Read The Lingering Dead Online
Authors: J. N. Duncan
The Lingering Dead (18 page)
Charlotte pulled upon her reserves of power, built upon the blood of the townsfolk, and waited for the proper moment. That door would open and she would stick her proverbial foot in the door, keeping it open for as long as she might, funneling the energy through her bond with Rebecca and hoping against hope that she would see and utilize her own reserves to keep that hungry spectre of death sated. In the end, though, it would be Rebecca's will to turn back to the living, because once that door opened, the call of the spirit world was nearly irresistible.
As if she knew it was coming, Rebecca's hand squeezed hers at that moment when death arrived, and Charlotte fed the hungry monster with all she could afford to give. The pull of the other side was always compelling, such an easy thing to give in to. It came with such a sense of peace and release, but Charlotte knew better. She had been over there, where spirits roamed the cold, gray wastes, lost and aimless. Where they went after that, she could not see or tell, but if anyone knew the truth of what lay beyond this world of the living, consuming blood might not sound so appalling.
She felt Rebecca drawing toward the door, like fog into a vacuum, an alluring compulsion. This time, unlike the others, Charlotte did not demand she fight or resist, but only infused her power into Rebecca's mind, giving her the ability to see what the other side was pulling away, separating the soul from the last vestiges of the material body. Need and demand had always failed. No matter how strong it might be, such things did not influence death. This time would be throwing away all of the influence she had grown accustomed to, setting aside what she had become and be only what she had been once, long ago, a sister to the other half of her life.
“I love you, Sis,” she whispered in Rebecca's ear. “You are a part of me I can't live without. I need you here, Bec.” She swallowed down the lump in her throat. “I only live for you, so please come back to me.”
The energy shifted then, a subtle change in flavor. Rebecca's life energy began to blend, tainted with Beverly's, and the flow of energy through the door thickened and slowed. Charlotte pressed Beverly's wrist more firmly against Rebecca's mouth. The time was now if it was going to take hold. It was up to Rebecca to realize what was happening, to take the energy being given to her and use it to pull that door back to the point where the life force only trickled away and blood would feed the cold pull of death.
Charlotte continued to whisper into Rebecca's ear, the seconds ticking down like minutes. It would happen at any moment now, the choice made to either fight or go, and as much as she wanted to shout encouragements at her, to force her own will upon her, Charlotte refrained, remembering those last moments over a hundred years hence, when the smiling preacher man had licked the blood from his fingers while she had cradled Rebecca much like she did now and sucked upon the blood seeping from the gash in her neck.
Rebecca spluttered and coughed, eyes fluttering open, and Charlotte propped herself up next to her, digging her fingers into the wound upon Beverly's wrist, who now lay unresponsive on the other side of Rebecca, her breath shallow. “Oh, Bec! Drink, Sis. Pull it in and feed that monster. Come back to me.”
Rebecca sucked upon the wound, her own hands coming up now to grasp ahold, pulling hard upon it, her eyes still closed. Charlotte placed her hands over the soaked stain on her stomach and directed her energies there, binding and healing the flesh there. A minute, perhaps two later, and it was done, as quickly as it had begun.
Rebecca pulled the wrist away from her mouth, eyes blinking rapidly, confused and filled with fear. “Sis? What ... what happened. How? I don't understand.”
Charlotte covered her face in kisses, laughing with hysterical disbelief. “You're back! We did it! Love does conquer death. I told you. I told you, Sis!”
She smiled at Charlotte, wiping the blood from her mouth. “I feel ... strange.” She turned and saw Beverly lying still next to her. “Ma-ma? It worked!”
Charlotte reached up and turned Rebecca's face back to hers. “She sacrificed herself for you, Sis. Ma-ma's dead.”
“But ... what will Pa-pa say?”
“Pa-pa will understand,” she said and smiled. “Everything is going to be OK now. We're going to be together forever.”
Chapter 17
It would take them longer than the morning to go through the medical examiner's files, situated in downtown Dubuque. Jackie leaned over Shelby's shoulder at the computer screen. “Six years isn't much of a window to look at.”
“You want to thumb through file cabinets trying to find Thatcher's Mill residents?” Shelby asked. “Without knowing names, we're kind of screwed.”
Jackie stood up straight, hands on her hips. Through the office window she could see Dr. Kirby Mathews staring at them with arms folded over his chest and a scowl on his wrinkled face. “How soon you think he'll be calling down to Carson to let him know we're snooping around?”
“That old fart?” Shelby turned and waved her fingers at the man, whose scowl deepened even more. Could a man's face look any more like the bark of a tree? “Probably has already.”
Nick opened a file drawer on the other side of the room. “I can look up Thatcher at least,” he said.
After an hour, Jackie was convinced that it likely would not matter how long they spent looking at files. Every last one of them was the same. The people of Thatcher's Mill all died from natural causes, just as Hauser had stated. Every form was filled out and signed by Carson and Mathews. As far as they could tell, they were all in order, not a letter or word out of place.
“What could Carson have on this guy to get him to sign off on all of these, no questions asked?” Jackie wondered.
Shelby turned off the monitor, having finished their exploration of the files. She waved her hands dramatically in front of Jackie. “It's the Thatcher's Mill Curse.”
Jackie huffed in frustration. “Such bullshit.”
Nick set the stack of Thatcher files on top of the cabinet. “At least this should stir up Carson's ire. It'll be interesting to see what he has to say to us the next time we see him.”
“Which should be soon,” Jackie said. “After yesterday, he's probably parked on Main Street waiting for us to drive into town.”
“Wouldn't hurt to have a few words with him anyway,” Nick added. “See what he says if we accuse him of being involved in the Thatcher cover-up.”
“Have half a mind to go confront the Thatchers directly and just ask the sisters who the hell they really are,” Jackie said. “What's the worst that can happen?”
“They could have Carson arrest your ass,” Shelby replied. “We really don't need to deal with that on top of everything else.”
“Arrest me for what? Knocking on their door?”
“You think he actually needs an excuse?” Shelby replied. “If he's involved at all, he'll arrest you for breathing wrong.”
“I think it's prudent for us to continue to work behind the scenes as much as possible,” Nick said. “Let's wait until we have some proof of wrongdoing before we start confronting people.”
Jackie frowned. “Let's go. You guys are no fun at all.”
They hit up a Starbucks for coffees before heading south toward Thatcher's Mill. Jackie filled in McManus by phone, who said he would pass along the information through the appropriate channels to see that Dr. Mathews was looked into. He was looking forward to hooking up with them in the afternoon for the sketch-artist appointment. Hauser, on the other hand, had more information on the strangest town in America. Jackie put him on speakerphone so everyone could hear.
“It just gets weirder and weirder,” he said, a gleeful tone to his voice. At least someone appeared to be enjoying this investigation. “Not only is your local chief of police a generational position passed down through the family, every position I can dig up info on is the same way. The mayor, your local volunteer fire department, the town electrician, the local diner, everything I look at is handed down to the next generation. It's like the town never changes.”
“And how likely is that?” Jackie asked, knowing the answer already. It wasn't.
“Exactly,” Hauser said. “The only odd ones out are the Thatchers. Those daughters of theirs don't exist, at least not on any official records. Everyone else I've tracked has maintained a consistent family size. If it grew, someone died. If Smith married a Jones, then a Smith married a Jones in the next generation. This is some cool shit you've stumbled upon, Jack.”
“Not the choice of words, I'd use,” Jackie said. “Have you actually found anything illegal for us to make use of?”
“Sadly, no,” he replied. “Anything put on computer that I can access looks legit.”
“You suck, Hauser,” she said. “Focus on Chief Carson and the Thatcher girls. They're the key to all of this, and thanks for all the help.”
He laughed. “No problem, Jack. We live for the freaky stuff down here.”
They rounded a bend in the highway and Thatcher's Mill came into view, looking so utterly ordinary and quaint beneath a now clear November sky.
“Someone has to be doing this,” Shelby said. “There's no way a town just does this on its own.”
“Or a group of someones,” Jackie said. “How the hell do you garner that kind of control over so many people? One person couldn't do this. It's been going on far too long.”
“I could,” Nick said, staring out the window at the nearly empty town streets. “Shelby could.”
Jackie turned to him in disbelief. “A vampire? But ... wait. Wouldn't we have felt one by now?”
Shelby snorted. “If they stepped into Deadworld maybe. There's so much spiritual energy saturating this place, you'd be lucky to notice if they were standing right next to you.”
“I would,” Jackie muttered, staring up at the Thatcher house through the spider web of trees. “It's always the eyes that give it away, even with your funny contacts.”
“You have a bit of an advantage there,” Nick said. “Most people don't understand what they're seeing even when they do look.”
The thought of another vampire chilled Jackie to the bone. The image of the Thatcher house from the night before filled her head, with the ghosts drifting across the ground toward the house. Drake had been able to do that, to use them in order to gain power. Nick had done it to save their lives. “God, I hope you're wrong.”
Shelby turned off of Main Street and parked next to the diner. She turned and looked back at Nick. “You think it's Charlotte, don't you, babe?”
He was silent for a long moment. “Possibly. I want to see the picture Laurel describes first. It might tell me for sure.”
“Then let's go,” Jackie said. “There's no point in talking to Margolin now.” Suddenly, she wanted to be very far away from this place.
“No,” Nick replied. “We talk to him. He's been here for two days now. There's a chance he's met whoever it is. He might know something.”
Jackie took out her cell and dialed Margolin's number. He picked up on the second ring. “Margolin?”
“Agent Rutledge,” he said, sounding pleased. “You're here early. Afraid to get out of the car?”
“What?” Jackie turned around and saw Margolin standing on the corner outside the diner's door. He waved.
“Thought you might get here early,” he said. “So, let's talk.”
“Asshole.” Jackie clicked off the phone and shoved open the door. “He's here.”
“I see that,” Shelby replied. “You know, for a reporter, he's actually kind of cute.”
“Yeah, well.” Jackie stepped out onto the sidewalk. “He may be one of those people I don't mind if you bleed a little.”
“You're so sweet.” Shelby stepped out and Nick joined her. “You should keep this one, babe. She's got attitude.”
“I'd be careful,” Nick replied. “That attitude is going to punch you in the mouth.”
She laughed. “Already tried. Isn't that right, Jackie?”
Nick looked across the top of the Explorer at her with a curious expression, and Jackie bit off her retort. “Let's go before I try again.”
Inside the diner, Shelby slid in next to Margolin and gave him her charming, come-hither smile. “Hello, Margolin. Shelby Fontaine, but I guess you know that already.”
Jackie moved in across from him, pleased to see Margolin shift away from Shelby, turning so that he could face her more. Molly the waitress approached, coffee pot in hand, face pulled taut into a what Jackie swore was a sneer. She walked by without stopping.
What the hell was that?
What the hell was that?
“OK, Ghostbusters,” Margolin said. “This is your dime. What've you got for me?”
How about I wipe that smarmy grin off of your face?
Laurel's presence began to come forward.
Laurel's presence began to come forward.
Yes, I know! Don't worry. I've got this.
“That depends on you, Margolin,” Jackie said. “I'm not going to spoon-feed you a story. If you want to take, you're going to have to give.”
“That depends on you, Margolin,” Jackie said. “I'm not going to spoon-feed you a story. If you want to take, you're going to have to give.”
“What did you have in mind?”
Jackie wanted to smile at Shelby, who kept inching in on Margolin's personal space. He could not wedge himself into the corner of the booth any further. “What it comes down to is this, Margolin. You want to know what we're doing here, then help us find out more about Charlotte and Rebecca Thatcher.”
“The Thatcher girls?” He sounded surprised. “This is about them? You're kidding, right? They're like, fourteen. They're these old-fashioned sweethearts.”
“And they're not actually Thatchers,” Jackie said. It was time to take a risk. “Officially, neither one of them exists. We're trying to find out why and exactly who they are.”
“That makes no sense,” he said. “Charlie's a wonderful girl, loves her family. Why would you be going after her?”
“Mr. Margolin,” Nick said. “We're not after anyone. We're trying to find out what happened in this town. There are things going on here that aren't normal, but we know that much of what has happened here revolves around what happened to the Thatchers. They may be in danger if we don't get to the bottom of this soon.”
Good play, Nick. Work on his sympathies.
Shelby leaned into him, her hand sliding across the table until it touched Margolin's.
Shelby leaned into him, her hand sliding across the table until it touched Margolin's.
“They might get killed,” she said in a soft voice.
Margolin laughed and pulled his hand away. “You guys trying to scare me? Who's going to kill them? The only danger around here to the Thatchers is you all. What were you doing up there last night?”
“Trying to get a picture of the Thatcher girls,” Jackie said. “Despite what you might think, Margolin, there is no hidden FBI conspiracy going on here. We aren't FBI. We're investigating a paranormal occurrence in Thatcher's Mill.”
The easy smile dissolved into a smirk. “And who gave you the case?”
Jackie sagged back in the seat. “Oh, I don't know, Phil, who do you think? It was right there on the file box.”
“All right, then,” he said. “What's the FBI want with Thatcher's Mill? Why do you want to ruin this poor girl's life with your invasion of her life?”
Jackie spluttered. “Invasion? What the hell did she tell you? We haven't done a damn thing to them.”
“Nice try, Rutledge,” he snapped back. “You've been threateningâ”
Sirens interrupted him, followed by the screech of tires and the flashing red and blue of police lights. Carson's car lurched to a stop behind the Explorer.
Jackie sighed. So much for Margolin. The fucking twerp. “Great. Everyone's favorite backwoods cop. This should be fun.”
Nick slid out of the booth. “We need to lay low on this and get out of here.”
Jackie could hear Carson's door slam shut. As much as she wanted to jump in his face over this mess, she knew Nick was right. The guy would arrest any or all of them on a whim, and they could not afford such a setback at this point, not with the possibility of those girls being in danger or Rebecca at least. She prayed Nick was wrong about the whole vampire angle.
“I'd suggest leaving them alone,” Margolin said. “They aren't your story.”
She ignored him, heading for the door. Molly the waitress stood at the cash register, a smug look on her face. “Don't come back now.”
Jackie resisted the urge to slap her. Whatever happened to small town friendliness? Tucker, the cook, leaned against the entry back to the kitchen, arms folded across his chest, a similar acrimonious smile on his face. Once outside, she found Carson standing behind the Explorer, ticket book in hand.
“A problem, Chief Carson?” she asked.
“Besides you three? No,” he replied. “Getting kind of tired of you poking around in our affairs, Ms. Rutledge. Folks aren't happy, and when my town isn't happy, I'm not happy.”
“And the ticket?”
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