Lullaby (Ellie Jordan, Ghost Trapper Book 7) Page 3

  “But if he's in there—”

  “Then he's contained. We can come back during daylight.”

  “All right.” I sighed, reluctant to back off when Hunter was acting like a major entity had taken up residence inside the building. “Did Hunter react like this last time you were here?”

  “Hunter wasn't born then,” he said.

  “Come on, boy.” I tugged the leash. Hunter trudged along with me, glancing backward as if reluctant to give up the scent. We climbed back into the truck. “Let's go check Anton's old plantation now.”

  “Of course,” Calvin said. “Why should we get any rest before dawn?”

  He pulled off down the street. I looked back at the shadowy temple-shape of the old theater, wondering whether Anton had returned there, or whether he was waiting for us down the road.

  The next stop was about twenty minutes outside of town, along the highway toward Garden City. It would have taken more than half a day of riding on horseback when Anton was alive. We'd seen the location of his house in town. Now it was time to look at his old plantation.

  We were traveling inland, more or less following alongside the Savannah River. Once, the area would have been dotted with farms and fields thick with cotton, worked by slaves dressed in rags. Now there were warehouses and industrial ports, railroad tracks, and a couple of roadside strip malls.

  Where Anton Clay's plantation house had once stood, there was now an old gas station with its windows covered in plywood. The pumps had long since been removed from the concrete island out front. Knee-high weeds filled the parking lot.

  I had to hop out and move aside a couple of traffic cones so Calvin could drive the truck into the gas station area. He pulled around toward the back, out of sight of the road, and parked next to a garage door. A hand-painted wooden sign, barely legible after years of rain, offered tires for sale.

  The area behind the gas station was littered with junk, broken glass, and beer cans. A barbed-wire fence divided the edge of the concrete lot from the train tracks that ran behind the gas station. Beyond the tracks lay pines that screened off the factories lining the river beyond. Mosquitoes filled the air.

  “So, there's a definite pattern, am I right?” I said. “All three places associated with Clay are uninhabited. They're all kind of desolate. Is that just a coincidence?”

  “Coincidence is the explanation of last resort,” Calvin said.

  “So maybe there's some remnant of his energy in all these places. The effect is most severe at the house he burned down, where he died—my old neighborhood. It seems to ripple out to surrounding properties. But now we've seen where his town house and plantation house were, too, and they fit the same pattern.”

  “There may other ghosts haunting these properties, not just Anton.”

  “Let's start narrowing it down, then.” I stepped out of the truck, leaving Hunter inside because of the broken glass and rusty nails.

  I explored the area with my flashlight. Grimy, barely legible signs lay in a heap near the gas station's back door, advertising Marlboro, Skoal, and Budweiser. Graffiti was all over the cinderblock wall. A lot of it was indecipherable gang tags or people's names, but there were a few more detailed paintings. One image of a skull surrounded by fire stood out to me. Its eyes were crazed red spirals, its canines unnaturally long. I shuddered. It was as if the artist had picked up on hints of Anton's energy.

  The skull was painted on one of three metal doors along the gas station's back side. I tried each of the other doors. The men's room door was locked tight, as was the EMPLOYEES ONLY door that led into the back of the boarded-up gas station.

  The burning skull was painted on the third door, the one to the ladies' room. The metal door handle was cold to the touch.

  “What are you doing, Ellie?” Calvin asked from the truck.

  “Just having a look.” The icy handle actually turned all the way. The door was unlocked. I pointed my flashlight at the door, where the burning skull looked back at me with crazy eyes, and then I kicked it open.

  A cold draft, stinking of decay, rolled out of the bathroom. I coughed and backed away to catch my breath.

  “Ellie?” Calvin asked.

  “Good. Great. Like fresh flowers in a spring rain.” I held my nose and pointed my flashlight through the open door.

  Needles littered the inside of the bathroom—in the sink, in the dry but filth-encrusted toilet, all over the floor. There were burned twists of aluminum foil, plus a ratty blanket and a rotten tennis shoe in one corner. The walls and floor, as well as the dented metal box of the paper-towel dispenser, were marked up with paint, with ink, with knife scratches, words and simple images everywhere, overlapping, like the inner lining of a lunatic's mind.

  In a few places, I saw things that reminded me of Anton Clay, like a simple drawing of a house on fire, scratched into a dirty, chipped tile. At least one person, very likely in a drug-induced stupor, had picked up on some remnant of Anton's energy.

  I approached the open bathroom. My Mel-Meter reflected what I felt—the temperature was almost twenty degrees lower inside the small bathroom than the night outside. There was definitely no electricity running within the building, but the meter ticked up several milligaus, indicating energy where there should have been none.

  My face looked strange in the grimy mirror over the bathroom sink. It was like seeing an older, sicker version of myself, like looking into my own future and finding it bleak.

  “I think there's something here,” I said, walking back to Calvin's truck.

  “And if it sets the building on fire, it will do even less harm to any living person than if it burns the old theater downtown. Now you've had a look at both locations and confirmed there's no immediate danger to anyone. So let's go home.”

  “We could just take a quick look inside,” I said, pointing to the back door. “It's not a huge building. Probably just a small auto shop and a little convenience store. It'll take two minutes.”

  “It'll take longer than that if something attacks you.”

  I looked back at the open door to the bathroom. Someone had clearly discovered it was unlocked, maybe even used it regularly. The needles and the items of clothing bothered me as much as the indicators of a ghostly presence. It was possible that this person, or a group of them, had also broken into the old gas station. Maybe they were watching us now, through cracks in the plywood that covered the small window by the back door.

  “Come on, Ellie,” Calvin said. “We'll get breakfast. And some rest. You know what tomorrow is.”

  I scowled, but I was facing away so he couldn't see it. “Yeah,” I said. “How could I forget?”

  Then I stalked toward the door, meaning to slam it shut before we left, but I didn't have to. The door gave a low, rusty creak as it began to swing shut on its own. It wasn't slamming closed like I'd meant to do, but neither was it being moved by the wind, because there wasn't any. That was how it appeared, though, as if some breeze were gently blowing the heavy metal door closed.

  It clicked softly into place.

  Then the metal handle jiggled rapidly, insistently, as if someone inside were trying to get out.

  “Now, Ellie!” Calvin said.

  I decided to listen to him for once. Any number of awful things could be haunting that bathroom, judging by the looks of it. People could have died there, especially in the years since the gas station had closed and the bathroom had become a drug-shooting booth. The extreme temperature drop didn't exactly fit with Anton Clay, either—he was a rare hot ghost.

  “I'll come,” I said. “If you promise to buy breakfast.”

  “Ellie, I'm serious.”

  “I know. That's why I'm blackmailing. Besides, Anton Clay almost killed me Saturday night. I deserve a free breakfast.”

  Calvin gave me a thin smile. That was a reference to older days, when Calvin had taken the lead on every investigation, and I'd been the eager young apprentice trying not to scream at shadows, much less the whispers
and apparitions of the dead. Whenever a ghost nearly kills me, I got a free breakfast.

  Now Calvin had deliberately retreated into the background, sending me out on my own with Stacey as my apprentice, and soon his vanishing act would be complete. There weren't many more free breakfasts in my future.

  I didn't want to think about any of that. I wanted pancakes, followed by about fifteen hours of sleep.

  Calvin, taking my request seriously, took us to an Original Pancake House, which was just opening up, the interior lights flickering to life as we pulled into the parking lot. The sky was still dark overhead, but morning would be on its way, and with it people who needed coffee and sugared bread products. People like me.

  Actually, I didn't intend to have coffee, since that would interfere with my desire to get some sleep as soon as possible. Still, after poking around in dark, abandoned places looking for signs of the supernatural—and finding them—I enjoyed the smell of brewing coffee and the warmly lit interior of the restaurant as welcome signs of life and sanity.

  Sitting at our table, I watched the lights turn on up and down the highway, as the living rose to go about the business of being alive and staying that way. I wondered where Anton Clay was, and what his plans might be.

  Later, I would look back and think of that moment as the end of a certain era in my life. Maybe it had begun when Calvin actually hired me to work for him, or when I'd started hanging around his office during my freshman year of college, badgering him into accepting my presence so I could learn about ghost hunting. Maybe even the night we met, when Anton Clay had burned down my house and killed my family, and Calvin was still with the police department.

  As with so many of life's most significant moments—the last time we speak to a loved one, the last time we see a friend who we never encounter again—it didn't stand out at the time. It was just another morning, drinking orange juice, watching the sky turn slowly from black to blue.

  Chapter Five

  By the time we returned to the office, it was clear that our lives wouldn't be the same.

  A black box truck sat out front, along with a huge black cargo van and a black Acura RLX. I glanced at the license place. The Acura wasn't a rental this time, unlike the one that had stalked Stacey and I on an earlier case when PSI was still quietly scoping out Eckhart Investigations.

  “They're he-eere,” I said, imitating the girl from Poltergeist. “I didn't know they'd be so early, though.”

  “I didn't, either,” Calvin said. “They weren't supposed to arrive until nine.”

  “I hate early birds. They're so rude. And chipper. All at the same time.”

  We pulled around to the back, where Calvin drove his truck in through one of the garage doors, parking next to our blue cargo van.

  Four men and women in dark suits were poking around the workshop, taking pictures and making notes on digital tablets. One of them was rummaging through our file cabinets.

  “They're like vultures,” I said. Then I pointed at the door to Calvin's office, which was open, as Nicholas Blake and Kara Volkova emerged from within it. “And there's Lord and Lady Carrion right now.”

  “Control yourself,” Calvin said. He looked calm on the surface, but one jaw muscle kept flexing angrily. Despite his words of advice, I could tell he was annoyed at the invasion, the Paranormal Solutions team swooping in at an unexpected hour while we were away. He only had to control himself for a matter of days, though, before he made the move to Florida. Plus he had the PSI buyout check to help him feel better.

  I hopped out of the truck, not looking directly at Nicholas or Kara as they approached. I opened the back of the truck and brought Calvin's wheelchair around for him.

  “Good morning,” Nicholas said. He wore a dark suit, no tie, white silk shirt underneath. “We were afraid the last-minute schedule change might inconvenience you, but it appeared you were already busy this morning. Were you off working a case?”

  “Just breakfast,” Calvin said. “You're early.”

  “I am sorry. It's the transition team, you see. They're like programmed clocks. They wake up, they start counting and assessing. They can't help it. Personally, I would rather stay in my hotel until noon or so, order a bit of room service. Perhaps a massage. Do they offer that at our hotel, Kara?”

  “I wouldn't know.” Kara squinted at my rumpled shirt, which I'd been wearing for somewhere close to twenty-four hours by this point. “What's that? Chocolate syrup?”

  Fighting the urge to bare my teeth at her, or maybe launch a boot into her smirking little smile, I glanced down at my shirt. Rats. It was maple syrup, splatted prominently on my lapel. I rubbed it with my thumb. “Just some coffee.”

  “No, it's thicker than coffee,” she said, burrowing her pale forehand and really concern-trolling me about it. “Maybe jelly from a doughnut?”

  “I don't see how this is important.”

  “It is.” Kara straightened up, apparently done staring at my syrup stain like she expected to find the meaning of life in there. “Paranormal Solutions has certain standards for the comportment and appearance of our associates. You can learn about them in the PSI employee manual.”

  “Sounds like ideal bedtime reading,” I said. I watched the young men and women in their black suits picking apart our lab.

  “Our transition team will be around for a few days,” Nicholas said. “Don't mind them.”

  “What are they doing?” I asked.

  “The usual. Taking a complete inventory, and naturally collecting all your case files for inclusion in our master database. Transitioning, in short. As transition teams do.”

  I looked at Calvin, who did not seem at all surprised by the news. Maybe he'd had another reason for pulling Anton Clay's file. It was in the truck's glove compartment now, and the truck was Calvin's personal vehicle. I wanted to keep that file—and all of my personal history that was packed into it—away from Nicholas and Kara's grabby little hands. I would take it home and stash it somewhere.

  “This will require some scanning and digitizing of the older files,” Nicholas said. “I noticed everything before about 2004 seems hand-written.”

  Calvin shrugged. He'd never cared for computers or cell phones, and had adopted the use of each one as late as possible.

  “Oh, well, that's why we bring in all the staff,” Nicholas said, waving a hand at them. “Now, for the really interesting questions. Starting with your, ah, hidden assets.” His eyes flicked at my maple-syrup stain as he said it.

  “Excuse me?” I asked.

  “Dark artifacts. Items associated with dangerous entities. And perhaps you have some of those most dangerous souls stashed somewhere as well? Trapped in little bottles and such?”

  “There's a lead-lined gun safe down in the basement,” Calvin said. “If you're looking for our collection of potentially cursed objects, that's where they are.”

  “Lead the way.” Nicholas nodded at me. “I can't wait to see what you're hiding down there.”

  I looked at Calvin, who just shrugged and waved a hand.

  “Of course, Mr. Blake,” I said to Nicholas, who gave me a large, amused smile. “Whatever you like. I just work here. Can I get you a coffee?”

  “We already helped ourselves.” Nicholas gestured to the coffee machine. The counter around it was so messy, it looked like it had been attacked by a gang of middle-schoolers. The coffee supply had been demolished, much of it spilled on the floor. “Again, you'll have to excuse the transition team. Too many cooks, spoiled broth, you understand. Everyone crowded in at once, trying to get a big cup for themselves.”

  “Yeah, we'll just have the cleaning staff take care of it.” I clapped my hands, then shrugged when nobody materialized. “Good thing it's not in my job description.”

  “From the appearance of this place,” Kara said, looking around at the workshop's cinderblock walls and cluttered shelves, “I would assume cleaning up has not been in anyone's job description for years.”

  “Cute,�
� I said. “We should hang out, Kara. You're fun.”

  “The morning could not be going better, in my opinion,” Nicholas said. “Let's go to the safe, Ellie.”

  “I'm taking the dog upstairs,” Calvin said. “Nothing on the top floor is yours, Nicholas, and neither is my truck.”

  “What a shame. It's a lovely vehicle.” Nicholas smiled blandly as Calvin moved to the elevator. He and Hunter clambered up and away, momentarily distracting the bevy of people picking apart my workplace. Nicholas looked at me. “I wasn't kidding. It looks as if it could move cargo through very difficult terrain.”

  “Yeah, come on,” I said. “We can take the stairs.”

  I led him down. Kara stayed close behind us. I can't say I loved the idea of her coming with us. Then again, I can't say I would have loved the idea of being alone in the basement with Nicholas, either. I wanted to wish them both away into the cornfield, like that kid from the old Twilight Zone episode.

  The basement was smaller than the floor above, and darker, with no windows and just a few bare bulbs overhead. The gun safe loomed in one corner. At eight feet tall, it was a sizable piece of furniture, but it seemed even larger in my mind, its thick steel door like a gateway to a realm of horrors.

  “You're sure you want to look in here now?” I asked. “You wouldn't rather go make cupcakes or something?”

  “We must take inventory.” Nicholas pressed his hands together, even rubbing them slightly, his eyes gleaming, like an evil kid eager to open his evil birthday presents. Kara looked more restrained, holding her digital tablet and smart pen, ready to take notes and images.

  I sighed and began to input the combination. By habit, I stood in a way that blocked their view.

  “I'll need that combination,” Kara said. “This is our safe now.”

  “Oh, really? Are you going to say that about everything in the building?” I asked. “'This is our coffee machine now. These are our paperclips now.'”