Ghost Soldier
GHOST
SOLDIER
The Ghost Files #2
by
Evelyn Klebert
Created by
Scott Nicholson &
J.R. Rain
THE GHOST FILES SERIES
Ghost College (Book #1)
by Scott Nicholson and J.R. Rain
Ghost Soldier (Book #2)
by Evelyn Klebert
Ghost Fire (Book #3)
by Eve Paludan
Acclaim for Evelyn Klebert, J.R. Rain and Scott Nicholson
“Set in the marvelous city of New Orleans, Ms. Klebert takes us on a journey that’s layered through lifetimes current and past. It is a marvelous adventure, and one that encompasses healing, trust, and the rapture of undying love. Treading on Borrowed Time is an outstanding achievement. It is a story that lingers upon the heart and mind.”
—AIDEN JAMES, author of The Forgotten Eden
“Gripping, adventurous, and romantic—J.R. Rain’s The Lost Ark is a breakneck thriller that traces the thread of history from Biblical stories to current-day headlines. Be prepared to lose sleep!”
—JAMES ROLLINS, international bestselling author of The Doomsday Key
“Like Stephen King, Scott Nicholson knows how to summon serious scares.”
—BENTLEY LITTLE, international bestselling author of His Father’s Son
OTHER BOOKS BY EVELYN KLEBERT
NOVELS
A Ghost of a Chance
An Uneasy Traveler
Sanctuary of Echoes
Treading on Borrowed Time
Ghost Soldier
SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS
Breaking Through the Pale
Dragonflies: Journeys into the Paranormal
The Left Palm and Other Halloween Tales of the Supernatural
POETRY COLLECTIONS
Considerations
Explanations
GHOST SOLDIER
Copyright © 2012 Evelyn Klebert
Based on characters created by J.R. Rain and Scott Nicholson
Published by J.R. Rain and Scott Nicholson
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between persons living or dead is purely coincidental. All rights reserved by the authors. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to your favorite ebookstore and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Thank you for reading us.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Ghost Soldier
Reading Samples
About the Authors
Other Books
Ghost Soldier
Chapter One
It had been Ellen’s idea. But as was the case with most of her ideas, it was a great one. She’d always wanted to visit New Orleans for a reason that, a bit out of character for her, was difficult to articulate. It was clear she felt drawn on a deep psychic level.
“Can’t you just feel it?” she asked whenever there was a news story or she came across or a colorful coffee table book in Barnes and Noble. Of course, Hurricane Katrina had nearly flattened the city. And I noticed something with my lovely wife beyond her evident compassion for all the victims of that catastrophe—there was another indefinable sadness, on a personal level.
And then I got it, she thought she’d missed her chance. That it was all gone. But as evidence of its resilient nature, New Orleans rebuilt, and in my infinite wisdom I surprised Ellen Drew on her birthday with a trip to the Crescent city.
And that’s how we ended up here at Pat O’ Brien’s on Bourbon Street late on a Saturday night surrounded by an eclectic and colorful mix of tourists and citizens intent on getting blasted out of their minds. But my Ellen was beaming and that was good enough for me.
“So what are we doing tomorrow?” she asked. “The riverboat ride, or we could find Madame Lalaurie’s House, or Anne Rice’s St. Elizabeth’s Orphanage? Or we could ride the streetcar down St. Charles Avenue?”
So great, just like a kid in a candy shop. “Um I’m good for anything, except beignets again. It took forever for me to get that powdered sugar off of my blue jeans.”
She smiled in that tantalizing way that made me wish we were anywhere else besides in a crowded patio bar. “Tell you what, handsome. You take me on a riverboat and I will find you some chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast.”
“You do know how to entice me.” Another stunning smile and then she took a long sip out of that tall glass filled with Pat O’Brien’s Traditional Hurricane. For a moment I wondered if Ellen’s great mood had a bit more to do with what was in that glass than her surroundings. It was an odd red drink, a mixture of liquors that probably shouldn’t even be in the same room together. And there had been wine at dinner, too.
But, what the hell, we were on vacation. I took a long sip of my hurricane and felt contentment wrap around me as Ellen snuggled against me and asked coyly, “You want to go back to the hotel?”
I nearly answered in the resounding affirmative when a daunting thought swooped in. “Oh damn.”
“What?” she asked with confusion.
“Tom, I told him we’d be here and he said he might drop by.”
She frowned a bit. “Well, it’s late. Maybe he’s not coming.”
“It is getting late. Maybe five more minutes, and then we should pack it in.”
She nodded happily, taking another sip of her hurricane. Tom Nolan, or rather Captain Thomas Nolan, was my cousin, stationed at some military base in New Orleans. We hadn’t been in touch much at all since we were kids, but I thought I might as well give him a call since we were in his city. Before I could fish my cell from my pocket, a hand slapped my back. “Monty! Hey, buddy, long time no see.”
My heart fell ever so slightly. I’d been literally within minutes of making an escape with my lovely if ever so slightly toasted wife back to the Royal Sonesta.
Tom was dressed casually, as seemed to be the order of the day around the French Quarter: polo shirt, jeans, and scuffed loafers. He settled in across from us at our rickety, black metal table.
He smiled broadly. Yeah, I could still see my childhood playmate in his face. “So great to see you guys. I haven’t seen you since…”
“The wedding,” Ellen threw in helpfully.
He nodded. “Yeah, you both look great. So can I buy you another round of drinks?”
I held up my hand instinctively. “No thanks, we’ve about reached our limit.” There was certainly a difference from being lightly toasted and obnoxiously drunk.
Another smile from him and my suspicion meter began to go off. I’d spent enough time working as a P.I. to be able to size up people. Tom clearly wanted to appear relaxed but definitely had something in particular on his mind besides buying a round.
“So how’s business?” he asked, losing interest in booze. “I understand that you two do—well, what would you call it?”
“Paranormal investigations,” Ellen answered calmly. I noticed she had clothed herself again in her professional demeanor. No doubt picking up on some strange vibes from Tom as well.
“I see, and is there a lot of call for that kind of stuff?”
“We keep busy,” I answered a bit vaguely. I wasn’t exactly sure where he was going with this. While I was as much a skeptic as anyone about the paranormal, I certainly wasn’t in the mood to entertain that attitude from anyone else, particularly a cousin on our vacation. I usually looked upon a similar skepticism as criticism of my wife,
which I never tolerated well. Noses had been broken over less.
“Well.” He seemed to being having difficulty saying what was on his mind.
“Well?” I prodded.
“Well, I’d like to ask a favor. I’d like to ask you to come down to Jackson Barracks tomorrow for awhile. We’re, well, we’re having a situation.”
We’d had enough wells in 15 seconds to water all of the Sudan, but now we were getting somewhere.
Chapter Two
Ellen had a difficult time saying “No,” when it came to people asking for help, especially when it involved a paranormal investigation. She was a gifted sensitive, a profound psychic, and she’d always felt it was an ability that she was intended to use—to help.
Me? I was a bit hacked off at being pulled from my wife’s “dream vacation and the lovely delights of our hotel bed.” She wanted to be upset by it, but didn’t feel she could be; and I was “upset” and willing to express it.
“You know we could still take an evening riverboat cruise, if this wraps ups quickly. Tom said we could probably wrap things up in no time.”
“Yeah Tom said a lot of things.” I grumbled. It felt off. Somehow the whole thing felt off. Some paranormal activity in one of the old ante-bellum homes on the base. From what he said these houses predate the Civil War, no telling what they have lurking about.
I drove the rental car tentatively along St. Claude Avenue per Tom’s directions, right to the edge of the City of New Orleans. Sure enough, just to the right was a long brick wall leading up to the entrance.
“It will be all right,” Ellen murmured. I reached over and patted her hand, more hoping that she was right than believing it.
I hit the intercom that was positioned right in front at the guard house. “Monty and Ellen Drew to see Captain Nolan.”
There was a crackling at the other end then a response. “Come on through and then pull your car to the right and leave the vehicle.”
“Leave the vehicle?” I repeated with a bit of confusion.
“Yes, get out of the car,” the voice announced sternly.
As instructed I drove the car through the gates and then pulled off to the side, where I was met by two uniformed men. Opening the door, I gave a quick glance to Ellen, whose wide blue eyes met mine with question. “Step out of the car, driver,” the soldier directed emphatically. As my feet met the concrete, I felt the hackles on the back of my neck rise. I never did well with authority.
“Pop the trunk,” the soldier ordered. He was a young guy, early twenties at most, but with an attitude right out of Snot School.
“Would a ‘please’ be too much to ask?” Bad move, but I couldn’t help it. The soldier grimaced, but said nothing as he and his companion begin to go through our bags.
As they hit the equipment bag filled with our EMF spot thermometer, FLIR thermal imager, infrared camera, and night-vision goggles, I got a bit irate at the invasion. “Hey, a little gentle, guys. That stuff is expensive.”
“The captain told us you were historians. Is this for your research?” The young soldier met my eyes skeptically.
“Yeah, we’re thorough,” I answered. Clearly old Tom was weaving stories about us.
With little care he returned the bags to the trunk. “Fine, step back—please.”
His “please” had all the charm of a street fighter with a hangover.
I took Ellen’s hand and stepped back from the car, watching with interest as they passed some sort of long device with a mirror attached to it, underneath the car. I wasn’t one to frequent military bases but it was more than clear security had tightened up since 9/11.
“All right, everything looks fine. You can follow us to the Adjutant General’s Office.” The two soldiers jumped in a jeep and pulled out ahead of us. As we got back in the car, Ellen murmured, “I don’t know about this.”
“Yeah, looks like this is going to be fun.”
Chapter Three
We were ushered into a large, glossy new building and then a large office where the Adjutant General sat behind a large desk. Tom was standing near the door looking a bit like he was ready to jump out of his skin. General Renshaw was an older man, probably sixties, but clearly a smooth talker.
“So happy to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Drew, hope you’re enjoying your trip to our lovely city.”
“Maybe soon,” I said clearing my throat still a little ticked by the frosty reception we’d received at check in. “So far, we’ve only really been here a day, and the city hasn’t been as hospitable as the tourist industry spin would suggest. At least in some quarters.”
Ellen patted my hand, saving the moment with her charm. “Monty means we haven’t had a chance yet to fully enjoy our stay.”
“Ah,” he said slapping his large desk with flair. “Then we’ll be sure not to keep you too long. Tom, why don’t you fill the Drews in on our little problem?”
“Yes, sir.” Tom fell at ease, his shoulders loosening. “Well you probably couldn’t see from the road but this base actually houses a number of structures that predate the Civil War.”
“Structures?” Ellen asked. She’d been abnormally quiet during our entrance, no doubt tuning into all that sensory input we normal folks always seemed to miss.
“Yes, that’s right. Unfortunately, we lost many during Hurricane Katrina, but there were a number of brick buildings, mostly houses that we were able to refurbish. It would have been a terrible loss for all that history to just be washed away.”
“But Katrina was nearly seven years ago,” Ellen said. I was picking up on an icy note in her voice. She didn’t like this general, and I’m not even sure she cared much for Tom at the moment.
“Yes, that’s true, but final work on these places wasn’t completed until about a year ago. And Colonel Blanchard didn’t take up residence in the house in question until that time.”
There seemed to be an awkward silence that fell on the room at Tom’s final statement. “House in question?” I echoed.
He glanced a little furtively to his commanding officer, who gave him a silent nod. “It’s designated as Number Four. Built in 1837, it’s really a magnificent piece of architecture.”
“What’s the problem?” Ellen said.
“We’re not sure it is a problem.” Tom seemed to stammer a bit.
“Out with it, Tom,” I said with a sigh. “We could be off riding a streetcar somewhere.”
“Look, Monty, this isn’t easy. What we’re dealing with is so unusual.”
“Go ahead Nolan, give the details,” Renshaw ordered.
“Yes, sir,” Tom began nervously. “Well, Colonel Blanchard and his wife started reporting some odd disturbances. Voices late at night in the house, strange sounds, furniture shifting. Then the plumbing started going, sinks overflowing, faucets turning on spontaneously, strange reddish water flowing up out of the bathtubs.”
“Probably rust,” Renshaw mumbled.
Tom gave him a wary glance and continued. “The plumbing contractors couldn’t find the problem.”
“Is that all?” Ellen asked quietly.
I glanced at her. She was listening now with concentration, clearly picking up her own images as they spoke.
“No, things escalated,” Tom said. “The Blanchards reported odd cold spots in the house. Then some of the stairs gave way. We thought it was a construction issue, but it seems not. One of their children broke a leg.”
“Is he all right?” Ellen asked pulling a look of surprise from both Tom and Renshaw.
“Yes, yes, the boy is doing fine.” She’d known it was a boy without their saying. Definitely bolstered our credibility — although whether that was good or not was still out to the jury.
“So, the Blanchard family decided to move out.”
“No kidding?” I commented. “After the accident?”
“Yes.” Tom hesitated. “And after a particularly bad night. A lot of furniture moving, flying around the house, screams, mattresses bobbing up and down.”
>
Ellen glanced at me furtively. There was definitely a “Maybe we’ll pass on this one” look on her face.
“So,” Renshaw said, smiling inappropriately. “Think you can help us out here?”
“General, I have to tell you, as a favor to Tom, Ellen and I decided to postpone our vacation and come hear you out. But...”
“Look, Mr. Drew.” Renshaw interrupted forcibly. “This is a matter of national security. Jackson Barracks is an important military hub for the National Guard in this country. As you know in these trying times in the world, we have no idea when any of us may be called to duty. And we can’t have anything, how shall I say it, mucking up the machine. We need this situation nipped in the bud.”
Ellen said, “Look, General, I can appreciate that, but we’re not insect exterminators that can take care of a problem with a few shots of a chemical spray. This could be a highly complicated situation.”
“Assuming it even falls within our range of…expertise,” I added a bit caustically, shooting a glance at Tom.
The general frowned. “I see. We’ll pay you double what you normally get, and more if it’s handled quickly and discreetly.”
“Colonel Renshaw,” Ellen interrupted with more grace than the situation called for. “What Monty is trying to say is that even if we take on this case, there are no guarantees that we can help.”
Tom stood quietly waiting and Renshaw nodded as though it was finally penetrating. “All right, but the question is, are you going to try?”