Detective King pushed his hat up and cocked his left eyebrow. "Tongues?"

"Yeah, it's when real religious folks get worked up and start talking in a language that doesn't exist... well, on Earth anyway."

The older detective nodded slowly. "For one who speaks in a tongue does not speak to men but to God; for no one understands, but in his spirit he speaks mysteries."

"Sir?"

"From the Bible, Officer Perry. First Corinthians." Detective King was barely participating in the conversation now. He had a faraway look in his eyes. I could almost hear the gears turning in his head.

"Anyway," Officer Perry said. "I got to thinking that you don't have to be a foreigner to speak in tongues. You just got to be super religious. The boy's father might be onto something if that's the case. Your guy be could our guy, too."

Detective King slowly got out of his head and turned to the younger police officer. "He certainly could, Officer Roland. But I'm afraid that isn't necessarily good news."

The officer looked at the detective perplexed. "Why not, sir?"

"Because if you're right, I am definitely looking for a man who has a history of abducting children. I have a sinking feeling there are many more fathers out there like our fellow officer."

The detective and the uniformed officer shared a few more bits of information before King shook Roland's hand and exited the building. The dead boy and I followed him down the street.

"Any time you want to clue me in on how this Land of the Dead thing works, feel free," I said to my dead companion.

I felt my stomach sink and turn. The young police officer passed through me in a dead sprint.

"Detective King," the officer called out.

The grizzled old cop turned in his direction.

"One last thing," the officer said as he reached the detective.

"I'm listening."

"Your suspect stopped at a newsstand and picked up a package, right?"

The detective nodded. "The newsy said it was a box wrapped in canvas. Howard left it with him before he went to visit the Budds and picked it up with Grace in tow an hour later. Why?"

"Our witness said our suspect had something under his arm. She called it a package, but then changed her mind."

Detective King shut his eyes momentarily and then let out a sigh. "Called it a package? What do you mean?"

The young officer hesitated as if he didn't want to answer the detective's question, but he finally relented. "She called it a package at first, but changed her statement later. The man was dressed like a housepainter, so she assumed it was a small drop cloth folded up and tucked under his arm."

"I see," Detective King said. "But you think it was a package like she originally stated."

Officer Roland shook his head. "It's just an awfully big coincidence, that's all."

King squinted his eyes against the afternoon sun. "Yes, it is, Officer Roland. Yes, it is." The detective got a faraway look in his eyes again.

"What are you thinking, Detective?"

Detective King cleared his throat and said, "I'm just thinking."

"About?"

"What a terrible day it will be when I find out what's in that package."

DAY 4.

FIFTEEN.

I came to groggy and angry at the bottom of the stairs. I had been to the Land of the Dead three times, and I wasn't any closer to knowing what was going on.

Kimball licked my face as I tried to gather my thoughts. I patted him and gently pushed him away. "I appreciate it, boy, but your breath stinks."

I stood up and worked out the kink in my back. I was getting tired of falling down stairs. It would be nice if my dead pals would put in a door to the Land of the Dead.

My back cracked and popped and I almost felt free of pain. I may have even smiled when I took my first step in a long time without involuntarily groaning. I reached out and placed my hand on the wall. It was cold and rough. It was stone. A stone wall. That's when it hit me. I was in the basement. My mind was in such a haze, I had forgotten where I was headed before my last trip to the Land of the Dead.

It suddenly became difficult for me to breathe. I turned and considered going back up the stairs, but stopped myself as I rested my foot on the first step. I couldn't turn back. Another day had passed. I didn't have time to be scared. "Don't be such a pansy, Griffin," I said. I leaned my head back and yelled, "Get ready, Albert, because I'm coming in!" It was his turn to be a ghost in my world.

Kimball led the way as we moved quickly to the Halloween room. I stood in the doorway and dashed the flashlight from side to side. I was about to enter feeling relatively sure that there was no one in there, when a shadow seemed to move just outside the limits of the beam of light. I stopped, hesitating before I moved the light back in the shadowy figure's direction. There are some things you're just not sure you want to see. The shadow was gone, but there was something standing in its place... or someone, I should say. I didn't move. I just stared at the cowering figure. He was trembling, but still managed to smile. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He was chubbier than I remember him. Kimball approached him with his tail wagging, and the boy who shouldn't have been there reached down and happily patted him on the head.

"I always liked your dog," the boy said.

I gasped at hearing his voice. I could feel the corners of my eyes getting wet. "Stevie?"

It seemed as if I stood in the doorway for days without moving, but in reality it was just a few minutes. Seeing Stevie standing there, petting my dog, squinting against the beam of my flashlight, made every hair on my body stand on end. I lost track of time, of myself. Guilt, anger, utter happiness, terror, every emotion you can imagine hit me like bullets from a machine gun.

When I finally moved, it felt like I was walking through syrup. My feet seemed to stick to the floor, and I had to struggle to take each step. I went over a million things to say to him, but all of it seemed stupid. What do you say to the boy you tortured and shamed because he was "slow?" How do you take away the crap you put him through... the crap that led him to take his own life? I'm sorry? That doesn't seem right. I stopped three feet from him and stared at him. He shielded his eyes from the light.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and asked the question I already knew the answer to, "Is this my fault?" I fell to my knees. I wanted him to say no. I wanted him to look at me like it was a ridiculous question, like I was the slow one.

"What?"

I examined his face and saw another beam of light moving in from behind him.

"I thought you weren't supposed to be here, boss," I heard a voice say. It didn't take me long to identify it as belonging to Gordy.

I switched from trying to see Gordy beyond the blinding light to looking at Stevie's face.

"Oz?" Gordy grumbled.

"What," I said as I stood.

"I thought we were supposed to separate."

I was locked on Stevie. "We are."

"This ain't separate, boss man." Gordy dropped the beam of light from my face.

"Didn't know you were down here," I said. "You didn't answer your radio."

Kimball growled, but I didn't pay much attention to it.

"How..." I started, but didn't know how to finish. "Stevie?"

"That?" Gordy giggled. "It's something, ain't it?"

Kimball's growl got louder, but still I didn't notice.

"Not sure why it came out that way," Gordy said.

"Came out that way?"

"Yeah," he said moving closer. "Them Throwaways are freaky."

The air around me suddenly felt lighter. "Throwaway," I said out loud, but to myself. "He's your Throwaway."

Kimball barked. I shined the light on him. His hackles were up, and he was staring holes in Gordy. I moved the light from Kimball to Gordy, and saw what had my loyal dog aggravated. Gordy was holding an eight inch hunting knife. Before I could tell him to put it down, he leapt for me. I scrambled back, letting go of the flashlight, the beam of light bounced around the room. I heard Gordy land on the concrete floor with a painful crack. He grunted as if he'd had the wind knocked out of him.

Kimball barked and growled. I could hear the tap, tap, tap of his nails on the floor as he rushed Gordy, who still had the knife. I was sure of it because I hadn't heard the clank of the steel blade hitting the floor.

"Get away from me," Gordy squeaked. He was still trying to catch his breath.

I heard Kimball's jaws snap shut, and Gordy let out a terrifying yelp.

"Kimball, stop," I said crawling on my hands and knees to the flashlight. When I placed my hand on it, I heard a swish followed by terrible whine. It was Kimball. I picked up the flashlight and twirled it around the room in the general direction of the commotion. Kimball bared his teeth, but he was moving awkwardly.

Gordy struggled to get to his feet. "You shouldn't have come down here, boss. I didn't want to do it. I didn't want to do it."

"What did you do?" My light glistened off the blade of his knife, and I saw the blood.

"He bit me," Gordy insisted. "What was I supposed to do?"

Kimball was panting heavily now.

"You stabbed Kimball?"

He shook his head. "No, I swear. I just swatted it at him, and I cut him. He's going to be okay. He's going to be okay." Kimball laid down on the floor. "Please be okay, Kimball."

"Drop the knife," I said.

"No way, I need it."

"You don't need it."

"I need it," he yelled. "How else am I going to slice the meat off your bones!"

I should have been creeped out by what he said, but I understood it. Part of me... most of me...wanted the knife so I could do the same to him.

Kimball's whining grew more intense.

"We gotta think this through, Gordy. We don't want to eat each other. Not really." I had to hold back a laugh because I really wanted to eat him, and I just sounded ridiculous denying it. "The gray man, he's the one that's doing this to us."

Gordy snickered. "The old man ain't so bad, boss man. He's kind of crazy and babbles on and on, but he kind of reminds me of my grandfather."

"You've talked to him?"

"Can't hardly call it talking, but we've spent some time together."

Throwaway Stevie knelt down beside Kimball and gently stroked his side.

"You shouldn't do that," I said to Gordy.

"Got no choice. He lives in this friggin' basement. The rest of you jerks have taken over the rest of the house. I got nowhere else to go. It's just me and the old man down here. He's harmless, if you want to know the truth. Just talks endlessly about finding his property."

"His property? What property?"

"Got no idea. All he says is it's his, and he needs it. Someone took it from him. *Had no right to take it,' he says. *I need the little bits. Can't have the little bits without my property.' It's all he goes on about."

"Your dog needs a band aid," Throwaway Stevie said holding up a bloodstained hand.

I shot Gordy a death glare. I could feel tell-tale signs of the Delon marking rising up inside of me. My blood began to run cold. So cold it burned. I bit my lip and clenched my fists tightly. I couldn't let it take me over. Not now. "If Kimball dies, I swear to you, I will rip you apart and tear the meat from your bones with my bare hands. I won't even need that knife. Do you hear me?"

He looked at Kimball and then back at me. "Yeah."

"Good. Now, let's say we compromise. Give the knife to Stevie."

"That's not really Stevie..."

"You know what I mean," I barked. "Give your Throwaway the knife."

He wasn't happy about the compromise. His eyes darted back and forth from the knife to me. His brain couldn't comprehend not rushing me and just driving the knife into my heart. I just had to hope that there was enough of the Gordy I knew still left in that thick skull of his. Just as I thought there was no way he would do it, he motioned for Throwaway Stevie to take the knife.

Once Stevie had it, I rushed to Kimball's side and examined his wound. He was bleeding pretty badly, but it wasn't as bad as it looked. Gordy had caught him with the blade at the top of his right leg. I wiggled out of my backpack and took out a spare t-shirt to make a bandage.