by Tim McGregor
The front door of the house opened and a big man in a black coat stepped outside. It wasn’t Napier. A body guard? Billie grabbed her bike and rode away. She glanced back over her shoulder. The man looked up and watched her glide off down the avenue.
Rolling down Aberdeen, she cut across to Queen before slowing to a complete stop. There was no way she could do this alone. She needed help and, as much as she hated to admit it, there was only one person who could help in this matter. The trouble was she had no way of contacting him. Not through normal means anyway. Swinging her leg over, she laid the bike onto the curb and shook her arms and rotated her neck to loosen up. Taking two deep breaths, she opened herself up to the other side.
The world went quiet. A few last crickets chirped in the night, oblivious to the change in the weather and the cooling temperature that would kill them. Billie opened her eyes and the dead became visible. Pale phantoms slipped along the quiet street or rising straight up out of the earth, others appearing in the windows of the houses around her.
Footfalls rang off the pavement. A figure shambled out from behind a hedgerow, tottering about on shaky knees as if drunk. A man dressed in coveralls and a squared cap like a factory worker from another era. His arms were gone, both the right and left limbs sheared off below the elbows as if they’d been caught in some terrible engine.
Billie watched the ghost amble forward, raising his blighted stumps for her to see as if she was somehow to blame for his misfortune. Blood dripped from the torn flesh, spattering droplets on the sidewalk.
“Have you seen them?” he said to her. “There lying about somewheres. If we can find ‘em, maybe they can doctorfy them back on.”
Images popped into Billie’s head, flashbulb moments from the man’s life. A great clanking machine, a careless moment, a sleeve hooked on a gear and the man’s awful screams. She pushed the images away.
“Don’t come any closer,” she said. “I need to find someone.”
“We need to find these hands of mine first, girly. Then we’ll find what you lost.”
“Stop,” Billie said to the dead man. “Your hands are gone and they can’t be stitched back.”
The man let the stumps fall to his sides. “It’s just not fair,” he mumbled.
“It isn’t fair but I can’t do anything about that.”
The man raised his eyes to her. “Who did you lose?”
“Slippery guy,” Billie said. “But he ought to show up as a big blip on your end. His name’s Gantry.”
The man winced. “You sure? That man’s trouble and then some.”
“I know. But I need to find him and you’re going to help me look.”
He sighed, as if displeased with the chore he’d been tasked, then he limped north. “This way. He isn’t far.”
~
Kaitlin waited for the elevator, too tired to even feel bad about not taking the stairs. The condo she and Kyle shared was only on the second floor and she always took the stairs. Tonight was different. The day had run long and she was already exhausted from poor sleep over the last two nights. Dreams, weird and unsettling, had kept her wake through the night. She rarely remembered her dreams anyway and the same held true for the nightmares. A hazy image of a woman lingered in her memory, trying to coax Kaitlin down into a cellar. There was something the woman wanted to show her but whatever it had been was lost along with the rest of her dream.
The bell dinged and Kaitlin rode the elevator up one floor and unlocked the door to her condo.
“Kyle? You home?”
There was no answer. She dropped her bag by the door and turned on the lights.
A mess greeted her. Tumbled at one end of the dining room table was a scattering of magazines and unopened mail, this morning’s coffee mugs and an empty water bottle. It was as if everything on the table had been swept to the floor.
What the hell had Kyle done? Her boyfriend could be a slob and a lazy bastard when he wanted to be but this was too much even for him. She was going to tear him a new one when he got home.
The dining room table was bare save for one object. The spirit board lay positioned in the centre of the table, the broken planchette off to one side. The four chairs straightened around it, the game ready to be played.
Kyle. The idiot was playing some kind of joke on her. Or this was his passive-aggressive way of saying he disapproved of having the game in their home. Kaitlin bent down to clean up the mess, already crafting the bark she was going to give him when he came home. The knock on the door startled her.
“At this hour?” she grumbled to herself. The last thing she needed was a pop-in visit. It had to be one of the ladies. Jen or Billie or Tammy, needing to talk. She opened the door without looking through the peephole first.
The Paranormal Trackers stood in the hallway.
“What are you guys doing here?”
“We came to talk,” Justin said. “You got a minute?”
“Not now, guys. It’s late and it’s been a long day.”
“It’s really important,” Owen muttered.
Kaitlin hesitated. Something seemed off about the two men. With their hoods pulled up and partly shading their eyes, they looked like shady dope peddlers looking to deal.
“It won’t take long,” Justin said, brushing past her into the apartment. Owen scuttled in behind him.
“Make it quick.” Kaitlin made an exaggerated display of looking at her watch. “My boyfriend will be home in two minutes.”
Justin looked around the condo unit. With his hood up and his hands in the front pockets, he looked like he was casing her home. “Nice place,” he said.
“Thanks. What do you want?”
“Look at that,” said Owen. He gestured to the dining room table where the spirit board lay squared up. “You been playing?”
“Not really.”
Justin looked at her. “You stole my board.”
“You can have it back,” Kaitlin said. “I shouldn’t have taken it in the first place.”
He nodded his head slowly. “No. It should stay here. With you.”
A low-wattage tingle went up Kaitlin’s spine. There was something off about the two men. A weird sort of energy coming off them and tainting her home. “Are you two high?”
“Constantly,” Justin said. His attempt to smile came off as more of a leer.
Owen wandered through the room, scoping out everything. Justin kept his eyes on Kaitlin, his leer locked in place.
“So,” Kaitlin said. “What’s up?”
“The Paranormal Trackers are back in action,” Justin said. “We’re heading back out into the field for another investigation. We came to get our newest team member.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
Justin took a step closer. “But you have to come, Kaitlin.”
“You’re our medium,” Owen added.
The creeping tingle in her spine was a full alarm now. Kaitlin took a step toward the door. “Where are you going now?”
“Back to the Murder House.” Justin’s leer melted away. “But this time we’re gonna do it right.”
“What if that guy catches you again?”
“We’ll hide the car. That asshole won’t know we’re there.”
Owen nodded at her dress. “You should put on some jeans or something. We might get messy in there.”
“Sorry, guys. I don’t think I’d be a good fit for the Trackers. I’m no medium.”
“Sure you are,” Owen said. “You just need to test yourself in a place that’s actually haunted.”
“Besides,” Justin added, “there’s someone we want you to meet. She knows the place. She’s gonna show us around.”
“Who?”
“Just come meet her.” Justin inched closer. “You’re gonna like her, Kaitlin. We told her all about you.”
Kaitlin quelled the panic rising in her throat. The front door was ten strides behind her. Justin was five strides in front. Could she outrun him to the hallway?<
br />
“She really wants to meet you.”
She began a countdown in her head, ready to bolt for the door.
She didn’t need to. A thud at the door froze everyone and then Kyle banged his way inside, a massive bag of popcorn in one hand.
“Hey babe,” he said. Then noticing the two men in the room, he said “Hi.”
Kaitlin ran to him, locking her arm around his elbow. “You’re home.”
Kyle nodded to the two visitors. “I’m Kyle.”
“Oh this is Justin and Owen,” she said. “The Paranormal Tracker guys I told you about.”
Her boyfriend smiled. “The ghost hunters? Wicked. You guys want a beer?”
“Nah,” Justin said through clenched teeth. “We were just leaving.” He nodded at his friend and the two men grumbled a goodbye and went out the door.
Kyle looked at her. “What did those guys want?”
“A psychic.”
“Right.” He lumbered toward the kitchen. “You gonna join the team?”
“No.” She turned the bolt on the door, locking it. “Don’t think I’m cut out for the job.”
42
THE CROSS IN the chancel was sixteen feet of solid Old World ash, suspended in the air with thick iron chains. Lit up by the glow of a dozen candles, it hung upside down over the altar. Gantry pondered the enormous piece, wondering what would happen if the chains were to snap. It would, he guessed, come straight down and crush whoever was standing before the altar. The priest, most likely. No big loss in this instance.
“Fancy digs,” Gantry said, his voice echoing up into the vaulted ceiling of the church. “Must have set you back quite a bit, eh Szandy?”
“We have means,” said the man on far side of the chancel.
“Another Ponzi scheme?” Gantry laughed. “Or you back to selling real estate?”
“Our numbers are growing by the week, Gantry. Our parishioners are well shod and very generous.”
Gantry looked over the old church, until recently home to United Presbyterian. A new, and very different sort of worship filled its pews now. “Bit of a change from the drop-outs and social dipshits you usually attract then?”
The other man slipped a ribbon into the pages of the book he was consulting. Clad entirely in black, the only colour the man wore came from the heavy medallion hung from a chain around his neck. His name was Szandor LeDuke. Like most of the people who crossed paths with the Englishman, he was not happy to see John Gantry. “I’m afraid I have nothing to tell you, Gantry.”
“Come on, mate. This shite has your fingerprints all over it. You must have heard something.”
“I can tell you without question that neither the church nor any of its members had anything to do with that incident.” Szandor closed the heavy book and placed it inside the ambry. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have a service to prepare for.”
“Three deaths in as many months,” Gantry said. “All found with pentagrams or runes on the wall. And this all slips by under your radar?”
“Nothing slips by my radar.”
“The filth came to talk to you about it, didn’t they?”
Reaching into the ambry, Szandor brought out a large dagger with a long hilt. “And I told them what I told you.”
“Ten quid says they’re building a case against you as we speak.” Gantry settled back onto a pew and looked up at the big inverted cross. “ I’d be worried if I were you, Szandy.”
The man in black bristled. “Let them try. Their case will fall apart like a house of cards.”
“Maybe. But if they start nosing around, they might dig up other nasty stuff on you. Like what happened to your poor sister.”
“Goodbye, Gantry.”
“Don’t be a spoilsport, Szandy.” Gantry shook a cigarette from the pack and looked for his lighter. “I’m just getting comfortable here.”
A velvet rope hung in the chancel and the man in black reached up to give it a gentle tug. The soft echo of a bell sounded from somewhere within the church and immediately the door to the sacristy opened. Four men filed out and stood at attention near the transept. They were big men with thick necks, clad in black like their vicar.
Szandor LeDuke smiled at the Englishman. “Maybe I could tell the police about you. Or, better yet, I could detain you until they arrive. How many countries are you wanted in now?”
“I lost count.”
A click echoed through the church, emanating from the front entrance. Everyone turned to see what it was.
“That was fast,” Gantry said.
The figure in the doorway strode up the aisle into the warm candlelight. She looked over the men assembled there for a familiar face.
“Gantry?”
The Englishman sat up. “Hullo Billie.”
Billie stopped halfway up the aisle, looking over the tableau. The man in black and the four sentries to the side. The enormous cross suspended upside down over the altar. Gantry lounging in a pew, smoking.
“I need to talk to you,” she said.
The four sentries lumbered forward but Szandor motioned for them to wait. He snarled at the man in the pew. “Gantry, what is this?”
“Friend of mine. Her name’s Billie. Billie, meet Szandor. Head of the Church of Satan.”
Any other time, she would have laughed or guffawed at the notion but not now, amid the candles and the strange men and that awful inverted cross. “Gantry,” she hissed. “Let’s go.”
Szandor gave a flick of his hand and the four sentries marched down the side aisle of pews, surrounding Gantry and cutting off the exit. The man in black reached into his jacket pocket and produced a phone. “Your friend,” he said to Billie, “is going to be detained for a few minutes until the police arrive.”
Gantry laughed. “Don’t be an arsehole, Szandy.”
“The church needs funding, John. And there’s still a hefty reward for your arrest in three countries.”
Billie watched the big men move through the pews to block the doors. She had clearly walked into the middle of a bad situation but that always seemed to be the case with Gantry. There was something more, she realized as a cold gust of air passed over her. Something else moved about inside the church.
Gantry dropped his cigarette to the floor and ground it into the red carpeting with his shoe. “Call off your apes.”
“Better get comfortable.” Szandor dialled the number. “You’re going to be a while.”
Billie glanced at Gantry and saw the concern creeping into his face. They were outnumbered and, by the looks of the sentries, out-muscled. “It’s okay, Gantry. Nadine wants the police to come.”
The man in black bristled at the name. Gantry turned to Billie. “Who?”
“His sister,” she said. Then she looked at the vicar in black. “The one he murdered.”
“Lies,” Szandor hissed. “Gantry’s been spreading rumours again.”
Billie shook her head. “Gantry didn’t tell me. She did.”
A spark crackled through the air. Gantry’s brow shot up in surprise. “Nadine? She’s here.”
“At the altar.” Billie levelled her gaze at the church leader. “She’s always here.”
Szandor’s face blanched a shade paler in the candlelight. He lowered the phone from his ear.
“Let’s get out of here.” She turned on her heel and marched for the church doors. Gantry grinned wide and followed her down the aisle.
The goon up ahead stood blocking the entrance. Billie didn’t slow her stride. “And you,” she said to the thick-necked man in her way. “Your mother is very disappointed in how you turned out.”
Confused, the big man took a step back.
“She wants you to call your father. He’s sick.” Billie brushed the man aside. “Now get out of the way.”
43
“YOU’RE OUT OF your mind, luv.”
Billie took a breath, knowing he’d react this way. “You have to.”
“Bullocks. Let Mockler solve his own bloody cases.
”
“I’m not asking you to help him,” she said. “It’s for me.”
The night had turned cool, an early October wind blowing up from the lake as they walked. The branches of the trees bent and rippled from the gust all the way down the avenue.
Billie stopped before the iron fence and nodded to the big house beyond the gate. “This is it.”
Gantry surveyed the property; the security cameras and locked gate, the intercom on the post. “You want to what? Break in?”
“Break in or get him out,” she said. “Either one will do.”
“It’s a fortress, for Christ’s sake.”
Billie shrugged. “Can’t you just pull some, you know, hocus-pocus on it?”
“What do I look like to you? Batman?” He flicked the lighter but the wind blew from every angle, snuffing out the flame before he could get the smoke lit. “And once you’ve got him out of there, then what?”
“We bring him to the warehouse. Where the bodies were hidden.”
He flung the cigarette away in frustration. “You got a gun to point at his head? Or is he just gonna come along if you ask nicely?”
The wind tussled her hair and she brushed it from her eyes. She pointed at the house. “See those signs on the stone up there? The eye inside the hand? I think that’s to protect himself.”
“Maybe.” Gantry approached the iron fence and kicked at the dead leaves on the ground. “Here. Look at this.”
Moving closer, she could see a length of black tubing running along the ground at the base of the fence. “What is it?”
Gantry produced a jackknife from his pocket, unfolded the blade and cut into the tube. A fine white sand spilled out. Touching it with his finger, he tasted it.
“Salt?”
“You’re right,” he said, standing up. “The bastard knows the dead are after him. He’s protected himself.”
Billie watched him fold the blade away. “Can you get us inside?”
