Spirelli Paranormal Investigations Box Set Page 10

  “Yeah. That too.”

  Marin pulled into a small neighborhood park. From there they could easily walk to the house that abutted Conrad’s. “No way in without being seen now. We wait till dark, I assume?”

  “Yep. Should only be an hour or so. I’d say wait until he’s asleep, but for all we know he doesn’t sleep.”

  Marin’s brow furrowed. “And Rose’s nighttime adventure in the kitchen makes me wonder if he has a way to reach them at night.”

  Jack nodded. “As soon as it’s dark, then.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jack gave Marin’s ass a firm push. He’d given her a leg up over the fence, but she’d looked about ready to drop back down. Once she’d cleared the fence, he clambered over behind her and saw why she’d hesitated. A stout rose bush, thorns included, was just on the other side. He shimmied several feet down the fence then hopped off.

  Thankfully, Louisiana in the summer meant all the houses in this little neighborhood were locked up tight with the curtains pulled and air-conditioning units running full blast. So with only a little luck, no nosy neighbors to stumble on them. And Conrad’s house only had lights on upstairs. Jack could just make out the faint outline of yellow in one room where the light leaked through the corners of the curtains.

  “Thanks,” Marin whispered in Jack’s ear when he reached her.

  Jack shrugged and motioned to the back door. As he watched, Marin approached the door and disappeared. He squinted in the dark. He thought the weird steam-breath was creepy. Marin disappearing into nothing made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Before he could go completely mental, Marin quietly opened the back door and motioned him inside. He’d have to figure out why walking through a door was freakier than walking through a ward—but his brain had decided that it absolutely was.

  Once inside, he could hear the low hum of a television in the background. Just enough noise to mask any small noises he and Marin might make.

  Or not.

  Because Conrad was headed down the stairs. Jack could hear him. Conrad wasn’t making any attempt to move quietly; the guy was whistling.

  Had they tripped a ward unknowingly? Or an armed security system that neither he nor Marin had spotted?

  They both moved to the back of the room and to the side, the spot least visible to a person descending the stairs. Jack reluctantly drew his gun. They needed to avoid the sound of gunfire if their original accidental house fire plan was going to work. But he also liked breathing.

  Jack pointed at Marin. She was their only silent option at this point. Jack just had to make sure he didn’t hit her if that plan failed, because he’d be poorly placed for a clean shot.

  And then there he was: their very own ninja memory assassin. A slightly receding hairline, soft in the middle, average height. Conrad looked like he worked behind a desk all day. He looked like that guy, Bob, the one who grills burgers for the block party and waves at passersby when he’s working in the yard. He looked like everyman and no one in particular.

  While he’d been cataloguing Conrad’s appearance, Jack’s gun had slowly lowered and the muzzle now pointed at the ground. He didn’t remember deciding to lower it.

  Marin approached Conrad, but slowly. That wasn’t the plan. Jack knew it, but he wasn’t really concerned about it.

  As Marin slowly closed the distance between her and Conrad, she said, “Jack. Why do I not want to smash this walking piece of excrement’s face in?”

  Marin sounded curious. Not frantic. So there must not be any urgency.

  “I don’t know—but I’m feeling like he might be kind of a good guy.” Jack paused. That wasn’t right.

  “I’m a really nice guy. You should get to know me before you make any hasty decisions.” Conrad smiled pleasantly, his bland expression matching his bland tone. “Jack, why don’t you give me your gun?”

  “Sure.” Jack started to walk toward Conrad. Wait. Bad idea. Really bad idea. “No. I think that might be a bad idea.” Was that his voice? It sounded wrong to his own ears.

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Conrad said. “Go ahead and shoot the redhead instead. I think that’s a good idea.”

  “Okay.” The word slipped past Jack’s lips, but he didn’t move. Shooting the redhead seemed like an even worse idea than giving Conrad his gun. No. He really shouldn’t shoot Marin. He kind of liked Marin. Then his arm was wrenched and the pain brought a moment of clarity. “Shit.”

  “Yes.” Marin held tight to his forearm and yanked him along behind her. “You going to shoot me?”

  “Hell no.” Jack looked over his shoulder. “Conrad’s headed to the garage.”

  Marin pulled him through the back door.

  “Let go.” Jack pulled at his arm. “I’m fine.”

  As they hoofed it across the yard and Marin made a run at the fence, pulling herself over in a smooth move, Jack had a fleeting thought: were they retreating or being chased?

  After holstering his gun, Jack joined her, huffing slightly, on the other side of the fence. No curious neighbors yet.

  Right before she took off again, Marin said, “We’re agreed that you shoot him if you get the opportunity?”

  “Yeah.” Jack jogged at a good clip, just keeping pace with Marin. “Wouldn’t have shot you.”

  Reaching the car, Marin tugged open the driver’s door and hopped in. Jack was a hair behind her.

  After he closed the door, Jack repeated, “Whatever I said, I wouldn’t have shot you.”

  “I know that. But it’s pretty damn disturbing that Conrad’s persuasion is that effective from such a distance.” Marin pulled out into the street. “Those poor women didn’t have a chance. And Eric—ugh. I want to beat this creature to a pulp.”

  “It would be pretty cool if you could manage that. Maybe earplugs?” Because Jack knew they had to finish this tonight. That, or Marin and he could easily become Conrad’s next victims. Or he’d skip town and continue harming innocent people who caught his eye. “Do you think he’s running?”

  Marin checked her rearview mirror. “Nope. Definitely chasing. And I can tell you, his persuasion is tied to proximity, and it’s definitely not his voice. Visual? A smell? Hormones of some kind? The magic is dense near him and dissipates further away, but there’s no fluctuation when he speaks. Hell, it may not even be a natural talent. He could be using borrowed magic—a potion, maybe. I can’t tell—the magic just looks...off.”

  As Marin shared what she’d discovered, Jack watched a green Subaru gain on them. The same green Subaru that had been parked in Conrad’s drive earlier.

  “Do I want to know how fast you’re going?” Jack slipped his seatbelt on.

  “Nope. At least there’s no traffic.” Marin continued to check her rearview mirror with startling frequency.

  “I’d love to avoid a car accident. I’m squishy and breakable, remember? No magical bells and whistles. No extra healing ability.”

  “Then it’s a good thing our buddy Kai lives around the corner.” Marin gave him one of her toothy, mildly terrifying grins. “You remember Kai? The healer who magicked your head back into reasonable shape. After your concussion—”

  “After I almost blew us up. Right, I remember. It was like, what? Two weeks ago? Of course I remember.” Jack had forgotten the kid’s name, not that he’d patched Jack up. “He’s close?”

  “Yeah. Closer to us than to Miersburg.” Marin gripped the steering wheel. “I think Conrad is going to run us off the road and either kill us or have us kill each other.”

  Since he’d reached the same conclusion, Jack couldn’t argue. “Bad news, because that means he’s not worried about any injuries he might sustain.”

  “Yep.”

  The car jerked as the Subaru tapped their bumper, but Marin had already accelerated.

  “Shit—sharp turn coming up ahead.” Jack struggled for a half-ass decent out. “A good chance you survive a collision with this asshole?”

  “Very good.”

  Quickl
y now, Jack said, “Slow down for the turn as much as you can, and I’ll jump out.”

  “He’ll rear-end me...ah. And you’ll shoot him after the crash.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Marin squeezed the steering wheel. “Wait till I say go.”

  “You’re sure—”

  “I am.”

  “Dammit, I love this car,” Jack muttered.

  Marin smiled broadly. “I know. I’ll get another one. Get ready.” She braked hard.

  Jack did his best to think only: exhale; relax. He cracked the door open. Exhale. Relax. They slowed down significantly, probably to twenty or fifteen miles an hour. He could survive that. Right?

  “Go!”

  Jack let himself fall from the car, exhaling as he went.

  Burning, wrenching, rolling. Panicky gasps of breath. Relax and roll. Relax and roll. And he rolled and burned and rolled.

  It took him a moment to realize he was stationary and just his head was spinning. Immediately, he tried to even out his breath. Slowly reaching for his ankle holster, he scanned the area as best he could from the ground. Minimal movement should make him less visible. He hoped.

  The Range Rover was off the road but upright. Jack couldn’t see if Marin was in the front seat. The country road they’d ended up on had no streetlights, and the headlamps from the Subaru shone at an angle to the Rover. No movement near Conrad’s car. Jack searched the wreckage of the car for any sign of Conrad—but from his position on the ground he couldn’t see much.

  Jack had been at least fifteen feet from Conrad when the guy had half convinced him to pull a gun on Marin. Massive adrenaline dump, road rash, a jacked shoulder, fear—he couldn’t count on accuracy at a hundred feet. Fifty? Could he risk getting that close?

  Jack did a few calculations then rolled to his feet and ran to the Rover, a good hundred feet from the Subaru. Conrad must have clipped the left edge of the Rover’s bumper in the turn, spinning the cars away from each other. The thought slipped through his head, crammed together with the ache in his shoulder, the sharp pain in his hip, and the slow burn down his back.

  Marin was in the car, slumped slightly to the side.

  “Shit.” Jack kept half an eye on Conrad’s car, while he tried to get to Marin. “Marin, can you hear me?”

  Marin cleared her throat. “I’m okay, but you’ve got a hitch in your step.” She coughed. “Freaking air bag fumes. Hey, relax. Conrad hasn’t left the car.”

  “You sure?” When she nodded, Jack said, “You didn’t black out?”

  “Screw you, too. I’m sure. Now get me out of this cloud of chemicals.”

  Jack opened the door and gave her a hand out. It took her a few seconds before she was steady on her feet.

  “I haven’t seen any movement around the car, but I can’t see him.”

  Marin sneezed. Eyes watering, she said, “The bastard’s still in the front seat. Maybe his legs are broken.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Jack couldn’t help but notice the wheezing, sneezing, and tearing up.

  “You take care of you. I’m fine.”

  Jack rubbed his bruised hip absently. “I can’t shoot him if I can’t see him. And no way am I getting close.” A pleasant thought perked him up. “Can you just incinerate the car? We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  Before Marin could respond, Conrad’s clear and even voice resonated through the air. “Burn me and their memories are gone forever.”

  Jack checked that Marin still looked like herself—still was in control of herself. “Are you feeling compelled?”

  Marin shook her head and quietly murmured, “But I’m not quite up to flying and fire at the moment.”

  She did look paler than she had a few moments ago. And she was sweating. Marin didn’t sweat. Something was wrong. Shit.

  Raising his voice, Jack said, “Okay. What do you want?” He tried to sound reasonable, but even to his own ears he sounded pissed off.

  Conrad’s car door swung open, followed by the appearance of his legs—clearly not broken. “I want what every man wants. To live free, unmolested by my fellow man.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” But Jack spoke quietly. He counted to three and then raised his voice. “And what about the people you molest? Your victims.”

  “The old. The weak. Unmissed by society when they fade away. Where’s the harm?” Calm, dispassionate, Conrad’s reply made Jack queasy.

  “Jack.” Marin was leaning against the Rover. “His master.”

  Immediately, Jack turned around and yelled, “What about your creator? Is that what he believed? That people were there for you take? That the weakest were there for you to abuse? To injure? To kill?”

  Conrad stood smoothly from the car, fluidly turning to present a minimized target. “But Jack, I don’t kill.”

  Fucking asshole, no center mass target.

  Jack grabbed frantically at the last thread of the conversation. “Eric—what about Eric?”

  Soothingly, Conrad said, “Eric killed himself. He was weak, unhappy. Ready to die.”

  “Not weak, Conrad. He was in pain. Pain that you caused.” Jack raised his gun and fired.

  “Tsk, tsk. If you shoot, you shouldn’t miss.” Conrad took a casual step toward Jack and Marin, appearing completely unruffled by the near-miss. “Don’t you want to save Rose’s sanity? Betty’s memories of the love of her life? Shame on you.” He took another step.

  Doubt crept in. Could they get Betty’s memories back? Rose’s, too? Jack glanced at Marin.

  Lips trembling, forehead beaded with sweat, Marin said, “He lies. He’s using persuasion, Jack.”

  By the time he’d turned back to Conrad, the creature was several feet closer. Jack fired, clipping his shoulder—but Conrad kept walking.

  “His creator, Jack,” Marin wheezed.

  “The man who made you...” Jack searched frantically for some argument. Something to distract. “He’s ashamed, Conrad.”

  Conrad hesitated for a split second.

  Bingo.

  Conrad continued to walk forward. He was maybe seventy feet away. “You’re wrong. They nourish me, and he would want me to live. If you knew my father, you would know this.”

  “He wasn’t your father. He was your creator. He was human—like I am. Like Betty, and Rose, and Eric. You’re not human, Conrad.” Jack spat out the last sentence like an accusation, and fired.

  A miss. His fucking shoulder was killing him, making it impossible to get a steady aim.

  Conrad cocked his head, seeming to consider Jack’s statement. “I’m better than human. I don’t age. I don’t tire or become sick. I’m not weak.”

  Jack made a quick guess—everyone without a soul wanted one, right? And surely this thing, whatever it was, didn’t have a soul. “But you can never be better than humans, because you have no soul.” No reaction, so Jack switched tracks. “Your creator had a soul.”

  “Yes, and he shared his soul with me.” Conrad was about fifty feet away.

  An easy enough shot on any other day.

  Jack dropped his gun hand. His shoulder couldn’t take it, and this wasn’t working. “So when your creator, your father, died, he took away your soul.”

  Conrad turned to face Jack, and the hate in his eyes burned. “He shouldn’t have—”

  One shot, center mass, silenced him. Jack stared down the sight of the gun he’d raised and fired without conscious thought. Already his feet were moving, bringing him closer. He fired again—heart. And again—head. The last remaining shot he fired through the shredded remains of what passed for this creature’s heart.

  Seven shots. Looked like Conrad was just human enough to die. Jack leaned down, about to check its pulse, when he realized—did the thing have a pulse to begin with?

  On the way back to the car, he picked up his shell casings, but his gaze never strayed far from the crumpled figure of Conrad. Where was all the blood? Whatever Conrad had been, it didn’t seem to bleed much.
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br />   He picked up the last casing and turned to find Marin crumpled in a heap next to the car. Pale, damp, unconscious.

  “Shit. Shit.” Jack rushed to her side and reached down to feel for a pulse.

  Marin’s eyelids flickered. “Please. Get a grip, Jack.” She wheezed and coughed. “I’m not dying.” She stopped to catch her breath. “I pierced a lung. Hurts like crazy.”

  “Holy shit. That is not good.”

  Marin’s eyes were now firmly open and she looked pissed off. She narrowed her eyes. “My phone. Call Kai. You idiot.”

  “Right. Got it.” Jack retrieved her phone from the Rover and scrolled through the contacts. There was only one Kai, and he had a Louisiana number. He dialed the number and flipped it immediately to speaker.

  “Hey, it’s Jack. The guy—”

  “Yeah—I remember. The guy with the head injury. Any reason you’re calling from Marin’s phone?” Kai asked.

  Well, that was interesting... Before Jack could map out the various reasons for Kai to have Marin’s number programmed in his phone, Marin started wheezing.

  “Hey.” Marin started coughing immediately, which made tears stream down her face.

  “Jesus—can you shut up for five minutes?” Jack barked.

  Immediately a sharp pang of remorse hit. It wasn’t her fault he had nasty, inadequate, and helpless feelings piled on top of guilt. His idea to intentionally crash the car. But he still wanted to throw the phone at her.

  Jack grunted in frustration. “Sorry, Kai. Marin’s punctured a lung and needs help right now. The faster you can get here the better, because she won’t stop talking.” He took a breath, briefly meeting her eyes. “And she looks like shit. And definitely is in a lot of pain.”

  “Already in the car and heading down the drive. Where am I going?” Kai’s words were confirmed by the soft dinging of the seatbelt warning bell in the background.

  After Jack gave him directions, Kai said, “Just keep her still and quiet. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

  Jack ended the call and pocketed Marin’s phone. “Not a word.”