27
I eyed the open shell of a doorway with severe misgivings. That looked haunted. That looked super haunted. It was already dark; the buildings were overgrown with weeds and trees, casting shadows in all directions, which didn’t lower the Jeepers Creepers vibes any. All the windows were busted out but there was very little graffiti to be seen.
I ask you, what kind of an abandoned place had no graffiti?
Places scary as hell, that’s what.
“Come on, Donovan,” Jon urged. He had a hand against my back, guiding me in.
I went, but with my feet dragging for all they were worth.
“Babe, level with me. This place is haunted, right?”
“I don’t see ghosts.”
That was a Jon-ism. I’d heard the same one before. It meant he was trying to soothe me while not lying at the same time. All it meant was he didn’t see ghosts right this second . That could change at any moment.
I glared at my fiancé. “A state prison shut down thirty years ago and completely abandoned? No way in hell this place isn’t haunted.”
He just sighed. Like he didn’t know how to respond, or at least didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t send me running for the hills.
I grumbled some more even as I kept my gun ready. Marc had said he’d pinged on the perp somewhere nearby, after all.
“I know so, so many people who can handle ghosts, and where are they? Not here. It’s not cool, man.”
“Don’t bother the ghosts and they won’t bother you.”
“Mack said that last time. And then they started throwing gravestones around.”
Jon grimaced. “You do have me there, but they weren’t angry at you or aiming for you.”
He did bring up a fair point, but still. Gravestones. Flying through the air. Very much a no thank-you in my book.
I held my silence as we breached the door. Ever have two instincts warring with each other and you weren’t sure which one was going to win? I had one instinct insisting I stay right in front of Jon because if the perp popped out of nowhere, I wanted to be poised to respond. Then I had the other instinct insisting I stay behind Jon because he could see the aura of ghosts and could protect me.
Hey, people who love to say follow your instincts? Could use some guidance here, thanks.
So far, my protect-Jon instinct was winning, and we moved slow and steady through the doorway. This seemed to be some kind of a mess hall, judging from all the abandoned tables still neatly stacked in a row. The roof was shot, windows long gone, but the tables remained in place. Weird.
We kept going, through the next door, which I checked both ways before coming out of. This one led into a wide hallway, with something that may have been administrative offices? Desks and abandoned file cabinets littered the area, half-charred files strewn about the floor. Inmate records, from the peek I took. Weird they didn’t take any of those with them.
Jon kept his hand at the small of my back. It was an easy way for me to track where he was without having to constantly glance back, and I appreciated he remembered to do so in moments like these. Steadied my nerves. Some. Ten percent, maybe.
“No ghosts,” Jon murmured.
“Thanks.”
See? He did love me. I could use all the reassurance he was willing to dish out.
We kept walking. Marc and Gonzalez had split off to the other wing, and they’d call and let it ring three times if they found something there, so I had part of my attention on the phone in my pocket. I hoped someone found this guy soon. Just so I could get out of here.
How did this place get more creepy as I walked through it?
Which begged another question.
“Jon,” I muttered.
“Hmm?”
“Explain this to me. Why do people like going into these places? I mean, it smells—”
Mostly of mold. I’d need a long shower after this.
“—and it’s creepy as hell, and people voluntarily go through places like this. Some of them do it just so they can find ghosts. I don’t get it.”
Jon gave me a pat on my back. “Takes all types to make the world go round.”
He wasn’t wrong, but… “There’s no other explanation for this?”
“It’s like pineapple on a pizza, love. Some people love it, some people will declare war over it. There’s no logic behind it. People love what they love.”
“I’m going to side with the haters on this one.”
“Yup, that’s fine.”
Part of the reason I was marrying this man was because he supported my absurdities.
I smelled and spied something nasty and sidestepped it, warning Jon. “I think that’s dog shit.”
“It’s something shit, anyway. This whole hallway’s bad. There’s layers to this like a freaking parfait made of shit in different stages of decomposition, and I swear it’s somehow getting worse. Hot shower after this.”
“Long hot shower,” I agreed. At the end of the hallway, I glanced both ways, grimacing. “Which way?”
“Er, right? Marc and Gonzalez are left.”
True, they had that area covered. Or so I hoped. Right it was.
We went right, still slow and cautious. Hurrying along in situations like this usually made the situation worse. For one, you made a lot of noise by running, alerting whoever you were chasing. For another, you couldn’t pay attention to your surroundings, and missing cues always bit you in the ass later. As much as I wanted to run—and boy howdy did I want to run— and get out of here, I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk Jon by being careless. So I walked at a steady pace.
Jon’s hand on my back abruptly grabbed my shirt and pulled me to a halt.
I stopped, looking at him sharply. “What?”
“Love, don’t panic.”
Oh shit. Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say.
“There is a ghost up ahead.”
I whimpered. I couldn’t help the whimper.
“I think it’ll be fine,” he assured me. “They’re not even facing our way. They’re…oh, they’re moving. Uh, straight outside, actually. No longer in the building.”
“You promise?”
“Promise, they left.” He gave me a consoling pat. “Sorry, honey. You were dead right about it being haunted.”
Now I really didn’t trust this place. “Joooooon, why do you keep bringing me into haunted places?”
“Exposure therapy is supposed to be healthy.”
“Really? That’s what you’re going with?”
“It’s the thought that counts?”
“Thoughts don’t count.”
“My body count is lower than I expected, then.”
“Sorry for your loss.”
Jon huffed out a soft laugh. “Why are you such an asshole?”
“Hey, you are what you eat.”
He laughed a little harder, although he kept it hushed. We were trying to track a perp in here, after all.
“I swear I keep you around for the cheap entertainment.”
“Why else do you think I tried to put it in our wedding vows?”
“So glad I talked you out of it. We don’t have time to write wedding vows, anyway. Too much else on our plates.”
“You’re such a spoilsport.”
The banter helped take my mind off the fact this place was haunted as hell, but I kept my senses alert for our perp. Still hoped Marc and Gonzalez found the guy first, just so we could cut this canvassing down and get out of here sooner rather than later.
“I wonder where she is,” Jon murmured.
It took me a second to realize what he meant. “You mean Tylesia?”
“Yeah. Grant and Carol have me pretty convinced she’s not dead. If he’s hiding out here, odds are good she’s here too. I wonder if we’ll find her before we find him.”
Now there was a question for you. I hadn’t thought of that but…it was a good question. “I haven’t seen a single intact door since we came onto the property.”
“Neither have I. I would say a closed door’s a pretty good indication something’s off. So if we see a door—”
“Yup, we’re stopping.”
We reached the end of the hallway, meaning we were once again on the verge of going outside. There was another branch to the right, and that looked more like prison cells to me, although all the cell doors were wide open. The metal bars had withstood the test of time far better than the wooden doors, no surprise there. Glancing inside gave me the willies. Each cell was maybe eight by six, with nothing more than a bed, lavatory, and sink in there. Barely enough for a human to move around. And people still purposefully broke the law with the knowledge they could be stuck in these places for years? No helping humanity, I swear.
Speaking of…come on, perp. Where are you?
“Do you think if I call out Marco, he’ll go Polo?”
Jon snorted. “Do not tempt me.”
A sound came from the end of the hallway, the heavy tread of boots squelching in unpleasant things. Uh…? Doubted the noise was either Marc or Gonzalez; I’d get a phone call before they came in my direction. Just to avoid friendly fire, if nothing else.
I lifted my gun up a little more, ready to aim dead center on whoever approached.
“Don’t fire, could be a ghost hunter,” Jon whispered.
I nodded in acknowledgment but didn’t shift my stance. If it was a ghost hunter, we needed to get them out of here pronto. If not, then that was likely our perp. I stayed still, waiting for him to appear, because moving in closer wasn’t going to help anything at this moment.
Seconds felt like hours as we waited in tense silence for this person to reveal themselves. Then I heard it, a deep voice muttering, almost in a rhetorical fashion.
“Fucking kids keep coming in here, don’t even know why. I’m sick as hell of chasing them off. There’s no trespassing signs for Christ’s sakes. They just ignore them. Makes me wonder why anyone put them up to begin with. I’m so fucking over this shit.”
Then he rounded the corner. The first thing I saw was the baseball bat in his hand. Well, he was armed, which meant he wasn’t fooling around. Then he came out properly into the dim lighting from the setting sun, and I got something of a look at him. He stood tall, easily able to look me in the eye, with a dirty cap pulled low, ragged jeans, and despite the heat, he had a worn-out black hoodie on. His skin was very pale, with very bad acne, and I saw hints of bright red hair that smacked of a dye job.
Jon hissed a breath in, and I knew without him saying anything, this was our guy. Good. Maybe I could get out of here now.
Douchebag stopped walking, his eyes clocking my gun, and he went abruptly still.
“Drop the bat,” I ordered him calmly. “Put hands in the air, then turn around. You’re—”
Swearing, Chad turned on a heel and bolted back the way he’d come.
Shit.