by Stuart Jaffe
He opened the door and started knocking on the walls. At the first dull hit, he turned to Drummond. "Why the hell am I doing it this way? Get in there. This isn't holy ground. Check to see where that witch is."
"You got it." Drummond raised his hand in a mock salute and his face locked in anguish.
From out front, Sandra yelled but Max couldn't tell if it was a yell of someone being defeated or raging against her enemy. Drummond cocked his head and held his lips tight. He looked like he fought against vomiting. Then he shook the whole thing off.
"She's okay," he said. "But let's not dawdle."
"I'm waiting for you. Get in there."
Drummond stuck his head into the wall and pulled it back out fast. "She's in there. Looks like Ernest never made it out here."
Max banged on the wall, hoping to break open a hole big enough to grab the body. Again and again he smashed his fist at the wall, but this old building had been made of wood, not drywall, and he only managed to bloody his knuckles.
"You forgetting something?" Drummond said.
"Damn it," Max said and dashed out of the office. In a flash, he returned with the shovel he had carried from the car. All his fisticuffs with the wall had loosened enough dirt and dust that he could see the seam where two boards met. Using the shovel like a crowbar, he shoved the blade in and pushed on the handle.
Sandra screamed out something, but Max deciphered only a few swears. He snatched a glimpse of Drummond. The ghost's face scrunched tight like he suffered a migraine.
Come on, Max, come on. Neither of them can take much more of this.
Max put all his weight behind the handle and pushed. The wood creaked and the rusting nails whined. He shoved the handle harder until a section of the wall leaned out. Sliding the shovel deeper, Max thought of his wife's pain, and he roared, pressing the handle with all the strength he could find.
The wall gave way, wood splintering and snapping. As the shovel lost hold of anything to grip, Max stumbled forward into the wall. The stench of ancient decay poured out of the new opening.
Max stuck his nose in the crook of his arm, yet the polluted air still managed to seep into his nostrils. With his free hand, he tore down those sections of wood still clinging to the wall. He picked up the flashlight and set it on the office desk, the beam focused on the ceiling to cast dim light everywhere — enough to see the body.
Drummond collapsed across the desk. Crap. The wind picked up, its howl growing louder. The floorboards rattled. Though Max couldn't hear the horrid shrieks of the witches, his heart quaked at the thought of Sandra stuck outside, suffering, open to attack.
Only way is through. Max looked in the open wall.
The witch's body appeared like the statue of a woman caught in terrible pain. Her mouth open wide in a vicious scream, while her hands appeared to claw at the wall. A line across her neck marked where Dr. Ernest had slit her throat, and on her chest, the dark lines of symbols carved into her pale skin. Dust and grime covered the corpse, along with rat droppings. But no sign of the little animals gnawing at her.
Max raised the shovel. He widened his legs into a firm stance, in case the witch's eyes snapped open or she tried to take the shovel or she had some other magical ability he never knew. Holding the shovel like a poker, he shoved it at the witch's body. As if made of precariously balanced sand, the entire body crumbled into a pile of dirt on the floor. A long hiss of foul air released from her.
The walls, the floors, the howling wind — all ceased.
Wiping the sweat from his eyes, Max rushed out of the office, up the main aisle of the church proper, and straight out the doorway. Sandra lay on the ground, curled in a ball. He hurried to her side, listening for a breath, hoping to see the rise and fall of her chest. She groaned, and Max had never heard a sound so joyous in his life. She had survived.
Drummond weaved towards them like a drunk. "My head's killing me."
"Where are the witches?" Max asked.
Drummond barely lifted his head. "Gone. With their High Priestess destroyed, there's no point to being here."
Max wondered why they didn't retaliate, but for the moment, he turned all his worry to Sandra. "Put your arms around me, hon." He lifted her up and carried her to the car. It hadn't seemed so far away when they first arrived, but Sandra passed out and her slumbering weight had him breathing heavily by the time they reached the car.
Sliding her into the back seat, he called out, "Drummond? Come on."
"I'm right here." He sat in the passenger seat.
On a normal night, Drummond popping into Max's car like that would have caused a jolt of surprise, but exhaustion overwhelmed such simple reactions. Max merely nodded and got behind the wheel. He put the key in and froze.
"What's wrong?" Drummond asked.
"The witches left us."
"We did get rid of the reason they came."
"But they came to stop us, and they failed. So they float away? They don't want to get even or anything? I thought these were evil ghosts. That seems wrong."
"What are you thinking?"
"Those ghosts came here for a reason and now they've left for a similar reason. We're not done. Leed said he took care of his witches, and we've taken care of Ernest's."
"But there's still mine."
Max turned the ignition and revved the engine. "We've got to get to Patricia before they do. We're going to have to get into the Federal Building."
Chapter 17
By the time Max reached the office building, Sandra had recovered enough to stand on her own. With some assistance, she negotiated the stairs, and when they entered the office, she dropped to the couch, panting and perspiring. She offered a feeble smile and gulped down the water Max handed her.
"You want to see a doctor?" he asked.
As she drank, she shook her head. She handed the glass back and patted her sweating forehead. "I think I'll rest here for a little. Then I'll be okay."
"You sure? You don't look so good."
"I'll be fine. It's not the first time I've been attacked by a ghost."
Drummond popped his head through the bookcase. "This was a whole coven of ghosts, doll. You ought to be real careful. Take things slow."
Sandra licked the water from her lips. "That's why I need to rest here. I'll be back to my full strength soon enough."
Something seemed off. Max couldn't figure it out, but he had the sense that all these various strands were not coming together the way they should. And now Sandra was one of those strands. But she had gone a few rounds in an unfair fight, so maybe it made sense that she acted a bit different than he would expect.
Drummond snapped his fingers in front of Max's face. "Wake up. Sun's rising and we've got work to do. Federal Building will be opening up in a few hours. We need a plan."
"Unless the Federal government has invented and installed ghost detectors, I figured we'd walk in there and you'd look around. You don't have a problem checking out the walls of a government building, too, do you?"
"Believe me. Those are far from holy ground."
Max started to chuckle at Drummond's comment but hesitated. "If the building isn't holy ground, then the ghosts of the witch coven can get in there every bit as easily as you."
"You're just getting that now?"
Sandra placed her head on the arm of the couch, swung her legs up, and closed her eyes. "You boys have fun with that. I've got to sleep."
Max dabbed her damp brow with the cuff of his shirt and then stepped into the hall. When Drummond followed, Max walked to the head of the stairs and sat. Whispering harshly, Max said, "You've got to go to the Federal building now. I can't get in until they open, but you know those witches are already there."
"Calm down. They don't know where Patricia is. That was part of the whole point of having Ernest, Leed, and I do our cursing separately."
"Then how did they know where we were?"
"Because Ernest and Leed are dead. The coven probably tracked down their ghost
s and forced the information out of them."
"Doesn't that mean they'll come after you, too?"
Drummond scratched his cheek even though he no longer grew stubble. "I'll have to be at my ready. In the meantime, you need to go find Patricia's body."
"You're not coming?"
"If I go with you, the coven ghosts will have an easier time finding us. I'm only invisible to living people. The ghosts will see me standing out."
"I can't go alone. How would I explain to all of law enforcement that I'm banging on their walls looking for a dead body — oh, and I only know about it because of a ghost! They'd lock me up."
A door opened and the old lady stepped into the hall. She peered up at Max's office, her laborious movements painful to watch. Then she turned her head and part of her body towards Max. She scowled, grabbed her newspaper from her doormat, and returned to her apartment.
Drummond tipped his head back. "I think she's warming up to you."
"Well, I'm not warming up to this idea. I won't have the access I need to find Patricia, and if I do manage to find her, there's no way I can do anything about it with all the police around. So either you go with me or we've got to come up with another plan."
"But the witches —"
"I don't see how we can do anything about that, so we can't worry about it," Max said. Drummond had the look of a conman caught in a lie and straining to find a way out. It hit Max right away. "Are you afraid to see her?"
"Don't be foolish. I'm not afraid of her. But I do worry about me."
"You think it might cause you to turn?"
"Don't you?"
Max weighed it all out in his head. "I'm sorry, but I don't see another option. We've got to finish this. Ernest and Leed's witches have been destroyed. If we don't do this now, what was the point? Why did they die? Even worse, what kind of power will this coven of ghosts have?"
"Okay, okay. I know. You don't have to be a pest about it."
Max held back his tongue. He could say nothing that would make a difference. At length, he climbed down the stairs, knowing Drummond would follow close behind.
He decided to walk the whole way. It was only a handful of blocks, but the distance ate up some of the time until the building opened, and more importantly, it gave Drummond a chance to prepare. It also meant Max had time to prepare as well. And he needed it.
When they reached the entrance on the corner of 2nd and Main, a line of people waiting for the place to open had already formed. Some held simple forms that needed filing; some held folders packed with paperwork intended to prove their innocence or the guilt of others. Some joked with each other; some pouted, knowing they would be paying a fine no matter what excuses they gave a judge. Max got on the end of the line, leaned against the cool concrete wall, crossed his arms, and watched cars enter and exit the parking structure across the street.
Drummond scanned up and down the street before sidling next to a cocky-looking young man complaining about jury duty to anybody who would listen. Drummond passed his hand through the man and watched the jerk shiver. Max smirked.
"No witches here, by the way. They might be inside but I don't get the feeling they're around."
Max wanted to answer, but the idea of being hauled off for talking to himself like a crazy person didn't sit well. Thankfully, the doors opened and the line began to move. It went slowly though. A few feet inside the entrance was a security check point similar to an airport — guards, scanners, and walk-through detection equipment.
Drummond bounced around the line. "Come on, come on, come on." He zipped to the head of the line, peeking over the heads of those already inside. "This is ridiculous. Look, I'm going in and see if I can find her. When you get inside, call for me and I'll let you know what I've discovered."
"Wait," Max said, but Drummond slipped through the wall and those in line all stopped to stare at him. "Sorry," he muttered, garnering odd looks.
Security was set up in a long, white hallway with plenty of windows. Once they checked his ID and he passed through the detector, he walked into another hall. This one made him think of every institutional building he had ever walked through — university administrations, hospital wings, and city councils. Utilitarian and boring.
"Max!" Max glanced down and saw Drummond's head sticking out of the floor. "I found her."
Max walked to a quiet corner and pretended to make a call on his cellphone. "That's good to hear. Where are you?"
Drummond rose through the floor until he stood next to Max. "She's down in the basement. Like I said she would be. Near the boiler."
"I don't know how to get there." Max checked around to make sure nobody watched him. "And I don't think it'd be wise to ask anybody."
"Don't bother. She's behind a thick wall of brick. You'll need a sledgehammer to break through."
"Can't you do anything? The last one crumbled from just a touch."
Max glanced up and saw the angry eyes of the ghost. Drummond had used all his inner-strength to face the corpse of Patricia Welling, no way would Max convince him to touch her. Besides, even if he would do so, Max wasn't so sure he wanted Drummond to go back down there. His face had taken on a horrified look — the look of a ghost about to lose control.
"Forget it," Max said. "I shouldn't have asked."
"No, you shouldn't have."
"There's no way we can get to her without being caught." A uniformed policeman strolling by, turned his head at the word caught. "Let's get out of here," Max said.
Max pocketed his cellphone and headed outside. Drummond followed, swirling around Max like a hawk circling prey. "What the hell are you doing? Leaving? You made me come out here. You made me go find her. And now you want to leave?"
"Calm down," Max whispered through gritted teeth.
"Do you have any clue what I went through? That wasn't easy to do. I had to see her. You understand? I had to see what I did to her. I've spent decades trying to forget about her and you not only make me relive it all, but you forced me to go see her. For what? This isn't right. Not right at all."
As Max stepped onto the sidewalk and headed back to the office, he said, "I'm sorry. But we had to be sure."
"I was plenty sure before. You just wouldn't believe me."
Max halted. "I'm sorry. Get it? I'm sorry. You need to calm down and think through this rationally."
"I don't feel very rational. Not when I've been spun and hung like this."
More odd looks from pedestrians. Shaking it off, Max stormed away. "Look, I can't change what happened but at least we know she's there and we know the coven hasn't gotten to her yet. All we have to do now is figure out how to clean this up. There's got to be something we can do."
"I got a few suggestions for you, but I don't think you'll like where I put the baseball bat."
Max didn't bother saying more. What was the point when his own anger seemed to fuel Drummond's further? Besides, he had to think. If he couldn't come up with a solution, then Drummond would be right — he would have revisited this horrible event in his life for no reason at all. Worse, though he did not mention it, he thought the witch coven ghosts would have the Federal building surrounded by the end of the day.
"Tell me more about the actual curse," Max said.
"You're suddenly an expert on curses?"
"I'm trying to get more information. The more I know about all this, the easier it'll be to figure things out. Maybe one of us might catch something in what you say, put some more pieces together."
"What we really need is a witch of our own."
Max nearly tripped. "You're right. That's exactly what we need."
"Don't even think about her. Are you kidding? Have you gone soft in the brain?"
"You know any other witches that might be persuaded to help us?"
Drummond frowned. "You destroyed her practice, turned her into an alcoholic, and caused her downfall with Hull. Why would she even think about helping us?"
"She's not part of their coven, for st
arters."
"And she tortured you. Did you forget that part?"
"What other choice do we have? Unless you'll go face Patricia's corpse all by yourself."
Though he clearly didn't agree, Drummond nodded. "Okay. Dr. Connor's it is."
Chapter 18
As they neared the office, Max's confidence waned. Bothered by Drummond's acquiescence, he began to second-guess himself. After all, to think Dr. Connor, the Hull's personal witch, would help him out sounded ridiculous. Except that they had helped each other out in the past. Usually through coercion, but help nonetheless. That was the key — he needed some leverage.
Consumed with these thoughts, Max failed to notice Mr. Modesto standing by the stairwell entrance. "Mr. Porter. Once again, it appears that you are failing our employer."
Max put his hands on his hips and sighed. "And how am I doing that?"
Modesto strolled toward Max, his expensive shoes clicking on the sidewalk, arrogance oozing off of his stoic face. "You have shown an appalling lack of regard for our employer and your assignment, but you are mistaken to think you're untouchable."
"I've been trying to find your missing bell, but —"
"Your excuses no longer interest me. I have lost all tolerance for you."
Drummond laughed. "He says that like he ever had any."
"Let me make this clear enough, Mr. Porter. Tomorrow evening, I shall meet you in your office and you will have that handbell. Time has run out. If you fail to show up with that bell, then our employer will be most displeased, and I suggest you and your wife uncover the most rapid exit from Winston-Salem." Modesto's lips part to reveal the tips of his sharp teeth. "Perhaps North Carolina, as well."
Max wanted to act tough, but his face twisted in an effort to hold back a pollen-induced sneeze. Three sneezes later, he said, "How many times are you going to threaten me a year? It's boring."
"These are not threats. These are guarantees. And of all people, you should know full well how much I relish the moment our employer allows me to fulfill those guarantees. That moment is coming. Fail us with the handbell, and I know there won't be any hesitations left."
