Harrison Investigations 2 Ghost Walk (36 page)

When Julian had disappeared, Nikki stared at Brent, baffled. "You're letting him come?"

"I think he's going to be at the cemetery whether we let him come with us or not."

"But you don't trust him," Nikki reminded him. "You don't trust anyone."

"Like I said, I think he intends to go, with us or without us. If he's with us, we'll know where he is."

"For our own safety, right?" Nikki said a little tightly.

"And his," Brent assured her.

Julian raced back down the stairs then, anxiously looking at them as if he was afraid they'd been lying to him.

"Let's go," Brent said.

They saw to it that Nikki's door was locked, then started down the street. As they walked, Julian said, "Shouldn't we be slinking along or something like that?"

Brent stared at him, trying not to laugh; it had sounded like a serious question.

"I don't think we need to slink around on this part of Canal—there are a lot of people out."

"Uh, right."

But when they moved away from the center of activity in the Quarter, Brent did start to walk in the shadows, and when they neared the cemetery, he had them walk single file by the wall.

"There's a good place to hop over," Julian whispered.

"The gate will be opened," Brent said.

"How do you know?"

"Just a feeling."

It
was
open. Either someone had come before them, or Huey had managed to get the gate open. They slipped in. The graveyard was heavy with the sound of silence.

Brent inhaled.

Closed his eyes.

Opened them.

And Huey was there. "Not yet. Maybe not at all, but not yet," the old haunt said softly.

Brent nodded, indicating that they needed to find hiding places. He knew a few, but he wasn't surprised when Nikki lifted a hand, pointing. They hurried past a society tomb and on to one with classic Greek columns and a wrought-iron gate.

The gate was open, and they slipped inside.

Coffins lined the walls. Dust lay heavy on the concrete flooring. Broken stained-glass windows looked out onto the rest of the site. A slender thread of moonlight dusted the angels, cherubs, tombs and mausoleums beyond.

"What now?" Julian mouthed.

"We wait," Brent said.

Julian nodded. He sat against one of the inner sarcophagi in the small space.

Outside, the heated earth met the cooler air of the night. A soft ground fog was swirling.

As Brent stared through a ragged break in the once-beautiful glass, he saw forms of thicker mist moving within the fog.

An eerie light drifted toward the mausoleum where they waited.

He held his breath, praying that it would not disappear.

It came closer, closer…

He felt Nikki at his shoulder. He could hear the pounding of her heart. It was a drumbeat, loud and staccato.

"Oh, God," she whispered.

And he knew. She didn't want to be afraid. She didn't want to fear the fog.

But it was growing…

And a sense of cold was forming all around them.

 

"Man, what the hell are we doing out here?" Joulette demanded.

He was in the passenger seat. Massey had driven.

"Staring at a cemetery," Massey said.

Joulette looked at his watch. He shook his head, then sipped at the coffee in his hand. "What the hell is wrong with us?" he asked. "Why don't we work normal hours?"

"We're cops," Massey said.

"Shit!" Joulette said, straightening.

"What? Where?"

Joulette pointed with the hand that held his cup. And Massey saw that a figure, dark as the night, was moving along the fence.

"Shit," Massey repeated.

He started to get out of the car. As he opened the door, it slammed back at him. Stunned, he looked up.

There was another figure in the night.

And that one was right at his window.

 

The form began to materialize in front of the mausoleum. Julian, still seated against the tomb, suddenly seemed frozen there.

"What… what… ?" he whispered.

Nikki ignored him. She touched Brent's shoulder.

"It's him?" Brent asked quietly.

"I think," Nikki said.

The terrible sense of cold was filling the tomb. Nikki felt it seeping down her spine. She closed her eyes for a moment, then turned.

Andy was with them.

"Andy, we need you," she said, her voice light as the air.

Brent turned, too, looking at Andy. "We need his help, too," Brent said. "For justice. For him
and
for you."

Andy nodded, frowning. "It's difficult… difficult to be here. I don't know why. But I'll try… I'll try."

"His name is Tom Garfield," Brent reminded her. "Tom Garfield. I need him. I need his help."

"I'll do what I can," Andy murmured.

Julian spoke up from his place against the tomb. Shivering, lips chattering, he said, "You're both… you're both crazy. Talking to the air. Oh my God, it's cold in here. Cold, in New Orleans, at this time of year. It's the stone, of course… all the stone." There was no conviction in his voice.

Andy looked at Julian and shrugged. "He's still a good guy," she murmured.

Then she walked out of the tomb, a moving trail of light, mist and cold. The somber spirit of Tom Garfield stood dead still, wary as ever as he watched Andy approach. But she reached him. And as her astral hand touched his shoulder, she spoke softly, men turned to face the mausoleum.

"You go first. You're the one he's trying to reach," Brent said.

"Crazy, both crazy," Julian said, shivering still.

"Julian, you've got to be quiet," Nikki said.

"Maybe spending the night with that sexual barracuda would have been better," Julian said, arms clenched over his chest.

"Julian," Brent said in a low voice, but sharply. Julian looked up at him. "You've got to shut up. The ghosts in this cemetery are not the danger."

Julian stared at him, nodded, and seemed to find some resolve. "Right." He only mouthed the word.

Nikki looked out. Tom Garfield was standing next to Andy, not moving, looking from her to the mausoleum. He seemed faint and pale at first, made of narrow light and nothing more. Then his form became more solid. At first his feet weren't there, and then, slowly, they were, and he appeared as much alive to Nikki as he had in the street, as he had every time she had seen him.

Alive, and strong, and determined.

"He's trying," Brent whispered. "And he's… "

Nikki moved quickly then, exiting the mausoleum. She shuddered at the creaking sound the gate made in the night, seeming incredibly loud.

"Tom," she said, walking forward. "You've tried to talk. I haven't known how to listen."

Brent was at her side. "My name is Brent Blackhawk. You have no reason to trust me, except that Nikki trusts me," he said. "But I'm here to help. We're both here to help. To find the people who murdered you."

Julian had promised to be quiet. He had seemed to understand, but maybe it was all a little bit too much for him. They could hear the soft echo of his voice from within the tomb.

"Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. They're at it again. They're talking to ghosts. And asking for help. Talking to ghosts," Julian murmured. But there was no mockery in his voice.

Nikki glanced back. She could see the shadowed form of her friend hunkered down low in the mausoleum.

Julian had his hands over his face. "What am I doing here?" he groaned.

She turned back to Tom Garfield. He was staring at Brent. Judging him. He seemed to take a long time in the chill, charged atmosphere of the mist-shrouded graveyard.

Then he spoke. His voice sounded grating, harsh, like the scrape of heavy equipment.

As if he were learning to talk all over again.

But he spoke. And the sound was clear on the air.

"Soon… the rear… the ovens. They come here… there's a stash. I'm not sure where. They're always masked."

"Let's go," Nikki said.

"No. You stay here, in the tomb with Julian," Brent said.

"I have to go with you."

"No. Please, Nikki. I'm not alone. The cops are out there."

Just then, like a strange thunder in the night, they heard a series of soft thumps from the rear of the graveyard.

Brent shoved Nikki toward the mausoleum. "Please?" he whispered desperately.

All around them, the mist seemed to swirl.

There were more and more forms around them.

And the cold brought on shivers.

"It's easier for me to fend for myself, Nikki. When I know you're in danger, I'm not as sharp," he said, and she knew that his words were sincere.

Tom Garfield had turned. The ghost of Andy Ciello watched, then slowly began to fade.

Brent followed the earthly remnants of the soul of Tom Garfield.

Nikki exhaled slowly, then turned and quickly found a place inside the tomb again. Julian was on the ground, still shaking, teeth chattering. He looked at her miserably and winced. "And I'm protecting you?" he said wryly.

"Ghosts do exist, Julian," she said, taking his hands, holding them both to reassure him and for the warmth they provided.

He didn't agree, but he also didn't deny her words. He just stared straight ahead, through the wrought-iron gate of the mausoleum.

"Nikki?" he said on a breath.

"What?"

His eyes seemed fixed on the gate.

She looked out herself. And saw, even as Julian spoke again.

"Nikki… someone's coming." He looked at her tensely and added, "And it isn't any ghost."

 

"You!" Massey exclaimed.

Joulette was swearing. He'd spilled his coffee.

"What are you two doing here?" the man at the window asked harshly. Haggerty! Of all the damn times for him to show up.

"You're in our way," Joulette said.

"I rank, fellows, and I repeat, what are you doing out here?"

"We heard a rumor about some hooligans being in the cemetery," Massey said. He looked at Joulette with a frown that demanded, Did you call him?

Joulette was looking back at him just as suspiciously.

Massey looked back at Haggerty. In his customary suit, he was standing by the driver's door, staring down at them as if they were errant schoolboys.

"A girl was attacked out here the other night," Massey said.

"Yeah? And that's a big deal these days?" Haggerty asked.

"She might have been killed."

The darkness suddenly seemed to close in. Haggerty looked up. "Clouds over the moon," he said.

"Yell, well, there's someone in the graveyard, too," Massey said, angrily forcing his door open. "I am an officer of New Orleans, sworn to uphold the law, and this is my territory. Excuse me, will you?"

Joulette, too, exited the car. Before he could close his door, they heard the explosion as a shot was fired in the night.

 

Ghosts were invisible to most people.

Brent was not.

He had moved carefully among the tombs, even as he followed Garfield. But the shot that was fired out of the mist was fired at him.

Instead, the bullet hit the nose of a winged angel at his side.

He dove to the ground, and rolled, finding safety behind a society crypt just as another shot rang out.