The Blake Ghost Page 10

  Kayleigh giggled and threw her arms around his neck. “Of course I know you. Dad talks about you all the time.”

  Mara, arms wrapped around Flynn’s middle, wore an expression of joy, the likes of which Sully had never seen gracing her face. Always pretty, now it seemed as if ten years and a ton of emotional weight had dropped from her.

  “How long can you stay?” she asked Flynn.

  “The boys told you what we’re doing now?”

  “We did,” Sully said. “We knew they’d want to know.”

  Flynn nodded. “We can’t stay long, though we’ll be able to come by sometimes for a visit. I’ll be honest. Part of why we decided to take the gig was this—the chance to be able to hug you all again, and so you could see Aiden for yourselves and know we’re both fine.”

  “Is it dangerous, what you’re doing?” Mara asked.

  “Nothing we can’t handle. Anyway, Jack’s good at what he does, and he’s been doing it a long time.”

  “Who’s Jack?” Mara asked.

  “He’s the fellow in charge of the train,” Flynn said. “Jack Winter. Apparently, he earned himself a nickname during his old lawman days—Tracker Jack. He did what Sully does now—using ghosts to bring bad guys to justice. He’s just got a different way of tracking them as a spirit.” Flynn smiled. “I guess Aidy and I do too.”

  He pulled away far enough he could face Mara. “Listen, Mare, this whole Reaper thing is kind of new to me, so I don’t know how it all works. But I will always do my best to come and see you whenever I can. And who knows, maybe sometimes, Death really will be able to take a holiday.”

  Sully rolled his eyes and Dez and Aiden gave a mutual groan.

  “Come on,” Flynn said through a laugh. “It was funny.”

  Flynn and Aiden stayed for the movie, although Sully guessed no one watched it, everyone’s eyes straying to each other and conversation passing as if to assure themselves this was really happening. At the end of it, they stood and gave each other long parting hugs.

  “Want us to leave through the door?” Aiden asked. “Or would you rather see us book it the cool way?”

  For Kayleigh, at least, the answer was obvious. “Do it the cool way!”

  Aiden gave a big toothy grin. He waved, then promptly disappeared, leaving his grin hanging there, bodiless for a full five seconds before it too was gone.

  Flynn rolled his eyes. “That kid. He’s such a dork. Listen, we’ll see you all again soon. Sleep well and merry Christmas.”

  Then he blinked out too.

  Dez stepped to Sully’s side. “Do you still see them?”

  Sully shook his head. “No, they’re gone. They must have returned to the train.”

  Eva turned to Kayleigh. “Okay, kid, time for bed.”

  Kayleigh groaned but followed Eva anyway, Pax trotting along beside.

  “He always sleeps on Kayleigh’s bed,” Dez said. “We finally decided we’d have to buy her a bigger one since Pax takes up so much damn room.”

  Mara gave Dez and Sully one more hug, then made her way upstairs to the spare room. Sully didn’t think the smile once left her face.

  Dez pulled open a hutch along the wall and dug out a quilt for Sully to use on the downstairs couch. He didn’t say anything as he spread it out.

  “You okay?” Sully asked.

  Dez nodded and smiled. “Yeah. I am. I was feeling pretty awful about stuff, but seeing Dad and Aiden, it made things better.”

  “You don’t have anything to feel awful about. I need you to understand. That world isn’t one most people are meant to interact with, not the way you were forced to. Nothing was your fault.”

  Dez dropped his head, gave it a shake, then lifted it again. A humourless smile twisted his lips. “Yeah, but I saw it all, Sull. And I couldn’t do a damn thing. Yeah, you had it happen to you before, but the difference was you stopped it. I tried. I couldn’t. It was like being chained down in the back seat of my own car with some maniac behind the wheel.”

  “I know, I get it. But Dez, we’re different, you and me. I’ve always been a part of that world, and I’ve got abilities you don’t. You can’t compare the way the two of us dealt with it. You not being able to stop Blake, it’s not about weakness or failure. Sometimes bad things happen to us, and no matter what we do, we can’t change it. Being strong isn’t always about stopping the bad things. It’s about what we do after. You were my strength at times in my life when I didn’t have any of my own. Hell, you still are. I know you, and you’re strong enough to get through this. But let me help, okay? Blake was my problem, and he made himself yours. I want to help fix things.”

  “Wrong,” Dez said. “If Blake was your problem, then he was our problem. We’re brothers, Sull. Means your problems are mine too.” He smiled, a real one this time. “And I know. It works the other way around as well.”

  He pulled Sully into a hug. “I promise I’ll be fine. I’m not happy about how things went yesterday, and I might always carry a little guilt, but I’ll be fine. Just like I know you will be. Merry Christmas, Sull.”

  Sully gripped Dez back, hard, relief flooding him at the honesty in Dez’s words. “Merry Christmas, Dez.”

  Coming in April 2021

  DEAD MAN’S LAKE

  Chapter 1

  Adam Charles steered over the ice, one hand balancing a small container of maggots on the centre console as the half-ton bounced across heaves and dips.

  His usual fishing hole lay up ahead, the tiny ice fishing shack marking the spot. It was mid-morning, and the sun was out, reflecting off the snow in a way that had him reaching for his sunglasses. He usually liked an earlier start, preferring to be out here with his line in the water before sun-up. But he had his son this weekend, and nine-year-old boys weren’t as easily convinced about the benefits of early rising.

  Adam glanced toward his passenger. If Tristan sensed his father’s eyes on him, he didn’t let on. He was beaming, eyes fixed expectantly on the shack ahead.

  “How’s fishing been?” the boy asked at last.

  Adam smiled. “Been good. Mostly pike biting, but I got a trout last weekend. Nice one too. Thought we could fry it up tonight, unless you catch us something today.”

  Tristan nodded, rapidly enough to reveal his enthusiasm for the plan. Most kids of Adam’s acquaintance didn’t mind casting a line in a few times, but they soon tired of hanging out on a frozen lake with limited internet service and nothing to listen to but stories and a battery-powered radio perpetually tuned to an oldies station. Not Tristan, though. He happily stayed out here all day, would stay longer if it wasn’t for Adam’s insistence they needed to go make themselves a proper meal at home. What was more, Tristan actually enjoying eating the fish he caught, didn’t even mind the gutting and cleaning process.

  Adam had helped create a kid who was like a smaller, younger version of himself. While that likely presented some frustration to the boy’s mother, Adam’s ex, it suited him just fine. He never felt so proud as when other fishermen, entering the fishing shack to inquire after their day’s catch, remarked on the fact Adam had a son who actually wanted to be out here with him.

  “It would take an act of God to get my kid to come fishing,” one man said virtually every time he stopped by.

  “Not my Tristan,” Adam would say. “He’s a better fisherman than I am.”

  At which, Tristan would grin and Adam would match it with his own nearly identical expression.

  A handful of fishing shacks were out here besides their own, scattered here and there around this part of the large lake. One guy Adam didn’t know had annoyingly plunked his structure down very near to Adam’s since the last time he’d come. He saw no sign of anyone there at the moment, no vehicles present next to it, and Adam briefly entertained a fantasy involving him nosing his truck up next to the small building and pushing it to the middle of the lake.

  Tristan, it seemed, was no happier about their new neighbour. “Why is that guy so close?”


  Adam corralled his own annoyance at the situation, locking it away before answering. He was, after all, the adult. “Plenty of room for all of us. Anyway,” he added with a wink at his son, “He’s not here yet. Let’s get ourselves set up fast so we can catch all the fish before he comes.”

  Tristan laughed. “Yeah!”

  Twenty minutes later, and they were parked and shut inside the shack, gradually warming thanks to the propane-powered space heater. Adam had drilled the fishing hole back open and the two of them were sitting on either side of it, lines in the water, in companionable silence. Adam would ask later how Tristan was doing in school, how his mom was, how he was getting along with his stepdad and step-siblings, whether he still liked the same girl in his class. But for now, they would just sit here quietly, happy to be together.

  Adam checked his watch. Shortly after ten in the morning. A good, long day lay ahead of them, the stretch of hours a blessing.

  Two hours and Adam was removing his line to dig into the cooler he’d brought with their lunches. He’d made sandwiches and had poured hot chicken noodle soup into a pair of thermoses for them.

  He started to hand Tristan his, but the boy shook his head. “Ten more minutes,” he said. “I’ve got a feeling.”

  Adam uttered a closed-mouthed chuckle, the sound rumbling up from his chest. “Don’t wait too long. Soup’s still warm, but it won’t stay that way.”

  Tristan nodded, then resumed fishing.

  Adam had polished off his lunch before Tristan even removed his line from the water.

  “Still have a feeling?” Adam ribbed his son.

  “Five more minutes,” Tristan replied.

  Adam stood. “Okay. I’ve got to go visit the little boy’s tree. When I get back, you’d better eat something.”

  Tristan nodded but didn’t otherwise reply, and Adam left the shack to begin the short walk to shore and the clustering of spindly bushes and trees—drowned during the floods a few years back—that served as a bathroom for him and Tristan. He walked in, following his old trail in the snow through bunches of willow, branches tugging at his coat and jeans as he pushed through. Reaching his usual spot, he unzipped and relieved himself, then kicked snow over the expended urine before turning to go back.

  He ducked again and shouldered his way through the willow. Free of the trees with the lake’s ice beneath him, he straightened and sought out the shack.

  A man stood next to it, facing him.

  Adam jumped, not so much because of the unexpected and sudden appearance, but because of something in the man’s presence.

  He stood rigidly upright but his arms hung lifelessly at his sides. From here, it seemed as if small pieces of his face were gone, like something had been nibbling at his flesh. But it was the ice that really struck Adam—or rather, the fact it covered the man from head to toe. It clung to his jeans and his red and black checked jacket, coated his brows and beard and turned his hair into an array of white spikes.

  As Adam took a few reluctant steps forward, he found more to concern him. The man’s mouth was drawn back in a horrifying grimace, lips pulled taut and teeth clenched together between them. And the eyes, which Adam would have described at a distance as a pale blue, were actually covered over by a milky film—the sort of film he’d seen on dead bodies in scary movies or cop shows.

  Adam was looking at a dead man.

  He bit back a scream, knowing his son was within hearing distance. If it wasn’t for the fact Tristan was here, Adam would sprint for his truck, jam the keys into the ignition and get the hell out of here.

  That wasn’t an option.

  It really wasn’t an option. His son Tristan was in the shack right next to the man, and his safety came before anything else.

  Adam ran forward, toward the cabin, struggling to keep from looking at the dead man and failing miserably. Every second that passed with that ghastly image in his peripheral vision etched the memory into his brain.

  Adam knew exactly what he would see when he closed his eyes tonight.

  Passing within just feet of the spectre, he opened and pushed through the door. He wasn’t a religious man, but as he slammed it shut behind him, he caught himself praying to God the dead man would stay outside.

  “Dad?” Tristan asked. “I caught something … kind of weird.”

  Adam halted his son with a raised hand. “Just a second, Tris.” He edged forward, toward the wall on the right. A small window allowed light in and would provide Adam with a glimpse in the direction where he’d seen the man. He moved silently, listening. The snow settled over the ice would make it impossible for anyone to walk silently. If the man had moved, Adam would have heard it.

  Yet, when he peered out the window, there was nothing to see. The man, who moments ago had appeared an eerily solid mass, was gone.

  “Dad?”

  Adam held a finger to his lips. “Ssh.”

  “What’s wrong?” Tristan whispered.

  Adam didn’t answer, not yet. He didn’t want to scare the boy, yet he wasn’t sure how he was going to avoid it. They couldn’t stay here, not now. Adam wouldn’t have a moment’s peace now, sitting here, wondering.

  For now, though, he had to know. If the man outside was looking to harm them—to harm Tristan—Adam needed to act.

  He searched the dim interior, ignoring the questioning look on Tristan’s face as he scanned their belongings for something to use as a weapon. His eyes settled on the small makeshift club he used to kill the fish they caught, and he snatched it up before turning back to the door.

  “Dad?” Tristan’s voice contained a ring of fear. Adam wanted to say something to alleviate his son’s worry but could think of nothing that wouldn’t be a boldfaced lie.

  “Stay here,” Adam said. He took a deep breath, then a second, releasing each in a huff through his nose. Then, his nerves as steady as they’d ever be under the current circumstances, he threw open the door and burst outside.

  The man was gone. He wasn’t where he’d been standing and he wasn’t anywhere else, either. The lake, as far as the eye could see, was bare, save the distant fishing shacks. The one so near his was still empty as well, the padlock visible even from here.

  Most startlingly, as Adam scanned the spot where the man had stood, he saw no trace of footprints, nor any leading from the location.

  Nothing to tell him what he’d seen had been anything more than a particularly vivid hallucination.

  Adam lowered the bat, letting it dangle at his side as if it weighed half a ton.

  “What the …” He let the muttered statement trail off, turning his mind over what he’d seen.

  Or hadn’t seen. He had been having trouble sleeping lately, after all. It was possible his mind had been playing tricks. Sure, the man had looked real enough, but Adam had heard about people having similar experiences before, ones that turned out to be nothing more than a trick of the mind.

  No man. No footprints. Nothing to indicate he’d ever been here.

  Adam drew in a long breath, held it as he urged his heart rate to slow. That’s all this was, he told himself. Just a trick of the mind. Nothing more.

  “Get a grip on yourself,” he muttered.

  As if to further convince himself, he gave his head a shake and uttered a humourless chuckle. Then he returned to the shack.

  Tristan’s eyes were wide as the door opened, and Adam sought to relieve his son’s anxiety.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “I thought I saw something, that’s all.”

  “What did you see?”

  Adam shook his head. “Nothing much. Don’t worry about it.”

  He’d never been much of a fibber, had promised his kid once that he would never lie to him. It felt wrong now, being anything less than honest. But he told himself it would do no good. Better Tristan not know. No sense scaring him when there was nothing there to fear.

  He sought instead to distract the boy, to turn his mind from questions Adam didn’t know how to answer. “
What were you trying to tell me?”

  “I said I caught something weird. Not like a boot or anything. Something else.”

  Okay, this Adam could cope with. He’d check out Tristan’s unusual catch, they’d have a laugh about it and they’d go back to fishing. It would be like nothing had happened.

  “All right,” he said. “Let’s see what you found.”

  Tristan lifted his ice-fishing pole from where it lay next to the hole. Adam took it from him, eyes travelling the length of the line to what had caught on the hook.

  His heart slammed against his ribcage, the pole slipping from his fingers. Adam took a step back, away from the pole and hook as his wide-eyed focus held firm.

  There was no question in his mind what he was looking at. Black and red checks stood out in a stream of sunlight coming through the window.

  It was a piece of the dead man’s jacket.

  Chapter 2

  Dez Braddock looked up from the stove at the sound of his wife’s footsteps entering the kitchen of their Kimotan Rapids house. Eva had still been asleep when he got up, and he’d tried not to wake her while he stepped into their bathroom for a shower. It had been a late night for her, aiding the KRPD’s gang unit with an after-hours search warrant.

  Dez smiled a greeting. “How’d it go last night?”

  “Pretty well,” she said. “We took five mid-level players off the streets and a large pile of meth, firearms and ammo. We almost had a higher-up, but he managed to bail right before we got there. Not to worry. One of his guys ratted him out. The G-unit has enough to bust him on some pretty serious charges. Just need to find him now. What about you? How was your day yesterday?”

  Dez turned back to his fried eggs, flipping them as he replied. “Nothing exciting.”

  It was true. Working for renowned retired-cop-turned-PI Lachlan Fields came with some pretty decent jobs, but there were plenty of duds too. Yesterday had involved Dez and his brother, Sullivan Gray, spelling each other as they conducted surveillance on a man suspected to be faking an injury to draw workers’ compensation. They’d grabbed a few photos, suggestive but not conclusive. Dez guessed he knew what Lachlan would have them doing later today.