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From wherever it had gone the kid’s spirit came and reclaimed his body. Just like that.
Thinking about it as he walked through the woods toward Griswold’s house, the Bone Man cast an angry eye at Heaven. “Moves in mysterious ways, my ass. ”
When Mike had opened his eyes, the Bone Man tried apologizing, but the kid looked through him as if he wasn’t there. Like he didn’t see him anymore, which made no sense. If the dying could see him, and the dead could see him, then Mike should have been able to.
But the kid had gotten up and wandered off, heading back to town. The Bone Man yelled at him, had strummed his guitar—something that always seemed to work before—but the boy just didn’t hear, as if whatever bond had existed before the kid died had burned away once he woke up.
Now, everything was in motion. The Bone Man could see what Vic and Ruger were doing and now he understood the time frame of the Red Wave. If there was ever a time when he needed to be heard, it was now…and wasn’t that just the way? You need something, you get a kick in the nuts by God.
Now the boy was on his own and the Bone Man was almost to Griswold’s house. L’il Scarecrow was walking in harm’s way and he hoped there was something, however small, he could do to help. “This being a ghost shit just sucks. ”
3
The room was totally black and after that huge crashing impact of the trapdoor swinging down everything settled into an ugly silence. Crow felt the floor under him, but he couldn’t see it.
“Frank?” he whispered.
Nothing. Then, “Crow…?”
“Vince? Where are you? Where’s Frank?”
There was a rustling sound and then bright white as LaMastra turned on his flashlight. Shielding his eyes from the glare, Crow looked around. LaMastra was on his knees, the light in one hand while he reached down to pick up his fallen shotgun.
“Are you hurt?”
“No” LaMastra answered. “You?”
“I’m good. Where’s Frank?”
LaMastra swept the light toward the door. “I think he’s outside. Damn, look at that shit. ”
Crow got to his feet and examined the doorway, running his hand over the massive panel that now sealed the door shut. He fished out his pocket Maglite and played its beam over the ceiling. “Son of a bitch set a good trap. Look. ” He pointed with the light. “See there? He made it look like someone had done a bad patch job on the ceiling, with nails sticking down through from upstairs like some shithead carpenter did it using nails that were too big. ” He turned the light back onto the doorway. “It’s a perfect fit. That whole panel was a trapdoor attached to the ceiling. Soon as we tripped the wire it swung down on hinges and slammed itself flush into the doorframe. No way for us to pry it out, no angle for leverage even if we had the pry bars. ” He pounded on it. “Solid as a bitch. And those nails…they were the teeth of the trap. Holy shit…”
LaMastra set down his flash and used the side of his fist to pound on the door. “Frank!” he yelled. “Frank—you out there?”
There was no sound at all from the other side.
“I think he got hit,” Crow said. “When it fell, it looked like he got hit. ”
“Must have knocked him out, otherwise he’d answer. ”
Crow didn’t think so. Not all of the nails in that trapdoor were intended to seal the door. There were a couple of dozen right in the middle. He saw the light shine on them a second before it hit Ferro. The trapdoor must weigh half a ton; nothing less would have made it move so fast or hit so hard. All that weight pushing those nails? Crow’s heart sank.
“We have to get out of here, Vince. ”
“Give Frank a minute…he’ll get us out. ”
“I don’t think so. ”
LaMastra half turned and shot him a vicious look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just what I said. Maybe Frank’s okay, maybe he’s not, but right now you and me are locked in this friggin’ place. No way I’m going to stand around and wait. What if the roaches come back?”
The big detective glared at him, his features made harsh by fear and the glare of the flashlights. “Frank’s okay,” Vince said stubbornly.
“Whatever you say, Vince…but I’m going to look for another way out of here. ”
He turned away and surveyed the room. To his left a staircase led upward into total blackness, to his right were the French doors that had been part of the trap. The doors hung open, their tripwire snapped. Crow peered cautiously through into the next room. “Looks empty. Maybe we can get out through the kitchen door. It should be through there. ”
