Buried: A Bone Secrets Novel Part 33

He only had minutes to stop the blood flow.

Chris spotted the senator behind Phillip Brody a split second before the man rushed and tackled the governor. The action distracted the Ghost for a split second as the governor hit the floor. Chris bent over and charged. The Ghost jerked his gun away from Brian and pointed it at Chris. Chris saw the gun swing his way as if in slow motion. The muzzle coming into focus, aiming at his brain. He lunged forward and came up under the Ghostman's gun arm, shoving it skyward as it went off.

The explosion made his ears ring.

Chris grabbed Brian's shirtfront, ripping him from the Ghost's slack arm, and flung him to the side. Chris pressed forward, chest-to-chest with his nightmare, tripping the Ghost backward into the wall, struggling with the man's gun arm still trapped and pointing at the ceiling.

The Ghost's hot breath covered his face as Chris pressed the tip of his gun into the man's neck and dug. The Ghost fought, thrusting his knee and slamming his head forward. Chris ducked the head strike and shifted his weight to miss the knee. Distantly, he heard Brian scream for the man to let go of his dad.

"Brian, run!"

Jamie's breath shot out of her as she crashed to the floor. The weight of two large male bodies crushed her, and she went into panic mode. She fought. Memories of her last attack ricocheting through her head. She clawed, she screamed, she kicked. She didn't know where the knife was, and she didn't care. A gunshot boomed, and she looked for Michael.

He was on the floor, crawling toward her. He had the gun in his left hand, slamming it against the floor as he moved. Michael's right arm collapsed twice under his weight, his mouth bleeding.

Had he been shot in the mouth?

He grabbed her hand with his right and pulled, but the two fighting older men pinned her. She kicked harder, not caring who she hit. Dimly, she noticed the second man was Michael's father, the senator. Grunting, the two brothers wrestled, the knife flashing between them. Warm, wet blood coated her legs and slicked the floor.

Was she cut? Had she not felt it?

Glancing at Michael, she saw his mouth was open, shock in his eyes. But he wasn't looking at her. She followed his gaze and saw the blood spurting out of his father's leg. She froze.

Tourniquet. Now.

"Shoot him!" she screamed at Michael. "Shoot him, now!"

He shook his head; it was too dangerous. She yanked her hand out of his, and alarm flashed across his face. With both hands, she shoved at the closest male body and the men rolled off her, thrashing and stabbing. She kicked at the governor, and he slashed at her legs. Michael's father panted hard, his face crimson, and she saw an awareness of his injury in his eyes as he wrestled with his brother. The senator's movements slowed, and Phillip gave a wallop to his chest that sent him flying onto his back. The senator lay still, gasping for breath as he stared at the ceiling.

He's lost too much blood.

The governor froze, staring at his brother's leg. He dropped the knife and reached for his belt buckle. Michael shot up from the floor and took his uncle down, slamming his head into the floor.

"Bind his leg," Phillip yelled from beneath Michael. "He's bleeding out."

Michael scrambled off his uncle, who yanked his belt out of his loops. Phillip thrust the leather into Michael's hands, who tore at his father's pants, trying to see the wound. Blood spurted in arcs. Michael whipped the belt around his father's leg at the groin and wrenched it tight, the blood slowing. Phillip moved to his knees, his gaze locked on his brother. The governor's shoulders sagged, and he buried his face in his hands.

Jamie grabbed Michael's gun.

Blood pounding in his ears, Chris swallowed hard, pressed into the Ghostman, and rested his finger on the gun's trigger, grinding the weapon into the man's jaw. The noise in the room faded away. Just Chris and his personal devil existed. The Ghostman stopped fighting and held perfectly still, trapped by Chris's body against the wall. No safety on the Glock. Chris simply had to pull firmly. Once.

Nightmare over.

"Chris. Don't do it." Jamie's voice came from behind him.

Chris's finger twitched "You're better than this. Don't start new nightmares."

Chris stared into the eyes of his personal h.e.l.l-creator. He could see the edge of the man's contacts. He could see where he needed to touch up the hair dye. He could see the man's fear. He could smell the Ghost, menthol and dusty, his scent eerily familiar and revolting.

"I've got him covered," Jamie said. "You can back away."

"Brian?" Chris croaked.

"Safe. I saw him run out of the room."

"Michael?"

"He's taking care of his father." Jamie paused. "He and the governor are trying to stop the senator's bleeding."

Chris continued to lock stares with the Ghost, adrenaline pumping into his stomach, making him nauseous. He swallowed hard, fighting back visions of this man touching him as a child. He could feel the man's heartbeat against his own. "Drop your gun."

The Ghostman's gun arm was still above his head, held motionless by Chris's strength. Strength that he felt waning.

"Let go," the Ghost sneered back, his lips exposing yellowed teeth.

"Gun first."

"f.u.c.k you."

"You've got two guns pointed at your head. Drop yours." Jamie sounded like she was disciplining one of her students. Her voice had moved closer. The sound of Michael talking frantically to his father entered Chris's awareness.

The Ghost broke eye contact and looked over Chris's shoulder. Presumably at Jamie. Resignation crossed his features. The Ghost's arm muscles moved under Chris's hand, and the Ghost's gun fell to the ground.

Chris released his arm, took a half step back, and struck the Ghost across the face with his gun. His nose exploded in a shower of blood, and the Ghost dropped to his knees with a wail, his hands on his face.

"Chris!" Jamie cried.

Chris stood with his feet planted apart, his gun at his side, staring at the destroyer of his life, gasping deeply. He'd never seen the man grovel at his feet before.

Shoot him.

Do it.

He shook his head.

You have cause. Protect your son.

The Ghost cowered on his knees, blood seeping through his fingers, his shoulders shaking.

Chris swallowed hard and turned away. Jamie stood behind him, her gun still trained on the wretch of a human being. Her hair was tangled and smears of blood covered her body, but she stood strong. She met his gaze, and tears shone at the corners of her eyes.

"You did the right thing."

Chris wondered.

She started to smile, but her gaze bolted behind him. Her mouth opened.

Chris whirled, raised his gun, and shot.

A mist of blood covered the wall as the Ghostman slumped onto his side, his fingertips on his gun.

Mason had placed one foot on the stairs to the governor's front door when he heard the gunshot. He didn't even look at Ray; he simply ran up the steps, pulling out his weapon. "Call for backup!" He hit the front door running.

Locked.

He pounded on the door in frustration. "Police!"

s.h.i.t.

He jogged back down the steps and looked up at the big mansion, scanning the windows, wondering where another entrance could be. Ray was on his cell phone, rattling off instructions.

d.a.m.n it! They had to check around the side of the home. Mason wished the backup would instantly appear. He jerked his head at Ray and had started to move to the right side of the building when a movement near the front door caught his eye. He stopped. Two wide eyes peered out from a decorative window beside the huge double doors. Mason had already reversed direction back to the doors when he realized it was a child. He lowered his weapon and pulled out his badge to show the child.

The boy vanished.

Mason sprinted up the stairs and pressed his face against the same section of gla.s.s and saw a small figure step farther out of his sight. "I'm with the police! I heard the gunshot. Are you hurt?" he hollered at the boy. "Can you open the door?"

The boy stepped back into his line of vision, caution etched in his face. Mason didn't see any wounds and gave a mental sigh of relief.

"Is everyone okay?"

The boy simply stared at him, and Mason wondered if he could hear. He pressed his badge and ID against the gla.s.s. "I've called for more police. Can you get the door open?"

The boy still didn't move. Mason was about to give up and head around the side of the house again when the boy started at something and glanced over his shoulder. A second later, he ran at the door, terror on his face, and Mason could hear him fumbling with the locks.

"He's letting us in!" he yelled at Ray.

The door opened, and an alarm screeched a warning.

"Jesus Christ." The sound was worse than a teenager's car stereo.

The boy shrank back, clearly shaken by the continuous siren.

"Good boy. You did the right thing."

The kid didn't look like he believed him, and he put his hands over his ears, his eyes gigantic. Mason wanted to do the same. The squawking split his eardrums.

"Where's the gunshot? Do you know?" Mason yelled. The boy nodded, spun around, and started to dash away.

"Wait!" Mason grabbed at the boy's shoulder and tried to lead him out of the house. His first priority was the kid's safety. The boy fought back.

"My dad's in there! I can't leave!"

Mason held tight to the boy's shirt. "Who's your dad?"

Ray jogged up the steps, wrapped an arm around the boy's ribcage, and lifted him up. The boy screamed and kicked as they moved away from the house.

"We're the police, kid. We're here to help, and I can't let you back in where there're gunshots." Over the alarm, Ray spoke calmly in the boy's ear and carried him back to the vehicle. The kid ignored him and proceeded to pound away. On one hand, Mason admired the kid's smarts for fighting back against strangers; on the other hand, he wanted the kid to shut up and hold still.

"Look in the car," Ray said to the boy as they neared the car door. "You see all that equipment? We're police."

The kid stilled. Ray set him on his feet but kept a firm grip on him.

"That's better," Mason said. He squatted down to get on eye level with the boy. Near the car, the alarm sounds were a bit more bearable. "Now, where are the people in the house?"

Dark brown eyes studied Mason. The child was way too serious. "They're in a dining room. Uncle Michael got shot. He's bleeding. And my dad was fighting with the ghost. The ghost pushed his gun in my neck." The boy touched his neck, and Mason saw the red circle. Anger burned in his gut.

"You're Brian Jacobs," Mason stated. Ghost? The albino guy? Mr. Tattoo is here?

The boy's eyes widened, and he nodded. New sirens sounded in the distance. The cavalry was coming. "I want you to stay outside with the other police officers. Ray and I are gonna go get your dad."

"And Aunt Jamie is hurt. She's bleeding, too."

Mason felt a wave of relief that the woman was still alive. But what h.e.l.l were he and Ray about to walk into?

Two local police units pulled in, lights flashing, sirens adding to the din. Mason took Brian's hand and led him to the officer stepping out of the car.

"I want two of you with me and-"

"Someone's coming out!" an officer at the second car yelled.

All the men turned to the house, weapons ready, eyes sharp. Mason pushed Brian behind him and squinted at the figure at the door. It was female.

"We need an ambulance!" Jamie shouted. "At least three!"

Two Months Later.

Jamie followed the two men single file through the woods. The air was warm, but she could smell fall creeping into the air. A few more weeks and a definite chill would permeate the forest. She concentrated on placing her feet as she walked. If this was a trail, it didn't get much use. Chris had been the only one to track it a few times. Maybe some deer.

Chris and Michael moved silently ahead of her, glancing back occasionally to see if she was keeping up. Or to make certain she didn't vanish. The three of them had a hard time being out of each other's sight for very long. There were daily phone calls or texts, simple check-ins for no reason, other than the mental well-being that their loved ones were still safe.

The Ghostman was dead.

The police had linked several cold cases to Gary Hinkes, aka Gerald Prentice, with the governor's help. The crimes ranged from murder to rape. Katy Darby and the others in the pit from the forest had been just a few of the bodies he'd left in his invisible wake. The local and national media had gone on about the Ghostman for weeks, hounding Chris and Jamie. They'd refused all comments and tried to live normal lives. Michael and the senator had made statements to the media requesting privacy for a family who'd been to h.e.l.l and back.

The governor sat in the county jail. He'd confessed to the death of the woman in his office twenty years before, and his lawyers were arguing over what to do next. His confession had solved a cold case involving a woman's body who'd been dumped near the capitol building. The senator had spent a week in the hospital after surgery to repair his femoral artery. Luckily, the artery was only nicked, and the governor's fast action with his belt as a tourniquet on his brother's thigh had probably saved his life.

Michael's family struggled to comprehend that a beloved relative had their son murdered and then had callously let them wallow in depression and grief for two decades. Helping to save his brother hadn't redeemed Phillip in his family's eyes, especially since he'd nearly killed him first. Armchair psychiatrists claimed Phillip suffered from a G.o.d complex, believing he was privileged and his actions unquestionably correct. His family abandoned all contact with the governor.

Jamie glanced ahead at her brother, leading the way. If Chris was suffering emotionally, he never showed it. He'd stayed at her house for the first two weeks and then moved into a rental close by. She'd loved having Brian in her home. He'd brought a light into the house that had never existed before. He loved to talk to his aunt. They talked for hours at her kitchen table, and Jamie had learned he was smart as a whip. School started in a week, and he was both excited and nervous to attend public school for the first time. Chris hated the idea but hadn't fought her; deep down he knew school was the right place for his son. Brian would be at Jamie's school, and she'd sworn to check in on him several times a day.

The nights had been silent, not like the nights she recalled as a kid with her brother waking up the household with his screams. She'd immediately put Brian in counseling with the best child therapist she knew. Brian had blossomed and seemed to put his incident with the Ghostman behind him. He'd talked freely to Jamie about "the bad man" and accepted his father's need to have him in sight most of the time. Jamie knew he'd do well in school. Chris was the one who would struggle with his son out from under his wing. She urged Chris to see a therapist too.

"We'll see," he'd answered with a half smile. She'd brought it up two more times and then given up. She had a hunch he was seeing a therapist on his own, not wanting to discuss it with family. He never said a word about the Ghostman, but Jamie would catch him studying his surroundings and faces of strangers when they were out in public, searching for something. He maintained a high level of constant alertness that had to be exhausting.

At the hospital, Michael had told his parents who Chris really was. Both Cecilia and her husband had stared from Michael to Chris and back again. Cecilia burst into tears and nearly collapsed onto her husband's hospital bed. The senator had reached out a hand to Chris.

"Is it true?" he'd asked.