Rockabilly Hell by William W. Johnstone

Author:William W. Johnstone [Johnstone, William W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2016-10-05T04:00:00+00:00

Sixteen

Cole and Al left the motel room shortly after George made his appearance. While George was in his own room, putting on his pants, Scott conferred with Cole and Al and all three decided the wisest thing to do was not to tell George yet, about the possibility that the ghosts might actually exist.

“Not a possibility,” Al told the senior Bureau man. “They exist.”

“I’ve got to see them to believe it.”

“How about tomorrow tonight?” Cole asked.

“Fine with me.”

“And bring George,” Al said. “I want to see his reaction.”

That brought a wide and genuine smile to Scott’s face. “It might be worth the price of admission. But I still think you two are putting me on.”

“I wouldn’t joke about anything connected to snuff films,” Cole told him.

That wiped the smile away. “No,” Scott said soberly. “I guess you wouldn’t, at that.”

“We won’t say anything about your being in town,” Al told him. “And we came over in one of Jim Deaton’s cars tonight. I’ll tell the desk clerk to keep his mouth shut. He will. See you tomorrow. ”

Al drove over to the hospital to check on Earl and Luddy. The two were being held under guard and incommunicado. Under guard because of their assault upon Cole, and kept away from other people to keep them alive, for both Cole and the sheriff believed an attempt on their lives was possible.

But when they arrived at the hospital, both hired thugs were asleep and heavily sedated.

A doctor was just finishing up his evening rounds, and Al stopped him. “What’s the word on Earl Wilson and Luddy Post?”

“Not good, Al. Oh, physically, they’re all right, except for some bruises and some rather strange burns on the soles of their feet. Deep burns. They won’t be doing any walking for quite some time. It’s their mental condition that’s got us all worried. I’m a medical doctor, not a psychiatrist, but in my most unprofessional opinion, they’re both basket cases—sometimes lucid, sometimes raving lunatics. Other times they’re almost comatose. When they come out of their comatose states, they always come out screaming. Shouting about being in Hell, seeing Satan. Being manhandled by men and women, who’ve been dead for years. They swear they were both in a nightclub outside of town. I’m not from this area, as you know, so I don’t know what club they’re referring to. I didn’t know we had any clubs out in the country.”

“We don’t,” Al said. “Not in years. Did you do a blood alcohol on them?”

“Oh, sure. They were both clean. But that’s something else.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. They both claim to have been forced to drink heavily over the past couple of nights. They have no recollection of the daylight hours during the time they were missing, just the night. Quite frankly, it’s the strangest thing I have ever seen. I’d have to say it borderlines on the paranormal.”

“When can we see them?”

“Oh, in the morning. But don’t expect to get much sense out of either of them.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Cole walked with Al down the corridor to the room where Luddy and Earl were being held.

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