Page 17 of Dead Vengeance

“Shit,” I hiss. “Shit!” I exclaim.

“Liam,” says Archer.

But I barely register him, because what the fuck? “Shit. What the actual fuck?”

The door. I need the door. I have to get out of here.

I’m on my feet, but my legs buckle, and I slam a hip against the table, still-hot tea splashing across its surface, the juxtaposition of what was before and what now is striking me even in this state.

Raul’s fucking dead.

I know I shouldn’t—that this will haunt my nightmares for years to come—but my head turns, almost of its own accord, my eyes falling to the mess on the floor.

Blood. So much blood, seeping out in every direction. The arms of the chandelier jut out at sharp angles, bent and broken, pieces of crystal thrown across the floor, reflecting the horror back in a million tiny mirrors. Raul’s arms and legs crushed, his head and his body hidden under the mass of bronze. Sparks zap from the roughly severed wires sticking out of the ceiling, clawing towards the floor like broken fingernails. And the ghost…

“Liam…” Archer’s voice comes distant. Too distant.

Where’s the ghost?

It was there. I’d swear on my life, I saw a ghost, fully corporeal, right there in the doorway. But the darkness is gone—it’s the same sunny autumn morning it was when Archer was pouring us tea, when I was admiring his nice hands.

One of those hands touches my arm gently now. “Liam, listen to me—”

I lean into him, then grasp his hand. “He’s dead. We have to— We— We need to—”

“Shhhh. It’s okay.” He turns to me, lowering his head to capture my gaze. And his eyes… They’re… They’re so calm. He’s so calm. And how can he be calm right now?

Maybe he’s in shock. Maybe he doesn’t realise. “He’s dead!” I throw out a hand at the corpse, just in case he hasn’t noticed it there. “Dead, Mr Gravely. We need to…”

Oh my god. Am I the one who’s supposed to be in charge here? Because I have absolutely no clue whatsoever what I’m supposed to do. Call an ambulance? Is that what you do? Why? What for? He’s dead!

Call the police? Do they investigate shit like this? What do I say? A ghost did it? Did a ghost do it? If I tell them a ghost did it, they’ll think I’m mad, but if I don’t…

Am I supposed to just say the chandelier randomly dropped? And leave that ghost to kill other people?

I’m not covering for that ghost!

No. Someone needs to stop that ghost. Someone whose job it is to stop things like that. Someone like…

Oh holy fuck. That’s me, isn’t it? It’s my job to stop ghosts, and ghosts are real.

I am not equipped for this.

If Gerald had only given me some warning—some training! Something!

“Liam, are you spiralling?”

“Of course I’m bloody spiralling! Can you not see that dead body on the floor right there? Why aren’t you spiralling? Why are you so calm? Has this…” The idea settles over my shoulders, turning them as still as Archer’s, only with fear rather than whatever the hell it is that keeps his hands from shaking like mine. “Your ghost. You said it was bad. Has it…” I barely even want to speak the words. “Has it done this before?”

A little chip appears in his facade just then. The slightest tremble of his lips, like he’s not sure what to say. And no one should not be sure what to say when they’re asked if a ghost has killed someone on their property before.

I’m just about to press him, ask him just how many people this thing has killed, and what he’s done with the bodies, when a sharp tinkle sounds.

The tinkling of one tiny crystal ball hitting another.

The tinkling of a moving chandelier.

“Kraa!”