The Edge Of The Cemetery (20 page)

When we arrived at Lincoln Way there was no sign of Eric, and I turned to Aris for an answer. He said, “Edgar broke his arm; he's being treated now.”

“Why did the chamber explode? Calvin never got a chance to read the combination.”

Pete answered, “When the outer chamber started to vibrate violently, I caught a whiff of rotten eggs…hydrogen sulfide, probably. Brief exposure to the smallest amounts can kill you, and it's explosive when it reaches somewhere around 4,500 parts per million. I think as the walls started to disintegrate, it began to seep in more rapidly, reaching the explosive level. There was still an electrical charge down there from Gilles, and it would have ignited the gas.”

Carol's forehead creased. “I still don't understand why it didn't kill us.”

“We got out fast, within seconds of smelling it. When we reached the newer tunnels, I closed the chamber tunnel entrance, which probably contained the blast to some extent. Not only that, but we didn't hear the explosion until we were at the museum entrance, so we also had several hundred yards of concrete tunnels between us and the blast.” Pete shrugged his shoulders. “Basically, we got damn lucky.”

“What about the vault itself? Assuming it was destroyed in the explosion, wouldn't the demons have been released anyway?” I asked.

No one seemed to have an answer to that question. Finally Aris said, “I asked two of Pete's men to remain in the area. So far they have not seen any additional ghosts or demons. We can only hope the vault itself remained intact and is buried forever in the rubble.”

Billy turned to Pete. “The man that led us into the tunnels, he was killed?” Pete nodded solemnly. “Did we lose anyone else?” she asked. He shook his head.

“What about Edgar's men?” I asked.

Aris replied, “The authorities will naturally investigate. They will most likely discover a museum guard was bribed to allow access to the tunnels. If any of Edgar's men were in the tunnels at the time of the explosion and died because of it, it will most certainly be assumed they were the perpetrators. However, I will monitor the situation closely and if needed, instigate any necessary damage control.”

I had no idea how he'd manage any sort of damage control and I didn't actually care. I was exhausted and just wanted sleep. Our drugged ghost killers had been brought to the house and were currently being given medical attention. It would have been better if we could have taken them to a hospital, but that would have spurred questions that we couldn't answer. One of Pete's men had medical training and took everyone's vitals, declaring they'd be all right in a day or so.

Phil gave us a brief rundown on what had transpired at his house. As we already knew, he'd gone home for Aaron's journal and the enlarged drawings. He'd finally figured out what they were and was using the silver cup to interpret them when Edgar and one of his minions broke in. Phil didn't have time to access his small arsenal, but did have the presence of mind to crumple the drawings and toss them aside in the hopes that we'd discover them.

Lincoln Way, a house that had been occupied by a party of one a short week ago, was now filled to the gills, and I saw no point in staying there for the night. Besides, I wanted my own bed. I headed upstairs for our bags and brought them down. Turning to Phil, I said, “Why don't you stay with me tonight? Your place is kind of a mess right now.” He smiled and thanked me.

On the drive home, Billy asked, “What happened to GG?”

The electroplasmic jolt I'd received from Gilles was incredible, stronger than anything I'd felt before, and I assumed its strength had also jolted GG right out of me, because she wasn't there when I fully regained my senses. However, I was hopeful I'd see her in the next day or so.

* * *

The following morning I was awoken by the heavenly smell of frying bacon and brewing coffee. I found Phil in the kitchen happily humming while cracking eggs into a bowl; the man was nothing if not resilient. Billy was there too, and said, “'Bout time you got up.” I looked at the clock…it was almost 11 a.m.

I frowned, not at her snide remark—that was expected—but at the fact that she was up too…yesterday had been long and exhausting. “Why are you up so early? I thought you'd sleep until dinner time.”

“I would have, but Kevin showed up about an hour ago with this.” She tapped an envelope that was lying on the table. I picked it up…it was addressed to Billy, the handwriting was elegant, and I knew right away that it was from Julie. I looked at Billy. She didn't seem upset, and I wondered what Julie had written. I'd texted Julie when we arrived at Lincoln Way in the wee hours of the morning, letting her know that Edgar was gone and everyone was safe, but Billy and I hadn't had the time or inclination to go into my conversation with Julie from the day before.

“What's it say?”

Billy's eyes darkened slightly. “Well, you probably already know most it.” There was a slight twinge of anger in her voice, but it wasn't murderous, which is always a good thing. “In a nut shell, she told me she was sorry for everything, and that she always loved me. She said Andrew had been in touch with her and wanted to speak to me…she gave me his contact details. She asked if we could get together in a few weeks, when she comes back to town to finalize Vokkel's estate.”

The raw emotion that I expected wasn't there. Instead, there was almost an air of acceptance about her, like she was pleased…or at the very least, considering Julie's offer.

I asked, “What are you going to do?”

She shrugged. “Don't know. I need to think about it.”

My cell phone, which was plugged in and charging on the counter, rang…it was Aris. I put him on speaker.

Greetings and queries about our various conditions were exchanged, then he said, “Phil, I have arranged for the repair of your front door…it is now secure again. Perhaps it would be best if you all take the next several days off. We can gather at the end of the week at Lincoln Way to discuss any loose ends.”

A few days after our foray into the tunnels, we met at Lincoln Way again. Billy and I came bearing gifts for the man of the house. We'd taken a little trip to the SPCA and picked out two kittens, both males…one orange and white, one black and white. They'd been given names, but we assumed Eric would change those to something more to his liking. We were right…he named the black one Jonas and the orange one Winston, after the other man we lost that night. You can't show up to a cat-less house without supplies, so we purchased all the feline necessities. Unfortunately, Billy had gone a bit overboard on our shopping trip, and while she carried the box containing the two lightweight mewling furballs, I was laden down with bags of food, toys, bowls, cat litter, and a large litter box. I could barely make it through the front door. Eric's arm was still in a cast and sling, and by the time we left the house, both kittens had crawled up into the sling and were snuggled up cozily, right along with Eric's plastered arm.

Although the city was far from completing their investigation into the explosion, Aris had been able to obtain a few details. Edgar had broken into the tunnels via the access point between the VA and the museum. The authorities, having found evidence of this, assumed that an unknown person entered there and had somehow caused the explosion. No bodies had been found so far, and the older tunnels were reduced to rubble and inaccessible. There was no mention of the vault. GG had told me the chamber would explode if the combination was read incorrectly, but since the combination was never actually read, we could only hope the vault was buried forever.

Curiosity was killing me, and I asked Pete how he had managed to bypass the guards at the museum. It turned out to be quite simple; since we only wanted into the loading area, the guard on duty didn't see a problem with allowing it, as long as he was handsomely paid, which he was. Apparently Carol had hacked into the security cameras and altered the recording so that our entrance and exit didn't appear. The guard was questioned, but there was no evidence to indicate anyone had penetrated the tunnels through the loading bay, so that line of inquiry was quickly dropped.

A few hours after Calvin's escape, a woman jogger reported being accosted by a teenager who stole her phone. The phone was found, via its “find my phone” app, a short time later. One call had been placed to a prepaid cell number before the phone was ditched in the bushes near the northwest part of the park. The number was Edgar's.

Before leaving Lincoln Way, I asked Aris about the merger with GG and the reaction he and Carol had. Although it had been his idea, they were both clearly uncomfortable about it, and I needed to know why.

Carol's mother had been Aris's sister. She was ten years younger than he, and when he left for college, she hadn't begun to show any ghost killing abilities. His parents were not ghost killers, but had come from a long line of them and knew all about it. When his sister began to see the ghosts, she kept it to herself, because she not only saw them, but she had befriended one.

Unbeknownst to Aris, this ghost was a demon and it was slowly infiltrating her consciousness. By the time he realized what was happening, she was a young wife and mother and almost completely under the control of her demon. When Aris tried to intervene, she went on a rampage, killing her husband and almost killing her daughter. Aris became Carol's guardian and swore to protect and guide ghost killers from that day forward.

Two days after our last meeting at Lincoln Way, GG returned. She looked horrible, and it alarmed me. I was still feeling that tenuous thread, but it had been getting weaker and weaker with every passing day.

“Are you okay?” I asked. She shook her head and pointed at me, then at herself, intertwining her fingers. “You want to merge?” I didn't want to do it…twice was enough, and as I said, it was an addicting sensation. She sensed it and nodded sadly, but her eyes were pleading, and I felt like there was something important she needed to say. The joining only lasted a few seconds, but it was long enough. She extracted herself and stood staring, waiting for my reply.

She'd been dead for some time…since 1924 to be exact. She had no idea why she'd never moved on, but she was thankful when my mother came along…at least she had a friend. After our first merger, she was immediately terrified at how wonderful it felt to be human again, even if she was sharing her consciousness with someone else. But the second time she wasn't sure she could leave; the desire was too strong. Gilles's juice was the catalyst that sent her packing from my body and mind, and she'd been wandering aimlessly since then, trying to decide what to do.

She only had one solution, and it was her salvation. She wanted—no,
needed
—me to vanquish her. I'd felt her anguish the moment before, but I'd also felt her weakness, and I knew she was right. If I didn't kill her, she might not be able to resist the pull, and that could lead her down the path of possession. As I reached for my pencil, I smiled sadly and allowed the tears to flow.

* * *

It had been a several days since my last moments with GG, and I hadn't been in the mood to do anything but mope around my apartment. Billy and Phil knew what happened, but had been kind enough to leave me be while I mourned. After the fourth day, Phil decided enough was enough and rang my cell phone five or six times in a row. I finally picked up.

“Dude, what's up?” His exuberant tone was more than just cheerfulness…he had something exciting to tell me.

“Sorry, didn't hear the phone ringing,” I lied. “What's up with you? You sound a little keyed up.”

“Oh man, I found something in one of the boxes from the attic…you gotta see this! Meet me at Seymour's in an hour.”

As I was leaving my apartment, Justine's front door opened and Billy stepped out. She was wearing a pencil skirt with a front slit, a pair of high-heeled calf-length boots, and a rather fitted sweater. I said hello, then realized she was also wearing a touch of makeup—lipstick—and her hair, which was normally mostly straight, was lightly curled. She looked incredible and completely un-Billy like. I eyed her suspiciously, arching an eyebrow questionably.

She sighed. Clearly she had hoped to make her escape from the building unseen. “I'm meeting Mike for dinner,” she said nonchalantly.

I felt my eyes widen, and much to my surprise
and
embarrassment, I also felt a twinge of jealousy. I shook myself and said, “Ah, that's great.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she said, and took the stairs, obviously so she could avoid talking about her pending date. I just smiled and took the elevator.

When I arrived at Seymour's, Phil was already at our regular booth and I waved, stopping at the bar to get a beer and say hi to Ed. When I sat down, I handed a flash drive to Phil.

He said, “What's this?”

When GG was in my head, her entire life and death was shared with me. She was gone now, and although I wasn't a diarist like most ghost killers, I decided in honor of everything she had done for us, the least I could do was write down everything I knew about her. I'd spent the previous twelve hours typing furiously on my laptop. The information flowed flawlessly, as if GG was guiding my fingers as I typed.

“It's the entire life and death of Amelia Santorino…you knew her as GG.”

Phil's eyes bulged dangerously, “Dude….” He shook his head. “Right, she shared everything with you.” He glanced at the flash drive, then smiled up at me brightly and said, “This might be the most important diary the sanctum has ever received.”

We sipped our beers in silence for a few minutes, then turned to the box on the table.

Phil was right; what he'd found was incredible. The cardboard box was old and crumbly. Inside was a diary and a large collection of letters, still in their original envelopes, all postmarked in 1915. There were also several sepia toned photographs.

The inside cover of the diary had the name George Sinclair written in neat print. The photographs were the most telling though; the man in each of them was probably in his late teens or early twenties, and much to my surprise, my father bore a very strong resemblance to this man.

Phil said, “Flip to the back of the diary and read it.”

The men that hunt us will eventually succeed in capturing us. Mary and I cannot keep our son, it is too dangerous. My cousin Charles will take him. He will say that he adopted the boy from an orphanage. No one will ever know, including the boy, who his real parents were. It must be this way…the evil men and their demons will not give up; they want our power. Charles is not like us…he can raise the boy in a safe and ordinary home.

The entry was dated in mid-1920. I looked up at Phil. “You think this is a relative of mine?”

Phil splayed his hands out. “Dude, no such thing as a coincidence. I mean, the guy's name was George Sinclair, for God's sake. And come on, you can't tell me you don't see the resemblance to your dad in those photos. This dude was probably your great-grandfather!”

* * *

The Legion of Honor was indeed built on the remains of many of San Francisco's dead, and that cemetery was called Golden Gate Cemetery (aka City Cemetery). It is also true that during the museum renovation in 1993, many of those dead were uncovered. I think it would be safe to assume, if there are ghosts in our fair city, they probably wander the links of Lincoln Park Golf Course and the great halls and galleries of the Legion of Honor. Is there a chamber full of evil souls buried at the edge of Golden Gate Cemetery? Let's hope we never find out….