Cold Dead Past (17 page)

"You’re right," Swanson said softly. "He sure does look like there’s something wrong with him."

"Well, I’m glad you’re here, deputy," replied Frank. "My daddy always said to go get the police if there were ever a problem."

Swanson’s expression was vacant and he had trouble formulating a thought.  His head was full of cotton and he just wanted to drift off.  For Frank, the whole process was a game.  This was not the end, just a means, as he probed the deputy’s mind, swimming through memories of family picnics, childhood bumps and scrapes, he grew bored.

Slowly, black tendrils rose from the concrete floor and began to wrap themselves around Swanson’s ankles. They inched their way up his legs and then wound around his torso.  He didn’t notice, still transfixed by Gene’s body.

Frank smirked as the deadly vines retreated back from whence they came, slowly drawing the deputy down with them. By the time Swanson became aware of what was happening to him, he was buried up to his chest in the floor.  As he attempted to wriggle his arms free, the concrete around him seemed to ripple like a breeze-kissed pond.

He used all the strength he could muster to turn to Frank and plead, "Help me."

Frank stood there, watching with his shark's eyes, as the deputy slipped in up to his chin.  Frank evaporated, bit by bit, as the concrete floor around Swanson began to solidify. The man felt himself being crushed, slowly, and all that he could manage were some raspy, angry gasps.  The last thing that Swanson saw as he became a permanent addition to the cell block was a Cheshire cat grin.

                                                        CHAPTER 29

Meg opened the door to the sheriff's station, figuring that it was as safe a place as any to wait for Jay.  She walked up to the counter and looked around. There was dust over every surface, shaken loose like powdered sugar by the explosion. She thought to herself how glad she was that she wasn't the one who would have to straighten up that mess.

"Hello."

The switchboard sat unattended, its lights blinking forlornly. The only sound she heard was an occasional hiss from the radio and some messages between deputies at the fire scene.  It sounded as if Greg and Jay might be gone for a long time, so she let herself through the swinging gate and walked to the coffeemaker by the back wall.

The coffee smelled burnt. Meg could see grounds in the bottom of the pot, but she didn't feel like making a new one. She filled up a styrofoam cup and added some creamer and sugar. She took a sip and her nose wrinkled up as she reached for more sugar.

Meg had never really taken a look around the station. She had been there before, of course, visiting at the front desk and in Gary's office, but she didn't have the slightest hint what really went on there.  She did know, though, that the cell block door was never left open, even when there were no prisoners.  She had heard Gary chew out a rookie about it once.  It was a cardinal rule and one of the few that even the Sheriff followed to the letter.  

She walked over to the door. Next to it, the gun cabinet hung open.  She thought to herself that this was probably another one of those cardinal rules, broken.  She took a deep swig of coffee, wondering whether she should chance a look beyond the cell block door.

"Hello," she called, plaintively.  When there was no answer, she was relieved that she had an excuse to beat down her curiosity and walk away.  Then, just as she started to turn, there was a "clang" from inside the cell block.

Meg downed the rest of the coffee, tasting the dregs at the bottom, sour and grainy, on her tongue, and set the empty cup on the nearest desk.  Cautiously, she stepped into the doorway.

"Hello?"

The rest of the station was like an oven, but when Meg stood at the cell block entrance, she felt cold, humid air washing over her face. It caused her cheeks to flush and she shivered. She wrapped her arms round herself, took a deep breath, and crossed the threshold into the corridor.

The fluorescent lighting was now overly-bright and harsh, giving the grey paint a flat, antiseptic look. The first thing that she saw as she got close to the last cell was an upturned bucket about three feet from the cell door. She stepped around it and then, when she looked down and saw what had become of Gene, her eyes widened in horror. Her hand went up to her mouth as she stepped back and stumbled over the bucket. She came down hard on her ass, knocking the wind out of her. For a moment, she saw stars and had trouble focusing her eyes. When things did clear up, she saw the bucket, almost at eye level, overturned.  Around the outline of it, Meg could see a corona of oily chestnut hair.

She shook her head and blinked her eyes and it was still there.  She looked from the bucket to where she could see Gene lying against the bars a few feet away and did a quick calculation about whether what was hidden from her view behind the bucket could be worse than that bloody mess.

Meg kicked the bucket out of the way. There, up to his shoulders in the concrete floor, was deputy Swanson. She gave out a yelp and crab-walked her way back against the far wall.  Her breaths came in hard gasps.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!"

The bucket rocked back and forth on its side in the far corner, like a metronome.  She used the rhythm to time her breaths, taking in deep draughts of air, releasing them in great puffs of cottony exhaust until she had regained her composure.

She shook her head and took a good look at the face. The late Deputy Swanson appeared to be sleeping. Curiosity overcame her fear as she got to her feet and walked around the embedded corpse. Meg couldn't stop staring down at the face, which seemed to her as if it were tilted up so as to speak.  And then, it did.

The shutters flipped up on the vacant, dry eyes. Then, the jaw dropped and slammed back shut so that she could hear the teeth click. It dropped again and the mewling howl of an alley cat burst forth. Meg jumped back.

 
"Holy shit!"

The eyes stared blankly as the head cocked to one side.

"Hello, Margaret," it said.

It was Frank.  She remembered his voice. It still sounded like he was in the middle of puberty and every once in a while, it cracked. Meg fought to retain her composure and gave him an icy reply.

"It’s so nice to see you again.  And my friends call me Meg, but, then, I'm not certain I'd include you in that group."

"Oh," said Frank.  "Meg. I'm sorry."

"You know, if you wanted to talk to me, you didn't have to do something quite so dramatic."

"Tonight's taken a lot out of me, this is just... easier."

"If you think that you're scaring me, you're not. I was the one girl in class who enjoyed horror movies, remember? You can shock me for a minute, but you aren't going to scare me off."

"You're not scared now, but I can tell you, you'll be scared by the time I'm through with my work."

Meg scowled.  "I'm not sure that I'd call what you've been doing work and I doubt you'll ever frighten me if this is the best that you've got. I've seen real trash on the screen with better performances."

Frank's voice took on an angry edge.  "It is work.  My work.  They all deserved what they got.  They killed me and I’ve been so lonely and I just don’t appreciate the way you all left me and then there’s Jay."

She shook her head. "Jay wants nothing to do with you.  He was your best friend, but you’re dead now.  The world revolves, time moves on, people change. Everyone dies, some sooner than others and they should stay dead."

"And some have to pay," he retorted.

Gary and Jay entered the station, stomping the snow and slush from their feet. Gary took a quick look around the office.

"Goddamit. Swanson! Where the fuck is he?"

He walked through the gate and over to the switchboard, which blinked at him furiously.

"I told him to watch Gene, but he wasn't supposed to drop everything else."

"He's probably back checking on Gene or something."

They headed for the cell block and the first thing Gary noticed was the gun cabinet lying open.

He pointed to it and said, "I'll have his ass for sure for that one. He knows better."

Jay checked out the guns as he walked past and almost ran into Gary, who had stopped short in the doorway to the cell block. He turned to Jay with his finger to his lips and then pointed to the end of the hall, where Meg appeared to be in a conversation. At first it looked as if she were talking to a mannequin’s head.  Gary turned back to Jay and said, in a stage whisper, "Oh my God, that's Swanson!"

They stood in the doorway, watching the interchange.  It was more like a monologue.  The only person they could hear was Meg. Frank’s message was for her and her alone. Swanson’s jaw went slack and seemed to unhinge, as if he were a ventriloquist’s dummy at rest.  It slammed shut hard enough this time that some of the teeth broke and the bits clicked as they hit the floor.  A frown crossed its lips before Frank continued.

"Listen.  This is a friendly warning.  I always liked you.  Stay out of my way.  This is between me and Jay, now.  I don’t want to have to hurt you."

"I can’t stay out of it.  I’m in love with him.  If you do anything to him, you bastard…"  She set her jaw firmly.

Jay had slipped closer and overheard her pronouncement, which took him by surprise.  Somewhere inside he’d been hoping for his second chance, he had just never thought it would come at a moment like this.

For him, it was kind of a turn-on, actually, that she seemed willing to fight for him, to protect him like a mother bear protecting her cub.  When she gave the head a hard, swift kick to the nose, he also came to the realization that he didn’t want to have her mad at him, either.

The head didn’t bleed, but neither did it speak any longer after she struck at it.  She turned to leave, satisfied that she’d communicated her message.  When she saw Jay standing there, a stern look on his face, she broke into a smile.

"What was that all about?" he asked.

"Just making a point," she replied.

"What did he say?"

"What?  You didn’t hear?"

He walked over to her and slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her close to his body as they headed back to the front office.

"All I heard was you, talking to a head."

"Well, it was Frank.  I don’t know how he did it.  Jay, I think he means to kill you."

"No, he won't. I don't think he will, anyway."

"The thing that he’s become – the feeling that I got was that it was built on hatred.  He was warning me to stay out of his way."

"You should go with that idea.  I don't think that you should be involved in this any more."

"You're not shaking me so easily. Not after it took all this time for us to get back together. I guess I should thank Frank for that."

Jay pursed his lips. His eyes shifted off to the side as he thought about what to say.  Then he looked her straight in the eyes and gathered himself up.

"Well, somewhere deep inside he’s thinking that he's more than just a friend.  I think that’s why I’m here.  This whole thing was designed to pull me back to town more than for revenge.  Anyone who gets between the two of us is going to suffer."

Meg shook her head.

"I can handle him," she said, softly.

He took her chin gently in his hand and tilted her face up toward his.  He could see a look of uncertainty and concern in her eyes; the rhythmic motion as she ground her teeth, something she did when she was tense and worried.  He hugged her close for a moment, then they walked, hand in hand, back through the office.

They found Gary hanging up a phone at one of the vacant desks.  He sat, deep in thought for a moment before setting his jaw and looking up at them.

Usually, this would be a sign of his determination, but there was something in the look on his face this time which led both of them to feel that he was just barely holding himself together.

"That was Neame," he said. "He was shitting his pants and for the first time since I started in this job, I couldn’t tell him what to do to steer his way clear."

It angered Jay that all Gary could think about was his career, but he kept quiet. Gary's reaction was understandable.  He was faced with something no one had had to deal with before.  At least no one outside of one of the old Hammer or Universal horror movies. 

"So, what are you going to do about this?"

Gary gritted his teeth one more time and then his jaw went slack, a sign of his surrender.

"I honestly don’t know.  Everything else that’s happened, I had an answer.  Gene.  But I can’t rightly say that a dead man somehow dug up a thick concrete floor, hauled it off to the landfill, buried a deputy in a new pour up to his neck, and did it all in the space of just a few minutes."

Jay nodded. "So I ask you again.  What are you going to do?"

Gary rose from his seat. "That fire over at Tommy’s place was a diversion, wasn’t it?  Let’s talk in my office.  I don’t want to attract any attention here.  If someone came by and saw me here now, they might wander in with questions."

The office was hot and musty.  A result of the old central heating system and Gary’s penchant for keeping it locked up tight when he wasn’t around.  Even after they had removed their coats, Jay could still feel the perspiration soaking through the underarms of his shirt.

Gary unlocked his desk, pulled out a key ring, and walked over to a couple of filing cabinets standing alone in a corner of the office.  Both of them had long hasps that ran from the top to the bottom, locked by large, heavy padlocks.  The top drawer of each had a combination lock.  He opened the locks on the one closest to his desk and reached into it.  When he turned back around to face them, the book he had taken away from them at Gene’s was in his hands.

He walked back to his desk and set it down.  He thought for a moment and then said to Jay, "Could Gene really have used this thing to bring someone back from the dead?"

"Like I said," answered Jay, "if you have any better explanation, then make your case.  I’m just a writer and it’s my job to use my imagination.  I’ve seen things in my mind’s eye that most people would think were impossible, so I’m open to just about anything."

"I’m just saying… He wasn’t really that bright to begin with, was he?"

"Well, he didn't have to be a rocket scientist.  After all, this is just a cookbook.  Anyone can follow a recipe."

Gary nodded in agreement.

"We won’t know for sure until I can have Abe take a look at this," said Jay, holding up the book. "Do you mind if we take this to him?"

"I’m still not sure I can believe in any of this, but I’m willing to give anything a shot.  There’s not much sense in keeping it as evidence now, anyway."