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Meanwhile, in another section of the cemetery overlooking Statton's river, two shadowy figures raced and darted between the gravestones. In the lead, Gifford cast desperate glances over his shoulder. His breath huffed as he kept running, the fear of being caught pushing him forward. Behind him, Brianna followed with the grim determination of a wounded animal.
It had been years since she lost a teammate to Death. The images of Tom's lifeless body in her arms while serving in the Army invaded her mind, but instead of hindering, they spurred her onward. They had never caught Tom's killer, she could catch the rogue cop. She ran between the tombstones, but being taller than Gifford, she found it hard when he swerved and changed directions. Brianna pushed her hands outward to avoid falling over a tombstone that stood at an angle from the uneven ground. Her breath exploded from her lungs. Why was she tiring? She rarely felt fatigue so soon when running. Perhaps it was the uneven ground. This wasn't a normal obstacle course. But this felt different.
She looked up and cursed. Gifford had vanished. She swung her eyes side to side but found no sign of him.
Something clicked by her ear. The unmistakable sound of a gun's hammer pulled back. The pistol's barrel poked the side of her head.
"Do you really want to take me in?" Gifford's voice said from behind her.
Brianna closed her eyes and thought of Craig. "You killed a lot of women that night."
Gifford sniffed. It sounded loose and snotty. "That was Danaus. He made me do it."
Brianna spun, stepping back so that the gun kept contact with her. Her right arm trapped Gifford's gun hand while she gripped him for control. Before Gifford could respond, her palm smashed his nose. Cartilage crunched into his face, and Brianna forced him to the ground. The gun dropped from his hand, clattered along the top of a grave's cement top, and dropped to the grass. Gifford grunted, his free hand flailed and gripped Brianna's hair. Brianna kicked a leg over Gifford, but he twisted, pushed her off, so she tumbled to the ground.
In a flash, Gifford stood and kicked at her head. Brianna caught his foot, twisted, and Gifford screamed in agony as he dropped to the ground.
But he didn't hit straight away. It took half a second longer. Brianna watched him disappear into blackness, heard his body thud. Something cracked loud. Brianna gasped. Was that what she thought?
She stood on tired legs and gulped upon seeing the gaping blackness. Where was Gifford?
Instinct saved her, stopped Brianna from stepping forward, and she sighed with relief. She hadn't seen the open grave. To the side lay the safety tape usually placed as a warning. Someone had torn it down, possibly vandals or kids. Her ears strained to listen as her eyes adjusted to the six-foot-deep hole's gloom.
Gifford's twisted body lay motionless at the bottom, barely visible in the murky depth, his head cocked at an impossible angle.
"Broken neck is perfect for you," she spat.
Something distracted her. Movement to the side.
Brianna glanced, almost jumped in startlement, but she relaxed when she realised it was a little girl nearby.
"What are you doing out so late, little one?"
The girl couldn't have been over three years old. She didn't answer Brianna but stood there, silent, with a stuffed toy dog in her arms that stared back at Brianna with a goofy grin. The child craned her neck, stepped closer to the open grave, and looked with impassive eyes at Gifford's dead body.
Brianna followed the girl's gaze at the corpse. Something moved down there. Shadows. They swirled around Gifford's body. His voice screamed from the hole, chilling Brianna's marrow, as she noticed his spirit form emerging from the body. But the shadowy fingers grabbed him and dragged the spirit's body deep into the ground.
Shocked at the sight, Brianna stepped towards the little girl to shield her from the horror but stopped. The little girl was a spirit too!
Cherubic eyes gazed upward at Brianna; the hint of a smile appeared. Brianna couldn't resist smiling back, but the child turned, her hair shining in the moonlight, and pointed across the cemetery.
She looked where the little girl's finger pointed... and followed.