Chapter 13: Closer than a brother
First things first, I had to get backup. Quickly wiping the goo from their foreheads, I shook Mr. Spencer's shoulder impatiently.
"Wake up," I snapped, my temper frayed to the breaking point.
He obediently squinted open his eyes, blinking up at me.
"Gus?" he rasped.
"You've got to get up," I said, pulling him upright, "Shawn's in danger!"
"Shawn?" he asked, shaking his head as he fought to stand.
"Your son, Shawn!" I practically screamed, keeping my voice just quiet enough to avoid Mama Aimee hearing it… I hoped.
Mr. Spencer stared at me for a moment longer, his brow furrowed. Then his eyes opened wide and his hands clenched.
"Shawn! What's going on? Where is he?" he asked quickly, finally back in charge. I could have fainted in relief, but Shawn needed me.
I glanced over at Juliet and Lassiter, but they were still out. Hopefully they'd be safe enough here for now, because we had no more time to waste.
"Come on," I said, leading the way to the basement.
-000-
She was back for me. I didn't bother to fight her. After all, what did I have left to fight for? My friends, my girlfriend, my dad… they were all dead. And it was all my fault.
She approached me, humming incantations and scattering herbs. The knife tucked in her belt looked sharp and lethal, glinting in the dim light of the firepot she'd lit.
I watched as she released one of my numb arms, the limb falling limply to my side. She traced a line down the soft skin of my forearm, a strange sparkling purple paste trailing down from the crease in my arm to my middle finger's tip.
She raised the knife, lowering the sharp point to rest at the beginning of the purple line, my blue veins throbbing strong beneath it.
"Why?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
She looked at me, her dark eyes cold and pitiless.
"Because you have what I need, Psychic," she answered, pressing down on the knife.
I watched in numb disbelief as the blade trailed down my arm, crimson welling up behind it and steadily streaming down my fingertip.
It didn't hurt. The blade was too sharp, my arm too numb. Maybe the purple stuff numbed it even more. I didn't know which it was, but I was thankful.
I had enough pain. What was a little physical injury to match?
Mama Aimee knelt on the floor, a small bottle positioned beneath my finger slowly filling with the drizzle of my blood.
She stood and stoppered it, nodding in satisfaction.
And then the door flew open and the ghosts appeared.
"Shawn!" Gus' ghost said, his brown eyes locked on the blood flowing from my arm. I almost laughed as he paled. Who knew a ghost could faint?
But he didn't faint, and my dad was there, too. He was fighting with Mama Aimee, the large woman going toe to toe with my old man's ghost. I didn't know that ghosts could fight, but if anyone's could, it would be my dad.
Gus' ghost looked torn, glancing from me to my dad and back to me. Before he could choose, the decision was made for him.
Mama Aimee wrenched away and threw down a handful of powder. The room was instantly filled with thick black smoke. I heard Dad and Gus cough and wondered if it was some kind of supernatural smoke, to make even ghosts cough.
I giggled at the thought, coughs interrupting my increasingly hysterical laughter.
"Shawn?" Gus murmured, reaching my side. I saw him touch my arm but felt nothing, not even the icy feeling I'd been expecting.
My laughter cut off as Dad appeared too, emerging from the thinning smoke like the phantom he was.
"I'm sorry," I said, a feeling of exhaustion pulling me down.
"For what, Kid?" Dad asked quietly, removing his belt and tightening it around my arm.
I hissed as the faint sensation stabbed right to the base of my skull, my knees weakening.
I closed my eyes in expectation of pain, my whole body going limp and yanking on my still-chained arm.
And then Gus was there, holding me up. His warm body pressed against my side, the scent of lavender and an earthiness that was essentially Gus wafting up as I leaned my head on his shoulder.
"A good friend is closer than a brother," he quoted quietly.
"Love you too, bro," I whispered, clinging to the last vestiges of my hallucination.
"Hang on, Kid," Dad said, his large calloused palm against my cheek.
I smiled.
"I'm coming, Dad. You know I've got to make an entrance," I joked, the darkness, darker than the dull red of the inside of my eyelids, creeping closer.
"Shawn?" Gus said, his arm tightening around my waist.
As the darkness pulled me in, I heard him again.
"Shawn, answer me! Shawn! Don't you dare die on me! Shawn!"