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“Doc!” yelled Whiskey. “He’s gone, brother.” Skull and Razor pulled him away. All the while, he fought them, then finally gave in, staring at the pale face of the young man.
“We saw the van back there where all the lights and first responders are,” said Ashley. “The officer said the driver died on impact, but there were sacks, tape, and other things in the back.”
“Get down there and see if you can find anything on the owner of the van,” said Whiskey to Razor and Callan. Both men ran toward another truck, taking off back down River Road.
“Let me carry him in,” said Skull, bending to lift the young boy. He couldn’t be more than sixteen or seventeen. He had light blonde hair and freckles across his nose. But what Doc saw immediately on his bare upper body was the tattoo on his shoulder.
“I’m going to kill this son-of-a-bitch.”
“Not before we do,” said Nine, walking toward them.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“The boy is Nick Serio. Seventeen. Disappeared about the same time as Gracie. No marks other than those on his wrists from struggling against the duct tape. No abuse, sexual or physical. Like Gracie, there are a few scratches on his hands and feet, but nothing else,” said Riley.
“Have his parents been notified?” asked Gaspar, frowning at the body on the table. He absently rubbed a big hand over the boy’s head. He was a baby. A boy just starting his life. He’d probably been planning his graduation and what he would do next.
“We notified the NOPD, who contacted his parents. They’re on their way out here to identify the body, then we’ll transfer him to the funeral home.” Riley stared at the men, then cleared her throat. “I, um, I did something. I hope you won’t be angry with me.”
“What did you do?” frowned Nine.
“I asked Martha and Marcel to come down here,” she smirked. Martha and Marcel were two of the resident ghosts at Belle Fleur. Both on the property for more than two hundred years. Perhaps they could speak with the boy.
“I’m not angry. I’m pissed at myself for not thinking of it sooner. Why not ask Julia, Noah, or Mama Irene? Why ask the ghosts themselves?” asked Ian.
“I don’t know. It was just something inside me that said he might be frightened by speaking to people alive. Hopefully, Martha and Marcel can coax him out.”
“Do we want to coax him out?” frowned Ghost.
“Honey, I don’t know. But I know I want to try everything possible to get this boy some justice. He has bruising from the rocks near the ditch. He was trying to roll himself over and out of that ditch but couldn’t. He may have even rolled himself into the ditch, not being able to see where he was.”
“Fuck, this infuriates me,” said Nine, running his hands through his hair. “Whether they intended to kill this boy or not, the fact is he’s dead.” Nine watched as Gaspar continued to stroke the boy’s head. He could tell that his friend was struggling with this, staring at the innocent young face.
“Hey, brother,” said Ghost, gripping Gaspar’s arm, “there was nothing we could have done. Doc and Gabi tried.”
“He’s a baby,” murmured Gaspar. “He looks like our own kids. He had the whole fucking world at his feet to do what he wanted.”
“He’s frightened,” said Marcel, suddenly appearing in the middle of the room. “Le bébé est confus et effrayé.” Ghost, Ian, and Nine stared at Gaspar.
“He said the baby is confused and scared. He doesn’t know that he’s dead. He thinks he’s sleeping, and I almost don’t want them to tell him he’s not.”
Martha reached out a ghostly hand, stroking his freckled cheek. The boy’s image rose from the table, looking at the people around him. His mouth was moving, but there was no sound.
“What’s wrong with him, Martha?” asked Ian.
“He’s screaming in his ghostly form. Screaming in pain. He’s crying out for them to stop,” said Marcel.
“Stop what? What were they doing to him?” Marcel touched the boy, Martha not letting her hand off his lifeless body.
“He said bugs were biting him. They left him in a room of bugs that bit at him, then he was tied to a wall and left for days,” said Marcel.
“There are no marks on him. None. We need for you to try and get him to find someplace in his brain that is rational, that can reduce the images that they placed in his mind. None of it was real,” said Nine.
“It was real to him, mon frére,” said Marcel. “This boy is suffering because of what he believes they did to him.” Nathan came through, and the men all stared at him. Nathan was Trak’s grandfather but had been a wise man in his nation.
“The evil spirits have invaded this boy’s brain,” said Nathan. “I am going to try and send them on their way, but I’m not sure it will work.” Marcel and Martha stepped back as Nathan’s large, weathered hand covered the boy’s forehead. He whispered a chant, repeating it over and over again.
Suddenly, the image of the boy between Martha and Marcel stilled. His mouth closed, and his eyes looked from one man to the next, then stared at Nathan.
