Ghost Town (31 page)

Definitely should've shot him.

He paused for a couple of seconds to catch his breath, not that it helped much, before heading into the woods. He knew there was a good chance that he could be walking into a trap, but that didn't matter. As far as he was concerned,
to serve and protect
was more than mere words. It was his job to put his ass on the line for the people of Exeter, and if that meant—

He saw the rock coming toward his face a split second before it connected. It was almost as big as Sagers's hand, and he was surprised the man could maintain hold of it. But when he slammed it into Peter's temple, there was no doubt that his grip was solid. Light bursts flared brightly behind Peter's eyes, followed by darkness.

He didn't remain unconscious for long. When he opened his eyes, he saw scattered blades of grass sticking up through bare, moist earth inches from his face, and he knew he was lying on the trail. He felt a sticky warmth on the side of his head that he figured was blood, and his skull pounded as if someone were taking a jackhammer to it from the inside.

Sagers stepped into his view. Peter's vision was blurry, but he could make out the man well enough. He was holding a different rock, much larger and heavier than the first, one that took him both hands to carry.

“My friend wants me to give you a message,” he said. “The show must go on.”

Sagers grinned as he stepped forward and lifted the rock over his head. The last thing Peter saw was the black-haired woman standing off to the side, smiling.
See you in a minute, Beth,
he thought.

Then Sagers brought the rock down.

“I came here
about six months ago,” Greg said. “It was early spring.”

Trevor kept his eyes fastened on the road ahead of them. Greg—in Connie's body—sat on the passenger seat next to him. They
were headed back to the conference hotel. Erin and Carrington following in Erin's VW. Trevor wasn't afraid to look at Greg, not exactly, although he supposed he should have been freaked out by the fact that his friend had returned from the dead. But he couldn't get used to hearing Greg speak with Connie's voice, and it didn't help that Connie's physical form remained as gorgeous as ever. He imagined that Drew would have a field day analyzing the Freudian underpinnings of his discomfort, but all Trevor knew was that looking at Greg squicked him out big-time.

“I had already come up with my plan to reunite the four of us at the Lowry House, and while I had plenty of psychospiritual energy at my command, I figured I could always use more, especially if I wanted to impress you. Creating psychic illusions takes a great deal of power, you know. Even more if you want your illusions to be able to have an impact on the material world.”

Drew and Amber sat in the backseat. In the rearview mirror, Trevor saw Drew lean forward and turn toward Greg.

“That
impact
resulted in the deaths of two men.”

Greg sighed. “You're never going to let up on that, are you? At any rate, I had known about Exeter for a number of years. While the Darkness within me sometimes guided me to sites of paranormal energy to absorb, other sites I found through my own research. I'd always meant to visit Exeter, but I'd never gotten around to it. The ‘Most Haunted Town in America.' Honestly, it sounded like a slogan designed to lure in gullible tourists, and I didn't expect there to be any significant energy present in the town, but I decided it was time to at least look into it. And when I got here . . .”

“The Dark Lady was waiting for you,” Amber said.

“Not exactly. But I could sense the town's power ten miles out. It was so strong that I had trouble concentrating while I was driving, and I nearly ran off the road a couple of times. For a nonpsychically gifted human, it would have been the equivalent of trying to drive into the face of a hurricane while suffering a migraine. But
I persevered and reached the town. Once I was there, the psychic pressure eased somewhat, and I parked in the main business district, got out of my car, and wandered around, scenting the spiritual air, so to speak. Now that I was in the midst of the town, I was better able to detect the nature of the power that dwelled there. As I said, it was strong—stronger than anything I had ever experienced before—and it was, if not sleeping, at least quiet. I was, as you might imagine, extremely excited by the prospect of gobbling down so much power, and I made my way to an alley between a pair of businesses, sat down with my back against a wall, closed my eyes, and reached out with my mind.”

“I bet I can guess what happened next,” Trevor said. “The town woke up.”

“That it did,” Greg said. “And it wasn't happy. It attacked me, and the pain I felt was beyond anything I thought possible. Both my body and my spirit were in agony. I tried to fight back, but it was useless. I was overwhelmed and blacked out. When I came to, I was behind the wheel of my Lexus, driving on a highway a hundred miles from Exeter.”

“So it kicked your ass,” Trevor said, not without some measure of satisfaction.

“Thoroughly,” Greg said. He admitted this without hesitance or wounded pride.

“There's more to it than that, isn't there?” Amber said. “I can feel it.”

Greg turned around in his seat and scowled at her. “It's one thing to explore the expanded range of your psychic abilities, dear heart, but it's quite another to use them as an excuse to be nosy.”

“Greg . . .” she warned.

“Very well. I did plan to return to Exeter and try to absorb its energy again. But I knew I wouldn't be able to do the job on my own.”

“You were going to take us with you,” Drew said. “Once you'd
managed to infect us with your Darkness, you'd have three partners to help you.”

“Yes, although that wasn't the only reason I wanted to turn you,” Greg said. “At the time, I truly believed I was offering you a great gift.” He paused and then added, “And I was lonely.”

“Spare us the sob story,” Trevor said. “It's awfully convenient that you've returned to the land of the living to help us with a problem in the very town whose psychic energy you once coveted. Have you come back to find a way to capture that energy for yourself, maybe even use it to be reincarnated in a new physical form? Then you can pick right up where you left off, toying with people for your amusement and killing them when you get bored.”

Greg leaned across the seat until his face—or, rather, Connie's face—was only inches from Trevor's. When he spoke, his voice was tight with anger. “At my current strength, I couldn't absorb the smallest iota of psychic energy if I wanted to. If I tried, the town would destroy me as easily as you would swat a fly. I'm here because I made a mess, and it's my responsibility to help clean it up. And because my friends are in danger.”

He leaned back in his seat and turned to look out the passenger window. In a calmer voice, one tinged with sadness, he said, “I don't expect any of you to trust me. Why should you, after all the things I did? But what I've told you is the truth, and you can take it or leave it as you wish.” He fell silent after that.

Trevor glanced over his shoulder at Drew and Amber. They looked just as confused as he felt. On one hand, Trevor couldn't imagine ever trusting Greg. He had tormented the three of them with nightmarish illusory scenarios as part of his scheme to “convert” them. And he was a murderer; there was no getting around that. But on the other hand, Trevor couldn't help feeling that Greg was being sincere. He caught Drew's eye, but Drew only gave him a shrug in return. It appeared that their resident psychologist didn't have any insight to offer. Trevor didn't blame him. Greg wasn't
human anymore and probably hadn't been for a very long time. How could any of them truly understand his motives?

Maybe you don't need to understand. Maybe you just need to have a little faith in your friend.

He heard the words in Jenn's voice. She was a kind, forgiving person, very spiritual in her own way, even if she professed not to believe in any sort of unseen dimension of existence. It was exactly the sort of advice she would have given him if she had been there. Thinking of her made him wonder how she was doing. He hadn't spoken to her since they had left to accompany Erin and Carrington to the college. She had no idea that there had been another appearance by the Dark Lady and that Ray had died during the attack. Part of him wanted to spare her the news as long as possible, but part of him wondered if it might be better just to get it over with. But the truth was, more than anything else, he just really wanted to hear her voice. He went as far as reaching for his cell phone, but then he decided against calling. He would talk to her when they got back to the hotel. It wouldn't be much longer.

Despite the conversation they were going to have when he got back, he was looking forward to seeing Jenn. He wasn't sure exactly how he felt about their relationship—or if they even
had
a relationship. How could anyone sort out their emotions with so many terrible things happening? But maybe, just maybe, something good would come out of all of this awfulness in the end.

Provided, of course, they both managed to survive it.

When they reached
the hotel, Amber, Drew, and Greg decided to head up to Erin's room, go over the research she had gathered on Exeter, and look at the footage she had shot so far. Trevor promised to join them once he checked on Jenn, and to his surprise, Carrington elected to accompany him. Trevor was irritated that Carrington was coming along—he would rather talk to Jenn alone—but before getting on the elevator, his friends gave him pointed looks
that he figured were meant to remind him that Carrington might have some knowledge about Exeter that could prove useful. So Trevor gave Drew his laptop, which contained his own research on the town, told his friends he'd see them soon, and, as the elevator door slid shut, walked off in the direction of the Exhibition Hall, Carrington at his side.

He planned to pump Carrington for information as they walked, but as they made their way through the hotel, they were approached by numerous conference goers who wanted to ask the celebrity ghost hunter about the paranormal events rumored to have occurred at the college library. Trevor wasn't sure how word of what had happened had spread so fast—probably via Facebook and Twitter, he supposed—but it seemed as if everyone at the conference knew about it. Trevor expected to see Arthur Carrington, TV host, bestselling author, and attention junkie, make an appearance then. But each time someone asked, he merely mumbled that he was sorry, but he had no idea what they were talking about, and the people moved off, disappointed and embarrassed.

When Trevor gave him a questioning look after he sent away an attractive young redhead whose eyes gleamed with hero worship, Carrington simply said, “It's not a game anymore.”

Trevor, who had come to the same realization during the investigation of the Lowry House, understood all too well. And so he restrained himself from asking Carrington any questions as they continued to the Exhibition Hall. He wanted to give the man some time to come to terms with his newfound feelings toward his profession before interrogating him.

Eventually, people stopped approaching them, perhaps because word had gotten around that Carrington didn't know anything about the library attack but more likely because the
haunted
—there was no better word for it—expression on the man's face warned everyone away.

They made it to the Exhibition Hall without any further trouble,
but as they approached Jenn's table, they saw that she wasn't there. Trevor asked the people tending the nearby booths if they had seen Jenn recently, but no one had. Unfortunately, they couldn't remember exactly when she had left. The hall was bustling with conference attendees, and Trevor understood that the dealers had been too busy hawking their wares to pay attention to anyone's comings and goings. But it was clear that however long Jenn had been gone, it had been a while.

Trevor examined her table. There were still plenty of books displayed and available for sale, but there was no sign of her purse or jacket. Beneath her chair, he found a flat metal box. He pulled it out and placed it on the table.

“Her money box?” Carrington asked.

Trevor nodded. It wasn't locked, so he opened it. It was full of bills, coins, checks, and credit and debit receipts.

“Jenn's been a business owner too long to leave money lying around like this. If she had to take a break, she would have asked someone she knew and trusted to watch her table until she returned. If she couldn't find anyone, she'd take the box with her. But she'd never just walk off and forget about it.”

He took out his cell and called Jenn's number. Her phone rang ten times before going to voice mail.

“Hi, you've reached Jenn Rinaldi, owner of Forgotten Lore Books. Business or personal, it's all good. Leave a message, and I'll get back to you ASAP.”

Trevor waited for the beep and then started speaking. “Jenn, it's Trevor. We're back from the college, and I'm standing at your table in the Exhibition Hall. It looks like you've been gone for a while. When you get this, give me a call, and let me know what's up.” He paused. “Hope you're OK.” He said good-bye and disconnected.

“You sounded worried,” Carrington said.

Trevor put his cell away, closed the money box, picked it up, and
tucked it beneath his arm. He then came around from behind the table and joined Carrington.

“I am. Like I said, Jenn wouldn't run off and leave money lying around where anyone could steal it.”

“Under normal circumstances, perhaps,” Carrington said. “But this day has been anything but normal.”

“True.” Trevor thought for a moment. “Maybe she's in her room.”