Eerie (4 page)

Chapter Six

The Hope

“Hope is the only universal liar who never loses his reputation for veracity.”

- Robert G. Ingersoll

Hailey ran into the ladies room to recompose, but instead found herself trapped in a stall when two of Fin's scantily-dressed fans promenaded in and parked in front of the mirror.

Call it pride, but Hailey didn't want them to see her cry face, so she sighed and waited next to the toilet for them to leave. It sounded like they were just fluffing each other's hair anyway, which Hailey figured shouldn't take long, but then they started comparing notes on Fin—his clothes, his muscles, which of them he'd looked at first, which of them he was more likely to take home first . . .on and on it went.

Hailey was stuck.

She'd been so quiet in her stall, they obviously had no idea she was in there listening. And now it would seem like she'd been eavesdropping if she suddenly burst out. She weighed her options and decided to ride this one out . . .and eavesdrop.

“Did you see his tattoo?” said one.

Hailey didn't even know Fin had a tattoo.

“Oh. My. God. I bet it goes all the way up his arm,” the other gushed. She smacked her lips. “Wonder how big it is.” It sounded like she was putting on lipstick.

“You would, whore.”

“That's not what I meant!”

“Whatever.”

They both laughed.

Hailey felt like she was getting dumber as their babble continued—their makeup, their highlights, how their boobs fit into their tank tops, whether they thought Fin noticed their cleavage . . .it was never ending.

Hailey rolled her eyes. It was way too cold for a tank top.

“Seriously, he has got to be
the
sexiest guy I've ever seen,” said one.

“Not as sexy as the guy that just walked in here,” hissed the other. “Did you see him?”

“How could I not? That idiot waitress spilled beer all over him.”

Hailey's jaw fell open. She wasn't the most graceful server in the world, but she thought “idiot” was going a little far.

“She's such a skank. You hear about her sister?” Hailey froze. “Somebody kidnapped her from the parking lot in broad daylight, and all they found was her bloody shoe!”

“Serves her right. She threw herself at every guy that walked in here.”

Hailey's heart pounded in her ears. She felt sick. And angry.

“You're such a bitch.”

Finally one of them was making sense.

“What? She
was
,” the girl jeered. “I knew her in high school. It was probably her pimp that took her.”

Well, that was all Hailey could stand. She kicked the metal door open, marched right up to the more guilty-looking of the two hairspray-monsters and put her finger in the girl's face.

“The only skanks in this bar just spent the past eight minutes picking bugs out of each other's hair and fussing over their over-painted, under-hydrated faces in front of this mirror, but none of your primping and preening makes a shit-bit of difference, because your soul is so ugly that no amount of lipstick and eyeliner can cover it up. No one is ever going to give you a second glance, and one day you'll see in that mirror what everybody else sees right now—a dried up, used up, shriveled up, pitiful shell of an STD-infected, loudmouth hag!”

The girl looked terrified. She shrunk away from Hailey and squeezed her eyes shut as if Hailey were winding up to punch her. The truth was, Hailey was no fighter, but she could sure shame someone into submission. She almost felt bad about that.

“And it's way too cold for tank tops!” she added as she turned to leave.

“She was talking to
you
,” one of them said as Hailey strode out the door.

“Crabs is
not
an STD,” the other argued before the door closed.

Gross
, thought Hailey, and she scrunched her nose.

If Hailey felt bad when she walked into the bathroom, she came out feeling far worse. As she rounded the corner, she saw the booth where her dream man had been now sat empty.

“Hey Fin,” she said, pausing near the bar, “where'd my customer go?” She jabbed her thumb at his booth.

“Oh . . . He was pretty pissed you spilled a drink on him. He just got up and left.”

“Oh no, I didn't apologize properly.” Hailey felt just awful.

“The guy was a jerk, Hailey. He didn't deserve your apology.”

“Why? Did he say something?”

Fin pressed his lips together and busied himself with wiping an already clean part of the bar. She looked at him quizzically, wondering how bad it was—wondering if the stranger had used the word “skank” as he stormed out. Fin never answered and looked relieved when a customer asked him to refill a stout. She hated it when someone walked away angry. Just another worry to add to the pile of things eating away at her.

Holly would have smoothed things over in a jiffy. Then she would've grabbed her shoes, turned on the music, and got the crowd clapping and cheering and forgetting about one silly little spilled beer. Hailey looked longingly at the door, hoping she'd magically appear.

She didn't.

Fin's fans were back at the bar and back on the prowl in short order, fully recovered and completely unaffected by Hailey's tongue-lashing. Fin was eating it up, too, tossing glasses in the air and bottles behind his back, never missing one and never spilling a drop. The hags cheered and shimmied and smothered him with compliments.

It was revolting. Hailey didn't want to be anywhere near them. She was about to grab some whiskey and go talk to her mom, when an unshaven, sweaty little man burst into the pub. He strode past the bar and made a bee-line for the back room.

Hailey followed and watched as he disappeared inside with her uncles. She listened through the door.

“ . . .at least two of ‘em . . .skulking around . . .couple'a wretches to do the dirty work . . .” Hailey moved her ear closer to the door.

“Betrayal!” one of her uncles shouted, and Hailey winced.

“First Katherine. Now Holly!” Katherine was her mother's name. Hailey's heart pounded.

“The line is broken,” said another. “Why would they do it? No, it's not them at all, at all.”

“It makes no sense,” agreed another.

“One's gone rogue, I tell yeh.”

“And taken our sight! We're blind, all of us!”

“ . . .could be a wretch, could be right under our nose—we wouldn't know it.”

“And what can we do about it? Feckin nothing!” That voice belonged to Uncle Pix.

“We protect the ones that need protecting,” one of her uncles answered calmly, “like we always have.”

Someone slammed their fist on the table.

“We cannot protect against what we cannot see.”

There was a long pause.

“Did you get a location, Tommy?” someone asked. Tommy was the man who'd just arrived, Hailey figured. He needed to talk louder. She could barely hear him over the high-pitched hag laughter coming from the bar.

“ . . .on consecrated ground . . .still out there...”

She strained to hear more, but somebody grabbed her arm and yanked her away from the door.

“Ouch!”

“What are you doing?” Fin chastised, and Hailey wrenched her arm out of his grip.

“Eavesdropping,” she said unashamed. “Obviously.”

Just then a couple of chairs squeaked across the floor inside the room and some footsteps approached the door.

“Shoot!” she whispered, grabbing Fin by the arm. “Go-go-go.” Fin let her turn him around and run him back to the bar.

“What did you hear?” he demanded.

She peeked over her shoulder.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

Hailey shook her head. “Bits and pieces. It didn't make any sense.” Fin relaxed his posture, looking curiously relieved.

Sometime around 2am the brothers emerged from the back. Uncle Pix pulled Hailey aside as Fin closed up.

“We'll be out all night looking for your sister,” he told her. “Fin will walk you home and stay with you until we get back.”

All night? Hailey frowned, but nodded obediently. They couldn't know where Holly was then, but still she had a feeling her uncle knew a lot more than he was telling her.

“I'm coming with you,” she said, her voice rising. Pix just sighed and shook his head. He hugged her tight, nodded to Fin, who nodded back, and he left the pub with his brothers. Hailey stared expressionless at the door as it closed behind them.

Fin grabbed his coat from behind the bar and met Hailey by the exit.

“Where's your coat?” he asked her.

“I didn't wear one,” she said, still staring blankly at the door.

Throwing his leather jacket over Hailey's shoulders, Fin led her outside, hitting the lights as they left.

Hailey stuck her arms through the sleeves, which were several inches too long. She let them swish at her side as she walked. It was a chilly night, and she shivered when the wind blew.

“Zip your coat,” Fin said with a smile.

Hailey lifted her arms repeatedly trying to get her hands out of the sleeves. Fin watched, chuckling.

“Come here, chowder-head.” He pulled on her arm to break her stride, shook his head, and zipped his coat for her.

“Do you think they'll find her?” she asked him hopefully.

Fin seemed to be in cahoots with her uncles. So did Frog. In fact everyone seemed to know more than they were saying. It was like they were intentionally keeping her in the dark about something, and it was scary.

“I'm sorry, Hailey,” he said softly. “I don't know.”

It wasn't what she wanted to hear, but it sounded honest.

He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her next to him as they walked.

“She's coming home, I know it,” Hailey told him.

“I hope so too,” he said, hugging her closer.

Asher looked on from the shadows. Seeing a human—that human—touch his girl stirred within him a new uneasiness. Now she was leaning into him, and Asher's hands tightened to fists. If she required comfort, Asher would provide it for her in the Aether—he'd instruct her to remember that.

As for Pádraig, though loyal and inherently good, he would do well to leave this place. His presence here was pointless. He could never protect the girl from an Envoy, he'd be shredded. And his interference with Asher's interest was troublesome. He had no idea the punishment Asher could inflict for his insolence. Perhaps he needed a reminder.

And perhaps Hailey needed a demonstration of Envoy power. Here. On Earth.

He'd rid her of Pádraig. And she'd look to Asher for comfort.

Relaxing his fists, Asher disappeared into the night.

Chapter Seven

Mistaken Identity

“Sorrow makes us all children again — destroys all differences of intellect. The wisest know nothing.”

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Everything inside the townhouse sat exactly as Hailey had left it. Sadly, there was no sign Holly had come home.

Hailey curled up in the chair, eyes fixed on the door while Fin made himself at home on the couch. Within minutes, he was fast asleep. A few times, he stirred, mumbling words that sounded German. At around 4am, after tossing and whimpering for several seconds, he bolted upright and yelled, “HAILEY!”

Feigning sleep, Hailey never stirred, though he'd shouted loud enough to make her ears ring. She figured she'd allow him the dignity of nightmaring with privacy. It didn't take long for him to settle back to sleep, and when his breathing fell into a regular rhythm, she got up to stretch her legs.

While she was up, she noticed Fin had taken off his shirt and lost his blanket to the floor, so she threw it back over him. His tattoo did indeed stretch all the way up his arm and over his shoulder, but in the dim light, Hailey couldn't make out the intricate shapes or intertwining letters, and she gently pulled the blanket over them.

Except for Fin's two bouts of sleep talk, it was another night spent staring at the door in silence until the coffee pot clicked on. Just as Hailey stood up, she heard some shuffling on the porch. Her heart swelled.

It was Holly—she was sure of it.

Hailey bolted down the hall and reached the entryway just as a key ground in the lock. She snatched the handle and flung open the door, smiling and thanking God, ready to hug her sister forever and ever and never let her go—

Morning sun bulldozed into the house, and her hand shot up to shield her eyes. Squinting around her fingers, she saw four people standing on the doorstep. She craned her neck to find Holly among them.

“Where's Holly?” she asked Pix.

He bowed his head.

“Uncle Pix . . .?”

“Oh, Jesus,” he said, letting out a sob.

Wimp squeezed his shoulder and coaxed him inside.

“Where's Holly?” she asked again, more urgently.

Uncle Pix grabbed her hands and looked at her sadly, his eyes swollen, pink, and misty.

“Hailey, dear . . .” He cleared his throat and started again. “She's with your mum, dear,” he said gently. “She's in Heaven—”

“No, she's not!” Hailey yanked her hands away from her uncle. “She can't be, she's coming home . . .”

It felt like someone was pulling her under water, and she stumbled back. Fin caught her just as her legs crumpled, and the world went dark.

Hailey woke up on the couch, which smelled like Fin's cologne. It was nauseating. With blood swishing in her ears, she desperately tried to blink away the blackness. Fin was sitting close and moved to steady her as she sat up.

“Take it easy,” he said with a foreboding voice. “You look pretty pale.”

“Where's Holly?” A pit opened in her stomach.

Wrapping his arms around her, Fin hugged her tight. “They found her last night,” he said softly, and he held her tighter.

“Where is she?” She drew a sharp breath as her eyes welled.

He didn't answer, and Hailey pushed him away.

“Tell me where she is!”

Fin shook his head.

“Hailey . . .” he sighed heavily. “They . . . found her inside a mausoleum.”

“Where is she now?”

“Hailey, she's—”

“Is she dead?”

Fin pressed his lips together and nodded, avoiding Hailey's eyes.

“Wha—” Hailey's throat closed and she struggled to breathe.

“I'm gonna be sick.” She tried to stand.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Fin said. He threw her arm over his shoulder, gently rushing her to the toilet as she tried not to heave. Kneeling next to her, he held her hair back while she cried, retched, and spit. When she was spent, he handed her a cold washcloth.

“Where is everybody?” Hailey pressed it to her face and sunk to the floor.

Fin sat next to her. “They're at the police station. Left a couple hours ago. I'll stay with you until they get back.” He patted her leg.

“Thanks,” she said, staring at the floor. Tears were steadily dripping from her eyes, and she couldn't do a thing to stop them.

“What happened to her?”

Fin pulled her into a hug. She rested her head against his chest and tried not to snot all over him.

“Hailey, please don't make me . . .”

“Fin,” she begged. “Please tell me.”

“They . . .” He shook his head. “They stabbed her.”

Hailey tried to inhale properly. She just couldn't suck in enough air. Every breath hurt, and she had to spit it out before it hit her lungs, because it was making her gut ache.

“Oh no,” she panted as the room spun above her.

Fin cradled her in his arms as she drifted into unconsciousness.

“Hailey,” he said gently, and she refocused on him. “You're hyperventilating. Breathe with me,” he coached. “Slow breath in-one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight, and hold it.” He counted to four then told her to breathe out, and he counted for her again. Several times he did this until she sat up on her own. “There,” he said. “You're color's back. Come on, I'll make you some tea.”

Hailey shuffled into the living room, where she sat on the arm of the couch, clutching the cuffs of her sleeves in tight fists and staring at the floor. The morning sun had long gone and taken with it the bright stripes of sunflower yellow from the entryway rug. Only a diffused glow pushed through the windows now.

Very carefully, Fin placed two cups of tea on the coffee table, and then he sat on the couch. He patted the cushion next to him, saying, “Decaf with a teaspoon of honey.”

“Thanks,” she managed, staring at the cup. He knew how she liked her tea?

Wiping her nose on her sleeve, she slid off the arm and joined him on the cushion, her shoulders drooped. Moving very slowly and watching the tea the whole way, Fin passed her a cup and scooted next to her on the edge of the couch.

Hailey's insides were heavy, the rest of her body numb, and she couldn't help but wonder if the police had made a mistake. How were they so sure it was Holly they'd found? She could still be out there. And no one was looking for her. Without taking a sip, Hailey set her teacup down, stood suddenly, and walked briskly toward her bedroom.

“Hailey!” Fin dropped his cup and chased after her.

She had to get cleaned up and changed and go see this girl they'd found. She knew in her heart it wasn't Holly. She had to go tell them.

“What's wrong?” Fin asked when she closed the door on him.

“I have to change,” she called through the door.

“Okay . . .”

Hailey could feel him waiting just outside her room as she hurriedly undressed and threw on some fresh clothes. She whisked the door open and shot across the hallway to the bathroom, where she combed her fingers through her frizzies and gathered them into a hairband.

“Where are we going?” he asked as Hailey quickly brushed her teeth.

“Coroner's office,” she answered after she spit. “We have to see the body.”

She scurried across the hall again, squeezing past Fin to grab a pair of socks from her room, which she'd forgotten. She zipped past him once more and headed for the door, hopping on one foot then the other as she pulled on her socks.

Fin followed.

“Hailey?” he said as she tied her shoes.

“Get your shoes on.”

“Okay . . .”

“You have a car, right?” Uncle Pix was out with the only car in the family.

“Yes,” Fin said, stepping into his sneakers. “It's at the pub . . .”

“Why did we
walk
home last night?” she asked him, and he followed her out the door. “Why didn't we take your car?”

Fin changed the subject as he chased Hailey down the street. “Pix wanted you to stay home today.”

“Guess you'll be in trouble then. Where's your car?”

Brushing past her, Fin headed toward a black convertible with red racing stripes parked in a shady corner of the lot. Hailey had seen this car before. She thought it belonged to one of the regulars.

“This is
your
car?” she asked when he opened the passenger door for her.

“Yeah. Why?”

Hailey furrowed her brow.

“Uncle Pix told us this car belonged to an old fart with a—” She clamped her lips together.

“With a what?”

She shook her head and tried to get in, but Fin threw the door shut. Then he leaned against it and crossed his arms.

“With a what?” he repeated.

“—with a small penis,” Hailey blurted, and she covered her face.

She waited a few seconds then peeked through her fingers.

His nostrils weren't flaring. His face wasn't pinched. In fact he didn't look angry at all. Hailey's hands were sweating, but Fin seemed amused. He bit his lip to hide a smile and shook his head. Then he opened her door again, waving her in. Hailey couldn't look at him. She squeezed through and into the passenger seat with her head bowed, mentally berating herself for saying the word “penis” in front of him.

He shut her door, confining his laugh to a snort, and Hailey watched him walk way too slowly to the driver's side. Her leg started shaking when he got in the car. If he didn't start moving a little faster, she was going to snap at him.

“Fin,” she said annoyed that he'd taken an extra three seconds to buckle his seat belt, “could you please move a little faster?”

“You got it.” He pursed his lips, threw the car in gear, and stomped on the gas. The engine roared, and Hailey fell back in her seat as they shot out of the parking lot. She floundered around for her seat belt then dug her nails into the seat as Fin ran two red lights and weaved in and out of traffic at Mach one.

“Look out!” she shouted as he narrowly missed side-swiping a city bus.

“It would really help me concentrate,” said Fin very calmly as he swerved into oncoming traffic again, “if you would please hold all yelling until the Shelby comes to a complete stop.”

“Okay,” Hailey mouthed. She pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face in her hands. Being in his car felt like a roller coaster, aside from the traffic noise. She heard more than a few horns honking, some squealing tires, and part of an expletive someone yelled at Fin.

He didn't respond.

“Was that fast enough for you?” Fin asked with more than a little hostility as he skidded to a stop next to the coroner's office.

They'd made it there in under five minutes.

Hailey uncovered her eyes and un-cringed. Fin's driving was . . .exhilarating.

He got out of the car and trotted to the passenger side. But when he opened Hailey's door, something in the alley next to the coroner's office caught his attention.

His smile vanished.

“Wait here, Hailey,” he said in a voice so serious that Hailey actually did stay put . . .for a few seconds—long enough to see him disappear around a building. But, as soon as he was out of sight, she got out of the car, headed for the coroner's office, and asked to see the body.

An older lady with gray hair and shaky hands sat at the reception desk and answered Hailey in a painfully slow voice.

“That was Dr. Grabstein's autopsy,” she said. “I'll see if he's available.” She picked up her phone.

“Oh, he's expecting me,” Hailey lied.

The old lady looked up at her, her hand hovering over the keypad, then the desk, then the keypad.

Hailey didn't have the patience to wait for this old dear. She needed to see Grabstein now.

“He told me to meet him in his office.”

“ . . .his office,” the receptionist snickered. “He thinks that's so funny.”

“Yeah,” she agreed with an uncertain laugh. “Could you point me in the right direction?”

“Just push the ‘down' button, and the elevator will do the rest.” She motioned to the hallway on the right. “Dr. Grabstein's been at it all night. He should still be down there . . .”

Hailey pushed the button for the basement, which was very conclusively labeled, MORGUE. The doors clanged shut, shaking the entire platform, which dropped her off at the end of an underground hallway with harsh fluorescent lights and air that felt cool and heavy, smelled a bit metallic, slightly like bleach, and reeked of another pungent, synthetic yet rotting ick she couldn't identify.

Voices echoed in the hallway, and she made her way in their direction until she found a couple of men bent over a stainless steel gurney, each wearing scrubs under a black rubber apron.

Hailey opened her mouth to announce her presence, but nothing came out, so she cleared her throat, and one of the men looked up.

“Can I help you?” he said from behind a plastic face shield. He had a scalpel in one hand and a bloody glove covering the other.