Sunset Specters: The Fifth Jonathan Shade Novel Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  About the Author

  SUNSET SPECTERS

  A Jonathan Shade Novel

  By Gary Jonas

  This one’s for Becky, who made it better.

  PROLOGUE

  DOUGLAS FREEMAN

  Wind howled through Skeleton Canyon like a mournful widow. Douglas Freeman watched from cover high in the rocks as George Ringo guided his Appaloosa along a gully. George rode at the front of a herd of cattle, and three men rode with him. Those men didn’t matter to Douglas, provided they didn’t try to get involved.

  “Here he comes,” Douglas whispered, keeping out of sight behind an outcropping.

  His wife, Anna, stood and stared down at the cowboys. “They’re rustlers, all right,” she said. “There are at least a dozen men, four in front with more behind the herd breathing dust.”

  “Keep your voice down,” Douglas said.

  “They can’t hear me.”

  “I don’t want you to wake Lucy.”

  Wake wasn’t an accurate word, but Anna didn’t correct him. His daughter was chatting with Nathan Lattimer beside Douglas’s mustang, Sunny, who was tied to a branch at the bottom of the ridge. Lucy wore a bright yellow dress, while Nathan wore dusty brown trousers and a tan shirt beneath a black leather vest. His cowboy hat sat at an odd angle on his head and matched the color of his shirt.

  “Don’t worry about Lucy. Right now you need to worry about killing George Ringo.”

  “Hasn’t there been enough death?” Douglas asked, as he’d done before.

  “Read the names,” Anna said, raising her tattered, bloodstained shirt to expose her abdomen.

  Douglas stared at the ground.

  “Read them!”

  “They had families. The other men do too.”

  “Read the names. Master Taylor gave you that education; now use it.”

  Sometimes Douglas missed Master Taylor. Douglas got to live in the big house. He got to marry Anna. He was permitted to have a child, and to keep her. He learned to read and write. He may have been a slave, but he’d been treated better than most, and he knew it. Master Taylor’s kindness set him up to trust white people, but that trust had been misplaced, and the names carved into his wife’s body were a constant bloody reminder. Now he felt guilty for knowing how to read. He wished he’d never learned.

  “Do it,” Anna said.

  Douglas didn’t need to look at her stomach. The names were burned into his memory as surely as they’d been carved into his wife’s flesh.

  “Nathan Lattimer,” he said. “Michael Clancy. Val James.”

  “Keep going,” she said.

  He looked up at her, pleading with his eyes, but she pointed at her stomach where the carved names practically glowed. The first three names looked like old scars that had been crossed out with a seared line of pink flesh over her dark skin. The other four names still glistened as pink and red with blood as they’d been when he’d found her.

  “George Ringo. Wade Skerritt. Ben Crawford. Elvin Winslow.”

  She let the bloody tatters of her shirt drop to cover the wounds. The fabric impossibly remained wet with blood all these months later. “As long as they draw breath, I won’t rest.”

  Douglas nodded. They’d had this conversation many times, and Anna’s intensity never faded even after he’d killed the first three men. Three down, four to go. She was just getting warmed up.

  Douglas took a deep breath and turned to look at the dead man near his daughter. Lucy shook her head at Lattimer.

  Douglas redirected his gaze to the other two dead men standing on the rocks above George.

  “Run away, George!” Michael yelled, his voice garbled.

  Val couldn’t yell the words because his mandible twisted at an odd angle, and he couldn’t maneuver it after the bullet had shattered the bone. Instead, he cried out with an awful howl that blended with the wind and drifted off down the Arizona canyon.

  Anna knelt beside her husband. “You need to kill George Ringo for me now. For me and for Lucy. What he and his gang did to us can never be forgotten or forgiven. Do you understand me?”

  Douglas looked into her right eye. Her left eye was a bloody pulp in the shattered socket. The skin around the socket stood out as dark purple over her once lovely ebony skin. He tried not to look at her bruised and beaten face, tried to ignore her split lips and missing teeth.

  “I understand,” he said. He pulled his pistol from its holster and began creeping down the embankment toward the cowboys and the herd.

  He stepped into view on the rocks above the gully, gun held steady as he approached.

  “That’s far enough, George Ringo.”

  The four cowboys reined in their horses.

  The man closest to the rocks started to reach for a gun, but Douglas turned his pistol toward the man and shook his head. “That hand touches the grip of your pistol, sir, I will have no choice but to kill you. As it happens, I am here only for Ringo.”

  The cattle kept moving around the men at a slow pace. Clouds of dust swirled around their hooves, and the shuffle of their feet, their huffs, and their moos filled the canyon.

  Ringo grinned at the other cowboys. “It’s all right, fellas. This one ain’t got any fight in him. He was a slave on Matt Taylor’s plantation. Got hisself all freed, but his kind don’t know what to do if they ain’t in chains. He can’t pull a trigger when he’s lookin’ in a man’s eyes. No way, no how. Ain’t that right, Dougie?”

  “Gentlemen,” Douglas said, “before you choose sides, you need to be aware that your boss here is a murderer. He killed my wife and daughter.”

  “They was alive when we left ’em, Dougie.” He gave Douglas a big smile.

  Douglas held steady. He didn’t know what to say.

  “Shoot him,” Anna said, joining him near the front of the herd.

  “Be quiet,” Douglas said, glancing her way. “I’ve got this handled.”

  “Who you talkin’ to, boy?” Ringo asked. “Ain’t nobody there.” He laughed.

  The men didn’t laugh with him.

  “The ghost of my wife,” Douglas said. “The ghost of my daughter is just over the ridge. As you can’t see them, there isn’t much sense in me pointing out the ghosts of Nathan Lattimer, Michael Clancy, and Val James. Be that as it may, all three of them are here because I’ve already killed them for their crimes.”

  One of the cowboys shifted in his saddle. “Always said this canyon was haunted.”

  “Shut up,” Ringo said. “Ain’t no such thing as ghosts.”

  “What about them bleached bones we seen riding into the canyon?” the cowboy asked. “Them was human!”

  “Do you have any last words before you join your compatriots in death and join my hunt?” Douglas asked.

  The men shifted their attention back to him.

  “Ain’t no way you can handle that gun,” Ringo said, his hand inching toward his own we
apon. “It’s hard to kill a man with one shot, boy.”

  Douglas shot Ringo’s hand as soon as it touched the grip of his pistol.

  The gunshot echoed in the canyon. The cattle stampeded away from the noise, their hooves kicking up dust in every direction as they thundered on the rocky ground. The horses started, trying to get out of the way. One of the cowboys fell from his saddle. Ringo cried out.

  “As it happens, I’m not restricted to one shot, sir. My wife is right,” Douglas said from the safety of the ridge. “You have no remorse. You deserve to die.”

  And he shot the man in the head.

  Ringo went limp, slid from his saddle, and hit the ground hard. Cattle trampled him. A moment later, his ghost sat up in the body.

  The ghost looked down at his destroyed right hand then touched his own head. His left index finger went right into the bullet hole. He wiggled it around.

  The other cowboys fought to get their horses under control and get out of the stampede. One managed to pull a gun.

  Douglas had the drop on him. He shook his head and yelled to be heard over the sound of the stampede. “Drop it back into your holster. I have no wish to kill you, sir.”

  “Can’t let you kill my boss like this,” the man said, raising his gun to shoot.

  Douglas shot him in the chest. The man looked down at his wound, leaned to the side, and fell from his horse. He rolled on the ground in pain and shock. He was fortunate to land behind an outcropping of rock so the cattle could get around him.

  “You shot me!”

  “If you get help, you’ll live,” Douglas said. “I’m leaving now and I’m taking the ghost of your boss with me. Any objections?”

  “He’s all yours,” one of them said, raising his voice.

  “See to your man. He’ll need a doctor.”

  The cowboys had to wait for the cattle to pass; then they rushed to their injured friend. One of them glanced after the cattle, and in the confusion, Douglas moved down the rocks toward his horse.

  Anna made a motion with her hands toward Ringo. “You’re coming with us,” she said.

  George Ringo’s ghost stared at her with wide eyes. He climbed up and looked over the ridge. “Michael? Val? Shit on a cracker, Dougie was telling the truth! But I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

  Anna smiled. “You don’t have a choice.”

  She walked away.

  George stood and stared down at his shot and trampled corpse, but a moment later, he staggered toward the rocks. Anna was right. He didn’t have a choice.

  Douglas waited until the ghost caught up to him.

  “You’ve seen my wife,” he said. “After what you did to her, you should know she will never forgive you. And after what you did to my daughter, I will never forgive you.”

  “I wasn’t calling the shots, Dougie.”

  “That’s ‘Douglas.’ Now that you’re dead, you’ll show me some respect, sir.”

  “But it wasn’t me.”

  “You carved your name into my wife’s stomach. You helped beat and rape her.”

  “Nobody carved no words, Douglas. I swear!”

  Douglas ignored him. “What’s more, you stood by while Wade Skerritt raped my ten-year-old daughter. Get ready, George. In a few minutes, you get to look my daughter in her eyes and tell her why you let that happen.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  FROM THE FILES OF JONATHAN SHADE

  The barrel of a gun looks a lot bigger when it’s pointed at your face.

  It’s also not what you’d expect to see right after you jump through time, but we’ll get to that. The smell of talcum powder assaulted my nostrils, and gaslight from a small lamp reflected off the barrel of the gun my friend Brand aimed at me.

  Since we’re dealing with time travel, let’s back up to a few seconds before the gun was pulled. King Tut’s widow held one of my arms while Kelly still held my other. We were yanked from ancient Egypt to 1877. The room spun, throwing off my balance, and I dropped to my knees.

  As I shook my head to reorient myself, Ankhesenamun puked on my shirtsleeve, adding yet another aroma to the room’s fragrance. What can I tell you? Time travel can be nauseating. My head spun a bit, but I was otherwise fine in spite of my overassaulted olfactory senses.

  Kelly glared at Brand. “Please tell me that’s not your great-great-grandmother you’re sleeping with,” she said.

  The old woman sat up and pulled the covers to her chest. She fumed and shoved at Brand. “Edward?” she said. “Kill them.”

  Brand pointed the gun at me, and he didn’t seem to know who I was.

  “Well, this should be fun,” I said, thinking he’d at least recognize my voice.

  Brand’s finger twitched against the trigger, started to tighten, but then Kelly snatched the gun from his hand. I was so glad she was beside me at that moment. I’d faced off against an Egyptian god only minutes before, and I felt the adrenaline crash coming on hard. I doubt I could have reacted fast enough to save my own ass.

  Kelly rushed forward and punched Brand in the nose. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she asked.

  The gaslight cast dark shadows as Brand rubbed his face.

  The old woman pulled the blanket up higher to keep herself covered, but Brand rolled out of bed. I wished he would have dressed first. Ankhesenamun retched again and I felt that about summed up my thoughts on seeing Brand naked.

  “I think you broke my nose,” he said.

  “I doubt it,” Kelly said. “I didn’t hit you that hard. Answer my question!”

  “Where did you come from?” the old woman asked.

  I sighed, stood up, and glanced at the vomit on my sleeve. “I need a new shirt.” I still held the crook and flail I’d taken from Osiris. They didn’t seem to have any power in them, but they looked pretty cool.

  “Where the hell did you come from?” she asked again, her eyes wide.

  I turned to look at her. I took a deep breath to try and perk myself back up. All I really wanted to do right then was lie down and take a nap. “Egypt,” I said. Then I looked at Brand and pointed the crook in his direction. “Dude, you have some ’splaining to do.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Brand said.

  “That’s not Brand,” I said.

  Kelly stared into Brand’s eyes. She shook her head. “Possession?” she asked. “Grandma called him Edward.”

  “That is my Edward now,” the woman said.

  Brand looked around him and didn’t say anything.

  “Possession is our best-case scenario,” I said. “Keep him there.”

  “You got it,” Kelly said.

  I walked around the bed, placed the crook and flail on a dresser, and sat down next to the old woman. “Sorceress or witch?” I asked, trying to stifle a yawn.

  “Whatever do you mean? How dare you intrude into my bedroom!”

  “Yeah, yeah. If you hadn’t seen magic before, you’d probably be speechless about now. I don’t feel like playing games with you. Just answer me.”

  She hesitated.

  “Okay, let’s just get this over with.” I pulled the Glock from my shoulder holster and aimed it at her head. While it certainly didn’t look like a Colt Peacemaker, it was obviously a gun.

  “Witch,” she said.

  “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” I kept the gun pressed to her temple. “Clearly not a Wiccan, so you’re practicing the Dark Arts.”

  She leaned her head away from me, fear in her eyes. “Only to get my love back.”

  “Edward?”

  “Why should I talk to you? You’re just going to kill me.”

  “I don’t feel like killing anyone right now. Can we handle this like adults?”

  “You’re the one with the gun,” she said.

  She had a point. I put the gun away. It wasn’t loaded because I’d emptied it into an Egyptian god. Alas, I didn’t have my pack with me, so I didn’t have any way to reload. She didn’t know that, of course.

  “Better?” I asked.


  She nodded.

  “Have you drawn up any energy, or do you need help from hex bags and such?” I would have given a sniff to the air, but the vomit on my sleeve kept me breathing through my mouth.

  She gave me a confused look.

  I gave her a smile. “If you’ve drawn up any energy, go ahead and try blasting the living shit out of me.”

  “Watch your language!” Edward/Brand said. “There’s a lady present!”

  I glanced over at Ankhesenamun. “It’s all right; she doesn’t speak English.” I knew she could understand my words, but Edward didn’t know that. It wasn’t important anyway, so I turned back to the old woman. “If you have any real energy, this would be the time to show me.”

  The old woman frowned. “I need help to cast spells.”

  I grinned. “Doesn’t matter. If you’re lying, you can take your shot whenever you want. If you need the help, it’s not worth my time to let you gather your ingredients. Whatever you’ve done to Brand, you need to undo it. Right now.”

  “Brand is dead.”

  I closed my eyes and laughed while I gave my head a slow shake. “Maybe I should just shoot you. That would probably break the spell.”

  “Nothing can break the spell. Your friend is dead, I tell you.”

  “Right. Here’s what I think. Brand is inside his body but unable to do jack or shit. I suspect he can hear what we’re saying, though. I’ve encountered possessions of this sort before. Brand, if you’re listening, I’ll have you free in a few minutes.”

  “You’ll do no such thing!” the old woman said.

  Kelly smiled at Brand. He started to take a step toward the bed, but Kelly grabbed him by the balls and squeezed. He crumpled.

  “I’m going to let you go,” she said. “When I do, I want you to stand up straight and put your hands behind your head.”

  “Can I put some trousers on?” he asked.

  “We’re all grown-ups,” Kelly said. “You don’t have anything we haven’t seen before. Now do as I said.”

  She released him and he rose. He put his hands behind his head.

  “I would have let him put on trousers,” I said.

  “Because he’s bigger than you?” Kelly asked.