She didn’t see any injury.
He must be cold.
How did he get down there?
He must have--
Then she stopped.
Something wasn’t right.
“Riley?” she called down to him instead. “Pick up that flashlight.”
He shook his head.
“Katie,” Mel whispered. “This isn’t right.”
“I know. Oh, please God, please God, please God. Just let this be over. Riley? Just pick up the flashlight. Please? I want to see your face.”
He shook his head, and lifted a hand out for it. His hand trembled, and then dropped.
Mel gave Katie a funny look. “What is it?”
“I don’t know.” Katie clenched her jaw. “But I will not be fooled again.”
The man in the well started to lift his head up. For just an instant, Katie saw the menacing face of Mark Keats. Then his features twisted, half in and half out of the shadows.
It wasn’t Riley.
A low chuckle began echoing off the stones, bouncing up and up and up to them, growing louder the whole time. The figure down there flexed and grew in the flashlight’s beam, the long black arms circling the entire way around the stone walls and the body bulging and protruding in odd ways. It lifted its face, finally, and it was all teeth and eyes.
“Almost had ya,” it said gleefully. “Almost had ya!”
Then it was racing up the ladder at them, all legs and elbows and knees and arms. Its face grew longer, the teeth sharper, and fat lips pursed to blow her a kiss.
Katie fell back, away from the hole, and started pawing at the ground all around them. Her hands weren’t up to the task. She needed to find it. She had dropped it here...somewhere...and she needed to find it. Where was it?
Where was it?
Behind her she heard the ladder rattling as the thing flew up the distance from the bottom. Mel was yelling for them to go, go now, go go go! Katie’s heart was beating louder than any of it, a rattling drumbeat that drowned out everything else.
Then her fingers hit something hard, and it made the smallest sound ever.
Tink.
She saw the way the metal of her little cross flashed in the setting sunlight and she grabbed it up, and she spun around, and she thrust it up as high as she could.
Just as the monstrous spirit of Mark Keats came flooding out of the well in a rush of distorted darkness, arcing up into the sunlight and then down upon her.
The cross was there, flashing with the sunlight again.
He screamed with an earsplitting pitch and reared back from her, all flowing angles and flashing eyes.
Then he shrank back down into the well with a sound like foul water being sucked down a storm drain.
Everything went quiet in the next second. The ghost was gone, and wasn’t coming back. At least, she hoped so.
Katie brought the cross to her lips, and kissed it on impulse. Then she lay there, staring up at the sky, and the setting sun.
Sitting down next to her, Mel reached over and plucked the cross from her hands. “Give me some of that.” She held the cross up to her face and planted a wet kiss on the little token that would have made God blush.
They sat there together for a long time, just breathing, and listening. Katie didn’t know why the neighbors hadn’t seen any of this. Why they hadn’t rushed over to say or do something. Sure there were trees and bushes all the way around but hadn’t they been making enough noise to draw even a little attention?
At the very least she would have expected someone to call the police when they saw strange people going into Vera’s house after she’d been arrested. There weren’t any sirens yet, and Katie was pretty sure there wasn’t going to be any. Just another small miracle to be thankful for.
Like being alive.
Maybe this was the same kind of silence that had allowed Mark Keats’ evil to grow in the first place. No one calling the police. No one coming over to check on Vera or Martin. No one doing anything at all. Without someone to stop him, Mark’s anger and venom had been allowed to fester. It had cost Martin his life. It had trapped his spirit here, in the well, for years.
Now it looked like it had trapped Mark here as well. Katie didn’t know what to do about it. She didn’t even know if she wanted to try. She wanted to help Martin’s spirit move on. That much she was certain of. Past that...well, Mark Keats’ ghost could rot in Hell for all she cared. It could stay trapped on this plan of existence for the rest of all eternity. She really didn’t care.
There was something different to his ghost. For just a moment she tried to puzzle it out and then she set the whole thing aside. Whatever he was, ghost or supernatural being or something else, they were going to burn him to the ground. Once this house was gone, then his ties to this world should be gone as well. Maybe that would give young Martin some peace.
And if it didn’t, at least it would make her feel better.
She set her racing thought aside. Right now, she just wanted to get away from here, and to find Riley.
“Come on,” she finally said to Mel. “Let’s get back to your car. If Riley isn’t here, and the ghost of Mark Keats is, then he’s gone from the Inn.”
“And maybe Riley is back?” Mel asked hopefully.
“That’s what I’m hoping for. I’ve got gasoline and stuff there, too. I’m going to watch this place go up in a blazing fireball that can be seen from space. Come on. Let’s go.”
With one more glance at the open pit of the well, she pushed herself to her feet, and cradled her aching hands to her chest, and started around the house to get back to Mel’s car out in the driveway.
No way in hell was she going through the house to get there.
Chapter 17
In the driveway the car sat waiting and ready. Gary Wargo was there, in the driver’s seat, tapping his hands against the wheel like he was playing the bongos.
“Some minister,” Katie grumbled. “He never once got out of the car, even when you came to get the flashlight? What happened to caring for your fellow man?”
“We’re women,” Mel pointed out. “Maybe that’s the difference. Besides, I told him to stay here as a getaway driver in case we needed one.”
“Smart.”
“Thank you.”
Katie had been looking behind them, over her shoulder, her whole body tense at the thought of Keats’ insane ghost popping out of them from the shadows.
When she turned around, she saw Gary.
She stopped. She held her hands cradled in front of her, and they began to tremble.
No. It couldn’t be.
Inside the car, Gary looked up at them. He smiled.
His eyes flared. His face twisted beyond what was humanly possible.
Around them, the world went dark as the sun set.
“We need to go,” Katie told Mel.
“I know. Come on, Gary’s waiting.”
“No, Mel...we need to go.”
“What do you mean? Gary’s right there and we just have to...oh.”
Together, they took a step back.
The headlights flicked on, blazing into their eyes with an intense glow that wasn’t natural. It was something in the color. Not quite white. Not quite anything.
Katie remembered the vision of Mark Keats running down his son. History was about to repeat itself. No way to stop it. Mark Keats was right there and he was going to do to Katie what he’d done to his own little son.
Her little cross was in her pocket again. She traced the outline of it with her thumb. Then she looked at the car. Her cross against that thing, in an ugly rented two-door that smelled like old socks.
Not much of a contest. Only this time, Katie was pretty sure she’d lose.
Which meant they could not stay here.
The car lurched forward, and stopped.
Katie and Mel took a step backward.
The car came at them again, and stopped.
Outrun a car. All they had to do was
outrun a car.
The engine revved.
They were so dead.
Mel took her by the hand and even though it sent waves of pain through her numb fingers, Katie didn’t let go. Staring into those headlights was like staring at her own death. They reached out for her, and she could feel herself being drawn into them in a way she could not explain.
The tires squealed as the car vaulted forward, up the driveway toward them. They were both frozen in place, held captive by the unearthly glow of the headlights.
When the car was almost on them Katie’s brain kicked into gear and made her throw herself to one side, taking Mel with her. They landed hard on the ground and all the air whoofed out of Katie’s lungs. For a moment, she wasn’t sure which end of the world was up.
The car passed them, so close that Katie could feel it snag the back of her pants. She heard them tearing. Her ankle twisted until it nearly snapped.
“Katie, come on,” Mel was frantically saying to her. “Come on, Katie. We have to go. We have to go.”
When she tried to stand, her foot gave out under her.
The car barreled into the backyard, tearing up the lawn and spraying dirt everywhere. Now she saw lights go on in the houses nearby. All the noise had finally gotten the attention of the neighbors.
When Katie looked back, the car had spun around in a circle, facing them again.
The engine revved, and the headlights glowed their sickly otherworldly color.
The man behind the wheel leered at them with a smile that was far too wide. It was Gary Wargo, and at the same time it wasn’t.
His face contorted as he stomped his foot down on the accelerator.
From above them, from nowhere, the soccer ball dropped. It crashed through the windshield and straight into Gary’s chest.
The car veered to the side, whizzing by them as it did.
It jumped off the edge of the driveway and collided with the house.
The horn blared as smoke rolled up from under the crumpled hood. The side of Vera Keats’ house cracked and splintered under the car’s weight. If the neighbors hadn’t been interested before they certainly would be now.
Mel ran to the car, leaving Katie hobbling there on one foot. She leaned into the broken window on the driver’s side, and then reached in to touch two fingers to the neck of the unconscious man behind the wheel.
“He’s alive. Oh, Katie, he’s alive and he’s...um. He’s him. It’s Gary. It’s really him. Help me!”
Katie went over to the car, dragging her one foot, and held the door open while Mel got Gary out of the car. She was right. This was really Gary, flesh and bones and blood. A lot of blood.
Ghosts did not bleed.
“We need to get him to the hospital. Katie, how do we get him to the hospital?”
From down the street, sirens wailed, and blue lights flashed in the night. Two State Police cars came into view, in a hurry to get to right where Katie and Mel were standing.
“I don’t think getting to the hospital’s going to be a problem,” Katie said. Not that she minded. She wanted to be at the hospital herself. Everywhere hurt, and her ankle hurt worse, and the bandages around her fingers were faintly red with her own blood again.
Getting to the hospital wouldn’t be a problem. Explaining all of this to the police was going to be the problem.
From out of the car, the soccer ball rolled. It bounced and hopped and settled on the ground at Katie’s feet.
Martin’s spirit still wasn’t at rest. Mark Keats had tried to kill Katie and Mel both. He’d possessed Gary Wargo and tried to make him run them down, just like he’d killed his son. More than that, Mark’s spirit had taken Riley away from her. Not just possessed him, but somehow taken him away, and Katie did not know where to find him.
She looked up at the broken home as the police cars pulled into the driveway behind them and the sirens finally cut off with a moaning wail. There would be no burning this place down now. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.
Riley was supposed to be here, she reminded herself. She needed to find him here.
Instead, she found a new depth to the horrors surrounding the boy buried down deep in the well.
So what now, she asked herself? What in the hell was she supposed to do now?
Chapter 18
“Where’s your boyfriend?”
Katie turned her face toward the wall. Maybe if she pretended to have a concussion, everybody would just go away.
Laying in yet another uncomfortable hospital bed, she’d answered all of Officer Norstrom’s questions, one after the other, with the story that she and Mel had come up with on the fly.
Gary Wargo had been driving. They came back to Vera Keats’ house because Katie wanted to show the other two where she’d found the boy in the well. Stupid, yes, but her friend was in town to visit and Katie wanted to show off. As they were coming up the street and about to turn into the Keats’ driveway a deer ran out in front of them and they had to swerve. That’s when they hit the side of the house.
A deer?
Yes, a deer.
That doesn’t explain the tire tracks in the back yard.
Sorry. Those must have been there before we arrived. Maybe it was from the firetrucks and stuff when they took Martin Keats’ body out of the well. Or hey, Katie was sure they weren’t the only ones who wanted to see the house where the boy had been buried--
“Down deep in the well,” Officer Norstrom finished for her this time. “Yes. You said that before. I get it. I don’t exactly believe it, but I get it. Still doesn’t answer my other question. Where is your boyfriend? Where’s Riley Harris?”
“The last time I saw him,” Katie finally answered, “was at the Heritage Inn. I honestly couldn’t tell you where he is right now.”
Which was true, and also not true at the same time. Because yes, she’d seen a version of Riley Harris at the Inn. It just wasn’t really him. It was Mark Keats’ spirit wearing his skin like a disguise.
And past that, she honestly didn’t know where Riley was. That was the true part.
It was the truth that was eating her up from inside.
Her hands were rebandaged. Thankfully she hadn’t needed any new stitches. They had used some sort of surgical glue on her this time. The doctor had threatened that the next time she did this he was going to stitch his initials into each finger. Since his name was Frank Upton, she took the threat seriously.
Her ankle was wrapped in a pressure bandage against a bad sprain. Not broken, and she was insanely glad about that. The rest of her was just covered in bumps and bruises that would heal, given time.
Time was something she didn’t have.
She wanted to scream at Officer Norstrom to go away, and leave her alone, and just let her think. If she could only have a minute to think then maybe she could figure out what to do next.
What should she do? Damn it. What could she do?
Officer Norstrom tapped his pen against his notepad, in that way she had found so annoying the last time he’d been interviewing her. A moment later he snapped it closed. “All right. Everything checks out. I suppose Vera Keats’ homeowner’s insurance is going to want to talk to Gary Wargo about the damages to the house. You know. Since he was driving.”
“I’m covering those,” she said quickly. “Just have Vera’s insurance call me and I’ll take care of it.”
Putting away his notebook, he shrugged. “That’s going to be hard for her to do from jail.”
“Jail...?” Katie started to ask, but then she realized what the problem was. He wouldn’t know about Mark Keats running over Martin, or burying him down in that well either. As far as he knew, Vera killed her son. “Um. She hasn’t confessed to anything. Has she?”
He looked surprised. “How did you know that? Did Lawrence open his big mouth again? I swear to you I’m going to have a talk with that guy. Well, guess that cat’s out of the bag, as we like to say up here. No. She hasn’t confessed to anything. But then, I wouldn’t
expect her to.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because nobody ever confesses to being a killer. That’s only on television.”
“I see. So, um.” Katie sat herself up higher in the bed. “Isn’t it possible that someone else killed her son?”
“And then put him down that well? Sure. I subscribe to the idea that anything’s possible. But then the question becomes who? See, you have to have a reason to kill someone, even if it’s accidental. Then, you have to have a reason to put that someone down a well once you’ve killed them. From where I’m sitting, the only one who has that kind of motive is Vera Keats. Who else is there?”
“What about Mark Keats? He was there the day Martin disappeared too.” She realized that was information she probably wasn’t supposed to know, but she did, and there was no reason not to use it to help Vera considering she had flat out accused her of being the killer.
Not that she was convinced that Vera didn’t actually know her son was down there in that well. Sure, she didn’t kill him, but did that make her completely innocent?
Maybe, maybe not. That wasn’t for her to judge.
“How,” Norstrom asked her, slowly and deliberately, “do you know about Mark Keats? Did Vera tell you?”
“No,” she answered immediately, because after all that was the truth. Then she realized that telling an officer of the law that she had the information straight from the ghost’s mouth probably was not the greatest idea ever. Not if she wanted to keep out of the psychiatric ward of this hospital. “Um. I mean, she mentioned him in passing, that’s all. She told me he was there when Martin went missing. Then, Mark went missing too. And then he died. So. You know?”
She barely kept a grimace from her face because even to her own ears she sounded guilty of something. Why was it so hard to tell the truth to a police officer, for crying out loud?
Officer Norstrom stared at her. Then, he went and got a chair from across the room. He dragged it with a soft scraping noise across the tiled floor, and set it right next to Katie’s bed. When he sat down, he folded his elbows over his knees and leaned in, very close.
Sight Unseen Complete Series Box Set Page 69
