He finally found a DVD of Gladiator and stuck that in the machine. It started playing, but Pete wasn’t through exercising. He got the last beer out of the fridge and walked outside, standing against the railing to get a little wind and sun. He looked around the apartment courtyard. Nothing with tits by the pool. No tits anywhere. Some guy lifting weights in an apartment across the yard. Window shiny clean, no curtains in sight. Fucker was showing off his precious pecs. He’d rib Mick about that too. Ask if he liked to watch.
Movement in the apartment next door caught his eye. The curtains were half closed, the lights off. In fact, there was a big lock over the doorknob that meant the place was empty. But it wasn’t. There was a skinny broad pacing around in there. He watched her for a moment as she moved around, a big cat in a cage. It was weird.
“Shit!”
He could’ve sworn that the woman was far back in the apartment, but suddenly her long pale face was in the window staring at him with dead eyes. “You fucking bitch!”
He beat it back into Mickey’s and slammed the door. “Crazy fucking bitch.”
“Hi Pete,” Mickey said as he came through the door an hour later.
“ ‘Hi Pete?’ That’s all? Aren’t you surprised to see me?” Pete sat up straighter, fighting off the beer-drowsiness that had set in.
“You parked your SUV in my garage slot,” Mickey explained. “It’s okay,” he added, afraid of the wrath of Pete. “It’s just how I knew you were here.”
“What the fuck is that on your head?”
“Like it? A kid from downstairs gave it to me.”
Pete knew he was lying, but didn’t give a shit. “Who’s the crazy bitch that lives next door? Fucking nutcase.”
“What?”
“The bitch next door. She plastered her face against her window and stared at me like a goddamned zombie. What is she? A crack whore?”
Mickey stared at him a moment then spoke flatly. “She’s dead.”
“She looked dead, fucking fish face.”
“She is dead. Suicide. They took her away a couple days ago.”
Pete sat up. “No shit?”
“No shit.”
“You’re telling me that was a ghost?”
“Yeah.”
“You see it?”
“Me, and a cop, too. He saw her.”
“What’d he say?”
“Not much.”
“He tell anybody?”
“Doubt it. Who’d believe him? And nobody’s been snooping around.”
In covert ops, Pete had seen amazing things, some of which he couldn’t quite understand. This had to be something to do with Project Tingler, but. . . He thought back to other projects he’d heard a little about. The ones involving remote viewing, attempts to increase psychic powers in humans. Maybe Tingler’s the magic bullet. He smiled. “Mick, my man, you’re out of beer. Why don’t you run down and buy us some.”
“Sure, Pete. Are you staying?”
“You got plans?”
“Nope.”
“I’m staying, but if anybody asks, even if you run into Jennifer or my wife, you haven’t seen me. Got it?”
79
Wallis Tilton got Will Banning’s answering machine all afternoon, and he’d hung up every time. This wasn’t something you could leave a message about. Frustrated, he tried again.
It wasn’t bad that Will Banning was unavailable; it had given Tilton time to think back. Memories he’d locked away had returned; memories of seeing companions laid low by Project Tingler. He was supposed to be driven nuts or killed—whatever—in the early days too, but he was a resister. His mind had some kind of built-in defense mechanism that kept anything more than uneasiness from getting through when those bastards played with their microwave machines. He knew with certainty now that what he’d felt before he yanked the cable and the presence of Pete Banning were no coincidence. Tingler had gone into a full-scale experiment phase. Caledonia was isolated. It was perfect.
Will Banning’s phone began to ring.
Tilton thought back to earlier times. Experimenting on the public was nothing new, and only slightly less common than experimenting on service men and women. Decades ago, when the Soviets and the Americans were just beginning to zap each other with electromagnetic radiation, the Navy released bacterial fogs in San Francisco Bay and other major cities. Harmless forms of pneumonia. Only a slight upsurge in cases reported in the areas. They did that and lots more. It all reeked, harmless or not, and the military even admitted to doing a lot of it. In these days of “for your own good” militia might, it was even acceptable. People were willing to sacrifice freedom for their country, for their own safety. What they didn’t get was that, no matter how good the intentions, too much power always led to corruption. Hell of a situation. Now here it was, Power Incarnate, stinking up his own hometown.
“Hello. Will Banning.”
“Hello, Dr. Banning,” he began. He explained just enough to convince Will to meet him in the park on the Crescent, where they wouldn’t be overheard, then hung up and told Doris, who was her own sweet self, that he’d be back soon.
80
Daniel Hatch had finally lost his virginity, but as he said good-bye to the seventy-year-old Jehovah’s Witness, leaning down to plant a pristine kiss on her withered cheek, Dick started nagging him again.
He closed the door. “You made me have intercourse with a woman as old as my mother,” Daniel said. “Older.”
And you liked it!
“You liked it. I thought it was disgusting.”
Let’s go cruise the bars for some young stuff. You’ll like that, too. If we can’t find anything around here, we’ll go down to the Candle Bay boardwalk and pick up a hooker.
“No!” Daniel nearly yelled the word as he turned on the shower and began undressing, anxious to get the smell of ancient sex off him. He felt dirty. Filthy dirty, like he’d broken a taboo.
You’re such a sissy, Daniel. Enjoy the smell. Dick started laughing.
Daniel opened his razor and put a new blade in it for a nice, close shave, then set it on the shower shelf next to his shaving cream. Dick kept laughing, but Daniel paid no attention as he climbed in the shower and let the hot water beat over him.
When are you going to wash me?
Silently, Daniel shampooed his hair.
I want sex. Hurry up. We’ve got to go find a good looking babe who’ll give me a blow job.
“Shut up!” Daniel yanked on Dick, lathering him so roughly it hurt.
Harder. I like it.
Dick grew and spoke of women in pornographic poses, of huge breasts, of bush and tush. He spoke in the most obscene language possible and was almost in total control when Daniel realized he was still holding on to his penis. To Dick. “No,” he said, removing his hand. “You can’t control me.”
Of course I can. You know I can. Say it. Say, I am your slave, Mr. Dick.
“Shut up.” Daniel smoothed shaving cream over his cheeks then picked up the razor and began to shave. Using an old-fashioned safety razor was trickier than the new kinds, but this one had been his father’s and he just couldn’t give it up. Carefully, he ran it along his jawline.
Dick throbbed between his legs, demanding attention in a strident voice. Put that thing down and finish me off! Can’t you finish what you started, Daniel? Sure you can. Give me your hand. Just for a minute. Then you can shave and we’ll go find a girl.
“No.” His hand jerked as he spoke. Blood welled from a sharp stinging cut. “Damn it, Dick. Just shut up.
Dick throbbed harder. I’m the one in charge, Daniel. You shut up and get to work.
Something twinged in his head. He saw red. He really did. He didn’t know that “seeing red” was more than an expression. But it was.
Come on, Daniel. Finish what you started!
“You’re not the boss of me,” he murmured, taking the blade out of the razor, careful not to touch the sharp edges. “You can’t tell me what to do.” Calmly, he
placed the empty razor back on the shelf.
You wouldn’t! Dick screeched as Daniel took him in hand.
“Yes, I would.”
Dick shrank in fear, but Daniel stretched him out taut and put the sharp blade against the pink skin.
It barely hurt at all.
81
David Masters arrived at Will’s house just before six P.M., five minutes ahead of Maggie, who had wanted to stop by the clinic and then her home to change clothes and feed Anteater and the cats.
The cats stood sentry under the table while they ate fish and chips from a little place on Main Street. Will spent most of the meal telling them both about his meeting with Colonel Tilton. Masters, slightly familiar with military antics, held that Tilton made a lot of sense. They finished eating and Masters rose. “Have you unhooked your cable yet?”
“No. I thought I’d let you check out the place first.”
“Good. Let’s see what happens.”
Will led them to the living room. “See how the cats stopped at the entrance to the room? I wonder if they’ll come in when we unplug.”
“We’ll know soon.”
Will turned on the system. “Don’t expect much.”
“Unless you have the senses of a feline,” Maggie added.
They let the news run for nearly ten minutes before David spoke. “I don’t feel a thing.”
“I don’t either,” Maggie said.
Will agreed. “Let’s try the bedroom.” He led them in, feeling stranger and stranger, not in an eerie way, but more along the lines of humiliation.
“Okay.” He turned on the set. “The only experiences I’ve had have been after three A.M.”
“With or without the TV on?”
“With and without. One night nothing happened and that was the only nights the cats followed me in.”
“They must have sensed the absence of whatever is bothering them,” Masters said.
“That’s the best explanation I’ve heard.”
“It’s not much of an explanation. Look, I’ve been thinking about what you told me this afternoon and this evening. I think maybe the signal the Colonel says is being sent via the cable boxes is meant to cause symptoms of schizophrenia. But maybe it can do more. Maybe it opens the floodgates.”
“You mean it’s sensitizing people to hauntings?”
“Why not? If there’s validity to schizophrenics being bombarded with input, that could certainly be part of it. Or maybe it energizes haunts on its own. Brings them to life.” He paused. “Bad choice of words.”
“I understand,” Will said. “So what if there aren’t any ghosts around?”
“Then maybe it just gives you other symptoms depending on the person under attack. It could do both.”
“The mind boggles,” Maggie said, covering for Will, who was fighting to be a skeptic instead of a debunker.
“It does,” Will agreed.
Minutes passed without anything happening. “Nothing,” Will said, relieved but embarrassed.
“Let’s unplug and at least see if the cats are happier before we take off,” Maggie said.
They unplugged the cable box in the bedroom then did the same in the living room. Almost immediately, all three cats walked cautiously into the room. Will undid the cable and held the box down to them to sniff. Freud hissed, but then that wasn’t too unusual.
After thoroughly sniffing the room, the Orange Boys jumped into Will’s recliner and started an old-fashioned grooming fest like nothing had ever been wrong.
“Should we see what they think of the bedroom?” David asked, stroking Jung’s luxurious fur.
“We should, but no, let’s not,” Will said. “Just in case.
“I agree,” Maggie said. “We don’t want to freak them out when we’re leaving.”
“You’ll see something a lot more interesting at Gabe and Kevin’s house anyway,” Will said, grabbing his keys. “Let’s go. We’re late.”
82
“Did you see the look on his face when the Cockburns materialized?” Maggie tipped her flute of champagne against Will’s, all smiles as she sat back on Will’s sofa.
Will laughed. “That was not the reaction I expected, not even from a ghost hunter. Not a trace of fear.”
“He looked like a kid set loose in a candy store.” She sipped champagne. “I think the idea that the ghosts will disappear with the cable boxes is devastating to him.”
“Yeah. His loss, but not ours.” Rorschach leapt into his lap, sloshing the champagne all over his pants.
“I’ll get that.” Maggie leaned forward and used her napkin to soak up the drops of sparkling wine. Her movements were brisk at first, then she slowed down as she moved higher up his thighs. She looked into his eyes. “Okay?”
“You missed a spot,” he said.
“Where?”
“There.” He pointed at a tiny water spot a little higher up.
She blotted it. “Okay?”
“Uh, there’s one more on this leg. Here.”
Her eyes were bright, her lips parted and damp. She gave him a funny little quirk of a smile then dabbed the napkin in the vicinity of the spot without looking. “How’s that?”
“Fine,” Will managed to stammer. He sat up a little, embarrassed by the sudden growth in the groin area. “I need a refill. How about you?”
She picked up her glass and drained it, then held it out while he poured. They toasted again and drank.
“So,” Will said. “Is this the part of the date where we make out?”
“I’m not that easy,” Maggie told him. Then she slowly licked her lips with the tip of her tongue. “You’ll have to convince me.”
“How?”
She smiled slowly, then tilted her glass until champagne trickled down into the hollow at the base of her neck then drizzled lower, disappearing beneath her pink silk blouse. “Oops.” She undid the top two buttons, exposing cleavage and the top of a lacy pushup bra the same color as her shirt. Not taking her eyes off Will, she let a little more wine spill on her breasts. “I wish somebody had a napkin I could use before my bra gets all wet. I don’t want to have to take it off.”
Turned on as hell, Will looked at her in wonder, as well as lust. This was a side of Maggie’s personality he’d never seen before. He’d never dreamed a coquette lurked behind that self-possessed exterior. “Uh, I think the napkin is used up. I could get another.”
He started to rise, but she reached out and pressed his leg. He sat. “What do you want me to do?” He was sixteen again, fumbling and nervous. He loved it.
“I guess you’ll just have to make do.” Her voice trembled as much as his hands.
“With?”
She poured the last of the champagne down her neck. “Oh, darn.” Setting the glass aside, she slowly reached toward him, hand curled gently but for one finger. She touched his lip. Slowly. Gently. Withdrew. “Any ideas?”
“Give me another hint.”
A tiny smile trembled as she put her finger to her lips and wet it with the tip of her tongue. She put it back to Will’s lips again, a little firmer, and ran it over his lower lip, slowly pressing down until she was touching the sensitive inner flesh.
His mouth closed around her finger and he laved it with his tongue.
“That’s it,” she said huskily. She kept her finger in his mouth but slowly pulled back.
Will let her finger go when he was inches from her neck. He bent to her flesh, smelling her warm heady fragrance despite the champagne. Slowly, he pressed his lips to her skin, just between the swell of her breasts. After a moment of stillness, he tasted her. She shuddered and moaned softly as she wrapped her fingers in his hair and urged him on.
83
Jennifer Labouche smiled into the dark night from the window of Felicia Banning’s bedroom. She was in love for the first time in her life. When she’d begun her assignment keeping track of Project Tingler, that’s all it was, an assignment with some very distasteful aspects, number one being Pet
e Banning and his goddamned prick. Getting close to his wife, Felicia, was part of the plan, though only as a friend.
Who could know that when they met, sparks would fly? Certainly not Jennifer, hardboiled military operative. She’d always preferred women, so her attraction wasn’t a surprise, but she was a professional soldier. She never got involved. But Felicia was something special.
Tonight, after Felicia proposed they dump Pete and move in together, Jenny had told her lover everything she could. Felicia was alarmed and asked enough questions to understand that Jennifer’s line of work was similar to Pete’s military days. Secret stuff. She accepted it and in turn told Jennifer everything she could about herself, which turned out to be pretty vanilla. Jennifer found she loved that. She’d had enough of the games. She was thirty-one, and more than ready to settle down.
And so they agreed to get rid of Pete. And to become a couple. Although Jennifer hadn’t told her yet, she was seriously thinking of retiring after the job was finished. Felicia would own Caledonia Cable and she’d need someone to help her run it.
She glanced at the glowing hands of the alarm clock. Three A.M. No sign of Pete. Felicia slept peacefully in the bed. And Jennifer, her Glock 9mm snug beside her, kept watch.
84
“Will. It’s me. Michael. Listen!”
Will sat up in bed, disoriented. Three fifteen. The cats were in their usual spots, but he could feel the tension in their bodies. Maggie? he thought suddenly, then remembered she had gone home to her own brood sometime after midnight.
“Will. It’s Michael. I have a message for you.” Whispers from under his bed.
There was no cable box in the house. I’m imagining things. He lay back down. His subconscious must still be playing with him.
“It’s me, Will. I’m real. It’s Michael. You’re not making me up.”
Will wondered if he’d see anything if he looked under the bed. Michael, dead, gutshot. He shuddered and made himself close his eyes. He’d had enough ghost stories to last a lifetime.
The Forgotten Page 26
