Page 33 of Sinistram
“Circus people are a special breed,” he finally said. “Plenty superstitious. They’re tight with their show family and suspicious of everyone else. With good reason. Outsiders might like the entertainment, but they often look askance at nomads who don’t observe all the social conventions.”
Brent heard the crinkle of a cigarette package and the flick of a lighter. “Got something to write down the number?” Finley asked.
Brent took down the digits on his phone and entered it as a contact. “You have a name for me?”
“Everyone calls her Helene,” Finley said. “Probably not her real name, but when you go by it for long enough, that hardly matters. She’s a tough bird, but if she likes you, she might tell you what you want to know. Left the circus and quit traveling a few years ago. Now she does blessings on shows that come to the area and is an elder for a community of retired circus folks thatput down roots near here. They keep a low profile, and the locals leave them alone.” Finley paused. “I’m trusting you not to fuck this up.”
“I won’t,” Brent promised. “Thank you.”
“Look, I don’t know whether ghostbusters are for real, but if you are, I hope you can take care of whatever’s causing the problem,” Finley said. “Good luck.”
The call ended, and Brent stared at his phone in silence for a few minutes, processing what Finley told him.
When he looked up, Danny was watching him with an accusing glare that Brent easily translated as an accusation of nearly ending up as a ghost.
“You saw?” Brent took comfort speaking aloud to Danny.
Danny nodded. He gave Brent a pointed glare, and Brent knew his brother thought he had taken too big a risk.
Brent sighed. “The situation got out of hand.”
Danny cocked his head the way he always used to when he caught Brent in a falsehood, and the simple gesture flooded Brent’s heart with feelings.
“Guilty.” Brent held up a hand in appeasement. “We thought we had it covered and we didn’t.”
Danny frowned, and Brent knew the ghost wanted more information. Danny had always been intuitive, easily reading Brent and calling his bluff.
“Something’s supercharging monsters and killing hunters,” Brent replied. “I want to stop the deaths and not end up on the victim list. Hear anything about that?”
Danny shook his head.
“I used to think that ghosts somehow knew everything, like mind-readers,” Brent said. “I guess not. I suppose there isn’t a Grand Central Ghost Station where all the newly dead get welcomed to the afterlife for you to check out the new arrivals and look for dead hunters.”
This time, Danny rolled his eyes. Then he gave Brent a look and pointed at him. Brent never had trouble knowing what was on Danny’s mind, even long before he died. That hadn’t changed.
“I never meant to worry you,” Brent replied. “Sorry about that. Right now, we’ve got lots of suspicions, but not enough solid leads. And I can’t shake the idea that it’s all much bigger than just offing a few hunters.”
He didn’t need to hear Danny to guess what his brother would say, making him promise to trust his gut and reminding him that Danny didn’t want Brent to cross over to him anytime soon.
Danny’s ghost was fading, and Brent knew his brother couldn’t keep the connection open for long.
“Thanks, kid. I miss you.”
Danny faded out of view, but Brent imagined him saying,“Kick it in the ass.”
Brent felt a mix of comfort and sadness after a visit from Danny, and being able to see his brother without help was fairly new. When Danny’s spirit sacrificed himself to save others, he regained the ability to return to Brent slowly. Despite their bond, it wasn’t nearly the same as having Danny with him in the flesh.
To break the mood, Brent got up and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. He checked the dressings on his wounds, took the antibiotic and pain medicine Matthew had given him, and grabbed a box of crackers. He munched as he stared out the window, thinking of ghostly tigers and a hunter who kept watch even after death.
Armed with hot coffee, Brent looked for stories about Eagle Eye Ike. Now that he knew what to search for, his results lit up. Paranormal chat boards were full of supposed sightings. Sites catering to paranormal investigators and people who exploredabandoned places shared stories that they swore happened to them.
Brent was used to trying to parse urban legend from real supernatural situations. Most of the Eagle Eye Ike stories had a ring of truth. They weren’t sensational, and they didn’t make Ike out to be a superhero. Other than the advantage of not being able to be killed because he was already dead, the tales recounted a ghostly man who showed up to rescue people from harmful ghosts armed with an old-fashioned shotgun.
Brent grabbed a map and started to mark where Ike had been spotted. While the majority of the incidents had been north and east of Pittsburgh, the Walter Circus case was at the western edge of where Ike had been sighted.
His phone rang, and Brent had been concentrating so hard that he jumped. “Travis,” he greeted, “ever hear stories about Eagle Eye Ike?”
“Wasn’t he a ghost hunter, back in the day?” Travis sounded confused at the unexpected question. Brent felt vaguely disappointed not to be the first to share the story.
