She answered quickly, to his relief.
“No problem,” she told him. “We haven’t found anything yet—but the police are doing a thorough job. They’re combing through all the displays, character by character. I’m working with an officer right now. We’ll have this place ready to go by dusk. They use live actors at the candy give-away and at the photo op area. The creators have done a great job allowing for safety and distancing. You can take your time,” she told him. “I’m with a cop. Still concerned about tonight.”
He frowned; he thought he heard her let out a little gasp. And her voice was odd.
“Angela?”
“Well, it is Halloween. And I’m still so afraid of what may happen by tonight. Jackson, hang on just a minute.” He heard her talking to someone nearby.
Someone forcing her answers. She had taken his call—because not to do so would have given him warning she was in trouble.
“Angela?”
“Night. You know when it’s night. Anyway, just get here at your leisure.”
She ended the call as he was passing by the officers at the emergency room exit. He had nearly reached the car when he heard his name called. It was Bryan McFadden, hurrying to the car.
“Jackson, he’s out of the hospital—and he got out right after we checked on him after his suspicious behavior, not trusting he was a doctor.”
“How did he—”
“They found an officer on the floor in one of the storage rooms. Jackson, he’s heading out somewhere to kill again—and he’s dressed as a police officer.”
He knew why Angela had sounded so strange. And why she had mentioned the police the way she had.
David Andre was already with her.
*
“Don’t worry; I’m going to get help!” The ghost of Roger Newsome assured Angela. But he sounded desperate and worried. He was following her—and David Andre as “Officer Ridley” closely.
Roger Newsome was dead, and only Angela could see him.
It was oddly comforting he was with her.
“Keep moving and keep smiling. The costuming for ‘Ghouls in Shining Armor’ is right ahead. One false move, and I will shoot you here and now,” David Andre told her. “It might make my work harder, but I’m afraid you won’t be all that could be anyway. I just won’t have the time to work on you the way I should. So, I know your kind. You’ll play for time. But this place is huge—I mean, you need to have some space for cars full of ‘ghoulish’ little kiddies to come through.” He paused to laugh at his own joke.
That was all right; she was angry with herself. The search through the creatures had become so intense she and Roger had been alone when he’d joined them. And he’d appeared rushed and desperate and before she’d even thought to pull her weapon against him, she’d felt the nose of “Officer Ridley’s” gun against her ribs.
“I will play for time, yes,” Angela told him. She stopped walking—despite the gun in her ribs—and turned to him. “But you know it’s over.”
“I do. They’ll shoot me down—or I’ll walk away free and clear.”
“You don’t think they’ll know they’re looking for a cop.”
He laughed softly again. “They think they’re looking for a doctor. I have one regret. I’m not sure how I’m going to get that oh-so-special agent Jackson Crow. I’d wanted both of you—you ruined everything. You didn’t need to die. I was only going after cruel and stupid people—”
“Roger Newsome wasn’t cruel or stupid,” Angela said.
“Thank you,” the ghost murmured.
“No! Don’t you see? I needed to make it appear to be random and you don’t understand. Roger would have died slowly and in agony—and I could make it swift and easy. You’d be amazed at how good you get with knives when you work in my field. It was over for him in seconds.”
“That’s true,” the ghost said.
“I want it to be that way for you—even though you and Crow destroyed everything I had planned. But I’m going to be merciful because you’re not bad people. You thought you were doing the right thing. But I was killing those who were mean and hurtful.”
“Everyone doesn’t get every job they go for. You might have gotten a great job if you had given it more time. Your work is good.”
He laughed. “You saw that. But you saw it—because I proved it. Okay, here we are at costuming. Strip. Oh, not your underwear—I’m not a sexual predator. Just get into that princess costume—now!”
He wasn’t going to leave her. And doffing her suit for a princess gown was the least of her worries.
Being forced to leave her Glock and holster behind was not good.
She had to change slowly while appearing to do so as he directed. She pretended to be nervous, trying to step from the pants of her suit while tripping over her shoes, then struggling to get them off and the pants off without appearing to be doing so on purpose. Then her jacket and shirt. And she could hope while he was zipping her into the purple princess costume she could get to his gun.
She did manage to take time; she didn’t manage to get his gun. He held it on her despite her request for assistance.
“Are you kidding me? You’re a trained agent. I’m not taking any chances with you. You get that zipper up—and quit stalling.”
“If you want me to help you turn me into a princess before you kill me, you need to give me the time that I need!”
Of course, she could get the zipper.
“Shoddy, shoddy, shoddy!” he said, shaking his head. “A medieval gown would never have a zipper—if it was for a ghoul princess or not!”
She pretended to struggle, but eventually had to get the zipper. He wagged the nose of the gun toward a dressing table.
“Big make-up,” he told her. “Blood red cheeks—that’s funny, isn’t it? Blood red cheeks. Anyway, big eyes! Darken them up. White base.”
She knew how to do make-up—krewe spouses and significant others included several who worked
