Beyond the Grave (22 page)

"He's not a patient, but has gone inside to get one out."

"An escape! Capital idea. Wish my friends had thought of that. Wish I'd had friends. Or family. Oh, I had a brother, of course, but he never liked me. Said I was soft in the head." He tapped his temple. "He said I was a few cards short of a full deck." He chuckled into his hand. "I don't know what that means, but all his friends thought it a good joke. Do you think it's amusing, Miss Holloway?"

Good lord, I was going to trust this spirit to report back on Lincoln's progress? Perhaps I was the mad one. "Listen very carefully, Mr. McIlroy. I'd like you to enter the hospital—"

"No!" he screeched. "I'm not going back in there again, not now that I'm out."

"Just for a few minutes. Besides, nothing can harm you now. You're already dead."

"But…there are ghosts in that place."

"Mr. McIlroy,
you
are a ghost."

He looked down at himself again and straightened. "Oh. So I see. But…the doctors are more frightening than the ghosts." He rubbed his wrists, pushing back the sleeves to reveal what looked like scratches or cuts. "They shackle you to the bed at night," he whispered, once more leaning forward. "Those of us who wander at night are chained up. The dangerous ones are given medicine to make them sleep. It's horrible, Miss Holloway. I called for my nurse, but she didn't hear me. She left, you see, when I was twelve. They said I was too old for a nurse, but I didn't think so. What was her name again?"

"Mr. McIlroy, please try to focus your attention on me and the task at hand."

He blinked and nodded firmly. "Yes. I will. What is it you want me to do?"

"I want you to go inside the building and look for a man dressed all in black with longish black hair. He's neither a patient nor a staff member. He is attempting to rescue Mr. Buchanan, your old roommate. Can you do that?"

"I am almost certain that I can."

"I'm afraid I have the power to order you to do it, but I prefer your acquiescence."

"Then you have it. Do you have a pistol?"

"Why do you need a pistol?"

"So I can shoot anyone who gets in my way. Particularly Dr. Freeman and a certain orderly by the name of Daniels." He snickered as if it were a great joke.

"Dr. Freeman and Mr. Daniels are most likely at home in their own beds, not in the hospital. There is no need for weapons, and you cannot hold them anyway. Just go inside, look for my friend, then come back and report to me. Do you understand?"

He nodded. "Shall I go now?"

"Yes!"

"Right-o." He flew out the window and into the night.

I tipped my head back against the wall. "That was exhausting."

"Has he gone?" Seth asked.

"He has. And now we wait again."

We didn't have to wait long. Almost immediately, the ghost flew back, tumbling through the open window and landing on my lap.

"I found him!" he gasped out with a triumphant smile.

"And?"

"And he's in my old bed."

"What do you mean?"

Seth leaned through the window. "Charlie? What's happened?"

McIlroy eyed Seth and lifted one shoulder. "I mean he's lying in my bed. Black haired fellow, longish
et cetera
. He's real still and there's blood everywhere."

"Blood!" I shoved open the door, pushing Seth aside. "Lincoln has been captured," I told him.

"Are you sure?"

I grabbed his jacket at his chest and scrunched it in my fist. "I have to go in and get him out. Come Mr. McIlroy. I'll need your help."

"I'm going too," Seth said.

"Don't get caught," Gus said from the driver's seat. "I can't carry all of you out
and
keep the horses quiet."

I wasn't as deft as Lincoln in getting over the fence, but I managed it without tearing my clothing. Thank goodness I'd worn boys' clothes instead of skirts. That was my last clear thought that wasn't about Lincoln as I raced across the lawn with Seth on my left and McIlroy's spirit on my right.

I
didn't know
how Lincoln had got inside. Broken a window? Picked a lock? He hadn't deemed it necessary to divulge such particulars to us before we set out. It meant that Seth and I now stood outside the front door, wondering what to do next.

"Perhaps one of the upper floor windows is open," he said, tilting his head back.

"How do you propose to get up there? Fly?"

Seth swore. I sighed.

"I can fly." To prove his point, McIlroy's spirit did a flip in the air then he cackled with glee.

He gave me an idea. "How did you get in before?"

"Through the keyhole."

"Listen to me carefully, Mr. McIlroy. Do you know where your physical body is now?"

"The basement, most likely. That's where they take the bodies until someone from the mortuary comes. Do you know when I died? I can't seem to recall much about my final days."

"We were here around midday, so some time after that."

"What's he saying?" Seth asked, warily.

"That his body is in the basement. Mr. McIlroy, I need you to go back inside, find your way to the basement, and re-enter your body."

"Re-enter?" McIlroy screwed up his face like a child served a dish full of beans.

"Just lie on it and allow your spirit to sink through. Then…get up and walk." It was the best explanation I could give. None of the other spirits I'd raised had any trouble working it out, so hopefully McIlroy wouldn't either. "Come and unlock this door for us. Be as quiet as you can."

"Is he gone?" Seth asked, glancing around.

McIlroy saluted Seth then his mist slipped through the keyhole.

I blew out a measured breath. "Yes."

We waited for an interminably long time, or so it seemed. Despite the darkness, the night wasn't quiet. The distant rattle of wheels and clip-clop of hooves provided a familiar and comforting backdrop to the unfamiliar and eerie wails coming from inside the asylum. My skin prickled and a shiver rippled down my spine. I sidled closer to Seth.

He put his arm around me. "This place gives me the jitters too."

The sound of thumping had us both bristling. I shushed Seth when he began to speak and listened. There it was again, followed by a low, male voice. Finally the lock clicked and the door opened a crack. The cadaverous face of McIlroy emerged through the dimness.

"This is a jolly lark," he said, chuckling. "Come in, come in."

"Was that you thumping?" I asked as he closed the door behind us and we were swallowed up by the darkness.

"Walked into some furniture. Damned hard to see in here."

As if he just remembered he'd been holding it, Seth opened the shutter on the lantern he'd removed from the coach. Its circle of light didn't reach far but it was enough to help see the furniture before we walked into it.

"Which way?" he asked.

"Follow me."

I hurried along the gallery in the men's ward and tiptoed up the stairs at the end. Light came from one of the rooms ahead. A quick count of the doors told me it was Buchanan's dormitory. Murmurs drifted along the gallery, one male, the other female, but the words were drowned out by a high-pitched cry from the depths of the building.

I froze. Seth crowded close at my back, his presence a comfort until I felt him shiver. "What was that?" he whispered.

"Garvey," McIlroy said. "He's always making a fuss at night. I think he does it on purpose to get the orderly on duty out of bed. Don't know why he hasn't been subdued yet."

"Perhaps because the orderly's in there." I pointed to the door up ahead.

"Mystery solved. You're very clever, Miss Holloway." He chuckled, and I had to place a hand on his shoulder to shush him.

"Wait here." I crept closer to the door until my booted toes touched the light streaming out of the room. I peered around and saw the nurse and two orderlies standing over the bed where I'd seen McIlroy earlier in the day. A man with broad shoulders lay on his side, his black, curly hair splayed over the pillow. It was too long to be fashionable, too dark to be properly English.

I covered my mouth to smother my gasp. Oh, Lincoln.

I signaled for Seth to come closer. "We have to get him out," I whispered as he peered past me.

"Has he been injected with anything?"

I shrugged and looked into the room again.

"What a bloody mess," said one of the orderlies, a bulky man with a narrow face and receding hairline. "Why didn't you do something, Mathews?"

"I tried, but he had the knife," said the younger orderly.

"It's done now," the nurse said. "No use crying over spilled milk."

The narrow faced orderly snorted. "Spilled something, all right, but it ain't milk. How're we going to clean this mess up?"

"Linen'll have to be thrown out," the young orderly said. "Mattress scrubbed, blankets washed. Bloody lot of work."

"Aye." Narrow-face grabbed Lincoln by the arms and hauled him into a sitting position.

That's when I saw all the blood. It was everywhere. It coated the length of his arms, his hands and chest. It covered the blankets and matted his hair.

"No!" I muttered. "Oh, God." Hot tears welled. I felt myself tipping forward, falling onto my knees.

Someone caught me—Seth perhaps. I clutched at his arm and stared at the lifeless body being hefted from the bed. So much blood…

I pulled away from Seth and lurched into the room, stumbling forward on weak, wobbling legs. The orderly dropped the body in surprise and leapt back with a shout. But I only had eyes for—

It wasn't Lincoln. The lifeless man lying on the bed had darker skin and a softer, younger face. I fell to my knees anyway, in relief, and sobbed.

The nurse let out a high scream that was louder and more terrifying than anything I'd heard in this place. She shrank back against the wall, her wide eyes on something behind me. McIlroy, I assumed.

"Seth, it's not him!" I shouted above the noise.

"I can see that." He planted his feet and prepared to fight as Narrow-face ran at us.

"Give us what we want and we'll leave," I said, regaining my courage and my strength. "No one will be hurt if you give us Mr. Buchanan."

Narrow-face didn't seem to hear me. He lunged at Seth. Seth dodged the fist and rolled on top of the body on the bed, then fell off the other side with a thud.

Narrow-face, thinking his work done, turned to McIlroy. "You look familiar."

McIlroy giggled, an innocent, childish sound that made me want to pat his back.

I edged toward the bed where Buchanan lay sleeping. He and the other patients in the room must have been medicated because our ruckus didn't wake them. I took stock of his size, and the fact that he was shackled by his wrists to the bedposts, and swore under my breath.

I was about to call for McIlroy when a shadow emerged from the deeper shadows in the corner near the fireplace. "This is not going the way I planned."

"Lincoln! Oh, thank God." I raced around the foot of Buchanan's bed and threw myself at him. He caught me and breathed deeply before setting me aside. "I thought you were dead."

"I'm not," he said, as Seth's grunt had us turning to see that he was all right. He was, but he was fighting both orderlies on his own. McIlroy stood aside and watched, echoing the movements with his own fists punching thin air.

"There appears to have been a mix up," I said. "That'll teach me to ask dead madmen for assistance."

Narrow-face drew a knife from his sleeve, and the young orderly followed suit. Seth backed away before he too removed the knife he'd tucked into the waistband of his trousers.

"Explain later." Lincoln rushed low at Narrow-face. With his back to us, the orderly didn't see Lincoln coming. He toppled to the ground, taking his colleague with him in a loud crash and tangle of limbs.

Seth laughed as he stepped into the fray and grasped the young orderly's wrists. "You make that look so easy." He removed the knife as Lincoln jabbed his fingers into Narrow-face's throat. With a gurgling choke, he too relinquished his blade.

The nurse screamed again, so I went to her and covered her mouth. "You will not be harmed, but you must be quiet." She settled down to a whimper and nodded.

"Now, give me the keys to that man's bonds." I pointed at Buchanan.

She shook her head and I removed my hand. "I don't have the keys. The orderlies do."

By the time I turned, Seth and Lincoln were already searching their pockets.

"You want to free him?" Narrow-face said. "You're as mad as him. Maybe madder. You don't want to free any of 'em, especially those that got to be locked up at night. They're bloody dangerous."

Lincoln smashed his fist across the orderly's cheek. The nurse screamed, and I winced, both at the sound and Lincoln's lack of mercy. Sometimes, my ability to forget what he was like amazed even me.

An answering scream came from somewhere distant in the asylum. I heard pounding footsteps at the same time the others did. More orderlies, perhaps.

"Where's the damned keys?" Seth growled.

"We don't need a key," I said, stepping away from the nurse. "McIlroy, you're very strong now. Break open the shackles."

McIlroy loped over to Buchanan's bed. He lifted one of Buchanan's lifeless arms and shook it. The chain connecting the iron wrist band to the bed rattled.

"Break it apart," I urged him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. When he continued to hesitate, I added, "Hurry or more orderlies will be here. If they catch me, I cannot release your spirit. If I can't release you, you will be stuck here."

He wrenched open the wrist band with no more effort than pulling apart a loaf of bread, then followed suit with the other. Without instruction from me, he pulled back the blankets to reveal Buchanan, dressed in a nightshirt. He hefted the sleeping man onto his shoulder and, with a look of single-minded determination, walked steadily to the door.

"Bloody hell," the young orderly muttered, his wide gaze on McIlroy. "How'd he do that?"

"That fellow…he…" The nurse pointed a shaking finger at McIlroy then at the dead man I'd thought was Lincoln. His wrists were slashed, and a barber's razor lay in a patch of blood on the bed beside him. His spirit was nowhere to be seen. "He used to occupy that bed…until this afternoon."

"Can't be," said Narrow-face. "He's dead." He squinted, but McIlroy now had his back to us.

The other orderly began breathing heavily. He licked his lips and his eyes darted between us. "It's him," he whispered. "Oh God, oh God. I hate this place. Why'd I ever come here?"

Seth searched the now shaking man and finally found a set of keys in his inside pocket. "Which one for this room?"

But the orderly was no use. He was too busy praying.

"Tell us," Lincoln growled.

The nurse crawled over and, with a shaking hand, picked out a key.

"Thank you," I said. "We are sorry about all this, but it can't be helped." I hadn't finished talking when Lincoln took my arm and steered me out of the dormitory.

Seth picked up the lantern that he'd left in the corridor, and Lincoln locked the door. McIlroy was already at the top of the staircase with Buchanan by the time we caught up to him.

We raced down the stairs to the front door, then across the wide lawn to the fence. Gus spotted us and swore under his breath when he saw McIlroy. "Another dead man?"

Lincoln climbed the fence first, but did not descend on the other side. He balanced on the cross bar, his feet placed in the narrow spaces between. "Seth, the other side."

Seth handed me the lantern and climbed over. He dropped to the pavement and waited.

Lincoln directed McIlroy to pass Buchanan up to him as gently as possible. While McIlroy wasn't a large man, he was strong in his dead form and managed it easily. Buchanan suffered only one bump to his dangling foot and his nightshirt rode up as Lincoln handed him down to Seth, revealing masculine parts no innocent girl should see. I wasn't shocked.

"Link your fingers for me, please, Mr. McIlroy," I said. He did and lifted me up so that it was easy for Lincoln to assist me over the top. "Thank you, but I managed earlier," I told him.

"I'm sure you did, but allow me this…moment."

I blinked at him in surprise. He sounded far more amused than the situation warranted, but it was too dark to see his expression to know for sure. I dropped silently to the pavement as Seth bundled Buchanan onto one of the bench seats in the coach.

"Mr. McIlroy, this is where we must part," I said through the fence bars. "Thank you for your assistance. I'm going to send you back now."

"What about my body?"

"They'll find it here in the morning and dispatch it for burial as planned."

"Won't they think it odd that I'm not in the basement?"

"Most likely."

He grinned. "That'll scare the stuffing out of them. Go ahead then, Miss Holloway." He settled his feet a little apart and thrust out his chin. "I'm ready."

"Return to your afterlife, Gerald Mason McIlroy. You are released."

A white smoky haze filtered out of the body and formed the man's shape as the body itself crumpled. The spirit looked at it, looked at me, and grinned again. He gave a childish wave then disappeared.

Lincoln and I were about to step into the cabin when a bell clanged in the distance. A square of light emerged at the hospital entrance then another, both bobbing and swinging. Whoever held the lanterns moved fast in our direction.

Lincoln leaped onto the driver's seat. "Charlie, get in! And hold on."

I had hardly closed the door when the coach lurched forward. I braced myself with one hand on the seat and the other on the wall, but had to let go to stop Buchanan from rolling off. He groaned but did not wake.

We traveled at a ferocious speed, taking corners with reckless abandon. I had a devil of a time keeping myself from sliding around, let alone Buchanan. At the first corner, I held him back with a foot against his chest, but his legs slid off the seat. At the next corner, a sharp left, I smashed into the wall and needed both my feet and arms to steady myself. Buchanan fell of the seat altogether and landed in a heap on the floor. He snored loudly.