Chapter 2: An Unwanted Conversation

 

“You know, I’m rather upset with you,” Worthe said.

 

Marcus stood at the base of the stairs, wanting to go back inside and get out of the cold, but he knew it wouldn’t happen.

 

Not until he has his say, Marcus thought. He took out his pipe, put the stem in his mouth, then quickly lit the tobacco.

 

“Aren’t you even going to ask what I’m upset about?” Worthe asked.

 

Marcus looked from his captor to the armed guards around the man, then back to Worthe and the fur-parka he wore.

 

“No,” Marcus said, exhaling smoke into the morning air. “I can’t say that I am particularly interested in what pleases or upsets you, Mr. Worthe.”

 

“I do have my doctorate, Mr. Holt,” Worthe replied, and for the first time, Marcus felt as though he had touched some nerve in the man. Before, Worthe had always ignored any lack of title.

 

“I think that we would have to debate the subject of your doctorate, Mr. Worthe,” Marcus said, careful not to push the man too far. Someone mad enough to kidnap us and keep us prisoner would certainly be mad enough to have us shot out of hand.

 

Worthe’s face reddened for a moment, then he laughed and shook his head.

 

“I am not particularly upset about the destruction of the taxi station,” Worthe confessed. “I will freely admit that I suspected it might come about. What I am a little disgruntled about is the situation with the Drake house.”

 

“I’m not,” Marcus said. “Now, Mr. Worthe, if you don’t mind, I would like to get inside and warm up before I suffer from any frostbite.”

 

“A moment more,” Worthe said, and by his guards’ change in body posture, Marcus knew it wasn’t a request.

 

“Yes?” Marcus asked.

 

“I have noticed,” Worthe said, “that you have a tendency to see yourself as a protector.”

 

Marcus nodded.

 

“Excellent,” Worthe said, grinning. “Well, I would like you to know that in a very short time you will have another opportunity to meet someone and try to save them. Or let them die. Whichever you choose. I suspect it will be the former and not the latter. Regardless, there is another structure coming in, and there is another subject, of course. I wanted to make sure you were aware of this, to allow you some measure of time to prepare yourself both mentally and physically.”

 

“You mean,” Marcus said, “you want to see me work myself up and remain in a state of worry until the individual actually arrives.”

 

“However you want to phrase it,” Worthe said with a chuckle. “Six of one, half a dozen of the other. Well, say good morning to your colleagues for me, Marcus. I am sure we will speak together again soon.”

 

Without waiting to watch the man leave, Marcus turned around and walked into his home.

 

“What did he want?” Joyce asked once Marcus was settled in his chair.

 

“To gloat and to antagonize,” he replied, sighing.

 

Alex came into the room and sat down beside Joyce. The woman wrapped her arm around his shoulders, an act so natural that neither of them seemed to notice it happen.

 

“It would appear,” Marcus began, “that he is once again bringing in a building, and that there will be a ghost attached to it in some way. Also, he fully intends to bring in a new subject. One who will evidently require some sort of protection.”

 

“Is he telling the truth?” Alex asked.

 

Marcus smiled at the boy.

 

“I am sure he is,” Marcus said. “He wouldn’t have anything to gain in lying to us. If we didn’t believe him anymore, he wouldn’t be able to increase the mental pressure on us. Or possibly enable us to convey that worry to the most recent subject.”

 

“He’s a real sweetheart,” Joyce said bitterly.

 

“Did he say when it would happen?” Alex asked.

 

Marcus shook his head. “I am afraid not. We need to keep our eyes open and to try and get the other ghosts to do the same.”

 

Chapter 5: Learning from Past Mistakes

 

Jane wasn’t a stupid person.

 

She tended not to let on she was intelligent. It didn’t always work out well for her. But one fact she prided herself on was her ability to learn from her mistakes.

 

And transporting the damned greenhouse had been nothing but one huge mistake, she thought grimly. A mistake that will not be repeated.

 

Jane sat in Luis’ car, the man asleep in the driver’s seat beside her. His head was back at a slight angle, his mouth agape, and small snores occasionally emanated from him. Beyond the car’s interior, the world was dark. Lights from the security guards’ post at the gate into the lot illuminated the building and the guardsmen who patrolled the area. And while most people, Jane knew, would be disgruntled with Luis sleeping, she wasn’t.

 

She knew how quickly he came awake. Jane had seen it in the past, and it was a fearful sight.

 

Luis didn’t awaken to a blind rage or panic.

 

He awoke with the same calm, cold attention and ability to perform violence as if he hadn’t been sleeping at all.

 

David made a good call, putting Luis in charge, she thought.

 

Jane picked up her phone and checked her text messages. As she did so, one came through.

 

DFC. ETA 15MIKE.

 

She nodded as she read it, then typed back, 10-4.

 

“Was it them?” Luis asked without opening his eyes.

 

“I hate it when you do that,” Jane replied, putting her phone down. “And yeah, that was the Crew. They’re about fifteen minutes out.”

 

Luis grunted, although she didn’t know if it was in approval or disapproval.

 

He opened his eyes and straightened up.

 

“You okay?” he asked.

 

She looked at him in surprise. “Yeah. Why?”

 

“I didn’t know if anyone leaned on you about the last building acquisition,” he said.

 

From anyone other than Luis, Jane would have been offended.

 

“No,” she answered. “They haven’t said a thing. Well, wait, that’s not true. Shorty from accounting came down and complained about the cost to clean up the mess.”

 

“Shorty always complains about everything,” Luis said dismissively.

 

Jane snickered and nodded. “Yeah. That’s the truth right there.”

 

“Just curious,” Luis said. “How are you moving this one?”

 

“Two separate steps prior to actual transportation,” Jane said. “Bringing the medium in to see if she can chat up the ghost for us. Second, going to use iron-lined mesh on all openings. I had a crew map them out today, and I had the mesh made after the greenhouse transport.”

 

Luis offered her one of his rare smiles. “That’s why you’re the best there is for house acquisitions, Jane.”

 

She grinned at him. “Thanks, Luis. I appreciate that.”

 

“It’s true,” he said.

 

They were quiet for a moment, and then Jane asked Luis a question no one seemed to want to ask.

 

“Luis, you surprised Timmy didn’t get all upset about not getting Suzie’s job?” she asked.

 

Luis shook his head. “No. I would have been surprised if he had. He and Amir were pretty tight. Well, about as tight as Timmy can be with anyone. He always thought Amir should have had it over Suzie anyway. But Timmy didn’t want it. If he had, he would have burned down Heaven and cut his way through Hell to get to it.”

 

Jane grunted her agreement. “That’s true. Timmy’s not exactly someone I’d want to cross.”

 

“Not even a matter of crossing him,” Luis said, closing his eyes and getting comfortable again. “It’s a matter of whether or not he wants it. He’ll do what he thinks is necessary. That’s what most people don’t realize about him. About why he’s so good at killing people. Timmy just doesn’t care. He doesn’t compartmentalize or tuck those memories away to deal with on a drunken binge. Nope, not our Timmy. Killing someone is as easy as taking out the trash or doing the dishes. He might not want to do it, but that’s because he’s feeling lazy, and not because he thinks there’s a problem with the kill.”

 

Chapter 8: Cartography

 

The paper was spread out over the kitchen table, pencils and pens of different colors neatly arranged at the top. A cold cup of tea was on his right, and his pipe, the tobacco long since finished, was still held between his teeth.

 

Marcus looked at the rough outline he had drawn and furrowed his brow.

 

“Knock, knock,” Joyce said, limping into the kitchen.

 

Marcus glanced at her, took the pipe out of his mouth and smiled.

 

She laughed and shook her head.

 

“What?” Marcus asked, wincing as he straightened up in his chair. He wasn’t done healing from his injuries, and he doubted he would ever fully recover from them.

 

“You,” Joyce answered. “Your smile. I’m amazed you never married, Marcus. I think you were probably a devil before you mellowed out.”

 

“I was a devil,” Marcus agreed.

 

“Do you want some coffee?” Joyce asked, going to the stove. “Or are you going to nurse that tea for the next hour or so?”

 

“Coffee would be excellent, thank you,” Marcus said. He tapped the ashes out of his pipe and onto an old plate scattered with the same. Marcus drew his tobacco pouch out of his pocket and filled the pipe.

 

“So, what are you working on in here?” Joyce asked.

 

“A map to the kingdom of Heaven,” Marcus said.

 

“What?” she shot him a confused glance over her shoulder.

 

“When I went to visit Worthe in his home,” Marcus explained, “I memorized every detail I could. I am hopeful it will be enough when we get out.”

 

Joyce walked over and looked down at the map. After a moment, she said in a slightly awed tone, “You did all that from memory?”

 

Marcus smiled. “Yes.”

 

“Damn, the details are amazing,” she said softly. “You’ve got the entire Village sketched out as well. The fence, the guards. Marcus, are those the times the guards patrol?”

 

“They are,” Marcus said. “And the shift changes as well. Everything is set up in an eight-day rotating pattern, but it is still a pattern. The guards change, of course, but the routine stays the same. One of the beautiful aspects of the military. Everything continues as planned unless something radically alters the plan.”

 

“So, when it’s time to leave,” Joyce said, “we’ll know exactly when and how to get out.”

 

“That’s the theory,” Marcus agreed. “But putting it into practice will be something entirely different. There is a maxim—military, of course—stating all generals enter battle with a plan. Only a fool, however, sticks to it.”

 

“Sounds about right to me,” Joyce murmured. She limped around to the other side of the table, pulled the chair out and sat down. “I have a question.”

 

“Yes?” Marcus asked.

 

“What are we doing about getting Elaine back?” Joyce’s look was intense.

 

“I am hoping I might be able to negotiate with Worthe.” The statement hung in the air between them, and Joyce shook her head.

 

“How? What in the hell do you have he would possibly exchange her shackles for?” Joyce demanded.

 

“Me.”

 

Joyce blinked in disbelief.

 

“What?” she asked.

 

“I have myself,” Marcus said. “I will offer myself up for some random test. I am certain he will jump at the opportunity to have me willingly isolate myself and be placed in some strange situation to judge my reactions.”

 

“Marcus,” Joyce said, reaching across the map and taking his hand into hers. “You can’t do this. That’s too much.”

 

“But it’s not too much,” Marcus replied, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “She means a great deal to Alex. If we, if I, do not try this, then he will be lost to us. He will not trust us to come through for him, should something happen, because he does not see her as merely a ghost. She is more. Elaine is his friend.”

 

Joyce sighed and looked down at the map. Finally, she nodded, slipped her hand out of his and said in a voice thick with emotion, “You’re right.”

 

“There is something else I feel I must address,” Marcus said. “I have spent a great deal of time considering our situation, and I have come to a conclusion.”

 

Joyce frowned at him, and waited for him to continue.

 

“I will not be able to escape.”

 

The statement hung in the air for a long time between them.

 

Marcus could see the muscles in her jaw working as she struggled to express herself.

 

“Why,” Joyce said in a low, raw voice, “do you think that?”

 

“I am old, my friend,” he said, taking her hand into his own. The callouses on her fingers were comforting. “Granted, I am stubborn, and I would force myself to keep pace. You, though, are getting stronger every day. The boy is strong, too, but both of you would eventually be forced to either remain with me, as I dragged us down, or you would be required to leave me.”