Invisible hands dragged the bag across the dirty concrete. Christian must have been using the last of his mental strength to move it closer. Thank God someone was thinking ahead! Ethan grabbed for the duffel and hauled out the first thing his fingers touched: a bottle of holy water.
“I said, let him go!” Ethan shouted. The monster twitched, but was unwilling to give up its meal. Christian’s eyes bulged, and the terrible gagging noise came again. His fingers twitched helplessly.
Ethan unscrewed the top of the water bottle and doused the creature. The thing shuddered, but not in terror. Ethan had a strong feeling it was laughing at him.
It was the last straw. He’d been bullied too much recently. All his rage at Bev and John, even at Cara with her threat to throw him out of the hospital came to a full boil. He was a volcano of fury, ready to explode. He drew in a breath and from deep inside summoned a voice he didn’t know he possessed. “I SAID, LET HIM GO!!”
The entire parking structure trembled in reply, nearly throwing Ethan off balance. The gray-skinned creature shuddered then exploded in a cloud of greasy, black smoke. Christian flopped forward, gagging and grabbing his throat. Ethan, suddenly gassed, nearly fell to the ground.
Ethan was about to suggest they get the hell out of there when they were bathed in twin beams of headlights. A car sped off, its wheels screeching as it rounded the tight corners of the parking structure.
“Get in,” Christian ordered Ethan. “I’m driving! We’ve got to catch this guy!”
Chapter Twenty-five
“What the hell was that?” Christian demanded. He gripped the steering wheel with both hands, while he craned his neck, looking for Mr. Midnight’s car.
“You mean the snake?” Ethan asked, confused. Christian was pissed off, but the focus of his anger seemed to be Ethan, and not the thing that had nearly killed him.
“No, I mean that…power…you have.” Christian made a sharp right out of the garage. He glared at Ethan. “You ordered that thing away like it was nothing! My God, the entire parking structure shook. I thought you were going to kill us both!”
Christian wasn’t angry; he was terrified. When he pried one hand from the steering wheel, Ethan saw it was trembling.
Ethan, too, was shaking. The event had the quality of a dream. That snake had been ferocious - even Christian couldn’t deal with - yet Ethan had managed to take it out. Had Sophie been right? Did he have some kind of power over the dead? He stared at his hands, in awe of himself.
“I can’t believe you almost killed me,” Christian muttered as he pulled up to a stop sign.
“I thought you’d be happy that I saved your life,” Ethan said sourly.
“I am, but did you have to use the nuclear option?” Christian turned another corner, but the street was empty. “I thought I was dead two times over.”
“I did, too,” Ethan confessed. He took a bottle of water from the duffel and drank down half of it. Christian had been right. Spirit chasing was thirsty work.
“If that’s the case, you need to harness that power before you kill someone.” Slowly, Christian’s shoulders softened. “Thanks,” he added. “You really saved my bacon. You’re right. I never should have gone after that guy on my own.”
“He must be powerful, too,” Ethan said. “How did he summon that snake?”
“No idea.” Another turn led to another empty street. “I caught a glimpse of the guy’s car,” Christian muttered. “White Taurus. Probably twenty years old. Ohio plates.”
Ethan scanned the streets but came up empty. “He could be anywhere.”
“If that asshole thinks he can get away with attacking me, he’s got another thing coming,” Christian growled. He braked suddenly at a red light and glared through the windshield.
“Maybe he pulled off somewhere,” Ethan said. He rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the headache building there. Whatever he’d done in the parking lot had sapped him. He needed acetaminophen and a healthy dose of sweets. “Can we stop? I’m starving.”
“Can’t it wait? We’ve got to find this guy.”
“I know,” Ethan said, “but I’m ready to fall over. I think my blood sugar just plummeted. There’s a Seven-Eleven. Just pull in there.”
Grumbling, Christian obliged. Ethan rushed inside, grabbed two candy bars, then hurried to the register. While he paid, he caught a whiff of something unpleasant. The stench of burning tires combined with a slimy, organic stink of something that had been rotting under the mud. But though it was a smell, it didn’t seem like a physical sensation, so much as a mental one. Like he was inhaling something from a dream.
He discreetly turned his head and came face to face with the middle aged man behind him. The man’s long, thin legs and compact body made him look spider like. He clutched a double-armload of snacks to his chest. The moment Ethan’s eyes met his, Ethan knew this was Mr. Midnight.
Unfortunately, Mr. Midnight knew it as well. He dropped his purchases and dashed for the door. Ethan chased after him. “Christian!” he shouted. “It’s him!”
Christian must have realized it as well because he threw his SUV into gear and blocked Mr. Midnight’s path to his vehicle. He opened his window and tossed something to Ethan. The Taser. “Get him!” Christian shouted.
Ethan caught the Taser and put on speed, trying to catch up to Mr. Midnight who had veered away from his car and headed towards the back of the store. Ethan reached the man as he was trying to climb over the fence. He wasn’t doing a very good job. Although his legs were long, his thick torso and advanced age slowed him down. Ethan grabbed the back of his coat and yanked hard, sending Mr. Midnight sprawling.
Christian caught up to them. “Hand me that Taser,” he demanded.
Ethan held it out of reach. “We don’t need it.”
“The hell we don’t! That guy almost killed me.”
Mr. Midnight cowered on the ground, his hands over his face. “I didn’t almost kill you. It was a hallucination. That’s all.”
“Oh really?” Christian said. He yanked down the collar of his shirt. “Then why do I have bruises?”
Ethan looked at Christian’s neck and frowned. “There aren’t any bruises.”
Christian blinked. “There have to be!”
“I’m telling you, it was nothing but a dream,” Mr. Midnight said. He held his hands up and slowly got to his feet. “Although, you -” he jabbed his finger at Ethan, “-nearly killed us all! What kind of power are you packing?”
Never had anyone been afraid of Ethan. He was always the best friend and sidekick, never the hero. It was an ego trip to be sure. “Try anything again, and I’ll show you how much power I have,” he growled.
Christian snorted, amused.
“Doesn’t matter,” Mr. Midnight said. “No one was injured, so no harm, no foul, right?”
Christian poked him in the chest. “There was plenty of harm.”
“Easy,” Ethan muttered. He glared at Mr. Midnight. “Why did you attack him?” he demanded.
“He had a gun. What else was I supposed to do? I specifically said no guns.”
“You were armed, too,” Ethan pointed out.
“I’m always armed,” Mr. Midnight said with a shrug. “Occupational hazard.” He tugged his coat back in place. “I collect nightmares wherever I go.”
That’s what Ethan was smelling. Nightmares. “That snake…that was one of your nightmares?”
“Well, not mine exactly. It was something I picked up from a little boy. His older brother had a boa constrictor, you see. And the thing was giving this child nightmares. So his parents came to me, and I took the child’s fears away.” He offered a cunning smile. “I’m what you would call a miracle worker.”
“Really?” Ethan asked, unimpressed.
Mr. Midnight came close to Ethan and inhaled. “You, my fine lad, are a virtual garden of evil dreams. Every one of them is so tantalizing.”
Ethan shied away. “Stay back,” he warned. He wasn’t sure how he’d tr
iggered the burst of energy at the parking garage, but he wasn’t above trying it again.
Mr. Midnight leaned in towards Christian and inhaled once more. “Your dreams are much more pleasant, aren’t they? Not fit food for the likes of me. But you do have one, dark spot, don’t you?”
Christian grabbed the front of Mr. Midnight’s coat and yanked him off the ground. “Tell me about Susan Maddox, or I’ll shake the truth out of you.”
Mr. Midnight tried to wrestle out of Christian’s grip, but the bigger man held him fast. “Why are you so hostile? I’m only a doctor working to help his patient.”
Ethan and Christian exchanged glances. Ethan believed Mr. Midnight was a doctor like he believed Bev and John were Democrats. “A doctor?” Ethan asked.
“That’s right. I’ve been helped Susan Maddox after the plane crash.”
Christian set Mr. Midnight down. “Start talking.”
Mr. Midnight’s eyes gleamed. “The official story is that Susan was the sole survivor of the plane crash, and that she died a few days later.” He lowered his voice, forcing both Ethan and Christian to draw closer. “But the truth is that she lived.”
“Where is she now?” Ethan asked.
“For that, you’ll need to pay me,” Mr. Midnight said.
“You want money?” Christian demanded. “After everything you put us through?”
“Not money,” Mr. Midnight said scornfully. He grinned at Ethan. “I want one of your nightmares.”
Ethan took an involuntary step back. He did not want this man messing around with his head, even if it was to stop the December massacre.
Christian shoved his way between Ethan and the older man. “I think you’ll tell us without that.”
“It won’t hurt,” Mr. Midnight told Ethan. “In fact, it will relieve some of your suffering.” He held out his hand. “Please. I’d be forever grateful if you did. My collection needs some new exhibits.”
Ethan glanced at Christian. “Only if you want to,” Christian muttered.
Ethan braced himself and took Mr. Midnight’s hand. There was a faint, tingling sensation, then a sense of calmness as Ethan’s mind emptied itself of one, bad dream.
“I told you it would be good,” Mr. Midnight said. “And that was a most delicious morsel.” He giggled and licked his lips. “Very vivid. Lots of nice detail.”
Ethan dropped his hand and glowered, disgusted. “Susan Maddox?” he prompted.
“One-hundred-forty-six dead on that airplane,” Mr. Midnight said. “Can you imagine being that one survivor? One, little girl among all that death? Can you imagine what she thought?” He giggled again. “What she saw?”
“Death,” Ethan said, his voice hardly above a whisper.
“Exactly. The Angel of Death. The Grim Reaper. The Ferryman. Call it what you will. Susan saw it at the tender, young age of ten. Her nightmares are delicious.”
Out of patience, Christian grabbed Mr. Midnight around the neck and pinned him against the wall of the store. “Either start talking sense, or I’m going to crush you.”
Mr. Midnight’s eyes widened when he saw Christian draw his fist back. “Susan’s aunt and uncle brought her to me when she was just a child. The poor thing couldn’t sleep. I helped her by collecting her nightmares. But even I could see that wasn’t enough. She never told me what Death said to her, but whatever it was, it tainted her. Death tainted her.”
“And now?” Ethan demanded.
“I haven’t seen her in years. That’s why I keep the website up and running. I’m hoping she’ll come back to me.” He shook his head, dismayed. “I’ve missed our sessions. She fed me more than any other patient I’ve ever had.”
“Do you at least know her name?” Ethan asked.
“Not her new name, no. Last I heard, she was in college. She wanted to be a nurse. Not sure if she made it or not.”
A nurse. Just like Denise Larson. Ethan glanced at Christian and saw that he’d reached the same conclusion. Susan Maddox was Denise Larson.
Christian let Mr. Midnight drop to the ground with a thud. “Let’s go,” he told Ethan.
“Wait!” Mr. Midnight said, getting to his feet. He took a card from his pocket and thrust it at Ethan. “If you ever need relief from those dark dreams of yours, come see me.”
“Not happening,” Christian snapped.
Ethan, however, stuck the card into his pocket. He couldn’t shake the pleasant feeling he’d gotten from having one of his nightmares taken away.
Chapter Twenty-six
Christian pulled out of the parking lot and headed down the main road. “What do you think?”
“I think Denise is dealing with some serious shit,” Ethan said. How could anyone handle knowing Death for that long? It had only been a few days for him, and already he was questioning his sanity. “So Denise saw Death when she was a child,” he mused, “and all this time later, she suddenly wants to kill people? It doesn’t make sense.”
“I think it makes perfect sense,” Christian argued. “We don’t even know if this December massacre thing is the first time she’s taken a life. Like I said, Sophie and I thought she was a serial killer. And your friend confirmed that.”
“More like she confirmed the gossip on the oncology ward,” Ethan corrected.
Christian glanced at him. “You’re not convinced? Even now?”
Ethan stared at the passing cars, mulling over what Mr. Midnight had said. Working as a nurse would be the perfect cover for someone fascinated with death. If Ethan had that skill, he’d be able to collect souls and have David out of his coma in no time.
He sat bolt-upright in his seat. “That’s it!”
Christian glanced at him, worried. “What?”
“What if Denise isn’t killing people? What if she’s collecting souls after they die? Just like I did.”
“What do you mean, ‘just like I did’?” Christian asked sharply.
Crap. Ethan hadn’t told him about the woman at the convenience store. “Something happened,” he began. Choosing his words very carefully, he explained what had happened the night before. “I didn’t kill her,” Ethan said firmly. Even the paramedics had told him that nothing could have been done to save her. The aneurysm had taken the young woman’s life almost immediately.
“But you collected her soul,” Christian finished. His eyes kept nervously flicking towards Ethan, as if he was a growling tiger with an empty belly. “Just like the Reaper.”
“I’m not like her,” Ethan snapped. “I would never kill anyone outright.”
“Maybe she said that at first, too,” Christian said. They’d circled back to the hospital parking structure and Christian parked next to Ethan’s car. “But this thing in December is more than ‘collecting souls’. We’re calling it a massacre for a reason.”
Ethan couldn’t argue. Between Sophie’s journals and his own visions, he knew how devastating December 12 would be. Denise would have a gun. There wouldn’t be any survivors. “The question is why is Denise going from passively collecting souls to actively putting them in the grave?”
“No, the question is, why does Death want her, or anyone, to collect souls? I mean, isn’t that Death’s job?” Christian asked.
It was an excellent point, and Ethan couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought to ask it before. Why did Death want him to collect souls? What was in it for Death? “Maybe Death is over worked and looking for an assistant,” he suggested. “Maybe that’s what necromancers are supposed to do.”
“Sophie never did.” Christian sounded offended by the very thought.
“Okay. What if necromancers get special powers if they collect souls? Maybe that’s where their energy comes from.”
“That’s a sick idea,” Christian said. “So you’re saying that if Denise collects enough souls, she’d become super human?”
Ethan shrugged. “Could be.”
“Then that’s all the more reason to stop her.” Christian leveled a look at Ethan. “Like I said, she’s danger
ous and we need to take her out.”
“She has a son.”
“One man’s life isn’t worth the death of twelve others.”
“So you’re willing to kill someone in cold blood?” Ethan challenged.
“I’m willing to do the right thing,” Christian countered. “You don’t have to be there for this. I’ll do it on my own.”
“You’re not serious!” Ethan hated guns more than he hated ghosts. Turning a weapon like that on a living person wasn’t something he was capable of. “You can’t do this.”
“Get out of the car,” Christian said. His face was set in stone. “I’ll call you when I’m done.”
“What about her son?” Ethan demanded.
Christian didn’t reply.
“Listen. How do we even know that Denise is the Reaper? I mean, she doesn’t even use a smart phone. Technologically speaking, she’s still in the stone age. Do you really think she’s capable of going onto the dark web and finding the Final Cut?”
“You heard Mr. Midnight,” Christian argued. “Everything points to her.”
“If you’re going to kill someone over this, don’t you want to be 100% sure?” When Christian dropped his eyes, Ethan knew he was weakening. “We still have a month. Waiting a few more days won’t hurt. If we don’t come up with something, then…” He nodded to Christian’s gun which was just visible beneath the hem of his jacket.
He didn’t think Christian would agree, but finally, he nodded. “One week,” he said. “After that, we do things my way.” He pulled his jacket over his gun, ending the debate.
It wasn’t a complete win, but at least he’d gotten Christian to calm down.
“So where do you suggest we start?” Christian asked.
“She has a son, so she might have a husband, or at least a former husband or boyfriend.”
Deadly Spirits Page 15
