Jackson 07 - Where All the Dead Lie (19 page)

The fire was cozy, fresh tea had been laid out by the chair. She sat down, poured herself a cup, put the file with Evan’s stories in the top desk drawer and covered it with stationery. She’d read through it all later, try to get it back in order.

She opened the paper instead.

The front page focused on the latest tragedy on the A9 near Inverness, deemed one of the most dangerous roads in Scotland. They’d driven right past that spot yesterday. Creepy.

A fisherman had gone missing off the Hebrides. And there was a small story about the missing London girls. Memphis’s case.

She skipped the rest of the news and read about it with interest. Memphis had mentioned he wasn’t completely convinced that they were on the right path. Maybe she could help.

The paper had seized on the one thing the girls had in common—the church that Urq built.

Urq, as he called himself, was an interesting character. His real name was Roger Waterstone. He was the son of the famous British financier, Stephen Waterstone, and heir to the family fortune. He’d been educated at the finest schools, dated the finest women. For fun, he’d pursued a career as an architect.

Four years ago, he’d disappeared. Went to Bali for vacation and never came back. She remembered reading about the case; it was rather high-profile at the time.

Then his father died, and Roger reappeared, a changed man. He’d found God. He used some of his inheritance to start a church. Brought together people from all walks of life. Stopped short of saying he was the messiah, but Taylor couldn’t help but think this was a cult. It had all the markers.

If he wasn’t above murder to get his point across… How did his father die again?

“Yoo-hoo! Earth to Taylor….”

She jumped a mile. Maddee was shouting and knocking on her door.

She went to the door and pulled it open. Maddee looked genuinely relieved to see her. Goodness, she must have every one in the house and surrounds worried about her. Or Memphis told them she was terribly delicate and needed looking after. Most likely the latter.

“Finally. I’ve been knocking for five minutes. When you didn’t show up downstairs I decided to fetch you myself. That old bat Trixie is off in the kitchens, but she let me in so I could come by. Are you ready?”

Taylor nodded.

“Okay. Let’s go then.”

She let Taylor out the door in front of her, but glanced back over her shoulder. “I’ve stayed in this room before. One of those nights when they had a party and we couldn’t make it home. It’s changed a bit since last time. I don’t remember all the books.”

A gift from Memphis.

Taylor wondered if it was her imagination, but she could have sworn Maddee’s smile grew tight. Hmm. Maybe Dr. James had a bit of a thing for her friend Memphis.

It was understandable. Memphis
was
handsome, obviously witty and fun, and heir to a massive fortune. He was certainly a catch. But Maddee was married to his best friend, and supposed to be a close friend to Memphis’s dead wife. Perhaps that hadn’t been the case after all.

Taylor made a mental note and let the thought go. Women were strange creatures when it came to attraction, that much she knew. They got territorial, even with their male friends that they had no amorous intentions toward. She didn’t plan to get involved in the dynamics of their relationship any more than she had to.

“Our Memphis was always one for grand gestures. You’d best be careful, he’ll sweep you right off your feet and you won’t want to leave.”

Taylor let that one go. God, if Maddee had any idea of what had transpired in here last night…

She followed Maddee down the stairs. Her long hair was in a bun today, drawn back from her face sharply. It looked uncomfortable, pulled so tight, like a ballerina about to go on stage. Taylor’s omnipresent headache throbbed in camaraderie. She hated wearing her hair down. But she didn’t have a choice; the pressure of her ponytail was too much to take.

The drawing room was set up just as before—the EMDR equipment on the table, a fresh and full tea cart at the ready. Taylor gladly accepted a cup. Her throat was terribly sore and the warmth helped. She wondered how many pounds of tea the estate went through in a year.

“How are you sleeping?” Maddee asked, handing Taylor her laptop to write with. Taylor didn’t know why, but she didn’t want Maddee to know she had her voice back yet, either. She was being foolish, she knew that. The minute Maddee did the hypnosis, she’d be yakking up a storm. It just felt…private, somehow.

Sleeping is okay. Bad dreams, but I’m actually tired. That’s new.

“So the melatonin helped you sleep?”

Helped me GET to sleep, yes.

“That’s wonderful. You can take up to two capsules at night. That will really knock you out. How’s the headache?”

Bad in the evening, but if I take the meds early it simmers down to a dull roar. The Percocet does a good job taking away the worst of the pain. Either that, or I’m getting used to it.

“Any dreams? Good ones, bad ones?”

Some. A couple of bad nightmares. Creepy stuff.

Maddee laughed. “It’s this castle. Plays tricks on the mind. They claim it’s haunted. I think that’s wishful thinking. Drives the tourists in. Personally, I don’t believe in ghosts.”

Me either.

Truly, Taylor didn’t believe in ghosts. But she did believe in the power of suggestion to kick-start her imagination. That’s why she hated ghost stories, and horror movies. She’d seen enough bad things in real life. She didn’t need someone else’s overactive imagination horning in on her.

“All right then. Anything else you want me to know?”

Maddee seemed a bit distracted this morning, but Taylor didn’t think it was necessary to point that out.

Maybe just one thing. I… How to put this without sounding completely nutty? I’ve been seeing things. Just flashes, really, of things and people who aren’t there.

Maddee sat back in her chair. She played with an oversize ring on her right hand, heavy gold with an onyx stone. “You know, there are many accounts of people with head trauma who are left with echoes of things that happened before the accident. Seen it a few times myself, too. This is normal, Taylor. It means you’re healing. Your brain is rewiring itself after a severe shock. Even a bad concussion can cause these echoes. It’s perfectly natural to be unnerved by it. Anyone would.”

A sigh escaped Taylor’s lips. That’s what it was, then. She wasn’t being haunted. It was all in her head.

Though the Pretender standing in a doorway wasn’t an echo, or a remembrance. It was a new image, and felt more like a message. A threat.

She didn’t tell Maddee that.

“Anything else I need to know about?”

Taylor shook her head.

“Then let’s get started. Lay back for me now, and think about that warm sunlight hitting your toes. That should be a nice change from the chilly weather we’re having.”

Maddee took five minutes to get Taylor into her relaxed state, watching the blue balloon lift into the sky before asking her to revisit the hour before the shooting. Taylor felt her blood pressure rise immediately. She didn’t really want to go there. But Maddee was insistent, and her voice was so gentle and soft, so comforting, that Taylor allowed herself to be pulled under. Maddee talked for a few more minutes, then dove in.

“We’re going to talk about Sam now. You knew she’d been kidnapped, correct? And answer me aloud, Taylor.”

“Yes.”

“And you knew where the Pretender had taken her, correct?”

“Yes.”

“When did you know that?”

“I’d always known that it would end there. That’s what he wanted. He liked the idea of a show, of continuity. But when we realized Sam was missing, that’s when I knew we were coming to the end.”

“And how long did it take you to get to the house?”

Taylor squirmed. The balloon started to fade.

“Taylor, look at the balloon. Let your arm rise in the air, light and carefree. It’s okay. You’re safe here.”

The balloon reappeared, pale and translucent against a cartoon-blue sky, though it was fighting to float away.

“Good job. Now, tell me. How long did it take you to get to Sam?”

“No more than an hour. I had to find a way into the house. I couldn’t just go bang on the front door.”

“But if you’d called for backup, you could have done that.”

“No. I couldn’t. I had to go myself. I had to finish it.”

“But in that hour, what happened? Isn’t that when the Pretender was torturing Sam? If you had gone straight to the house the moment you knew she was there, could you have saved her baby?”

“I don’t… I—”

“Taylor, think about the moment just before you entered the house. You wanted to kill the Pretender, didn’t you? You wanted to make him go away, to stop hurting you and your friends. That’s good, Taylor. It’s good to want to eradicate evil. That’s what your job is, to find and kill the people who hurt innocents. That’s why you’ve been put on this earth, to eliminate those kinds of people.”

Taylor shook her head. No. No—she wasn’t supposed to kill them. She respected the law, even though it didn’t always work perfectly. This case, the Pretender, that wasn’t how things were. It was a one-time thing. She wasn’t like her father, bending the rules when they didn’t suit him.

Was she?

“It wasn’t like that.”

“You say that now. But when you’re faced with another adversary, another killer who gets in your way, your first inclination will be to kill them. To eliminate them. To assassinate them. To, what did you say, ‘put him down’? That’s what you do. That’s what you’re good at. Look at your record. So many police officers never fire their weapon, yet you’ve killed four people. Tried to make that five. You are a weapon, Taylor. And if you’re honest with yourself, you like it. You like killing. It makes you feel good. You could have saved Sam, and instead, you followed your own path so you could see what it felt like to murder someone.”

“
No!
”

The balloon was gone. The calming pool of light disappeared, leaving her chilled and shaking on the couch. She didn’t want to open her eyes.

Was that true? If faced with the situation again, would she choose to kill? Was it the easy way out? Had she lost her moral compass entirely?

Dr. James surely seemed to think she had. And her own actions last night certainly pointed in that direction. Was a moral compass key to getting her job back? Would her team think she was trigger-happy? No, they didn’t know. They couldn’t know.
No one
knew that she’d planned to take out the Pretender herself. No one knew that. Until she’d spilled her guts to Maddee James.

She opened her eyes. Maddee was standing over her, watching, a small smile on her face. Taylor jerked back and upset her teacup with a clatter. It spilled to the carpet unheeded.

Maddee stepped back and shook her head. “Sorry, I was just trying to see if you were still under.”

“Not very—what the hell, Maddee? I am not some blunt instrument that kills for fun. I’ve only ever killed when I had no other choice, in self-defense. I hate that I had to, every moment of every day.”

“Wow. Your voice, Taylor. You’re back. And you aren’t under hypnosis. You’re speaking again. Well done.”

Maddee sat back on her chair, quietly contemplating Taylor. She steepled her fingers under her chin.

“Now. Let’s talk about what just happened. Do you really believe that’s true, Taylor? Be honest with me. Hell, be honest with yourself. If you look inside your soul, to your very core, can’t you admit that a part of you liked it? Liked planning to kill him?”

“No. Are you out of your mind? Absolutely not. It haunts me, Maddee. That’s why I’m here, trying to get away from it.”

Maddee shook her head slowly. She wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Oh, but Taylor, it’s all inside of
you
.
You
have free will.
You
have a choice. Even when your life, or lives around you, were in danger, you
chose
to kill. To end a life. What does that make you, hmm? How is that any better than doing it instinctually?”

Taylor didn’t like this at all. She wasn’t here to answer for her past sins. She was here to exorcise the demon of what she’d almost allowed herself to do. To regain control over herself, not go deeper into the abyss.

“Taylor, you’re not in therapy to regain your voice. That was a surface issue, a symptom. You’re here because the people around you don’t trust you anymore. Whether you realize it or not.”

“No. That’s not true.”

“You’re here alone, aren’t you? My God, you’re on an entirely different continent. Your boss wouldn’t let you go back to work. Your best friend is back in the States, letting you go through this alone. Your fiancé is off doing his own work. Even Memphis has left you behind. You’re here, all alone, because even you recognize that you’ve lost control. You’ve lost your edge. You’ve become the people you hunt. And everyone but you seems to know it.”

Taylor stood up, teeth gritted. Frustration made her cry, and she refused to let that happen now.

Don’t you dare do it, Taylor. Don’t you even think about it. You’ve shown her enough weakness. Walk away. Walk away now
.

“I think we’re done here.”

“Don’t go, Taylor. Don’t run away now. We’re just starting to get somewhere.” Maddee sat contritely on the chair, her hand extended. “Please, sit down.”

Taylor shook her head. No. She was done.

Taylor grabbed her boots and Memphis’s jacket and took off out onto the grounds of the estate. It was freezing cold, about to snow, but she didn’t care. She just needed to get away. Away from Maddee and her accusations, away from herself.

She heard a car engine revving and looked over her shoulder. Maddee’s Mercedes. She was leaving. Good. Taylor didn’t want to be anywhere near the woman. She didn’t want to see Dr. Madeira James ever again.

She turned and headed off into the woods. Memphis said she could have anything she wanted. And right now, she wanted that
therapist
to go directly to hell.

She shoved her hands in the pockets of the coat to find her gloves. Instead, she found a pill bottle. Her Percocet. She didn’t remember putting it in there, but she was glad she had—her head was splitting. The demons from the past hour were close about. She popped the bottle open and shook two pills into her hand. Swallowed them dry, forcing them past the lump in her throat.

Leaves lay thick on the path, reds and oranges and golds, as if it were a gaudy New England fall. The seasons here were not distinct. She knew the temperatures were relatively consistent, a range that normally covered no more than thirty degrees between winter and summer.

The dogs were barking, chasing each other around in circles down the path toward the gardens. She avoided them, cut north, going up the hill. She didn’t know where she was going, just that she wanted to be away.

She could feel the storm brewing. There was a displacement to the air that she recognized from big weather at home. She hadn’t been paying too much attention to the forecast, just assumed it would be cold and rainy, with a few flakes of snow thrown in for good measure. She’d have to check it when she got back. She’d bet her life it was going to snow, and snow hard.

The path went steeply up a hill, and she followed it blindly, seething, angry with herself for rising to the bait, and wondering just what Maddee intended. Some sort of reverse psychology perhaps, or something meant to break her down, like they do in the military?

Taylor wasn’t familiar with therapy, per se. She’d done her scheduled meetings with the department shrink as required for her fitness reports over the years, but she hadn’t spent anytime on the couch herself outside of this recent…situation. Despite her earlier thoughts, she had changed her mind. She hated therapy. Hated it with a passion.

The path straightened and she realized she was out of breath. She stopped for a moment, laid a cold hand on the moss-covered stone wall to her right, and looked around her. There was forest on three sides, and a smallish village in front of her. She assumed that was where the original town would have been, housing the support staff for the estate—a smith, a distillery and the like. In front of her was a small stone bridge arching over the road, and to her left, barely shielded by the large stone fence and the heavy tree cover, she could see a pile of stones.

She set off in that direction. After twenty feet, the path opened into a clearing, and she realized she’d stumbled onto the back way into the estate’s kirk. The church was missing its roof. The windows were caved in as if the eyes of the building had gone blind, and the doorway resembled a mouth crying out in agony. Another ruin, the second she’d seen on Highsmythe land. It pissed her off even more. Did these people care nothing for their past? Were they so busy with their ghosts that they didn’t bother with their souls’ shelters?

She picked her way closer, through the moss and lichen-covered gravestones. There was a clear path here, the leaves brushed out of the way. Someone had been here recently.

There was a large gravestone, not weathered and covered in lichen like the others, but still shining with the moist green mold that coated most everything inanimate in the Highlands—fences, stones, roofs, trees. Graves.

There was a small bundle of heather intertwined with roses, still fresh, at the base of the grave. She looked at the names, and everything clicked.

E
VANELLE
F
RASER
H
IGHS MY THE

B
ELOVED
W
IFE

M
AY
8, 1974–D
ECEMBER
21, 2008

J
AMES
F
RASER
H
IGHS MY THE

D
ARLING
S
ON

D
ECEMBER
21, 2008

T
AKEN TOO SOON
. Y
OU WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN
.

She was standing on Evan’s grave, and the grave of Memphis’s unborn son.

Her mind whirled. Memphis had been visiting Evan’s grave last night, right before he came to her room and made love to her.

Not twelve hours after he kissed Taylor right on the spot where his wife died.

My God.
What kind of man was he?

She wondered if he visited his wife’s grave often; she knew he wasn’t in the Highlands much anymore. Surely he was just tending to her grave. But in the middle of the night?

Looking around to her right and left, she saw the detritus that answered the question for her—small candles, broken stems, pieces of paper. A proper vigil had been kept here.

She looked at the date again and realized it was the anniversary of Evan’s death.

Jesus. Today was December 21. She’d never thought to ask Memphis when she died. She knew it had been recent, but she’d never asked the actual date. And here she was, at his mercy, a pseudo-surrogate, on the death’s anniversary.

She whispered a prayer, of forgiveness, of apology, to Evan’s spirit, then backed away and headed back to the castle. She needed to get away from here.

She started down the path and saw a flash of red. She tried to ignore it, turned her head away, picked up her pace until she was almost running. But it followed, growing closer, larger, and she finally stopped and collapsed in the middle of the path, arms over her head, silently crying out, willing it, whatever it was, to go away.

She was shaking, not from the cold, but from fear. She didn’t want to open her eyes, but when nothing happened, she finally screwed up her courage and looked.

There was nothing. Just the ever-present forest of trees, the thin blanket of leaves on the ground, and the chilled air.

She got up and turned slowly in a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree circle.

Nothing but the gulls, soaring into the gray sky.

She knew she hadn’t imagined the red wave. It was almost like a cloth that had been draped in a breeze, flowing and rippling in the air, but luminous, more gossamer than thick. A disturbance in the air. Didn’t Memphis mention the ghost seemed borne of synesthesia to him? Was it possible that she was seeing the same thing?

Was Evan haunting her? Following her around the grounds of the estate? Coming to her in the night? Memphis had said the Lady in Red didn’t appear to anyone but the male heir to the title. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps all dead Highsmythe brides became the Lady in Red, and haunted whomever they damn well pleased.

She set off down the path, determined to gather herself once and for all. She was overly tired—a nap, her anxiety medicine and something stronger than tea was in order. She felt like an invalid, worthless to herself. She needed to get it together.

The first flakes of snow began to fall as she got to the back entrance, dancing lightly in the air. She stopped to watch their intricate ballet. Now this, this was real. Abundant water vapor causing small particles of ice, too heavy to be contained in the clouds, to fall to the earth. Science. Incontrovertible evidence. But at one time, it must have seemed like magic.

She opened her mouth and let one settle on her tongue, a cold pill that melted immediately. She took comfort in the fact that all things had an explanation, and headed inside.

The castle corridors were quiet. Deathly so. She hurried to her room, stripped off her outdoor gear, and grabbed her phone. There was a missed call from Baldwin. She took a deep breath. She pushed all thoughts of Memphis and last night out of her head. The two men were mutually exclusive in her mind. They had to be.

She dialed him back, and sank in the chair across from the fire as the phone began to ring.

“Hey,” he answered. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“I’m sorry. I went for a walk. It’s starting to snow.”

Calm. Banal. Perfect.

“Whoa! When did your voice come back?”

“During a hypnosis session with Maddee James. But I’m finished with her. She’s not very nice.”

She dropped another log on the fire.

“Well, I’m glad it’s back. It sounds wonderful, darling. You’ll be ready to go home in no time. Now you can just have a little vacation and relax. Right?”

“Yeah. So long as I don’t have any more bad dreams.”

“Why are you having bad dreams?”

What to tell him about that? That she was being visited by otherworldly creatures? That she thought Memphis’s dead wife was shadowing her? Hardly.

“Overactive imagination. They’ve been telling me ghost stories. I have nothing to occupy my brain.”

“That’s what happens on vacation. I saw on the news there’s a big storm heading your way.”

“Where are you? Can you say?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know. But everything is fine. Case closed. The question is, will you be all right there by yourself?”

Oh, Baldwin. Will I? I hope so
.

“Wait. How do you know that I’m going to be alone? Do you have someone watching me?” Her voice ratcheted up an octave. “What the hell, Baldwin?”

“Honey, that’s not what’s going on. Don’t be paranoid. Of course you’ll be fine. I know there are plenty of people around there. I know Memphis isn’t there, that’s all I meant.”

“I’m not being paranoid. I hate it when you say that. How did you know Memphis was gone?”

“He called me from London. He said you suggested he ask me for help.”

Memphis. You son of a bitch.

He better keep his fool mouth shut. God, if he made some sort of sly comment and tipped Baldwin off, she’d never forgive him.

“That’s a change of circumstance.”

Baldwin laughed lightly. “Sweetie. Please, let’s not fight. It’s just so good to hear your voice again. That means you’re getting better.”

Baldwin kept chattering, seeking to connect with her. Damn, this was insane. His voice brought up all kinds of crazy emotions in her. She missed him. She was afraid to see him. She wanted his arms around her. She wanted him to stay away.

What had she done?

She loved him. She did. More than anything. And she didn’t feel like she could even tell him that, not without him getting suspicious. She needed him, not Memphis. She knew that. She’d always known that. God, she was so upset she was feeling dizzy. She took a few deep breaths for good measure.

“Honey? What’s happening up there? You sound really upset.”

“Just…give me a second,” she managed to say.

Get it together, fool
. She swallowed hard, cleared her throat, and started again.

“I miss you.”

His voice warmed. “I miss you, too. No pressure, but if you want, I could come over for Christmas.”

“You’d do that?”

“I’ll do whatever you want, sweetie.”

She couldn’t help herself, she had to ask.

“Why are you helping Memphis?”

“Because I owed him a favor. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it when I see you, okay?”

“I should let you go. I’m getting sleepy.”

“In the middle of the day? Aren’t you leading the life of Riley? Lazybones.”

“It’s the talking. Head hurts, throat hurts.”

As she said it, she realized it was true. She really wasn’t feeling all that great.

“Oh, of course. I love you, honey. I’ll see you in a couple of days, okay?”

“Okay.”

She closed the phone and stared at it for a moment. She never felt quite so alone as she did when they disconnected—physically, emotionally, it didn’t matter. When she wasn’t with him, she didn’t feel whole. She knew he felt the same.

A wave of guilt overwhelmed her.

He could never know about yesterday.

She’d have to find some way to explain to Memphis, to make him understand that she didn’t love him. Not the way he wanted. Though his coldness this morning meant he might have already figured it out.

She was so tired. She just wanted to escape. Some oblivion. She found her medicine bottles, took her pills. Chased them with a beer.

Pill.

Beer.

Pill.

Beer.

Anything that let her avoid thinking about Baldwin and Memphis. About Sam, and Evan, and the ghosts of dead babies.

The hours passed. She was so very tired. She decided to go ahead and take a quick nap. Maybe some sleep would sort her system out and her voice would be back when she awoke.

She drew the curtains and bolted the door. The room wasn’t as dark as at night, but it was dim enough that the outside light wouldn’t interfere in her sleep.

The bed was soft and inviting, and she curled up under the blanket, cozy and warm. She realized she’d forgotten to mention to Baldwin that today was the anniversary of Evan’s death, to go easy on Memphis. She debated texting him, but sleep was dragging her under. She’d do it when she woke up.

She closed her eyes, and was asleep within minutes.