together. “I wouldn’t count on all of them. I’m not convinced some of them might not be involved, that damned video aside. But we can worry about that once we get him back.”

  Donovan shuddered to think about the implications of Kevin’s statement. “Do we have any news about the location or the suspect?”

  Alex ran through his messages quickly. “Nothing about the location yet. She’s good at what she does, you know? She definitely seems to know how to pick a nondescript location. We know Luis is in an abandoned mental hospital because the ghost told us so. Otherwise, a bunch of red bricks could be anywhere.”

  “It was still light when she filmed the video, so that leaves former institutions within a few hours of Newton.” Kevin pulled up a map on his laptop. “That’s . . . still a lot, I guess.”

  “We do have an ID on Miss Chelsea. Her actual name is Tammie Hatch, born in Chelsea, Massachusetts, in 1980. Graduated from Chelsea High School in 1998 and is an employee of Brainerd EMS Services. Has been since 1999.” Alex turned his screen around to show them. An image of Miss Chelsea’s senior picture.

  Donovan paused. She’d been a pretty girl, fairly normal looking. “How did she get from that, a regular EMT, to looking kind of like an ad for plastic surgery gone wrong?”

  Alex scanned through whatever file he’d opened. “In 2006, she responded to the scene of what was reported as a regular barroom brawl in Medford. She wasn’t the only EMT to respond, of course, but the situation was out of control and several of the combatants were high on some bastardized version of meth. Bath salts, maybe? Was it during the ‘embalming fluid’ craze?”

  Donovan shuddered. “That was no joke.”

  “No, it wasn’t.” Alex made a face. “She got glassed, and some charming soul tried to actually eat her face right off. Naturally, she required massive reconstructive surgery. An EMT can’t afford that, and while Brainerd was sympathetic, they weren’t about to shell out to pay for the surgery when they weren’t willing to give employees health insurance.

  “Instead, they worked out a deal with student plastic surgeons. They would repair her face for free, in return for getting to work on her.”

  “Oh my God.” Donovan stared at Alex. “That’s . . . that’s vile.”

  “I mean, she did need the surgery. I’m looking at the damage from the before pictures, and I’m not sure the very best reconstructive surgeon in Beverly Hills could have done better.” Alex scrolled away. “But yeah—it’s pretty awful.”

  Donovan didn’t want to feel sympathy for this terrible woman. “If Luis were here, he’d say something about how she’d probably be feeling vulnerable after an incident like that. The company treated her as disposable—first by refusing to pay and then by treating her as something to be experimented on. He’d make some noise about the pressure women are under, especially at a young age, to prioritize their looks. And he’d make some noise about how she’d be easy prey for someone like Gelens.

  “Here’s the thing though. Luis ain’t here. He’s not here because Tammie Fucking Hatch kidnapped him and dumped him into an abandoned mental asylum to try to hold him hostage for the freedom of a pedophile, a rapist, and a child porn distributor.”

  Kevin shrugged. “I’ve met a ton of people who’ve been maimed. Some of them have been maimed terribly, and because of choices someone else made. Yeah, I can kind of follow the logic there. Gelens is a master manipulator, and it can be easy to fall for his BS when you’re already feeling low. But most people who survive something awful don’t go on to do something terrible like this.”

  Donovan sat up straighter. “You don’t think she’s working alone?”

  “I’m not sure. She could be. We’ll find out. But we did know Gelens certainly wasn’t working alone. We didn’t suspect a girlfriend, but it’s possible Gelens doesn’t think of her that way.”

  “Gelens isn’t capable of love.” Alex snorted. “Luis said exactly that. Love requires empathy, and Gelens doesn’t have an ounce of empathy in his body. He’s just not able. He’s capable of using someone who loves him though.”

  “We need to talk to him.” Donovan jumped to his feet and ran for his coat.

  Kevin, who was probably more fatigued than any of them since he hadn’t done more than doze, still moved faster than Donovan and blocked the exit. “Donovan, it’s past midnight. They’re not going to wake him up, rousing the entire row of cells at Nashua Street, just so we can interview a man who’s already on trial.”

  “Try me.”

  Kevin stared into Donovan’s eyes, and then he shrugged. He called Holcombe from another room. Donovan paced while the call happened, but energy surged through him when a shocked-looking Kevin returned to the room.

  “Suit up. Holcombe will be here in twenty.”

  Holcombe was there in fifteen minutes, not twenty, which Donovan felt showed her interest in bringing Luis home alive. She drove as they raced down to Nashua Street, where correctional officers gave them dirty looks but admitted them to an interview room anyway.

  Gelens was exactly what Donovan had expected to see. Despite the late hour, his eyes were bright and alert. He was of average height, with a bald head and a weird little reddish-brown goatee that Donovan wanted to punch right off of his face.

  The orange jumpsuit marked him as a guest of the state, but the little smirk on his face and the way he seemed to sprawl in his chair proclaimed Gelens to hold the power in the room. Indeed, his presence was such that he seemed to be one of the tallest people Donovan knew. Only by firmly reminding himself of the facts could Donovan remember who was really in charge here.

  “You know, not allowing a prisoner to sleep is a violation of the Bill of Human Rights.” Gelens smirked.

  “Tell us about Tammie Hatch.” Holcombe sat down across from Gelens.

  “Suck my dick and I’ll think about it.” Gelens’ expression didn’t change. “Doesn’t mean I’ll say anything one way or another, but I’ll at least consider it. Good talk.”

  “So you do have something to say about her.” Donovan put his hands on the stainless steel table and leaned forward. “How long have you known her?”
>
  “Has my dick gotten sucked? I don’t think so.”

  “We already know she abducted someone to hold hostage for your release.” Holcombe sat back in her seat, completely unruffled by Gelens’ crude suggestions. “When was this coordinated by you?”

  Gelens laughed. His laugh was deep, coming from his belly, but it didn’t seem particularly humorous. “How exactly do you think I’m supposed to coordinate anything from in here, sweet cheeks? I’m not allowed to communicate with anyone other than my attorneys, and if you think they’d have advised me to do something like abducting Luis Fucking Gomes, you’re nuts.”

  “It does seem like an ill-advised plan.” Holcombe smiled calmly. “Of course, conspiracy is such an exciting charge. The people conspiring to work with her are just as guilty as she is. If it’s just kidnapping, then that’s one sentence. If it’s kidnapping and assault—say, through drugging someone with horse tranquilizers—then that’s a whole exciting other sentence. And if said victim happens to pass away in the course of this crime . . .”

  Donovan held his vomit in, just barely.

  “Well, sweet cheeks, that’s murder of a federal officer during the course of his performance of his duties. And that, Mr. Gelens, is a capital crime. What you and Miss Hatch need to understand is that while Agent Gomes isn’t a big fan of capital punishment personally, the Bureau will cheerfully pursue the death penalty against anyone we even suspect of being involved.”

  Gelens paled, just a bit. Enough for Donovan to notice. Still, his smirk never left his face. “I already told you, I have nothing to say. Get to sucking or get out of my sight, you psychotic bitch.”

  “Sweet dreams.” Holcombe rose and put a hand on Donovan’s arm. She led him to the door, where guards let them out.

  One of the correctional officers snorted. “So that was a complete waste of time.”

  Holcombe’s expression didn’t change. “On the contrary. We hadn’t released the name of the kidnapped individual. Gelens just confirmed his involvement, and since he did it in an interrogation room where everything is filmed, he did it on tape. We’ll be needing that to go, please.”