I hurdled over the yellow caution tape, zipping between machinery. Only a few seconds later I heard the plastic snap as Beagban broke through, not bothering to go around. But I was already hunched between two giant tires, watching his boots as he wandered through the maze of yellow-orange construction equipment.
I drew in a long, shaky breath, trying to be as quiet as possible. My heart beat wildly, and I was afraid of having a panic attack. They always left me feeling doomed and useless, unable to move. That wasn’t an option now. I had to stay focused and find a new place to hide or Beagban would find me. Ducking my head out from under the dump truck, I craned my neck to see how high up it was. Too high, I could never climb inside. And if I did manage, I’d just be trapped there.
Anxiously I glanced around, my eyes coming to rest on a small bulldozer. It was parked on the precipice, its blade outstretched over the pit, angled upward as if reaching toward the sky. It was as good a spot as any I would find. The scoop shaped blade was big enough to hold me, short enough to climb, and taller than Beagban, so I wouldn’t be seen.
I shoved the journal up my shirt, tucking the hem into my pants to ensure it stayed in place. With my hands now free I waited until Beagban’s toes were turned away before crawling out from between the tires on all fours. The soil was soft and loose, my bare feet patting silently as I skirted the drop-off.
The blade was held up by cylinder arms, which I braced my feet against to climb up the side. Grabbing the scoop’s dull short edge in both hands, I hauled myself inside headfirst. The stale dirt caked itself into my clothes as I slid into place with a dull thunk. I went still, a deer caught in headlights with my legs still hanging out, waiting, panicking that Beagban had heard. After the longest minute of my life I began to pull my feet in slowly. I’d just gotten both over the lip and out of view, seemingly safe, when he grabbed me.
Beagban’s thick hand thrust over the bright colored metal, striking out to encircle my ankle. I screamed as he jerked me, pulling my limb at unnatural angle. The blade cut into my shin, digging painfully. Scrabbling forward on my stomach, I tried to twist away, but couldn’t break his ruthless hold. He gave another sharp jerk, and desperate to keep my leg from snapping, I rolled out of the blade, breaking his grip as I went.
Only I didn’t land in the soft soil. My shoulder smacked into the drop-off as the rest of my body tipped over the edge, continuing down the sharp incline. Small white rocks cut at me as I roughly flipped headlong. I landed at the bottom of the fifteen foot pit, jarred by impact.
The book had come free from under my shirt. It sat half-open on the soil beside me. I was too winded to even reach for it. But I found the strength to scramble backwards when I saw Beagban pursuing. He was sliding into the pit, boot heels digging in to slow his descent. One calloused hand was outstretched, dragging through the dirt to keep him balanced.
I toed the journal towards him. “Take it.”
I no longer cared who had the damned thing so long as I survived. But I could tell from the look in his eye that I would not be leaving this pit. He intended it to be my grave. Stepping over the journal, he reached down with one arm—the other bandaged to his chest—and plucked me from the earth. I dangled far above the ground, his meaty fist wrapped around my neck. With a grumble of pleasure he began to squeeze. “You aren’t giving it to me,” he said in his gravelly voice, shaking me savagely. “I’m taking it.”
My scream choked off to nothing as he compressed my throat completely. It was a terrible thing to be without oxygen, it turned me into an animal. I was unthinking, my mind had shut off and it was my body that took over. I kicked at his shins, but he sidestepped, reminding me of his gift. There was nothing I could do to stop him. Even as I clawed at his wrists, he ignored me.
A sharp female voice called from above. “Finish up!” Raina was shouting. “And bring me the book.”
Her voice seemed to move away, going distant. I felt like I was slipping, everything darkening. And then I was smashed from the side, flailing through the air. I landed in a small pile of dirt, gasping, sucking in deep gulps of foul and putrid air. I blinked to see the corpse of Anastas Demidov coming for me. “Boook,” the demon moaned.
“There!” I croaked, pointing one weak finger toward the journal. But the demon ignored my gesture, coming closer. The cadaver appeared dirtier and more stinking than the last time I’d seen it. All the horrid details were visible with no darkness to mute them. I gagged at its nearness. My throat, already raw, ached from the vile odor.
I no longer had to wonder where the demon was hiding—it had found a fitting place. But I couldn’t comprehend why it was coming for me when the book lay only a few feet away.
“She’s mine!” Beagban bellowed, standing up from where the demon had bowled him over. He launched himself at the thing and they tumbled to the earth grappling with one another. It was a disgusting sight. Raina gasped from above, her face horrified as she stood over the lip of the pit. I saw her watching, and I saw when she turned and ran away. I myself tried to move while they were distracted, crawling across the pit to where a dirt ramp lay.
I watched them warily as I shifted backward, noticing how they appeared evenly matched. Beagban’s strength lay in his ability to sense an opponent’s move. But his gift didn’t appear to work on demons and dead bodies. Stripped of his combat sense and the use of one arm, Beagban relied on strength and speed. He was large, meaty with muscle, and towering, while Anastas had died a short, portly man. But the demon worked Anastas’ dead muscles without restraint, unworried that the body would tire as it was no longer held by living constraints. Faster and more agile, Beagban beat at it, but his efforts made not a hint of difference. The demon just kept coming, and eventually it was Beagban that tired, growing slower, still unsure how to kill the thing.
I stopped watching when I reached the ramp, struggling to stand on my turned ankle. A loud crack rang out and I jerked around in time to see Beagban’s body slump to the ground, his neck turned backwards. He was dead. Beagban was dead. And the demon had already resumed its slow shamble towards me while I was gaping in disbelief. “Boook,” it moaned.
“It’s there!” I cried desperately. Pushing forward up the rise, I tried to outrun it. “Anastas!” I screamed, knowing he couldn’t hear me from the car. It hardly mattered; I continued to scream his name while the demon gained on me.
I was almost out of the pit, with the demon just behind. “Anastas!” I screamed through a river of tears. And then he was there, a white blur streaming forward. His emotions were like a ton of bricks falling all over me, disgust, anger, shame, and so many other strong and complicated things. As the milky mist coalesced into Anastas’ living form, I reached out and grabbed his arm, willing him to turn solid and stay visible. And to my amazement—he did, his wrist filling out beneath my fingers, cool and smooth.
I felt drained, more tired than I’d ever been in my entire life. But I forced the words out, hoping they would work. “Raulriechmydl, on behalf of Anastas Demidov, I dismiss you.” I said it harshly, but anyone could hear the desperate pleading in my voice.
I held my breath, waiting for something to happen. And at first nothing did, but then I noticed the corpse shifting. The head tipped back slightly and then it flopped over altogether, neck craned at a sharp angle while the Adam’s apple bobbed. Slowly the shoulders sank back, peeling away from the demon’s incorporeal form which remained upright, half in and half out of the corpse. Its expression was unreadable but otherworldly. And though it had two eyes, a nose, and mouth, the same features as a human being, it was nothing like anyone I’d ever seen before.
It opened its mouth, but the words came scratching out from the corpse behind it as the demon struggled to control one last message. “The journal is of my essence,” it moaned, barely discernable. “And dismissal cannot separate me from myself.”
The words barely made it out of the dem
on before it faded fast, slipping into nothing. I knew when it was gone because Demidov’s body crumpled as the animation was removed. It slumped backwards, falling off the ramp. I made no move to stop it. The ghost followed his body, seemingly satisfied, yet sorrowful.
I limped back into the pit. As I neared Beagban’s body I turned away, not wanting to see. I kicked open the journal that had caused so much trouble. A slight breeze caused the pages to flicker back and forth restlessly. I toed them apart with my bare foot, staring down at the page in disbelief. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John stared back at me, with verses, endless verses. I didn’t bother bending over to pick it up, determined to leave it behind. A few days ago I had never seen a dead body, and now I was in the earth with two. I couldn’t climb out of that pit fast enough.
Reed Wallace was standing in the middle of Brunswick Park when I surfaced from the pit. He was talking to Tim. Seeing me limp forward, Tim beat a hasty retreat, scurrying for the parking lot. Smart man.
“You fucking bastard!” I screamed at Reed when I was close enough. “A Bible!” I hit his chest with both fists, angrier than I’d ever been and all on my own, needing no one to feed it to me.
“It was necessary,” he said without remorse, grabbing my wrists to halt the assault. “It’s over now. Not the way I planned, but over.”
“You manipulated me!” I shrieked as I struggled to thrash him. “Why not just tell me like you did Tim!”
“I knew Tim would eventually agree to whatever I planned, even reluctant as he was. But you, you’re unpredictable. It was the only way.”
“So what?” I asked, pulling my hands away from him. “You give me false information about Tim so I’ll get suspicious and go poking around.” I scoffed. “I should have known! He just happened to ask my friend for directions while carrying a book. Ridiculous!”
“I knew you would believe it, because I knew you didn’t trust Tim, never have.”
“Why involve me at all?” I demanded. “Why not just carry out your plan without me?”
He sighed. “After hinting that Tim had the book and making sure you’d follow him here, I planted information with the leak, Richard Addler, knowing he’d pass it along to Lars. You were supposed to arrive just before Ms. Thompson and Beagban, not long enough to cause trouble. Tim was prepared to destroy the book, he had a lighter and the pages were soaked in oil. The idea being that Raina and Beagban would return to Lars, telling him the journal had been destroyed. Only you stole the book and ran away.” He paused, slightly worried. “Tim was just telling me that Beagban chased you, but then I saw you limping over. He also said Raina ran past a few minutes ago screaming about demons? What happened? Where is Beagban?”
“He’s dead,” I said bluntly. “We fell into the pit, the demon was there, they fought, he died, and I guess...” I struggled to think up a suitable lie. “I guess the demon wore itself out because Demidov’s body is... no longer walking.”
Reed studied me. “You weren’t supposed to be brave. You were only here for show. Lars has heard about you, it seems his employees were curious to discover your role in my life. If you hadn’t been involved he might have disbelieved the whole thing.”
“What will Lars think now that I messed it up?”
“After talking to Raina he’ll think that the demon got its book back. Not destroyed as I’d planned, but gone nonetheless. So I’ll be leaving soon. Lars will grow suspicious if I remain. I need to return to New York and resume my life.”
“I hope I never see you again,” I said honestly.
“Don’t be ridiculous, you’ll call me the moment you find the book.”
“I already did, it was even under a turtle shaped tree. It’s not my fault that I was fated to find a fake.”
He shook his head. “I orchestrated that. Those bushes were planted this morning. The real book is still on the island somewhere, under a different turtle perhaps.”
“Find it yourself,” I said, turning for my car. “And you owe me lots of money.”
* * *
My Chevette was tired as I, rattling in protest as I steered her home. My eyes wanted to drift shut, my body seeking ease and peace now that the danger had passed. But there was still so much to do. I had to get my friends back, Stephen, Francesca. And I had to make Lucas be my boyfriend. As for the ghosts… well, only time could tell.
Epilogue
I sat behind the front desk at Sterling’s trying to ignore the newspaper that was strewn about. The front page proclaimed that two bodies had been found in Brunswick Park, though many of the details remained unclear. The island was in a tizzy, sensationalism running wild. Even as the days passed, no one would let it go. I wasn’t sure if it was Reed that reported the bodies, if he’d attempted to explain with a few elaborate lies. If so then his name was being hushed up.
Eventually Agata must have identified her uncle because when she prepared to take him back to Canada, I knew. He came to say goodbye one evening, looking more real than his body ever had. I pulled out the Ouija board, wanting to communicate more fully.
In truth, I thought Anastas was an idiot. Only an idiot would play with demons. But still, I felt like I’d done a crap job at giving him closure. Sure, the demon was gone, but Anastas was not. He still lingered, heartsick and guilty. But no matter how many times I asked, or how persuasively I wheedled, Demidov wanted nothing from me. Maybe Percy could have gotten him to confess, to pass on through the veil. But Anastas simply wouldn’t tell me how to help, though with the Ouija board he told me many other things.
With Reed, Demidov, and his niece Agata gone, I waited for life to return to normal. Meanwhile the townies fearfully anticipated that things would slow, assuming the gruesome local discovery would put people off. Fortunately for the Golden Isles’ economy, not even a stabbing and two dead bodies could keep the tourists away. Appallingly contrary to expectations, the island’s numbers swelled, business booming with the curious.
But not everyone took the news in stride. When Francesca found out that there were two dead bodies in Brunswick Park, she... well, it was like that fantasy I had of her running to my hospital bed, all sad and apologetic. Although after finding out that I was not only alive, but couldn’t explain myself, she got really pissed and threatened to strangle me. On the bright side, she now believed me when I said it was only work between Reed Wallace and me. So we were friends again. She pretty much went back to normal the moment he left Georgia.
In fact, Francesca had sworn (against my protests) to devote her full attention on ensuring that Lucas Finch fell madly in love with me. As of now it was highly unlikely as he was currently out of state, gone on another business trip. Who knew mechanics traveled so often? But at least this time he’d left me a note. It was simple, just one line taped to my door, promising we’d finish the puzzle when he got back.
Leaning on the desk, Stephen folded a sheet of newspaper with excessive flapping. He was currently using the rain as an excuse to hang around the office, waiting for a ride home. Like everyone else on St. Simons, he wanted to talk about the dead bodies. I could tell by the way he plied me with questions that he suspected I knew more than I let on. I avoided his interrogation or ignored him altogether, feeling relieved when Missy finally arrived.
Running low on fuel, I took the long way to Stephen’s home, driving past Singh’s Dry Cleaning on the way back from the gas station. “That’s where I held up those guys from your grade with a hairbrush,” I pointed.
“Yeah, I know the place. It’s across from Wildwood Apartments.”
“What do you know about Wildwood?”
“I used to live there when I was little,” he said. “We moved after my dad left.”
My heart lurched to a stop. I cleared my throat and tried to act normal, saying, “I’ve never heard you talk about your dad. What was he like?”
Stephen shrugged, feeling distant and sad. “I don’t
remember much. Like I said, he left when I was really little.”
“What was his name?” I pressed.
“David,” he answered quietly. “David Smith.”
It felt like being punched, sudden, painful, and overwhelming. It all made sense. The things Smith had been waiting for me to figure out suddenly went together like clockwork. The name, so common I didn’t even think to make a connection between Smith and Stephen Smith. But it was all glaringly obvious now. Smith hadn’t been haunting Sterling’s, he’d been haunting his son. I remembered it then, the first time I had seen a ghost wasn’t even at Sterling’s, but in Stephen’s front yard, though at the time I didn’t know enough to recognize it. Stupid!
Stephen’s dad was dead and they didn’t even know it, they thought he ran off and never came back. It explained why his mother was so overly protective. Even now as I pulled up to the curb I could see her pacing back and forth in front of the door. I felt terribly sad for her, when in the past I’d only been annoyed. She always waited up for her son, secretly afraid that he’d leave one day and never return—just like his father.
But I knew Smith, and I knew he hadn’t abandoned them. I was sure of it, so I knew what I had to do. I had to find proof.
Stephen moved to get out, but I grabbed his arm, holding him in place. “How do you know he left?”
He was confused by the question at first. I’d waited a long time to ask, but he answered anyway. “He had a gold watch his father gave him, a family heirloom. Mom said he loved the thing, put it under the bed for safekeeping. When he disappeared she went looking for it, but it was missing too. He’d never go anywhere without it, so she knew that he wasn’t coming back.”
I wanted to reassure him somehow, but there was nothing to say that wouldn’t sound crazy. So I let him go. He ducked out of the car, running through the rain. I watched him, not ready to move. Suddenly I wanted to get out of the car too. I didn’t care if it was pouring, I needed air. I lurched outside, thinking I’d pretend to look for an umbrella in the trunk so Mrs. Smith wouldn’t think me strange.