Scarsdale Crematorium (The Haunted Book 4)

by Patrick Logan

  The sound that the makeshift ropes had made as they twisted and then snapped the necks of the guards still echoed in his mind. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that he could still hear their desperate gasps in the adjacent mess hall while he and Allan sat cowering in silence.

  “Cal? Why you crying, Cal?” Shelly asked. She made her way to him and pulled him into an embrace.

  “We need Robert,” he said simply. “Where the fuck did he go?”

  Although Shelly didn’t reply, he felt her nod in agreement.

  Eventually Shelly pulled away, and Cal wiped the tears from his face and collected himself with a heavy breath.

  They needed Robert, certainly, but even without him, they had work to do. Shelly was right, Leland wouldn’t stop just because one of his sons had died.

  After all, he had two.

  Cal rubbed his eyes.

  “That was fucked up,” he said, and Shelly nodded in agreement. “But, Allan, did it work? I mean, something happened to Lorraine, didn’t it?”

  Allan nodded, and then adjusted his spectacles before speaking.

  “Yeah, it worked—I think. I mean, she was frozen in place. It wasn’t as fast as back at Seaforth, but…”

  “That’s what I saw, too,” Shelly agreed. “But for how long? And, even more importantly, why did it work?”

  Allan shook his head.

  “Don’t know for certain. I think that the lenses work kind of like thermal cameras, although the quiddity don’t seem to give off much heat.” He turned to Cal. “Remember in Seaforth? How cold it got when the cameras lit up?”

  Cal nodded.

  “So it must be something else. I mean, not everyone can even see them, right? So the cameras must somehow pick up a trace of whatever they are made of. And whatever they’re made of, they leave a little bit behind, which is why I knew that the Harlop Estate had been haunted.” He shrugged. “Maybe by having two or three cameras with the lenses focused on them and we take a picture, it locks whatever they are made of in place.”

  “Unless they go to the Marrow,” Shelly said.

  “Maybe. But even if that were true, it raises more questions than answers. I mean, how do they actually get to the Marrow? The Goat is dead set on opening a rift, one big enough to allow him and his spirits to come back, but these rifts happen all the time—every time someone dies and they go to the Marrow, they have to travel via some sort of rift. But not all of them goes. They still leave a bit behind that I can track with my cameras. Here, let me show you.”

  Allan made his way over to his camera, and flipped the screen for them all to see.

  “This is a live image,” he said, “and Lorraine and Walter haven’t been here for, what? Five? Ten minutes?”

  Cal nodded. He wasn’t sure where Allan was coming up with this shit, let alone why he hadn’t told them before, and he wasn’t sure how much of it was actually true, but it seemed plausible.

  And based on what he had seen, plausible was enough.

  “And yet”—Allan traced the faded red outline of a woman in the clearing with his finger—“here she is.”

  “Not as dark as at the Harlop Estate.”

  Allan shook his head.

  “No, not as dark. But Lorraine was only here for a short time…and look, it’s already fading.”

  “Like a fart in the wind,” Cal said quietly.

  Shelly turned to him, her lips pressed together tightly.

  “Seriously? Joking at a time like this?”

  Cal shrugged; it was his way of dealing with the pain and confusion coursing through him.

  Allan ignored the both of them and continued.

  “And there’s something else, too. I took a video at Seaforth.”

  Cal felt the blood drain from his face. He remembered Allan’s mangled mess of a camera in the helicopter, complete with a bullet hole in the casing. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that any of what it had captured had been usable.

  Allan must have seen the look on his face, as he nodded, his expression grim.

  “Most was destroyed—mostly just the audio was saved. But I managed to salvage part of the video—a small clip, thirty seconds or so.”

  Cal swallowed hard.

  “What part?” he whispered.

  Allan paused, his eyes moving from Shelly to Cal, and then back again.

  “The part where Robert orders the quiddity to stop—in the mess hall.”

  A silence fell over the trio as each of them struggled, and failed, to avoid recalling the horrors that they had witnessed at Seaforth Prison.

  A shudder racked through Cal as he remembered the smell of the blood and gore that had been piled on top of him.

  That was his second cowardly act of the day.

  “And? What did it show?” he asked in a small voice.

  Allan hesitated.

  “You’re not going to believe it—I need to show you. Let’s pack up here and head back to the estate.”

  Chapter 12

  Despite the man’s distrusting nature and obvious apprehension, Carson knew that Michael was in. After all, for someone who had killed as many people as the financial banker by day had, he must have seen it in his victims’ eyes. He must have seen their quiddity.

  “We can open the rift, Michael, and then you can show people who you really are. It’s a shame that you need to hide—that we are just supposed to succumb to societal constraints.”

  Michael’s brow furrowed, his gaze shifting from Carson to Jonah and then Bella. When his hand suddenly snaked upward and went into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, Jonah immediately jumped to his feet. But instead of pulling out a weapon of some sort, he pulled his arm out of the jacket sleeve. Then he removed the other one.

  The man meticulously and deliberately removed and placed the jacket gently, almost tenderly, on the back of his chair. It was an absurd charade, as the jacket had numerous stains peppering the navy fabric from the dingy Scarsdale Crematorium basement, and the chair itself, a primitive, wire-mesh design that was as ugly as it was uncomfortable, was just plain filthy.

  Michael removed his tie next, and then he started unbuttoning his shirt.

  “What are you doing?” Jonah demanded, but Carson hushed the little troll.

  And when he saw what was beneath the man’s shirt, Carson’s smile grew until his cheeks started to hurt.

  Michael’s entire torso, from his belt to the hollow of his throat, from his navel to his wrists, was completely covered in tattoos. Dark blue ink spread outward from the center of chest forming intricate designs, faces, words, a complete and utter smorgasbord of ink that caused both Bella and Jonah to exhale sharply. Ignoring their reactions, Michael walked to the front of the chair and sat down.

  “If it means I can show the world my real skin, then count me in,” he said with a grin.

  Carson clapped his hands together, the sound so loud in the basement that both Bella and Jonah jumped.

  “Good to have you on board,” he said, “I knew you’d come along for the ride.”

  “What now?” he asked, flexing his considerable chest. The man was in excellent shape, having obviously taken great care of the vessel that he so despised.

  Carson stood.

  “First off, we need some more help. Jonah, how many bodies do you have in the crematorium right now?”

  Jonah thought about the question for a moment.

  “There were four bodies to burn—not including Mrs. Kyra—when we left to get Michael and Bella,” he said, “and we’ve been gone two days. I figure eight? Maybe nine, total?”

  Bella took the initiative and strode over to the oven and peered around the side where the body bags were stacked.

  “Well, your pal Vinny must have been busy; there are eleven bags here.”

  Even better.

  “It’s a start, it’s a start,” Carson said, more to himself than to the others. “I need some quiet now. I’m going to reach out to the other side—hopefully he
will let me know how many we are going to need.”

  “He? What’s the plan, Carson?” Michael asked. The man was insatiable.

  “We need a Guardian to open the rift—only a Guardian stuck between two worlds can open it. And the Guardian we are going to use is my brother. Problem is”—his mind flicked back to Robert’s face and his trembling hand clutching the gun—“he’s not too keen on helping out. And, besides, I don’t know where he is. After we find him, we will corner him with quiddity to keep him there.”

  Bella nodded in agreement.

  “So first we find Robert, then all we need is to get some dead people to help us out?” Michael asked.

  Carson ignored the sarcasm; Michael would see soon enough.

  “Oh, the dead won’t be much of a problem,” Carson said, still grinning. “They are, in fact, all around us.”

  ***

  Carson was naked, sitting on the floor of the crematorium. The cement was cold on his bare skin, but he knew that this sensation wouldn’t last long. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in through his nose, before forcing it out again in a thin stream through his mouth.

  It only took three of these breaths, of concentrating on his breath, of shutting his mind off, before his vision went dark.

  And then he felt his mind flow like water being poured into a basin. In the dark void that encompassed him, he slowly picked out flecks of white, which quickly became a roiling, frothing sea.

  Carson, so happy that you could make it back to me.

  Leland Black stood on the beach, his black hat hiding his face. Holding his right hand was the little girl, the one that Leland said was the key to holding the rift open.

  Amy.

  The girl, like Leland, had her head hung low.

  Carson wasn’t sure if she could hear him, but the many times that he had transported his mind to the Marrow, she had never acknowledged him.

  Have you found him yet? Have you found Robert?

  Carson concentrated his thoughts.

  No, we’re looking—maybe you can help with that?

  There was a pause.

  I touched him—I can usually sense where he is, but…Robert is wandering, searching. His friends, on the other hand…they are back at the estate.

  With the mention of the Harlop Estate, the fire in the sky roiled, and the face of James Harlop appeared in the flames.

  And if you deal with his friends, he will come to you.

  Thank you, Father.

  Carson thought about that for a moment before continuing. Leland had helped him before, with the quiddity of the guard whose eyes he had torn out.

  We need help…we need to speed them up, bring the dead forward.

  To Carson’s surprise, it wasn’t Leland who replied, but the girl.

  I can help with that, Amy said simply.

  And then, without a moment’s hesitation, Carson was transported back to the crematorium, his ass numb from the cold concrete.

  When he opened his eyes, he was already smiling.

  There were eleven people standing around him, their milky white eyes boring into him, awaiting instruction.

  They were all dead.

  ***

  “What the hell?” Michael whispered. Even Bella seemed surprised by the scene in the basement, despite how much Carson had shared with her over the years. Only Jonah seemed to be prepared for the scene, partly because he had been dealing with the dead for so many years now, whereas Michael and Bella’s involvement usually ended with death. And mostly because of the woman in the oven, the one begging who had begged for him to come inside; there was that, too.

  “Yes,” Carson said, grinning widely. “Hell…hell is giving up your identity, of sacrificing the self. It may have been an evolutionary error, but now that it’s here, it means everything.”

  Jonah gave him a strange look, but Carson ignored the short, fat man.

  “These,” Carson continued, gesturing to the eleven dead men and women that stood with their heads low as a show of obedience, “are what we will use to hold Robert’s friends at bay, to lure him back to the estate.”

  Michael, still shirtless, his tattoos glistening with sweat from the hot crematorium basement, stepped onto the bottom rung and then reached for the closest quiddity. It was a woman dressed in a traditional pastel dress that ran to her ankles. Her blonde bangs hung over her eyes, but even through this, Carson could see the dark pits buried beneath. There was a nasty purple mark on her throat that descended into the neck of her dress, a wound that had been caked with layers of makeup.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Carson said calmly. Michael’s hand hung in midair, only inches from the woman’s head. “Remember what I told you, Michael, and you too, Jonah; you touch them, they send you to the Marrow.”

  Jonah looked up from his perch on the staircase.

  “And?”

  “And you don’t come back…” Carson let his sentence trail off. “But there will be a time when we can all be free—free to come and go between worlds, to act and behave the way we see fit, not the way they want us to be.”

  Michael smiled, and Carson joined him. As Bella made her way down the stairs and passed both Jonah and the tattooed man to Carson, the eleven quiddity spread out, allowing her passage.

  Carson couldn’t help but think of himself as a king in that moment, with Bella as his queen. And these quiddity, they were his soldiers. Carson wrapped his arm around Bella’s thin waist and pulled her tight.

  “Jonah and Michael, I need you to go to the Harlop Estate. Use the dead to surround the place, to keep Robert’s friends in order. I doubt Robert is there, but if he is, he needs to be restrained. Whatever happens, do not let him touch one of the dead.”

  “Wait,” Jonah interrupted, “why not? I thought you said—”

  Carson shook his head.

  “We need Robert—only Robert to open the rift in the Marrow. I don’t care what happens to the others.”

  When a smile crept on Jonah’s wide face, revealing small, almost sinister teeth, Carson held up his hand.

  “Before you get too excited, remember that we need his friends to draw Robert home.”

  Jonah stopped smiling.

  “But, rest assured, when this is over, when the rift is opened back up, there will literally be hell on earth. And then you guys can go to work.”

  Michael spoke up next, in his usual monotone voice.

  “What about them?” he asked, indicating the eleven men and women that still stood at the ready. “They gonna listen?”

  Carson nodded.

  “Oh, they’ll listen all right.”

  “But how, why?”

  Carson looked down at Bella, whose lips were pressed together tightly. He wondered what was going on in that mind of hers—she hadn’t said much since coming downstairs and finding the dead standing there.

  “Because when people die and don’t go to the Marrow, they usually become confused, disoriented. Some don’t even realize that they are dead. They need guidance, are looking for answers.”

  Bella looked up at him.

  “You,” she said, or asked; he couldn’t tell if the word was a statement or a question based her tone.

  Carson shook his head.

  “No, not me.”

  “Who, then?”

  “Leland—Leland gave them the guidance they need.”

  At the mention of the man’s name, several of the quiddity shifted, their first movement since allowing Bella to pass.

  Carson smiled.

  Even the dead feared the Goat.

  That was good.

  That was really good.

  “Go on now, Jonah, Michael. Take these quiddity and let’s have ourselves a party.”

  Chapter 13

  “Any time now,” Cal grumbled, his eyes locked on the computer screen. After returning from the debacle at the cemetery, they had booted up Allan’s laptop and were waiting patiently as he loaded the video from Seaforth. It took a couple of
minutes of fast-forwarding through pitch blackness before the screen suddenly became awash in bright light. The image slowly dimmed, and then it transitioned into a strange gray color, as if someone had tried to be artistic and had applied an antique filter.

  “Is it supposed to be this gray?” Shelly asked.

  “No, not usually. But the camera was damaged in some way…normally, with the lens on, you can barely make out normal people.”

  Cal nodded, remembering the burnt-in image of Lorraine from the cemetery, while Walter had been just a silhouette.

  “But for whatever reason, in the video you can make out Robert, and Sean, too. See there?”

  Cal leaned in closer.

  The image wasn’t of great quality, but he could clearly see the outline of Robert’s back as he walked ahead, Sean beside him, the latter holding his gun out at an angle. Cal cringed when the body of one of the hanged guards swayed in front of the lens, but Allan quickly moved the camera.

  “Okay, so now what?” Shelly asked quietly. “What are we looking for? Why would you think that this whole camera thing in the cemetery would work?”

  “Just watch.”

  The audio was likewise damaged—a dry hiss could be heard over their talking—but after twenty seconds or so, the sound of machine gun fire suddenly crackled from the laptop speakers. There was a shout, too, something unintelligible, what Cal thought might have been his voice, and the camera whipped to one side. The image went squirrelly, scrambled lines scattering across the screen, but when Allan turned back again, it became relatively clear.

  Except the scene wasn’t the same. Instead of just Sean and Robert, the screen was filled with three glowing figures standing in front of Robert, while Sean was no longer in the frame.

  “The dead guards,” Cal said, more for himself than Allan or Shelly.

  Robert was saying something on screen, but it was difficult to make out his exact words with all of the gunshots and shouts and the dry hiss that grated on Cal’s nerves. But then Robert slowly and deliberately raised his hands out in front of him, and the words ‘STOP’ erupted from the speakers with unprecedented clarity.