GHOST_4_Kindle_V2 Read Free Page B

and cooled down. She brought the coffee a few minutes later. It wasn’t stellar. But it was coffee…a blessed, wonderful thing.
    I got extra napkins and wiped down the camera. I opened it up and took out the battery. I couldn’t see any corrosion or damage, but a few beads of water had found their way inside. I twisted up a napkin and shoved it in. Then I wadded the camera up in a bundle of napkins and waited some more.
    “Okay, sweetie,” Maria said, appearing at my elbow. Her gum popped. “What can I getcha?”  
    “You recommend anything?”
    “Depends. You like things spicy?”
    I thought I did. “Sure.”
    “Pepperoni calzone,” she said. “Ricotta cheese, peppers, our sauce—best around.”
    “Sold,” I said. “And extra peppers please.”
    Maria smiled and scribbled on her note pad. She popped her gum again and was gone.
    I alternated sips of ice water and coffee, and then I unwrapped the camera. It was as dry as I could make it. I pushed the battery in and hit the power button. To my surprise, there was a faint musical tone and the camera came on.  
    Its default mode was photography. The lens telescoped out, and the restaurant interior appeared on the screen. The image was a little grainy, but given the swim in the Gulf, it wasn’t too bad. There was a silver knob on the back. I turned it until the lens sucked back into the camera. Viewing mode. I pressed a silver toggle to flip through the pictures—if there were any on the memory card…and they hadn’t been corrupted by saltwater.  
    There were pictures. Eighteen of them by the counter icon. The first one was blurry, too close to whatever it was and too out of focus to tell the subject. The second picture slid into view. A beautiful young woman. Red hair; very pale, porcelain-perfect skin; thin ruby-red lips.  
    A man stood behind her, but the top of the shot cut off everything above the tip of his nose. All I could see was his sturdy cleft chin, his full lips, toothy smile, and the tip of his nose.  
    It was a strange pose, and something about it bothered me. Their positioning, so close and intimate, faces so very near to each other, made me think of a carnival photo booth. But the photo lacked the silly spontaneity of a photo booth. And the smiles weren’t pleasant. His was a sharkish thing, full of know-it-all guile. And hers was lopsided like that of a TV zombie or a stroke victim…unsettling.
    The third shot, I froze.  
    The fourth picture, I stopped breathing.  
    The fifth picture…  
    My throat constricted, and I seized the edge of the table. I’d tensed up so much that the nearly healed wounds on my back stung. I retched and fought to keep from losing it.  
    “Sir?” Maria the waitress called from behind the counter. “Sir, you all right? You need a doctor?”
    She was at the table in a heartbeat. I flipped the camera flat so she couldn’t see the picture. “No doctor. I’m okay.”
    “You sure? You’re about as pale as you could be. Paler than before, even.”
    “No, I’m good.”
    I stood up, shoved the camera in my pocket, and tossed a twenty on the table.
    “What about your food? You want it to go?”
    “No! No…thank you,” I said, tempering my voice. I grabbed my case and headed for the door. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ll be able to eat…for a while.”

Chapter 3

    The camera burned in my pocket.  
    And, as I strode through the humid air up Highway 30, one thought haunted me: there were thirteen pictures left.  
    I am no stranger to blood. And I have experienced more of death than most, but the images I’d seen at the pizza shop hit me like sledgehammer blows to the gut.  
    Memory Washing cleansed me of these kinds of images, removing the specifics—the all-too vivid, mental videos of disturbing violence—from my conscious mind. But there was nothing I could do about the dreams.  
    Unbidden flashbacks while I slept: macabre images of torn flesh, gasping breaths, and lives seeping away