by Morgan Brice
“Yes, sir.”
Hendricks turned to face Susan. “And you. Stay here where you’re safe. We’ll talk later,” he added ominously.
“Be safe, and bring Erik back,” Susan said. “Ben, too.”
Hendricks muttered something under his breath and pushed his way into the lead. Ben jogged to keep up. He followed the cops in his own car, glad that the police came in quietly—no sirens, no flashing lights. If Cooper had Erik in the warehouse, they didn’t need to tip him off, especially since Susan had told them there were at least three men in the SUV that took Erik.
Ben had the salt canister and the iron poker on the front seat of the car. The silver medallions were warm against his skin, gifts from his grandmothers for birthdays and his long-ago confirmation. He hoped he didn’t need the incantation Father Pavel had provided, but it was in his pocket, just in case.
Erik wouldn’t have been alone or outside if I’d have been where I promised. I stood him up, and that left him vulnerable. If Susan hadn’t seen them take him, Erik would just have vanished, and we’d have no clue.
Would Erik forgive him? Betrayal by his ex already loomed large for Erik. And while Ben had nurtured his doubts privately, and for less than a day, he had still let Erik down. Erik would be within his rights to blame Ben for what happened to him tonight. He’d also be reasonable to wonder whether this attraction between them was just a fling, instead of something far more serious.
First, we save his life. Then I’ll do whatever it takes to win him back, prove I love him, that he can trust me. God, I’ve made a mess of things.
When they pulled into the lot near the warehouse, Ben felt a chill he knew had nothing to do with the spring night. Whether Cooper had somehow called to them or not, Ben could see the ghosts of several brawny men outside the building, a spectral goon squad that might not be able to actually stop the police from entering, but could cause havoc and alert the men inside.
Shit. Hendricks already wanted Ben’s guts for garters. If he saw Ben sprinkling salt on a parking lot and hacking at ghosts with a fireplace poker, he’d call the psych ward. That meant trying the invocation, which Ben felt certain would work perfectly for Father Pavel, but not so much for a guy who couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to either Mass or confession.
He read over the Latin prayer, glad that he remembered enough from his long-ago catechism to manage the pronunciation with a vague sense of what the words actually meant.
Powers of light, life, and creation, I call on thee to banish from this place all darkness, death, and chaos. Drive out those spirits that intend harm, scatter their energy, and take from them their power. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, Amen.
When Ben looked again, the angry spirits were still visible, but they had faded. Hendricks and his team were suiting up in riot gear—something Ben doubted they had much call for in Cape May—which bought him a few extra minutes.
This time, Ben poured salt into one palm, and wrapped that hand around the iron poker, while he held tight to the silver medallions in the other. He pulled from his memory the most spiritual image he could think of, the way the light through the stained glass in the church he’d grown up in fell on the statue of the Virgin Mary during morning mass. Then he read the Latin one more time in the glow of his phone, trying to infuse the words with all of his love and protectiveness for Erik.
The ghosts vanished.
For how long?
Father Pavel said the incantation was only temporary. Ben dumped the salt into his pocket, shoved the fireplace poker back in his car, and tucked the incantation away for future use, then ran to join the cops who were about to enter the warehouse.
“Nolan. Stay behind us, stay out of the line of fire, and try not to shoot anyone,” Hendricks ordered.
“Got it,” Ben replied, keeping an eye out should the ghostly sentries return.
“Porter and Kent, go around to the right, try to find another way in. Stay in radio contact. Dorchester, Sanders, Thompson, you’re with me. Nolan—stay out here until the shooting stops. Without gear, you’re a target and a liability.”
Ben didn’t like Hendricks’ assessment, but he knew the captain was correct. “Just bring Erik out alive.”
“That’s the goal,” Hendricks responded.
They waited a few tense moments until Hendricks nodded to a comment heard through his earbud. “Porter and Kent are in position. Let’s go—and be careful.”
Ben felt his heart thudding in his chest. Help was on the way. But would they be too late?
Fifteen
Erik
“I’m telling you, you’ve got the wrong guy. Look—I haven’t seen anyone’s face. Just let me go, and I’ll walk home. I can’t identify you. No harm, no foul,” Erik bargained as two of his captors manhandled him out of the van.
“Shut up!” A fist connected with the side of Erik’s face, and he would have fallen if the men on either side of him hadn’t had a good grip on his arms.
“That’s enough!” a new voice snapped. “We need to find out what he knows. Can’t do that if you break his jaw.”
Erik stumbled across what felt like a parking lot, then tripped on the threshold of a door, and felt smooth concrete beneath his feet. There were lights, because he saw a glow even through the bag that covered his head. He could smell freshly-mowed grass and motor oil.
His captors pushed Erik into a chair with his wrists still zip-tied in front of him. If this were on TV, there’d be dramatic music. I am so screwed.
A man he didn’t recognize yanked the bag free. Erik blinked at the light. His heart sank. If they’re letting me see their faces, they’re going to kill me. I was dead when I got in the car.
The man in charge bent to look Erik in the face. “You’re a lot of trouble. We had things taken care of, everything under control, and then you come to town and start kicking up dust.”
Erik stared back, figuring that bravado was all he had left. He could play for time, in case anyone saw him get abducted. But deep down, Erik figured he was on his own.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
His interrogator stood, then backhanded Erik hard across the cheek. “Don’t lie to me. What do you know about Hank Chason, Kendry Ambrose, and Vincente Cafaro?”
Erik glared at his questioner. The man was probably in his seventies, but still trim and strong. He carried himself like a cop. Erik knew he’d never seen the man before.
“They’re all dead. Been dead for a long time. Why does it matter?”
That earned him another slap, which snapped his head to the side. “Answer the question.”
Erik licked his split lip. “Were you one of the cops on their payroll?”
The interrogator’s eyes narrowed. “Sure was. And it was good money, too.”
“So you’re afraid I found something that ties you to them? After all this time? Is that what this is about?”
The man rubbed his knuckles as if he were weighing whether to strike Erik again. “There are a bunch of people left from back then. We didn’t make it this far to go to jail now.”
The warehouse was still in use, with plenty of pieces of lawn equipment and bags of supplies. There were an awful lot of ghosts at the edge of the lit area. Maybe his captor had been using the warehouse as a private killing ground for many years. The dark stains on the concrete bore out his guess.
“Hank Chason owed money to the wrong people,” Erik answered. “Mob contractors, the IRS. His past was catching up to him. And then someone shot him, execution-style, and walled him up in a closet. Nice touch.”
“Fuck with a construction company the Mob owns, and they fuck you over,” the man replied. “How do you know about Chason?”
“A construction crew just found him. Turned the skeleton over to the cops. Hole in the back of the skull made it kinda obvious how he died.” Erik smirked defiantly. “His ghost was pissed off.”
“Ghost, huh? You think I’m stupid?” The f
lat of his hand connected with Erik’s cheek.
Erik glared. “I see ghosts. Cafaro. Chason. Ambrose. They’re angry.”
“Yeah? Well that ain’t doin’ them any good now, is it? ‘Cause they’re still dead.” He put his hands on his hips. “Cafaro’s ancient history. But the Chason and Ambrose cases might cause people some trouble if anyone went poking around. So…who’d you tell? That washed-up Jersey cop?”
Erik felt a chill. He had to be talking about Ben. Shit. How did he know? “Who?”
That earned him another smack, hard enough to rattle his teeth. “Ben Nolan. A buddy of mine in the Newark PD put him onto me. My buddy didn’t know about my extracurricular activities,” he added with a grim chuckle. “So Nolan meets me and tells me about an old clock that showed up. Nothing about bones.”
“Then I guess he didn’t know about the bones,” Erik replied, hoping he could trust the poker face he’d used on art busts. He had no expectation that he’d get out of this alive, but if he could save Ben, he could make peace with dying.
Ben. Erik hated the thought that he would never see Ben again. Was Alessia right about them being soulmates? Erik wouldn’t get the chance to find out.
“Don’t expect Nolan to ride to your rescue,” the boss man said. “I fucked with his head about you. Convinced him you were wanted by Interpol. Art thief. He’ll probably be relieved when they find your body.” He shrugged. “Although, we’ll have to see. If he causes trouble, he’ll need to disappear, too.”
Please don’t kill Ben. “He’s nothing to me,” Erik lied. “Stood me up for an appointment tonight.”
“What’s the big deal about the clock?”
Erik hoped that the truth might put his captor off balance. “The clock was a cheap replica. It had been reported stolen. Cafaro probably sold the real one when he needed cash, then stole it himself and got an insurance payout.”
The man laughed. “That’s how it’s done! That’s a guy who knows how to work all the angles.”
“Yeah, see, but he didn’t,” Erik said, playing a risky game. “Because whoever hid the clock hid a little insurance policy of their own with it.”
“Meaning what?”
Erik shrugged. “There was a photo of Cafaro shooting someone. And pages from a ledger showing payments and receipts that probably didn’t make it into the official books. Names. Amounts. Some of those companies might still be around.”
The man’s jaw set. “Where are those papers now?”
“Gave them to the cops,” Erik replied, with his best look of wide-eyed innocence. “Civic duty and all that.”
“You rotten snitch!” The big man’s hand closed around Erik’s neck, and Erik wheezed for breath.
“Don’t…you…want…to…know…the…rest?” he managed.
His interrogator released his hold just as Erik thought his eyeballs would pop from their sockets. “The rest of what?”
“Why did you go after Justin Kramer? You’re the one who broke in and burned his place down, aren’t you?”
“Killed him, too, once we traced the little rat to Wildwood,” the man bragged. Erik thought he might be sick to his stomach. “Then we found out he sold a box to you.”
“So you tried to break in.”
“Yeah, and we gave you a warning, but you wouldn’t back off.”
Erik guessed that was the shot that missed him and the car that tried to run him over. What we have here is a failure to communicate.
“Ambrose’s ghost showed up after I bought the box,” Erik said, hoping his voice held steady. “Couldn’t figure out why. Then way at the bottom of the box was an envelope—Ambrose’s long-lost suicide note. Damn, that man named names and kicked ass. I gave it to the cops, too.”
“You’re lying!”
“Call it ‘insurance,’” Erik returned. “Because now, when they find my body? They’ll know to go looking at old cases.”
“Then they ain’t never going to find your body,” the man assured him. “Not so they’ll know it’s you, anyhow.”
Erik struggled to breathe. He had no doubt that the dirty cop could make good on his threat. He’d just disappear. His parents might not have been the most supportive, but Erik knew they’d grieve his death. And Ben…
Among his regrets—and there were plenty—his biggest would be not seeing Ben again. Even if Ben had only wanted a fling for the summer, it didn’t make Erik’s feelings any less valid, or his hope any less real that they could have become more to each other.
Erik couldn’t bear to think about Ben right now, not if he wanted to keep his tormentor talking. He saw the ghosts move forward from the shadows as if they were intrigued by the spectacle. He couldn’t hear their voices or command them to attack—although he really wished that he could—but he might be able to use his limited abilities to buy himself more time.
The temperature in the old warehouse had fallen, cold enough that Erik shivered. He saw the goods shift from foot to foot, trying to warm themselves.
“Guess I’m not the first person you brought here, right? Like that girl, dark hair, big eyes, cute little sundress? Was she a witness or just an inconvenient one-night stand?” He did his best to describe the young woman with a slit throat who had moved close enough for him to make out details of her murder.
“How’d you know about Debbie?” the man demanded. Erik took pride in the fact that his inquisitor had paled.
“Because she’s standing right next to you. Looks like she’d like to do unto you what you did to her.”
“Stinking liar!”
“Am I? How about the short, pudgy guy with the bashed-in head? Witness? Snitch? Or maybe he just didn’t pay up?” Erik didn’t dare stop. Maybe he’d goad his captor into a heart attack. Or more likely, piss him off enough to at least give Erik a quick death.
“How about the tall guy, short dark hair, skinny, with a bullet in his forehead? Or the blond lady with the crooked neck? Or that old guy who looks like you threw him a necktie party?”
“Shut up! Shut your fucking mouth!” the man surged forward, and his fist shot out, hitting Erik on the cheek hard enough to rock his chair.
Erik spat blood. One eye was swelling shut. If the guy intended to kill him, Erik sincerely hoped it was with a gun instead of beating him to death.
Would Ben mourn him? Did Ben care enough to grieve for him? Erik wanted to believe he’d been important enough to miss, but his experiences growing up had taught him he was invisible, easily replaceable. Maybe it would be for the best if Ben’s feelings hadn’t run deep. That way, he wouldn’t be hurt.
The ghosts gathered in a thick cloud around Erik’s tormentor, and the temperature in the old warehouse grew even colder. The goons who had forced him into the SUV might not be able to see the ghosts, but they had to be aware on some level, because they had taken several steps back, away from Erik and away from the boss. Their breath made white puffs in the air, unusual for late spring. From the looks on the goons’ faces, they were starting to get nervous.
Sic ‘em! Erik thought at the ghosts, who didn’t show any sign that they understood.
The boss raised his handgun, pointed at Erik’s forehead. “As much as I’ve enjoyed our little chat, I need to be going. And so do you.”
A zing like an electric shock shot up Erik’s forearm. The ghosts suddenly surged forward, swarming the boss, and forcing his arm to the side, so his shot went wild.
That’s when the lights went out.
Erik scrambled from his chair, not sure how long he’d have the dark to help him hide. He heard the men scream and had no idea whether his wishful thinking had prompted the attack or if the ghosts had decided to get vengeance on their own, but they had saved his life.
He tried to move quickly and quietly, fearing that he’d fall over something and give himself away. Sheer terror and adrenaline overcame the pain of his stiff, bruised muscles. His calf brushed against a solid object, and his bound hands made out cold metal, like the fender of a large riding m
ower.
Erik turned right and felt his way down a line of parked lawn tractors that smelled of grass and oil. He figured his luck was about to run out, so he wedged himself between two of the machines and hunkered down against their huge tires. Maybe it would be more heroic to go down in a blaze of glory, but Erik had never fancied himself a hero.
Shots echoed in the cavernous building, followed by shouts and curses.
Is it too much to hope that the ghosts suck their souls out and leave nothing but shriveled husks, like in the movies? Probably.
Still, the thought inexplicably made him smile, a bit of gallows humor. Erik huddled in the dark, trying to make himself as small and quiet as possible, and tried to still his thudding heart.
I’ve had a good life. Traveled the world. Met interesting people. Fell in love. I’m not ready to leave yet, I don’t want to die, but…I’ve had a good run. Everyone dies. He just wished he could have said good-bye to Ben.
The lights snapped back on, blinding him. “Police! Drop your weapons!”
Erik heard running footsteps and a scuffle.
“Erik! Erik Mitchell! Where are you?” That was Ben’s voice.
Ben was here with the cops? Erik hesitated a moment longer, then carefully eased out of his hiding place. Ben spotted him from a row away and started running.
“I’ve got him!” Ben shouted. “He’s over here!”
All the fear and disappointment Erik felt over the missed dinner took a back seat to the relief that flooded through him. He was alive. Ben came for him. And Cooper was in custody. The nightmare was over.
“You’re alive.” Ben’s breathless voice told Erik just how worried the other man had been. Ben pulled Erik into his arms, holding him against his chest, and burrowing his face in Erik’s hair. “I’m so sorry. I let you down. I love you. Please forgive me.”
Erik leaned against Ben, drawing comfort from his strong arms and the warmth of his embrace, breathing in the burnt orange tang of Ben’s aftershave and the cedar scent of his soap. “I love you, too. I didn’t think I’d see you again. I thought I was going to die.”
