Page 4 of Haunted Horror on Halloween

Not a problem. They had met him during a recent investigation; and like several of the spirits they had encountered through the years, he sometimes showed up at their headquarters, anxious to see if he could be of assistance.

Trent was a great guy. In life, he’d lost his own life soon after he’d done everything he could to save a group of children. In death . . .

He still wanted to do everything he could to help others. And they might not have solved that case without his help. He had given them the one clue that had led them in the right direction through which they could solve the case. And again, he’d been passionate about saving children.

Near and dear to Angela’s heart. And his own, Jackson knew.

“Please, yes, join us,” Angela told Trent. “We’re always grateful—and often dependent on—those like yourself. But—shotgun!” she cried teasingly.

“Oh, I do prefer sliding into the back!” he told her, and did so, his spirit form sliding right through the car’s interior.

As they drove toward the coffee shop where Arabella Watkins had last been seen, they caught him up on Arabella’s case, and on the fact that a monster had escaped and was touring the country again.

“I read about that case! My God, that man is beyond being a sociopath!” Trent said. “I saw it on the news, too, down by the local pub where I was back then. Oh! Wow, they don’t give out a lot of names, but I’m guessing you’re the guys who put him away.”

“And apparently,” Jackson said dryly, “he’s not put away anymore. Pulled a trick that’s probably been played several times. Either got someone to shiv him or did it to himself; got into the infirmary. Had to have had some inside help, but he put an EMT and the ambulance driver into the hospital themselves, ditched the ambulance and probably stole something else, or has taken a hostage we don’t know about yet, so . . .”

“I understand we must find a young woman,” Trent said. “But shouldn’t this monster be everyone’s first priority?”

“No one has any idea of what direction to go in,” Jackson told him. “So, we’re moving forward with this while the tech folk search out everything, trying to find clues or even possible clues. First things first and—”

“A young woman missing and the monster on the prowl. Could coincide?” Trent asked.

“Long shot, but at this point, no one knows anything,” Angela said. “And here is what worries me—unless Darrell Manderley has suddenly decided not to be a sociopath and complete power-hungry psychotic and is seeking a way to leave the country—everyone and anyone is in immediate danger from him because he won’t have the time or the place to get his cult going again.”

“We’ll find the rotten devil!” Trent said firmly.

Angela glanced over at Jackson.

He knew they both hoped someone—anyone—got the man before he could start acting on his crazed kind of trip—as Satan in the flesh or just a man who loved to play the game of being the devil—and taking lives again.

Jackson’s phone was ringing. Headquarters. Bruce McFaddon was on the line.

“Got you on speaker, Bruce, Angela and me—and Trent.”

“Oh, hey, Trent, good you’re with those guys. Anyway, our monster-man may not have gone far. An older woman, Sadie McFarlane, eighty and still spry, lives with two other widows in their mid-seventies. She headed down to buy a box of donuts; and while, of course, an adult can’t be considered a missing person, since she is in her eighties—”

“Silver alert is out,” Jackson said. “And where—”

“The odd or not odd thing. Her house is just a few blocks down from the coffee shop where you’re heading now. I’ve got people out working on all angles; our new detective-turned-agent Liam Hardy is at the prison with our brilliant tech who became an agent as well and, naturally, Cindy has her tablet and cyber brain moving at all speeds while she’s on it as well. They found the ambulance, abandoned off the road by some northern woods, but there are houses along the road, too. We’re investigating three reports of cars being stolen in the area, so I’ll keep you abreast of any movement or discoveries. Oh, and the coffee shop and Sadie McFarlane’s place are on a small business strip that then leads into the highway that passes through that northern forest area, so . . . Our man may not have gone far,” Bruce finished.

“Thanks, Bruce. We’ll cover it all. Keep—” Jackson began.

“In touch. You got it. Bruce out.”

The call ended. Jackson glanced at Angela. “You suspected from the beginning that our case might be related. And it still seems . . .”

“What better place to disappear than into a forest that stretches through acres and acres, most of it national forest, some of it—near the roads, usually—privately owned,” Angela stated.

“What better place,” he agreed. “We’ll need to get rangers, police—”

“First things first. Let’s see what happened at the coffee shop. Watch the surveillance tape—”

“Police have watched it,” he reminded her.

“But we haven’t,” Angela said.

“We just move quickly!” Trent put in from the back seat of the car.