16. Dane

Dane

I sit back and quietly watch the way Jacob and River interact with Jax. There's something off about the way they're sitting. Or maybe it's that I don't trust them. Jax has promised that River is a good guy, but in my opinion, he chose his other sisters over her. Abandoned her. I can't condone it.

Jacob, though, is my bigger issue.

The man was in love with her as a teenager, but he was too cowardly to say anything. Now, I know that's not fair, but he lashed out at her. That's crap in my mind. He was too involved in Louis' life as well. Maybe to the point he wanted Louis' life. Maybe he's still involved with him. It's pretty extreme to go from yelling at Jax and hating her to sitting around having dinner with her like there's no issue.

It just rubs me wrong.

But he did just lose his wife, and people do insane things in moments of grief. Or when they're at the bottom of a bottle.

Maybe I'm just getting far too paranoid.

Rafe chats with them easily, but Gideon and I exchange a meaningful look after he sets five beers on the table. He takes a seat beside Jacob, spreading his legs, and invading the other man's space.

I lift my beer bottle to my lips to hide the smirk.

Jax gets up and rounds the table, kneeling on the couch beside me, and curling into my side .

"I know what you're thinking."

"I bet you don't," I whisper back, amused.

She turns her face into my arm and bites the flesh there. I shift my legs, draping an arm in front of my groin, and turn to kiss her head.

"You looking to be spanked tonight, sweetheart?"

She lets go, and her eyes lift to mine. What I'm not expecting to see is the hunger and arousal. I let out a soft groan and capture her hand.

"Jax, darling, stop. I don't care about offending your old friends or your brother. I'm not Rafe or Gideon. Don't test me or I will put you over my shoulder, take you down that corridor to my room, and fuck you so hard you'll be screaming loud enough that everyone will know what we're doing."

Her eyes flash, and I see amusement before she slowly leans away from me and shifts her weight so she's leaning against Rafe. He barely looks up at her as he talks, just wraps an arm around her and keeps going. That kind of awareness, of comfort, with each other that has come so naturally to the two of them. I almost envy it.

I lift my bottle to my lips and drink slowly, counting every scorching look she throws my way for later.

"All right, let's show them the letters," River says at last. He pulls out a packet of envelopes and drops them on the table.

Jacob looks hesitant, but then he, too, pulls out his letters and drops them on the table. I frown and reach for them, pausing to get permission. I open the letter and skim it.

My eyebrows raise as I read Louis' taunting words. It's not a long letter, maybe ten lines or so, but it's just a stark reminder that Jacob is a fat little nobody who couldn't even keep his wife safe, and that if at any time he felt inclined, he can take the rest of Jacob's life and destroy it .

I roll my eyes and pass the letter to Jax. She reads it and purses her lips, but I can see the tightness in her eyes.

"He's fucking around," she says so soft, I think I'm the only one who hears it.

River's letters get to me, and I read them one by one. He likes to taunt them, insulting them, and then shows that he is close to them. He tells River that he thinks he's pathetic and how easy it would be to kill Stevie or Andy. How perfect his Jojo is. The arrogance oozes in each word. He gives his instructions; stay away from Jax, make her hate you. Drops the threat; Stevie or Andy will be forfeit, and then finishes it off with another reminder that he is close.

It's effective. I'll give him that.

I also don't see much seriousness in this. I mean, the threats are serious, but I can't see Louis writing these with a straight face.

River pulls out another packet of three letters from his jeans. He looks at me when he slides it across the table to me.

I open the first one. Now this is aggressive, even down to how the pen splatters ink and breaks through the paper.

Philip, you pathetic piece of shit. I'm impressed you made it to such a fine old age without being murdered before now. But here's the thing, your existence has reached a point of being unnecessary, so in order for me to continue to allow you to live, I need you to do something for me.

I know you aren't going to believe me, but listen closely. David. Moore. Do I have your attention now? I know about the man you're fucking on your ‘work trips out of town'. I also know about the money you're attempting to steal from your fiancée's trust fund. Oh, Phil, you've been a very naughty boy. I know all your dirty secrets, how poor you are, the fact you dye your hair, the size shoes you wear, your filthy habit of picking your nose and wiping it on your ‘soon-to-be' wife's pillow. I know you better than you know yourself, Philly.

I want you to scare her. Scare my Jax. I want you to wait until Titan makes his announcement at the Red Shard. You are to escort Jax to the mechanics next door, and you are to use the gun that I will provide in your gym locker to scare her. If any of those boys come with her, shoot them.

You're going to protest and whine about my instructions, that you can't, you won't, but here's the thing.

I've got enough to bury you, Philly. I've got enough to put you in prison for the rest of your life. Or I can kill you at any point. Or your lover, he is a very handsome man when he swims. I'd love to see if he can still swim when he's screaming or, better yet, dying.

So, you do this, and I'll let you live. I'll let you steal Andy dry. I don't care about her. I'll be watching. More instructions to come…

BDK

The next letter gives further instructions and reminds him of the consequences of failure. The last letter is different. It's full of rage. He is furious that Phil tried to shoot Jax. Furious that she almost got hurt. Livid that she's in the psych ward. He rips into Phil, and then at the end, he promises that instead of just death, he will watch his life crumble, live through the humiliation, and then die where no one will remember his name.

There's a photo attached. I turn it over and stare for a long time at the dead body. It's been mutilated. The person is no longer recognisable. The man in the photo suffered for a long time.

"Was this Phil's lover?" I ask quietly.

"Yes," River whispers. "When he gave me the letters, he said that the reason he was doing it was because of this man, David Moore. Phil said he loved him. He said he wanted his death to be understood and not forgotten. David wasn't a man who deserved this. He should have had better. I looked him up. He was, by all accounts, a really decent guy, volunteered at aged care centres, helped the homeless, liked in the neighbourhood and at work. Great family man. They are devastated."

I gently close the letter and pass it to Gideon.

"Well, I had wondered why he wanted me shot. Now I know. He didn't." Jax tries to laugh, but she doesn't manage to pull it off.

"Are they all in the same handwriting as the letters you received?" Gideon asks.

Jax nods. "Yes, that's him. I know that handwriting. It's Louis."

I stand up and start pacing. "How does he have so many people under surveillance?"

It's so frustrating. I stalk backwards and forwards, going over his name, his life, everything I've compiled in my head. I think about that letter and shake my head, trying to dispel the rage.

Jax has curled deeper on the couch, and now Gideon is on one side and Rafe on the other. All three of them are watching me.

"Dane?"

"What?" I snap. "He's got eyes on everyone. I hate being this far behind him. FUCK! I'm sick of him knowing our every move." I freeze, my brain seizing on a tendril of an idea. "Be back soon. I need to go right now."

"What?" Jax pulls herself free and stares at me with enormous eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I'll be back." I snatch up my keys. Slap a kiss to Jax's forehead. I jog to the front door and leave before anyone can ask anything else.

I drive almost frantically until I find it. The store is almost invisible, but I remember seeing them outside it. I see them as soon as I park the car. The dark flashes of the ghosts hover at the edges of the building, drawn by something I haven't yet explored.

The front window is blacked out with black satin. But behind it, I can see a glow. I walk to the door and knock hard. It rattles. Nothing happens for a few minutes, but just as I'm raising my fist to rap again, the door yanks open.

I thought I knew what I was expecting, but I guess that's what happens when you fall for stereotypes. The tall man with blonde hair wearing a Pokémon t-shirt looks at me, then past me, then back at me before he smiles. His hair is scruffy and hangs around his face like an unkempt mane. He's stick skinny and has a few whiskers on his chin. He even has a few pimples. He looks like a seventeen-year-old kid.

"Want some smoko?"

I scowl. "No, I don't want to score. I'm looking for information of the ghost kind."

The guy's face transforms into a confident smile. "That's my jam, bro. Come in and talk to me. My name's Leroy, no last name. Like Cher or Madonna."

I scowl but follow the kid inside. The place looks like a bookstore. There's no incense. In fact, I think I smell pizza.

"All right, you looking for me to read your palms, give you a cleansing? Maybe connect you with a loved one on the other side." Leroy bends down and pulls out a crystal ball. I almost turn and walk out.

"I'm looking for information." I pause, but I have to do this. The kid is shady as fuck, though, this might be a bust. "But, first, I want to know how many ghosts are in the room."

The kid gives me a flat look like I'm wasting his time. "There are seven ghosts in this establishment."

"What do they look like?"

"Most look like black man-sized shadows when the lights are gone. At the moment, they are just vague shimmers out of the corner of your eye. Are we done yet? Have I passed your test?"

"Yes." I exhale and do a quick lap of the room, noticing that the bookshelves hold crystals, and the books are tarot decks. I approach him again and lean on the counter. "Have you ever heard of someone re-entering a body? Not theirs but someone else's."

The guy's face stiffens. He doesn't want to talk to me. He's on the verge of asking me to leave. I know it. I jump closer to him.

"What?" I ask. "You know something? What is it?"

"It's just…I had a phone call five years ago asking me about that. Curious." He's holding back.

"Can it happen?" I ask urgently.

"Well, according to my research, it can, but only under very extreme circumstances. By these, I mean like violent deaths. Or so says the research of Dr Malcolm Eris. He's the leading specialist in this field, though no one appreciates his genius."

I nod not giving a damn about Malcolm Eris. "Of the body that houses the spirit first? Is that what you're saying? That body has to die violently?"

"Well, no," Leroy says and scratches his elbow nervously. "Of both or either. The souls have to be ripped out violently. From what I've been able to uncover and read, it's not just the violence, but there needs to be some kind of connection, something that links the two souls in that moment and gives an opening."

I exhale roughly. "Can a soul come back a third time?" And this was the anxious thought that sent me hurtling out of the house. That Louis could keep coming back, over and over.

"Not. Definitely not. According to Dr Malcolm Eris, each time the soul returns to a body, it gets a little torn, a little thinner. It takes a powerful soul to come back. To live a life again. A third time would be…an act of God himself."

The relief I feel is shocking.

"So, hypothetically, if there was a soul in a body that shouldn't be in that skin, and I kill the body, it will die, and it won't come back. "

"Yes, hypothetically," The guy says with a long look. "I hope you're not, though, man, because, ghost or not, it's murder. You can't go around killing people. Not cool, bro!"

I shake my head and laugh. "No one would miss this one."

The guy looks around nervously. "Listen, I don't want to hear anymore. If anyone comes, I can deny I knew anything, so just no more, all right?"

"One more question. Why are there more ghosts than usual?"

Leroy gets excited, reaching out and grabbing a notepad. He shows me a tally he's got going. I look at the increase of ghost activity over the last couple of months. It's bigger than I even dreamed.

"Well, research says they gather close, drawn to the places where things are wrong, unaligned. They'll stay until it settles. Dr Malcolm Eris says that they are drawn to where there is deep grief, anger, pain, or suffering because he thinks they can feel it. Or remember how it feels. So they gather, and the worse the event, the more are drawn to it."

"Can they do things like take photos or set up physical things in the shops? Can they pass on messages? These ghosts, can they interfere in the world and do things humans can?" I ask urgently.

Leroy hesitates. "They can in dreams, but from my experience, they don't really ever give you information with any forthcoming. It's snippets or fragments. And in regards to touching the physical world…it depends on the strength of the ghost and what they do…like there is one particular asshole who likes to slam my front door shut, trying to break the glass. He can't do anything but that, but that's enough. He costs me a fortune. But I lived in other places, and none of the spirits ever touched the world as easily as they do here in Hurricane. I've never seen the things I've seen here. There is generational suffering in this city. It draws them here thicker than anything. "

I huff. Looks like we're going to be stuck with the ghosts forever more. I open my wallet and pull out some money, dumping it on the counter. "Thanks, kid."

"Leroy. Not a kid. And I'm 29."

"You look fifteen."

"Yeah, I get that a lot. Look, I don't know what your deal is, but I can see the spirits like you. They're calmer now that you're here. So if you want any information or anything…" he hands me his business card.

I take it and lift my hand, half-waving as I turn and walk out.

I stop when he runs out and grabs my shoulder.

"One last thing."

"What's that?"

"They're," he points to the dark shapes hovering near his doorway, "they're saying that he's going to take her soon, and nothing can stop it. I don't know who she is or what it means, but they've been saying it for months. I thought maybe you might know what it's about."

My stomach drops violently. "Thanks, Leroy."

"Good luck, Dane."

I get in my car, and only when I'm halfway home do I realise I never told him my name.