The silence that followed was long enough for Marty to wonder if the call had been disconnected. As he was about to speak again, Alex responded.
“No. I think you can figure out where to get the next items from, right?”
“Yes,” Marty lied. “That’s definitely something I can do.”
“Good.”
Marty wanted to ask another question, but the line was dead.
He didn’t waste any time. Hanging the phone up, Marty picked up his bag and left the Clubhouse. He locked the doors behind him and made certain the alarms were set. Pulling his baseball hat on, he tugged the brim down to help hide his features. Ignoring the throbbing pain in his injured shoulder, he slipped his hands into his pockets and walked toward the nearest bus stop. He closed his hand around the key to the safe house and hoped Alex Kallistos wouldn’t be able to find him.
Chapter 38: Too Much Information
Tuesday, 11:00 AM
Tom sat back from the computer, rubbed his eyes, and shook his head.
It was too much.
He had followed the trail left by the proctors.
“Tom?” Victor asked.
Blinking, he looked at the man he considered to be his father. “Yeah.”
“You okay?”
For a moment, Tom considered lying. But he spoke the truth instead.
“No. This is bad, Victor.” Tom motioned to the computer. “Really bad. I mean, I didn’t think it went this far.”
Victor frowned and sat down at the table. “What are you talking about?”
“The proctors,” Tom answered.
Victor nodded. “We knew that before.”
“No. Not like this. We didn’t know this stuff,” Tom said. “I mean, they’re talking about what they’re going to do. Why they’re doing it.”
“How do you even know this?” Victor’s tone was that of concern.
Tom took a deep breath and answered him as calmly as he could, hating the way his voice quivered for a moment.
“So, I managed to get into their chat room, right?”
Victor nodded.
“Okay, so, this is a locked room, on a private server,” Tom began, “but nothing’s really private. Not unless you’re working on a government site, and even then, if you know people, you can get in. Anyway. I can see what the proctors are writing, what they’re doing. I can link them to deaths all over the country. There was a fire in a nursing home in Seattle, Washington, and the proctor that was there for it, she talked about someone named Danny O’Malley, which rang a bell. Turns out, about a month ago, an old firefighter’s helmet was stolen from a house in Boston. The helmet was, according to Mr. Moran, haunted by a firefighter who was an arsonist. Mr. Moran remembers because he sold the item to a collector. That collector died from a fall down a flight of stairs.”
Tom shook his head. “Victor, there are so many of these around the country. And almost all of them can be traced back to some stolen item. Thing is, though, the few proctors still using the room, they’re talking about wrapping the study up for their boss. Exact words. The study.”
“What do you mean?” Victor asked.
“They’re saying there are only a few more places they need to set the ghosts loose in,” Tom stated, his voice tightening.
“More?” Victor’s face paled. “But why?”
Tom took a deep breath and told him what he had seen, what he had read.
“An orphanage,” Tom whispered. “They’re getting ready to let ghosts loose in an orphanage.”
“Where?” Victor’s voice quivered with emotion.
“They haven’t said,” Tom answered, shaking his head. “I wish they would. I need to tell Shane. He needs to know, Victor. He needs to understand how bad this is.”
Victor nodded.
“There’s something else,” Tom said. “I think they’re operating out of New York. I mean, that’s where a lot of their stuff is being routed through, from what I can see.”
“Can you pinpoint it?”
Tom shook his head and let out a bitter laugh. “I’m not that good. I don’t want to reach out to anyone online, though. That’s why Shane needs to know. He’ll have someone he’s worked with or he’s friends with, someone who can find out exactly where they are.”
“Do you want to call him?” Victor asked.
“No,” Tom answered. “I want to go outside and get some air. I don’t want to think about them dumping these killers into an orphanage.”
“Okay.”
Tom pushed his chair out from the table and stood up. “This is bad, Victor. Worse than I thought it could be.”
“I know.”
Tom sighed and went outside. He stood in the sun for a moment, and then he started to weep.
***
Shane hung up the phone and stood silent for a moment.
An orphanage.
The information sank in slowly, unwillingly, but it sank in, nonetheless.
I’ll swing by the Fallon house, see if they’ve still got a cop out front. If not, I’ll call Jack, and we’ll deal with Miriam. If there is… Shane shook his head and walked to the pantry. He took out a fresh pack of cigarettes and tucked them into the pocket of his sweatshirt. If there is, then it’ll be time to find Marty Feldman and ask him those questions he was so keen to avoid.
Lighting a cigarette, Shane left the kitchen, focused and angry.
Chapter 39: Life’s Failing Charm
Tuesday, 11:45 AM
At ninety-two years of age, Stathi McHugh was beginning to feel old.
“Mr. McHugh?”
The voice caused him to turn around in the driveway and to smile at a young African American woman dressed in nurse’s scrubs walking toward him.
“Yes,” he said, bowing his head.
“My name is Tochi. I am here to take your vitals and give you your new medications.”
“Well,” he smiled, “You may call me Stathi if you prefer.”
She smiled. “I saw that on your paperwork. How did you get such a first name?”
“Well, my parents gave it to me in Greece,” he told her, smiling. “When I arrived here as a boy, alone, a man at the processing center told me my familial name was too long. So, he gave me his.”
“Am I to take it he was Irish?” she asked.
“Oh, quite,” Stathi chuckled. “He had a distinct New York accent with highlights of an Irish brogue. He was a character and a good man. He was trying to help me, and he did, after a fashion. When people first saw my last name, they assumed I was Irish.”
“What happened when they learned your first name?” she asked. “It’s not a common name.”
“I shrugged off the question and told people that I didn’t know. That my father was a bit of a drunk, and my mother was a teetotaler.”
“Were they?”
Stathi smiled and nodded. “They were indeed.”
He shook his head. “Where are my manners. Come, let us go inside, and if you don’t mind, I would love to know your name and where you obtained such a beautiful accent.”