Black Candle

by H. P. Bayne

  There would be no waking from that reality, from the guilt and the pain it elicited. But he could at least find some peace in the here and now, which he’d been pulled back into by Sully’s gentle pat on his leg. Sully remained visually focused on Bulldog, but he always had Dez somewhere in his sights.

  Bulldog grunted mournfully, a sound Dez recognized as both empathetic and consoling. “Sorry, Copper.”

  Sully dove back in, steering the conversation away from Dez and his past. “The thing is, Bulldog, sometimes grief only explains so much. Sometimes there’s more to the way people feel than what’s inside them. Sometimes, it’s also about what’s outside.”

  Bulldog narrowed his eyes appraisingly. “Are you drunk, kid?”

  “Do you ever feel like she’s still around? Maybe you smell a perfume she liked or catch sight of something out the corner of your eye or hear someone calling your name when there’s no one there.”

  “Are you asking me if I believe in ghosts?”

  “I guess I am, yeah.”

  “Then, no. I don’t. At least not the way you’re suggesting. I was raised that people die, and they go to Heaven or Hell.”

  “So what about all the things people see?”

  “Hallucination maybe. Or some sort of demon. I don’t know. Hell, I don’t even really believe in any of the Heaven and Hell stuff, come right down to it. If there’s a God, where the hell’s he been all my life? I sure don’t see him rushing to help anyone I know.”

  “I don’t know anything about God, but I do know about what happens after we die.”

  “How? You ever been dead?”

  “No, but I’ve met plenty who are.”

  No matter how many times Dez heard Sully say the words, it still unnerved him, the chill running down his spine as he thought back to the various people his little brother had described over the years. Add to that the condition they’d been in at the time, and you were left with one hell of a living horror movie. No acting required.

  Bulldog craned his neck to peer up at Dez. “He on the level here?”

  Dez nodded slowly, trying for a smile that never really formed.

  “And he’s not crackers?” Bulldog asked.

  “Sully? He’s his own brand of quietly crazy, but not when it comes to this. He’s telling the truth, man.”

  Bulldog’s eyes snapped back to Sully’s face. “So you’re about to tell me my sister’s haunting me, is that it?”

  “I wasn’t going to say it like that.”

  “Is there another way to say it?”

  Sully shrugged. “Not really, I guess.”

  The chair hit the wall as Bulldog leapt off the seat and made for the back door. “This is nuts. I can’t do this right now.”

  Dez took two quick strides and cut his friend off at the pass. “Just wait a second, okay? I know how this sounds, believe me. I didn’t buy all this stuff either until I met Sully. But it’s real. No one hates saying that more than me, but it’s true. And when he sees stuff, it’s for a reason. He only sees people who’ve died because of something someone else did to them, the ones who need justice.”

  “Bree got justice,” Bulldog said. “Her stinkin’ common law is in remand waiting trial for killing her. Danny’s gonna rot in jail and then he’s going to burn in Hell. Sure sounds like some sorta justice to me.”

  “Something’s not right,” Sully said. “I’m not saying they didn’t get the right man. I’m just saying something’s not right. She knows it, and she needs you to know it too. She’s been hanging around you for a reason, and she needs help.”

  “Yeah, with what? What could she possibly need help with? She’s dead, man. Dead people don’t need help. It’s the people they leave behind who do.”

  “That’s not always true,” Sully said. “Sometimes they get stuck here, and they need help to get where they need to go.”

  “Well, I’ll help you figure out where to go.”

  “Bulldog.” The edge in Dez’s voice turned the name into a warning. It wasn’t easy for Sully, seeing the things he did and, on occasion, acting on them. While there wasn’t much Dez could do to help out with the ghost side of things, he was happy to fall back on size, muscle and affection for his brother to look after Sully within the living, breathing world.

  Bulldog knew that well and recognized the danger he was stepping into. Anyway, Bulldog liked Sully, and not just because he might give him a place to crash now and again.

  “I’m sorry, Sully. I just don’t want to talk about this, all right?”

  Sully nodded and managed a small smile. “I’m here if you change your mind.”

  Bulldog didn’t respond in words, just nodded. He was about to head out the rear door into the rainy alley when Sully stopped him with an offer.

  “Why don’t you stay here tonight? You can have the couch in my room.”

  Bulldog’s face split into a toothy grin, turning him into a closer approximation of the man Dez had known in the days before Breanna’s death.

  “You’re a peach, kid. Lot nicer than your oaf of a brother there.” He turned and patted Sully on the cheek, reserving a solid jab for Dez’s gut. Dez managed to shift his abs back a bit but still ended up doubled over in a coughing fit while Bulldog laughed it up.

  “He’s not going to be an easy customer on this,” Dez said once Bulldog had headed upstairs to Sully’s one-bedroom apartment. “I’m not so sure he’s got it in him to do anything about Breanna.”

  “I’ve seen her,” Sully said. “I don’t think she’s going to give him much of a choice.”

  By ten that night, most of the crowd had left the bar, headed off to fight for space at the nearby shelters or, for those who had one, home to ensure the place hadn’t yet flooded.

  The rain fell harder, at times pouring down in sheets that made it impossible to see across the street. Sully had all but pushed Betty out the door, urging her to head home before things got worse. And, for what could easily have been the first time in her life, she hadn’t argued.

  Betty was nervous, that much was obvious. She’d seen severe storms in the past, but she’d become a broken record of doom tonight, proclaiming this as shaping up to be the worst by far.

  It wasn’t just raining anymore, lightning flashing alongside cracks of thunder and a wind alternating the rain’s course between sheer vertical drop and full horizontal.

  The power had been coming and going for the better part of an hour and it finally quit altogether, causing the bar to fall back on the generator. But that didn’t help with everything, the oak-panelled interior left darker than usual and the till out of commission, leading to the final mass exodus of the night. Only two people remained in the bar: Sully and Edgar Maberly, a man somewhere in his seventies who’d been coming here pretty much since the Black Fox was established, and who seemed to pride himself on being the last one out every night. But, like most nights, Edgar wasn’t much aware he’d won that particular contest, having passed out at his usual table in front of a half-finished glass of cheap scotch.

  Sully was about to wake him and call a cab when his cellphone rang.

  “Hey, Dez. How’s it going out there?”

  “Fine, long as I don’t have to get out of the car. Unfortunately, with everyone stressed out and indoors, we’ve had three domestics already tonight, and it doesn’t look like that’s likely to change anytime soon. How’s everything there? Your power out?”

  “Yeah. Doubt it’s coming back on tonight, either. I can’t imagine they’d send crews out in this.”

  “No, we’ve been told crews are only going out on emergency calls. The public’s been warned to get by on generator power or to do without until things calm down a bit. How’s Bulldog?”

  “I went to check in on him about an hour ago, and he was crashed out on my couch.”

  “So, in other words, he’s fine. You? You get everyone out okay?”

  “Just me and Eddie left in here.”

  “So a typical night then. And, uh �
� anything else?”

  Sully smiled, let it show in his voice. “Any sign of Breanna, you mean.”

  “It’s not funny. None of it is funny.”

  “No, it’s not. But you are. Don’t worry; if she’s going to change tacks at any point, she’ll come at me, not you.”

  “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

  “She’s just a person without a body, Dez. That’s all. A person who needs help.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Listen, I wanted to tell you, I made a call to a friend in Major Crimes. The lead investigator on the matter was Forbes Raynor. He’s a real jerk, and his investigative technique leaves something to be desired, but my friend backed Raynor’s play on this. Sounds like they really did get a confession from Danny. He didn’t go down for it easy, but he did go down. Admitted to the whole thing. Of course, now that he’s been appearing from time to time in front of a judge, he’s singing a different tune, saying he didn’t do it.”

  That was interesting. Given Breanna’s presence, very interesting.

  “Sully, you hear me?”

  “Yeah. Just thinking.”

  “Wanna include me?”

  “She seems pretty intense to me, even comparing to others I’ve seen. What if Danny didn’t do it? What if the real killer’s still out there?”

  “He confessed, Sull.”

  “People confess to things they haven’t done sometimes, don’t they?”

  “Sure, people with cognitive issues or brain injuries can sometimes be guided toward a confession. But Danny’s neither. He can be a goof, but he’s more or less in working order.”

  “Any idea how much detail he provided during his confession?”

  Sully could hear Dez’s frown through his reply. “Not much.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I said, not much. He admitted to strangling her, though, and tying her hands.”

  That was something, Sully guessed. Danny would’ve had to be there to know those things. Even if he didn’t physically do the deed, if he’d been standing idly by while someone else did, that was pretty much the same thing.

  But, if that were the case, it meant someone else was out there.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Sully, and no. Danny acted alone. It was a domestic. He said he hit her, gave her a black eye. After that, things just went from bad to worse. I see it all the time. Abuse starts out small, builds over time. Eventually, it can end with someone dead.”

  Sully knew that was true. He’d lived in several foster homes before coming to the Braddocks, enough that he’d learned what abuse was, how it worked. He had the physical and psychological scars to prove it. They’d largely healed, thanks to time and an excellent child psychologist his foster mom Mara Braddock had taken him to. But while the marks had faded, they were there all the same and no doubt always would be.

  But, as far as Sully could tell, this didn’t begin and end with abuse. Not the way Breanna had been whaling away on Bulldog.

  “You know, when you go all quiet like that, I can actually hear your gears turning, Sull. What’s on your mind?”

  “She wasn’t just hovering around Bulldog. She was trying to hit him. Hard. Like she was trying to get his attention or ….”

  Sully didn’t bother finishing the statement. Dez would know what he’d left unsaid. “Bulldog doesn’t have it in him, Sully. He’s a good guy.”

  “When he’s sober, sure. But I’ve seen him drunk. It’s not pretty.”

  “He wouldn’t have killed his own sister. No way in hell. Not even drunk.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  Dez was the one working the long silence now.

  “Dez? You there?”

  “Jesus H. Christ. You really slay my nerves, you know that? Why’d you have to invite him to stay if you suspected he might be a frickin’ murderer?”

  “I didn’t say I suspected him. I’m just trying to look at all the possibilities here.”

  “Well, stop looking. You make me nervous. Is there somewhere else he can go just so I’m not up all night worrying about your ass?”

  “He’s got nowhere else to go. You know that.”

  “Yeah, well, much as I like the guy, he’s not my problem. You are. I’ll come get him, drive him around until I find him a bed somewhere, all right? Just hang tight with Edgar until I get there.”

  Sully was about to tell Dez it wasn’t needed when he heard movement at the door leading from the bar to the employees’ only area and spotted Bulldog there, slack-jawed and wide-eyed.

  “Dez, gotta go. Bulldog just came down and he looks like ….”

  Edgar announced his return to the waking world by adding his own overly loud two cents’ worth. “Like he’s seen a goddamned ghost.”

  3

  Sully clicked the “end call” button, ignoring Dez’s barked orders to the contrary.

  “Bulldog, you okay?”

  Bulldog shook his head no. “I think you need to have a look at something upstairs.”

  “Let me get Edgar a cab, and then I’ll lock up and follow you.”

  “I don’t think it’s going to wait that long.”

  Considering his options, Sully decided to lock up with Edgar inside. But no way he was leaving the guy alone in the bar with the beer fridge sitting within easy reach; Edgar could have the contents half gone by the time Sully was done upstairs with Bulldog.

  Sully turned the sign to “closed” and locked the front entrance, then returned to Edgar. “Come on, Eddie, time for a little walk.”

  “Don’t need no friggin’ walk. ‘M fine.”

  “Yeah, I know you are, big man. You’re taking me for a walk.”

  Edgar grunted, which Sully took as plan approval, and the older man allowed Sully to heave him out of his chair.

  Bulldog was still standing at the door to the employee area, vibrating with anxiety as Sully looped one of Edgar’s arms around his neck to keep the guy on his feet. The stairs were going to be a bitch, so Sully left Edgar sitting on the bottom step while he closed and locked the door that separated the back area from the bar. He grabbed a flashlight from the utility closet and followed Bulldog up the stairs.

  “Where the hell you goin’, kid?” Edgar slurred after them. “What about my walk?”

  “In a minute, Eddie. Just sit tight.”

  Bulldog stalled at the partially ajar door to Sully’s apartment—the only occupied suite of three up here—and refused to go any further.

  “What’s wrong?” Sully asked.

  “I told you I didn’t believe in ghosts, right? I might have been a little hasty.”

  “Why?”

  “You’d better see for yourself.”

  “You coming?”

  “Not on your life.”

  Sully took a deep breath and put a hand on the door, steeling himself to push it open. He’d been seeing ghosts as far back as he could remember, but it wasn’t something he’d ever grown used to. Some people, he’d heard, were lucky and saw only the ones who had already crossed into the light. Others saw all manner of spirits. Sully just got the ones who had died violently, leaving his memory filled with blood, bruises, slashes, gunshot wounds, burns, horrific breaks, gore and virtually every other type of wound a person could imagine. They weren’t pretty, they weren’t at peace and they sure as hell didn’t make sleeping an easy feat many nights. The sight of them didn’t leave him traumatized as it once had, but there was still that creeping dread whenever he knew he was about to walk into a situation with one. There was the sense of the unknown, and there was past experience too. While many of the dead realized what had happened to them, some didn’t, and some were still caught up in death throes. Terror, rage and confusion could turn people into caged animals willing to bite anyone who got too close, and the only difference between the living and the dead was the simple encasement of flesh, blood and bone. The dead could lash out too, and Sully had been on the receiving end more than once.

  But there was no way to k
now what he was dealing with until he went in there.

  Sully pushed open the door, finding his apartment encased in darkness as expected. The generators were taking care of a handful of lights in the rest of the building, but the backup power didn’t extend to the apartments, which operated on their own power supply.

  Sully clicked on the flashlight and stepped inside.

  He’d never been able to hear them; his ability, for whatever reason, was restricted to sight, sense and sometimes smell. And yet, the first thing he was aware of was a sound.

  There was nothing rhythmical about it, a series of light thuds and what sounded like flapping. A short hallway led past the bedroom and a bathroom and then into the combination kitchen and living room. The bedroom was quiet and the bathroom, too, leaving just the main room to contend with.

  Sully took another big breath and released it quietly before forcing his feet forward.

  He detected movement to his right and he ducked as something breezed past his head. He had dealt with poltergeists before, and they were never easy. They tended to be angry, powerful and stubborn—a miserable combination for anyone trying to help them.

  But this felt different. The thing that came at him didn’t seem like a hurled object so much as something alive, and his theory was backed up by the noise he continued to hear. And he knew now what it was.

  He scanned the room with his flashlight, guided by the sound of the bird’s flapping and thudding, and found it fluttering next to the window nearest the sofa. The windows were all closed, leaving Sully to question how it had managed to get inside. Not wanting to add to the creature’s existing fear, Sully headed to the other window and reluctantly opened it, receiving an immediate response in the form of a blast of cold rain. With any luck, it would be enough to guide the bird out.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t take the hint, so Sully pulled the comforter from the couch and tried to get behind the bird, expecting the only option would be to catch it. He tried to shoo it toward the window but, while it flew in that direction, it didn’t find the opening, instead hitting the wall with a thud. Sully dropped the comforter and used the flashlight to find the stunned bird on the floor.