Alexander Death (The Paranormals, Book 3) (34 page)

“Ain't really cooking. Just eggs and bacon. Y'all have a seat.”

Jenny and Seth sat in the mismatched chairs at the old table in the kitchen.

“You planning to stay long?” her dad asked, while stirring the eggs with a spatula. His back was to them, but Jenny could hear a little sadness in his voice.

“I'm sorry, Daddy,” Jenny said. “We got problems to deal with.”

“Homeland Security,” her dad said. “They done been here three, four times asking questions about you.”

“That's one problem,” Jenny said.

He served them the eggs and bacon on his chipped dinnerware. Jenny went to the fridge and poured orange juice into the vintage
Happy Days
glasses and brought them to the table.

Her dad cleared his throat as he sat down. “Okay. Tell me what else you got to deal with.”

“There's another guy like us,” Jenny said. “But he can touch dead people and make them do stuff for him. Farm. Fight.”

“Sounds like them
Living Dead
movies,” her dad said. “Your momma and I saw one at the old Star-Nite drive-in off 278. Guess you don't remember that. Closed up in '90-something.”

“The sign's still there,” Jenny said.

“Old Roy Cramer kept that thing goin' a long time, though,” her dad said. “Used to be the place to go on Friday nights. Had them a Pac-Man, a foosball table, just about everything you could want. Your momma liked the popcorn. Had to get one with extra salt and butter every time.” His eyes were distant now. He was obviously thinking about Jenny's mother. Jenny wondered if he was thinking how much happier he would have been if Jenny had never been born.

“This guy's going to come back for Jenny,” Seth said. “He feeds on her power. He won't let her escape long.”

“So you're going back on the run,” Jenny's dad said.

“Not exactly,” Jenny told him. “We're going to let him come to us first, here in Fallen Oak. We've already talked it over with Seth's parents. But I was hoping you could help us, Daddy. We have a few things to prepare.”

“Want a slice of hoop cheese?” Her dad stood up and lifted the glass bowl from a half-eaten hoop of cheddar on the cutting board.

“I'm full. This was really good, Daddy, thanks.” Jenny gathered up the dishes.

“So, can you help us?” Seth asked. Jenny scowled at him for rushing things.

Her dad bit into a slice of cheese and chewed it slowly.

“You know, Jenny,” he said. “Whatever the hell you kids are, you're still my little girl. I'll help you if I can. I'm just worried for you.”

“Let me tell you what Seth and I have planned,” Jenny said. “Then you can decide.”

“I already decided,” he said. “Can we talk about it later on tonight? I want a little while when I can just be happy you're home. I'm not ready to think about you leaving again, Jenny.” He scraped a few scraps of bacon and egg from the pan into Rocky's food dish, which was now in a corner of the kitchen instead of out in the shed. Rocky bounded over to it, his tail whipping.

“Okay,” Jenny said. “It's good to see you again, Daddy.”

“Used to see you every day.” He looked out the window, into the thick woods behind the house. “Guess it won't be like that no more.”

“I guess not. I'm sorry, Daddy.”

***

Later, her dad went to the Piggly Wiggly to buy some ribs to grill, and Jenny and Seth sat on the bed in Jenny's room. Rocky napped on the floor nearby.

“It's so strange,” Jenny said, looking around at her country music posters, stuffed animals, misshapen attempts at pottery. “It's like this is just one more past life. It's never going to be the same, is it?”

“We're not kids anymore,” Seth said. “I'm going to miss my parents, too. But I'll be happy as long as we're together. I love you more than anything in the world, Jenny.”

“I love you, too, Seth.”

“Even if you stab me with a scalpel and set me on fire, I'll still love you.”

“Hey, it got us out of there. I need an album cover.” Jenny fished a record out of a milk crate full of dusty, wrinkled LP sleeves. All of them had belonged to her mother, another lifetime ago. Jenny looked at her mother's picture on the wall, where Miriam stood against the neon signs in McCronkin's Pub, raising a Bud Light and smiling. Jenny liked this picture because it made her imagine that her mother had spent her short life being wildly happy, surrounded by friends.

Jenny slipped the record out of its cover and dropped it on her tabletop record player. The scratchy speakers hissed.

“Hey, this one's for you, Seth,” Jenny said. She placed the needle in the groove, and the long-ago voices of a very young Johnny Cash and June Carter sang “Darling Companion.”

Jenny sat beside him on the bed, laid the old water-stained album cover on her lap, and crumbled the bud of weed she'd liberated from the cigar box in her dad's room. This was probably part of the harvest from the patch he grew out on neglected, bank-owned land outside of town. The money mostly went to cover the property taxes on the Morton family land. He broke the government's law in order to pay the government's bill.

“I thought you said you were quitting the drugs,” Seth said.

“Yeah, I'm never touching coke again. That stuff makes you into a real asshole.”

“It sure does.” Seth brushed her hair from her face and kissed her. “I'm glad you came back.”

“I'm glad you came swooping in to take me,” Jenny said. “My hero. How sexy of you.”

“I think it was very sexy, personally.” Seth kissed her. “You're so lucky to have me.”

“And you're so unlucky that my last boyfriend wants you dead. He's a gangster, you know.”

“You're a dangerous girl.”

“Obviously.” Jenny licked and twisted the joint in her fingers. “Rocky, want to go for a walk?”

Rocky, who had by all appearances been deep in a coma under the window, jumped to all four feet and scampered to the door, tail wagging.

Jenny and Seth walked along the trail into the hilly woods behind her house. They reached the heap of boulders where they had spent lazy afternoons and a few very hot evenings together, but Jenny led him on past the big rock.

“Where are we going?” Seth asked.

“Further.”

She led him up and over a steep ridge and through a stand of old, coiled oak trees to a small patch of sunlit meadow, full of fall wildflowers, purple asters, goldenrods in bloom.

“Here.” Jenny took his hand and led him a little pyramid of creek-smoothed stones at the center of the meadow. “This is where my dad buried my mom.”

“Oh.” Seth gazed at the stone cairn. “I didn't know she was here.”

“Officially, she's still 'missing,'” Jenny said. “My dad hid her body so they wouldn't identify her cause of death. Which was me. It's my fault she died. I ruined their lives, my mom and dad. They used to be happy people.”

“It's not your fault.”

“It is. I've started figuring out a way I can avoid killing my...killing my mothers, when I'm born. It happened by accident the first time. If I'm born in a caul, that will protect them.”

“What's a caul?”

“It's a membrane from inside the womb. The amniotic sac, is what it's called. Some bodies are born wrapped in it. Looks like a shroud of skin.”

“That sounds creepy.”

“Most people think it's something sacred.”

“But you can't control that, can you?” Seth asked.

“If I'm careful enough, and enter the fetus early enough, and I really concentrate...I think I can. I messed it up last time, but I've done it a couple times before. I was in too much of a rush, and we'd been searching for Ashleigh between incarnations, because she was hiding from us—I don't think I moved into this body early enough to influence the womb like that.” She looked at mother's grave. “I promise I'll never make that mistake again, Momma.”

“Moving into the body?” Seth asked. “Is that what we do? Find some developing baby in the womb and...what? Possess it like a ghost? Are we taking over lives that were supposed to be lived by someone else?”

“From what I can remember, the regular human souls can move in anytime during pregnancy, up until right before the birth. So we just have to find an empty vessel nobody's claimed yet. It's like parking at the mall. You hope for a good spot, but you take what you can get.”

“Where do all the human souls come from, anyway?” Seth asked. “Do you remember that?”

“I'm not sure I ever knew that.” Jenny knelt by the cairn of stones, straightening a few that had slipped loose. “But, I think I'm kind of jealous of them. Maybe they reincarnate for a while. But ultimately they come from somewhere, they move on to somewhere. Not us. We're just stuck here, over and over again. I don't know if we ever get to move on.”

“I don't mind being stuck here, as long we can live our lives together. Think of everything we might see, in all those lifetimes to come.” Seth knelt beside her, rubbing her back. “I'm sorry about your mom, Jenny.”

“I know.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “You lost your brother. That must have been rough.”

“Yeah.”

“I can almost see why people like Ashleigh and Alexander resist getting too human,” Jenny said. “It can hurt so much. There's a lot of suffering involved once you start to care about people. Love makes you vulnerable to the worst kinds of pain.”

“It does,” Seth said. “But it's worth it. I think it's worth it. Don't you?”

Jenny smiled and kissed him again.

“What you want to do is hit them just before closing time,” Tommy said. “That's when they've got the most cash. It's easier to escape late at night, too. No traffic.”

“That's when they expect to get hit,” said Booker, one of the two guys with whom Tommy was drinking. They were at Jack's Spot, a filthy little bar with several pool tables and extremely cheap beer. “You want to go sometime they don't expect. Like first thing in the morning.”

“Yeah, he's got a point.” Booker's friend Chucky nodded. “They don't expect shit right when they open.”

“They don't have any goddamn money yet, either.” Tommy jabbed his index and middle fingers at Booker. The Marlboro between his fingertips had grown a long ash. “You have to let them make sales all day so the cash register's stuffed.”

“Ought to hit a Korean place, too, 'cause they can't tell white people apart,” Chucky said. He was about three hundred pounds, close to thirty years old, with a kerchief featured flaming skulls tied onto his head. Chucky scratched his beard stubble reflectively. “Or an Arab. Nobody gives a shit about Arabs, right?”

“I'm not robbing some Arab,” Booker said. “They'll come back and suicide-bomb your ass.”

“Forget it.” Tommy downed his plastic cup of Milwaukee's Best. “I'm not doing a job with anybody as stupid as you two.”

“Stupid?” Booker slammed his cup on the table, next to the empty pitcher. “Let's go outside and see who's stupid.”

“You go first, I'll be there in a minute,” Tommy said.

“You'll be there now!” Booker shouted. Heads turned. The crowd was looking to see if there was a fight, and which guy they'd bet on if one broke out.

“Fuck off, Booker,” Tommy said. “You're shitfaced. You'll probably pass out before you make it to the sidewalk.”

Chucky laughed, and Booker bared his teeth at him.

The crowd grew quiet. Tommy looked up and saw four uniformed cops entering the front door. One of them pointed at Tommy, and the other nodded. Tommy stood up and glanced toward the restrooms, where the rear exit was located. Two more cops were coming in from that direction.

“Shit,” Tommy whispered.

“You! Stay right there!” one of the cops shouted at Tommy. “Keep your hands where we can see them.”

“Well, boys,” Tommy said to Booker and Chucky. “Playtime's over. It's been nice drinking with you scumbags.” He took a deep breath.

“You calling me a scumbag now?” Booker stepped closer, swerving unsteadily on his feet. He raised two meaty fists.

Tommy exhaled a cloud of blood-red spores that filled the room like mist. People stood up, shouting, as spores landed on their skin and dissolved, and more spores disappeared into their mouths and noses.

“Look!” Tommy shouted, pointing at the four police officers. “Terrorists! Terrorists disguised as cops! They're going to kill us all!”

The crowd turned on the police, looking frightened.

“We can stop them if we all work together!” Tommy yelled. “Let's get these fuckers!”

The mob closed in around the police. At the same time, the police turned on each other, beating each other with fists and nightsticks. Then the mob fell on the police, punching and kicking at them from every side.

Tommy made his way through the small riot to the door, dodging flying bottles and broken table legs. He stepped out into the street, put on his sunglasses, and walked to his motorcycle.

He knew what had happened. Tommy was too small-time to bring on a nationwide manhunt. Plus, he'd been careful, staying at Esmeralda's mother's apartment, never telling anyone his legal name, Thomas White.