Read Online Spirit Breaker by William Massa - Free Book Online

about spirit beings like the Reaper, but among the whispered legends and half-forgotten lore, one detail stuck out. Ghosts were often bound to the place of their death. Maybe, just maybe, the Reaper wouldn’t be able to follow him beyond the walls of his retail tomb.
    A final roar of bestial, frustration accompanied his escape, and then Talon was sprinting across the parking lot. He hated to retreat. Leaving the bodies of the fallen behind wasn’t his style, either. But nothing would be gained if he faced the Reaper and allowed himself to become just another rotting corpse in the mall. He would strategize with Casca and return to face this entity.  
    If there was a way to defeat a ghost…
    Moments later, he reached his rental car and kicked open the hinged door, still unwilling to hazard a glance behind him, praying the entity wasn’t following him.  
    He sucked in sharp mouthfuls of air, fired up the ignition, and tapped the accelerator. Only once the Regional Mall had receded in his rear view mirror did his hands stop shaking.  

    ***

    A half an hour later, a battered Talon used his keycard to let himself into his hotel room. One of the reasons he avoided five-star hotels, even though Casca could afford them, was that the cheaper, more rundown places offered more privacy. People knew to keep to themselves. Not having to trudge past a reception desk to get to your room didn’t hurt either. In his current beaten-up state, he would’ve drawn plenty of raised eyebrows.
    He staggered into the bathroom, flipped on the light switch, and stepped up to the mirror to assess the full extent of the damage. His skintight black sweater had been shredded by the spectral attack and the skin underneath felt bruised and sensitive. His chest burned as he pulled off the shirt. He tossed the ruined garment on the floor and inspected the twin black marks that ran down his pectoral muscles in long, fat lines. The new injuries framed the inverted pentagram scar Zagan had carved into his skin back in San Francisco. The wounds resembled electrical burns of some kind. Making matters worse, his stab wound was bleeding again too.  
    I’m falling apart here , Talon thought.  
    He shouldn’t be complaining. At least he was alive. The same couldn’t be said for the man he’d failed to save back in the mall.  
    I shot him but he never left this place.
    Talon considered the dead man’s words and concluded he must been one of the cops who put a stop to the Reaper’s wanton massacre five years earlier.
    Talon rubbed an anti-burn salve on his fresh wounds and bit his lips. The cream stung like crazy. He wrapped his chest in gauze and swallowed a few painkillers.  
    He’d faced demons and cults, but he’d never confronted a ghost before. His amulet had saved his ass, but he was in dire need of a different kind of weapon and a new strategy if he was to face the Lightwalker and his spectral master again.  
    He can speak to the dead.  
    What did it all mean? Was this cult leader controlling the Reaper’s spirit somehow? Casca would no doubt have some ideas on the matter.
    Talon staggered to the small desk which fronted the bed and switched on his laptop. A Google search produced a piece on the Reaper. A photo of a familiar face confronted Talon: the police officer he’d left behind at the mall. His name had been Officer Rob Benson, one of the first officers to arrive on the scene. Over the years, Talon had walked into enough combat zones to know the kind of horror Benson must’ve encountered on that horrific day. After his partner was hit, Benson drew fire. Four bullets cut down the Reaper. Many of the followers lost heart after their leader went down. Who knows how many more innocent lives would’ve perished if not for Benson? The man deserved every commendation he had earned that day.
    Talon also knew Benson probably didn’t even see himself as a hero. Like soldiers, victories lost their luster when it came at such a high price.