Her voice caught in her throat, and she wanted to scream, but no sound came forth. Her almost empty drink slipped from her fingers, and the glass hit the carpet with a solid thump. She backed away from Trevor, shaking her head, as if trying to deny his existence. But he didn’t vanish, didn’t reassume his normal appearance. Instead, he raised his hands—fingers twisted claws with prominent joints, nails overlong and jagged—let out a gurgling moan, and slid one shuffling foot forward, then the other.
“Fade into You” ended, and the next song began without any patter from the DJ: 10,000 Maniacs’ “These Are Days.” Trevor moaned louder, the sound a grotesque accompaniment to Natalie Merchant’s strong, smooth voice.
He took another step toward her, his leathery lips moving as if he was trying to talk to her, but no recognizable words came out of his mouth, only that sickening, wet moaning, as if he was choking on his own blood.
Sherri couldn’t tear her gaze away from his hideous face, and despite the terror that enclosed her heart in a grip of ice, she couldn’t flee. All she could do was continue taking tiny steps backward, barely managing to keep out of his reach.
She told herself that this couldn’t be happening, that it had to be some kind of delusion, a waking version of her hated zombie dreams. The stress of helping to organize the reunion must have gotten to her, she reasoned. And coupled with the trauma of Sean’s and Jerry’s deaths, it had dredged up a lot of negative emotions that she’d been suppressing. Trevor wasn’t some undead monster coming to kill her. He just seemed that way to her misfiring brain. If she could manage to focus past her fear and concentrate, she should be able to will the delusion away. Trevor would appear normal again, and she could excuse herself and call a cab to take her to the nearest emergency room. But no matter how hard she concentrated, he remained a walking corpse, moaning and reaching for her, staring ahead with milky-white eyes.
“Are you OK, Sherri?”
She felt a hand come down on her shoulder from behind, and she jumped and let out a piercing shriek. She felt stupid, for she recognized the voice as belonging to Julie Weidner, one of her friends who’d been on the cheerleading squad with her back in high school. That feeling was washed away by relief that someone had come to help her, and she turned to face Julie—
—only to find herself looking into a face even more horrifying than Trevor’s. Not only because the severity of Julie’s condition was worse than his but also because Julie had been a close friend to her once, and seeing her appearance so distorted came as a true shock. Her skin possessed the same grayish-green hue as Trevor’s, and her blue dress was in as bad a condition as his clothing. But while his body was intact, hers had numerous injuries. Her flesh was scored with scratches and bite marks, and in some places, large chunks of meat had been torn or bitten away. Worst of all was her face. The skin beneath her milky left eye and down across her upper lip to beneath her chin had been ripped away, revealing muscle that was as dry as old rawhide. Both her upper and lower teeth were exposed on the left side, giving her a grisly, permanent half-grin.
Her hand still lay on Sherri’s bare shoulder, the skin as cold and dry as a lizard’s. As Sherri looked into her friend’s dead white eyes, Julie tightened her grip, and Sherri felt cracked and broken fingernails dig into her skin.
She found her full voice then and screamed for all she was worth.
As if the scream broke a dam inside her, she was able to move again, and she tore away from Julie and ducked Trevor’s grasping hands as he reached for her. She started to run toward the door but stopped short when she saw the faces of the crowd turned toward her, and while Natalie Merchant sang about days of laughter and shafts of light, she saw that everyone in the room was staring at her with eyes of clouded ivory.
And then they all began shuffling toward her, moaning in hunger, hands raised, eager to get a piece of the Eternal Cheerleader.
Amber felt a bit flushed from the wine she’d had, but that was nothing compared with what she felt being in Drew’s arms. She knew she shouldn’t make more of it than it was—just two old friends sharing a slow dance—but she’d fantasized about being close to him like this since she’d been a girl, and for it to finally happen, well, it was nice to know that dreams did come true sometimes. She told herself not to ruin the moment with expectations about what might happen afterward but just to enjoy it for what it was.
The dance floor had been filled, but when “Fade into You” ended and “These Are Days” started, couples began drifting back to their tables. She expected Drew to release her, but he didn’t, and since she didn’t want to let go of him, either, the two of them continued swaying, out of time with the music but in sync with each other.
That’s when the screaming started.
Amber and Drew stopped dancing, but they didn’t separate yet, and both turned to look in the direction of the sound. Sherri Wackler was standing between Trevor and a woman Amber recognized but whose name she couldn’t recall, and Sherri looked terrified out of her mind. She kept whipping her head around as she screamed, wild-eyed and frantic, as if she was searching for a way to escape but couldn’t find it. Everyone was looking at her, concerned and confused, and the DJ cut the music and asked if there was a doctor present.
“I think that’s your cue,” Amber said.
She and Drew stepped away from each other and ran over to Sherri.
“I don’t know what’s wrong,” Trevor said when they got there. “We were talking, and suddenly, well, this happened.”
Before the three of them could do anything, the other woman—her name was Julie, Amber now remembered—stepped forward and took hold of Sherri’s hands. “It’s OK, honey. Everything’s all right, you’re going to be fine. We’re going to help—”
Sherri shrieked and hit Julie with a solid right cross to the jaw. She staggered back and might have fallen if Drew hadn’t stepped forward to catch her.
Sherri stopped screaming when Drew caught Julie, and her brow furrowed as if she was confused by what he’d done. Trevor took advantage of her distraction to move forward and grab her from behind. He managed to pin her arms to her sides, and while she thrashed back and forth like a wild woman, she wasn’t able to break his grip. She tried slamming the back of her head into Trevor’s face, but he was ready for that, and he leaned to one side or the other to avoid her blows. She then stomped down on his foot with one of her high heels. He let out an exclamation of pain, but he didn’t release her.
Amber hurried over to Drew and took over steadying Julie so he could deal with Sherri. “What’s wrong with her?” she asked.
“I think the same thing that happened to Sean and Jerry is also happening to her. She appears to be experiencing some kind of hallucination, one far worse than anything we saw, and if it keeps up, I’m afraid her heart will give out, just as Sean’s and Jerry’s did.”
The sound of slow clapping came from behind them, and Amber turned to see Greg approaching. Sherri still thrashed in Trevor’s arms, but everyone else in the room stood and watched as Greg came over to join them.
“You always were so smart, Drew,” he said. “But if you were really smart, you’d know how to snap Sherri out of her little trance. But that’s not the sort of thing they cover in graduate school, is it?”
Drew’s eyes narrowed. “You did this to her, didn’t you?”
He executed a mocking bow. “Guilty as charged.”
“How?” Drew demanded. “Did you spike her drink with some sort of psychotropic drug?”
He laughed. “Nothing so crude! You don’t need to use drugs when you have mojo, and I’ve got some serious mojo, my friend.”
Although Sherri was no longer screaming, she continued to struggle. Trevor still fought to hold on to her as he turned his attention to Greg. “Are you saying you did this psychically?”
His smile held a cold, cruel edge. “You’re the paranormal investigator, Trevor. You tell me.”
Julie was steady once more, so Amber let go of her and
stepped to Drew’s side, keeping her gaze fixed on Greg.
“You were there with us the night the Lowry House burned down,” she said. “And something happened to you, something that changed you. Gave you powers. You caused the hallucinations we experienced, and you killed Sean and Jerry.” She wasn’t sure how she was aware of all this, but she knew it was true.
Drew stepped forward, his hands balled into fists at his sides. She hoped he wouldn’t take a swing at Greg. If he possessed the power to kill with his thoughts, what could fists do against him?
“Whatever you’re doing to Sherri, stop it now, before she suffers any permanent damage,” Drew said.
Greg’s tone was one of amusement, but his gaze was devoid of emotion as he spoke. “Why should I? Because it’s wrong to hurt people? Or maybe because you’re asking me as a favor since we used to be such good friends in high school? Let me tell you how this is going to play out. Sherri is going to stay trapped in her private little nightmare until her heart explodes, and you and Trevor are going to watch it happen, knowing that there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Unless, of course, you manage to think of something clever in the next few minutes.”
Trevor’s face clouded over with anger, and Amber knew that if he hadn’t been restraining Sherri, he’d probably have attacked Greg. From the way Drew’s jaw muscles bunched, she knew he felt the same way but was fighting to maintain control of his emotions. Most likely, he feared that any move he might make against Greg would only provoke him into doing something worse. Then she realized something.
“You didn’t say anything about me.”
Greg turned to her, still smiling. “That’s because you’re not going to be staying. It’s getting a bit stuffy in here, and I thought you might like to come with me and get a little fresh air.”
He gestured, and she found herself walking toward him. She didn’t want to, but while she tried to stop herself, her body moved of its own accord until she was standing next to him.
Drew took a step forward, but Greg held up a warning finger and waggled it from side to side.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you—not unless you want Amber to die of a brain aneurysm before you can take another step.”
Drew stopped and glared at Greg, then looked at her, his gaze softening, and she saw the frustration mingled with regret in his eyes. She wanted to tell him that it was OK, that she’d be all right, but she couldn’t speak. Greg slipped an arm around her waist, and despite his control over her body, she shuddered at his touch. If he noticed or cared, he didn’t remark on it.
Sherri’s exertions had become less energetic, and she was struggling to breathe.
“We have to do something!” Trevor said. “I don’t think she can last much longer!”
“Well, this has been fun,” Greg said, “but Amber and I should be going. And since I want to end the evening on a high note . . .” He gestured, and everyone else in the hall began screaming. Some clapped their hands to their heads, while others ran around or attacked those standing closest to them.
Greg surveyed the chaos he’d created with satisfaction. He then turned back to Drew and Trevor, and although he didn’t raise his voice, somehow he had no trouble being heard over the terrified screams that filled the hall.
“You might find a way to break Sherri’s trance before her heart gives out, but good luck saving everyone else.” His lips drew away from his teeth in an expression that bore only the faintest resemblance to a smile. “Come along, Amber.”
He started walking toward the door, his arm still curled around her waist, and she went with him, her body moving as if she were a puppet and he the puppeteer. The screams of the reunion attendees followed them as they left the hall, and she wanted to glance back at Drew one more time, but her body refused to cooperate.
She felt something warm and wet sliding down her cheeks and realized she was crying.
FIFTEEN
Drew and Trevor stood in the midst of madness. Their former classmates, as well as the DJ, were lost in whatever nightmarish scenarios were playing out within their minds, transforming the hotel ballroom into a bedlam. People stood shrieking at the tops of their lungs, while others punched, kicked, and bit anyone who came too near. Still others pounded their heads against the floor, walls, or tables, as if attempting to drive out the horrible images that had invaded their heads. Some just sat or lay on the floor, weeping, and Drew found their despair heartbreaking.
Members of the hotel staff arrived, undoubtedly drawn by the racket, but instead of entering, they stood in the doorway, gaping in shock. He understood their reaction. None of them was trained to deal with a crisis of this magnitude, and they had no idea how to react or what was expected of them. Soon one of them would think to call 911, and police and EMTs would arrive—but not in time to help. He didn’t know how long it would take for the terror generated by the hallucinations to cause cardiac arrest—he assumed that the time would vary somewhat from one individual to another—but he doubted that he and Trevor had more than a couple of minutes before people started dropping dead around them. They couldn’t afford to wait for the EMTs to get there.
“What can we do?” Trevor had to shout to be heard over the noise of the crowd.
While Drew specialized in working with patients who’d suffered severe trauma, he had no experience in helping people who were in the process of being traumatized, let alone people who were in the grip of some sort of psychically generated illusions. Hell, he could barely bring himself to believe such a thing was possible. But if he was going to have any chance of saving these people’s lives, he had to put aside his doubts.
And as difficult as it was, he also had to put aside his concern for Amber. It had taken every ounce of willpower he had not to interfere as Greg left with her, and he’d only been able to do it because he’d feared that Greg would make good on his threat to use his abilities to hurt her. He told himself that she was safe, that if Greg had wanted to harm her, he’d have done so already, and he’d have done it in front of Drew and Trevor. But just because Greg hadn’t harmed her physically didn’t mean he didn’t intend to hurt her in other ways, and with his abilities, he could put her through the tortures of the damned simply by manipulating her mind. And if, as it had appeared, Greg was also able to control her body, there were other things he could do to her or force her to do against her will. Bad things . . .
Stop it! he told himself. This was what Greg wanted, to keep him confused and distracted while people died around him. And he refused to let that happen.
“We need to shock them somehow,” he shouted to Trevor. “Jolt them out of their hallucinatory state.”
“What, you mean, like, slap them or something? No way we could smack all of them in time. We could turn the music back on and crank it all the way up.”
He shook his head. “We need a sudden, strong jolt, and it needs to be something that will affect everyone at once.” A thought came to him. “Didn’t you say you quit smoking recently?”
“A couple weeks ago, why?”
If Trevor was like most people trying to quit . . . “You still carry your lighter?”
Trevor frowned. “Yeah, but I don’t use it.”
He felt a flicker of hope. “Get it out!” Without waiting for Trevor to respond, he rushed to the cash bar and grabbed the first bottle of booze he could get his hands on, Bacardi, as it turned out. As he headed back to Trevor, a man came at him—someone he didn’t recognize from high school, and he wondered if it was someone’s spouse—eyes wide with terror, teeth bared, hands outstretched as if he intended to fasten them around his neck. Before he could reach him, Trevor rushed forward, slammed into his side, and sent him sprawling. The man fell, then sprang to his feet, but instead of renewing his attack, his expression went slack, and the front of his pants darkened as his bladder emptied.
Drew forced himself to look away, and he ran to the nearest table and splashed Bacardi onto the tablecloth. “Light it up!” he told Trevor.
“Are you nuts? That—” Trevor broke off, grinning. “That’s brilliant!”
He flicked on his lighter and touched the flame to a sodden patch of cloth. It caught fire at once, and the flames spread. He didn’t stand and watch; he ran to another table, splashed alcohol onto it, then moved on to the next. Trevor followed, igniting tablecloths as they went.
He feared that some of the people might end up stumbling into one of the fires in their delusionary state, but with any luck . . .
The heat and smoke from the table fires activated the room’s sprinkler system. Streams of freezing cold water jetted down from the ceiling, dousing the flames and, more important, soaking everyone in the room, Trevor and him included.
As if a psychic switch had been thrown some-where, the screaming cut off, and everyone stopped moving. They stood, sat, or lay motionless for several moments while water rained down on them, and then they began to look around in confusion. Drew wasn’t certain, but at a quick glance, it appeared that everyone was still alive. He saw Sherri Wackler over in one corner, looking as dazed as everyone else but otherwise unharmed.
Trevor laughed and clapped him on the back. “Hot damn! We did it!”
He smiled. “Looks that way.” He turned to Trevor and pointed at the lighter still gripped in his friend’s hand. “Good thing old habits die hard.”
Trevor laughed again. “Guess so.”
But the triumph of the moment faded, and he took hold of Trevor’s arm and started pulling him toward the door. “C’mon, we need to get out of here before the police arrive.”
“We’re going to go get Amber, aren’t we?” Trevor said.
He nodded. “And I think I know where Greg’s taken her.”
Still shivering and soaked from the sprinklers, they got into Trevor’s Prius and were backing out of its parking space as the emergency crews arrived. The police and EMTs parked in front of the hotel’s main entrance, while Drew and Trevor pulled out onto the street unnoticed.
Ghost Trackers Page 19
