The Edge Of The Cemetery (12 page)

Forty-five minutes later I was out of the city, across the Bay Bridge, and onto I-580 headed east towards Tracy and Stockton, where I'd catch the I-205 freeway until I reached a series of smaller interchanges that would eventually put me in Valley Springs. By the time I reached Tracy, my stomach was painfully reminding me that I'd skipped breakfast. I was saved by the looming golden boomerang shaped arrow of the In-N-Out sign—originally a Southern California restaurant I frequented as a child and missed dearly as an adult. They'd eventually opened up shop in Northern California, but the city only had one and it was in Fisherman's Wharf, a place I tended to avoid, not just because it was a tourist mecca, but also because it's the place I'd gone to prove to myself that ghosts weren't real and I was just going crazy. Turned out I was wrong on the former, and the jury is still out on the latter. I used the drive-thru and took my lunch on the road. According to my GPS, I was another hour-and-a-half from Valley Springs, and it was almost noon.

After getting off the freeway, I found myself on a two-lane road that wound its way through several small farming towns full of orchards, vineyards, and produce fields. I headed further into the hill country, past parched rolling hills dotted with large California Oaks and the occasional herd of cows and horses, eventually finding myself in Valley Springs. My GPS spit out a few more turns, and finally I found myself in a quaint little neighborhood. My destination was on the left and I pulled to the curb and parked. The house was a small one story cottage, nicely maintained, much like its neighbors. The lawn was neatly trimmed, but brown in deference to our latest California drought. However, her deference was only towards the lawn, as there were colorful and overflowing flower boxes flanking the porch. The front door was hidden behind a heavy-duty security screen with an equally heavy-duty deadbolt. The neighborhood looked nice; what was she afraid of that warranted such an enforced entry?

The woman who opened the front door—but not the dead-bolted metal screen door—was average height with deep worry lines edged upon her face. Her shoulder-length hair, once dark brown like her son's, was now salt and pepper and loosely pulled back. I knew she was only two years older than me, but her thirty-six years had clearly been harder on her than my thirty-four years had been on me. She had on jeans, a button up blouse, and flip-flops.

Her eyes narrowed and she suspiciously asked, “Can I help you?”

“Hi, Ms. Brelong, my name's George Sinclair. I'm like Calvin…I can see them, and I really need your help.”

Her expression hardened and she began to pick at her nails, clearly a habit she'd passed on to her son. Finally she said, “I told that man the other day that I don't know where he is.”

“I know. Could we talk for a bit, on the porch?” I asked, putting on my most ingratiating, and hopefully disarming, smile.

She hesitantly opened the door and waved to the café set on the left side of the front door. I walked over and took a seat while she took the other.

“Ms. Brelong, you know about the ghosts and demons and the ghost killers, right?” She nodded. “I don't know if you're aware of this, but Calvin's been hanging out with some pretty bad people…and things. He's befriended a demon, a dangerous one, and together they killed two people the other day.” I waited for her reaction, but she lowered her head and started in on her nails again, picking viciously.

“There's a man too, you've met him—his name is Edgar. He came to Calvin a few months ago. He's been staying up in Rail Road Flat, at your brother's ranch. He's extremely dangerous, and we believe that he, with a demon's help, put Calvin up to killing those people and severely injuring others.” She wouldn't look at me, so I kept going.

“Calvin came to me…us. He wants our help.” She was shaking her head and I held my hand up to her. “Please, let me explain who we are.” She stared at me, eventually nodding.

“You know about the ghosts and demons and the ghost killers, but do you know who the Watchers are?” She sort of shrugged. I wasn't sure if that meant she knew who they were or not, so I explained. “They've been around for a long time. They protect ghost killers from bad people like Edgar, like Vokkel.” She flinched at the mention of his name. “We help kids like Calvin learn about their abilities and how to use them to help people. We've been fighting people like Vokkel for years. I guess you know he's dead, right?”

She looked up and swallowed hard. “I figured something happened to him.”

“Because the money stopped coming?” She nodded. “Okay, well Edgar had a part in his death and that's why he came up here…he needed to hide for a while.”

She started to cry. After a minute she wiped her hand across her face, smearing tears and snot across her cheek. Her voice faltered when she finally spoke. “I didn't know what else to do. He said that people would come after us…if they found us, they'd take Calvin away. He said he'd arrange for us to be protected, for us to be taken care of. He sent Sam, to teach him and make sure he was safe.”

I assumed she meant Vokkel, but I needed to be sure, “Ms. Brelong, who do you mean when you say 'he'?

“Mr. Vokkel.” She looked up at me. Another tear spilled over the rim of one eye and ran down her cheek, eventually dropping onto her pant leg.

I asked, “Can you see them too?” She shook her head. “But Calvin's father could?”

She took a deep breath. “Yes. My father said he was one of the strongest ghost killers he'd ever encountered.” Her voice hitched. “He said he was extremely dangerous, unstable…I should have listened to him.”

It was just after three in the afternoon when I finally got back on the road. Gail Brelong had started talking and didn't stop for almost two hours.

The drive home took much longer than the drive there due to pockets of rush hour traffic, and it was almost seven when I finally made it back to Lincoln Way. The streets were littered with ghosts, ghouls, princesses, Marvel Comics characters, and a variety of other costumed children…it was Halloween night, after all. When I walked up the front steps, I noticed carved jack-o-lanterns on each side of the steps. I was greeted at the door by one of Pete's extra security, a mid-level GK named Dave, holding a large bowl of candy. He smiled as we exchanged pleasantries, and I headed to the kitchen to find the usual suspects assembled and chatting aimlessly.

Phil smiled broadly and said, “Finally, you made it, man! I was beginning to think you ditched us and went back to your place.”

“It was a long drive, just hit some traffic.” I pointed behind me. “We're giving out candy?”

Eric smiled mischievously and said, “It's the best holiday of the year. Besides, it gives Dave something to do,” he winked.

Turning to Billy, I asked, “How's our boy today?”

She looked unsure, but settled on, “He's…complicated.” I didn't know what that meant, but I assumed she'd fill us in. Eric offered me a beer, and I took a seat next to Billy.

Aris cleared his throat, “George, please tell us about your visit with Ms. Brelong.”

“Gail's father was a ghost killer, and a pretty strong one at that. Gail was the apple of her father's eye and the mother apparently couldn't take it. She took off with little brother Leo when Gail was ten and Gail never saw her again, but she managed to reconnect with Leo…obviously. Anyway, the father/daughter duo travelled around this country and Canada killing ghosts. She can't see them, but she knows all about it. When she was seventeen she met a man who went by the name Drew Adler. He was handsome and charming and quite a bit older than her. They kept their relationship a secret for about six months, but then she turned up pregnant and decided it was time to introduce Drew to Daddy…it didn't go well. Gail's father immediately recognized Drew because his likeness and a list of his bad deeds had been circulating through the ghost killer community in the Ontario Province where they were living. Gail's father tried to convince her to cut off ties with Drew, but she wouldn't do it. So her dad went to the other GKs in the area with the intention of forming a posse to hunt Drew down and take him out. When Drew found out, he killed her father. Gail freaked out and left town.

“She'd never mentioned having a brother to Drew, so she decided to go hide out with Leo in Rail Road Flat. When Calvin was five, Vokkel appeared at the ranch, claiming to be Drew's adoptive father, and also claiming that Drew was dead. He said if people found out that Drew had a son, they'd come looking for him and they'd take Calvin away. Vokkel said he'd help Gail out by giving her a house and a monthly allowance if she kept a low profile and allowed him access to Calvin. She was scared, broke, and hated living up in the hill country, so she agreed to his terms.

“Vokkel and Edgar made monthly visits until Calvin was about seven. After Sam arrived…or was sent to her…the visits petered down to about four a year. Then picked up again right after her brother died, and continued about every other month or so.” I paused for a long pull off my beer. “So Calvin obviously lied about how often he met with Vokkel. She also said that during the more recent visits, Vokkel spent tons of one-on-one time with Calvin. She overheard them once, and said it sounded like Vokkel was teaching Calvin a prayer of some sort. She said when Calvin recited it, it sounded like chanting or something. Oh, and she's pretty sure he killed Sam and Leo.”

“Why?” Phil asked incredulously. I wasn't sure why he was so surprised…we already suspected this.

“Despite the fact that Sam worked for Vokkel, he apparently wasn't all that bad, he was just greedy. Vokkel was paying him quite a bit to tutor the kid and monitor and report on his progress. The kid was very fond of Leo and spent plenty of weekends up there. One particular weekend Gail asked Sam to drive the kid up to the ranch, and that's when he saw Gilles for the first time. Gilles wasn't haunting Leo and Calvin told Sam that they were friends, so Sam decided to watch and see what unfolded.” I looked around. “We all know some ghosts befriend us.

“Not too long after that, Gilles abandoned his new home in Rail Road Flat and came down the hill to Valley Springs. According to what Sam told Gail, that's when Gilles started to do some pretty hardcore haunting and killing, which really bothered Sam because he was going after easy pickings, like the old and infirm and sick kids. Then one day Calvin told Sam all about Gilles's plans to converge with Leo, and asked Sam to teach him how to do it. That really freaked Sam out, especially since it was the kid's own uncle he planned on converging Gilles into. Sam told Calvin he didn't know how to do it and left it at that.

“Gail said that Leo wasn't the smartest tool in the shed, but he wasn't a complete idiot either. He was pretty handy when it came to home improvement stuff, like basic electrical, but more importantly, he was extremely safety conscious, to the point that he'd barely change a light bulb without killing the power at the main. The idea that he'd fill up that hot tub, knowing it had faulty electrical, then get drunk and soak in it, was incomprehensible. She shared this with Sam after Leo died. At that point Sam confessed to her that he thought the kid had killed Leo while trying to converge Gilles, and when it went bad, Calvin staged the hot tub scene. Apparently Sam told Gail he was terrified of not just the musketeer, but of Calvin and of Vokkel. Not long after his confession to Gail, Sam decided he couldn't take it and said he was leaving the following day. He went out that night to say goodbye to some friends he'd made over the years and never returned. Gail was pretty upset that Sam was leaving, because they were a couple, sort of. Anyway, she said she railed on Calvin when he came home the same day Sam announced his departure. She blamed it all on him and he stormed out of the house. Calvin didn't return until the next morning.

“Since Sam had planned on coming back later that night, he left all his stuff at Gail's house. When he didn't return, she figured something had happened to him, probably at the hands of Calvin. I told her what we knew about Sam's death and asked to look at his stuff. There were two thick diaries, which she let me take.” I glanced at Phil…this was his department. “I'll give them to you when we're done here.” I hadn't had time to look at the diaries and I was too tired to do it tonight, but I knew Phil would go over them thoroughly and report anything of interest.

I drained the remainder of my beer and remembered something else. “When I asked her about Calvin's intellectual disability, she laughed. She said the kid is smart and conniving, could lie at the drop of a hat, and apparently he pulls the 'stupid' act when he needs to manipulate people, like when he gets in trouble. She said if he's acting dumb with us, he's up to something and it isn't good. I think she's terrified of her son, and I think she's relieved that he's out of her hair and in ours.”

I nodded to Aris, signaling the end of my report. He said, “Thank you George. There were other discoveries in your absence.” Turning to Billy, he asked, “Billy, would you care to elaborate?”

“Well,” there was a bit of annoyance in her voice, “obviously George was right. Calvin is lying to us.” She shot those green eyes in my direction, but it was harmless enough. She just hated it when I was right. I did my best not to smirk, but failed miserably.

She ignored me and continued. “I searched his room while he was showering this morning, and found a cell phone tucked between the mattress and box spring. There's no way to know if it's the one he mentioned before, or if that was just a lie to begin with. It was password protected so I wasn't able to access it right away, but as soon as he was done in the bathroom, I rushed him out of the house for a walk in the park. Fortunately, he left the phone behind and I'd already told Aris and Carol, so she was here when we left and she managed to get into it.” She finished and nodded to Carol.

Carol said, “He texted someone the night he got here and said, '
365 Linc Way.
' There wasn't a return message until the next morning, which just said, '
and?
' Then nothing until last night, after he told Jonas he was tired. The return text said, '
they're here.
' I tried tracing the receiving phone, but it's a prepaid cell and the GPS is disabled. I can tell you that it pinged off a few local towers, so whoever it is—Edgar, I assume—he's in the city and he's been in the vicinity of this house since yesterday. Regardless, I'm tapped into Calvin's phone now, so if he sends or receives any more texts, I'll know.” When Carol was done, she looked to Billy.

“So he texted the address, I assume to let Edgar know where he was, but I'm not sure about the last text. Initially I thought he was confirming that you and I are here,” Billy looked at me, “but that doesn't make sense, because I'm pretty sure they planned this.” She sighed angrily. “He couldn't kidnap one of us the other night, so they decided to have Calvin play the scared kid and come to us pleading asylum or whatever. If that is Edgar's cell phone, he is undoubtedly watching this place and already knows we're here.” There was a definite air of hurt in her tone and I felt bad for her. She really had been getting attached to the little-boy-lost. However, now she was pissed, and that was good…she was damn mean when she was mad.

I turned to Phil. “Did you find out anything new in all your research?”

Phil rubbed his hands together excitedly. “Okay, when I started collecting documents for the sanctum, I was put in touch with an elder Watcher in Berlin…nice old fella.” Phil smiled. “He runs a sort of safe house like this one and became the local dumping spot for journals and notebooks and stuff that the ghost killers kept. And, since he's getting up there in age, he was happy to pass it all along to me, but he said to call anytime I had a question, so I called him about Gilles. Since he's been around so long, I figured he might have heard some stuff. He had.

“Apparently there have been stories about a musketeer demon for years, but every time one of you guys gets close enough, the dude manages to get away. The old fella directed me to some diaries he sent over, because he recalled there might be some added details. Luckily I figured out which one it was and was able to read it.” He frowned. “Not all this stuff is in English. Anyway, this ghost killer, M. Frankel, who was apparently pretty darn powerful himself, wrote about a musketeer that he pursued throughout Europe during the 1950s. He was quite the artist too, and filled his diaries with sketches of his more formidable adversaries. There's one of a musketeer that sure looks a lot like the picture George downloaded.” Phil sobered. “The last sighting he had of this musketeer was in Switzerland,” he looked at Billy and me, “close to the location of Vokkel's school. He doesn't say outright, but he implies that maybe it took refuge at Vokkel's compound. That's all there was, but if we assume this musketeer was Gilles, it sort of gives us an idea of how strong this demon is, right?”

I knew it was strong just by virtue of its age, but to evade powerful ghost killers—especially ones that were actively pursuing it—meant it was probably stronger than we'd thought. The idea that it might have been associated with Vokkel a half century before it met Calvin was even scarier.

“Well, we already knew it was strong. Was there anything else to tie it to Vokkel?” Billy asked with unwarranted obnoxiousness. I knew her attitude had to do with Calvin's betrayal, or at least what she interpreted as his betrayal, but it wasn't Phil's fault the kid was a liar, a murderer, and God only knew what else. I kicked her lightly under the table, which got me one of those nasty green-eyed glares, but it also dislodged a mumbled apology to Phil.

Phil winked at her, lightly touched the brim of his hat (today, it was a newsboy cap), and said, “There was, m' lady,” he followed that with a big smile, which she almost reciprocated.

“This particular musketeer-hunting ghost killer mentioned a comrade-in-arms that he'd worked with on his pursuits, a guy named Alexander DuPont. He said DuPont had moved on to America, and I recalled seeing the name on some other stuff.” Phil pointed toward the ceiling, I assume to punctuate his victory. “And, I remembered what box it was in!” He was very pleased with himself, but Billy twirled her finger around, another one of her less-than-polite ways to say “move it along.” Phil smiled in response to her. “Okay, don't get yourself all worked up there, Billy.” Another wink.

“So in the mid-1960s, this DuPont fella wrote about seeing a musketeer demon in New York, and apparently he wrote to Frankel asking for descriptions and what not. The reply letter from Frankel was in DuPont's papers. Frankel pretty much described our musketeer. DuPont spent years trying to track him down, finally getting a lead on him in the early-1970s, but before he could actually find him, he heard rumors that it had managed to get converged by another ghost killer of ill repute. The rumors led DuPont to a man that had been arrested in connection with a string of murders in Albany. DuPont notes that he's positive this man was none other than the reincarnated Gilles.” Phil's eyes had become so large I was concerned about eminent escape from their sockets.

“I did a search on serial killings for that timeframe and location, and sure enough, there was a guy that meets the description DuPont noted in his papers. The man was arrested, but after a few weeks in jail, the district attorney couldn't make the case and they had to release him. But the DA did an interview a while later saying they had new evidence that this guy was the killer, but he'd disappeared and no one seemed to know where he was. In early 1999, there was a newspaper article about a man that had been found, burned to a crisp, but with two of his finger pads still intact, so they were able to identify the body. It was the aforementioned missing serial killer. But there's one weird thing…the coroner emphatically stated that the burned up man in his morgue was no older than thirty-five, and the serial killer would have been almost thirty years older than the body. However, the fingerprints were legit, so that was that.” Phil let his statement permeate. Was he trying to say our musketeer had lived twice—and if the coroner was right, he probably would have been a longaevus the second time around—died twice, and was back again, haunting in his original form?