Ghost Hunter Page 26

  Her heart stopped in her chest. Even though the man’s skin was a mottled shade of gray and black decay, there was no mistaking that face.

  It was Del Vecchio. In the flesh. Or what was left of it.

  She stared at the serial killer, wondering how he could be back after she’d just seen his ghost seconds before.

  Trace grunted as one of Del Vecchio’s punches landed, snapping Cassidy out of her daze. She could figure out how the serial killer got there later. Right now, Trace needed her.

  She pulled a shotgun shell out of her pocket and was about to drop it into the chamber when someone knocked it out of her hand. Startled, she started to turn around when a hand covered her mouth. She reached up to pull it away, but her attacker only tightened his grip, covering her nose with a foul smelling odor. All at once, she couldn’t get enough air. She sucked in a breath, but that only made it worse. Desperate, she twisted and jabbed her elbow back as hard as she could, driving it into her attacker’s stomach, but it did no good.

  An arm wrapped around her, holding her immobile. “Struggling will only make it worse,” a man’s voice whispered in her ear. “Be a good girl and pass out like you’re supposed to.”

  Cassidy tried to fight the fog of dizziness enveloping her, but it was useless. She was still trying to remember if zombies could talk as everything went black.

  Chapter Twenty

  Trace knew he was in deep shit the moment the zombie knocked him to the floor and his shotgun went flying. He didn’t know where the thing had come from, but one minute he was searching for Del Vecchio’s body and the next he was lying on the floor with a walking corpse on top of him.

  The thing was faster than any zombie had a right to be, and twice as strong. Trace blocked a wild swing with his forearm, then threw a straight jab up toward the decayed creature’s jaw. He didn’t have a lot of leverage on his back, but his fist still managed to connect solidly. Even if the zombie couldn’t feel pain, it had to obey the laws of physics and the blow knocked its head back. Trace used the opportunity throw his body sideways just enough to unbalance the monstrosity straddling his chest before drawing both knees up and slamming them into the thing’s gut.

  The zombie sailed over Trace’s head with a grunt and went sprawling.

  Trace jumped to his feet and got out of the way, fully expecting Cassidy to shoot the creature. When she didn’t, he spun around to look for her, but she was nowhere in sight. His gut clenched. Shit.

  “She’s gone and you’re never going to see her again,” a gravelly voice said from behind him. “That bitch is dead for what she did to me.”

  Trace stiffened. Since when could zombies talk?

  He turned around. The zombie had gotten to its feet and was eyeing him coldly. That was when it struck Trace. He’d been too busy defending himself before to realize it. This wasn’t just any reanimated corpse. It was Del Vecchio. Somehow, Martin had put the serial killer’s spirit back into his body. Trace wasn’t sure Del Vecchio had come out on the fair end of the deal, though, since his body looked as dead as a six-week-old corpse should look.

  Trace didn’t know what the bastard meant about Cassidy, but he did know there was no way she would have left on her own. That meant either one of those zombies had dragged her out of here or Martin had grabbed her. He needed to find her. Fast. But first he had to get rid of Del Vecchio. Now the serial killer was corporeal again, accomplishing that was going to be a hell of a lot easier.

  Trace would have made a grab for his shotgun, but Del Vecchio lunged for him again. This time Trace was ready for him, though. The moment Del Vecchio drew back his fist, Trace kicked out and landed a solid blow to the inside of the half-dead asshole’s knee. The impact made a satisfying crunching sound and the serial killer let out a bellow as his leg almost buckled.

  Trace stepped forward to deliver what he hoped would be a disabling blow when Del Vecchio’s blackened mouth split into a grin of satisfaction. Trace immediately tensed, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. A moment later, agony slid up his back and he collapsed to the floor. When he looked up, he found Del Vecchio’s ghost standing over him, looking as material as he had earlier. Right beside him was Del Vecchio in his zombie form. Trace swore under his breath. Okay, now he was really fucked. How could the serial killer’s ghost still exist if it was back in his half-decayed body?

  Trace wanted to lie there on the floor and think about that for a while, then maybe check to see if his spine was still intact, but he didn’t have the luxury. Del Vecchio’s ghost was already coming at him while his corpse half was hobbling over as fast as his bum leg would allow.

  Trace scrambled as fast as he could toward the last place he’d seen his shotgun. He got to it just before Del Vecchio’s ghostly form reached him. He would have blasted the ghost with it, but he’d never had a chance to reload. Just because he couldn’t shoot Del Vecchio’s ghost, it didn’t mean the shotgun was completely worthless. Rolling over, he swung the barrel toward the ghost as it descended on him. Steel met the ethereal knife blade in the ghost’s hand with a loud screech. Del Vecchio’s ghost didn’t like the steel barrel any more than he did hematite, and he howled as both the knife and part of his arm disappeared. The part of him that was left spun halfway across the room, giving Trace a chance to get to his feet.

  He didn’t get much of a breather, though. Del Vecchio’s corpse lashed out with his fist and got him a good one right to the jaw, sending him flying backward into the wall. Pain seared up Trace’s back and he let out a grunt of pain as he hit the control panel for the incinerators. Fire flared up, throwing wildly dancing colors of light across both Del Vecchio’s corpse and his ghost as the two serial killers advanced on him. Fucking wonderful. Now it really felt as if he was fighting the demons of hell. Every time he tried to dart around them and get away from the heat of the incinerator, one or the other would block him.

  He still didn’t have time to reload the shotgun, but the steel barrel did a number on the ghost, and the wraith came at him more slowly each time Trace hit him with it. The butt of the gun’s stock did plenty of damage to Del Vecchio’s corpse as well. Unfortunately, neither creature showed any signs of tiring. He needed to end this, and fast.

  Trace lunged to the left, away from the corpse and closer to the ghost, then ducked and swung his shotgun sideways, avoiding the knife while slicing his own weapon directly through the ghost’s midsection. It roared in pain and fury, almost completely disintegrating. That would take a while to recover from.

  The victory against the ghost left Trace open to the corpse’s attack, though. The rotting thing slammed into his ribs from the side, knocking the shotgun from Trace’s grip and shoving him back against the control panel of the incinerator again. He shook his head, trying to clear the stars that were spinning around the edges of his vision and looked around for the shotgun, but instead his gaze locked on the big, clunky handle on the door of the incinerator.

  Shit.

  He’d been bouncing off the best chance for salvation for what felt like half the night. Why the hell hadn’t he realized it sooner?

  Trace chanced a quick glance at the ghost and was relieved to see that the thing wasn’t much more than wisps of smoke coalescing in the far corner of the room. Good. He could focus on the corpse.

  Normally, Trace would have kicked the damn thing in the balls, but he’d already learned Del Vecchio no longer had those, so he aimed for Del Vecchio’s good knee instead. His boot landed with a satisfying crunch that sent the serial killer to his knees. Trace was tempted to pound the half-dead thing into the floor a few times, but he couldn’t risk wasting time. The ghost would get its shit back together soon enough and when he did, Trace’s chance would be lost.

  Grabbing the handle on the incinerator, Trace yanked open the door. While heat rushed out, the flames inside immediately began to recede. Probably a safety feature that kept it from burning while the door was open. Which meant he needed to get Del Vecchio’s body inside before
the fire went out completely.

  Trace turned in time to see Del Vecchio’s corpse crawling to his feet. His lip, or what was left of it at least, curled and he stumbled forward. Trace waited until the zombie was almost on top of him before grabbing the thing and shoving it toward the open door. The serial killer immediately put his hands out to stop himself, but Trace rammed into the corpse from behind, shoving against the thing as if it was a tackling dummy and pushing it into the flames. Del Vecchio fought like a crazed beast, though, and it took all Trace’s strength to try to get the corpse’s arms and legs in the incinerator.

  Trace swore. This was taking way too much time. Cassidy had been out of his sight for at least ten minutes, maybe more. That was a long time to fight off a necromancer and his zombies.

  Grinding his jaw, Trace lifted up one of the corpse’s legs, almost twisting it off at the hip joint. Del Vecchio let out a grunt of pain and released one side of the incinerator to reach for Trace. The moment he did, Trace shoved with all his weight, sending Del Vecchio’s dead ass flying into the oven. The serial killer let out a roar that seemed to shake the entire building, but Trace barely heard it. Slamming the door, he leaned his shoulder against it to keep it closed. As he did, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up to see Del Vecchio’s ghost coming toward him, the knife in his hand gleaming in the firelight. Fuck.

  Trace was torn between going for his shotgun and guarding the door. If he left the door unattended, Del Vecchio might be able to crawl out. Deciding he’d have to take his chances and hope the corpse turned to ash before the ghost got him, Trace stayed where he was and smacked the large, red button to re-ignite the incinerator blaze. The moment he did, he heard a gratifying whoosh as the flames inside the oven came to life, followed by screams as the serial killer’s corpse started to burn.

  Hoping it would be enough to destroy the bastard’s ghostly form, Trace turned around to see that Del Vecchio’s ghost was already on him, knife raised to strike. Trace didn’t have time to throw himself out of the way. All he could do was wait for Del Vecchio to kill him and pray that somehow Cassidy made it out of this.

  But the blade disintegrated before it slashed open his throat. The serial killer’s hand vanished next, then his arm, and finally the whole body. Del Vecchio’s face, twisted in pure hatred until the very end, was the last thing to disappear.

  Trace didn’t turn around to see what was going on with Del Vecchio’s physical body. The ghost’s disappearance told him everything he needed to know.

  Pushing away from the door, Trace grabbed his shotgun from the floor. It was beat-up, but still intact. He thumbed the breakdown lever and jacked open the barrels. It took only seconds to reload, but he regretted even that small amount of time. Cassidy needed him now. He could feel it in his very core.

  When he finished reloading, Trace did a quick look around the room and immediately disregarded the entrance he and Cassidy had used earlier. There was no way someone could have dragged her through those double doors without him noticing. Which left the lone door on the other side of the room. He ran over and yanked it open, then raced down the dark hallway beyond, not caring that something could be lurking in the dark. All he cared about was getting to Cassidy. He prayed he wasn’t too late.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Cassidy woke up to find a foul-smelling rag stuffed in her mouth. She swallowed, hoping it would get rid of both the odor and the horrible taste, but it only made them worse. She coughed, but all that came out was a weak, muffled sound. She tried to lift a hand to take out the rag, only to realize they were pinned back above her head.

  She squinted at the bright fluorescent lights on the ceiling above her, jerking at her bonds, but they wouldn’t budge. She pulled again, yanking on her wrists as hard as she could. When she still couldn’t get loose, she let out a sound of frustration.

  “Damn, you’re even stronger than Carson thought.”

  Cassidy stiffened at the man’s voice. She lifted her head, trying to get a look at him, but couldn’t see anyone. Heart pounding, she craned her neck to see behind her and caught sight of movement. A moment later, Russell Martin came into view. Lying there with him leaning over her was eerily reminiscent of that night in her apartment. But back then, he’d been an EMT there to save her life. Now, she feared he was there to take it.

  “That dose of chloroform should have knocked your pretty ass out for at least an hour,” he said as he walked around to stand beside her. “No real surprise there, though. You are one tough little girl. I should know that better than anyone. I thought you were a goner the first time I saw you lying there on the floor of your apartment bleeding out, but you wouldn’t die. It didn’t help that the damn rookie I was riding with that night jumped in to play the hero and bring you back from the dead.”

  The reminder made her feel queasy and Cassidy whimpered against the gag in her mouth.

  Martin smirked. “I’m actually glad the chloroform wore off. I can do what I have to do to you just as well with you awake anyway, and it’ll be even more fun to see the look in your eyes while I do it.”

  He laughed as if what he’d said was amusing. Cassidy would have spit at him if she could, but with the rag in her mouth, she could only settle for growling at him instead.

  Martin moved out of her sight to putter with something on the counter along the wall. While his back was turned, she tugged at her bonds again, trying to loosen them, but it was futile.

  “Carson is obsessed with carving you to pieces, you know,” Martin said conversationally as he over to stand beside her again. “I’m going to make that happen for him.”

  Cassidy felt sick at the thought of what he and his serial-killing friend were going to do to her. She yanked desperately at the ties binding her wrists as Martin bent over her.

  He reached out to palm the necklace Mr. Borella had given her, studying it curiously. “You’ve had someone make you a little charm. What’s it for, I wonder?”

  Martin jerked violently on the necklace, snapping the leather cord and yanking it off her neck to toss it across the room. His eyes widened as he gazed at her. “That’s what it was for. You were trying to hide from us. Look at you glow.” He glanced at the charm where it lay on the floor, then turned back to her. “That was some quality work. I’ll have to look up the person who made that and have a chat, see if he can make some for me since I collect quality charms.”

  He reached in his shirt and pulled out a tangled mess of trinkets. He lifted one up and showed it to her as if he was a first grader at show-and-tell.

  “This one lets me know how long an injured person has to live. Comes in handy as an EMT.” He dropped it and picked up another. This one looked like a cheap plastic spider with a toothpick shoved through it. “This one helps me communicate with the dead.” He lifted another and gave her a smirk. “This one is my personal favorite. It lets me control a whole host of reanimated corpses at one time, which is a real life saver in my line of work. You don’t know how difficult it is to control even one walking carcass, much less a dozen or so like I’m doing right now. Pretty cool, don’t you think?”

  Only if she was as evil and demented as he was. She would have told him so if she didn’t have that damn gag in her mouth.

  He regarded her thoughtfully. “I wonder if you’ll glow once I’ve finished with you.”

  The casual way he said the words chilled Cassidy to the very depths of her soul and she had to fight to get a grip on the panic. She had no idea what Martin had planned for her, but she knew it wasn’t going to be anything pleasant. She had to hold on until Trace came. If he came. The last thing she remembered before everything went black was seeing Trace lying on his back trying to fight off Del Vecchio. What if the serial killer killed him? Might Trace be dead even now?

  Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back. There was no way Trace was dead. No half-rotting corpse was going to get the best of her man.

  Her man. Her heart squeezed in her chest. I
t was true. Trace was her man, even if he didn’t know it yet. As soon as they got out of this, she was going to tell him how she felt. First, she had to get through the next few minutes in one piece.

  While she listened to the necromancer ramble on conversationally, Cassidy looked around the room, hoping she might see something that would help her. To her left was a strange-looking white, porcelain table mounted on an adjustable base. On the counter behind it was a variety of unpleasant looking stainless-steel instruments, as well as an odd assortment of tubes and cylinders. Bile rose in her throat. She was in the funeral home’s embalming room. Considering the horrible chemical odor in the air, she should have realized it before.

  She glanced over at Martin again and saw that he was toying with an identical set of stainless-steel instruments on this side of the room. It didn’t take a genius to figure out they were use to cut open dead bodies and prepare them for their final resting place. There was just one problem—she wasn’t dead. Yet.

  Cassidy strained at the bindings on her wrists again, this time even more urgently. Unlike before, her bonds seemed to give a little this time, like they were stretching. She craned her head around and saw that he’d tied her up with strips of cloth. If she could stretch them enough, she might be able to slip her hands out. She yanked on the strips of cloth again, tugging so furiously she thought the skin on her wrists might tear.

  Martin abruptly turned back around to face her and she froze. If he noticed the bindings were coming loose, he would almost certainly retie them. The necromancer gave no indication he knew what she’d been up to, though. Instead, he held up a wicked looking curved blade with saw teeth along the back edge. Cassidy’s eyes went wide at the sight of it and she made a whimpering sound behind the gag. She flinched and tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to go. All she could do was lie there trembling and wait for him to do whatever he was going to do with the knife. But he only slowly sliced open the front of her T-shirt from neckline to hem.