Demons Are a Ghoul's Best Friend

  Andrew stood mutely for a full minute, looking from me to Gilley and back again. Finally he said very quietly, “I had an older brother,” he said. “He ran away when I was seven, and we never heard from him again. His name was Richard.”

  Inside my head there was an explosion of emotion, something like a eureka going off in my mind. “I’m so sorry to tell you this,” I said to Andrew. “But your brother is here, and he’s trying to talk to you.”

  Andrew had gone a little pale, a common reaction to my intuitive abilities. “He’s really dead?” he asked me.

  “Yes,” I said, and reached up to squeeze his arm. “I feel he died shortly after he left home.”

  Andrew swayed slightly, and Steven jumped out of his seat. Pulling the chair out, he set Andrew down and handed him a glass of water. “Drink,” he said firmly.

  Andrew looked around, probably extremely self-conscious of where he was and what he was doing, but he took a small sip and thanked Steven. “My mother is going to freak,” he said. “All these years she’s held out hope that Richard was still alive.”

  There was a flurry of information going on in my head, and I had the distinct feeling that not only did Richard die shortly after he left home, but that he had been murdered. “Tell me about when he ran away,” I said.

  Andrew took another sip of water and said, “It was thirty years ago. I was seven and Richard was sixteen. He was my hero in a lot of ways. He had his own car, and he smoked pot, and he was supercool. And then one night he had a really bad fight with my dad and he left, just like that. No good-byes, no ‘See ya later.’ Just gone.”

  Richard was showing me a bunch of intense images, one of which involved a body of water. I felt the poor young man had drowned, and I knew he’d died at the hands of someone else. “Did Richard have any enemies?” I asked.

  Andrew seemed to catch where I was going with this. “He was murdered?”

  I nodded. “That’s what he’s telling me.”

  Andrew dropped his gaze to the tablecloth. “Richard was a pretty cocky kid,” he said. “My family lives in Wheaton, and where I come from there’s always someone out to get you.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “Wheaton is about twenty miles from Lake Placid. It’s blue-collar. Most of the service-industry people who work in Lake Placid live there. Wheaton’s got its share of drugs and gangs and bad stuff. It wouldn’t surprise me if Richard got into it with someone and came out on the losing end.”

  “Is there a lake or a pond in Wheaton?” I asked, as the image wouldn’t leave my mind.

  Andrew shook his head. “No. All the lakes and ponds are over on this side of the tracks. Is his body near water?”

  I nodded. “Not so much near as in, I’m afraid. He’s telling me he drowned.”

  Andrew’s face fell. “You know, he was always afraid of water. That’s why he swore he’d never come to work around here.”

  Richard gave my mind a few more images, and I said, “Your brother is telling me that he’s very proud of the fact that you’re going back to school.”

  Andrew seemed to brighten. “He knows that?”

  “Yep. You go back in the fall, right? And it’s something to do with health care?”

  “That’s right!” he exclaimed. “I think thirty-seven is too old to still be a waiter, so I’m going to NYU in the fall to become an X-ray technician.”

  “Your brother says you’ll do great,” I said.

  Just then a man in a dark business suit came by our table.

  “Excuse me, Andrew? Is everything all right?” he asked, looking pointedly at Andrew.

  Steven stood up to his full height and said, “Everything is very good. Our waiter is participating in a little fun with us. He is a very good waiter. I think you should give him a raise.”

  Andrew stood up quickly, a flush coming over him. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Gearson,” he said.

  “Apologies are not necessary,” said Steven sternly, looking sharply at what I assumed was Andrew’s manager. “We insisted that you sit down, and you were merely doing what we asked.”

  Mr. Gearson smiled tightly. “Well,” he said. “As long as everything is to your liking.” With that he gave us a short bow and walked off.

  “Thanks,” Andrew said. “My manager’s got a major stick up his butt.”

  Gilley giggled like he liked that idea, and I gave him a dirty look before reassuring Andrew. “Richard has pulled his energy back, but he wanted you to know that he meant to come back home, and he never would have left without saying good-bye to you.”

  Andrew nodded, and I saw his eyes grow moist. “Excuse me,” he said, and hurried off.

  “Are you going to try to cross this Richard over?” Steven asked, taking his seat.

  I shook my head. “He’s not a ghost. He’s already on the other side.”

  “How can you tell when someone has made it over and someone else hasn’t?” he said, passing the basket of rolls to me before taking one for himself.

  I buttered my roll, thinking about it for a moment before I replied. “Basically I can tell the difference because the energies feel different.”

  “Different how?” Gil said.

  “Well,” I said, still trying to think of how to put it into words. “Earthbound energies—ghosts—feel lower.”

  “Lower?” Gil said.

  “Yeah, like they hit me in a different way, sort of a thud in my solar plexus that then pulls down. Whereas energies that have already crossed over hit me in the stomach area too, but then their energy lifts up a little to float right around my head.”

  Steven and Gilley passed a look between them and then turned back to me. “We don’t understand,” Gil said.

  I sighed. “I didn’t say it was an easy thing to describe. It’s more that I get a sense of lightness with energies who have crossed and a sense of being weighed down by energies who are stuck here. There’s also the intensity of the energy. Ghosts are all about showing you the drama of what just happened to them. Spirits—or people who have crossed over—are much more into telling you about a loved one they want to connect with.”

  Gil’s face seemed to register comprehension. “I get it,” he said. “A ghost is all about the last moments of their death, and a spirit isn’t as concerned with that so much as they are making contact, right?”

  I smiled. “Exactly.”

  Andrew appeared next to us again, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I forgot to get your order.”

  We ate our meal, which was one of the best I’ve had in a long time, and enjoyed some terrific service too. Andrew took excellent care of us, and even surprised us by presenting three delicious crème brûlées prepared especially for us by the chef. I thanked him for his attentiveness at the end of the meal, and that was when he shocked me with, “Did my brother mention who might have killed him?”

  Gil and Steve stopped talking between them and gave their full attention to me. “No, Andrew, I’m so sorry. His sole purpose was making a connection to you.”

  Andrew smiled, but it didn’t go anywhere near his eyes. “Yeah, I figured as much. Still, if he was murdered, I’d like to nail the bastard who did it.”

  At that moment Richard came lightly back into my energy, and the message I got from him was short and to the point. “Andrew,” I began, feeling the message out. “Your brother is telling me that you may find out who killed him one of these days. He’s saying that he promises to help reveal who it was and why.”

  Andrew brightened. “Thank you,” he said kindly. “And your meal this evening is on me.”

  The three of us vehemently protested. The bill for our meal had to be in the three-hundred-dollar range, but Andrew would have none of it. “It’s the least I can do,” he insisted. “Please?”

  Steven deferred to me, and I nodded reluctantly. “It’s very kind of you, Andrew; we’re very touched by your generosity.”

  He smiled. “Thank you,” he said, and cleared our d
essert plates. We chatted for another few minutes and then stood to leave. I noticed Steven reach for his wallet, and then he discreetly laid four one-hundred-dollar bills under his wineglass.

  I gave him a huge grin and took his arm as we left the restaurant.

  The next day Gil and I were up early, going over our plan of attack for the school and doing some last-minute equipment checking. Karen had sent me a text that she would call me as soon as the dean gave his okay, and by noon we still hadn’t heard anything, so I went for a run.

  When I got back Steven was in the kitchen sipping on some coffee. “Good morning,” he said in his rich voice.

  “Hey, there,” I said, still breathing hard.

  “Gilley is in the shower. He told me to tell you that Teeko has sent word; we can go to the school when you’re ready.”

  “Great, let me just take a quick shower myself and we’ll be on our way.”

  “Need any help with the back scrubbing?” he asked, looking at me over the brim of his mug with smoldering sensuality.

  Thank God I was already red from my run, because I could feel my cheeks burn even hotter at the suggestion. “Nope,” I said quickly, and hurried toward my bedroom. “Got it covered, thanks!”

  “Next time, then,” he called after me.

  I hurried through my shower and met Gil and Steven back in the kitchen. “We ready?” I asked.

  Gil saluted. “Van’s loaded.”

  “Let’s rocking roll!” Steven said.

  I laughed and we left the lodge. We arrived back on the school’s campus about ten minutes later and were met by an eerie quiet. The weather had improved a little—no rain, but thick black clouds threatened to unload some water if we even thought about walking around outside without an umbrella.

  There hadn’t been anyone walking around on campus three days before, but it had still felt like it had a lot of activity going on. As we parked the van and each grabbed a duffel bag and some equipment, I looked at the landscape and frowned.

  “What’s wrong?” Steven asked me when he noticed I wasn’t following after Gilley to the admin office.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “But something wicked this way comes.”

  “I am not understanding this,” Steven said.

  I shivered a little and turned back to follow after Gilley.

  “It’s nothing,” I reassured him. “Just my radar picking up our ghost, I think.”

  We filed into the front door of the main building and made our way to the dean’s office. No receptionist was there, but the lights were on. I rang a small bell on the counter, and a moment later Dean Habbernathy appeared. “Good afternoon,” he said. “I was hoping you’d be by shortly. The last student has left campus for the summer, and I’m just about to close up here.”

  “We appreciate your cooperation on this, Dean,” I said.

  “Yes, well, Mr. Dodge and Miss O’Neal can be most persuasive.”

  Gil discreetly poked me in the ribs with his elbow, but I ignored him.

  “Mr. Dodge has convinced me to allow this…er…procedure to take place, and we’ve agreed to give you until Friday to complete whatever it is that you do. At that point Mr. Dodge’s own construction company will be taking over the renovations on the new wing.”

  “How will we get in and out of the building?” I asked, noting that the dean had turned off the light to his office and was reaching for his coat.

  “I will leave you a key,” he said, and dug into his pocket.

  “It opens the door to that wing. The other buildings on the campus are off-limits, however.”

  Gilley took the key and said, “Thank you, Dean. We’ll make sure to lock up after ourselves.”

  “I should hope so,” he said. “Again, I must express that I really don’t approve of this at all.”

  “Would you approve next year if half your students left because you hadn’t taken care of the problem?” I snapped. This man’s snobbery was getting on my last nerve.

  The dean looked askance at me. “I don’t believe there is a problem, Miss…”

  “Holliday, and it’s because of that attitude that one of your students had a mental breakdown once upon a time, am I right?”

  The dean gasped, and Steven gave me a look that suggested I might have gone a little too far. “How did you know about that?” Habbernathy asked.

  “I read it in the paper,” I said, not backing down. “How many students does it take, Dean Habbernathy, for people like you to want to try something, anything that might help? I mean, I just don’t understand all the resistance on your part.”

  The dean narrowed his electric blue eyes at me. I could tell he didn’t like it when people stood up to him. “As I said, you have one week, Miss Holliday, to complete your ritual. Now, if you will excuse me.” And with that he ushered us out into the front hall and hurried us out the door.

  “Charming man,” Gil said sarcastically as we watched the dean walk briskly to his car. “He must be a real hoot at parties.”

  “Come on,” I groused, still put off by the dean’s attitude.

  “Let’s get on with this.”

  We carried our equipment over to the right of the main building. It was easy to tell where we were going, as a huge banner over the old elementary wing read, FUTURE SITE OF JOHN DODGE HALL.

  Gilley pointed to the banner, “Subtle,” he said. “I wonder how he got it up so fast?”

  “Money talks, bulls walk,” said Steven.

  “Bullshit,” I corrected.

  “No, it is true,” Steven insisted, misunderstanding me—again. “Money can motivate people sometimes better than bulls. Especially if they are walking bulls. You know, that saying really should be, ‘Money talks like a charging bull.’ It’s better, no?”

  I gave Gil a big wide-eyed stare. He could take this one. While Gil attempted to explain we arrived at the front door, and Gil set down his duffel bag to free up his hand and unlock the door. I glanced through the pane of glass into the dark hallway, and the hair stood up on the back of my neck exactly at the same time I saw a shadow pass from one classroom across the hall and into the opposite classroom. “Ohmigod!” I shouted.

  “What?” Gil and Steven said together.

  “Gil! Hurry! Open up the door!” I said, setting down my own duffel bag and grabbing at his hand for the key.

  “M.J.!” Gil said with alarm. “What’s going on?”

  I snatched the key from him and shoved it into the lock, twisting and pulling at the same time. “It’s Hatchet Jack!” I said, struggling with the door. “I just saw him in the hallway!”

  Gilley laid his hand over mine and applied pressure to the door with his free hand. He then turned the key and pulled, and the door swung open. I dashed inside and ran straight for the classroom where I’d seen the dark shadow pass. I pulled open that door and hurried inside. Nothing moved or looked amiss. “Crap!” I said.

  Steven and Gilley came into the classroom then, and they too looked around. “Where is he?” Steven said.

  I looked up and down the neat rows of small desks in perfect straight lines facing the chalkboard. “I swear I saw him duck in here.”

  “Maybe he—” Gil said, but was interrupted by a tremendous crash across the hall.

  “What the…?!” I shouted, and we ran out of that classroom and into the one across the hallway. The hair on my arms was now also standing on end, but in here as well everything looked orderly and neat. Desks were arranged in four long rows, perfectly angled to the teacher’s desk in front of the chalkboard. “He’s around,” I said, and opened up my energy. “I can feel him.”

  Again another crash sounded, and we all jumped. It came from the classroom we’d just left, so we turned to head back across the hall when the classroom door smashed closed in our faces. Gil got the brunt of it, and the force that was used to close the door was so strong that it sent all three of us tumbling backward. “Bastard!” I swore, and jumped forward.

  “Ohhhhh, my nose!” Gil moa
ned from the floor, holding his face while Steven tried to help him up.

  “Shit!” I swore as I pushed at the knob on the door and threw my weight against it. “I think he locked us in here!” Stepping back, I swiveled slightly to an angle to the door and raised my foot. I’d been taking some Tae Bo lessons lately, and I was mad enough to kick that door into splinters. With a loud, “Ha!” I thrust my foot out as hard as I could…and fell flat on my face when the door swung open away from me and there was nothing to stop my momentum. To add to my humiliation, in my ear I distinctly heard the low, guttural laughing of something truly wicked.

  “Ugh!” I said when I hit the ground rolling over to lie flat on my back.

  “M.J.!” Steven said, leaving Gilley to come over to me.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine!” I snapped, and got to my feet. Then I looked over at Gilley and took a deep breath. “How’s Gil?”

  “He’s fine. Just a bruise.”

  “It hurts!” Gil whined in a nasal voice. “Why do they always attack me?” he added.

  I moved back over to him. “Sorry, buddy. Do you want to go back to the van?”

  Gilley nodded, still holding his nose. “Yes, please.”

  “Okay,” I said, turning to Steven. “That leaves you and me to hunt this asshole down.”

  There was another crash from the classroom across the hall, and that door slammed shut too. “I believe I may know where he is at present,” Steven said.

  Gilley pushed off from the desk he was leaning on and dashed out of the classroom. I watched him run down the hallway without looking back and hurry outside to the van. “He is a brave man,” Steven said as we watched Gilley run.

  I broke into a grin. “Yeah, well, he’s always telling us he likes to monitor things from the safety of the van.”