“So, what did Michael say?” Dorian asked in a worried tone. “Had he ever called you back from an assignment before?”

“No,” Ben replied, “but everything worked out okay. He knew it was all my doing; that’s why he didn’t call you back as well. I managed to convince him we had the right idea. Anyway, apparently there’s some sort of rule about once a guardian starts something in the way of helping, he has to continue. That’s mainly why we’re not being pulled off this case. Michael said to just disappear now would make everything worse. Timmy would lose faith, and Paul, if he didn’t connect his little incident with what he’d done to Timmy, would just continue. And, as his behavior had already been escalating, it would only get to a point that Timmy was doomed.”

“Is that kid really planning to kill his father?”

“Not quite yet, but given several more instances of his father’s brand of discipline, it would be just a matter of time. Anything interesting happen while I was gone?”

Dorian looked uncomfortable and moved to gaze out the kitchen window.

Ben narrowed his eyes at him. “You may as well tell me. I’ll have to know. Timmy is still in school, isn’t he?”

“Yes. He’s due home soon.”

“Where is Paul?”

“Locked in the garage.”

“What?” Ben looked toward the garage. There were windows there, but they’d all been boarded up, and he couldn’t see inside. He could hear nothing coming from within, and he looked back at Dorian. “Tell me.”

“Well, he has some pretty kinky ideas about what he wants from Marcia,” Dorian stammered. “I got the distinct impression that it’s not quite her cup of tea, but, of course, she doesn’t feel she can refuse him.” He looked at Ben, an eagerness in his eyes. “I’m starting to be able to interpret those ‘hunches’ you talked about. I knew, in my gut, that she was afraid. This was just more bullying. So…”

As Dorian hesitated, Ben drew him out. “So, what? You spied on them to see how bad it was, or what?”

“No, I told you, she was afraid. Terrified. Paul had gone to the closet and picked up a bag of ‘toys’, and a small, leather strap sort of thing dropped out to the floor. Before I could even think about it, I picked it up and began hitting him with it. All over his back, his shoulders, his legs.

“And don’t worry,” he added before Ben could interrupt. “Marcia was across the room, sitting on the bed. There’s no way he could think she’d done it. I chased him out of the room, down the stairs, and out the back door. All the way into the garage. Then I just locked him in.”

“How? Can’t he open the overhead door from the inside?”

“He’s pretty shaken, so I imagine he’s not thinking very clearly. There are vicious welts all over him…blood. He won’t need a hospital, unless he’s picking up an infection by lying on a dirty floor. I figured he’d come out any time now.”

“Maybe we should go out and see how bad it is.”

“I think it’s pretty significant that Marcia hasn’t come down yet to see what happened.”

“Can she see the garage from the bedroom?”

“Yeah, if she looks out the window. If she’s smart, she’ll pick Timmy up from school and take him away for the evening. Give Paul a chance to cool down.”

Ben walked through the wall to the yard, Dorian on his heels. They walked through the garage wall and looked at Paul, who was gingerly pulling his shirt away from the drying blood on his back.

“See, he’s still breathing,” Dorian whispered.

“What are you whispering for?” Ben shook his head, moving closer to the man still sitting on the floor. “I wish there were some way we could make him understand why this is happening to him. Who knows how long it will take him to get the message otherwise? He doesn’t seem all that intelligent.”

“Can’t we write it somewhere?”

“I don’t know. It’s something to think about, anyway.” Ben straightened quickly when Paul began to push himself to his feet. He noticed the flogger on the floor, about two feet away. Turning to Dorian, he asked, “Do you suppose any neighbors witnessed the chase? What might they think of a man running away from a flying flogger?”

“I think most people would just ignore anything that didn’t make sense to them. At least, I hope so.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Ben said, moving to the work bench against the wall. He held up a drill, making sure Paul noticed the power tool floating in midair, then slowly brought it closer and closer to the stunned man.

Dorian chuckled, getting into the spirit of things. “Do you think you could get it to turn on? Wait, let me plug it in.”

“Nope, don’t worry about that,” Ben said, even as the drill’s motor came to life, its electrical plug hanging uselessly in the air. He moved toward Paul, who had begun backing away, staring at the impossible sight before him.

As Ben made a sudden lunge toward his face with the drill, Paul turned and ran into the door, knocking himself down. He regained his feet and began frantically pawing at the button that would raise the overhead door. As he made his escape, Ben returned the now-silent drill to the bench and high-fived Dorian. The two followed calmly behind the terrified man, entering the house behind him and waiting for him to stop moving.

Ben almost felt sorry for him. It must be quite a shock, realizing you were being haunted. When he’d first made Dorian’s acquaintance, it had been under much less threatening circumstances. And—and this was a big and—Dorian could see Ben, and still, he’d been shocked. Paul had no idea what was happening.

But he would.

* * * *

“I suppose one of us should see how Marcia’s dealing with all this,” Dorian suggested.

Ben shrugged, still watching Paul, who’d settled down at the kitchen table, throwing the occasional nervous look out the window.

Dorian focused until he was once more in the couple’s bedroom, not really surprised to see Marcia still sitting where he’d left her more than an hour ago, on the bed, her eyes staring sightlessly before her. He looked at the bag Paul had taken from the closet. It was partially unzipped, and he peeked inside, then drew away, disgusted. He had no regrets about his earlier actions in chasing Paul from the room. But how to calm Marcia? It wasn’t fair that she should be afraid.

He looked at the nightstand and, seeing a pen and tablet on it, thought he’d try to communicate with her. It took him a couple of tries—manual dexterity obviously needed some practice—but he thought he might be able to write legibly enough for her to understand.

Marcia…

Nope, she was still staring straight ahead. He tapped the pen against the lamp. Startled, she looked over, her eyes widening on seeing the pen hovering above the tablet. As she moved closer, Dorian continued to write.

I’m Dorian. A ghost. Ben’s a ghost, too. We’re here to…

He dropped the pen quickly, trying in vain to shush her screams. Why hadn’t he foreseen this? Now she was scrambling away from the table, across the bed, falling off the other side. He heard footsteps, and knew Paul was on his way up. Ben appeared in the room just before Paul crashed the door open.

“What the hell is going on?” Paul shouted. “What are you screaming about?”

She immediately stopped screaming, but pointed a shaking hand toward the tablet.

Paul went over to it, bending to read it. He straightened up, looking over at Marcia and pulling his belt from his waist. “I want to know how you managed to chase me into the garage, you sneaky bitch.”

Ben shoved his fist into Paul’s flabby stomach while Dorian pulled the belt away from him. As Paul doubled up, fighting for breath, Dorian pushed him down and they struggled to wrap the belt around his arms and legs, buckling it and leaving Paul in a sort of hog-tied position. He and Ben pushed and pulled Paul until he was leaning against the wall.

Marcia was screaming again, and Dorian grabbed the tablet, hoping to finish his message before his hearing was destroyed.

“Wait!” called Ben. “Only our subject can know we’re here! I just remembered!”

“Too late,” said Dorian calmly. “I’m sure Michael would have stopped us if we violated any sanctified rules.” He continued to write.

…help you and Timmy. We’re not going to hurt you or Timmy, we promise. Now stop screaming, please. Timmy will be home soon.

While Dorian was writing, Marcia’s screams had softened somewhat into pitiful whimpers, her eyes going from the floating tablet and pen to her husband, who was once again breathing and was now swearing and fighting against his restraints.

Dorian tossed the tablet onto the bed where she could see it, and waited while she read what he’d written. She looked up at Paul, her eyebrows lifted almost to her hairline.

“Well, what does the goddamned thing say?” Paul asked bitterly, and probably against his better judgment.

“We’re being…haunted,” she said in wonder.

Paul began to bluster out a protest, but then he must have thought about the drill that had chased him from the garage. Shaking his head, he muttered at her, “Get me out of this damned thing.”

Automatically rising to answer her husband’s demand, she cautiously approached him. As she began to fumble with the buckle, Dorian asked Ben, “Should we stop her from doing that?”

“No,” Ben decided aloud. “Let’s see how he handles things. But be ready. He might decide that somehow she’s responsible for it all.”

As Dorian had expected, as soon as he was free, Paul grabbed Marcia by her hair, pulling her down to him on the floor and knocking her head against his knee. She cried out in pain and fear. Dorian reached down to grab a handful of Paul’s hair, pulling as if to stand him up. He could feel many of the strands breaking, and wondered what would give in first, Paul’s scalp or his grip on Marcia’s hair.

Paul, yelling, finally let go of Marcia, who scuttled back out of his way. Dorian let go, but stayed close. Ben moved in, bracing himself for Paul’s next move.

“I want to know how you’re doing this, you sniveling cow,” Paul began. Marcia pushed herself farther away, her chest hitching as she fought to control her sobs. Before Paul could gain his feet, Dorian reached out and grabbed the first thing his hands touched.

He ripped the lamp away from the table, feeling the cord give way, and sent it in a circling arc toward Paul’s face. He felt the satisfying force of the impact, and knew Paul’s face would never be the same again. Ben reached over and opened the closet door so Marcia could scoot into it.

Paul, roaring with pain and fear, spat out a few teeth and tried to speak. “I get it! Stop, I get it! No more!”

He rolled to his side, wanting to put his hand to his face, but obviously unwilling to cause himself even more pain. He began to crawl toward the door, and Ben and Dorian allowed him to leave the room. They waited until they heard his slow progress down the stairs. Ben looked into the closet, where Marcia was cowering.

Dorian again picked up the tablet, writing once more.

Take Timmy and go somewhere else for the night. We’ll let you know in the morning if it’s safe for you to return.

“Yes, I will. I’ll go.” She glanced at the clock on the dresser. “Oh, no! Timmy could be walking in the door at any moment! Paul’s down there!” She quickly moved to put herself in order, combing her hair and straightening her clothing, showing a determination the ghosts hadn’t seen before.

“I’ll go see that Timmy gets in safely,” Ben said. “It’ll be much easier to relay messages to Marcia once Timmy gets home.”

“And find out exactly what Paul is doing,” Dorian reminded him. “I’m still not sure he’s learned his lessons.”

“I doubt it, as we’re still here,” Ben said cynically. “Paul is probably thinking more of revenge than remorse right now.”

* * * *

Answer the following questions. Best answers win a free copy of this book!

1. Michael had called Ben away from this assignment for a talk, but allowed him to return afterwards. Why might he have called Ben away?
2. Why would Ben and Dorian be assigned to help Timmy in the first place?
3. What events tell you Ben and Dorian hadn’t been at this occupation very long?
4. What do you feel Michael might think about Ben’s and Dorian’s handling of the situation?