Roger Newsome was dead, and only Angela could see him.
It was oddly comforting he was with her.
“Keep moving and keep smiling. The costuming for ‘Ghouls in Shining Armor’ is right ahead. One false move, and I will shoot you here and now,” David Andre told her. “It might make my work harder, but I’m afraid you won’t be all that could be anyway. I just won’t have the time to work on you the way I should. So, I know your kind. You’ll play for time. But this place is huge—I mean, you need to have some space for cars full of ‘ghoulish’ little kiddies to come through.” He paused to laugh at his own joke.
That was all right; she was angry with herself. The search through the creatures had become so intense she and Roger had been alone when he’d joined them. And he’d appeared rushed and desperate and before she’d even thought to pull her weapon against him, she’d felt the nose of “Officer Ridley’s” gun against her ribs.
“I will play for time, yes,” Angela told him. She stopped walking—despite the gun in her ribs—and turned to him. “But you know it’s over.”
“I do. They’ll shoot me down—or I’ll walk away free and clear.”
“You don’t think they’ll know they’re looking for a cop.”
He laughed softly again. “They think they’re looking for a doctor. I have one regret. I’m not sure how I’m going to get that oh-so-special agent Jackson Crow. I’d wanted both of you—you ruined everything. You didn’t need to die. I was only going after cruel and stupid people—”
“Roger Newsome wasn’t cruel or stupid,” Angela said.
“Thank you,” the ghost murmured.
“No! Don’t you see? I needed to make it appear to be random and you don’t understand. Roger would have died slowly and in agony—and I could make it swift and easy. You’d be amazed at how good you get with knives when you work in my field. It was over for him in seconds.”
“That’s true,” the ghost said.
“I want it to be that way for you—even though you and Crow destroyed everything I had planned. But I’m going to be merciful because you’re not bad people. You thought you were doing the right thing. But I was killing those who were mean and hurtful.”
“Everyone doesn’t get every job they go for. You might have gotten a great job if you had given it more time. Your work is good.”
He laughed. “You saw that. But you saw it—because I proved it. Okay, here we are at costuming. Strip. Oh, not your underwear—I’m not a sexual predator. Just get into that princess costume—now!”
He wasn’t going to leave her. And doffing her suit for a princess gown was the least of her worries.
Being forced to leave her Glock and holster behind was not good.
She had to change slowly while appearing to do so as he directed. She pretended to be nervous, trying to step from the pants of her suit while tripping over her shoes, then struggling to get them off and the pants off without appearing to be doing so on purpose. Then her jacket and shirt. And she could hope while he was zipping her into the purple princess costume she could get to his gun.
She did manage to take time; she didn’t manage to get his gun. He held it on her despite her request for assistance.
“Are you kidding me? You’re a trained agent. I’m not taking any chances with you. You get that zipper up—and quit stalling.”
“If you want me to help you turn me into a princess before you kill me, you need to give me the time that I need!”
Of course, she could get the zipper.
“Shoddy, shoddy, shoddy!” he said, shaking his head. “A medieval gown would never have a zipper—if it was for a ghoul princess or not!”
She pretended to struggle, but eventually had to get the zipper. He wagged the nose of the gun toward a dressing table.
“Big make-up,” he told her. “Blood red cheeks—that’s funny, isn’t it? Blood red cheeks. Anyway, big eyes! Darken them up. White base.”
She knew how to do make-up—krewe spouses and significant others included several who worked for an historic non-profit theater Adam Harrison, their philanthropist creator, owned.
She worked as slowly as she dared, doing her best work.
“Hurry it up!”
“Hey, I’m not you, and you’re not really creating this work, but I’m doing my best to be as good as possible!” she snapped back.
He surveyed her through the mirror as she worked. “Not bad—beautiful and creepy. Just what I want!”
She worked with the mascara on the dressing table, taking all the time she could—and hoping Jackson had gotten the message she had given him.
“I’m going to create a distraction,” Roger Newsome said. “I have to . . . I need to be able to push something . . . to rattle some chains. I don’t have any chains. But . . .”
“That’s good enough!” David Andre snapped. “Time for Ghouls in Shining Armor!”
“Should I go for Jackson?” Roger’s ghost asked.
In reply, she looked at David Andre.
“Jackson will find me,” she said.
“Right, of course. You gave him a clue as to where this wretched excuse for humanity plans on taking you,” Roger said.
“That’s part of my point. Not my original point, but . . . I’m working on it. Maybe I can find a way to make one of you kill the other—now, that would add directing to my credits! Then again, this is a big park. May take him far too long to find you. At any rate, Princess Ghoul, it’s time!”
He shoved the gun in her face. She stood. And walked ahead of him.
The ghost of Roger Newsome hurried on before her, looking desperately for a way that a ghost with no substance could save a living woman.
Chapter 8
Night.
Jackson was grateful for the relationship he had with his wife; they were best friends, lovers, and partners.
He talked to Ken Kendall as he drove.
“Yes, she’s been with one of the officers—” Kendall began.
“No, she’s with David Andre, wearing a uniform he stole from a cop he smashed in the head at the hospital,” Jackson said impatiently.
“We are going to bring him down—”
“No, listen to me. I need you to get people out to the Ghouls in Shining Armor area,” he said. “But without being seen. They’ll need to be careful. I’m getting there as soon as I can.”
“But how—”
“Trust me; I know where they’re going,” Jackson said. “They can’t be seen; he’ll kill Angela right away if they’re seen.”
“So, through the back—”
“No, David Andre will have had her at costuming—”
“He must know the place is crawling with real cops!”
“He doesn’t care. We’re on end game,” Jackson said. “They can’t be seen. I’ll be there within minutes. That’s the most important; they can’t be seen.”
“I’ve got it,” Kendall promised him quietly.
Jackson used his light and siren until he neared the theme park. At the gate, he got out of the car, and he started to run. He wouldn’t slow until he had neared his objective.