No Humans Involved

I struggled to my feet.

"That's it," the young man said encouragingly. "Now, find a way out-"

"There is no way out," the older man said.

The boy turned on him. "And how do you know? Obviously we didn't find it or we wouldn't be here. But no one was here to warn us." He glanced at me. "Okay, now the door is to your right, about three steps-"

"And you think they left it open for her?"

I let the boy guide me to the door. I found the edge of it and ran my hands down either side, feeling nothing but smooth metal.

"Where's the handle?" I asked.

"Problem number one," the man said.

I turned to the boy. "Is there another door? A window? A vent?"

"It's an eight-by-eight concrete box," the man intoned, like a contractor reciting dimensions. "Soundproofed walls. One way in and out-a six-inch-thick steel door. Oh, and the drain. But unless you can transform yourself into a mouse, you aren't fitting down that."

"And you aren't helping," the boy snapped.

"Ignore him," I said.

I peered around, and could now make out the walls. Solid walls.

As much as I'd love to free myself from this mess, there was a point at which I had to call for help-and being locked in a concrete box qualified.

"Maybe I can't get out," I said. "But I know someone who can get in."

Not being able to act in the living world, Eve couldn't get me out of here herself, but she could always be counted on to come up with a plan. And she'd be able to stand guard and scout the house for escape routes. When I'd been kidnapped, she would have tried to follow, so she probably wouldn't be far.

I reached into my pant pockets and breathed in relief as my fingers closed around the silver ring nestled at the bottom. If they'd patted me down for weapons, they'd probably ignored that. Little did they know…

I smiled, clasped the ring and called for Eve.

"It's not going to work," the man said.

"Shut the fuck-" the boy began, then looked sheepishly at me. "Sorry, ma'am."

I motioned for a moment of silence while I summoned Eve again. Then I calmly returned the ring to my pocket.

"It might take her a minute to get here," I said.

"If she can." The man lifted his hands as the boy turned on him. "I'm just saying…" He glanced at me. "What is this friend of yours? A ghost, right?"

"Among other things."

"Well, there's a reason we're hanging out in this box… and it's not for the scenery."

"We're trapped," the boy said. "It's like we aren't-"

He disappeared. A moment later he returned, still talking.

Seeing my expression, he said, "I faded out, didn't I? It happens. It just started happening awhile ago. Just now and then at first, then more and more."

Fading. Like the children.

"Anyway, as I was saying, it's like we aren't really ghosts. I mean, we are because I pass through you." He demonstrated by walking through Hope's still-sleeping form. "But the walls are real, even for us. That doesn't mean a ghost can't get in, though."

The man rolled his eyes at this youthful optimism. I took out the ring to summon Eve again. As I pulled it out, my fingers brushed a folded piece of paper. Jeremy's protection ward. I touched it, and let out a deep breath. "Even if my friend can't get here, I know someone who will."

"If he tries to break you out, he'll end up in here with us."

"That's fine. No metal door can hold him in a room."

I walked the perimeter, feeling the walls, then searching the center. It was small, as the man said. A concrete box with a drain in the middle of the floor.

"I thought you said help was coming," the man said, voice dripping sarcasm.

I knelt, squeezed my fingers into the drain grid and tugged. Bolted down. Maybe, with enough pulling, I could get it off, but the man was right-unless I could turn into a mouse, it wasn't going to help.

"What's this for anyway?" I said, down on all fours, peering into the dark drain.

Silence.

I glanced back at the ghosts. The boy shifting under my gaze. Even the man looked away.

"There's no tap in here. So what would they need to drain away?"

"Blood," the man said after a minute. "That's what this place is. A killing room."

"HOPE?" I shook her shoulder harder. "Hope? Come on. Wake up!"

I'd been trying to rouse her for at least five minutes. Five long and precious minutes. Twice she'd stirred, only to fall back asleep without opening her eyes. Had they drugged her? Or had I hit her harder than I thought?

There'd been no sign of Eve. Whatever magic these people had used to keep ghosts in here was either keeping her out or preventing her from hearing my call.

As for Jeremy, I couldn't wait for rescue. Not this time.

"Hope. Hope!"

She mumbled something, her eyes still closed. I drew back my hand and slapped her. She started awake, eyes wide and unseeing, kicking and flailing.

"Hope! Stop-"

Her foot co

"Ow. It's me. It's-"

Fingernails raked across my cheek, coming dangerously close to my eye. I grabbed her by the wrists, pi

"Hope, it's me, Jaime. I know it's dark and you can't see anything, but we're in trouble and I need you to listen."

I TOLD her what had happened. As I spoke, she just lay there, not reacting. I explained why I'd hit her with the gun. I told her about our solid concrete cell. I even pointed out the drain, its purpose and what that probably said about why we were in here. She sat through it all, unflinching.

At first, I chalked it up to steady nerves. Or maybe shock. But then I realized she hardly seemed to be listening. She could hear me-I made sure of that several times. But her gaze kept sliding around the room, as if I was chatting about something as inconsequential as di

She seemed dopey too, unable or unwilling to sit up. When I asked how she was, she motioned for me to keep talking.

Her gaze darted about the room, like me in a room of ghosts, my attention pulled every which way. I realized then what was distracting her: visions of murder, of human sacrifice. I had to get her out of here.

Easier to say…

"So we're trapped in this room," I said. "Unless you've got some secret power I don't know about, something that will knock down walls…"

She blinked, focusing on me, then shook her head.

I turned to the ghosts. The boy had faded again. I waited for him to return.

"You two were killed in here, weren't you? By these people?"

The boy nodded. "They talked about there being others before me. Kids, I think. But they aren't here. It was just me until Murray came along."

So why weren't the children here? There was no sense asking him, so I just said, "And your name is?"

"Brendan."

"Good. Okay, Brendan, tell me everything you know about these people."

NORMALLY, A ghost doesn't remember the circumstances surrounding his death unless you intercept him before he gets to the afterlife realms. But these ghosts had never crossed over, so they hadn't been granted postdeath amnesia, and they remembered everything.

I relayed Brendan's experience to Hope, partly in hopes that she'd catch some clue I missed, but mostly just to distract her from the visions.

I plucked every potentially useful tidbit from his story. We were in a basement. There was a TV room nearby, plus a small bedroom. The house was in Brentwood, probably close enough to where I'd been staying for the group to transport the bodies.

From Brendan's account, there were at least five members. May was one of the leaders, working closely with a middle-aged man. They'd introduced themselves as a couple, but that was probably a front. None of Brendan's descriptions matched Rona Grant or Zack Fly