Shadow Detective Supernatural Dark Urban Fantasy Series: Books 1-3 (Shadow Detective Boxset)

by William Massa

  “We were the guards and he was the prisoner, but we all knew what the score was. Engelman was running the show.”

  There was a pause before Shellback continued.

  “Things were changing at Blackwell, and Engelman was responsible. The warden knew something was up. He even tried to stop the execution.”

  “Why?”

  “He thought that if Engelman died in that chair, something terrible would happen.”

  So much for the idea that Engelman might be innocent.

  Skulick cut off the recording. “He got that right. I studied the photographs you took at the prison, Raven. Engelman turned Blackwell Penitentiary into a giant lightning rod for psychokinetic energy.”

  “English, please, for those of us who didn’t binge watch Stranger Things,” Archer said.

  Skulick pursed his lips and then made another go at an explanation. “Engelman magically transformed the electric chair into a power source for an occult ritual designed to bind him to this plane of existence even after his death.”

  “Talk about holding a grudge,” I said, hoping to cut the tension in the loft, but no one laughed. Tough crowd.

  “My guess is that the wiring in the old prison couldn’t handle the ritual’s sudden power surge. A fire broke out. Hundreds of inmates died. The ritual was designed to stop Engelman’s soul from crossing over, but instead…”

  “It ended up trapping the souls of hundreds of other inmates on our plane of reality,” Archer finished. I smiled at her, absurdly proud of how well she was dealing with the situation.

  “His soul must’ve fused with their spirits, strengthening it immeasurably, which would explain why Hellseeker can’t seem to damage them permanently,” Skulick said.

  I pondered this. “Is there a way to reverse the ritual?”

  Skulick knit his brow in concentration. “The electric chair appears to be the key.” He zoomed in on the creepy image I had snapped of the execution chamber. “The chair acts as an anchor to our world. All the energy flowed through it when Moreau initiated this ritual.”

  My eyes narrowed. I finally understood where Skulick was headed with this. “What are you saying? You destroy the chair, you send Engelman and rest of his ghouls packing?”

  “That’s my guess. But the glyphs protect the chair. I suspect that’s why it didn’t get damaged in the fire.”

  I frowned. “Is there a way to reverse the chair’s protective magic?”

  “That’s what I’m looking into.”

  If anyone could do it, Skulick was the man to crack this mystical puzzle.

  “Did you find anything else?” I asked, sensing that Skulick was still not quite done.

  “Something about the state of the two dead parapsychologists caught my attention.”

  Skulick punched up crime scene pics of Dr. Gould’s mummified assistants.

  Ballard let out a disgusted groan. “Jesus Christ!”

  “Those are the bodies found at Blackwell?” Archer asked.

  I nodded grimly. “Dr. Gould’s assistants.”

  The mummified remains of the two murdered parapsychologists seemed to glare back at us, almost as if demanding justice for what had happened to them. Their deaths were a sharp reminder of what I was fighting for.

  “What the hell happened to them?” Ballard asked.

  I didn’t try to hide my anger as I spoke. “Engelman sucked them dry. He fed on their life force, and he’ll do the same to you if he gets the chance.”

  Ballard shook his head. “This keeps getting crazier and crazier!”

  I couldn’t agree more. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t happening.

  Welcome to my life.

  My partner called up another series of crime pictures, and a new set of dead bodies flickered on-screen. These skeletal, mummified remains looked almost identical to the first set. Only the background was different. Both bodies had been found deep in the woods, judging by the thick undergrowth and trees surrounding the mummified remains.

  “What are we looking at?” I asked.

  “The first body was discovered about five months ago, the second was reported seven weeks before the most recent incident. Both corpses were found in the forest surrounding the penitentiary. The high levels of lead on the remains match the forensics on the two most recent killings as well as the tox readings taken at the prison.”

  I mulled this over, weighing the implications. There had been other victims. Earlier victims. And they both had visited Blackwell Penitentiary.

  Still trying to wrap my head around this latest revelation, I said, “Let me get this straight. Assuming Engelman tried to possess these people, how did they end up outside the prison?”

  “I believe someone dumped the bodies,” Skulick said.

  “Were they identified?” Archer asked.

  Skulick pensively massaged his scar which ran along his cheek. “Yes, and that’s where things get really interesting.”

  New images appeared. A man in his late thirties, and a young woman who had to be college age. Attractive, happy, alive. A far cry from the skeletal mummies on-screen.

  “Meet Rob Sinclair and Sarah Harris, two of the most respected mediums in the psychic community.”

  This latest revelation took my breath away. “Engelman must’ve tried to hitch ride in them too.”

  “It appears that way,” Skulick said. “Not every medium is a soul catcher. It takes a rare breed of psychic to hold so many souls for any length of time and not burn out in the process.”

  Skulcik’s words reminded me of Cormac’s deteriorating state. There were limits even for a soul catcher.

  “How do you think these other psychics ended up at Blackwell in the first place?” I said.

  Skulick shrugged. “The location has been a hotspot for parapsychological research pretty much from the start. They could’ve been random ghost hunters.”

  “But then their bodies would still be in the prison, wouldn’t they? But it almost looks like someone dumped these psychics after Engelman sucked them dry. Someone who didn’t want people to know what had happened.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Skulick said. “It’s almost as if someone was bringing psychics to Blackwell in the hopes that Engelman could successfully attach his spirit to them.”

  “Who would want to do such a thing?” Archer asked.

  “Perhaps the same person who brought Cormac to Blackwell prison?”

  Skulick had phrased it as a question, but his eyes met mine with a terrible certainty. One of us had to say it out loud.

  I took a deep breath and then gave voice to a dark possibility. “You think Dr. Gould had something to do with this.” Skulick’s silence was all the answer I needed.

  “I made some phone calls in the ghost hunting community. Word is Dr. Gould worked with both of these psychics before they went missing.”

  Ballard frowned, mirroring my own confusion. “Why would a parapsychologist want to help the spirit of a serial killer?”

  Skulick’s answer was to tap another button on his keyboard. A new picture appeared on-screen. It showed Engelman with a group of young people.

  “This picture was taken a month before Engelman’s arrest three years ago. The students were doctoral candidates studying mythology and the occult.”

  My eyes narrowed and fixed on the person standing closest to Engelman. Her hair was different, worn loose instead of in a tight bun, but her green, catlike eyes framed by round glasses were unmistakable. Staring back at us was none other than Dr. Gould.

  12

  “Dr. Gould knew Engelman while he was alive.”

  Skulick’s words landed with the force of a punch to the gut. Dr. Gould had known Engelman; in fact, she’d been a student of his. I’d believed Engelman’s escape to be a random event facilitated by Dr. Gould’s foolishness, but what if it was more than that? The parapsychologist had struck me as a harmless but misguided idealist, someone who wanted to do good. A former Goth girl drawn to the dark side who had turned he
r former hobby into an adult obsession. I’d tried to warn her a few times about the danger she was putting herself and her team in, and she’d seemed sane at the time. But now I wasn’t so certain.

  Had she specifically recruited these psychics, hoping that one of them might turn out to be a soul catcher? Was she a secret accomplice who’d helped Engelman’s spirit escape?

  In a strange way it almost made sense—except for one glaring detail. Why had she been left behind at Blackwell when Engelman’s spirit took over Cormac’s body? Gould was the one who’d called in the murders of her assistants, and her shock when I questioned her had felt genuine. What game was she playing here?

  “I believe Gould helped Engelman,” Skulick said, cutting through my wildly churning thoughts. “The question is why.”

  “Perhaps she was more than just a student,” I said.

  “You think Gould and Engelman might’ve been an item?” Archer asked.

  Skulick nodded slowly. “It might explain her dedication, and why she would go to such lengths to help his ghost.”

  The possibility of a relationship between Gould and Engelman raised other question. Had Gould known what Engelman was up to before his arrest? Had she helped him with the arcane ritual? Worse, had she been his willing accomplice all along? I bit back my rising anger. I hate being played for a fool.

  “This is nuts!” Ballard said. “Ghosts and magic and zombies.”

  “Nobody ever said zombies,” I protested lamely.

  Ballard shook his head. “Why don’t we haul Gould in for questioning?”

  “Ballard,” I said. “That’s a good idea.”

  If Gould and Engelman had been involved romantically, she might know where he was now or what he had planned.

  “Skulick, you figure out how we can destroy the electric chair and send Engelman and his freak parade to the deepest pits of Hell.” I eyed Archer and Ballard. “I’m heading out to have a little chat with Dr. Gould.”

  Archer held up a hand. “Hold on a sec. What are we supposed to do while you play detective?”

  “Play detective?” Was someone trying to hurt my feelings?

  Archer pointedly ignored my question and said, “If some crazy ghost is after us, I’m not just going to sit around while you risk your life. We’re coming with you, Raven!”

  Ballard seemed about to protest, clearly not thrilled by the idea of facing the supernatural again, but Archer’s glare stopped him cold.

  “And how am I supposed to protect you from Engelman? We barely got away the last time. You’re safe here. I can’t worry about you while trying to crack this case.”

  Archer sighed with frustration. “I’m going to go out of my mind trapped in this place with nothing to do.”

  “Look around. We have a great occult library. Skulick won’t mind if you check out a book or two.”

  My partner glowered at me but said nothing. He can be a bit territorial about our collection.

  “I don’t need to be reading ghost stories when I’m living in one, thanks.”

  “Well there is always my DVD collection. You ever see The Hangover?”

  Ballard perked up. “Dude, I love that movie!”

  My gaze landed on my partner. “Skulick, you won’t mind the company, right?”

  “The more the merrier,” my partner said dryly while staring daggers at me. Great, now everyone in the room was mad at me. My work here was done.

  Before Archer could take drastic measures like handcuffing herself to me, I was out the door and on my way to Dr. Gould’s apartment.

  13

  The irregular outline of Gould’s gothic five-story apartment building cut a forbidding silhouette. The main entrance was open, and I easily slipped inside. To my surprise, I didn’t bump into a living soul as I made my way upstairs. I had a growing sense that the building was abandoned. The place felt, for lack of a better word, dead. Ghosts had a way of getting under one’s skin, even for a guy in my line of work.

  I’d made a few phone calls on my way to Gould’s place. The parapsychologist hadn’t shown up for a university class she was teaching, and no one had heard from her since the Blackwell incident. That was understandable enough, considering what had happened, but I still had a bad feeling about her disappearing act.

  I never understood why some women were drawn to evil men, especially killers. Charles Manson, Jeffrey Dahmer, Ted Bundy—all had more than their fair share of female admirers. Some women might perceive a serial killer as the ultimate bad boy. They probably thought all these psychos needed was the love of a good woman. It was like the plot of a bad romance novel come to life. I’d seen enough women fall prey to weres and vamps over the years to know these stories never had a happy ending.

  I reached Gould’s apartment and rang her doorbell. When there was no response, I knocked for good measure. Leaning against the door, I listened for any signs that someone might be home, but a yawning silence greeted me. Unwilling to just give up, I quickly picked the lock. I had no scruples breaking the law under the right circumstances, and I felt the current situation more than qualified. Still, I was glad Archer was tucked away safely at the loft. I doubted she would approve.

  Less than a minute later, the lock gave way with an audible snap, and the door cracked open. A dark apartment awaited me. I entered, Hellseeker drawn and muscles coiled, ready to explode into action if the situation should call for it. Trickles of light seeped into the place through half-drawn blinds. As I moved deeper into the unit, my eyes adjusted to the gloom. Dr. Gould’s predilection for the paranormal was evident everywhere—occult tomes and esoteric artworks covered every square inch of the place. There were books on witchcraft, ESP, ghosts, and demonology. Skulick would have felt right at home.

  I passed a small desk littered with papers. Scanning its contents, I discovered more damning evidence against the parapsychologist. There was a Google map print-out of Archer’s apartment and an address unfamiliar to me but which had to be Ballard’s residence. I leafed through multiple shots of the two police precincts where the detectives were stationed. I was beginning to understand how Engelman had managed to track down his quarry so quickly. Gould had done all the legwork while he remained trapped at Blackwell. She had researched the targets, learned about their habits, and fed the information to the dead killer.

  Talk about a deadly duo. Bonnie & Clyde eat your hearts out.

  As I rifled through the stack of papers, I spotted Dr. Gould’s laptop. I powered it on, but not surprisingly, the device was password protected. The police department’s cyber-crime unit would have no problem breaking through the security…except for the whole pesky breaking-and-entering thing. I’d strolled in here without a warrant or backup, so legally nothing I found could be used in a court of law.

  A sudden sound made my heart jump into my throat, and I spun around. Best I could tell it had come from the closed door at the other end of the living room.

  My grip tightening around Hellseeker, I advanced toward the door. I held my breath, but no other sounds disturbed the perfect silence.

  Upon reaching the door, I clenched my jaw and pushed it open. It was a bathroom. There were candles everywhere, many of which had burned down to nothing. The flickering flames of those that remained lit painted warm shadows in the small, white space. There was something almost romantic about the scene if your idea of romance included an ornamental, crimson coated dagger with a handle shaped like a skull. Someone had dropped the blade on the tile floor. I suddenly knew what would be waiting for me behind the closed shower curtain, but there was no turning back at this point.

  Steeling myself, I pulled the curtain back in one swift motion and came face to face with Gould’s naked corpse. I fought back a ripple of revulsion. Lifeless eyes peered back at me. Deep gashes on the parapsychologist’s wrists left no doubt as to how she’d perished. Even more disturbing were the strange glyphs drawn in blood on the bathtub walls. I’d seen these symbols before. They were identical to the ones etched into the ele
ctric chair back at Blackwell Penitentiary.

  Leaning closer, I took note of the framed photograph resting on Dr. Gould’s chest. It showed her and Engelman together, looking at each other the way only lovers can. The two of them had been a couple, no doubt about it. I scooped up the frame, hoping to take a closer look. The moment I moved the photograph, my mind went blank. The frame had covered up a final magical symbol etched in blood across Gould’s snow white chest.

  It was the mark of a demon, a sigil of summoning.

  I gasped, a shiver exploding up my spine. I knew this symbol, would recognize it anywhere. It was identical to the one my last client had been marked with.

  This was the sigil of Morgal, the same demon who’d killed my parents.

  For a moment, I stood frozen, my mind having gone blank. As the shock wore off, my brain began to put the pieces together. All spells or rituals require a supernatural power source. The bigger the spell, the more energy was needed. Human sacrifice to a demon was just about the strongest mojo possible. This was serious magic.

  “What are you doing here?”

  The harsh voice behind me jerked me out of my thought process, and I spun around. Outlined in the doorframe was the nude, bloody body of Dr. Gould. My gaze ticked from the corpse in the tub to its preternatural twin looming in the bathroom’s doorframe.

  I was looking at Gould’s ghost. Had to be. There was no other explanation. The irony shook me to the core. Here was a woman who had dedicated her life to studying the paranormal and now her spirit had become one of the restless dead, trapped in the world of the living.

  Worst of all, she had chosen this horrific fate for herself. Did the presence before me know what had happened to her, or was she confused about her own state, unsure whether she was alive or dead? Keeping my fear in check, I decided to find out.