Ghost Guard 2: Agents of Injustice (11 page)

He leaned his head back and chortled to the shadowy ceiling. “You’re right about that one. I
am
an asshole. But, Abby, you of all people should agree I have good reason.”

She could only look at him. Sitting on her butt, nursing her sore everything, to this moment still unable to breathe properly, her only reaction was a bewildered stare.

“You don’t remember, do you? How very convenient. Typical and convenient. But I thought you said you’d never forget.”

He came closer. She grew more bewildered. What was he saying? Did they know each other?

“I’m done talking,” he charged for her and she spun to her side, kicking her legs and catching him solidly in the chest. Her maneuver, straight out of a Brazilian JuJitsu handbook, proved potent enough for her to make an escape. She heard him grunt like a bull that had been staggered and stymied. A bull that would recover and charge again. She had to be quick.

She stumbled up the hallway, leaning against the handrail for support. The hellish sounds of Hatman in pursuit drove her flight. She knew he had a deeper desire for her now, and that terrified her. Wobbly, she made her painful escape from the underground vaults of doom. She’d be back. She’d rescue those wretches if it was the last thing she’d do.

Now she had to run. And run. And run.

Next thing she knew, a wall of bricks hit her straight on and she nearly felt flat backwards. The only thing that stopped her complete collapse was a strong, assertive grasp. Two muscular, determined, and skillful hands seized her and wouldn’t let go.

She cried out in terror, but as soon as she saw the ruggedly handsome facial features, she became instantly grateful. Grateful and confused. She knew this man, this savior, this large and incredibly good-looking fellow. Next thing she knew, she was weightless, as the mystery man carried her up the steps to where the earth and stone yielded to the smoothed and fashioned logs of the lodge. That was where the running ceased.

“Are you okay?” were the words from her savior’s mouth. Words that sparked instant recognition, and something else.

“Riley,” she sighed, staring into his eyes. “What…how..?”

“Shhh,” he ducked into an alcove that seemed built solely for the two of them. “We have to be quiet. He might still be after you.”

She controlled her breathing. It was the only thing she seemed to have control over, so she made it her only focus. When all else is crumbling around you, when the world is imploding, breathing can be your only asylum. After a while, they both were breathing in unison. Riley had the same training background. Had the same teachers and coaches and knew all the same techniques. They shared those techniques in that moment, a moment when the memories came flooding back to Abby. A time when she was more innocent. When she didn’t have the same dark and ugly outlook on the spirit war.

A moment of quiet remembrance. A moment of trembling, embracing, reconnecting. Riley and Abby were old friends. More than friends. That was all years ago. A lifetime ago. Now, though, in his arms, she felt like no time had passed, like they were back in their training days when youth was an excuse for recklessness, when fools rushed in without fear or knowledge or care of romantic consequences. He hurt her. She hurt him. And now neither Riley nor Abby really wanted to bring that up. They just wanted to remember the good times, and in that tense moment of apprehension of the unknown, they shared in their combined stares the joy of long lost friendship reborn, renewed, rekindled.

Then the moment passed, and Abby came to her senses.

“Riley, what the hell?” she stood up, now in full charge of her faculties. It was a wonder what being carried by a man could do to her resolve. The sensation was nice, but then she decided she didn’t like it at all, and revolted to the point of steadfast determination.

“You really don’t know how to shut up, do you?”

She frowned at him, but all he did was give her the signal to lay low, be quiet, and listen. He was wearing the uniform of the lodge staff, a yellow polo shirt with khaki slacks. He looked the part; a neat haircut and those smoldering eyes. Abby was just trying to keep herself from noticing when she thought of Rev and shook her head.

Finally judging the coast clear, Riley motioned for Abby to follow. They hustled along the hall, running to the great door, the arched edifice that served as the gateway into and out of that subterranean hellhole. Riley helped Abby over the rock threshold and then shoved his weight into the door, slamming it closed.

“What’s going on, Riley?” she crossed her arms. “How the hell did you get here?”

“Do you think ParaIntell would let you guys go in all alone?” he smiled that patented smile.  The smile that could melt a hundred frigid hearts. The smile that melted hers so long ago. Those feelings were long buried. But she did have new ones. Feelings of guarded curiosity, as well as disdain. “They thought, and rightly so, that you could use the help.”

“You can tell those assholes we don’t need help. Not on this mission or any other. We play solo, got it?”

“Abby, Abby, Abby,” she hated when he repeated her name three times. “You’ll never change, will you? Always so distrusting.”

She stared at him with a dead cold expression. “Really? You’re gonna go there? After all this time you’re not over it?”

“How could I be over it, Abby? It changed me. Changed my life.”

“It changed mine too. But the past is the past. Now is now. I’m sorry, Thomas. I really am. But we can’t start something up again, step right back into our old lives and pretend nothing has happened.”

“I never said that, Abby.”

“You’re forgetting I’m a clairsentient. I can read it from you a mile away.”

“You’re full of yourself, that’s what you are.”

Abby felt her blood begin to boil. “
You’ll
never change either. So rigid to the training. So unwilling to bend.”

Riley stood there, feeling the sweat pour in rivulets down the center of his back. She always had a way of making him sweat.

Before anyone could catch their breath, a smoky film, suspended near the entrance to the stairs behind them, roiled and swelled into a dense cloud. It was Brutus, expressing his clear distress by thundering at Abby the second he saw her.

“Why’d you leave me!”

“Why didn’t you follow?”

“I couldn’t!”

“You couldn’t? Why?”

“I-I,” Brutus’s lower body developed out of the dense storm cloud, his legs like two tornadoes as he advanced to the threshold. Then, by some unseen and strange force, he was compelled to stop. All of his strength, all of his resolve was no match for this nefarious power. It made him furious with impotency. If he couldn’t protect his team, if he couldn’t have their back, he was worthless to Ghost Guard.

“What is it, Brutus?” Abby posed the question not out of pure ignorance. She had theories. A supernatural spell? A magnetic anomaly in the rock? 

“It’s because of this,” Riley kicked off a panel cover near the doorjamb, revealing a device with fiber optic connections, Organic LED indicators of red and blue, and an LCD display with a small interface.

“What is this?”

“This is a spectral inhibitor. The Singulate uses it to block the passage of any nonmaterial, nonliving entities across this line.”

“Why don’t they want ghosts in there?” Brutus stared into the dark abyss broken only by the ethereal lanterns carved into niches intermittently along the sloped corridor.

“It’s not about keeping spirits out, Brutus,” Abby stated darkly. “It’s about keeping them
in
.”

In a rage, Brutus formed a solid mass, becoming the large and imposing human figure he was during his living years. He lifted a table at the bottom of the stairs and aimed it directly at the spectral inhibitor. His supernatural acumen allowed pinpoint accuracy, and he would have knocked the device out of commission if not for one powerful opposing force—Riley.

“No!” he jumped in the way and chopped the table with a swift forearm, sending the wood shattering in pieces to the floor.

“What’d you do that for?” Abby glared at him like he was a traitor. Maybe he was. He dispelled that notion with a bit of common sense.

“If we destroy it they’d amp up their security for certain. I for one am not prepared for that to happen.”

Abby listened to reason, though she still wasn’t satisfied about Riley’s story. With or without ParaIntell’s guidance and authority, she couldn’t be sure if the choice of Delta X operators fit her liking. Riley assured her he was there strictly on business.

“Get over yourself, Abby,” were his exact words. She took that as a firm and unequivocal rebuke of her suspicions. However, another conversation was being played out in his body language, in the way he looked at her. It sent a completely different message, one that made her uncomfortable to say the least. She loved Rev like no other man. It didn’t matter he was dead. She loved him. Riley, though, sent her emotions into a tailspin of turmoil. Her main source of anguish and emotional chaos came not from the fact that she didn’t like Riley’s obvious advances. Her real inner conflict sprang from the well of guilt and despised remnants of feelings she’d been harboring for the past several years. She was locked in a conundrum, faced with the terrible reality that she might actually be enjoying the newfound attention from her long lost lover.

Chapter 13

Rev had a way of entering a room. It was his signature. He persistently preferred to demonstrate how a real gentleman was supposed to look, act, walk, dress, and, in general, present himself. Of course, with his powers of supernatural style, his dress was always impeccable. He could conjure any fine wardrobe ensemble he wanted to adorn his eternally youthful and taut frame.

This evening was to be his crowning achievement. Upon entering the lounge, he summoned an enhanced hold on his hair, a brighter white in his smile, a rosier glow on his cheeks. He walked a little taller and looked a little brawnier in his black leather jacket—the appropriate outfit for a musician. He had to be not only visible, but physical to the touch for even the most common of breathers, not an ordinary feat for a ghost. Since he was going through the trouble, might as well make it memorable, so that’s what he did. Have a good time with it.

Even on a Thursday afternoon the place was busy. And what a place. Rustic and dimly lit. Rows of tables cordoned off by several terraces descending to a large dance area in front of a stage. A traditional bar, the largest Rev had ever seen, spanned a good hundred feet from one end to the other. A marble top. Luxuriant and unapologetic. Rev’s kind of people.

Eyes followed him wherever he went. This he expected. It was the other eyes, the eyes he sensed with his otherworldly abilities that made him nervous. But he couldn’t show it. Couldn’t expose his fear. It was his job to be seen and shift attention to himself while Abby did the real work. Make the rounds. Walk the route. Mingle amongst the common folk.

However, these weren’t common folk. The Singulate enjoyed wealth in abundance. Diamonds the size of golf balls on the women. Jewel encrusted Rolexes on the men. And the menu. Exquisite fare. The most delicate appetizers. The most elaborate meals.

Instinctively, Rev wanted to get out of there. Then another realization hit home. Abby. He got a quick flash of her in distress, of someone, or something, with her. And it wasn’t Brutus.

Convinced Abby needed him, he headed for the exit. It pained him to no end he couldn’t simply dematerialize and follow her thought patterns until he found her. He had to keep up appearances. He didn’t like using two feet and walking through the door like a normal, average, run of the mill breather.

“Sir,” a young waiter blocked Rev’s resolute yet inconspicuously smooth exit. He carried a tray holding a tall, narrow tumbler filled with a clear liquid and garnished with a slice of lime on the rim.  “Your drink.”

“I didn’t order a drink.”

“No sir,” the young man pointed toward the bar where a sparkling wall of liquor, an endless sea of bottles and a marble plane separating the booze from the patrons. One thing was for sure, The Singulate wasn’t one of those religious cults that prohibited alcohol. For that he gave them high marks. And he gave high marks for another thing—the quality of beautiful women. The most stunning in the joint had her head up, her stare fixated on him.

“Don’t tell me,” he motioned his chin toward the lady. A maven of high fashion if there ever was one. “Her.”

The waiter lowered his eyes and tilted the tray Rev’s direction, making it compulsory he took the drink. He did, feigning a sip and tipping his head at the woman. She had the sophistication of a lady in her late thirties, yet the youthful appeal of someone at least ten years her junior. Leisurely she nodded in return. Not too eager. A cool customer. As cool as Rev. She offered only a lilting curve of her full lips while sipping furtively from her wine glass.

Rev could have probed her mind and discovered exactly what she wanted. What was her game? However, the sensation of desperation from Abby
had his attention and wouldn’t let go. Where was she? What was wrong? Then, as abruptly as the mental beacon had come to him, it vanished. Suddenly it seemed Abby wasn’t in danger any longer. Damndest thing. Rev wasn’t altogether sure Abby hadn’t been incapacitated—or worse. But the overall feeling told him Abby was fine, and she’d probably get on his case for not keeping to the mission profile.

Then there was the intriguing fact in front of him. This woman, so bold as to buy him a gin and tonic, was not just any woman. Her attire and influence over the help told him that.

With a smile, he nodded playfully. He then slid along past the maître d’ station, keeping his eyes on the woman with the long legs and diamond necklace. Diners took notice; he was aware of their every thought, every eye movement, every sneaking suspicion of this new man in their midst. All the normal stuff. Who is this man? Why is he so damn handsome?
Is he going to be easy to recruit into the fold? Where’s my wine?

These thoughts he had to shunt from his mind otherwise he would have gone made. So he swept it all away and focused on the woman, who he read as being named Katherine. Read it like a sign on her forehead.

“Hello, Katherine,” he said. “Thank you for the drink. How did you know I was a gin and tonic man?”

“Let’s just say I read your mind. How’d you know my name?”

“Let’s just say I read
your
mind. May I?” he pulled a chair away from the bar.

“Be my guest.” She made eyes at him. The kind of eyes he normally would have loved. Normally. Abby’s face replaced Katherine’s for a moment, her condescending frown telling him to back the hell off. But he felt this woman could have been a great asset for them, a perfect source of information and possibly more. Abby would understand. “I’d be upset if you didn’t.”

With a smile and a nod of gratitude, he sat and placed his drink on the coaster the bartender had provided him. The music was subdued, if a little morose. The atmosphere seemed to shrink down to just the two of them in the dimness of the lounge.

“Are you new to The Singulate?” she sipped from her glass. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

“No, I…” he paused for a drink of his own. “I’m part of the musical act. We’re playing the dinner party tonight.”

“Ah, the dinner party.”

“I sense a bit of resentment,” he said. “Don’t like The Singulate’s parties?”

“Of course I do,” she said without pause. “The Singulate is my life. The faith is transcendent, truly. It’s the source of compassion and conviction for many people. You should join and judge for yourself.”

He laughed out loud. “We only came here for a gig, that’s all. Not to be recruited.”

She laughed with him, but didn’t say a word. She finished her chardonnay with a gulp and banged the glass on the counter, giving the barkeep the signal.

“What can I get for you?”

“I’m in the mood for something sweet and strong,” she said, winking at Rev. “A drink that is. How about a margarita?”

“Blended or on the rocks?”

“Blended.”

The bartender took Katherine’s glass, wiped the counter, then went to work on her order. The blender whipped into a frenzy of ice crushing power, it’s whining motor overpowering all sound. With the bartender occupied, his back turned, the ice crackling, Katherine slid closer to Rev and whispered in his ear.

“I know why you’re here. We all know. It’s no secret.”

“Of course it’s no secret,” Rev played dumb. “We’re the band, remember?”

“I’m talking about the real reason why you and your team are here.”

He froze, both on the outside and in. What she was saying had implications far more important that his own safety. Abby was possibly in terrible danger. Brutus too. They were all in danger. What terrible pitfall would entangle Rev here, in this seemingly innocuous lounge? He took one look at Katherine and got his answer.

“You’re joking,” he played it cool.

“Listen to me,” she clenched her jaw. The bartender was almost finished blending the margarita. She had to hurry. “Don’t play dumb. We know what you are.”

“Yeah. A terrible piano player and even more terrible singer.”

“No. You’re a ghost.”

Waves of regrettable worry washed over his spectral body, coursing through his every molecule of static-magnetic energy. Their cover was blown. If they ever had a cover to begin with. From the very beginning they all knew.

“If you know, then why am I sitting here right now?”

With that, the bartender splashed a glass of blended alcohol on the bar, spilling a little before wiping it up with a rag.

“Anything else?” he eyed Rev a little too suspiciously. Rev probed the man’s mind, being as inconspicuous as possible. When he received nothing, it bothered the hell out of him. “For the gentleman?”

Rev tried shifting the attention from his glass, which still had most of its contents. Usually by now he’d found a way to extricate the liquid surreptitiously, either by watering the nearest potted plant, having a little accident, or simply letting some liquor hound have at it. But, with the conversation being so engrossing, he discovered he still had most of his gin and tonic remaining.

“No, I—”

“Top his drink off, Lloyd,” Rev felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, and concentrated deeply on making his form as solid as possible. He looked up and met the steely stare of a man in his fifties, well dressed in a flawlessly ironed Brioni suit. Perfect hair, teeth, and a small goatee/mustache combination with clean, straight lines. Everything about his appearance was immaculate. Rev wondered if he wasn’t a ghost as well, he snuck up so quietly and looked so impeccable. “And make sure it’s on the house.”

“The lady already took care of it,” Lloyd motioned with his eyes toward Katherine.

“Oh, she did, did she?” the man smiled cordially. He extended his hand. “Name’s Ronald Ward. Friends call me Ron.”

“Tyler,” he took Ron’s hand. A firm grip, the grip of a captain of industry. “Tyler.Z. Friends call me TZ.”

“Tyler it is,” Ron chortled out loud, his gregariousness a difficult thing to consume. The overpowering aftershave, the machismo emanating out of every pore. The fake tan and surgically enhanced smile and hair plugs.

“I’m sorry,” he patted Rev on the back, holding his hand there for a little rub of the neck, playful and manly, but still this guy didn’t seem to understand the concept of personal space. “Just a little joke at your expense, hope you don’t mind. You’re the band, right?”

“CassiX3.”

“Interesting name. You two should enjoy this place. It can be a little, should I say…uninhibited,” his eyes made a scandalous sojourn to Katherine, then shot back to Rev. “Cassi. She’s an attractive woman. I’m sure she enjoys the finer things.”

Ron snapped his fingers and the bartender, as if reading a script, opened a large flask of single malt scotch. He poured a healthy dose into Ron’s awaiting tumbler and then lit a long match. He nursed the match into a three inch flame, which he used to light Ron’s cigar. After several smoky puffs, Ron sat back, winking at Lloyd.

Rev stood by coolly and calmly. Inside he was nervous about the one thing over which he had no control—the smoke from the cigar. No matter how solid he made himself, he was still a ghost. And ghosts can’t reflect smoke. It goes right through them, no matter how much they’ve manifested.

“We’d love to have you and your wife join us for dinner before your performance,” Ron exhaled a cumulus gray puff as he spoke.

“That sounds lovely,” Rev tried to get a read on Ron, and was frustrated at every turn. He also tried to get something from Katherine other than downcast glances and furtive looks. She couldn’t keep her sad eyes off of him, and when he glanced at her, she turned her gaze at her margarita, sipping slowly. Her mind wasn’t so guarded, and he read from her the same things she was saying to him before Ron showed up. He felt terror from this woman, like she was a bird cooped up in a gilded cage. He felt sorry for her at that moment, almost as if
she
was the lost soul that needed Ghost Guard’s help.

However, the more Rev contemplated the situation, the more he came to the conclusion that Ghost Guard was in no position to help anyone. Abby was all he could think about now. She wasn’t sending him anything. No updates. No reassuring mental messages. Nothing. That scared him. He was going crazy with worry, yet on the surface displayed the placidity of a reflecting pool. His thoughts were much different, and when he believed he could take it no longer, Abby made an appearance.

“TZ!” she strode quickly, disregarding the lounge’s subdued atmosphere. She turned heads for her brashness, but also for her uncommon beauty. Abby locked eyes with Katherine for a contentious moment, then fixed her sights on Rev. “There you are.”

“Ah, the famous CassiX3,” Ron grinned. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Looking forward to your performance.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to TZ about,” she thought on her feet quickly. “We have a situation and I need his help.”

“Is it anything I can help you with?”

“No, no,” she insisted with a raised palm. “It’s just a little equipment issue. We can handle it. Please excuse us,” she politely extricated Rev from the lounge, dragging him to the grand staircase and heading to their room. While walking with him stride for stride, she spoke to Rev furtively.

“We’ve got problems.”

“I’ll say. They know.”

“Who’s they and what do they know?”

“Them,” he motioned toward the lounge where Ron, Katherine, and a dozen other couples were eating and drinking. “All of them. They know who we are and why we’re here.”