Chapter Five

Jess Harper had been knocked unconscious enough times to understand the sickly state he found himself in as he came to. His sense of hearing returned first, and he could make out someone saying his name, over and over again. He wanted to shout back, to tell them to stop talking because the sound hurt his head too much, but if he spoke then his head would hurt even worse. He tried to concentrate enough to make out who exactly it was that was trying to speak with him, but when he tried to focus, he suddenly felt very nauseous. The taste of alcohol burned in the back of his throat, and that made his nausea even worse, and suddenly he was retching. He tried to lay down, but there was something holding him up in this seated position. His arms were behind him – tied to something, he realized. Slowly, he opened his eyes. There were a few lamps lit in the room, and though he was sure they weren't bright lights, even the dim ones sliced through his eyes and made his skull feel like it was going to explode.

"JESS!" There it was again, someone shouting his name, and this time he could make out the speaker. Mort! Mort was here. But…where was here?

Jess opened his eyes again – he hadn't even realized they had shut. The pain was still bad, but it was tolerable now, as long as he didn't move. No longer ill, he was sitting up again, his head resting back against whatever his hands were tied to. He blinked heavily and tried to look around the room he was in as best as he could without moving his head. He thought the room looked vaguely familiar, but it was hard to tell – the lamps were flickering on and off, or maybe it was just his own vision. Then the room was spinning, and the nausea was starting up again, and so he closed his eyes tight and hoped that Mort would stop talking to him if he pretended to be asleep.

"Welcome back Harper." That was another voice, one he only vaguely recognized, and even though it seemed familiar he couldn't quite place the name of this speaker. This person sounded even closer though, and maybe they could untie his hands and let him lay down for a moment. He opened his eyes just slightly and found himself face to face with the same ghostly apparition that he had seen earlier…earlier…when?

"Are you okay, Jess?" That was Mort again. Jess tried to nod, then decided that was a terrible idea as the room flipped around again and his skull screamed in protest.

"Fine," he managed to speak through gritted teeth. "What's going on?"

"Not sure," Mort answered. Jess kept his eyes trained on the man in front of him. He was staring back at Jess, his eyes barely blinking, a look of pure hatred on his face.

Jess struggled to make sense of his muddled thoughts. "Thought…thought we were at the ranch?" he said, his voice shaking with the pain piercing through his head.

"We are…" Mort said. He looked over at his friend with concern. Jess had been unconscious for nearly 30 minutes, and when he woke up, he had been ill a couple of times. Now he seemed confused. Mort knew his friend was in bad shape, and he needed to get him out of this. Unfortunately, this stranger had forced him to drop his gun, tie up Jess and then get up next to the dining table himself so that he could also be tied. Now they were both at his mercy, and Mort didn't know what to do next.

"Stop talking," the ghost said. There was a gun in the man's hand, and he tapped the side of Jess' face with it. Jess hadn't realized his eyes had slipped closed again, but he opened them at the touch. "Where's Sherman?"

"Sher…?" Jess thought for a moment. "I…I don't…" Suddenly there was a sharp pain that cut through his head, and Jess gritted his teeth and slammed his eyes shut as he was assaulted by a vision of his friend, lying face up in the dining room of their ranch home, covered in blood. Jess gasped and his eyes sprang back open. "He's…he's dead…" Mort was watching as Jess said this, and he saw his friend's face grow even paler than it had been before.

"No, he's not," the ghost said. "He was supposed to be. And you were supposed to bury him. But - there's a grave outside, and no one's in it."

Jess shook his head, trying to clear the vision of Slim out of his mind. He saw it, clear as day. It didn't feel like a dream – it felt like a memory. He remembered sticking his fingers on Slim's neck, he remembered dragging his lifeless body out the front door of their ranch house. He remembered…he remembered a shovel.

"A grave?" Jess' voice was barely a whisper now. He moaned and let his head drop forward, but the ghost reached out and grabbed at his hair and pulled him back up.

"A grave, Mr. Harper. Just like the one you dug for my friend."

"Who's your friend?" Mort called, trying to draw the man's attention away from Jess.

The man didn't even look over at Mort, but instead kept his eyes trained on Jess in front of him. "Bill Enders."

The name rang through Jess' head like a gong, and he moaned again as another memory assaulted him. This one was of a cave of some sort, somewhere dark and lonely. There was a woman there, and a needle piercing at his arm. And somewhere, up above him, a man…Bill Enders. He knew that name. He knew that man. He had watched him die.

"Bill…" Jess muttered, and the ghost gripped his hair even harder and slammed his head back into the table leg that Jess now realized he was tied to.

"YES," the ghost shouted, shaking Jess around by his hair. "Bill. My friend. My brother. You killed him, Mr. Harper. And I'm here to make sure you suffer the same way I have."