The First Church (8 page)

“Yeah,” Jim agreed.  He drank the last of his tea and put the cup beside his grandfather’s.  “Do you know when we’ll go?”

“As soon as we find out where Mr. Boyd is buried.”

“Even if it’s dark?” Jim asked.

His grandfather smiled.  “A little courage, James.  It’s always dark for me.”

Chapter 18: The Phone Call

The phone rang and woke Brian up.

He blinked, looked around and realized he had fallen asleep in the chair.  It took him a moment to recognize the unfamiliar hotel room and pick his phone up off
the table.

“Hello?”

“Brian, it’s Charles Gottesman.”

Sleep fled Brian’s brain,
and he straightened up.  “Charles, thanks so much for getting back to me.”

“No worries,” Charles said.  “
Sorry,
it took me so long to call you.  Ellen and I were out in Pennsylvania the past couple of days.  Native American war club.”

“Damn,” Brian said, impressed.  “Difficult?”

“Extremely,” Charles said, chuckling.  “Had a hard time finding someone we could bribe to get into the museum where it was being kept.  Anyway, what’s going on?”

“I’m working a job up in Rye,” Brian said.  “I’ve got a headless ghost.  Japanese soldier.  I was wondering if you or Ellen spoke Japanese.”

Charles laughed.  “No, Brian, I’m sorry.”

Brian groaned.  “Damn.  I don’t want to bring anyone outside of the ghost hunting community in on this.”

“Understood,” Charles said.  There was a slight pause and then he said, “I may know someone.  He’s got a knack for languages.”

“Is he okay with the dead?” Brian asked seriously.

“Yes,” Charles answered.  “More than okay.  If you
like,
I can pass on your info to him.  Let him decide if he’s interested.  He’s a private guy.”

“Fine with me, Charles,” Brian said.  “I can pay him if he needs it.”

“I’ll let him know.  I’ll give him your phone and email address,” Charles said.

“Great,” Brian said, sighing with relief.  “Can you ask him to
call, rather than email
?  I think this case is going to be a tough
one, and I may be a little too distracted to check my account.”

“Got it.  Say hi to Jenny for us,” Charles said.

“And to Ellen for us, Charles.  Talk to you soon.”

Brian ended the call and returned the phone to the table.  With a grunt
, he stood up, his knees popped,
and his back ached.  He splashed a little whiskey into the tumbler, knocked it back and then made his way to the bathroom.

He needed some comfortable sleep.

Tomorrow, he would have to speak with the dead.

Chapter 19: Officer Raelynn French Investigates

Raelynn had gotten a call from Dan the day before, and she hadn’t believed it.

The two blind teenagers had told him it was a ghost who had hurt them.

A ghost
, she thought, disgusted.

She parked her cruiser on the street in front of the First Congregationalist Church.

It was seven in the morning.

She called in her position and turned the engine off.  After she
got out,
she adjusted her vest and made her way towards the back of the building.  Dan had told her both the boys recorded the incident.  The problem she and Dan had, however, was the presence of only one phone.

One wiped phone because an overeager tech had accidentally triggered a safety feature.

More than likely
both boys had been recording.  Which meant there should have been two phones
, but one was missing
. 

Logic, therefore, dictated the other was somewhere in the office.

Rever
end Joseph Malleus was a man who got to work early.  Or
at least, people had said he did.

His car wasn’t there, however.

Raelynn continued around the back and stopped sharply.

The back door was open, and the window to the right of it was shattered, broken inwards.

She reached up to her shoulder and keyed the mic which hung from her epaulet.

“Base,
this is Three-Three,” Raelynn said.  “I have a possible
break-in at the First Church.”

The sound of breaking dishes cut her off.

“Three-Three going in!” s
he said, dropping her hand from her shoulder to her sidearm.  With an easy, long practiced motion she drew the
semi-automatic and hurried up the steps.

“Rye Police!” she yelled, and entered the building.

The door from the office to the rest of the Church was open,
and Raelynn stepped up to it.  She paused, looked quickly out into the hall and saw nothing.  She waited and was rewarded with the sound of something being smashed a few doors up to the right.

With her weapon ready,
Raelynn moved forward. 
Another crash sounded, and she saw that the third door was slightly open.

She kicked the door open, braced herself for a confrontation and called out, “Rye police, hands up!”

Raelynn froze.

Two headless men stood in front of her in a small kitchen.

Glasses were broken on the floor and silver plated serving trays were scattered across a long, stainless steel counter.  Water ran steadily from the faucet.  A large, industrial refrigerator stood open and its bright light shined partially through the two ghosts.

Raelynn blinked, unsure of what to do.

The dead men didn’t hesitate.  They drew curious pistols from holsters at their sides, and they fired.

The simultaneous shots deafened her even as the bullets punched through her flesh
.  Somehow
, the rounds passed through her vest,
and she felt them slam into her heart.  As
she fell backward from the force of the blows,
her trigger finger squeezed reflexively.  She
fired off a single shot, which buried itself in the far wall.

Raelynn landed on the floor with a thud and her breath exploded out of her as she felt her heart stop.

It was a strange, worrisome sensation.

I’m dying
, she thought.  Her eyes closed and she couldn’t catch her breath.  The sounds of the world became
muffled, and she shuddered.

Why won’t my heart start up? s
he
asked herself, darkness sweeping over her. 
Why?

Why won’t it start?

Raelynn gasped for air, and couldn’t think of anything other than her mutinous heart.

Chapter 20: Looking for Mr. Boyd

The morning was cold.

The sun hid behind a bank of dark clouds, and Brian felt certain there’d be rain, regardless of the forecast.

He leaned against his car, smoked the last of his cigar, and saw Rever
end Joe.  The Rev was in the lead with Luke and Jim a few steps behind.  Luke used a white,
red-tipped
cane with ease while he kept his free hand on Jim’s shoulder.  The teen looked completely comfortable with his grandfather, and for a
moment, Brian wondered if his own grandfather lurked around his grave.

Brian had loved the man dearly.

He pushed the thought away and looked, instead,
at the Central Cemetery in Rye.  Inside, among all the other graves, they would find Mr. Jonathan Boyd’s.  At first
glance, it seemed as though the job would be an easy one.

But in the corners of his eyes,
Brian caught movement.  The shadowy and hazy movement of the dead.

There were plenty of people buried in Central who either didn’t know they were dead
or just didn’t care.  Brian wasn’t looking forward to it.

Not at all.

“Good morning,” he said around the stump of his cigar.

The Rever
end smiled and then winced. 

Brian wasn’t surprised.  The Rev’s face looked worse than it had
, the night before.

“Good morning indeed,” Luke said.

They stopped beside Brian.

“Do we know where he is exactly?” Brian asked.

“Yes,” the Rever
end said.  “Lot Q, row seven, grave four.”

“Okay,” Brian said, looking through the gates.  “Got an idea as to where Q is?”

“Up and to the left,” Reverend Joe said.

Brian looked and repressed a shudder.

He saw, at least three dead men, and one very old dead woman on the way there.

And they looked at him.

Brian sighed.

“Something wrong, Mr. Roy?” Luke asked.

“Wrong?  No.  Discouraging?  Yes,” Brian replied.

“What’s going on?” Jim asked, looking out into the cemetery, but obviously not seeing what Brian did.

“The dead, Jim,” Brian said, and he had to fight the urge to imitate Dr. McCoy.  “There are a few I can see.  They know I can see them.  I’m just hoping they won’t do anything.”

Jim nodded his agreement.

“So, Luke,” Brian said.  “You knew Mr. Boyd?”

“I did,” Luke answered.

“Good man?” Brian asked.

“The best,” Luke said soberly.

“Good,” Brian said.  “Should make it a little easier to talk to him, then, if he’s still there.”

With a deep breath, Brian tucked the cigar in between the side mirror and the door frame, squared his shoulders and led the way into the cemetery.

He kept a steady pace and glanced back only once to make sure Luke was able to keep up.

The man did so,
easily.  The cane tapped on the cracked asphalt of the cemetery road and Jim lent his support. 
Reverend Joe walked behind them.

With each ghost they passed,
Brian could feel their undead eyes upon him.  He could sense the unasked questions, the desire to know who he was and why he was there.

Soon, they were near the back of the cemetery,
and the Rev said, “Turn left here.  This is lot Q.”

Brian did so.

He found the right row, and then the proper grave.

“Jonathan Daniel Boyd,” Brian read aloud.  “Born September 4, 1917.  Died January 4, 1968.  Gunnery Sergeant, United States Marine Corps.  Purple Heart, Bronze Star, Silver Star, Navy Cross.”

Brian shook his head.  “Man was tough.”

“He was indeed,” Luke agreed.

“Is he here?” Rever
end Joe asked, looking around.  He seemed uncomfortable.  It was as though the idea of the dead being anywhere other than Heaven was extremely upsetting.

“I don’t know,” Brian said, looking around.  And then he stopped.

A ghost stood off to one side.  He wore a Marine Corps
uniform,
and he looked to be about fifty years old.  The dead man looked steadily at Brian.

“You can see me,” the ghost said.

“I can,” Brian answered.

“You’re looking for someone,” the dead man continued.

“I am,” Brian agreed.

“Who?”

“Jonathan Boyd,” Brian said.

The ghost’s eyes widened slightly.  “Well, you found him, boy.  What do you want with me?”

“We need help,” Brian said.

Jonathan Boyd looked at the others, who gazed intently at Brian, yet said nothing. Then Boyd asked, “Who are they?”

“The one with the collar is Rever
end Joe Malleus,” Brian said.  “He’s the
Rever
end over at the First Congregationalist Church.  The teenager, his name’s Jim Bogue.  His grandfather, there, well, you know him.  He’s Luke Allen.”

Jonathan looked at Luke, took a step closer and asked in a low voice, “Why’s he blind?”

“Luke,” Brian said.

“Yes?” Luke answered.

“Mr. Boyd would like to know why you’re blind,” Brian said.

The dead Marine shimmered slightly, and from the simultaneous gasp from the Reverend and Jim, Brian knew the ghost had made himself visible.

“Hello, boy,” Jonathan said.  “You’re not a boy anymore.”

“No,” Luke said, smiling, “I’m not, sir.”

“Still polite, though,” Jonathan said, nodding.  “So, rather than have a go-between, you want to tell me what happened to your eyes?”

“Mr. Boyd,” Luke said.  “Enemy sniper. 
The bullet
passed clean through one eye and out the other.  One of the neatest shots the doctors had ever seen.  They had to rebuild my nose, though.”