They didn’t need to wait long; Angela was already hurrying back, taking the time to smile.
The children were safe.
“We may have it all!” he told her, indicating Herbert Lansing’s spirit.
Herbert quickly told her what he’d seen.
“Lead!” Jackson said.
It couldn’t be far; the ghost hadn’t been away from them that long.
And it wasn’t far, but he was glad that they were wearing jeans and sneakers as they made their way. The trees grew in thick profusion here. The shrubs were incredibly dense; he could have used a machete to get through.
But it was still strangely such a beautiful night. Or morning by now, he thought. Four A.M. or so, he thought. The sky was a deep, deep shade of blue. Stars sprinkled about it in a beautiful array. The moon was coming full, a great guide for them that gave more than the flashlights that allowed them their step by step—or crawl by crawl—movement through the green terrain where the smell of the forest was sweet and natural and where . . . thankfully, no panthers seemed to be prowling and perhaps the rattlers knew they were on a mission.
“Stop!” Herbert whispered, though few of the living would have heard him had he shouted.
They did so.
Here, the trees and shrubs grew right to the entry of the house; there was barely a path and Jackson determined that if Henry David Thompson was the head of all this, he had very carefully brought all the equipment he had needed through the woods, knowing he had a few days before the tear-down began. And by then . . .
He’d be done and he wouldn’t care.
Jackson looked at Angela. “Think it will work twice?” she asked.
“Well, we can’t just pound our way in; he could kill Welborne if we do, deciding that if he was going to die, he’d take the man with him,” Jackson said thoughtfully.
He made his way to the cabin and then waved a hand at her. There was a jagged place in the log wall where there had been a window once upon a time. He looked carefully through it and saw the scene taking place, just as Herbert had described it.
Angela silently slipped over to him, seeing the man inside was still wearing his hood. But there was a lantern in the room, giving Robert Welborne the ability to see what he was doing.
“It better be good,” the masked and hooded man told Welborne. “I have no problem killing children.”
“This will be good!” Angela mouthed to Jackson.
She stepped away, just back a shade in the twist of trees, vines, and shrubs.
And she screamed and cried, “Oh, my God! It’s a snake . . . oh, oh, I have to get out of here! Help, help, help!”
The man turned. But this time, he turned with his gun pointed at the door as he hurried to it.
He wasn’t going to attempt to help a lost stranger.
He was going to kill.
Jackson fired. His aim was good; he knew it. He utilized the method often.
He hit the man dead center in his right shoulder, causing him to scream with surprise and pain.
And lose the gun.
He rushed in, followed by Angela. She was already on her satellite phone, calling for back-up assistance.
Robert Welborne cried out softly. “My kids, you can’t . . . I mean, someone else has my children and—”
“Mr. Welborne, your children are safe. We have them already,” Angela assured him. “They’re safe with Vivien’s folks.”
“And Vivien—” Welborne began.
