Predator and Prey Prowlers 3 (29 page)

Artie screamed, recoiled, fell back in horror, and stared at the place where his fingers had been. Only then did Jack notice what shimmered behind him. It was gray and distant, like the real world was to him now, and so he had not noticed it before. But it was a window into another spiritual realm, just as Seth had described. Something underneath this world, underneath even the Ghostlands. Or perhaps just beside them.

Seth had done what he’d said.

But the Ravenous must have seen it, sensed it, and it was not interested. It was only interested in its hunger.

It’s useless,
Jack thought.
They’ve got to go. Got to run. Seth showed it what it needed to see and it doesn’t want to go. Like Artie and some of the other lost souls. It doesn’t want to go on yet.

Then, as he staggered back out of range of the thrashing beast’s claws, he heard the boom of the shotgun and turned to see Dallas lunge at Molly and then crumble to the ground. He was dying. Molly stood over the twitching Prowler with the shotgun. Eden screamed at her to kill it, but she hesitated. Dallas was going to die in minutes, perhaps seconds, so grievous were his wounds.

Bill had said Prowlers had no afterlife. But now they knew differently. Not only that, but Jack had seen it, right there, a misty gray world of mountains and forests . . . and howling voices.

A chance,
he thought.
They had one chance.

“Molly, shoot it again!” he screamed. “Kill it! Right now! Do it!”

Jack turned back toward the Ravenous just as the spectral thing shattered the hold the ghosts had on it again. It slashed its claws out and tore open the chest of a huge, bald man who had grabbed it and held it from behind. The phantom did not scream or cry out, but merely staggered back and stared in horror at the soul-energy leaking from his chest, and he began to cry.

Then the Ravenous lunged at Jack again. This time it grasped him by the throat and one arm and it lifted him off the ground. He tried to batter it away, but the thing opened its jaws and tore his hand off. Jack cried out in agony again and he could not see or feel his hand. To his eyes, it was gone.

The Ravenous brought him toward its jaws.

The shotgun boomed again.

The beast paused. It turned with Jack still in its grasp, and it stared. Jack hung loose in its grip, not wanting to draw attention back to himself, too weak to fight it. Then he saw what it was looking at.

Though the world was still inverted, still all gray and flat, he saw Molly standing over the Prowler, shotgun drooping in her hands. Dallas was dead, but his spirit, his essence, lingered. He seemed more of an animal now even than before. His snout was longer, eyes brighter, his fur bristling. This new ghost, the ghost of the beast, of the wild, looked around at them all.

His eyes focused on Jack. “Tell Bill . . .” he rasped, an animal growl more than a voice. “Tell him to find Olivia. Tell him to find her and tell her I’m sorry.”

Then he moved in a lithe, crouching run toward the far wall, toward that gray misty place beyond the fleshworld, beyond the Ghostlands. That ethereal world crystallized then, and Jack saw that it was not all dark shapes and swirling mists, but a landscape of mountain forests and golden stars. He understood then that this was what the dead Prowlers saw. Somewhere within that other place he heard howling, the voices of the wild.

The Ravenous watched the ghost of its kin retreat into that landscape, and it raised its snout and sniffed the air. Its ears pricked up as though it was hearing the howls for the very first time. Without even looking at him again, the thing dropped Jack to the floor and began to follow its kin, its spirit brother. Jack lay on the floor, his chest and face numb where it had torn at him, his wrist on fire where the hand had been torn away, and he watched them go.

Seth was right,
he thought.
When it came right down to it, the Ravenous was just another lost soul.

Ghosts, spirits, had been destroyed, so many of them consumed or wounded. He himself had perhaps lost part of his soul. But they had held on, they had not given up, they had fought the Ravenous. Yet without the death of Dallas, who had been so intent upon killing them, all would have been for nothing. Jack’s own spirit would have been forfeit.

Dallas and the Ravenous, the souls of dead Prowlers, disappeared into that ethereal landscape, yet it still shimmered there, open and yawning, waiting. The howls on the other side of whatever barrier separated those spirit worlds grew louder at first and then they diminished, echoing off into the distance.

Artie’s ghost drifted over, mist swirling, leaking from his wounds, and he stared down at Jack.

“You all right?”

Jack scowled. “Do I look all right?”

“You look alive.”

“There’s that,” Jack agreed.

Then he saw the ghosts gathered around, but their eyes were not on him. They were looking beyond him, toward the kitchen door. A fog seemed to lift from Jack’s mind, though his pain and numbness remained.

“Jesus, Courtney,” he whispered.

Shift.

He struggled to stand, and as he did the world inverted again. His nausea was greater than ever before and bile rose in his throat. He spit on the floor as his spirit left the Ghostlands, and then he could see them. His family. The devastation.

The blood.

Matt was dead. Eden was wounded. Molly had blood on her shoulder from gashes there.

Courtney lay in a pool of her own blood, unmoving. Jack held his breath, and he was sure that his heart stopped. He ran to her, his left hand dangling useless at his side. It was still there, but it was numb and unmoving.

Jack knelt by his sister’s side, and he saw that her chest still rose and fell, but her breathing was shallow. He put his fingers to her neck and felt for her pulse. It was slow and weak.

“Call an ambulance,” he said. “Call someone!”

“No,” rasped a familiar voice.

Jack looked up to see Bill standing in the hall, staring in at the kitchen. He had a cellular phone in one hand and slashes all over him, blood on his face and body, dried dark in his salt and pepper beard.

“She’s alive,” Jack said quickly. “But she needs help right now, Bill. Right now!”

The big man slapped the cell phone into Jack’s right hand and held it for a second. “Call the cops. Talk to Lieutenant Hall Boggs. Tell them it’s an emergency related to the case Castillo’s working on. Castillo’s not there but Boggs can reach him, and he’ll know what to do.” Then he knelt and lifted Courtney into his arms. Bill glanced at the girls, focused on Molly. “What about you?” His gaze ticked toward Eden, who had slumped to the ground but was awake, aware. “And you. You need medical attention right now.”

“I can wait,” Eden said weakly. “Trust me. I’ve done this before.”

Bill’s gaze then went to Matt’s corpse. “The cops will help figure out what to do about Matt. But I can’t carry her out through the restaurant without having to explain it.”

“The fire escape. Right outside my window,” Jack said quickly.

Together they rushed down the hall to Jack’s room, and Bill lay Courtney gently on the bed while he tore the bars right out of the window frame. He shattered the glass with one kick and knocked out the shards. Jack kissed his sister’s forehead, his body still numb, still aching. But he wondered now if that was because of the way the Ravenous had slashed at him, or if it was because of how pale and ashen his sister looked.

“I love you,” Jack whispered to her.

Courtney lay still, only her shallow, ragged breathing in response.

“Go,” Jack said to Bill. “As fast as you can.”

Bill lifted her and then stepped gingerly through the shattered window onto the metal grating of the fire escape. Jack watched him go down, the iron clanging with the weight of his descent, and then Bill was sprinting along the alley with Courtney in his arms, heading for the parking lot, for his car.

“Please, God,” Jack whispered as Bill ran out of sight. Then he thought of his mother, Bridget Dwyer, who had died and left them both too young. Somewhere, she watched over him. He knew that she did, believed it now with all his heart.

“Help her, Ma,” Jack said into the dark, empty room. “Give her strength. Watch out for her like you always did.

“I can’t lose Courtney, too.”

But there was no response, not from God or ghost, not from the black night outside the window.

Nothing but the wind.

E P I L O G U E

“So, do you hate me?”

The air-conditioning in the hospital room hummed and ticked, a bit too loud. It was a reflection of the age of the facility. Despite crisp linens and new paint, and linoleum floors buffed to a high shine, this entire wing was long past its prime. Not that it mattered. As far as Jack was concerned it was the quality of the staff and equipment that made a hospital. The rest might as well be a circus tent.

Eden lay on the bleached sheets, one light blanket covering her. Her skin was pale, wan, dark circles under her eyes making her look not merely older, but ancient. As though he could see, for the first time, the true soul within her. The spirit who had returned to flesh time and again.

Jack had been thinking about that a lot. With what happened with the Ravenous, and Artie’s determination to go on to where he was meant to be, the idea of heaven had been on his mind. Heaven. Paradise. Or, at least, that’s what it was supposed to be. He did not know what the afterlife really was. There were clues, and yet he found himself less than enthusiastic about pursuing them further.

The Ghostlands were not heaven, of course. Just someplace in between. But Jack had seen that place, touched it, and it had seemed to touch him as well. He had gotten a glimpse into what might truly be heaven for monsters, for the Prowlers, and he did not know how he felt about that. Creatures like that, predators, killers . . . did they even deserve an eternal rest? Peace?

Paradise?

In the end, Jack had decided that it was not for him to say. But in the process, he became more and more curious about Eden. There were so many questions he wanted to ask her when she was up to it, when she had begun to truly heal.

If she would talk to him.

“Eden?”

Her eyes were heavy, tired. She had been staring for a moment at the television bolted to the wall on the other side of the room. A curtain was drawn to separate her bed from that of the older woman she was sharing the room with.
Betty something,
Jack thought. The woman had had surgery of some kind; she had told them, but he had not been paying much attention.

At the moment, thankfully, Betty was sleeping.

“Hey,” Jack prompted again. “Why don’t I go? I can come back later.”

At last Eden turned her porcelain features toward him, her ancient, wise eyes narrowing as she studied him. The rest of her body stayed absolutely still. She was not even really supposed to be laying on her back, but she refused to be on her stomach all day.

“I don’t hate you,” she said, as though she had just come to that decision.

Jack glanced at the floor. “So you
were
listening.”

“Sorry. I’m in and out. They give me something for the pain. But as long as there’s no infection or anything, I should be out in a couple of days, and then maybe we can talk some more.”

“And you’re sure about that? The not hating me part? ’Cause I wouldn’t blame you.”

A weak, thin smile blossomed upon her lips. “I’m sure. You couldn’t have known what would happen, Jack. I . . . I wish you and Seth had explained things about the Ravenous better to me. What happened to . . . what it did to Seth, that hurts me much worse than my wounds. But Seth would have done it anyway, so I can’t blame you. Much as I’ve wanted to.” Despite her forgiveness, Jack felt a rush of fresh guilt wash over him. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know. You’re a good guy, Jack. I’m glad I know you. I’d like to know you better. After I’ve had a chance to recover.”

He did not know if she meant physical or emotional recovery, but he did not want to ask. Instead, Jack leaned over the hospital bed and kissed her gently on the forehead.

“Thank you.”

As he turned to leave, Eden reached a hand out to touch him on the arm. Jack glanced down at her again and was surprised to find a broader smile on her face, her skin flushed with color as though she were already regaining her strength.

“Artie’s really something else, isn’t he?”

Jack frowned. “Artie? Well, yeah. He was the sweetest guy I . . . but you can’t talk to ghosts. How did you meet Artie?”

“During surgery, while I was unconscious, he came to me. He knew that Seth was special to me and said he could sense my grief. And he wanted me to tell you that he’s going to try to stay away for a while, away from you and Molly. But—and he was emphatic about this—he said to tell you he’ll be around if you need him.” Eden smiled softly. “I’m glad. He’s so funny and passionate. I hope I dream of him again.” Jack shook his head in disbelief, pleasantly surprised to know that his friend was not gone forever, and he grinned. “I hope so, too. And, by the way, he said you were a babe.”

Eden actually blushed.

He figured maybe she had found herself another spirit guide.

When Jack stepped off the elevator onto the fourth floor he spotted Molly immediately. She stood by a bank of pay phones, one hip cocked out at an angle, her left hand on the back of her head as though upset or bored. She wore cutoff shorts and a green top with spaghetti straps. Where she had been gashed, her shoulder was wrapped in a thick bandage, and yet she seemed oblivious to any looks she might receive because of it.

“Hey,” he said as he approached.

Molly glanced at him, her hair falling over her eyes, and held up one finger to indicate that he should wait.

“All right. Thank you for everything. We’ll be in touch later today.”

She hung up the phone.

Jack frowned and studied her. “Castillo?”

“Yeah.” Her expression turned dark, her eyes distant.

“What did he say?”

“They’re taking care of everything,” Molly said, voice tinged with wonder, disbelief, and a bit of disdain. “Just like they always do where the Prowlers are concerned. Witnesses in the pub picked out pictures of this Dallas guy as the one who went upstairs with Courtney. They’ve got a warrant out for him for attacking us all and for murdering Matt. See, according to them, he
escaped.
They’ve also told the press that he killed that Paul Manning guy, but didn’t breathe a word about the body being found in Bill’s trunk.”