Deadworld (21 page)

Chapter 34

“Here,” Shelby said, handing Nick one of his handrolled cigarettes. “Take it, damnit. I know you want one.”

He let out a huff and took it from her, plucking a match from the container sitting on the counter. With a quick pop of his thumbnail, it crackled to life, and Nick took a long drag on the harsh, sweet tobacco. He watched Shelby light one for herself, something he had not seen her do in years, and then take a long draught off her third beer. She rarely had more than two drinks, but it had little apparent effect on her as she paced around the kitchen and out to the living room to stare through the huge panes of glass at the steady rain that buried Illinois in a sea of gloom.

“And fucking eat something, would you?” She pointed at the burger he had made but had not touched. Hers had been gone in two minutes. “This ‘woe is me’ thing is pissing me off.”

Nick picked up the burger and took a bite, and admittedly it tasted damn good. His stomach had been rumbling since the previous night but he had not had the inclination to eat. Not to mention, Shelby was probably right. Maybe there was a little punishment going on. “Sorry. This thing has me in a poor mood.”

She took another deep drag on the cigarette and then put it out, blowing a long stream of blue smoke out toward Nick’s face. “Yeah, it has me worried, too, but I was out there all night trying to find the prick while you moped around out here and brooded on the possibilities. You know, Nick,” she began with a shake of her head and paced off toward the windows again, “there was a time when the little people got stepped on, you stepped up and made it your business to mete out a little justice. I loved that about you. You stood up for what was right, even if it meant risking your life.”

Her words stung. “I still do, Shel. You know that.”

“Then what are you doing, babe?” She spun around, sloshing beer out onto the floor. “Drake is out there killing people, and you’re acting like you can’t really do anything about it.”

“Can I? Can you?” he added, pointing a finger. “Even with blood, do you honestly think you have a chance against him now?” Frustration, anger, impotence—all began roiling over inside Nick. “If we both had blood, would it make any difference at all? You saw the same thing I did, Shel. Drake opened a doorway and just stepped right through to the other side. We can’t defend against that. If he’s got that much control over it, he could probably just open a door here and take us out while we slept.”

“Why hasn’t he then? Huh? Why?” She stomped across the room at him and stabbed a finger hard into his chest. “You just want an excuse not to fail yet again, knowing that if you blow it this time, you die. You’re taking the coward’s way out, Nicholas.”

He reached up to slap her but caught himself at the last moment. His heart pounded against the tip of her finger, angry and embarrassed. Shelby looked at him, her face flushed with indignation, her mouth as petulant as ever.

She stared at him and then finally drew back, smiling. “Had your chance there, hon. For a second there, you could have had me.”

“I could never hit you, Shel, even if I wanted to.”

“You know, sometimes control is the last thing you need to exercise.”

“What is that supposed to mean?

She rolled her eyes. “Christ, you’re such a guy sometimes. It means go with your gut and your heart. Fly in the face of the odds. Do it because it’s far more glorious to go out with your guns blazing, even if you know you’re dead. You let Drake beat the life out of you, Nick. You let him grind you down, and now you’re letting him gloat over it.”

She had been walking in a slow circle around the dining room table, clenching and unclenching her fists. Now she stopped and looked hard at him, with something of sympathy perhaps in her eyes. Nick was wincing before the words even came out of her mouth.

“You think Gwen would be happy if you just gave up and crossed over? Because, really, that’s what you’re doing. You gave up back in ’70. I just didn’t realize until now.”

The words sat Nick back down on the bar stool. Shelby could just as easily have sucker punched him in the gut. “That’s not a fair thing to say.”

She shrugged. “Truth is still the truth. Don’t dishonor her memory by just walking off into the fucking sunset.”

Nick gritted his teeth. Now he really did want to hit her. “You know what?”

“Hit me if you want to. I can certainly take it. Maybe it’ll even make you feel better. Hell, hit me hard enough, maybe I’ll be inspired to give back a little.” She gave him one of her mock, impish grins. “But, really, you blew your chance the last time. We could have been fucking like bunnies for old time’s sake right here on the table if you’d followed through the first time.”

“That’s not what I want,” he said, the anger dissipating. Painful as it was to hear, she was right. He could never face Gwen on the other side, if she still lingered there for him. Maybe she had made peace with it after all these years and moved on, but he doubted it. No, she would be there, and the notion of greeting her as a failure terrified him beyond measure.

Shelby laughed. “Liar. You’d just feel too guilty over it anyway. Better you direct that energy at someone who really needs it.”

“What, Agent Rutledge again? You need to get over yourself with that, Shel. I feel bad for her. She took everything . . . hard.”

Shelby patted him on the cheek. “The fact that you even think that is what I meant confirms it. And I know she took it hard. I sent Reg to keep an eye on her.”

“You did?”

“Did you see her?”

“Well, yeah, but nobody takes the death of a partner very well.” He had lost his share, but in light of his family going down before his eyes, the impact got diffused a bit.

“You know, for being one hundred and eighty years old, and fairly enlightened by most standards, you can be denser than rock sometimes.” Shelby chuckled and went to the fridge for another beer. “She didn’t just take it hard. It crushed her, Nick. I saw the look in her eyes, or lack thereof, I should say. The poor girl’s life force just snuffed out like a candle in the wind.”

It was a feeling he could relate to far too well. There had been some pretty rough low spots in his life. “You think she could be suicidal?”

Shelby wrapped her finger around the bottle cap and pulled it off, taking another long draught of beer. “Maybe. Doesn’t hurt to be safe. Besides, I’m thinking Laurel may try to contact her.”

“Why so soon?”

“Because she’s strong, Nick, and she has seen the other side. She’s not afraid of it, or at least she’s not so overwhelmed by the Deadworld to need much time to get used to things there.”

“You don’t think she’ll move on?”

Her bark of laughter was sharp and held a hint of jealousy. “As long as Jackie is alive, Laurel is one of the lingering dead, and she’s familiar with things, Nick. She’ll figure out how to get around soon enough, and before long, Jackie will get contacted. I just hope she’s stable when it happens, because . . . well, it might be bad.”

“Were the two of them intimate?”

“Hardly. Agent Rutledge is more afraid of intimacy than she is of goddamned Drake.”

“Oh.” The statement baffled Nick. “You don’t even know her.”

“You could see it easily enough if you knew how to look,” Shelby said. “Regardless, Jackie had more than love for Laurel. I think they were more married than most married couples, if you know what I mean.”

Nick nodded. He did. “Jackie feels like half a person now.”

Shelby shook her head. “No, she feels like a nonperson now because she’s afraid to look at the half that’s left and find there’s nothing there.”

Nick finished off his beer and shook his head. “So weren’t you a little worried about how she might take you and Laurel?”

Shelby put the beer down on the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Means Reggie told me you two were having a moment before Drake kidnapped her, that’s all. I don’t mind, really, but what were you thinking, getting involved with her in the middle of this case?”

“Reggie!” Shelby stomped her foot. “The little shit. I’ll wring his neck.”

“You couldn’t wait?” The point was moot now, but the chance to poke back at her even just a little was too hard to pass up.

“Unlike you, cowboy,” Shelby replied, her hands bracing against the counter as she leaned toward him, “I like being with someone more than every few decades. And don’t give me the ‘no one could understand’ bullshit either. You could have had Cynthia any time you wanted. The woman utterly adores you and sure as hell knows you aren’t quite there in the reality department.”

“She’s my secretary—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Nick! You wouldn’t be the first guy to bang his secretary.”

Nick’s eyes widened. The thought that Shelby actually felt bad for his lack of relationships had never really occurred to him. “That’s not the point.”

“Okay, sorry.” She ran her fingers through her hair and heaved a sigh. “I’m frustrated and pissed off and sad.”

“Yep, me, too, Shel. Me, too.”

“Bad time?” Reggie’s form seeped up out of the floor and stopped in the center of the table.

“You!” Shelby pointed an accusatory finger. “You need to quit spying on me.”

Reggie chuckled. “You’re far more fun than the boss here, Miss Shelby.”

She dropped the finger. “Why are you here?”

“That FBI girl you wanted me to, you know, spy on, might be in a spot of trouble.”

“Drake?” A tremor of panic rumbled in Nick’s gut. It couldn’t be. Jackie would not fit any family member’s profile.

“Oh, no. That devil seems to be busy bouncing between here and the beyond. Your agent seems to have gotten herself a bit drunk and taken a man home with her.”

“Why is this any of our concern?” Nick wondered. “She probably is just looking for some comfort after losing her friend.”

Reggie winced and shook his head. “Maybe, but I don’t think so, boss. Not the way she’s talking.”

“Talking how, Reg?” Shelby said, sounding worried.

“Well,” he said, scratching his stubbly chin in thought, “that dead agent keeps trying to contact her, and I think it’s about driven her crazy.”

“Shit!” Shelby ran for her coat on the living room sofa. “Let’s go, Nick. I’ll meet you there.”

Nick marched purposefully toward the garage. “I’ll drive, Shel. You’re on your fourth beer, and I don’t want you on the death bike when you’re buzzed.”

“I’m not buzzed, you old ninny.”

“Just get in the car,” he snapped back. When she arched an eyebrow at him, he eased off. “Please.” She rolled her eyes, walked up to the car, and got in. “Thank you.” He turned back to the door. “Where does she live, Reg?”

He drifted out and gave them an address. Nick slammed the door shut and gunned the engine, backing out just clear of the rising automatic door. Jamming the brakes, he spun the wheel halfway down the driveway and had them heading out onto the road. He ignored the fact that Shelby had refused to buckle up. She gave him an amused smirk.

“What? Don’t tell me I’m going too fast.”

“No, just reminds me of why I was in love with you once upon a time.”

“My driving reminds you of that?”

“No, you dolt,” she said, laughing. “You racing after the damsel in distress, or maybe it’s the thought of some strange guy between her legs.”

Nick stared at her in disbelief. “Were you such a bitch when I met you?”

“Worse.” The thought amused her, but she turned and looked out at the scenery racing by the window for a minute before continuing. “I do love you, Nick. You know that?”

“Should I even try to answer that?”

“Not
in
love. I have no desire to dive between your sheets anymore, but I do love you. Always will. You’re a good soul, babe. I just wanted to make sure I told you that before . . . well, before shit hits the fan and you go all martyr on me and get killed.”

Ouch. “I don’t plan on just getting killed, you know. I could have done that years ago.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

The question momentarily stumped Nick. Why hadn’t he just given up, even after four failures and so many deaths? It wasn’t clear enough that he couldn’t do it? Or was it that he hoped Drake would slip up just once so he could nail him? “Hope, I suppose.”

“Exactly—hope that you can somehow figure out a way to get him, or hope that he fucks up along the way, and hope that one day this might all be over so you can live your life again.”

“That’s . . .” . . .
So true,
Nick thought sadly.
I’ve been waiting 144 years to live again.
“Sounds a bit pathetic when you put it that way.”

“Only if you lose, babe, and until that fucking door slams shut on you, there’s still a chance. You used to say there was a way around or through everything if you were patient and kept your eyes open.”

“I’ve been patient for a long time, Shel.”

“And is it going to hurt anything for you to kick some ass for a few more days? If not for me, then do it for Gwendolyn.”

He winced. “Must you use her every time you want to make a point?”

She shrugged. “Works, don’t it?”

“Yeah,” Nick said, heaving a sigh as he smoked the tires up a freeway on-ramp. “Sadly, it does.”

Chapter 35

Blood. For a moment, Jackie thought she smelled blood, but then Scott grabbed her wrist and spun her around, yanking her into his embrace. One hand clenched into the short, unwashed hair at the back of her head and pulled on it so his mouth could have easy access to hers. The top of the piano pressed into her back while she bit at his lip. He eased off for a moment and then bit back, twice as hard. When he pulled away, Jackie could taste blood.

She licked her lip. “It’s a good start.”

He bent her over the top of the piano, laying his bulk against hers until she lay flat on the cool wood surface, her feet not even touching the floor. His hands pinned hers over her head. “Exactly how bent are you, Jack?”

One hand slid up beneath her shirt, finding a small, bra-less breast. Jackie smirked until his fingers found a nipple and pinched hard. Alcohol numbed it for the most part, but she still sucked in her breath at the brief, piercing pain. An image of her mother, hands bound to the headboard of her stepfather’s bed, flashed in her mind. It was not the fact that her mother had been tied up that had unnerved her nearly twenty years ago, but the reddened welts across the backs of her mother’s legs from the nightstick in Carl’s hand, and the wild, rage-filled eyes that had turned on her when the bedroom door had squeaked in her hand.

“Live and learn, you stupid little bitch!” he had yelled at Jackie with the slightly slurred speech of a twelve-pack, tempered with a quarter ounce of coke. “Someday,” he said, snapping the nightstick across the back of her mother’s legs, as she did little more than sob into the pillow, “you’ll grow up and be just like her.”

Her mother had picked up her head, turning for a moment so she could speak. “Go, baby. Just . . . go.” Her face had been swollen and smeared red with blood.

“Truly fucking bent,” Jackie said, her voice barely coherent. “Bedroom . . . now,” she demanded, pushing at his chest but too drunk to move him at all. “Cuffs are there.”

“My kind of girl,” Scott said with a grin and pulled her back to her feet. “I think I need to visit Tarnigan’s more often.”

“Don’t worry,” Jackie replied, shuffling toward the bedroom hall. “I’m the biggest slut there, hands down. I’ll sleep with anyone.”

Scott laughed. “You should really try to make this more difficult.”

Jackie paused and looked over her shoulder at him. “You should quit being so nice.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding and grabbing her arm in a viselike grip. “I can get into this game. You just say stop if it gets too much for you, Jack.”

Laughter bubbled out of her. “You aren’t man enough to take it that far, Scottie.”

Inside the bedroom door, Bickers hissed at him and darted out between their legs into the safety of the kitchen. Scott then pushed Jackie to the bed and began unbuttoning his shirt. Halfway down, he stopped.

“What the hell? Is that a gun?”

Jackie rolled to her side, gazed over at the dresser, and laughed. “Oh, shit. I shoulda put that away.”

“You a cop or something?”

Something. The days of agenting are over. I can’t do it without her,
Jackie lamented, pulling at her shirt but getting stuck with it halfway off her head.
I’m no good without her, and I couldn’t fucking save her. What fucking good am I now?

“Not anymore,” she muttered, struggling out of her shirt and kicking off her sweats.

Scott walked over and picked up the holstered gun and the cuffs next to them. “Nice.” He jingled them at her. “I believe, Ms. Slut, that you are under arrest for lewd and lascivious conduct.”

“You’ll never take me alive, copper,” she cried but only managed to roll over toward the other side of the bed before one cuff latched around her wrist.

Scott laughed at her. “You can’t fucking walk, much less get away, but I think that counts for evading arrest as well.” He pulled her toward the headboard, and Jackie hardly felt the metal digging into her wrist. “Maybe a few lashes with the belt will put you back in line.”

“Jackie.”

She pulled on the cuffs until the metal dug into flesh. “Take more than a lousy belt to hurt me, bucko, and it’s Jack, not Jackie.”

“Jackie.” She heard the soft, faint voice again.

Jackie turned back to glare at him, her heart in her throat. Fuck, he sounded just like Laurel for a second. “It’s Jack.”

Scott shrugged. “Got some ID, bitch?” His belt whipped across her backside from left to right. “No? How many violations is that now, four?” He brought the belt down across the other cheek, and Jackie flinched, the burn of pain washing through her. “Or was it five?”

“Just don’t call me Jackie.”

Hands reached around her, digging into the flesh of her breasts, and Jackie could feel the hardness of him pressed against her ass. His mouth whispered close to her ear. “I’ll call you whatever I like.”

“Jackie, please.”

She turned, looking toward the other side of the room. “Laurel?”
My God, I’m losing my fucking mind.
The belt stung her again.

“Jackie, stop.” The voice was quiet but insistent.

Jackie gritted her teeth, yanking on the cuffs while the belt came down again and again.
She’s going to haunt me to my grave.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I tried.”

“Think that’s good enough, you stupid slut?” Scott sneered, getting into his role.

“Enough, Jackie.”

Jackie squeezed tears out through clenched eyes. “You can’t do this to me. Please,” she said, beginning to sob. “I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t.” She could hear the sound of the nightstick rising up from the past, thudding against flesh, tearing away humanity with each bruising strike.

“Let me show you what you’re good for,” Scott said, and Jackie felt her knees pushed out wide as he pushed himself into her.

“Jackie,” Laurel’s voice said, very faint this time.

She gasped for air, stuttering through the now hysterical crying that had overtaken her. “Harder!” she yelled. “Come on . . . Carl. Is that . . . all you’ve got?”

“Carl? Who the hell is Carl?”

“Make it bleed . . . you fucking prick. Where’s your fucking nightstick?”

“Huh? You okay, Jack?”

“Go ahead!” she screamed, yanking on the cuffs, bucking against Scott, whose momentum was waning. “Where’s your fucking nightstick now? You want to shove it up my cunt? Or . . . or . . . or tear into my ass? Make me bleed, you motherfucker. Come on!” Control vanished. Screaming, crying, fucking—it didn’t matter. Nothing touched the pain that was eating her from the inside out.

“Whoa, I think we just passed my stopping point.”

She felt him pull out of her, and suddenly she was an empty void once more. “No! No, no, Carl, please. I know you want to. You said I’d end up just like her, and you were right. You were! Please, please don’t stop.”

“Jesus Christ! Your wrists are bleeding all over the place. You crazy bitch.”

Jackie bucked her body, yanking twice on the cuffs until the piece of wooden lattice in her headboard broke under the stress. She flung herself around, catching Scott flush across the side of his face. Blood burst from his mouth, and he fell sideways, crying out. She fell on him, too drunk to actually lunge, and began punching, awkward two-barreled swings of connected fists.

“Fuck! You psycho.” He shoved her back onto the bed. “What is the—” He stopped and raised up his hands. Jackie had pulled her Glock free of the holster he had slung over his shoulder. “Hey! Take it easy, Jack.”

She pushed away from him, backing toward the head of the bed, the gun shaking in her hand. “You killed her,” she said in a tremulous voice, full of pain and anger.

“What? I didn’t kill anyone,” he said, clambering off the bed, hands still held in the air.

“She killed herself because of you, Carl, you . . . you sadistic . . . little shit.”

“Carl?” His voice was growing shaky. “Who the hell are you talking about? I’m not Carl.”

Jackie wiped away the tears with the back of her hand, smearing blood across her cheek. Her eyes were wild and staring, focused on nothing. “Twenty years! I’ve waited. . . .” She took the gun in both hands now, but the shaking continued. “Hunted you for twenty . . . goddamn . . . years!” Her voice rose to a shriek.

A hand reached in through the door at that moment, grabbing Scott by the hair and yanking him off his feet, into the hall.

“Jackie!” Shelby’s voice boomed through the room like a thunderclap.

For a moment, Jackie’s breath stopped. Then her body swayed uneasily before giving way, and she sat back on the edge of the bed.

She blinked, looking like a lost child caught in the rain. “Laur? You’re okay?”

Shelby stepped into the room toward the bed. “Aw, baby. Here, give me the gun.”

The Glock came free of Jackie’s hands with ease, and Shelby set it on the dresser. She sat down next to Jackie and put an arm around her. “Jackie? Sweetie, look at me. It’s Shelby.”

She stared at Shelby for a moment, reaching up to touch her dark hair. “Shelby? But Laur. I heard her. I . . . I can smell her perfume.”

Out in the hall, Scott’s ranting voice was being met by Nick’s very calm tone. “Mister, I suggest you leave now while I still have my patience.”

“I’m calling the fucking cops. Who are you people?”

His voice betrayed nothing. “Did you hurt her?”

“Listen, buddy—”

There was the sound of flesh slapping flesh, and Scott cried out. “The last thing we are is buddies. I asked you a question. Did you hurt her?”

“Jesus Christ, the crazy bitch wanted me to hit her, thought I was some dude named Carl.” There was a quick crack of sound, followed by the unmistakable thump of a body hitting the wall. “Fuck! You broke my nose, you cocksucker.”

Nick poked his head in and, seeing it was safe enough, grabbed Scott’s clothes off the floor.

“You all right?” he asked Shelby.

She nodded. “Yeah, go take care of that.” Nick nodded and walked back down the hall. Shelby turned back to Jackie. “It’s all right now. Everything’s going to be okay. Are you hurt?”

Jackie pointed toward the open door. “Carl. It was . . . Where’s Laur?”

“She’s gone, hon. Laurel’s dead, remember?”

Jackie stared at Shelby, recognition creeping back in. “Oh.” Her head came down against Shelby’s breast, her body beginning to shake. “I let her die. I let her die.”

Shelby stroked Jackie’s hair while the tears soaked into her shirt. “No, baby, you did no such thing.”