by Tim McGregor
The gun in the goon’s hand began to tremble. “Shut the fuck up!”
One of the others moved in. “Greg, what the fuck, man? Do him!”
The goon with the gun didn’t hear his friend. He was too busy listening to what the Englishman was whispering to him.
The others reared back when the goon named Greg pulled the gun up and pointed it at his own head.
“What the fuck are you doing?” one shrieked.
The tears running down Greg the goon’s face smeared the paint, giving him a sad Pagliacci look. His whole body was racking with sobs and then the gun went off. Greg fell and the others rushed in with their weapons held high, ready to do some real damage.
It’s been whispered that anyone lashing out at the slithery individual known as John Gantry was prone to extremely bad luck. Try and stab the bastard with a knife, one would most likely find said knife stuck in their own guts. Whether or not any of the Crypto goons were aware of this was unclear as they rushed in headlong in a berserk rage to club the man to death. The first one stumbled and took down the second. Another swung hard only to bludgeon his mate’s skull. The last man skidded to a stop with the baseball bat poised high but his target had vanished.
“Oy,” said the voice behind him.
The impact broke two ribs. The goon doubled over and looked up just in time to see Gantry swing the bat down hard. He shrieked in pain as his knee was shattered.
Gantry tossed the bat away and it rattled over the pavement. He turned to the one named Greg and kicked him onto his back. He was still alive. His hand had trembled so badly that he’d missed his own skull entirely. He had only managed to blow off his own ear.
“That’s a shame.” Gantry knelt down to take a closer look. Blood trickled from the mangled flesh and dribbled onto the dirty ground. A shredded piece of the man’s ear lay on the pavement. Lifting it up, Gantry let the wet thing dangle between two fingers and spoke into it. “Can you hear me?”
The young man whimpered, begging for help.
Gantry flicked the ear away. “I suppose not.” Reaching down, he turned the man’s face to one side, jamming the destroyed ear into the pavement. Then he barked into the man’s good ear. “Listen up, son. You tell Crypto to stay the fuck away from me. If I see him or any of you other little sycophants again, he’s gonna rue the fucking day. You got all that, mate?”
The injured man curled into a whimpering ball and called for his mother. Gantry stepped over him and marched out of the alley, patting his pockets for his cigarettes.
Chapter 16
THE DAY WAS EATEN by details and procedure. After climbing out of the ravine, Mockler called into the station to get the forensic team out here to go over the vehicle hidden in the thicket. The area needed to be searched properly and, once that was done, the car would be towed back to the garage at Division One where it could be searched thoroughly.
Billie stayed out of the way as the crew arrived and went to work, to avoid any questions of her presence on the scene. By the time the forensic truck appeared, a number of locals had stopped to see what the fuss was about and Billie simply blended in with the others. Mockler went back down into the ravine to find the overgrown logging trail that led to the vehicle. Getting the vehicle towed out of the brush and up the incline proved tricky. The day burned away as Billie watched the crew work. She had once asked Mockler what detective work was like and he had replied that it was often slow and tedious. Hurry up and wait, he had added. She understood what he meant now.
It wasn’t until late in the afternoon that they returned to the city. He was going to take her home but she asked him to drop her off at the hospital. She wanted to check on her friend. Opening the passenger door, she turned to him. “Are you going into the office?”
“Yeah. I’ve still got a full day ahead of me.” He looked out at the street. “I’ll check in on you later.”
“Do that,” she said.
“Will you be all right?”
“Yeah. It’s just been a weird day.”
He nodded in agreement. Billie dithered, unsure of how to say goodbye. Everything had changed but sitting here outside of the hospital, it seemed as if nothing had changed. She turned to him. “Not bad weird though. Right?”
“No.”
“Good.” She leaned in to kiss him quickly and then climbed out of his car before she dithered any longer.
The fluorescent lights of the hospital hurt her eyes as she made her way up to the fourth floor. She stopped outside of Kaitlin’s room when she saw Kyle was there. His feet propped up, asleep in the chair. Tiptoeing inside, she looked down at her friend. Kaitlin looked peaceful. There was no sign of the awful seizure she had suffered earlier. Billie couldn’t tell if it was just the lighting in the room but Kaitlin seemed to have regained some of the colour to her face.
“What are you doing here?” Kyle sat up, rubbing his eyes.
“Has there been any change?” Billie asked.
“You’re not wanted here,” he grumbled.
“I came to check on my friend, Kyle.” Billie smoothed a hair out of Kaitlin’s face. “You’re not the only one who’s worried about her.”
“Like you haven’t done enough already?”
Something snapped. It may have been the exhaustion or the turmoil of the last few days dredging up her past, but Billie’s patience had run thin. “That’s enough. I didn’t do this to her so stop blaming me.”
Kyle clenched his teeth. “You sure as hell didn’t help. All your voodoo bullshit.”
“Did you help her? Did you see this coming or were you too busy with your buddies to see there was something wrong?”
Kyle grumbled under his breath but she didn’t hear what was said. She looked at Kaitlin again. “Has the doctor said anything?”
“No.”
“She looks better,” Billie said. “Her colour’s back.”
He turned to look but didn’t respond.
“Do you want me to stay with her? You could go home for a bit. Take a shower or whatever.”
“I’m fine,” he said.
Billie bit her tongue and patted Kaitlin’s hand. Then she turned and left the room.
~
A noise from the kitchen. Billie opened her eyes. She was still on the couch, the TV blaring. She had meant to take a shower after returning from the hospital but had chosen to flop in front of the idiot box first. If the clock was right, she’d slept for an hour. Groaning as she sat up, Billie zapped the television off. In the ensuing quiet she could hear the rattle of a dish in the sink.
Half-Boy, she thought. Haunting the kitchen. She rose to shush him up, smirking at her little pun and startled at the man rooting through her refrigerator.
“Gantry!” she barked. “What are you doing here?”
“Making sarnies,” he said, piling chilled items onto the counter. “You want one?”
“How did you get in here? I bolted the door.”
“They haven’t invented the lock that can keep me out, luv.” Opening a plastic tub, he brought it to his nose and sniffed. “How old is this turkey?”
She snatched the tub from his hands. “Hey. There’s no open door policy here. You can’t just come and go as you please.”
“How am I going to look out for you, then eh?” He held out his hand for the tub. “Now, do you want me to make you a sandwich or do you want to pout?”
Billie grimaced but handed back the turkey. “Extra lettuce, easy on the mayo.”
He got to work on the grub and nodded at the fridge. “I spotted two cans of lager in there. Pour us one, yeah?”
Her grimace sharpened but she got the cans and popped them open. Settling into the kitchen chair, she watched him build the sandwiches. With his sleeves rolled up and his tie tucked into his shirt, he looked halfway normal, like he’d just come home from work. What was it about this man, she wondered. He charmed his way through everything and had somehow become part of her life now, coming and going as he bloody well pleased. And
she still didn’t know anything about him. She couldn’t make up her mind if he was this powerful figure in some hidden occult underworld or if he was a complete fraud.
“I stopped in last night but there was no one home. Not even that little bastard you keep as a pet.” He turned his head and smirked at her. “Were we up to no-good last night?”
“I was out of town.” She sipped her beer, unwilling to elaborate any further.
“And?”
“And nothing.”
Gantry slid the plate before her. “You’ve got a wee twinkle in your eye, Sybil Culpepper. The twinkle of someone who got lucky.”
“Please…” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Ha! You’re a crap liar, you are. So who was it? Is he a nice boy?” His laugh cut short and his face paled by a degree. “Oh shite. Tell me it wasn’t Mockler…”
He was right, Billie thought. She was a crap liar. No poker face. How the hell did he know?
“Are you totally deranged?” he sputtered.
“Shut up,” she shot back, unconvincingly. Something was off all of a sudden. “Wait—”
Gantry ranted at her. “Set aside the fact that super-cop is a complete and utter wanker, he has as much charm as a dead log. Christ—”
“Gantry,” she said, cutting him off. “You’re tie’s on fire.”
He looked down. The end of his tie was blazing orange with flame, as if erupting from spontaneous combustion. Cursing a stream of obscenities, he lunged to the sink and ran the tap, dowsing the flames. The smell of wet charred fabric poisoned the air.
That’s when Billie caught sight of the culprit behind the immolation. Half-Boy watched the Englishman flail with a vicious glee in his beady little eyes. In his hand was the lighter he’d picked from Gantry’s own pocket.
When it came to seeing the dead, Billie thought she was singular in that talent but certain circumstances challenged that notion. Gantry, for reasons she couldn’t explain, could see the legless ghost of Half-Boy with ease. Snatching up the sandwich he’d made, he flung the plate at the grotesque ghost, followed by another volley of profanities.
“You fucking little turd! I’m going to skin you alive!”
Half-Boy galloped into the next room on his hands. Gantry gave chase, plucking the large butcher’s knife from the block as he flew by.
Billie ran after them, barking for them to knock it off but a general chaos was already in play in the living room. Furniture hurtled across the room. Gantry ducked and stabbed at the phantom, wielding the knife with a flair that suggested familiarity with blades. A potted fern spun end-over-end and broke over Gantry’s head, knocking him to the floor. Rolling with the impact, Gantry threw the knife at Half-Boy. The blade passed through the ghost to tear apart the fabric of the sofa.
“Enough!” Billie dove between the two combatants like a referee stopping a fight. The legless sprite taunted his enemy while Gantry continued to poison the air with a string of obscenities.
Above it all, Billie heard her name being called and then her door popped open. Mockler skidded into the room, breathing hard as if he’d run the whole way here. The look on his face was almost comical as he laid eyes on the murder suspect topping his personal most-wanted list.
Detective Mockler had never liked carrying his service issue, a standard nine millimetre Glock, common to law enforcement agencies around the country. He often kept it locked in a drawer in his office or stored at the armoury rather than keep it holstered on his belt, something his sergeant had chided him about in the past. This was not one of those days. He drew and aimed the weapon in one fluid movement. Aiming along the foresight, he drew a bead squarely on Gantry’s torso.
“Get on the ground, you son of a bitch!” he barked, still shocked at his luck.
Gantry’s face fell. “Shit and fried eggs.”
Billie suddenly felt sick to her stomach. She couldn’t keep up with the chaos, wondering who else might crash the party. Her small apartment had turned into a war zone. “Mockler, stop! Put the gun away.”
“Billie, what the hell is he doing here? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. Just put the gun down.”
Gantry got to his feet and rotated his head to work out the kink in his neck. “What is it with all the guns in this town?”
“Get down!” The detective pressed in, all but shoving the barrel into the suspect’s chest. He wondered momentarily if a bullet was enough to stop the spooky Englishman’s heart. He should have brought a wooden stake.
“The problem with guns,” Gantry snarled, “is that they jam all the time. Just like that one is about to.” As if to test that theory, Gantry lunged at the detective.
Mockler fired but the trigger piece locked into place, the round jamming in the chamber as foretold. Faster than a heartbeat the two men were at each other’s throats and crashing through the apartment.
Billie watched in horror as her flat was destroyed a second time. Screaming at them to stop, she dove between the men to break it up but both combatants were too intent with murdering the other to pay any attention.
The Half-Boy, who had scaled the wall to look on from his perch on the ceiling, watched with glee as the two men collided. He blanched the moment Billie threw herself into the fray. Scrabbling down the wall, he leaped between the men, pushing them apart.
Billie gasped as something icy sliced through her back. The men broke apart as if zapped by an electrical jolt, each one tumbling backward.
Mockler looked at his hands, unable to move his fingers. “What the hell was that?”
Gantry cursed some more, shaking his hands as if he’d burnt them on something hot. Having experienced dead energy before, he recognized the unearthly sensation for what it was. “You legless little shit!”
Billie squatted on her knees, her arms clutching her stomach like she was going to be sick. Her whole frame shivered as she rode out the unnatural flash-freeze that occurred when the dead passed through one’s bones.
Scrambling to her side, Mockler wrapped his numb hands over Billie to calm the quaking. “Easy,” he cooed. “You’re okay.”
“Stop,” Billie chattered. Mockler pulled back, thinking she didn’t want to be touched but her eyes rolled up to meet his. “Stop fighting,” she continued. “Both of you.”
Mockler’s jaw muscles clenched. “Billie, you know what he is.”
“No, I don’t.” A little of her strength coming back in her voice. “But he’s not a killer.”
He looked at the suspect across the room and a murderous intent gleaned in his eye. It was clear that she was not changing the detective’s mind.
Gantry exhaled with a sigh. Wincing from pain, he leaned back against the wall and regarded the two of them. This woman who could chat with the dead and her hapless detective friend. “I think you’re in a world of trouble, Billie.”
“Thanks to you, asshole,” Mockler snapped.
Billie gripped his wrist. “Don’t.”
“This thing, whatever it is, is way worse than I thought,” Gantry said, jamming a cigarette between his lips. He lit up. “And I think your mate, Kaitlin, is in real fucking danger.”
“The woman’s struggling to survive,” Mockler barked. “That part’s pretty obvious.”
“I’m not just talking about her life,” Gantry said.
Billie straightened up. “Gantry, don’t talk in riddles. Not now.”
“I mean her soul. That part is in danger.”
“Oh come on.” Mockler stomped away in disgust. “I’m not listening to this bullshit.”
“Ray, wait.” Billie hated this role she was forced into, playing peacemaker between these two. She turned to Gantry. “What do you know?”
“The thing in that house. It wants something specific from your mate in the hospital bed.”
“Like what?” Billie asked.
Gantry shrugged. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”
Mockler groaned with disgust. Crossing to the table he disassembled hi
s weapon to clear the jammed round.
Billie rubbed her eyes. “How do we protect her?”
“I took care of that,” he said. “I placed a few protection glyphs on her and around the room. It should hold for the time being.”
Mockler spun back. “Protection? You drew on her with marker.”
Billie looked confused. “How do you know?”
“Because I saw the marks. Just more of his bullshit.”
The Englishman sat up. “Mockler, what did you do? Tell me you didn’t muck with them.”
“The girl’s been through enough,” Mockler fired back. “The last thing she needs is to see your voodoo schtick painted on her own skin.”
“You fucking idiot.”
Billie blanched, remembering how Kaitlin had seized up with the awful voice of that woman from the Murder House. Gantry and Mockler started cursing one another again and over the din of that, she heard her phone ringing. She looked at the screen. Tammy.
“Tammy?” she said, answering it. “Is everything all right?”
“Are you?” Tammy said. “What’s all that racket?”
“Nothing. What is it?”
“You need to come to the hospital right away.”
Billie felt her stomach drop. “Oh God, what’s happened? Is Kaitlin okay?”
“Billie, she’s awake,” Tammy sobbed. “Kaitlin’s awake!”
Chapter 17
THE SMALL ROOM WAS crowded when Billie arrived at the hospital. Jen, Tammy and Kyle hovered around the bed while a doctor and nurse tended to the patient. All turned around as Billie ran inside. The teary smiles and expressions of relief playing over the faces of her two friends and the boyfriend almost bowled Billie over.
The patient sat upright in bed, propped up against a pillow, with an almost amused flush as if she couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. Her eyes lit up when she caught sight of the latest visitor. “Billie!” she smiled.
Billie rushed to her side and clutched her friend’s hand. Seeing Kaitlin awake and smiling, she felt her own eyes break with relief like the others in the room. “Oh my God, Kaitlin,” she gushed. “It’s so good to see you.”
