The Ghost: Final Chapter

All characters are over eighteen and fictitious. This is it--I know it's been a long time coming--the finale of the Ghosts series. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you continue to enjoy my other stories.

Chapter 1

Dec. 21st, 2019

The coffee was good, although he preferred Kelsey's, Imogene the waitress had done her best. The waitress seemed to have worked at this diner for a considerable time. She appeared to be in her late fifties and reminded him of his mom when he was younger. The black liquid warmed his tongue as he focused on the town outside. It was bustling with a spirit of shopping and joy as it was close to Christmas. He smiled as he thought of Kelsey and what he wanted to buy her.

Setting the cup on the table with a tip under it, he stepped out into the crisp winter air of Erie, PA. The winds were harsh against his skin and blew the snow around his feet. Smiling he reminisced about his true home- the ranch he had grown up in when life was simpler in Indiana. Texas was once home for many years and although he had some wonderful memories, the less fond ones overwhelmed though.

As he walked toward his vehicle, he thought about where he had been in the past five months. Baton Rouge, Charlotte, and several towns in between, littered with gangs and thugs who found quick justice at the hands of "the Ghost". The faceless man was now being hunted by the FBI, ATF, DEA, and local and state authorities across the United States. He found in Charlotte that Guijosa had help from the D'Angelo family tracking him down. Smiling, he now had the cartel and mob searching for a faceless ghost of a man causing chaos in their sandcastle world.

In researching the D'Angelo family, he found that Vincent DiNunzio was the head of the family. He had a dark history, starting as a foot soldier in the mob before becoming one of the deadliest hitmen in the family. When his old man died, there was no dispute he would become the leader of the family.

There isn't much difference between the cartel and the mob except the mob is more secretive about their business. When he arrived in New Jersey and then in New York he kept his ear to the ground, watched, and learned the comings and goings of known hangouts and businesses of DiNunzio. One night he went into a bar that he saw Vincent go in. Blending in the crowd, he sat in a booth where he overheard some loudmouths talking about the meeting between families. It seemed all the families and their underbosses would meet to strike deals and territories in the city.

Mark found one of Vincent's foot soldiers in an alley near the bar a couple of days later. Before he expired he told Mark the location of the meet in Hoboken NJ. Knowing the area would be heavily fortified, he left the city for the destination scouting before they arrived. The location was on a corner lot, a family-owned restaurant near the railyards. The night before the gathering, Mark entered the restaurant when nobody was there. Rigging several pipe bombs in the overhead heat vents, and putting a brick of C-4 on the grill gas lines, he went to the back door rigging the lock to malfunction.

Across the street were two abandoned warehouses, which he chose and set up camp. The next day the restaurant was closed until the afternoon when the families started to show. He settled into his chosen spot to watch the fireworks along with his trusty AR15 and MK 46 Mod 1 and waited to see who would arrive. Town cars and SUVs mostly pulled into the parking lot, with men dressed in suits and some had arm candy beside them.

He waited for over an hour looking through the scope of the AR-15. Outside the eatery there was no movement, except for the occasional car passing by. He played with the detonator with his thumb like he was playing truth or dare. A few more minutes passed when a couple of black Tahoe's with dark-tinted windows pulled up to the curb. Two men got out of the front Tahoe and two more got out of the second and went to the passenger side of the second Tahoe.

Before anything else happened they looked around cautiously, while another burly man came outside to welcome them. The back door opened, and two men emerged. One was Frank Simone and the other was Vincent DiNunzio. The men shielded them at every movement while looking around, looking for any hint of danger.

The burly man from earlier opened the door and all the men entered the restaurant. Through his scope he could make out figures but nothing else through the windows. The shades were drawn, and the lights seemed to be dim. Smiling he lifted the cover of the detonator, putting his thumb on the button, as the other raised the AR. With one push of a button the world they were living in exploded in a matter of a second.

While observing the flames' intensity and feeling the heat, he patiently waited for any signs of life. Looking through his scope, he watched the door. Swinging open, two men stumbled through, when two rounds found their mark in each man's chest. Continuing to observe any more movement he could hear the screams and cry for help to decline.

He hurried from his spot in the warehouse to his vehicle. He left the scene, looking in his rearview mirror, watching the fire and police vehicles arrive on the scene. He remembered jumping on the interstate and heading west toward the town he left Kelsey, listening to Bon Jovi's "Wanted Dead or Alive," finding it a bit ironic.

*************

Dec 23rd, 2019 - Olathe Ks.

The red-headed young lady sat in a chair by the bay window, watching the snowfall. Her heart was heavy with longing for a man and his touch, while he was of vengeance. Every moment that passed felt like an eternity, as thoughts of him, the man she fell in love with, left her feeling adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

Mark left in July, while Scott and Lorrie decided to disappear and start a new life. Kelsey still had Rosa and Monica around, but they were always busy with the formidable tasks of trying to erase Mark's movements or finding factions of the cartel for him. Even though Kelsey was grateful for them helping him, deep down she felt anxiety and a sense of helplessness. She had been by his side ever since he saved her. Her thoughts betrayed her as she wondered if he even thought of her or loved her as much as she did him.

On occasions, her phone would ring with his voice on the line sharing snippets of where he was and what his experiences entailed. The phone calls were bittersweet, providing a semblance of connection and a painful reminder of his absence.

Kelsey could always keep track of him though through the stories on the nightly news and social media. His activity over the past few months had left a trail of chaos and death across the southeast and east coast of the United States. He was the FBI's most wanted, while some local law enforcement viewed him as a hero. His targets were criminals after all, the kind of people who managed to evade prosecution repeatedly.

Being lost in her thoughts, and oblivious to her surroundings, her hopes and dreams intertwined with each snowflake that danced outside the window, each holding a whisper of her Christmas wish.

Rosa entered the room, her eyes immediately noticing the depths of Kelsey's longing. Having experienced the same yearning, Rosa felt a sympathetic pang in her heart. Approaching Kelsey with grace and understanding, Rosa gently touched her shoulder, pulling her out of her melancholic trance. Startled, Kelsey turned to face Rosa, who exuded an intriguing and exotic aura. Kelsey felt a glimmer of hope in that brief moment of connection as their hands touched.

"Kelsey, remember," Rosa reminded her softly, "he promised to be home soon."

Her heart skipped a beat as those words echoed in her ears. Yes, Mark had made a promise, a pledge to return to her. It was a flicker of light amidst the darkness of uncertainty. Embracing this new spark of hope, Kelsey sighed and replied, her voice tinged with apprehension and determination, "I hope he follows that promise. There's so much we need to talk about." Closing her eyes, she tried to find solace in the moment's stillness, seeking strength within herself. She knew that no matter what happened, she had to remain strong. She steadied her racing heart with a deep breath, preparing herself for whatever lay ahead.

***********

Dallas, TX

With a cheerful expression and shining blonde hair, the young nurse entered the room and warmly greeted her patient, "Sir, good evening, are you excited Christmas is two days away!"

The man, with a disfigured face and body, glared at the woman and snarled. In a harsh, husky voice, he retorted, "To hell with Christmas, and hell with you!" His lungs failed him once more, causing him to cough even harder. She quickly placed the oxygen mask over his face, giving him a refreshing air mist to help him breathe.

She gazed into the man's eyes and softly said, "I understand that you didn't mean any harm, Mr. P. I am hopeful that those responsible for the tragedy involving you and your wife will be held accountable." As she spoke, he closed his eyes and tightly gripped the edge of the bed, angrily wishing it was Marks' throat he was holding instead.

Sensing his tension, she gently placed her hand on his chest and felt the rough texture of his scarred skin. Sitting beside him, she began to sing softly, rubbing his chest to soothe him. Gradually, she felt him unwind and completely relax. He had remained in a coma from that cold January day until the end of June. She was his nurse when he finally awakened from his prolonged slumber. Refusing anyone else's assistance, he insisted that only she attend to his needs.

Both of them were snapped out of their thoughts by the ringing phone. She quickly answered and heard a strained voice on the other end. "May I speak with him, please?"

She handed the phone to Mr. P., aware he would be annoyed once he ended the call. He seemed to always feel this way after speaking with this particular person. "Tell me what's going on, Gunny."

He spoke with a tired and strained voice as if he had been exerting himself for a long time. As an old Marine, he had shouldered many burdens over the past year, and now he felt his body beginning to wear down. He was not concerned about entering Valhalla but had a task to complete. "Sir, I'm ready to proceed as planned, but I must remind you that this favor will come at a cost."

Gunnery Sergeant Robert "Gunny" Jameson, formerly of the United States Marines' 1st Force Reconnaissance Company, was uniquely positioned. A mysterious individual had approached him with a lucrative offer: complete one final mission and receive a substantial fee of $2.5 million. This opportunity presented itself as Gunny's ticket to retirement, allowing him to spend his days basking on the beach for the remainder of his life. The prospect of this final task and the subsequent payday filled him with anticipation and an eagerness to start.

After hanging up the phone, Mr. P gazed out the window, reflecting on a past when he and his wife had been blissfully happy and deeply in love. The harsh reality suddenly struck him like a brick--the cherished memories had become nothing more than fragments of the past and would never materialize again. His attention returned to the blonde woman who resembled his late wife, absorbed in conversation on her cell phone. While he was inclined to forcibly snatch the device away and forbid her from talking while he was present, his heart was swayed as he gazed upon her face.

"You bear such a striking resemblance to my wife," he commented. With a smile, she tucked her phone away, smiling affectionately. Sitting beside him on his bed, she tenderly embraced him, offering solace in his time of sorrow. With great compassion, she cradled his head against her chest as tears flowed uncontrollably.

Deep inside, she knew another Christmas with her beloved family was a distant dream. For now, her life had come to a standstill. Gently, she placed the oxygen mask back on his weary face, giving his lungs much-needed reprieve, and she quietly left the room. Casting a subtle wink towards the nurses' desk, she approached the elevator, heading to her apartment.

***************

December 24th, Olathe KS.

Lawson arrived at the house just outside Olathe and parked his car. The journey had been uneventful, except for his anxious thoughts about seeing her. Sitting in his vehicle, he gazed at the large two-story house off the main road. A wrought iron fence enclosed its driveway. The place seemed peaceful, with a few neighbors where people often gathered on their spacious front porch, starkly contrasting his previous living situation a year ago. Exiting the car and going to the front door, he couldn't shake off the feeling that something wasn't quite right.

Suddenly, a bullet whizzed past his head, narrowly missing him, followed by another that struck his left leg, causing him to collapse. He swiftly drew his 9mm and returned fire, shooting several rounds toward the source of the shots.

Attempting to crawl away, he was unable to escape the onslaught of bullets raining down upon him. One grazed his upper right shoulder, incurring a sharp pain that sent tingles throughout his entire body. Despite the odds, he fought to maintain consciousness, determined to stay alive and complete his mission.

Once the shooting ceased, he carefully maneuvered himself towards the porch, seeking refuge behind it. Despite the respite, the agony in his leg persisted, compelling him to ponder the identity of the assailant. How long had this person been tailing him, observing his every move in anticipation of this fatal opportunity?

A white truck came racing down the road towards where he lay. With screeching brakes, it halted, and a figure emerged, quickly advancing towards the prone Lawson, a gun aimed at his head. This person exuded the ruggedness of someone who had engaged in numerous gun battles, possessing an uncanny skill for shooting with accuracy and precision. Every movement, fluid and effortless, brought him closer, his aim fixed unwaveringly on Lawson, his finger delicately poised on the trigger. Pointing his weapon at Lawson, the assailant honed in on the spot where the injured man had collapsed onto the ground.

Lawson tried to lift himself, but his arms failed him, causing him to collapse onto the pavement again. Helpless, he observed as the man drew nearer, aiming a gun at his head. "You have a mere sixty seconds before I condemn you to hell. Rumor has it that you've taken the lives of numerous individuals in the last six months, including my employer," the man declared. Pulling back his hoodie, he exposed his identity to Lawson. It was none other than the Gunnery Sergeant.

Lawson recognized the familiar anger in the man's eyes, an anger he had encountered multiple times in his career. "I've encountered individuals like you before, but you've crossed a line this time," the Gunnery Sergeant observed.

Glimpsing the man's twitching finger on the trigger, Lawson knew he was eager to condemn him to hell. "You believe that taking innocent lives can somehow justify your actions. It cannot," he stated firmly.

Reflecting on his own past experiences, Lawson added, "I have taken many lives, but never any that were innocent."

"How about the Pattons?" the man asked, stepping closer to Lawson. Weak and vulnerable, Lawson was unable to defend himself, and the man could easily discern that he was growing weaker, bleeding profusely and losing his strength.

Lawson took a deep breath and spoke with conviction, "Gunny, you're a smart man." Despite the smirk on the man's face, he continued to hold the gun menacingly, prepared to shoot. "It was Guijosa who killed the Pattons. That's why I'm caught up in all of this."

Jameson's grip loosened slightly as he asked, genuinely perplexed, "But why?"

Lawson gave a casual shrug. "That's my mission. My family, the Pattons, and all the families they've affected... they deserve some payback." Observing that the man was growing restless, his grip tightening once again, Lawson swiftly changed the subject. "By the way, how did you manage to find me here?"

Jameson glanced back at him and remarked, "Gingersnap is inside. She's lovely, although one could argue she may be a bit too young for you, don't you think?"

As Lawson's anger boiled, he felt an urge to stand up but quickly realized he could hardly move. "Gunny, don't you dare mention her," he managed to say through gritted teeth.

Gunny couldn't help but smirk when he detected the man's vulnerability. "If you're willing to endanger your life for her, you must be deeply infatuated."

Lawson was fuming. "Don't you even think about hurting her, or I swear to God, I will hunt you down and make you beg for death before I slit your throat!"

Gunny chuckled and replied, "Isn't that a clever idea? Despite your efforts, you'd never find me. But for now, it's time for you to sleep." He approached Lawson, positioning himself to deliver the fatal blow. Helpless, Lawson couldn't prevent the gun from firing. As the world turned black and the sound of gunfire echoed in his ears, he faded into oblivion.

As the lights flickered on, Jameson captured a grim image of Lawson, covered in blood and struggling to breathe. Without wasting time, he rushed to his truck and immediately called Mr. P to inform him of the shocking news.

Mr. P smiled on the other end and replied, "Good job, Gunny. You have done your job. Come and get your prize."

Jameson glanced back at Lawson, a friend from their time serving together. The task was complete, and the payment received from Mr. P had been wisely utilized. Jameson was content with his bank account brimming, and the boss was satisfied with the outcome.

Kelsey and Monica rushed to the porch, their hearts pounding as they discovered Lawson's lifeless body. In anguish, Monica dropped to her knees at his side while Kelsey let out a piercing scream, collapsing onto him. "Please, don't leave me alone again."

********

Lawson listened intently as a man's urgent voice broke through, telling the women he had called for help. He recognized but struggled to identify the following voice, which belonged to a woman. She calmly instructed him to flag down an ambulance. At the same time, she applied pressure to the victim's chest wound.

The man's voice sounded strained as if he was running, "Yes, ma'am."

The woman breathed heavily as she said, "Don't worry, Mark. We got you now. Just stay with us." He succumbed to darkness and silence and drifted into a deep sleep.

When he finally stirred, his surroundings had transformed into a hospital room filled with the steady rhythm of beeping monitors, and an IV hung beside him. The first sensation that registered in his consciousness was the searing pain emanating from his chest and leg. He slowly opened his eyes and saw a worried face of a nurse standing beside him. He tried to speak, but his voice was hoarse and weak.

He managed to croak out, "What happened?"

With a gentle gaze, she smiled warmly at him. "I'm glad you chose to join us. You were really in bad shape back there." Moving purposefully, she went to inspect the IV and check his vitals. "You added a few scars, but the great news is that you'll completely recover."

Glancing towards the opposite side of the bed, she observed a redheaded woman resting beside Lawson. "She never left your side," she remarked. She then approached to double-check the monitor before exiting the room.

Lawson looked around and noticed that the hospital room was pretty big. The room had plenty of space and looked like it was made to fit four beds instead of just two. The room also had a couch on the far side, next to the long window with closed curtains. There was also a chair that reclined; someone who looked asleep was currently occupied. Closing his eyes, he felt sleep come upon him once again.