GHOST by Hardin Jude

Author:Hardin, Jude [Hardin, Jude]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2013-12-09T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

In a book published nearly twenty years ago, John Rock had coined the term Cerebral Radar. CR for short. You were either born with it or you weren’t. John Rock was born with it, and he knew about it long before any doctors detected the tumor in his brain. It allowed him to detect the presence of supernatural beings as easily as most people can detect a howling wolf or rotting milk. As he jogged toward Sixth Street, bright yellow dots flared through his brain like a jarful of radioactive fireflies.

It was the same signal he’d gotten earlier when he approached the scene where the police officer and nurse had died. It was Lori Lorry. The aborted fetus. No doubt about it.

But Lori Lorry had been taken to a deeper realm by an entire army of spirits. John had seen it happen. There was no way she could have made it back from that, yet here she was. John didn’t understand it. To his knowledge, this had never happened before. This was a first.

He made it to the intersection of Sixth and Lindberg, turned and walked toward the Hawthorne Hotel. His Cerebral Radar started blipping like crazy, and then another pencil stabbed him in the ear. Excruciating redhot electric pain. He staggered, grabbed a lamppost to keep from collapsing on the sidewalk. Sergeant Bryan Richardson was in a room at the Hawthorne with a white woman. Blond hair, pale skin, dark circles under her eyes. Leather skirt, sparkly platform shoes. Probably a prostitute. Probably a junkie. She had a very frightened look on her face.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” she said.

“I’m not going to arrest you, Pam,” Richardson said. “I’m going to kill you. It’s as simple as that.”

“You’re insane. My manager will cut your fucking balls off. Get the fuck out of my room, asshole.”

“Manager. You mean pimp?”

“Whatever. Get the fuck—”

“How many times you been pregnant, you little cunt. How many times has your manager sent you to Dr. Bratcher over at the abortion clinic? How many innocent lives have you flushed down the goddamn toilet?”

She pulled out her cell phone and started for the door. Richardson grabbed her by the arm and threw her on the bed and covered her face with a pillow before she could scream.

“If you cooperate, I’ll make it quick and painless,” Richardson said. “If you try to fight me, you’re in for a world of hurt.”

She kneed him in the crotch. He rolled away, doubled over in pain. She started punching something into her cell phone, but before she could finish the text and send it, Richardson was up and on her again.

This time, he had a knife.

He threw her back down on the bed. Her phone skittered across the nightstand and landed by the floor lamp in the corner, well out of reach. She got half a scream out before Richardson jammed the knife blade into the fleshy area behind her chinbone. The blade went through her chin and pierced her tongue and lodged into her hard palate.

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