By Jason Wolfgang Gehlert

The Ferrymen   Prologue

Walkway over the Hudson River Hudson Valley, New York

6:47 a.m.

October Twenty-eighth, 2011

The morning sun broke over the horizon, giving the walkway a new lease, a fresh bath in the breaking dawn. A small stampede of citizens, removed from the real world stress, enjoyed their pleas- ant jaunts across the newly built walkway over the Hudson River. One conflicted soul, seemingly bothered by the thoughts that ransacked her decaying mind, thought of suicide. If she could

jump to her death, then this voice would die too.

“Do it Jade,” the voice called to her. “We’ve planned this for a long time.”

Jade Dillinger took a few paces north on the walkway, want- ing to block out the voice. A voice that had derailed her life over the last few weeks. “I can’t do this,” she stuttered back, her hand nervously gripping the knife. “I want my life back, or I’ll swear to God, I’ll fucking jump right now.” Her head turned away from a nearby jogger, pretending to talk on her imaginary Bluetooth.

“Jade, you can do this. I have faith in you my love,” his voice continued to pound inside her head. “Its time for me to make my return, to show everyone that Skylar Branson’s legacy is about to be reborn.”

“Do you think the cops are that dumb? They’ll pin this on me.”

“The way you’ll kill this person will have my signature all over it.”

“I have no idea how to kill a person,” said Jade, her skin cov- ered in nervous sweat.

“I’ll guide your every move,” Skylar instructed. “With my en- ergy, you will be the newest incarnation of Skylar Branson, and the cops will revel in my rebirth.”

Page

Jade couldn’t focus on her spinning reality. Her feet wouldn’t move, they felt cemented to the bridge. Jade glanced over the walkway at the river below, and then back again to the passing joggers, riders, and walkers.

“No, no, no!” Skylar’s voice repeated.

“I’ll let you know when the time is right. Focus Jade.” Skylar sent a small burst of energy against Jade’s back, removing her from the frozen stance.

“Okay, okay, I’m going,” she insisted. Her hands gripped the knife tight, and held it up against her arm out of plain sight.

“Never hide your truest intentions. I never did. Be brazen and confident that you are the boldest serial killer.” Skylar massaged Jade’s eroding psyche. His tone repeated, forcing Jade to slide fur- ther towards his evil grasp.

“How about her?” Jade asked, leering at the approaching jog- ger. “She seems our type.”

“The one in the maroon jogging suit?”

“Yes. I detest the color of her hair and her acute thinness,” Jade’s voice filled with anger and hatred.

“Then kill her.”

Jade took a slow step forward, weaving in and out of the pass- ing joggers and bikers. The young lady in the maroon suit fast approached, and Jade tightened her grip on the knife.

The woman offered a quick smile, “Good morning.”

Jade sucked in her breath, and without a word, brought the knife to the woman’s chest with sudden brutality. Jade quickly worked the knife through the jogging suit, shredding it and the woman’s torso beneath.

Teetering, the woman hit the bridge’s floor wrapped in a muf- fled scream for help.

Jade escaped, before several concerned citizens enveloped the dying woman, with their cell phones drawn dialing 911.

Piermont Police Station Hudson Valley, New York 7:00 a.m.

Lincoln Carter’s distinguished career had snaked its way through many obstacles, allowing marginal room for error. His haunted past returned out of nowhere, when his childhood friend’s abrupt suicide lured him back to an old case, solving it with a new method of police work.

This game changing case, revolved around an old abandoned asylum, which was quickly followed by Lincoln and his partner Joe, solving the Carnival Murders.

The Carnival Murders earned Lincoln and his partner, Joe

Buchanan national acclaim and heroism, for bringing a swift resolve to a sinister string of mysterious murders, involving an Ouija board and demented spirits, possessing a pair of teenagers. Both cases catapulted them to a new stratosphere of recogni-

tion, amongst their peers and political figures.

The past few months had lingered in relative calmness for Lincoln and Joe, forcing each of them to take a necessary respite from the rigorous demands of the police force. Lincoln’s newly ac- quired abilities to talk to and ‘see’ the dead, left him consistently drained of energy. He felt the differences beginning to shape his new lifestyle.

His mind was sharper and quicker than before. Lincoln’s acute ability to sense when a spirit was near, either to talk, or thirsting for revenge, instantly elevated his status to a premier police of- ficer. Lincoln was always one for securing the arrest, and bring- ing down the bad guy. At times he welcomed these new abilities, awakened inside him by his dead friend Zach. Lincoln relished the challenge of chasing down a whole new breed of bad guys.

“Hey Kid, how was your vacation?” Lincoln watched Joe’s brisk walk from his car and towards the steps of the precinct.

“Decent enough,” Joe said, “watched the Giants win yesterday.” “Yeah, I was there. I managed to squeeze out some tickets for that game.” Lincoln jogged up the stairs and pushed the doors

open. “Now, it’s time to enter Dante’s Inferno.”

The buzzing of the phones littered the room, forcing many of the receptionists to multi-task and consistently update every call. A few times last week, a power surge had caught the entire precinct by surprise and everyone had reverted to the old school method, of hand writing everything down on yellow legal pads.

“What do we have here?” Lincoln removed his lengthy black overcoat and placed it across the back of his chair. The wheels still remained inside their form fitting grooves on the plastic mat, revealing the lack of use over the previous two weeks. He watched his own phone beginning to erupt in orange lights, from the del- uge of incoming calls.

Joe’s desk, on the other side of Lincoln’s, remained clean and intact from his last attempts at organizing everything before his own vacation. Both men practiced the philosophy of cleanliness and organization whenever possible, on and off the job. Their im- mediate supervisor, Captain Pearson Taft frequently ragged on their competitive ways when it came to keeping everything on the straight and narrow.

“Gentlemen!” Taft rose to meet his two heroes. “Come, join me for some conversation.”

“Do we have to?” Joe shouted back.

“Let’s go see him,” added Lincoln. “I mean, look at the poor guy,” he waved his hand.

Taft emerged from his office, tightened his belt, and reached for his facial hair. A template of grey sideburns emerged from Taft’s pecan weathered face, twisting down the left and right side of his cheeks. His experience spanned decades, although a brief respite during the nineties for active duty, had taken him away from his primary role, as the Captain of Piermont’s State Trooper precinct.

“Oh, it wasn’t really necessary for you to leave your office,” chided Lincoln, his hands finishing off an adjustment to his hol- ster and weapon.

“Oh, I made the exception just for you Lincoln.” “I feel warm inside.” Lincoln laughed.

“Step inside, chug some coffee, munch some blueberry crumb muffins that Mrs. Taft baked this morning, and brace yourself,” he paused, “we have a bastard of a case brewing in the area.”

“What do we have here?” Lincoln stirred his coffee with a red straw. Taking a hard sip, he found his favorite chair in the office and sat down.

Joe followed suit, taking the chair to Lincoln’s immediate left. “Well, as your supervisor, I have to say that if the previous en- counters hadn’t happened,” Taft dryly stated. “I wouldn’t exactly

know where to head with this case.”

“You mean our unique way of solving the last two cases with the assistance of a spiritual being? Or, our routine battles with ghosts from the other side?” Lincoln said with a twisted grin.

Clearing his throat, Taft continued. “Yeah, that’s the direc- tion I’m steering. You see, we have our routine serial killer on the loose.” Taft’s fingers tapped the folder in a heightened pattern of uneasiness. “I understand that since your recent visit to a psychic, for her meditation classes, and Zach giving you some new abilities helped unclog that cluttered mind of yours.”

“Yeah, she snaked my drain, so to speak “Lincoln paused for a brief moment of humor. “So, what’s the problem?” Lincoln drank some coffee.

“Considering this murder happened earlier this morning,” Taft said with a quick breath.

“Oh, the suspense is killing me,” said Lincoln, his fingers

reaching for the elusive folder.

“The serial killer in question has been dead for five years,” Taft answered. He let his grip on the folder fall away, and into Lincoln’s grasp. “It has his fingerprints all over it. The style and visceral brutality of the crime. I was hoping, since the two of you recently experienced some unexplainable instances involving such a mat- ter, you might be able to shed some needed light on this subject.” “We did experience some weird shit, yeah,” said Lincoln. “I’d like for us to keep this on the shallow end of the public relations

pool.”

“I understand. I’m a bit fuzzy on your actual experience at the carnival and at the asylum,” Taft answered.

“Basically,” Lincoln cleared his throat, “the Carnival Murders introduced Joe and I to a whole new level of criminals. A preacher returned from beyond the grave to possess a teenager, who then killed several of the carnies, before we were able to stop him.”

“And, the asylum case?” Taft asked.

“That, well, huh,” Lincoln fumbled for the right words to explain.

Joe took charge of the conversation, “Lincoln, along with his brother, his brother’s girlfriend, and his old friend Zach, scouted out this run down asylum back during their teenage days. Long story short, Lincoln’s brother and girlfriend were killed under mysterious circumstances, and Zach was pinned for the odd mur- ders. Lincoln was knocked out cold, and when we came to, Zach kept talking about a doctor being responsible for this.”

“Intense,” said Taft, “is this the same friend who killed himself?”

“Yeah, Zach committed suicide, as it was the only way to help Lincoln catch the doctor Zach kept speaking about.”

“I can talk to Zach,” Lincoln added, with a shrug. “Ever since Angie’s meditation class, my mind has been open to not only Zach, but other spirits as well. It’s like Grand Central Station in my head sometimes.”

“But, you can’t?” Taft directed his question at Joe.

“No. Only Lincoln. For the time being, that’s all good. Zach using his new abilities from beyond the grave, assisted us in lur- ing the doctor out when we went back to the asylum. Zach’s our partner, and the three of us have a unique blend of talents when it comes to tackling these types of cases.” Joe finished off his coffee. “I will do everything in my power to keep such facts out of the finalized reports.” Taft urged his men to remain focused. “For

now, we’re investigating a routine serial killer, and the innocent victim on the bridge.” Taft looked at both men. “Agreed?”

“Agreed,” both men answered, rising to leave the office and start their day.

7:17 a.m.

“Throw the lights on,” Lincoln jammed the keys in the igni- tion. “We’re losing precious ground.”

Joe did as he was told, and the sleek navy blue patrol car zoomed through the traffic on Route 9 en route to the newly de- signed Walkway across the Hudson. The decades old railroad tracks, were renovated to reconnect both sides of the Hudson, al- lowing a leisurely walk across for the citizens of the surrounding areas.

“Take the Church Street exit,” said Joe, “it’s faster.”

“No, the Academy street exit’s the one to take,” snapped Lincoln, his left hand spun the steering wheel.

“Jesus!” Joe grabbed the side of the car as Lincoln swerved with smooth precision onto the Academy Street exit.

“Hang on,” added Lincoln, his foot pressing down on the accel- erator, pushing the Ford Focus past one-hundred miles per hour.

* * * *

The dead female body contorted and ripped apart by precise, surgical knife wounds, shocked Lincoln and Joe. They talked with the immediate officers as they assessed the crime scene.

The young lady’s maroon jogging suit was cut and torn from the senseless attack, it had left blotches of blood affixed to the clothing, and a small puddle collecting on the bridge’s floor.

Lincoln saw someone moving in the crowd. A young woman, dressed haphazardly in a green Earth shirt, and ripped jeans. Her hands were saturated in blood and flecks of shredded skin. “Joe, twelve o’clock, do you see her?”

“Green shirt? Moving swiftly through the crowd?” Joe covered his eyes, shielding the morning glare.

“Yeah, she seems to have blood all over her hands and wrists.” “And, she’s running,” Joe shouted, his hands reaching for his

weapon.

“Well, your closer, get her!”

“Fuck,” Joe growled, his pace elevated to a brisk jog, his arm

launched with the police badge clasped in his tightened hand. Joe then reached a full fledged run. “Police, stop!”

The girl’s obvious distaste for the law aggravated Joe. He be- gan to weave through the crowd, until he hit a clear spot on the Walkway, as the young woman emerged from behind two people.

“Stop!” Joe fired off a round directly in the air.

The woman halted in her tracks. Lincoln was right. Her hands were covered in blood, and the knife was tucked behind her back, inside a brown belt.

“You’re coming back with us.” Joe approached her, reaching for his handcuffs.

Her hands reached out for the black railing. Her head turned, displaying a pair of sunken eyes filled with discoloration.

“Don’t do it.” Joe begged her.

Lincoln managed to work his way to Joe, standing behind him. “You don’t think she’ll…”

The woman launched herself from the railing, and sailed to- wards the river below.

“Son-of-a-bitch,” Joe growled, handing his weapon over to Lincoln, and he quickly followed suit over the railing.

8:09 a.m.

“Are you situated?” barked Joe, still wringing out his drenched clothes.

The woman remained silent.

“You’re one tough bitch. I’ll give you that. You hit the river hard, and only came away with minor bruises.”

“You can’t hold me.” Her voice was soft, yet domineering. Her small figure convulsed, her bones rattling from the intense vibration.

“We’ll hold you until I decide its time for you to return back to your cell.” Joe defiantly thrust his chair against the other side of the table, and straddled it from behind. His hands gripped the back of the chair, as his eyes rolled with a fury Lincoln had never seen before.

“Don’t look at him,” Joe shouted, his hands slamming the met- al table. “Keep those eyes focused on me. I’m the one asking the questions.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” she stonewalled Joe, “but, him,” she raised her bony finger with a jagged fingernail. “I want to speak to him, he understands me.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? You’re a killer and you think my partner understands you?” Joe rose from the chair, pissed and ready to punch a hole through a brick wall.

Lincoln entered the room. “Joe, can we talk?” Both men exited the room to the hallway. “Your emotions are getting the best of you.”

“She thinks you understand her,” Joe’s voice was angry and embodied with distaste for criminal scum.

“I’m thinking that maybe this particular situation, I may be able to understand her.”

“We’re going down the Zach road again?”

“There’s that, and quite frankly, I felt responsible for my broth- er and his girlfriend’s deaths at the asylum so many years ago. Maybe this girl’s walking that fine line of guilt. Also, if she’s under some sort of spiritual guidance, then she’s definitely not aware of her actions.

“I suppose so. Like the Carnival Murders, and the teenager un- der the Preacher’s ‘guidance’?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking here. I’m trying to evaluate all possible angles.”

Lincoln reached out for Joe, grabbing his shoulder. “What’s gotten into you partner? Are you okay?”

“I’m doing fine.” Joe pressed his hands against his forehead. “That was some jump off the bridge you took. Listen, why don’t

you take a fifteen, grab some ice for that bump on your head, and regroup. I’ll take it from here.”

“Do you still hear them?”

“Yeah, my mind’s never closed. I can hear him.” “Zach you mean?”

“Yeah,” said Lincoln, “but, the real serial killer, Skylar Branson. He’s taken over that young girl’s body, and he’s having a grand old time doing it too.”

“Fine. I’ll go for a walk, while you attempt a conversation with her.”

“I’ll keep you posted.” Lincoln waved to his exiting partner.

9:01 a.m.

“I didn’t want to kill those people,” her voice filled with re- morse. Her skin was saturated with a nervous coat of sweat. “He made me do it. It’s all he ever talks about.”

“I believe you. What’s your name?” asked Lincoln.

“Jade Dillinger.”

“Any relation to the infamous John Dillinger?”

“Perhaps. I honestly don’t know. I’m not particularly close with anyone in my family. I’ve been enjoying the freedom without pa- rental control, or following rules. But, my family trees got to be rooted somewhere, right? I mean, I’m sure you have some unsa- vory skeletons in your closet Officer.”

“I’m sure I do, somewhere.” Lincoln laughed. “Are you okay?” Lincoln reached over the table for her.

Jade’s face abruptly twisted to the left, then right, before her head jolted backwards.

“Shit! Medic!” Lincoln shouted, he launched his entire body across the large table to her aid.

When Jade’s head snapped back, her faded brown eyes, were vacated, and been replaced with a monotonous grayness.

“Lincoln,” her words hissed.

Lincoln processed the newer dialect as male, strictly Irish with a fleck of Americanized tone.

Jade’s hands surged forward, grabbing Lincoln by the throat.

“Lincoln, free me and the girl survives.”

“Skylar,” Lincoln gasped, “You’ve been a bad boy.” Lincoln’s mind had revealed this spirit’s true identity.

“I thrive on that reputation,” Skylar’s voice heightened, ignit- ing the entire room with a ablaze of damaging negative energy. The overhead lights crackled, drowning out the light. The sur- rounding mirrors shattered, forcing Lincoln, and the doorman to shield their faces.

Lincoln’s leg kicked out at the chair, forcing Jade’s possessed body to fall to the floor. His fingers ran over his arms, plucking away the shards of glass. A stream of reddened specks emerged from the ripped skin. His head began to pound, a migraine on the horizon, or something else. Lincoln felt Zach’s presence emerging from beyond.

“Lincoln,” another voice emerged.

“Zach,” Lincoln whispered.

“Skylar’s a tough bastard, you will need my help to defeat him.”

“What? You don’t call? I haven’t heard from you since we de- feated Crowley at the asylum a few months back.”

“I was enjoying a family reunion of sorts.”

“I know your friend is here with you.” Jade’s voice roared. “Nah, he left, remember?”

“I meant your other friend, the one from the other side. I sense him in here.” Jade approached Lincoln, arms stretched out.

“Oh, him? He’s harmless.”

“Actually, he’s quite the persistent fuck. I want him gone, or he dies.”

Lincoln turned, watching the doorman rise from the floor, feet dangling. “You wouldn’t.”

“Tell your friend to scram,” insisted Jade, her hands squeezed shut, crushing the man’s windpipe.

“Zach, leave,” Lincoln urged.

“I don’t sense him anymore, good job Officer.”

“Now, let him go,” warned Lincoln, his fingers reaching for his weapon. “I’ll kill you where you stand if you don‘t.”

“You’d never kill an innocent victim,” Jade said, moments be- fore killing the doorman, by completely revolving his neck until the bone sprang from underneath the skin.

Lincoln knew her mind and soul were under the sinister con- trol of Skylar. He couldn’t rationally kill an innocent woman be- cause of possession.

“I’m in a win-win.” Jade chorused, focusing on the door and turning the lock. In a staggering turn of events, she hoisted the metal table and slammed it against Lincoln, pinning him against the wall.

“Here, I’ll take this for you.” She reached down and pulled the Glock from Lincoln’s broken hand.

10:24 a.m.

“What happened in there?” I asked, demanding Lincoln re- vive himself.

“I got my fucking ass kicked.” Lincoln rubbed the back of his head.

“I was doing some research.”

“You always pick the fucked up times to disappear.” Lincoln crawled out from underneath the table. He saw Jade’s scratched up bare feet, and her body balled up in the far corner of the room, the gun shaking violently in her grasp.

“She’s going to die, isn’t she?”

“If we don’t act now, yes, that will be her grim reality,” I said. “Branson will force his way out of her, peeling her skin, layer by layer. He will look for a new body to enter, another soul to digest.”

“That’s not cool.” “But, I have a plan.” “Which is what? “Text Joe.”

“Okay.” Lincoln sent the urgent message to his partner. “Start chatting with Skylar, don’t let his focus stray.” “What are you going to do?”

“Keep the peace.”

“Stay right there!” Jade shouted. “You will not leave this room alive.”

“I’m pretty confident I will.” Lincoln crept closer, taking deep- er breaths.

Jade unleashed a warning shot, the bullet clanged off the up- turned metal table. “The next one’s buried in your forehead.”

“I have a way out of there for you,” he paused, “for you Skylar.” Jade’s eyes rolled back, eliminating the remaining fabric of the young girl’s spirit. A darker, deeper baritone escaped from her

mouth.

“I’m listening.”

“See that mirror right there?” Lincoln asked. “It’s a two way mirror.”

“And, your point?”

“My partner has a condemned serial killer in the other room, a Mister Ray Scarsdale. A vicious son-of-a-bitch, but, I’m sure, he could learn a few things from you.” Lincoln took a few more steps towards Jade. “It seems his case was thrown out on a technicality, and well, he’s a free man, as of,” Lincoln paused and glanced at his watch, “as of right now.”

“I’m intrigued by the offer. If I leave her body, she dies, I know Zach told you that.”

“Yes, he did.”

“I can remain in limbo for quite some time, and just disappear into thin air. You will never find me again.”

“I know your blueprint. You wouldn’t be satisfied with a re- volving purgatory. You want to get back in the saddle, and fuel that urge to kill. I’m offering a top of the line model for you to drive, a corrupted soul to darken with your own twisted rhetoric. Scarsdale’s the perfect marriage here for you.”

“The offer sounds terrific, but there’s always a catch. What’s your hidden agenda?”

“If you leave the girl’s body, and enter his, then we all win.”

“Again, what’s the catch? Your willing to let me go free? All

for a girl you know nothing about? She has her own flaws as well you know. I didn’t pick her because she has a great ass. Her talents are on a par with mine.”

Lincoln ignored Skylar‘s last statement. “You refrain from harming her, and you are free to leave. The only catch is, I will hunt you down, only because it’s my job.”

“Your honesty flatters me. I‘m going to enjoy our game of cat and mouse.” Jade’s body went limp and collapsed to the floor.

Lincoln’s stare followed a reddened blotch flash across the room and explode through the mirror.

4:00 p.m.

Viceroy Hospital

“How are you?” Lincoln asked Jade, as he entered the room cradling a vase of flowers.

Jade’s bruised body propped up in her hospital bed, had be- gun its slow process of healing. Her head slowly turned towards Lincoln’s voice. “You,” her words were soft, and delicate.

“Me?” Lincoln’s demeanor, a definite shift from the hardened cop he’d displayed earlier.

“Yes.” Her hands grabbed the remote control and powered down the television’s volume. “You refused to leave me. You fought for my soul.”

“Well, that’s what I do.” Lincoln placed the small vase of flow- ers on the end table by the bed. “Here, these are for you.”

“Thank you. Where’s your partner? Tell him I’m sorry for be- ing rude before.”

“He understands,” Lincoln paused, “you weren’t yourself.” “What happened to me?”

“You were under the influence of a serial killer’s spirit.” Lincoln sighed. “I know, it sounds fucking crazy, but it’s true.”

“I definitely didn’t feel right.” “You need some rest.”

“How did you save me?”

“My friend Zach came up with a plan.” “Well thank him for me too.”

“Yeah, I will. Listen, I have to go. But, if you need anything,” Lincoln offered his card. “For any further assistance, call me.”

5:15 p.m.

“We will make it Zach, calm down,” Lincoln chatted aloud in- side his car on the way to the jail.

“Did Joe get our message in time?” I asked.

“Yes. About the mirrors?” “Yes, it’s important.” “How so?”

“I believe the only way we can capture these evil spirits, are with certain mirrors.”

“I don’t follow you.” Lincoln guided the car to the parking lot of the jail.

“Do you remember when we trapped Crowley in his own mirror?”

“Yes.”

“The same philosophy applies to this case. When Skylar killed himself at his own house, it was in front of several mirrors in the room.”

“But, Crowley resisted the mirror.”

“Crowley’s mirror was cracked, and he squeezed out of it.

Otherwise, the mirrors trap the spirit forever.” “It’s like they’re caught in their own purgatory?” “Something like that, yes.”

“But, we tricked Skylar into entering Ray’s body.”

“True, but as you know, it’s necessary to always have a back- up plan.”

Joe paced the room, tapping his watch. “Jesus, Linc, where were you? We’re two minutes from show time. And, why did you have to collect all of Skylar’s mirrors from his house?”

“Zach has a theory.”

“Oh, I bet. I’m telling ya, there’s no fucking way that guy sur- vives the chair. Alive, dead, or whatever state that mother fucker’s in.”

“Joe, calm down. Did this case touch a nerve?” Lincoln at- tempted to soothe his partner’s rising temper.

“Fifteen seconds,” urged Joe. “Come on, grab a seat.”

“Well, here goes Zach’s theory.” The lights dimmed while the Priest delivered Ray’s finalized rites, before the Warden him- self threw the switch. Lincoln felt something awry. He sensed Skylar’s spirit wanted to separate from Ray’s body, having real- ized Lincoln’s trick of entrapment.

Ray’s body sizzled black, convulsed, and then jolted to a fran- tic death.

A stream of red spewed from Ray’s body, splattering the room’s

four walls.

“I don’t fucking believe it,” Lincoln rose from his chair, press- ing his hands against the clear Plexiglas. His eyes searched the room, watching the obliterated remnants of Skylar Branson’s fractured spirit encased in each of the four mirrors brought back from the room of his own death.

“Ah, I told you so,” I said, with a bit of sarcasm. “Branson’s no longer a threat.”

“I don’t believe it.” Lincoln turned to Joe. “Do you?”

“Shit, I believe everything right now.” Joe searched the room. “Is Zach here with us?”

“Yeah, back row.”

“We’re going to need a bigger facility if we keep capturing these criminal spirits,” I teased them.

“What are you saying Zach?” Lincoln whispered.

Joe watched the several politicians, families, and court offi- cers disperse from the room.

“This realm I’m in, is restless. An angered mixture of crimi- nals, rapists, demons, and afflicted, demoralized spirits looking for another side of the coin.”

“So, I shouldn’t buy that motorcycle I’ve been eyeballing.” Lincoln laughed.

“No. You can buy it. But, buy it new because our case load has only begun.”

“Well, I’m ready to slam the door and send these spirits back to Hell.” Lincoln leaned over to Joe. “Are you in with us?”

Joe ran his hands over his receding hairline. “Whew, that’s a lot to ask. There was a time when you were skeptical about this very shit.”

“He’s teasing you Lincoln, you know that right? I can see right through him.

Lincoln shook his head in agreement. “Yeah, I know.” “If I do this, I have one request,” Joe said.

“Name it.”

“I’m riding shotgun.”

“What, like in the sidecar?” Lincoln teased. “No, on my own bike.”

“I think we can arrange that.”

The Next Day October 29

The early morning hours tempted both men to shake off their previous night’s weariness, stemming from a stakeout that had paid very little dividends. A fresh ivory white mist collected on the windshield, watered streaks from the night time rain, cascaded down the front of the hood.

“Skylar never saw that coming did he?” Lincoln rejoiced, brushing off the crumbled remains of his morning oat and honey granola bar from the sleeve of his coat. He was referring to their recently closed case, where they’d tricked a serial killer’s spirit to enter a death row inmate’s body. A few hours later, the inmate went to the chair, and Skylar’s menacing presence once and for all, came to a fitting conclusion.

“Nah, the dumb bastard,” said Joe. “Zach’s idea worked like a charm.”

He drove the white Crown Victoria down Route 211, with extra precaution.

“So, any reason the Captain wants us to accompany him to Pennsylvania?” Lincoln peered out the passenger side window.

“I have no idea why the Captain wants us to join him.” Joe shrugged, maintaining a sharp focus on the road.

“Isn’t this the first time you’ve driven this car?”

“Yeah, I’m enjoying the break from your insane, stunt man driving.” Joe grinned.

“Whatever Kid,” Lincoln chided him. “How’s that fantasy shit working for you?” He turned to face Joe.

“You mean the Fantasy Football league I’m in?” Lincoln nodded.

“Well, I’m in three leagues, and it’s crazy trying to balance all of them.”

“I suppose so. I don’t really understand the whole attraction to the fantasy world.”

“You don’t?” Joe seemed surprised. “Weren’t you the one who started my addiction to this world of happiness?” He managed a short burst of laughter.

“Hey, I didn’t say I wasn’t part of the whole machine itself.” “You got burned yesterday didn’t you?”

“Yeah, how the hell does Brett Favre throw three picks and fumble twice against the Lions, the worst fucking team in the league?” Lincoln took a long sip from his coffee, before replacing it back in the cup holder.

“Well, I had the Patriots defense, and they demolished Miami, scoring six different ways.”

“Yeah, those are the breaks,” said Lincoln. “You know, Zach was a huge Patriots fan.”

“I know. You really miss him don’t you?” “At times.”

“At times?” Joe asked, “weren’t the two of you close?” He brought the Victoria to a slow stop at the intersection.

“I guess. But, you were his first friend, after all.”

“That was a long time ago,” Joe turned to answer Lincoln. “Yeah….,” Lincoln’s eyes went blank.

“Dude, you okay?” Joe stared at his partner. “Joe!” Lincoln screamed, but it was too late.

Joe had turned back to the road, seconds before a green Plymouth Volare slammed squarely against the driver’s side, jolt- ing the Crown Victoria through the intersection.

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