Walking With Ghosts (A short story) Read Online Free PDF Page A

lives of her parents. She ran for love of her own daughter, Emily.
    She ran.
    The radio crackled and she breathed out her location, entered the building and raced for the steps. Two at a time. Quick double-back at the top. Pinpoint the door. Slow down outside and take a deep breath.
    She knew she couldn’t wait for back-up. Couldn’t afford to. Her Taser readied, Josie knocked on the door and put her ear to the lock.
    Heard a shuffle from inside. Maybe the bastard had ordered Pizza. In any case footsteps came towards the door, making Josie back off a little.
    “Who is it?” A surprised voice. Damn.
    Which way to go? British Gas? Landlord? Free stuff? The thoughts ricocheted around her brain in a split second. Only one way to go.
    “We’ve just opened a new take-away on Penley’s Grove Street, Sir. We’re giving away free pizza for tonight only.”
    One second later the door opened. Josie got a quick look at him, glimpsed the shovel chin and kicked hard at the door. She fell inside, banging her knees, but the guy continued to back away even inside his own apartment. Typical behaviour for demons that preyed on children. As he shuffled and shambled away a cloud of orange dust again rose from his filthy trainers and jeans.
    Josie held her Taser out like a gun. Close now, outside, was the sound of many sirens. They had the bastard. She cast a glance around the flat.
    Single room. Couch bed in one corner, makeshift kitchen in another. Television and xbox. A horrifically suggestive set of used shovels set under the window.
    Used.
    There was no sign of Kayleigh Bryant.
    Footsteps pounded the boards outside and soon uniformed cops were piling into the room. They each took a look, dozens of fresh sets of eyes, and then the bosses started to arrive. Paul Kett, with his stoic face, walked into the room.
    He saw the eyes of his colleagues. He saw Josie’s deathly white face. His gaze fell on the used shovels.
    “ She’s not here?” His voice cracked as he spoke, and Josie was forced to turn away as her eyes began to sting.

PART 5

     
    The silence in the room was like nothing Josie had ever felt. It hung heavy, like an accusation of murder or a bell that chimed out every man’s doom. Unspent tears shone from each face. The more vocal were screaming threats into the killers face, but this wasn’t 24, and none of them were Jack Bauer.
    The fact a child had died hadn’t even begun to sink in yet.
    Josie stared at the shovels. Three of them, all encrusted with hard residue. The floor around their blades was clean. Maybe he’d cleaned them off already.
    One of the uniforms said: “Where the hell would you bury anyone between York centre and here? ”
    Josie stared. The shovel’s were dry, pitted with old dirt. The man’s clothes were coated in orange dust and cement. She walked over to the shovels, crouched down and peered closely.
    There was something else, a small blade hiding behind them. She looked around, caught Kett’s eye. “Look at this.”
    He crouched down beside her. “What’s that? A. . .a trowel?”
    “A builder’s trowel,” Josie said. “For a grave-digger?” Something deep was starting to speak to her, and not the spirits this time. It was intuition, belief, faith.
    “The answer to his question,” she nodded at the cop who had wondered about any kind of burial site. “Is simple. You can’t.”
    “It’s a brick trowel. And the orange reside is brick dust. This bastard’s escalated from graves to something closer to home. He’s bricked her up in the fuckin’ walls. . .Sir. ”
    Kett’s face was horrified. He stared around with a stupid look on his face. “But there aren’t any walls, Leigh. These are internal partitions, block and plasterboard.”
    “I’m sure about this.” Josie said carefully. “He’d need time. And he’d need to be alone.” By now there were more than a dozen cops taking interest.
    One of them said: “Basement.”
     
    ****
     
    And down they went, angels dressed