Avenge the Forgotten

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

PROLOGUE

He was coming.

Every year, same time, same day, he came back to this spot, seeking answers and finding only greater heartache instead. And, every year, the Will O’Wisp watched for the man who had lost so much yet never gave up hope. Waiting, hoping, the hurting human soul would turn around and never come back. Would forget he knew this place and move on with his life. Every year the Will O’Wisp would think these things from the bottom of its purely metaphorical heart.

But not this year.

There was only one left. One searing flame burning through the black night, seeking its escape, its freedom. And it found only anger and impatience instead, for no one had come lately. The house stood dark in all its haunting glory, absent of any visitors, lonely and cold and always so dark. After the sickness and stories of a young woman losing her mind, people were scared, and their fear kept them away.

But not this year.

The Will O’Wisp may have been trapped in this empty Savannah home, but it held an acute awareness of time. Centuries living with its curse, five years since Tessa Taylor first entered the house and set off the chain reaction of lost souls. And time, all of it, was finally coming to an end. In just a matter of days, he would be here, standing on the sidewalk like he always did, eyes searching for a truth he wasn’t willing to accept. This year, he would find that truth whether he was ready or not. The Will O’Wisp would make sure of it, one way or another.

Benjamin Cates would not escape again.

CHAPTER 1

The city was waiting for him.

Crisp, friendly, haunting Savannah just as he remembered, just as it always looked year after year. But there was something different about the sleepy town as he stepped out of the taxi and looked up at the inn where he would be staying for the next three nights. Something nostalgic and a little sad contrasting the bright sunlight and picturesque trees.

Maybe, he considered, it’s because this is the last time I will ever walk these god-awful streets. When he checked out in a few days, he would put this town in his rearview mirror and never look back, whether he got his answers or not.

Ben Cates had made the difficult decision four months ago when booking this trip. After five years of wondering, he couldn’t do it anymore, couldn’t take the heartache and frustration of searching for answers and always coming up empty-handed.

There were no answers to what happened to Tessa Taylor.

With a sigh, Ben hoisted his bag over his shoulder and stepped inside the inn he knew all too well. The first time he’d been here, he’d been excited to spend a weekend away with his fiancée and her best friend. The second time, he’d been a broken man still grieving for the woman he loved, hoping to find some small piece of her still here. Now, he was finally ready to say good-bye.

The receptionist smiled at him with a glimmer of pity in her pretty brown eyes; she recognized him from previous visits and, though she never commented on it, she also knew why he was there. Most of the staff knew, and did what they could to make this stay as easy and stress-free as possible.

Morning, Mr. Cates, she greeted with her usual friendly demeanor. She already had the key out and waiting for him, which she handed over. Same room as last year. It’s all ready for you, complete with extra towels and a complimentary gift basket from a local bakery as a thank you for your loyal patronage. I just need you to sign this and you’re good to go.

Thanks, Jenny. He quickly signed the room agreement, not commenting on the extras since he knew they were just pitying him, and swiped the key from the desk, not needing directions to the room. He could find the narrow staircase leading up to an even narrower hallway in his sleep.

Within minutes Ben was in the room, standing in the doorway taking in the sights he’d memorized long ago. The four-post bed so high Tessa had to leap into it. The bathroom off to the left, an adjoining room to the right, television on a mahogany dresser surrounded on both sides by wide windows overlooking the street. Even the same flower-patterned quilt and soft white sheets that had grazed Tessa’s body as she lay among them.

Enough, he said, shaking his head and forcing himself to enter the room. As soon as he did he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a flask, taking a healthy gulp of the whiskey within, needing it to strengthen him for the trip. He needed it to strengthen him for a lot of things in recent years.

His bag was placed by the dresser and he spent a few minutes freshening up in the bathroom, but that was all the time wasted in the room. He hated the feel of the room, the memories it held, and tried hard to look at it as just a place to sleep. There was nothing real to be found here; it was just a hotel room with a vague imprint of his fiancée. The real answers was out there, in the heart of the city.

So that was where he headed first.

*

After changing into a fresh shirt and shoving back another few swigs of whiskey, Ben left the inn. His feet moved by memory, already knowing where to take him. Past the cemetery, down a sleepy street lined with old yet well kept homes, around the Irish-themed bar situated on the corner. Until, within minutes, he’d reached the main street running alongside a wide river.

As it always was this time of year, River Street was blossoming with tourists and local residents alike. Shops were full, restaurants just starting to open their doors for the upcoming hungry lunch crowd. An open market between the shops and river was bustling, local artisans selling handmade wares.

Ben passed them all by. He wasn’t interested in shopping or even eating. Really, he wasn’t sure what, exactly, he had in mind, other than one final walk down the road leading to disaster. He’d made this walk five years ago with Tessa, wandering just as aimlessly.

Eventually, his walk down River Street took him past what used to be a small shack where tickets were sold for ghost tours. Or, rather, one specific ghost tour by a company that now existed by a different name. The shack was no longer there, though, replaced a couple years ago with a statue of none other than Augustus Jones. As he did the first time he saw the ridiculous memorial, Ben stopped to stare, marveling at how well the artist captured the former guide.

Every nuance was there in meticulous detail. The man’s long hair ruffled by a nonexistent breeze despite being tied back at the nape of his neck. Piercing, laughing eyes seeing into history in a way no one else could. A cheeky expression both cocky and amused, as though laughing at all those who looked upon it. Stone clothing that could just as easily dress a pirate—a long coat with hooks for buttons and a propped collar, flowing shirt open at the collar, loose pants tucked into oversized boots. The sculptor had even added dangling necklaces, one with an anchor pendant, another with a pentagram.

Interesting, Ben thought, taking a closer look. He’d missed that little detail in his other viewings. Curious now, he moved around the statue to get a better look at the man’s hands, both of which were set upon his hips, giving his overall demeanor a self-satisfied aura. There were rings on several fingers, but none with a pentagram. Most were just smooth blocks of stone and one with some sort of bird stamped in the center. A stork, maybe.

Dramatic and a little nonsensical, even in a sculpture.

Shaking his head, Ben looked away. He hadn’t seen the guide since their ill-fated tour so many years ago. In person, anyway. Augustus Jones was always on TV advertising his ridiculously named ghost tour company or one of his charities that gave money back to the city of Savannah, the entire state of Georgia, and many nonprofits across the United States. It was hard to get away from him, especially since he’d even managed to score a few small yet popular bits in movies and TV shows. People loved him, wanted to be him. All his wildest dreams had finally come true.

Yes, the guide had done well for himself. Too well, Ben often thought, remembering the flamboyant man well. He’d been entertaining during the ghost tour, animated and spooky to appeal to his guests, but, at the end of the night, nothing more than an underpaid actor playing a role. Then, of course, he’d had his fifteen minutes of fame talking to the press after everything that happened with Tessa. How the man had risen up so quickly, all but given a business and home by his former boss, and having people fall at his feet … it was all a bit much to Ben.

And a little suspicious, he muttered. The man’s only real claim to fame had been thanks to Tessa, and Augustus had somehow turned those fifteen minutes into a lifetime of comfort. At least one of us made out like a goddamn bandit. With a sigh, Ben tore his attention away, turning to walk away from the absurd statue of an even more absurd man and nearly running into a young woman standing barely a foot to his right. Oh, uh, sorry.

It’s okay, Mr. Cates, the woman replied, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind an ear decorated with tiny silver skull earrings. He instantly recognized them as the symbol for Beware!, Augustus’s idiotically named tour guide company, as far as Ben and most other people in the world were concerned. I was actually waiting for you, she added before he could ask how she knew his name.

He eyed her with a frown. Why?

Her answer unnerved him. Mr. Jones would like a word with you.

CHAPTER 2

It took some prodding, and the promise of drinks at the meeting place, but after a few minutes Ben agreed and they headed to the woman’s car. Miranda, as she introduced herself, chatted as they made the relatively short drive toward the outskirts of town, pointing out landmarks as though he hadn’t been there every year for the last five years. But he let her talk, figuring the repetitive history lesson was preferable over her asking unwanted questions or him having to make small talk.

And here we are, Miranda said as they made a sharp turn onto a narrow street lined on either side by sprawling oak trees. Mr. Jones is the only house on this street until you get to the end, since he bought out pretty much all of what you see here over the years and turned it into either gardens, preserves, or guest homes.

Whoa, Ben muttered as they pulled up to the house. Or, mansion, rather. He’d seen pictures of Augustus’s home in the news when the guide started making it big in business, but the images were always from a distance. Seeing it up close, he was starting to feel a little jealous at just how well the man was doing.

The house—palace?—was at least three stories, or maybe four, with an expansive attic. It had clearly been updated and added onto since it was first handed over to the former tour guide, with wide bay windows, a brand new roof accented on one side with a widow’s walk, and a wrap-around front porch painted white and decorated with fancy cushioned chairs. There was even a double hammock strung up at one end. Wide, spiraling columns along the front gave the home a look of elegance, while the curved peaks at the corners of the roof offered a more exotic touch.

Exotic and elegant, just like Augustus Jones, Ben thought with a snort. He slid out of the car and took a good look around before daring to turn his unworthy eye to the house again.

The yard was a work of art in itself, with several pathways made of pastel-hued pavers winding around lovingly maintained gardens. Knee-high boxwoods created a maze up the front walk, spotted with yellow and pink roses and brought together by a fountain set in the center. As Ben walked around it, he glanced up and down, then did a double take when he realized that instead of mermaids or cherubs or any other cutesy things normally carved into fountains, this one had haunting demon-looking spirits wrapped around the three tiers. Their bodies were long and curved, ghost-like, with gaping mouths and open holes for eyes. Some seemed to be screaming at nothing, others reaching with talon-tipped hands for unsuspecting victims.

Weird, creepy, and yet not at all surprising, he mumbled, not wanting to look at it any longer than he had to. So he shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and continued up the too-fancy walkway, following a couple steps behind Miranda.

When they reached the door, she knocked while Ben turned around to look out over the yard again. He’d always appreciated a nice-looking garden, even though he and Tessa both would never be known for their green thumbs. And this massive garden really was beautiful, if not a bit showy for his tastes.

Some people have too much money, he thought, surprised by the amount of resentment even in the voice in his head.

Benjamin Cates, an Irish-lilted voice said to his left. Ben looked over, surprised to see the enormous front door had opened and the man he recognized as Augustus Jones stood on the front porch next to Miranda. He looked like he used to, with a loose white shirt unbuttoned halfway down and cuffs open, snug black pants tucked into oversized boots, black hair pulled back with a leather band at the nape of his neck, and hands adorned with rings.

Flamboyant as always, and, yet, Ben sensed something reserved in the way Augustus watched him through those charcoal-lined eyes.

Ben. He finally found his voice and reached out to shake the guide’s hand. Been a long time, Mr. Jones.

Augustus, the guide-turned-business owner corrected with a half grin. You look just as I remember.

Frowning, Ben peered over at the slightly taller man. That was years ago and I was just a face in the crowd. How could you possibly remember me?

Back then, yes, Augustus agreed, casually leaning against the railing. But unlike most of our tourists, you, Ben, have come back. Repeatedly. He chuckled when Ben’s frown deepened, but before continuing, turned to Miranda and said, Give us a few minutes, sweetheart. I’ll send him out when we’re done.

The woman nodded and headed down the front walk to wait in the car. Once she was out of earshot, Augustus looked back to Ben. His expression had changed from amused to calculated and a little too serious. Did you think no one noticed, Ben, after five years? Same time. Same hotel. Same tour route in the middle of the night. Maybe you didn’t book a tour like the first time, but it’s a small town. Word gets around.

Ben waited for some kind of accusation or question, and when none came, asked, So what? You going to make me leave?

Leave? Pushing off the railing, Augustus gestured for Ben to join him inside. Ben, I’m going to help you.

Curiosity had him following the former guide through the front door and into the house. Unable to stop himself, Ben looked from side to side, marveling at the décor and expensive tastes, even if they didn’t seem to match the Augustus Jones he thought he knew.

The walls were painted a soft white—he’d expected blue or even black. There was a heavy nautical theme, with lots of shell and anchor and beachy knickknacks—not the kind of decorations most would expect a man who ran a ghost tour company to have. No, this home was refined, elegant even, a strange contrast to the Augustus Jones Ben was currently following down a wide hallway lined with pictures of Savannah in its olden days’ glory.

Guess we all have our surprises, he thought, glancing in each room they passed—a kitchen with all the bells and whistles, bathroom that probably cost more than his entire house to remodel, a living room with the biggest TV Ben had ever seen in his entire life. This place had all the extras, and might as well have been a resort.

Or one of the wonders of the world, he silently added with an inward sigh.

Finally they found themselves in some sort of den or study. The nautical theme was nonexistent here, all the shells and ships replaced by what he guessed were first-edition books judging by the glass cases and perfectly dusted shelves, countless business manuals, and many more readings Ben couldn’t identify. They lined smooth oak bookshelves across one wall, the perfect backdrop for the plush chairs and three-seater couch that looked just as inviting as they did expensive. The other end of the room held an enormous desk topped with a computer and phone, and lamp made up of twisting black metal. The entire study dripped money.

You’ve done well for yourself, Ben commented. He wasn’t