6.

Downstairs, Hardcastle was tied to a kitchen chair, his right eye swollen from the punch given to him by Leo for grabbing Guzman's arm.

"I thought we had an agreement, Hardcase. You cooperate and your young friend survives to see the morning," Guzman said coldly.

"You were hurtin' the kid. If he does have a skull fracture, almost anything could kill him. That's not part of the agreement."

Guzman shrugged before backhanding the Judge, his signet ring cutting the bound man's cheek. "I set the rules, Hardcastle, not you, not anyone else." With that, Guzman began the systematic beating of Hardcastle, hard enough to inflict pain, but not so hard as to bring blessed unconsciousness.

-- H&McC --

Mark surfaced once again, puzzled by the female voice that had pulled him back to painful reality. That particular problem was quickly moved to the back burner when he heard the soft thuds of fists hitting flesh. "Son of a…"

The darkness pressed in as he pulled himself upright, but he fought it back, refusing to let it win.

"Slowly," came a soft whisper.

Mark's head shot up, explosions of white balls of light accompanying the agony in his skull. Once the disco lights died down, he saw a woman standing across the room. As his eyes, now slowly returning to normal, tracked downward, he was startled to realize that she had no feet.

He blinked and looked again. He still didn't see feet or, for that matter, ankles. The mysterious figure was floating, awash in a misty haze. "Who are you? What are you?"

"A friend, Mark. I'm a friend."

"You look like a ghost. But that can't be right, I don't see ghosts." He slowly swung his legs to the side of the bed, letting them dangle as he caught his breath. "You also look familiar. Do I know you?"

"We've never met, but I've watched you and Milt for a few years now."

Mark frowned. "Great, a stalker ghost. I really don't have time for this right now, ma'am. I've got a live psycho who is planning on killing the Judge slowly and painfully."

"I know, but you won't be any help to Milt if you pass out. You have to move slowly, Mark. And you need a plan."

"Call the cops. That's my plan."

"The phones have been disconnected."

"Crap." He carefully rose to his feet, holding onto the headboard. As he waited for his head to clear and the dizziness to subside, his gaze fell on the framed photograph on the nightstand. "You're the Judge's wife!"

The dark-haired woman smiled. "That's right. I'm Nancy Hardcastle."

"Geez, I'm…I don't know what to say. I mean, I've never met a real ghost before."

"A simple hello works. As you said yourself, we don't have time for more."

"Can you help me? Be my eyes, tell me where Guzman and his man are while I try to get us some help?"

"Of course."

Mark blew out his breath as he tested his ability to stand unaided. He caught himself against the wall before he tipped too far to the side. "Well, that certainly didn't work."

"Milt used to have a cane in the closet, from when he was shot in the leg. If you can make it over there, it might help," Nancy offered.

"It wouldn't hurt. Plus it might make a decent weapon if this all goes to hell." Mark grit his teeth and slowly made his way across the room, making use of both the furniture and the walls to keep his balance.

Finally he arrived at the closet and opened the door. He peered inside, spotting the ivory-topped wood far in the back. Mark pulled it out and tested it, careful to stay close to the wall just in case the cane didn't work.

After a few moments of practice, Mark grinned at his ghostly companion. "Cool. That'll help."

"What now?"

"I'm in no condition to take them on, so I have to get us help. The cop on the gate?"

"Dead. They cut his throat."

"Damn. Okay, you said that the phone lines were cut. Just here or on the estate?"

"I don't understand."

"The Gatehouse has a separate line. If they don't know that and only cut the phone line from the main house, I might be able to call for backup."

"I only saw them near the back of this house."

"Good. Then let's get the hell out of here before they beat Milt into a pulp." Mark grimaced when he moved too fast, making his head spin. "I'm gonna need your help, Mrs. H. There's no way I can move fast enough to avoid being seen."

"You want me to act as lookout?" Nancy grinned impishly. "How exciting."

"Well, I…I guess it's a little boring being a ghost, huh?"

"I should say so. Especially when I'm watching you and Milt have all the fun."

"Yeah, fun," Mark muttered.

They made their way down the hallway, Nancy floating ahead to check for trouble. Arriving at the staircase, Mark eased his way onto each step, one hand gripping the cane while the other pressed flatly against the wall for support.

The closer he got to the soft thuds coming from the den, the tighter his face became. It galled him to be so helpless, forced to leave Hardcastle at the mercy of Carlos Guzman. All he could do was try to get help, and hope it came in time.

Nancy held her hand up. "Wait."

Mark froze, praying that neither Guzman nor his hired sniper became curious about the supposedly unconscious man left upstairs. While he waited for Nancy to give him the all-clear, Mark fretted about his inability to save the day.

"Mark? They've taken a break. Guzman and Leo are in the kitchen. If you move now, you should be able to make it outside without being seen."

Mark nodded, then had to lean against the wall. "I've gotta stop doing that," he whispered. As he made his way to the front door, Mark couldn't stop from looking into the den. His jaw clenched as he saw the Judge tied to the chair, his head bowed. Mark desperately longed to rush in, untie Hardcastle, and run for cover.

"Mark," Nancy said with an understanding smile. "We don't have much time. You're helping him the only way you can, by calling the police."

"I…" he choked. Teeth clenched, he resolutely shuffled forward, leaning heavily on the cane. He finally reached the door, took a deep breath and slowly turned the knob. While Nancy stood watch, Mark moved carefully outside.