good idea.” Bo looked the steps up and down, lips pursed. “Look at this, Sam, there’s a trough worn right down the middle.”
Sam looked. Bo was right. Each step dipped in the center, the stone glinting where centuries of passing feet had worn it smooth. “We’d better be careful climbing these.”
“Absolutely.” Tucking the audio recorder into the front pocket of his jeans, Bo took Sam’s hand and squeezed, then let go. “I’ll go first.”
Sam ascended the steps behind Bo, one hand clutching his notebook and pen and the other pressed to the wall for balance. The brick was cool and rough under Sam’s palm. He let his psychic senses stretch just a little. The residual energy from hundreds—maybe thousands— of deaths swirled through him, making his head swim. He closed his mind to it. Falling down the stairs was not an idea which appealed to him.
Bo turned a stern look to him as he stepped out onto the wide rampart running the full length of the high wall. “I thought you were going to wait until we got up here.”
Sam widened his eyes. “I just wanted to see if I could sense anything. How’d you know what I was doing, anyway?”
“I looked back and you didn’t notice. You had that spaced-out look in your eyes.”
“Oh.”
“Did you feel anything?”
Sam smiled at the excited sparkle in Bo’s eyes. “Nothing unexpected. Just the normal energy from all the people who’ve lived and died here.”
Bo’s relief was clear, even in the dark. “Good. Let me know if that changes.” Switching on the video camera, Bo panned slowly from the steps out over the courtyard. “This is Sam and Bo, Fort Medina, Alabama, walkway on top of the wall,” he recited for the record. “Date is May sixteenth, two thousand and five. Time is nine forty-two p.m.”
While Bo filmed, Sam wandered over to a deep, narrow notch in the wall. Pressing his free hand against the cool brick, he shut his eyes and let his awareness expand. Years upon years of death left behind a crackling energy which crawled over Sam’s skin like a swarm of ants. As odd and uncomfortable as the sensation could be at times, it was by now a familiar one to Sam. There was nothing sinister in it.
“There’s a lot of energy here,” Sam murmured, opening his eyes and pacing down the walkway away from the steps. “But nothing specific. Have there been sightings here?”
“According to Andre, a headless male figure is often seen here, just standing at the top of the steps for a moment before fading away.”
“Creepy.”
“Yes. According to the stories, a soldier was beheaded here during the Civil War. His head rolled down the steps and left bloodstains you can still see in the daylight.”
Sam turned to face Bo. “Do bloodstains last that long?”
“I have no idea.” Bo glanced away from the camera and grinned. “David thinks they paint over the stains from time to time so they can show people and tell the story of the soldier and his ghost.”
“You know what, for once I think David’s cynicism might be right on target.”
“Maybe so. I—” Bo staggered, his shoulder hitting the wall. “Oh. Damn.”
Alarmed, Sam hurried to his side. “What’s wrong? Is it your leg?”
“No. It aches a little, but no more than it usually does. I just…” Bo leaned against the wall, brow furrowed. “I don’t know.”
Sam took the camera from Bo’s shaking hand and switched it off. “Tell me what happened.”
Bo closed his eyes, his head resting against the bricks behind him. “I saw something. Or rather, I suppose you could say I saw nothing. For a split second, I felt like I wasn’t here, but someplace else. Someplace cold and dark, where the air was too heavy to breathe.” He opened his eyes, staring at Sam with a blend of wonder and dread. “It was so strange, Sam. I felt like I was there forever, but it was all over in less time than it takes to blink, and I knew that.”
The hairs stood up on the back on Sam’s neck. “I had a dream like
Sam looked. Bo was right. Each step dipped in the center, the stone glinting where centuries of passing feet had worn it smooth. “We’d better be careful climbing these.”
“Absolutely.” Tucking the audio recorder into the front pocket of his jeans, Bo took Sam’s hand and squeezed, then let go. “I’ll go first.”
Sam ascended the steps behind Bo, one hand clutching his notebook and pen and the other pressed to the wall for balance. The brick was cool and rough under Sam’s palm. He let his psychic senses stretch just a little. The residual energy from hundreds—maybe thousands— of deaths swirled through him, making his head swim. He closed his mind to it. Falling down the stairs was not an idea which appealed to him.
Bo turned a stern look to him as he stepped out onto the wide rampart running the full length of the high wall. “I thought you were going to wait until we got up here.”
Sam widened his eyes. “I just wanted to see if I could sense anything. How’d you know what I was doing, anyway?”
“I looked back and you didn’t notice. You had that spaced-out look in your eyes.”
“Oh.”
“Did you feel anything?”
Sam smiled at the excited sparkle in Bo’s eyes. “Nothing unexpected. Just the normal energy from all the people who’ve lived and died here.”
Bo’s relief was clear, even in the dark. “Good. Let me know if that changes.” Switching on the video camera, Bo panned slowly from the steps out over the courtyard. “This is Sam and Bo, Fort Medina, Alabama, walkway on top of the wall,” he recited for the record. “Date is May sixteenth, two thousand and five. Time is nine forty-two p.m.”
While Bo filmed, Sam wandered over to a deep, narrow notch in the wall. Pressing his free hand against the cool brick, he shut his eyes and let his awareness expand. Years upon years of death left behind a crackling energy which crawled over Sam’s skin like a swarm of ants. As odd and uncomfortable as the sensation could be at times, it was by now a familiar one to Sam. There was nothing sinister in it.
“There’s a lot of energy here,” Sam murmured, opening his eyes and pacing down the walkway away from the steps. “But nothing specific. Have there been sightings here?”
“According to Andre, a headless male figure is often seen here, just standing at the top of the steps for a moment before fading away.”
“Creepy.”
“Yes. According to the stories, a soldier was beheaded here during the Civil War. His head rolled down the steps and left bloodstains you can still see in the daylight.”
Sam turned to face Bo. “Do bloodstains last that long?”
“I have no idea.” Bo glanced away from the camera and grinned. “David thinks they paint over the stains from time to time so they can show people and tell the story of the soldier and his ghost.”
“You know what, for once I think David’s cynicism might be right on target.”
“Maybe so. I—” Bo staggered, his shoulder hitting the wall. “Oh. Damn.”
Alarmed, Sam hurried to his side. “What’s wrong? Is it your leg?”
“No. It aches a little, but no more than it usually does. I just…” Bo leaned against the wall, brow furrowed. “I don’t know.”
Sam took the camera from Bo’s shaking hand and switched it off. “Tell me what happened.”
Bo closed his eyes, his head resting against the bricks behind him. “I saw something. Or rather, I suppose you could say I saw nothing. For a split second, I felt like I wasn’t here, but someplace else. Someplace cold and dark, where the air was too heavy to breathe.” He opened his eyes, staring at Sam with a blend of wonder and dread. “It was so strange, Sam. I felt like I was there forever, but it was all over in less time than it takes to blink, and I knew that.”
The hairs stood up on the back on Sam’s neck. “I had a dream like
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