“Then what am I supposed to do?!” Alex yelled, and he instantly regretted it. The ever-present dull thud of his injury grew louder inside his skull, pounding against him. His eyes glazed over for a moment, the world dark and Abel Worthe nothing more than a shadow. The incessant buzzing increased in volume and tempo, and Alex wanted to scream.
Screaming only made it worse, and so he did nothing more than grind his teeth together until his jaw ached, and the noise in his head sank to a tolerable hum.
“Are you quite done?” Abel’s question was absent of malice. There was only the practiced, even tone of the teacher who has an intelligent but recalcitrant student.
“Yes,” Alex sighed.
“You need to control yourself, kid,” Timmy observed. “One of these days, you’re going to get so worked up that your head’s going to pop off.”
Alex snickered, and Abel’s calm demeanor faltered as he looked with hatred at Timmy.
“Yes,” Abel grumbled after a moment, turning away from Timmy. “Let’s return to the business at hand. You need to make a decision, Alex. Will you continue to waste your resources, or will you maximize them and achieve your goal?”
“I want to achieve my goal,” Alex answered.
The old man nodded. “Excellent. That, my young student, is what I wanted to hear. Now, I will write these down later for you, but we should discuss them first. Iron bracelets for anyone going after the ghosts. They are easier to make and fit than rings, easier to remove as well. If need be, gloves can be fashioned with strips of iron in them, so the wearer might have greater confidence in their ability to defend themselves against the dead. You need to ensure that all the bags or boxes brought into a building are strong enough to withstand an angry ghost. Perhaps, if one is available nearby, you could commission a carpenter to make you some. Make certain they are lined with lead, regardless of the road you take concerning their manufacture.”
“Yeah, I know. What do you think I should do? Equip all my hunters with these?” Alex asked, and he hated the whining tone of his voice.
“Yes.”
“I think that’s a terrible idea,” Alex muttered.
“And why is that?” Abel asked, his tone polite.
“Because then I have to get them to all those people,” Alex complained. “I don’t want to see Marty Feldman again. He’s terrible.”
“He is only terrible,” Abel reminded him, “because he did not have the right tools for the job.”
“Do you like him or something?” Alex demanded.
The old man chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t even know him. What I do know is that you need more ghosts for the final experiment. Marty can assist you. If he can no longer perform his duties, then kill him and burn the building to the ground. It really is as simple as that.”
“I may have to kill them all when it’s finished,” Alex informed Abel. “They’ve got too much information. I don’t like it.”
“Whatever you need to do will be fine,” Abel assured him. “The main point, Alex, is that you get as many of the items as you can. Once you are satisfied that you have enough, then it would be best to tie off all your loose ends.”
Alex grinned. “I like that.”
Abel smiled. “Is there anything else?”
Alex frowned, took a small notebook out of his back pocket, and flipped through several pages of notes before putting it away again. “You have answered every question. Thank you.”
“You are quite welcome,” the man said.
“Timmy.” Alex nodded to his friend.
The dead man stepped forward, and Abel peered at him, confused. Timmy squatted and then pressed his fingers into the old man’s legs. Abel screamed as the ghost’s digits sank through cloth and into flesh. After almost a minute, Timmy withdrew them, and Alex saw with satisfaction that the old man had soiled himself, his face pale, eyes darting around in confusion.
“You’re going to take a long time to die,” Alex informed Abel Worthe.
“But I helped you!” the old man wailed.
“Yes. And you put me here, to begin with.” Alex smiled. “I appreciate the information. The knowledge. And thank you for helping me understand it. But don’t think it bought you forgiveness.”
“Please,” Abel whispered.
Timmy reached forward and put his index finger through Abel’s left eye.
The old man shrieked and collapsed, unconscious from the pain.
“You know,” the dead man said in a contemplative tone, “I never did get to pay this SOB back for Meredith.” As he continued to speak, a note of seething hatred crept into his words. “You remember what he did. He killed her, kid. Killed her. All because she loved me.”
Alex looked at Timmy and listened.
“Me.” Timmy’s voice sank to a whisper. “Her gentleman killer.”
The dead man squatted beside the unconscious Worthe.
“You’re right, he’s going to die slow,” Timmy murmured. “Just as slow as I can possibly make it.”
Alex got comfortable, and then he and Timmy waited for Professor Abel Worthe to wake up and get ready to die.
Chapter 20: A Pleasant Conversation
Friday, 6:00 AM
Shane hesitated a moment, then, in a rough voice, he spoke.
“I love you, Jacinta.”
There was only silence from the other end, and he felt certain he had spoken those words to dead air. Then, a fear that he hadn’t gripped him.
Before he could react to that fear, a rush of breath filled the line. Her voice was gentle, and he braced himself for a polite but firm denial.
“Oh, Shane,” she whispered in Spanish, “I love you, too. Hell, how am I supposed to work now?”
He laughed, his voice shaking, his hand trembling as he tried to free a cigarette from a fresh pack of Lucky Strikes. “Don’t know.”
“You’re no help,” she laughed. “Wow. Um, I’m going to need you to say that again as soon as we see each other next time.”
“How about in between?” he asked playfully, managing to light the cigarette. “When we talk?”
“Yeah, if you don’t, I’m going to break your damned jaw,” she told him. “I have a get-out-of-jail-free card, you know.”
“Hm, yeah, the thin blue line,” he said, feigning distress. “Guess I better make sure I say it.”
“Say it again,” she commanded.
“I love you, Jacinta,” he told her.
“I love you, Shane. I gotta go. We caught a murder, and we’re on our way out to play police.”
“All right, be careful.”
She chuckled. “You, too.”
Shane ended the call and wasn’t surprised when his shaking grew worse. He let it race through his body, then, after a few minutes, he was calm.
The door opened, and Shane glanced over his shoulder. Tom exited the house and walked to the car. The teenager leaned against the quarter-panel next to Shane. Tom’s eyes narrowed.
“You okay?” the teenager asked.
“Yup.”
Tom glanced from Shane to the phone, and then back to Shane. “Something happened.”