The Vengeful Dead (23 page)

Nick closed his eyes and took a step back. “Ah, hell.”

Chapter 27

Jackie let her head droop forward. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, partly out of frustration and partly to keep from throwing up; the air in the closed space of the interview room was stifling, warm, and compounded by the ever-present smell of blood.

“Is something wrong, Agent Rutledge?” The woman, dressed in a very smart charcoal-gray suit and blindingly white blouse, tapped her pen on the file folder next to her laptop. Any sort of agitation activated the pen. She had been polite throughout, asking questions in a calm, even manner. She did not push or cajole or attempt to influence Jackie’s answers in any way. At times, Jackie thought she might be talking to a robot.

“You realize this is the third set of questions aimed at asking me about the same course of events and the same set of actions taken. Do you really need me to tell it again?” She looked up and stared hard at the prim woman. “I understand how this works, and my story is going to be the same each and every time. I know you have more investigating to do. Go do it and get back to me. I’ll answer more questions then, I promise. But right now, Agent Patterson, I’m about to throw up all over your pretty black leather pumps.”

The tapping pen stopped. She opened up the folder and marked something and then typed in a quick note on her laptop. A glowing review no doubt. Jackie knew they did not particularly like her answers. Ghosts had turned into hunches and going after a detective based on a hunch did not sit well. They would have more questions. What had happened out at Iroquois? What went on in Beverly Morgan’s basement? Why exactly was she on this case to begin with if she had been on leave for her partner’s death?

All excellent questions. Fortunately, they would have no idea to ask why Rosa, through Morgan, had gleefully told her she was broken in the moments before he died. Jackie wanted to ask that one herself. She tried to ignore it, forget about it, and just plain leave it alone, but it would not go away. It mattered more in the way the words had been spoken than the words themselves. It had not been an insult. Rosa had been rather pleased it seemed with the discovery, whatever it was. The words gnawed at her and something about them she found deeply disturbing.

“Agent Rutledge.” The woman closed her laptop and folded her hands over the top as though to protect it from Jackie. “You’ve been very helpful. Thank you for cooperating so quickly after your ordeal. As you know, we’ll be continuing our investigation until all parties are satisfied with the results. There are still a number of unanswered questions in this matter, which I’m sure you’re aware of. You’ll be available for us to contact with further questions?”

“Of course,” she said. “If my head hasn’t exploded.”

The agent gave Jackie a pained smile. “Great.”

No sense of humor, Jackie decided. Though, she imagined, if one’s job involved looking into bad agents all of the time, she would have lost hers, too. And speaking of no humor, she had to now attend an hour of the
I Told You Show
, emceed by everyone’s favorite host, Dr. Matilda Erikson.

Three floors up, Jackie pasted her fakest friendly smile on her face and told the receptionist she was there to see Tillie. She gave Jackie a sympathetic and worried stare.

“So glad you’re all right, Agent Rutledge,” she said. “I heard you almost got killed.”

“Almost, but turns out I’m too hardheaded to die.”

She looked confused, but Jackie was not going to explain, not with her head beginning to throb to the beat of a high school marching band’s bass drum. Tillie saved her from the awkward silence, opening her door from behind the reception area.

“Jackie! I thought that was you. Come in,” she said, and waved her toward the door. She left it open and went back inside.

“Fuck,” Jackie muttered and marched toward Tillie’s door. “Can’t have a minute to wait and collect my thoughts, the few that haven’t been beaten out of my head?”

Inside the fastidiously comfortable office, Tillie was making tea. Jackie flopped down into the overstuffed chenille chair and let her head sag back. She closed her eyes. “I’m apologizing in advance in case my head explodes all over your pretty office.”

“I think you’d still manage to get yourself in trouble,” she replied and set the tray down on the table between them.

Jackie rubbed at the stitches on her head. It was beginning to itch. “Can concussions mess up your sense of smell?”

“Pardon?”

“Sense of smell,” Jackie said, and finally looked back at Tillie. “I keep smelling blood everywhere I go. I can’t get rid of it and it’s making me nauseous.”

“Hmmm, I’m not sure, Jackie. I can check into that for you, though. How you feeling otherwise?”

“You mean other than seeing dead people and killing a cop?” Tillie gave her a sour look. “I’m having a shitty day.”

“What about the killing the cop? Wasn’t Detective Morgan on the Homicide Task Force?”

Jackie closed her eyes again. “I knew him. He was a good guy and the fucked-up part of the story is, nobody will know. Everyone is going to think he was a painkiller-addicted cop who got strung out and snapped when he found himself on a really bad murder case.”

“Why won’t anyone know? I’m not sure I understand that. And drink your tea, dear. It’ll help your headache.”

Jackie picked up and sipped the tea. Maybe Tillie had spiked it or laced it with Percocet. It was warm and actually soothed her upset stomach. “It’s ghost crap. Is this off the record?”

“It’s not in a record anyone can see,” she said.

“No, I mean is it off the record? I want no recordings of this stuff in anyway, shape, or form.”

Tillie frowned for a moment but then nodded. “All right. No record.”

“You really believe in this, Tillie?”

“I do. In spirits at least and the belief that there is something beyond us.”

That would do just fine. “I’m under a gag order on this but I don’t think you count.”

She nodded. “Everything stays here, Jackie. You know that.”

“Morgan was possessed by a really pissed-off ghost. He took a shot at me when we caught up to him and I killed him. He was stuck in the corner of his head somewhere trying to kick this thing out and I had to plug three rounds into him. The poor guy never had a chance to defend himself. I killed an innocent man and I’m going to get praised for it. How fucked-up is that, Tillie?”

“Have you been getting praise for it?”

“Well, no, not really. Not yet,” Jackie said. “OK, praise is the wrong word. Nobody will know the truth, which is that I took down an innocent cop.”

Tillie sat back, staring thoughtfully at Jackie over the top of the cup raised to her lips. “Is this any different than an officer being taken hostage and then killed in the effort to get the kidnapper?”

“Of course! The hostage and the kidnapper were the same person. Maybe I shouldn’t have shot him.”

“Wouldn’t you likely be dead now?”

“I know!” Jackie was on the verge of yelling. The headache and nausea were doing wonders on her patience. “It’s just . . . I killed an innocent guy.”

“Sometimes we’re put in untenable, no-win situations, Jackie. You know this. Everyone in law enforcement knows this. Does it bother you more that nobody is going to be blaming you for killing him?”

Jackie threw up her hands. “I don’t know. I guess. Even worse is I don’t think we’ve stopped her.”

“The ghost?”

“Yeah. I think she’s still out there somewhere. Morgan died and it’s time for her to find someone else to help her finish the job.”

“You can tell this?” She was genuinely curious now, leaning forward in her seat.

“I can tell when she’s nearby. I could feel her inside Morgan. She said . . .” Jackie took a sip from her tea. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to tell Tillie this, but what the hell? She knew this much of it, and hadn’t called up the mental hospital. “She said, right before she bashed my head against the floor, that I was broken.”

Tillie shrugged. “Could be nothing more than a reference to what she was about to do to you.”

“No.” Jackie shook her head. She knew it went beyond that. “I saw the look on Morgan’s or her face when she said it. She was happy about something. It wasn’t something about to happen to me. It was like she suddenly realized it when she had her hands around my throat. She felt something and it pleased her.”

Tillie eased back into her chair again, perplexed. Her brow furrowed. She tapped a finger against her pursed lips. “Do you feel broken?”

“In some ways, sure,” Jackie said. “This has been a hellish couple of weeks. But this was something else. I don’t know why it creeps me out so bad, but it does. In what sort of way would a ghost want you to be broken? Maybe they can see some deep-seated flaw that I can’t. Maybe the dead can see things that we can never see. But the way she said it, it was something important. I just can’t put my damn finger on it.”

“This is really worrying you, isn’t it?”

“Tillie, what if there’s something fundamentally broken in me? What if something happened when I went to the other side and almost died? Maybe I’m damaged in some way that can’t be fixed.”

“Nonsense.” But she did not sound thoroughly convinced. “You aren’t broken, dear. Hurting? Yes. Recovering? Yes. But you are not damaged beyond repair.”

Jackie sagged back and settled her head on the cushion, stretched her mouth with an enormous yawn and closed her eyes. “Feels that way at times.”

“You know what,” she said, and Jackie could hear her standing up. “Rest there for a few minutes. I’m going to write you a prescription for some sleeping meds. They’ll help you sleep, even with the headache, and you won’t get loopy like you do with Percocet.”

“Will they make the blood odor go away? I might have to love you for that.”

She laughed softly. “Not that I’m aware of, but I will look into the blood smell. If it’s a sign of something more harmful, I will call you.”

Jackie turned her head and looked at Tillie. “More harmful? Like what?”

“Like that concussion you got is more than mild,” she said.

“Oh. Guess that would be better than some kind of new ghost cancer.”

“Ha! Funny girl.” She walked back around her desk and handed Jackie a slip of paper. “Fill this on your way home,” she said. “You are going home now, aren’t you?”

“Straight away, Mother. Promise.” She took the slip and stuffed it into her pocket.

“You OK to drive, Jackie?”

“Yeah. I got here didn’t I? It’s just a bad headache. Another day of rest and I’ll be fine.”

“Looks like you could use three.” She reached down and gave Jackie’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “Get someone to drive you home if need be.”

Just to prove her wrong, Jackie got to her feet and nearly threw up on Tillie’s shoes. “I’m just tired and have a headache. Not a big deal.”

“Will be if you don’t get some rest. Now go. Doctor’s orders.”

Jackie shuffled out. She really was ready to crawl back into bed. “Night-night, Doctor Erikson.”

Despite the effort, she took the stairs back to her floor, worried the elevator might throw her stomach off just enough to make her puke. A quick update for Belgerman and she would head home. Jackie paused by her desk and gripped the cubicle wall to fend off a warm wave of nausea. She yawned again and then rubbed at her eyes with the palms of her hands. When was the last time she felt this out of it? Even the candle to the head at Cynthia’s house, when they had fought off Drake’s goon, hadn’t put her out this badly. Perhaps she should just put her feet up at her desk and doze for an hour before going home? The thought tempted her. A cold fire was beginning to chew through her gut.

Jackie stood up and took a step toward John’s office when that cold flame blossomed into a raging maw that clamped down on her insides. Her chest constricted, heart skipping a beat, and Jackie fell to a knee. Her breath suddenly could not move through her frozen lungs.

It was the chill wind of the dead screaming through her body, blowing from the inside out. Upon that lifeless current, Jackie heard or rather felt a faint, desperate voice.

“Laur?” she gasped.

Then it was gone, leaving Jackie shivering with the force of it. She crawled over to the waste basket by her desk and proceeded to retch the contents of her stomach into the crumpled papers in the bottom.

“Jackie?” Belgerman’s worried voice came from behind. “You all right?” He pulled back the chair and was beside her, hand lightly on her back as her stomach clenched and spasmed several more times before finally subsiding.

“Just . . . just give me a sec,” she said, and spat out the sour bile and fluid that remained in her mouth.
What the fuck was that?
Jackie had no clue, only that something about it spoke of Laurel and it was not good, not at all.

“Let me get one of the cots out and you can lay down in the conference room,” Belgerman said, and handed her a wad of tissue from her desk.

Jackie sat back on her heels and wiped her mouth. “No. I need to get out of here. I have to go.”

“Not like this you aren’t. I’ll find someone or drive you home myself.”

She shook her head. “Call Nick. He’ll take me.” Jackie reached for her chair and clasped the arm to pull herself up. Belgerman’s firm hands helped get her back in the seat. “I’ll get you some water. Just sit tight.”

Jackie laid her head back against the seat cushion and closed her eyes. She needed to tell Nick. Something had happened to Laurel. Something terrible.

Chapter 28

Nick’s Porsche screeched to a halt outside the elevator doors in the parking garage. Jackie had meant to call him, explain what she felt, but Belgerman and Tillie, plus struggling to keep her gag reflex under control, had kept her from using the phone. He reached over and pushed open the door for her. He looked grim.

Jackie sagged into the seat. “Nick, Laurel—”

“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Jackie sagged into the seat. “Oh, thank God! Thought I might be losing it.”

John gripped the door and leaned down to look at them both. “Nick. Be nice to meet you under pleasant circumstances one of these days.”

“Agreed,” he said. “I’ll make sure she’s actually going to rest.”

He laughed. “Thanks. You read my mind.”

Jackie frowned at them both. “I’m not a child.”

“Stubborn as one,” Belgerman said, giving her shoulder a soft squeeze. “Get some sleep, Jackie. You look like something out of a zombie movie.”

He closed the door and Jackie leaned the seat back. The throbbing eased the more inclined she became. The softly humming engine revved up and launched them out of the parking lot. “What happened, Nick? Is Laur OK?”

“We don’t know, but I don’t think she is,” he said. “She found Rosa’s house, but Rosa is apparently not welcoming anyone near her baby. From what Cynthia said, it looks like she attacked Laurel and left her on the ground outside of the house. That was all she got to see, however, before Rosa attacked Cynthia.”

“Holy shit! She OK?

“Bit bruised, but she’ll be fine.”

“How do we get Laur out of there?”

“Working on it,” he said, but his voice did not sound very hopeful. “Right now, though, you need to rest. You look asleep on your feet, Jackie.”

“I slept like seven or eight hours last night. Stupid fucking Deadworld dreams to prove it. I’d be better without the stench of blood everywhere. I didn’t know concussions could mess you up like that.”

“Very odd for a mild concussion to have a serious side effect like that,” he said, looking her over while they were stopped at a light. “Could just be your contact with Rosa, but I’ve never heard of it lingering on like it’s doing for you.”

Jackie turned her head and pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window. “Be nice if you could make it go away.”

“I might,” he said, “or at least make you able to handle it better.”

“You’re talking vampire mojo crap, aren’t you?”

His answer was a simple “Yes.”

Jackie didn’t answer. When Shelby had done it to her so she could walk on a banged-up knee, the side effect had her nearly tearing Nick’s clothes off. She had no energy for that right now, even if she might be more inclined to give in to the inclination.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I can make it more subtle than Shelby did.”

“How do you manage that?”

“It’s a matter of will,” he replied. “Shelby wants us to sleep together. She put that energy into you along with healing your knee.”

Jackie pivoted her head and half-opened her eyes. “So, does that mean you can avoid putting that energy in or you don’t want to sleep with me?” She gave Nick a halfhearted smirk.

The Porsche swerved over and stopped. They had arrived at her apartment. Nick’s smile was vague. “I suppose I’ll let you decide that one.” He walked around the car and opened her door by the time she sat up straight.

Jackie wobbled on her feet when she managed to get up out of the car. Nick’s hand was right there at her elbow to offer support, and Jackie suppressed the urge to yank her arm away. It would make getting up the stairs easier and safer. “How can we help Laur, Nick? Will she be OK until we can get to her?”

“Getting to her is not the problem,” Nick said, as he followed one step behind her going up the stairs. “Rosa is the problem. I don’t know that we can handle her. I was able to scare her off, but I don’t believe I could drain her away even if I wanted to. Not with her babe there. On her own, we’d have a much better shot.”

Drain her away. Goose bumps snaked up her spine. Jackie unlocked her door and stepped inside. The stench of blood was even stronger in her apartment. “Fuck. OK, the vampire mojo wins. Juice me up, Sheriff,” she said. “I can’t handle much more of this.”

“You’ll want to change into whatever you’re sleeping in, brush your teeth, take pills, or whatever,” Nick replied. “Once I do this, you’re done until you wake up.”

“Really? That good, huh?”

“Or,” he said, with the slightest cock of his head, “I could hang around and wait to see how well it works.”

“Lucky for you, I’d fall over if I took a swing.” Jackie shuffled off to the bathroom to get ready.

Twenty minutes later, Jackie was buried up to her neck in downy softness, a shot of espresso warming her belly, while it dissolved away a Percocet, since she had failed to remember to pick up Tillie’s prescription. Nick sat on the edge of the bed next to her. On the far corner of the mattress, Bickerstaff gave them a wary eye.

“You all set?” He gave her a warm smile, accentuated with the touch of crow’s-feet around the eyes, which now glowed with eerie brightness. Nick had removed his contacts.

“I think so. You’ll call me if something comes up with Laur?”

“Yes. I don’t think you need to worry. She’s no longer a threat to Rosa, and as long as she remains that way she’ll be safe.”

“You’re totally bullshitting me, aren’t you?”

Nick winced. “More or less. I haven’t seen her, Jackie. I’m going by what Cynthia said. She could be dying. She could be fine and waiting for a chance to get away without Rosa noticing. I just don’t know.”

“You’d have been a good politician.” Jackie rolled her eyes at his little smirk. “You were, weren’t you?”

“I was mayor for a year,” he said. “Long time ago. It didn’t suit me.”

“And apparently my rough edges do.” It came out far more snide-sounding than she had planned.

“Indeed they do, Agent Rutledge.” Nick reached out and cupped her face with one large, firm hand. The hand was warm.

“Do I have to do the whole
look into my eyes
bit for this to work?”

“It’ll help.” The other hand came up and Jackie found her face held firmly, fingers running back into her hair. One was close to her stitches and the mere thought of it made it start to itch. “Don’t worry. That’ll go away too,” he said.

The warmth began to radiate inward. It was like the lovely heat from a steam bath without all the sweat. “You reading my mind?” Her thoughts were getting syrupy, turning to mush. She got the disturbing sensation that his fingers were sinking into her head.

“Just your face. Now then,” he said, voice deeper, more melodious than usual, “look at me, Jackie.” She did and found, surprisingly, that his eyes did not frighten her as before. “You trust me?” She nodded and said nothing. “Good. I want you to pretend you’re sitting at Annabelle’s. What do you smell?”

“Pastries. Donuts. Coffee.” The scents of her favorite eatery filled her nostrils. “Could I have more coffee?”

“Soon. That fresh-roasted coffee smell fills the room, seeping into everything. Your clothes, your furniture, your sheets, they all emanate the essence of fresh-roasted coffee. It overpowers everything.”

“Mmm. This is great. You smell good enough to drink.”

“All you can smell is the coffee. Everything else is quiet, soft, and far away. The pounding in your head is gone. The itching is gone. Your body is floating on clouds, comforted and relaxed.”

Jackie tried to keep her eyes open, but the lids were too relaxed to make the effort. The throbbing drum in her head had faded to a distant, mellow thump, keeping time with her heartbeat. Her body sank into the cottony softness of clouds, enfolding her with a caressing, downy touch. Nick’s hands had become little more than warm, velvety pads that stroked her cheeks.

“Kiss me goodnight,” she said, her voice distant, not even part of her body.

Nick’s lips brushed hers, a feathery touch of skin, and sleep finally carried her away.

Minutes or hours later, Jackie had no way of knowing, the cold breeze of death woke her up into the same Deadworld dream. She sat up and looked around, watching the gray, wispy tendrils of fog skim low overhead. Up the street, Rosa’s house loomed, its siren, infant wail echoing through the neighborhood, pushing the fog away in a circle several houses wide.

“Again? Really?” Jackie got to her feet and flipped everything the bird. “I was sleeping quite well, thank you very much. I hate you, brain.” Perhaps if she could get the babe to shut up, she might be able to just lie down and fall back asleep and just dream of being asleep.

The cold stone of the road provided for a charming, cold ache in her bare feet, threading its way up through her heels and into her ankles. Jackie ignored it. That was as bad as it would get. Everything was dulled in this place, gray, washed-out, a shadow of its former self, which Jackie realized was appropriate for her. She did feel like a shadow of her former self. Was this her subconscious’s way of telling her she was fucked? Or maybe it was what Rosa had meant by broken.

At the edge of Rosa’s property, Jackie stopped. There on the smooth stone of the yard was a faded, translucent body. It was so faded, Jackie could easily see through it.

“Hello?” Only the babe’s cries answered. The figure did not move, so Jackie walked forward.

“Stay away from my baby.” Rosa’s voice swirled around and through her. “Stay out of my house.”

Jackie paused and looked up into the fog, as it was where it seemed the voice came from. “Or what, Rosa? What are you going to do to me here that could make things any worse? Huh? Going to make me more dead? Can’t get more broken than that.” She shook her head and marched toward the body. “Stupid fucking dream.”

Rosa was silent as Jackie came upon the prone, ghost figure. It was then she realized who it was. Laurel had been attacked by Rosa, and now her paranoia was going to find her here, deader than dead. Standing over the body, Jackie discovered she was right. Her eyes were closed. She looked as though she were sleeping.

“Laur?” Jackie knelt down. “Come on, dream, wake her up for me. Least we can do is get to talk.”

She brushed away a stray strand of hair from Laurel’s face. The skin was icy cold, but she felt something else too. There was a tingle of warmth, of life from within. Jackie put both her hands on Laurel’s face, much like Nick had done earlier. It occurred to her then, in a moment of gut-clenching panic, that perhaps she was not dreaming after all. What if Laurel had actually been attacked? What if Rosa had drained her away? And if she was here with her?

“Shit. Laur? You there?” She gave her head a little shake. “Come on, Laur. Wake up. This is only a stupid nightmare, right?” The panic spread and her arms began to shake as they held Laurel. “You’re not dead. No, no, no! It’s a dream. You’re there, I know it.” She had to be. Laurel could not be dead. This was not how it was supposed to happen. She said she would be there for her.

“You come back right now!” Her voice quavered, on the verge of tears. Jackie pulled Laurel’s head to her breast and kissed her forehead. “This can’t be happening. Not like this. You can’t leave me, Laur.”

She kissed the cold skin again, lips lingering, and that was when she felt her. Deep within that cold body, Laurel’s life force pulsed with the faintest warmth. The tension flooded out of her in a wave. “Laur, come on. How do I get you back?” The panic began to change to anger. Was this what Rosa had done to Laurel? Drained her down to nothing and left her to lie forever on the ground of Deadworld?

“What did you do to her, Rosa?” Jackie stood back up and approached the house. “What did you do to Laurel?”

Rosa’s voice came back, sliding around her in a soft, urgent hiss. “Stay out of my house!”

“And if I don’t?” Jackie demanded. “If I march up there and take your baby?”

There was a pause of a few seconds. “Then I shall destroy your body and you will rot in this hell forever!”

On the verge of grabbing the front door handle and storming in, Jackie stopped, her fingers inches away. “What did you say?” She looked at Laurel and then backed slowly away from the door. A scrambling panic began to claw its way through her insides. “What do you mean, destroy my body?” Part of her already knew, however. This was no dream. Jackie slapped herself. “Wake up, Jackie. Wake your drugged ass up!”

Nothing happened. The baby’s wail droned on. Jackie scooped up Laurel’s body in her arms. It was surprisingly light.

“Stay away from my baby!” Rosa said. “I will destroy you both.”

Jackie continued to back away, Laurel’s head sagging against her shoulder. Rosa did not come, did not say anything else in fact, and Jackie walked backward down the street until the shroud of Deadworld found its way back to the ground. With Rosa’s house out of sight, Jackie turned and began to run.

The nightmare had become real. Rosa had her body and she was now stuck in Deadworld.