The Skinwalker Conspiracies - 02 (12 page)

“You were mumbling something,” Silas said. “You were also glowing way more than usual.”

“There was a beach. I was there with a girl.”

“Who was it?”

“Her name was Tabitha and she called me Paul. They’d just gotten married. What the heck was that about? It was like I was just there.”

“Interesting,” he commented.

“Interesting, how?”

Silas was thoughtful for a moment. “Mike do you still have that wedding ring on you?”

“Huh?” I was still trying to wake up. It took me a moment to figure out what he was asking. “Yeah, it’s in my pocket. Why?”

“Take it out. Yes, it looks brighter now.”

I examined it. It did feel like there was more to it than before. “What do you think it means?”

“I’ve heard about things like this before. It’s called psycho … psycho … shoot! I can’t remember. You can probably turn on that computer of yours and find out, but it’s some kind of thing that you can touch something and see things from the object’s history.”

“Great. More proof that I’m a psycho,” I deadpanned, while imagining myself on some show you’d see on at three in the morning. “You really think I pulled that vision from the ring?”

“Mike, after all we’ve been through together, you still sound like a doubter.”

Okay, I was a little slow, but hey, I just woke up from a pretty nice dream and got told that I’m a little more psycho than I originally thought.

“Guess I shouldn’t keep it with me anymore,” I said. “Damn shame though, Tabitha was a good kisser.”

“What are you worried about, Mike?”

“That it’ll possess me.” Donnie’s dog tags and Cassandra’s little jade trinkets came to mind.

“Are you tired? Do you feel drained?” Silas asked.

“Not really. How long was I out?” I was refreshed and felt good.

“Only a couple of hours. I’d say be careful with it, but if it’s just a memory stuck in a ring, you might be alright.”

I set the ring down on the nightstand and broke out the laptop. The idea of using this thing like a shot of one of those energy drinks appealed to me, but I’d learned to be suspicious of things that seemed too good to be true – the hard way.

Psychometry or psychoscopy was the term Brother Silas was trying to remember. Now all I needed to do was learn how to read tarot cards and I could be employed at carnivals across the country!

I gave Silas the car keys.

“And just what am I supposed to do with these?”

“Keep them for now,” I said. “I’ll give this ring another try after a workout, but if it does possess me, I won’t get too far without the Caddy.”

“Fair enough,” the blind man said. “I think I’ll settle in for a nap while you’re doin’ your thing.”

Being a Ferryman didn’t really come with an instruction manual. It was more like trial and error, with an emphasis on the error part. Things happened along the way and I tried to be a bit more open.

Part of me felt like a voyeur for psychically spying on Paul and Tabitha’s honeymoon – a kid getting caught with a rented porno tape or an open bottle of booze. It was sad enough that some of my ghostly acquaintances had better love lives than I did. Now, I had an old ring that was obviously having more fun than me.

It just didn’t seem fair. Either way, I needed to clear my head and a workout followed by some swimming seemed like the right way to deal with my newly acquired alertness. I quickly changed into my swim trunks and grabbed the plastic room key. Slipping into the corridor, I followed the signs for the gym. Not being such a tightwad had a few benefits. Besides the small but serviceable gym, the pool had water that actually looked the right color.

I started with one of the exercise bikes. Treadmills don’t agree with all the metal in my leg; the bike provides less wear and tear. For the hundredth time that day, I wondered why I was even bothering with this madman’s quest to begin with.

Already it was bigger than just finding the Skinwalker who was controlling my father. He was Kennedy’s real assassin and not just some run-of-the-mill bastard that I could steamroll over. One minute Oswald would sound afraid of De Soto and other times, he’d sound envious. I won’t bother lying; that scared the willies out of me.

As for Oswald, he was a crazed animal on a flimsy leash. There was no question about
if
I’d have to put him down. It was only a matter of time.

On the TV, they were still talking about that earthquake in China, from a few weeks ago. Also, it looked like Clinton was actually going to lose the nomination to that guy who - I’d recently told Silas - didn’t have a shot in hell of beating her. My psychic powers obviously didn’t extend to the future, only the past.

I spent the next thirty minutes on the bike getting my pulse up while stopping every five minutes to do twenty-five sit-ups and fifty pushups. No one would ever confuse me for my idol Herschel Walker, but I was doing my level best to become a cheap knockoff. The guy was a tank! I’d settle for being an armored fighting vehicle.

During that time, I tried to imagine all the other things I might be able to do, but had no idea. William Poe was able to knock me back with a wave of his hand. Oswald tried the same thing. It would be cool, not to mention damn helpful, to have some kind of telekinesis. I’ll never admit to staring at the television plug for five straight minutes and trying to pull it out with just my mind. Nope, that didn’t happen at all.

Swimming laps helped me cool down and, by the time the pool was closing, I was more than ready to go back, clean up, relax, and give the ring a second try. Naturally, I kept it in my pocket - just in case the ring was really out to get me - and settled down for a second nap. It took some time, but I finally drifted off.

My eyes opened and I could smell the sea air. Okay, it wasn’t telekinesis, but it definitely was interesting.

The memory inside the ring was definitely residual. It went a little further this time – a few more minutes of making out in the waist-high water for one thing. I was a little more self-conscious this time. The first time was an accident. This time around, I had a good idea where this was headed.

The rejuvenated feeling was still there and that wasn’t such a bad thing as we grabbed breakfast and drove into downtown San Antonio. It was time for my acting debut.

Playing the part of disgruntled Skinwalker from St. Louis in the program today – Mike Ross.

The funny thing was that in all the time I was stationed at Fort Hood, I never got down to San Antonio to see The Alamo. Museums weren’t really my thing back then. Wasting my time at stripper bars, partying at clubs, and playing first person shooters on gaming consoles was more my thing. My repaired eye gave me fits if I tried to play any games for more than thirty minutes and my finances simply couldn’t support my other old hobbies.

Fortunately for me, recent events had given me a new appreciation for places of historical significance. As far as money went, it was fairly inexpensive to go visit a museum, but I had to constantly be aware of the “hidden” costs. Heck, I even had some snapshots from Dealey Plaza of me, Silas, and a slight blur that most would say is a trick of the sun off the reflection pool, but in reality was Lee Harvey Oswald to prove it.

The first thing I noticed about The Alamo was that it wasn’t nearly as big as I thought it would be. The chapel looked almost insignificant set against the backdrop of all the buildings surrounding the park area. Countering that was the feeling of approaching hallowed ground. Immediately, I started looking around for ghosts. There was one hanging around on top of the Chapel and a couple of others walking near where the cavalry corral would have been.

Oswald was back at the hotel. If things got messy, Silas had the number of the hotel programmed into the cell and he’d call the number and let it ring four times and hang up. That’d be Oswald’s cue to come in ready for a fight. Silas took a seat on one of the benches across the street from The Alamo. Since toting around a pipe wrench, the work gloves, or any other assorted piece of cast iron in the Caddy’s trunk wasn’t really advisable, I was relying on my trusty bottles of iron filings once more.

Nearing the entrance, I reminded myself that I needed to get the ghosts out of the building. Leveling this place wasn’t a good option.

I tried to picture the legendary battle in my mind on the approach. I was near where the low wall had been … where Crocket and his Tennessee volunteers had been stationed. Since there were a couple of spirits roaming the outside, I approached them instead of going inside the chapel.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” I said.

They were startled and I enjoyed the irony of me scaring ghosts.

“I’m looking for Colonel Travis. I’ve heard he’s top dog around here.”

“Who are you?”

“My name’s Charlie Snowden.” I borrowed the name of an asshole that crossed my path a few months ago. He wasn’t in any position to protest. “I’m from St. Louis and looking to relocate either here or further west. I want to stop in and pay my respects.”

From my other adventures, I’d learned that it was customary for a ghost or Skinwalker to pay their respects to the “head honcho in a particular area. The ghosts sized me up. The larger and more menacing of the two men said,
“No one walks up here and gets to see Colonel Travis. Who the hell do you think you are?”

Great, tough guys!
“Like I said, my name’s Charlie Snowden. I’m here to pay my respects and see if I like San Antonio. If I stay, I’ll need a pipeline and would be willing to offer my services.”

“Wait here,”
the taller ghost commanded and walked off.
“Keep an eye on him, Clark.”

The thin and haggard looking man, named Clark, glared at me. The other man had been in regular clothes while Clark was in a uniform. I decided that he was probably a member of the New Orleans Greys. After suffering a few sour looks about my knowledge of History, I used the last few days to take a crash course on The Alamo.

“Nice weather today,” I offered trying to be friendly.

“Why’d you up and decide to leave St. Louey, Skinwalker?”

“Got a new body and decided to take it somewhere else – the usual. How are things down here?” I answered nonchalantly and realized how adept I was becoming at lying.

“You ain’t gonna see Colonel Travis today. If yer lucky, you’ll meet Capn’ Forsyth.”

“Why not? I’ll need some energy pretty soon.” I didn’t want to sound desperate, but I wanted them to think there was some urgency.

The ghost spread his lips in a smile and I noted the gaps in his teeth.
“I guess that’s yer bad luck then on account that Colonel Travis ain’t here right now.”

“Where is he?”

Clark started to answer, but clammed up, probably realizing that he was giving away too much information. After about ten minutes, the ghost who’d left came back with another pair following him. The mustached ghost stepped forward.

“I’m John Hubbard Forsyth. To whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
He was a New Yorker originally, but the years had significantly altered his accent.

“Charlie Snowden. Pleased to meet you, Captain Forsyth.” From my reading, Forsyth would have been the next in line for command after Travis died at the start of the battle and Bowie being sick and stuck in a bed. He was a cavalry man and my innate distrust of military officers reared its ugly head.

“What brings you to The Alamo, Mr. Snowden?”

“I’m looking to stay in these parts for a time and was hoping to do business with your Colonel and the rest of you.”