The Lingering Dead (4 page)

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Authors: J. N. Duncan

BOOK: The Lingering Dead
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Chapter 3
Charlie opened the door to the Thatcher's Mill Police Department and wrinkled her nose. Why did the place always smell like a cat had pissed in the corner somewhere? The open entry room of the small brick building two blocks off of Main Street held several wooden chairs and a long, narrow bench, upon which sat the gray, dim form of Rebecca. Charlie stepped over to her, a wistful smile forming on her lips and reached out to brush her hand over the girl's hair. The wide, staring eyes closed for a moment when she did. The price one paid when asking the law for help.
“Ms. Thatcher!” Elinore, the tawny-haired receptionist, said. “What a pleasant surprise. I wasn't expecting you.” Crumbs from the holiday cornbread leftovers in her hand crusted the corners of her mouth.
“Are you ever, Eli?” Charlie said, rolling her eyes. “I need a word with Elton. See that nobody disturbs us.”
“Of course, Ms. Thatcher.”
Charlie marched through the reception area, or rather around the reception desk, and stepped into Elton Carson's office. She waved at the cigarette smoke that hung like fog in the air. “Damn it, Elton. I thought I said to keep the fucking cigarettes out of your office. I hate that shit.”
He hastily brought his feet down off of his desk and stubbed out the butt in the already full ashtray. “Sorry, Ms. Thatcher. Old habits.” He smiled, wiping his hand across the strands of hair still left on his head. “What brings you to the office today? I wasn't expecting you until our usual meet.”
“I've heard by more than one person that Rachel Crenshaw is moving up to Dubuque to live with her boyfriend.” Charlie stepped forward and placed her hands on the edge of his desk. “Can you substantiate that rumor?”
Carson shrugged. “Could be, I guess. That college boyfriend of hers has been down here more than a few times to visit, if you know what I'm saying.”
“So, she's fucking a visitor,” Charlie said. That always produced problems, without fail.
The police chief licked his upper lip, dragging the tip of his tongue across the pencil thin smear of mustache. “It would appear so, Ms.—”
Charlie's hand flicked out with hummingbird speed, her delicate hand flicking the disgusting tongue before it could be pulled back into his mouth.
“Ow!” He dabbed at his tongue with the back of his hand, checking for blood. “Christ, Charlie. What was that for?”
“For being a lecherous shit,” she said. The man was far more foul than his father. At least he had given due respect for the law and was tolerable to look at. His son was a snake, living in the dank, dark world of rocks better left unturned. Carson's son was thirteen now, and looked to be far more like his grandfather.
“But I wasn't ...” He sighed and averted his gaze from hers. “Sorry, Ms. Thatcher. It won't happen again.”
She laughed at that. “Of course it will, Elton. God, at least have the balls to admit your lust for me. Your embarrassment only pisses me off.”
“Sorry. Really. I don't mean—”
Charlie jumped over the desk, a deft gymnastic maneuver, vaulting and landing beside him. The switchblade was in her hand before her feet had hit the ground. She pressed it to his throat, grabbing his chin with the other hand to force him to face her. “Can you deal with the college boy? I don't want him around here anymore.”
He nodded. “Of course.”
She pushed away from him, the blade scoring the soft flesh of his neck enough to draw blood. Several red tears of blood welled up from the split in the skin. “Show me you're an adequate lawman, Elton. Perhaps I'll include a bonus in your paycheck.”
Carson gulped and managed a feeble laugh. “Don't really want your money, Charlie.”
Charlie grinned back. “See? Nice and direct and honest.” She reached down and wiped the blood up with a finger, bringing it up to her lips and sucking it clean with deliberate slowness. “Take care of that boy.”
“Consider it done,” he said and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket.
Charlie stopped him and traced her finger back across his neck once again, sealing the wound up as she went. She smiled at Carson as his eyes fluttered shut and then slapped him hard once across the face. “Next time I come in here and you're smoking, you're going to be eating those fucking things. Got it?”
He rubbed gingerly at his cheek. “Yeah, damn it. I got it.”
“Good.” Charlie spun on her heel and walked out, annoyance gradually turning to excitement. It was time to give Becca the present she had had made for her.
 
 
Up the hill at her house, Charlie clomped down the stairs into the basement, where Becca was helping Ma-ma wash the week's clothes. The stench of soap and bleach was strong in the air. Ma-ma was pinning clothes up on the lines back by the trap doors, which were open, letting the cold November air clear the room. Becca ran a dark, sudsy piece of cloth over the washboard and dunked it into the tub of soapy water.
“Sis! I thought you were going to be gone until afternoon.” She smiled and waved her fingers at her.
Charlie returned the smile. The charm was finally starting to hold. The girl was more resilient than most, which boded well for when the time came to try. She had to be tough, but more importantly, she had to believe and she had to love. Charlie walked over to Becca and kissed her on the cheek.
“You guys are almost done. I didn't think you'd finish before lunch time.”
Ma-ma walked over and squeezed Becca's shoulder. “Your sister knows how to work up a storm. Make sure you get some lotion on those hands, sweetie. That bleach will do the devil's work on your skin.”
Charlie looked up at her mother. “Turkey leftover sandwiches for lunch, Ma-ma. Twenty minutes.”
“Of course, dear. Just the way you like them.”
Rebecca fed the garment through the roller to squeeze out the water and then handed it over. “Here, Ma-ma.”
When she reached to grab the next article of clothing from the basket, Charlie grabbed her hand. It was still wet, but she could feel the dry skin forming on the knuckles. “Ma-ma's right. That bleach is trashing your hands.” She brought it up to her mouth, pressing her lips to the base knuckle of the index finger. When she pulled it away, the skin was smooth and untarnished. Becca stared up at her with wide eyes. “Come on,” she said. “You can finish up after lunch. I have something for you.”
Rebecca beamed. “Really? What is it?
Charlie took her hand and pulled Rebecca to her feet. “Come on. I just know you'll love it.”
They hurried up the stairs, hand in hand, through the kitchen filled with the smell of freshly baked bread where Charlie grabbed her travel satchel, and then up the stairs again to their bedroom. They sat down on the impeccably made bed, with its Victorian lace pillows and hand-crocheted blankets, where Rebecca fidgeted with excitement.
She folded her legs up cross-legged on the bed, bouncing with anticipation. “What is it, Charlie?
From out of the satchel, Charlie withdrew a paper-wrapped package, tied in a bow with a piece of twine. She slapped at Rebecca's crossed legs. “Put your legs down. Ladies do not sit like that.”
She immediately unfolded them and let her feet dangle toward the floor. “Oh, of course. Sorry.” Rebecca stared at the package in Charlie's lap. “Open it, already!” She giggled. “This is so exciting.”
Charlie smiled. It was just like it had been, that sunny fall day in 1896, when her father had brought home a similar package, wrapped in paper and twine, and both of them had sat in nervous anticipation on the living room sofa, watching him undo the twine and pull the secret surprise from the paper. Only it had not been much of a surprise at that point, having become something of an annual, family tradition.
The twine sprang loose from its tightly wound bow and Charlie pulled it off, carefully unfolding the paper to reveal the tissue-wrapped contents. It was a polished wooden box, about half the size of an ordinary shoebox, delicately inlaid and hand-painted on top with a scene of two young girls running through a meadow, carefree and hand in hand.
“Oh, Charlie! It's so pretty. What is it?”
She lifted the lid, the hinges inside bringing up the painted porcelain figurine of the two girls from the painting, posed together in a dance. Charlie reached down and turned the delicate, golden key on the side, winding up the music box to play.
“It's us,” she said. “Old Man Wilkens makes them. He's a woodworker, and quite good actually. His papa taught him all he knows, and he was the best in the world.” Classical music chimed away as the two figures turned in unison, and Charlie handed it to Rebecca. “Here. You can add it to our collection.”
Rebecca gingerly took the box into her lap. “Our collection?” She stared lovingly at the gift, uncomprehending for a moment, but then her eyes widened with realization and she looked across the room at the mahogany curios cabinet in the corner, the glass shelves inside filled with similar boxes. “Oh! We collect them.” She nodded as if in complete understanding. “Of course. How wonderful. Charlie, it's beautiful. Thank you.” Her arms reached out and embraced Charlie, squeezing her tightly. “I love you so much.”
Charlie closed her eyes and breathed in the sweet scent of her hair. Yes, things were all coming together so well. It was all so perfect, like it had once been and would be again. “I love you, too, Becca.” She pulled back and kissed Rebecca, taking the blade from her pocket and grasping her hand. “Sisters forever and always?”
Rebecca stared lovingly at Charlie. Her smile could not get any bigger. “Forever and always, Sis.” She turned her palm over in Charlie's hand, offering it to her without thought.
The blade delicately scored Rebecca's palm and Charlie brought it to her mouth, sucking at the blood that welled forth. She could taste the love in that energy that filled her, and a part of her wanted to keep drinking until the last of that feeling filled every part of her and every last drop of blood was gone.
Then the cold touch of the dead brushed across her. Charlie traced her tongue over the wound, sealing the skin, and dropped Rebecca's hand. Someone was approaching. Someone strong with the energy of the dead, a feeling she had not felt in over a hundred years.
“Charlie?” Rebecca's smile faded. “What's the matter?”
Her stomach knotted in panic, and Charlie leaped to her feet. “I just remembered something. I need to go.”
She groaned. “Oh, but why?”
“Stay here!” She took Rebecca's face in her hands, eyes aglow with power. “Do not leave the house or even open the door until I get back.”
She nodded. “OK. What's wrong, Charlie?”
“Nothing. Just stay in the house and do not answer the door if anyone comes.”
Charlie bolted out the door and down the stairs. “Pa-pa! Ma-ma! Come here now.”
A vampire was coming and she needed to leave.
Chapter 4
Feeling good. I'm feeling good. This is going OK, I think.
And while a part of her truly was enjoying the moment, savoring Nick's arm draped across the back of the couch, her head cradled into the crook of his elbow, the butterflies in Jackie's stomach danced to a different tune, ignoring the Falcons–Colts game on the television, and the casual banter that went with it. They wanted to know what was going to happen when everyone decided to leave.
Are you staying or going? You going to spend the night with Nick or be a coward chicken-shit again and bail?
Jackie's brain could not let go of the doubt or steer itself clear of all the paranoid pathways the evening might take. Every thought of his hands roaming her body or her legs wrapped around his waist came plagued with visions of drunken breakdowns or worse, just being plain lousy in bed.
At thirty-two, she had been with more than her fair share of men, but she could remember almost none of them or, more importantly, what she had done. Her sex life consisted of a sixteen-year-long string of drunken, one-night stands. Jackie had no clear idea of what sober, clear-headed sex might be like, and the thought terrified her. And then there was Nick.
What would he expect? What would he want from her? He had witnessed the end of her meltdown and probably had a pretty good idea of what had been going on there. Was he into that kind of thing? Was she? Jackie could not remember if and what she had liked. Would Nick want a taste of her blood? Was sex tied up in all of that with him?
The questions turned and squirmed in Jackie's gut, refusing to let her be. This not knowing, not being able to grasp onto anything solid was surely going to kill her. Of course, she could just ask him, but ... yeah. No.
“Coffee, babe?”
Shelby's hand brushed across her shoulder and Jackie startled against Nick. “I don't know! Wait. What?”
Shelby laughed. “Coffee. Do you want another coffee? I'll make you one before Cyn and I head out if you want.”
Head out?
“You guys are leaving already?” She glanced over at the television, which was now showing the postgame show.
It's over? How'd that happen so fast? It was halftime just a minute ago.
“Babe, it's after eleven,” Shelby said, patting Jackie's shoulder. “I've got Black Friday sales to hit up in the morning, and Cyn is going with me, isn't that right, hon?”
“Wouldn't miss it,” she replied over her shoulder as she headed toward the kitchen. “You can come with, if you want, Jackie.” Her smile was flip. “We're hitting up Kohl's at four
AM.
”
“That sounds ...”
Nick casually watched her out of the corner of his eye. Laurel stared at her from the other couch, eyebrows raised. The butterflies in her stomach chanted in unison.
Get out now! Run, girl! Run!
“That sounds like a nightmare. Think I'll pass.”
Shelby's grin widened. “That's what I thought you'd say.”
Yeah, well I sure didn't. Guess I'm staying with you tonight, Nick. How's that sound?
Nick gave her one of his faint half-smiles, stretching the scar along his jaw line, and she looked away.
I wasn't implying anything.
Another part of her, swimming furiously against the onrushing current of paranoia and fear, wholeheartedly disagreed. At the moment, it was not faring so well, and Laurel's reassuring smile provided no extra boost of confidence.
Nick stood up, pushing to his feet, and Jackie felt the cool, vacuous absence of the arm that had been draped behind her head. A shiver went down her spine. The cavalry was riding off into the sunset without her. No hope of rescue after this point. They were not coming back for her. There would be no Laurel to save her from herself on this. She watched Shelby pour a shot of Kahlua into her coffee, and wished that it was the other way around.
Jackie got up to say good-bye to them, and Shelby whispered in her ear when she hugged her. “You're safe here.”
Laurel passed through her, pausing briefly.
You want me to stay?
Yes! But you can't. I can do this. I want to. I need to, Laur.
There was a reassuring surge of warmth that enveloped Jackie.
I know, hon. And please, just try to relax. This is supposed to be enjoyable.
I know, I know. I'm trying. Just hurry up and go, please. Before I change my mind.
The door opened, letting in the bone-chilling cold of Deadworld for a moment and then Laurel was gone. At the same time, Nick closed the front door behind Shelby and Cynthia, and the soft thud had Jackie's heart jumping in an instant of panic. She almost sloshed her coffee all over the slate floor.
Nick waved his hand at the doorway, his smile casual. “You can still escape.”
No. My only escape is here.
She licked her lips and took a sip of the coffee. “No. I'll take your food over shopping any day.”
He laughed. “Good to know.” Nick turned to face her, his eyes gazing directly into hers.
Jackie's breath hitched in her lungs for a moment, but she forced herself to return the look. “What?”
“I'm glad you're here,” he said.
Those words were so loaded with potential meaning that Jackie found herself speechless. What to say to that? She was glad to be there as well, or at least glad she had faced down the quivering nerves in her gut and decided to stay, with all of the implicit consequences of that action. Jackie knew precisely where Nick wanted this night to end up, but his steady gaze did not swarm over her with lust. His eyes were as patient and unreadable as ever. Any decisions to be made, any steps forward would be on her shoulders. Her voice, however, refused to cooperate.
Nick put his hand out between them, an invitation breaking the awkward silence. “How about a little piano time?”
That was a familiar step she could handle. Jackie reached out and placed her hand in his, dwarfed by the size of it. “Sounds good to me.”
Up in the loft, Nick turned on a floor lamp beside the piano and sat down, placing his coffee cup on a coaster.
Jackie set hers next to his, matching cups, steaming away.
Matching. Just like a couple.
Her heart began to thump a bit harder.
I can do this. I can. It's just a normal date. A simple, normal date.
The sort of date she had not had. Ever. Jackie slowly let out her breath and sat down next to Nick.
“Any preferences?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. Anything is good. Everything you play sounds wonderful.”
Good at every damn thing in the world, and I don't even know if I can do the one thing I was good at anymore.
Nick's hands froze over the keys. “You OK, Jackie?”
She looked up at the calm, questioning expression on his face, and the momentary panic in her chest subsided. “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn't I be?” Jackie flashed him a smile, hoping it looked more authentic than it felt. “Play.”
He did, and the tension in her chest eased. He truly was a gifted pianist, though perhaps less impressive with the God-given talent and a century to practice. After a few minutes, the song changed to something Jackie recognized, and Nick nodded toward her.
“Play,” he said.
“I'm no match for—”
“Not a contest,” he replied. “Come on. I like playing with you.”
Jackie glanced quickly up at him, but Nick was already focused back on the piano. She was looking for things where there shouldn't be. Not everything was innuendo.
Quit trying so damn hard, idiot. Just do this.
She put her hands on the keys and took a deep breath. Nerves had her missing a couple of notes, but a few moments later Jackie fell into the rhythm of the song. Their hands moved in tandem, following one another, playing off one another, and Jackie was surprised, just as before, that it came so easy to sit here as a team, two parts of a whole making a single piece of wonderful music together.
When the song finished, Nick laid his hand across her thigh. “You see? You're better than you think, Jackie.”
“I'm so out of practice. I don't really play enough.” Despite the coolness of his skin, warmth flooded through Jackie's thighs, spreading from one to the other. Tension and nerves could not hide the truth.
He patted her thigh, causing Jackie to flinch, and got to his feet. “Come on. I've got something for you.”
Jackie watched him walk over to the archway leading into the library, a large room extending over the bedroom wing of the house, full of nooks and seating areas formed from row upon row of bookshelves. “What is it?”
He motioned for her. “Come and find out.”
“You don't need to give me anything, Nick.”
I'm here aren't I? No bribes are necessary now. You can just jump my bones and get this all over with.
“You'll like this. Trust me.”
Jackie followed him into the room, decorated with old Victorian-style couches and chairs, antique tables and Tiffany lamps. When he flicked the light switch, the whole space was suffused with the warm glow of light from a pair of chandeliers. Nick pointed to a love seat tucked into an alcove of shelves.
“Sit. I'll be right there.” He walked further into the room, stopping at a bookcase covered by a glass door.
God, I don't need a book.
She had not read one in over a year, the last being something about crime-scene forensics. But she could play along. Maybe it was his idea of being romantic. Obviously there were worse plays to make, and she had seen most of them, even if she could not remember them at all.
Jackie sat on the edge of the love seat, hands folded in her lap, and waited. A curtained window looked out into the night; rivulets of water trickled down the windowpane. It was quiet enough that she could hear the faint patter of the rain against the glass. Nick returned with a stack of several leather-bound tomes and set them on the coffee table in front of her.
“Your choice,” he said, “to inspire practice.”
She picked up the book on top and read the gold-embossed title,
Mozart: Sheet Music.
Jackie eyed Nick curiously, who gave her an easy smile. When she opened the cover, Jackie found what the title indicated, pages and pages of sheet music, encased in clear, protective sleeves. The pages were yellowed, some cracked around the edges, and clearly old. It hit her then what she must be looking at.
“Wait. Are these originals?”
He nodded, his smile broadening. “Some of them. Most are handwritten copies, but some of them are the originals.”
“Oh, my God.” Jackie traced her fingers over the notes. “Shouldn't these be in a museum somewhere?”
Nick shrugged. “They could be, but I like them where I can see them and use them on occasion. It makes the piece feel a bit more ... real, I suppose.”
“Wow, Nick. I couldn't take any of these. God, they must be priceless.”
“You can, and you will,” he said. “They're mine after all. I can do with them what I wish, and I wish for you to make use of them. If you'd like to, of course.”
“But—”
I have nothing to give you in return. I haven't been around long enough to collect shit like this. Give me a few decades to catch up, and maybe.
The butterflies began to stir once again, agitated and nervous.
“But nothing,” Nick replied. “If you see one you'd like, take it. Think of it as borrowing from the library.”
Jackie laughed. “I don't have a card.”
“Think I can make an exception just this once,” he said. “Perk of having an in with the librarian.”
She leaned back and turned to him, suppressing a chuckle. Inside, the butterflies beat furious wings in an effort to escape.
Shit. Here we go. I know what I'm doing. I've done this a million fucking times.
Jackie smiled.
I just can't remember ever doing this right.
“So, I have an in, do I?”
Nick's arm reached behind her and settled on the back of the love seat, close enough that her hair brushed across the flesh of his arm. Goose bumps erupted across the nape of her neck and danced down her spine. “Ms. Rutledge, I believe you've been
in
with the librarian since day one.”
She leaned toward him. If that wasn't an invitation, then she did not know what one was. She licked her dry lips and replied softly. “Rough edges and all that, huh?”
The crows'-feet around his eyes deepened. “Something like that.”
Nick's mouth was soft and inviting as always, never pushing forward. The pace and momentum of this moment was hers to make, and Jackie swallowed back the pangs of uncertainty. Beneath the foggy effects of the Kahlua, thoughts of how, what, and why receded into the background. They did not exist. Things just happened and the controls of the ship were left to turn where they may. In Jackie's dark sea, one never knew what monsters might swim up out of the depths.

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