Southern Gothic (25 page)

Crouching by the circle, he hovered his fingers over the paint. He had no desire to see that horned-creature again. But what choice did he have? He could only stall so long, and even if the rest of the plan worked, they still needed the gold.

Modesto stepped up behind Max. “My employer does not have a lot of patience this evening. I strongly advise you to open this floor at once.”

Closing his eyes, Max touched the circle. And nothing happened. He pressed his palm on the paint. Still nothing.

Straightening, Max winced at the idea forming in his head. He put out a hand toward Rolson. “Give me the sledgehammer.”

Rolson lifted his head. “If you think you’re stronger than me, you’re crazier than I ever thought.”

“Do as he says,” Tucker snapped and Rolson moved fast enough to create a breeze.

Holding the sledgehammer, Max entered the circle. Again, nothing happened. Max frowned. He had expected something big — flashes of magical energy or bolts of lightning or a loud, ghostly thumping. But he recalled the way Tucker had avoided the circle. Perhaps simply standing inside unharmed proved enough of the connection.

Then his entire body seized. His muscles constricted, spit flew from his mouth, and his limbs shook. Instead of crying out, he could only manage a weak gurgle.

His head arched back. Floating on the ceiling, he saw the horned-beast. It pushed off and soared toward him. Max wanted to duck, but he had no control over his shaking body.

Except the beast did not touch him. It circled around him. The connection between them returned. Max’s thoughts flooded with images — some his own, some from elsewhere. He saw birthday parties and children running in a field. He saw Sandra’s joy as she held an engagement ring. He saw an ugly face lurking from a bedroom door and children throwing rocks at windows. He saw a train car full of gold.

Each image hit like a fist to the head. Yet Max endured — he had to make use of this moment. He had to stay focused. There seemed to be a pause between images, and when he felt the next pause arrive, Max did his best to form his own image — a message for the beast.

When his mind cleared, Max’s control over his own body returned. He couldn’t be sure that the spirit understood what he intended to do, but he hoped it wouldn’t be angry with him. Only one way to really prove anything, though. Max raised the sledgehammer and brought it down on the wood inside the circle. It smashed through with ease.

Rolson cheered while Modesto offered a slight lifting of the lips. Tucker watched without expression.

Twice more Max brought the sledgehammer down. Twice more the floor gave way, sending splinters of wood flying off. Max peered down, reached through the hole, and pulled out a gold bar.

Dropping the sledgehammer in order to use both hands, he carried the bar outside the circle and placed it on the floor with a heavy thud. Tucker moved in close to the gold. “Get the rest.”

Over the next fifteen minutes, Max brought out bar after bar. Forty bars in all. When he reached down and found nothing, he said, “That’s it.”

“The chest,” Tucker said. “Where’s the chest?”

Max pressed his face to the floor and peered in. “Nothing else down here. Sorry.”

“Damn!” Tucker stomped over to Rolson and kicked him in the side. To Modesto, he said, “Get moving.”

Modesto pressed his palm against a stone in the wall and a door slid aside. He rolled out a flatbed dolly and loaded it with the gold. As Modesto worked, Tucker glared at Max. Once the last gold bar clinked onto the pile, Modesto exerted all his strength to push the dolly through the door. He did not return.

“Hold on here,” Max said, staring at the door in disbelief. “We could’ve all come in through there?”

With a mocking sneer, Tucker said, “You don’t think I’d be stupid enough to go through Baxter’s sick little maze, do you? You don’t think Baxter would go through it, for that matter? Didn’t you look at the blueprints?”

“I didn’t have much time.” Max shot a nasty look at Rolson. “What’s your excuse?”

Tucker clutched his hands behind his back. “Don’t feel bad. It was really a small note added to indicate the existence of a safe passage — not something drawn in. Most of the construction crew probably had little knowledge of it.” He walked in front of Rolson. “Now, you have one last task, and after that, you may go wherever you wish, do whatever you wish, continue working for us or not. You will be a free man.”

Rolson popped to his feet. “Anything. What do you want?”

“Kill Mr. Porter, of course.”

Rolson raised his weapon and pointed it at Max. “On your knees. Slowly, now. No sudden movements.”

Max lowered to his knees. “Come on. Be smart about this.”

“Shut up. You’ve been a pain in my ass since I met you. Turn around. This has to look like a professional hit.”

Looking straight at Rolson, Max said, “Have you been listening to any of this? There’s a door that bypassed all those damn floors. They knew about it all along. They knew how to get down here but didn’t tell you. You could have died on your way down, but they didn’t tell you. Doesn’t that show what they think of you? How can you trust them to set you free? How do you know they won’t simply kill you next?’

Rolson lowered the gun a little. Max could see the doubts entering the old detective’s brain.

Tucker snickered. “Mr. Modesto warned me how you think. Always accusing my family of the worst intentions. You think we murder people with ease. We do not. The fact that you’ve lived this long is proof. Rolson and those loyal like him are rewarded for their help, not punished. You, however, have not been loyal. You’ve tried to hurt us many times. And while we do not murder with ease, that doesn’t mean we won’t when necessary. All I see with you is one mounting trouble after another. This way is much better. Kill him. Do it now and you will walk away here owing nothing to Hull family.”

Rolson raised the gun again — firmer, more determined. Max tried to find something to say that would stall the moment. Anything that might create a little time. But his mind went blank. He could only think of the dark hole at the end of the handgun — that soon he would see a flash of fire, and long before he heard a sound, he would feel his head crack back, and he would be no more.

His heart raced, and he put his hand to his chest.
Chest?
“Don’t shoot. I know where the chest is.”

Tucker leaped forward and shoved Rolson’s gun out of the way. A bullet shot off digging into the stone wall. Warning off Rolson with a look, Tucker pointed to Max. “If you are lying to stay alive, you’ll wish I had let Rolson shoot you. I can make you suffer greatly — and for far longer than is possible in the natural world.”

“I have no doubt about that.” Max paled with honest fear. Especially because while not technically lying, he hadn’t really told the truth, either. He had
an idea
of where the chest might be, but he didn’t know for sure.

“Speak quickly or your pain will begin right here.”

Tears welled in Max’s eyes. He knew he shouldn’t say anything. To give Tucker Hull access to powerful magic was unthinkable. No better than handing an automatic handgun to a sadistic ten-year-old. Worse than that — Tucker would feel no remorse afterwards. The Hulls were masters of self-justification — and they all had learned it from the ancient, screwed-up mind of Tucker.

But if he didn’t offer up something, he would be tortured — and eventually, he would spill what he thought he knew. The tears dribbled down his cheeks. This wasn’t how they had planned things. Where the hell was —

“Drummond!”

The head of his dead friend dropped through the ceiling. As he descended, Tucker looked over and scowled. “You must be the detective that my children have complained about.”

“Kids love to complain,” Drummond said.

Rolson spun around. “Who the hell are you talking to? What’s going on?”

Tucker slapped Rolson hard. “Do what I told you.”

“They’re going to kill me,” Max said.

Drummond took one look at Max and said, “No, sir.” He zipped across the room and body-checked Rolson in the back. Drummond shouted at the pain while Rolson shouted in surprise. The gun skittered across the floor.

Before Tucker could reach the weapon, Drummond moved in on him. Tucker stepped away and backhanded Drummond in the face. Both Max and Drummond stared in shock.

“You can touch me?” Drummond’s hand brushed his cheek.

“Oh, you sad little ghost. I’m a soul brought back from the dead. I exist in both the living and dead worlds. I can touch it all. And I can make you hurt.”

Tucker charged Drummond. As they grappled, Drummond screamed at the pain he suffered from the contact. But that didn’t stop him. He punched Tucker in the jaw, sending the Hull patriarch flailing backward.

As the fight continued, Max saw Rolson inching toward the gun. “Fuck that,” Max said and jumped on him.

Rolson had far more experience fighting, but Max had far more to lose. Desperation fueled him as he punched wildly into Rolson’s body. After landing several strong hits, Rolson gave up reaching for the gun and rolled Max off of him.

Brushing off his shoulders, Rolson got to his feet. Blood dripped from his nose. He put up his fists and circled Max like a trained boxer.

Drummond and Tucker continued to grapple. They shoved each other against the wall and wrestled to the floor. Max watched as Drummond continued to fight despite the agony he wore on his face.

Rolson took full advantage of Max’s momentary distraction. He came in at an angle with a haymaker to the head. At the last second, Max brought up his arms — not enough to block the blow, but he deflected a full-on hit to the temple. His head still took a nasty strike, shaking his brain, and causing spots to pop before his eyes.

While dazed, Rolson came in again. This time he kicked Max. Max fell over and clutched his shins. He felt the cool stone of the wall and realized he had no escape. A second later, Tucker threw Drummond right next to him.

All four men panted heavily. Tucker crossed his arms and said, “I think I’ll forgo the torture and kill you both right now.”

“I’m already dead,” Drummond said with a slight groan to his words.

“Oh, there are plenty of deaths a ghost can go through.”

Drummond got to his feet and Max followed. He looked down at Max with a questioning raise of his eyebrow.

Max wanted to smack the ghost himself. “I don’t know. I’ve been down here this whole time. You tell me. Was that enough?”

Snatching the gun from the floor, Rolson said, “I’m so sick of you. What the hell are you talking about now?”

Max held onto the wall in order to stay upright. “Neither of you seem to have put it together. And here I thought at least one of you might have some brains.” He gestured toward Drummond. “Didn’t you notice that he’s here? This ghost.”

Tucker gazed upward. “You got the old Magi witch to break the seal against ghosts. So what?”

“Oh, she’s doing more than that. She’s up there with my wife, and together they’ve been breaking the seal on the circle itself. From the confused look on your face, I’m guessing Rolson here didn’t bother telling you how he killed Sebastian Freeman.”

Tucker’s eyes leveled on Rolson.

“You said you didn’t want evidence.” Rolson squirmed.

“What did you do?”

Max tried to straighten more but the pain in his side prevented it — another broken rib. “He thought he summoned the spirit of Cal Baxter. He thought he sealed the spirit in this crazy place. All those magic circles line up like a telescope, each one making the one above stronger. But it didn’t work.”

“It did, too,” Rolson said. “Baxter came and killed Freeman. You saw the dead body.”

“Except that wasn’t Baxter. Cal Baxter moved on when he died. Drummond had looked for him but couldn’t find him because he’s gone. You can’t get to him.”

“But I saw him. I saw him kill Freeman.”

Tucker slapped Rolson on the back of the head. “Idiot. Cal Baxter designed these circles to be a strong prison to protect the gold from my family.”

“Starting to see it now?” Max said.

Rolson looked confused and frightened. “I swear I saw him. He looked like a demon.”

“That you definitely saw — but that wasn’t Cal Baxter. That was Charlie McShay — the thief who stole the gold in the first place. How else do you think Cal found the gold? It took him a long time to realize that the message sent to him was simply Charlie’s name. Cal had to learn the ways of magic on his own. Took him about three years until he felt confident enough to summon Charlie and force the spirit to help him get the gold. Once he had his riches, Cal built this place and locked Charlie up. That old spirit’s been here for a long time. And he’s angry.”

“He’s lying,” Rolson said.

Tucker did not appear to agree. “He’s connected to the spirit. That’s why he could rip open the floor. That’s why he knows all of this.”

Max added, “We also couldn’t find the ghost of Sebastian Freeman. My best guess is that McShay has kept him locked in this house with him. By now my wife and the witch have broken the seal and both ghost and spirit are going to be mighty angry. I think you ought to run.”