Page 79 of Jon's Helter Skelter Cold Case

Jon grimaced. “You do have me there, but they weren’t angry at you or aiming for you.”

He did bring up a fair point, but still. Gravestones. Flying through the air. Very much a no thank-you in my book.

I held my silence as we breached the door. Ever have two instincts warring with each other and you weren’t sure which one was going to win? I had one instinct insisting I stay right in front of Jon because if the perp popped out of nowhere, I wanted to be poised to respond. Then I had the other instinct insistingI stay behind Jon because he could see the aura of ghosts and could protect me.

Hey, people who love to say follow your instincts? Could use some guidance here, thanks.

So far, my protect-Jon instinct was winning, and we moved slow and steady through the doorway. This seemed to be some kind of a mess hall, judging from all the abandoned tables still neatly stacked in a row. The roof was shot, windows long gone, but the tables remained in place. Weird.

We kept going, through the next door, which I checked both ways before coming out of. This one led into a wide hallway, with something that may have been administrative offices? Desks and abandoned file cabinets littered the area, half-charred files strewn about the floor. Inmate records, from the peek I took. Weird they didn’t take any of those with them.

Jon kept his hand at the small of my back. It was an easy way for me to track where he was without having to constantly glance back, and I appreciated he remembered to do so in moments like these. Steadied my nerves. Some. Ten percent, maybe.

“No ghosts,” Jon murmured.

“Thanks.”

See? He did love me. I could use all the reassurance he was willing to dish out.

We kept walking. Marc and Gonzalez had split off to the other wing, and they’d call and let it ring three times if they found something there, so I had part of my attention on the phone in my pocket. I hoped someone found this guy soon. Just so I could get out of here.

How did this place getmorecreepy as I walked through it?

Which begged another question.

“Jon,” I muttered.

“Hmm?”

“Explain this to me. Why do people like going into these places? I mean, it smells—”

Mostly of mold. I’d need a long shower after this.

“—and it’s creepy as hell, and people voluntarily go through places like this. Some of them do it just so they can find ghosts. I don’t get it.”

Jon gave me a pat on my back. “Takes all types to make the world go round.”

He wasn’t wrong, but… “There’s no other explanation for this?”

“It’s like pineapple on a pizza, love. Some people love it, some people will declare war over it. There’s no logic behind it. People love what they love.”

“I’m going to side with the haters on this one.”

“Yup, that’s fine.”

Part of the reason I was marrying this man was because he supported my absurdities.

I smelled and spied something nasty and sidestepped it, warning Jon. “I think that’s dog shit.”

“It’s something shit, anyway. This whole hallway’s bad. There’s layers to this like a freaking parfait made of shit in different stages of decomposition, and I swear it’s somehow getting worse. Hot shower after this.”

“Long hot shower,” I agreed. At the end of the hallway, I glanced both ways, grimacing. “Which way?”

“Er, right? Marc and Gonzalez are left.”

True, they had that area covered. Or so I hoped. Right it was.

We went right, still slow and cautious. Hurrying along in situations like this usually made the situation worse. For one, you made a lot of noise by running, alerting whoever you were chasing. For another, you couldn’t pay attention to your surroundings, and missing cues always bit you in the ass later. As much as I wanted to run—and boy howdy did I want to run—and get out of here, I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk Jon by being careless. So I walked at a steady pace.

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