Ghost Hand (25 page)

“We’d still have the element of surprise,” Yale pointed out. “He thinks he has a couple hours, and he just hung up that phone feeling very pleased with himself.”

“I don’t believe this,” I blurted. “He lied to us,” I said, gesturing at Marcus. “He’s been lying to us this entire time, and you’re all just going to act like nothing’s changed? You’re still going to follow him in there?” I looked at Jason, then Nose, then my gaze landed on Yale.

“So what?” Yale said, “What difference does it make? Now that you know he’s David, you don’t want his help to get your friend out alive?”

That pulled me up short. “No, I—” I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t trust any of them. Especially Marcus. But that didn’t change the fact that I needed them. I didn’t have a chance of saving Emma by myself. I looked away from Yale, slipping the phone back into my pocket. I had to make this work.

“So you know this guy,” Yale said, turning to Marcus. “You know how he thinks. What he’s capable of. How do we get Emma out?”

“I want you all to understand something first,” Marcus said, looking at each of us. When his eyes came to me I stared back, hating him, wanting him to see how hurt I was, hoping he would look very very sorry. But he only looked away and continued, “If we go in there, and we fail, he’s going to torture you. He’s going to extract your PSS until you beg him to kill you. Until your body shrinks and caves in on itself, and your skin turns yellow and your hair turns white. And even then, you won’t be dead, and he won’t kill you. After he’s sucked you dry, he’ll simply toss you aside, and leave you to die one excruciating breath at a time.”

There was stony silence in the tree. It was dark enough that I could barely see their expressions anymore, but I could tell that the guys thought Marcus was being melodramatic. They thought he was exaggerating to make them cautious, but I didn’t think he was. I’d seen the very thing Marcus had just described happen to my dad, not from being drained of PSS, but from being slowly consumed by cancer. A description like that only came from first-hand experience, from having to watch someone you loved die. No one had killed my father. There was no one to blame or punish for his death. But someone had done that to Marcus’s sister. They had killed her slowly, cruelly and intentionally. And they had made him watch.

Yes, he was a liar who obviously didn’t trust anyone. But maybe I was beginning to understand why.

“Hasn’t that always been what’s at stake?” I asked.

The other guys murmured agreement.

“Okay then,” Marcus said. If he was surprised I’d come around so quickly, he didn’t show it. “This doesn’t really change the plan,” he said, staring at the guys, some silent message passing between the four of them. He avoided looking at me altogether, which was ironic because it was my plan. “We don’t know if the meters can extract, but don’t let them point one at you. Keep your PSS covered. If they don’t know where it is, they won’t know where to aim. Gunfire will bring down the cops, so don’t shoot unless you have to. The main goal is to get Emma out, and the rest of you with her. Don’t worry about the backpack, or the blades. I don’t want anyone risking themselves for that,” he finished, finally looking at me.

“Let’s fucking do this,” Jason said, checking the sights of his gun.

“Let’s go,” Marcus said, and Yale and Nose began to descend quietly, making sure the park was clear below us.

Before Marcus could move away from me, I touched his arm. “Your sister,” I said. “She had a ghost hand.”

He turned and looked at me, his face even more guarded than usual, but he answered. “Left hand and arm, up to the elbow.” Then he jumped down to the branch below, leaving me staring after him.

His sister had been like me. The overexposure marring that picture hadn’t been overexposure at all; it had been the flare of her PSS. That was why he’d been so comfortable with my ghost hand. When he’d intertwined his fingers with mine, he’d been remembering the hand of a dead girl.

* * *

It was like a bad war movie. The guys crouched, and hid, and pointed their guns, using hand gestures to signal changes of position as we advanced through the park. The street was empty, everyone tucked away in their houses for dinner, and we crossed it easily, moving silently into Mike Palmer’s front yard. After that, Nose, Yale and I held our position, while Jason and Marcus did a quick recon around the outside of the house.

When they came back, they reported seeing signs of activity in the kitchen, one of the bedrooms, and the living room.

“She’s probably in the front bedroom,” Marcus said, “with someone guarding her.”

“They tried to black out that window,” Jason said, “but they didn’t do a very good job. We could still see some light.”

“There’s a sliding glass door at the back of the house that goes right into the kitchen,” Marcus said. “It’s the easiest access point.”

“But if we go in the back, they could get past us out the front and take Emma with them,” Yale pointed out.

“So, we need an approach from the front as well,” Marcus said, scanning the open yard, the bright porch light, and the fireman red front door.

“We could just walk up and ring the doorbell,” I suggested.

“Get down,” Jason barked.

Someone grabbed me and shoved me to the ground. As I was being crushed into the dirt under a bush with what felt like several boys piled on top of me, I could hear the sound of a car pull up along the curb just outside Palmer’s house. God! This was getting ridiculous. I was going to have to start staying away from bushes. Or guys. Or both. A slight turn of my head and I could see the bald tires and rear end of a rusty white Toyota. I knew that car. I also knew why it was here.

“Get off me,” I hissed, pushing against the body on top of me.

“Just a little payback,” Marcus whispered in my ear as he moved away.

“Not funny,” I growled, rising to my hands and knees.

“Be quiet,” came a hushed command from Jason as the Toyota’s door opened and slammed shut. “Could be more CAMFers.”

All four guys were crouched in the shadows around me, Jason and Nose both with their guns ready.

“Well, it’s not,” I whispered. “It’s Jay, the Merlin’s Pizza guy.” The CAMFers had ordered pizza while they held Emma hostage. Wouldn’t want to torture anyone on an empty stomach. Their cockiness was really starting to piss me off.

“I have an idea,” I said. Jay’s worn sneakers were already padding their way up Palmer’s driveway. I crawled out of the bushes and brushed myself off. I could hear the muffled protests of the guys behind me, but I ignored them.

“Hey Jay,” I called, striding across the yard and intercepting him near the front of the garage where we couldn’t be seen, or hopefully heard, from inside the house.

“Shit girl!” Jay said, almost dropping the three large pizzas he was carrying. “Where the hell’d you come from?”

“I’ve been waiting for you, actually,” I smiled. “The adults in there,” I gestured at Palmer’s house, “are boring me to tears with their fancy finger food and dry martinis. My mom made me come. You know how it is,” I said, reaching for the pizza boxes. “But this will make everything better.”

“Oh, a parent party,” Jay nodded. “It sucks to be you,” he said sympathetically, handing the pizzas to me, the receipt and credit card charge neatly stapled to the top. Jay always forgot to have people sign. I knew this because Emma and I ordered Merlin’s Pizza almost every Friday night using Mrs. Campbell’s credit card.

“Nice and warm,” I said, the boxes radiating heat into my arms. “Thanks,” I added, willing Jay to hurry off to his next delivery.

He smiled, and turned to go. Then he hesitated and turned back. “Hey, didn’t I hear something about you the other day?”

“Probably. You know this town,” I said. “The rumors have rumors.”

“Ain’t that the truth? But this was weirder than usual. Something about you going missing from the hospital.”

“I snuck out,” I said. “I hate doctors. Got tired of them poking and prodding me. Besides, there wasn’t any Merlin’s.”

“I know, right? Those nurses are like prison guards. Sick people need pizza. That’s what I say. Anyway, I’m glad you got found. Enjoy your pizza,” Jay said, walking back down the path to his Toyota.

As soon as he pulled away, I headed back to the bushes and smiled down at the gawking boys over the top of the pizza boxes.

“Now we have our way in the front,” I said.

PIZZA WITH A SIDE OF TAZER

Yale stood at the front door, looking as pizza-delivery-boyish as we could make him on such short notice. We’d found a navy blue cap in one of the guys’ packs, and he was wearing it slightly askew. He was also holding the three pizzas in one hand, and his fully-charged tazer in the other, hidden beneath the pizza boxes.

Jason and I were plastered against the outer wall of the house to Yale’s right, Jason’s gun out and ready. On the other side of the porch, Marcus and Nose were in a similar pose, both their guns out. This was it. This was the first move in our plan to rescue Emma. It either worked or it didn’t, but there was no going back once we rang that door bell.

Marcus looked at us, one by one, then gave the thumbs-up signal.

Jason darted forward, in front of Yale, and pressed the doorbell, then darted back to his position in front of me.

From inside the house, the bell chimed, sounding sweet and homey.

I could hear the pounding of heavy footsteps coming toward the front of the house.

Palmer’s front door snicked open.

“You’re late,” said a deep voice. “Those pizzas better be hot.”

“Oh, they are,” Yale said, putting the three boxes in the CAMFer’s waiting arms and sinking the tazer into his belly.

I heard a loud, sharp crackle. There was a burning smell in the air accompanied by a clicking, and then a heavy thump as the CAMFer went down. He fell across the threshold—a large, overweight man, flopping like a fish, the boxes bouncing on his chest, slices of pizza flying in all directions. His face was discolored, his mouth making some awful gurgling noise. As he convulsed, his shirt rode up revealing a glimpse of the gun that was holstered to his barrel-like chest. Yale pulled the tazer away, surveyed the room beyond the doorway, and said, “She’s not in here.”

There was yelling from the back of the house, followed by the sound of more footsteps. The other CAMFers had heard their friend go down, and they were coming to see what all the commotion was about.

That was the signal for phase two of the plan.

Jason, Yale and I turned and ran to the far end of the garage. Once we were around the corner of the house, Jason crouched down, gun trained on the porch. His job was to keep anyone from escaping out the front.

“Don’t shoot Emma,” I couldn’t help whispering at him, but he ignored me, his full attention focused on the open front door.

I could hear the other CAMFers there now.

“Frank! What happened? Can you hear me?” said one voice, but it wasn’t the Dark Man.

“I think he had a fucking heart attack,” said a second voice. Not the Dark Man either. “Look at his face. It’s blue.”

“Oh man, I think you’re right. We should call 911.”

“Are you crazy? We can’t call the cops. Besides, he’s still breathing.”

“I may have set this thing too high,” Yale whispered, fumbling with his tazer and replacing the batteries in case he needed it again.

“Hey, it worked,” I said, “and he’s still alive.”

“Come on,” Yale said when he was done. We didn’t have time to stick around and find out Frank’s fate. We needed to get Emma out of the house while the CAMFers were still distracted.

The two of us ran along the side of the house, between the wall and the neighbor’s fence all the way to the back yard. Nose and Marcus were already waiting for us on the patio just outside the kitchen.

“What took you so long?” Marcus hissed.

I ignored him and stepped up to the sliding glass doors. I extended my ghost hand beyond my glove, through the glass and the vertical blinds, found the locking mechanism, and released it with a satisfying click. I pulled my hand back, smoothed my glove in place, and slid the door open quietly, then stood back for Marcus to enter first.

He moved past me, setting the blinds gently swaying as he pushed them aside with Palmer’s handgun. I followed, and Yale and Nose came after me.

The kitchen was bright, empty, and smelled strongly of cigarette smoke. There was an overflowing ashtray on the table, a butt still smoldering in it. To our left was a pantry, door wide open. The other doorway out of the kitchen led down a short dark hall with doors on either side, two on the left and one in the middle on the right.

Marcus started down the hallway, gun out in front of him.

I followed with Yale and Nose behind me. I could still hear the CAMFers’ voices, now drifting down the hall from the front of the house.

“Help me get him in this chair,” one said.

“We aren’t supposed to move him,” the other argued.

Marcus moved just past the first door on the left and paused crouching. I came even with the door and leaned into it, straining to hear anything beyond it, but there was no sound, at least nothing I could hear over the noise of the straining and grunting coming from the front room. Apparently, they had decided to move Frank into the chair after all.

Without even looking back, his eyes still trained on the end of the hallway, Marcus gestured Nose forward.

Nose slipped past Yale and joined me at the door.

I turned the doorknob, looked at Nose, and pulled the door open. Immediately, he was around the doorframe, gun before him. The room was dark, the only light a meager glow from the curtained window. I saw the dim shape of a bed, a dresser, and a chair.

Nose checked the closet. “It’s empty,” he whispered, coming back to me at the doorway, his ski mask looking more appropriate than ever.

I nodded and stepped back as he pulled the door closed behind him. The click of the latch sounded so loud to me, but the CAMFers didn’t hear it. They were still arguing about what to do with Frank.

Marcus led the way down the hall. The door on the right was next. He put his hand on it, gun ready, and opened it himself. I had just enough time to glimpse the edge of a vanity and a toilet before he pulled it shut again. They weren’t keeping Emma in the bathroom.