The Vengeful Dead (8 page)

“I believe so, yes,” he said, failing to keep himself from chuckling. “I may have one last request of you to make us even.”

She eyed him warily. “Not going to take advantage of a drunk girl are you, Sheriff?”

“I could if you prefer,” he said. “That’s not what I was going to ask for, but if you’re offering up something different?”

“Not happening, not now,” she said and then winced at her words. “That sounded far harsher than I meant it. I just meant, I’m not . . . fuck. Never mind. What were you going to ask?” She turned and smiled, charming even if it was fake.

“As Nicholas Anderson the philanthropist, I am sometimes asked to give a speech in dedication to something I’ve donated a sum of money to,” he said. He was already picturing Jackie on his arm, walking among the crowd. It was difficult picturing her in a dress and makeup. A look, he decided, that he would very much like to see on her.

“I know,” she answered. “I’ve seen some of the press clippings.”

“I have one coming up in a few days.” He turned and stared at Jackie with his best, bright-eyed gaze. No influence, just a hopeful, politely imploring look. “I’d like it if you came with me, as my date.”

“This sounds like a formal sort of thing, Nick. I’m not really into that stuff.”

“It is, but Shelby would help you get something for it if you don’t have anything formal to wear. She’s very good with clothing, whereas I’d be pleased if you came in jeans and a sweatshirt.”
Though you sell yourself short, Ms. Rutledge. You’d be stunning in a strapless dress, and I believe I’d pay money to see you wearing heels. Just once.

Jackie laughed. “So would I. Do you need an answer now?”

“No,” he said. “A couple days. I’ll drag Cynthia to it if you can’t go, but I would like to take you.” He smiled at the look she gave him. She still was having a difficult time with him being interested in her. No pressure though. He had all the time in the world.

The second crime scene took them into a far harsher part of the city, where the overcast skies felt inclined to reach down and mar everything with their bleak and ashen, ever-changing claws. House and yard maintenance did not appear to be a high priority on most resident’s lists. Fortunately it was dark and drizzling, so most of the children were off the streets. Nosy kids at a crime scene could be the worst to deal with.

Nick pulled his car into the cracked driveway, two crumbling paths of cement that led to the back of the house and a single car garage with a caved-in door. Shelby parked her Mini at the curb. Rusting, chainlink fence separated them from a backyard that looked surprisingly well kept. A row of azaleas ran along the fence to the back corner of the garage. The lawn was thick and even, looking recently mowed. A grill stood covered on a wooden deck coming off of the back door. Someone wanted a small place of optimism in a very pessimistic neighborhood.

“You want to wait here while I check things out first?” Nick watched her, his hand gripping the door handle.

“No,” she said, her mouth turning defiant. “I’m fine. Is there anything I should do if I hear or feel something?”

“Just tell me if you do,” Nick said. “Likely it’ll be the cold first. Kind of like—”

“I know what it’s like. No need to remind me.” She opened the door and quickly exited the car, slamming the door behind her.

Careful here, Sheriff.
Walking among the lingering dead was habit for him, but for Jackie it was certainly a startling and frightening experience. Seeing them on the other side was one thing. It was over there, away from reality. But on this side, Nick knew full well how that felt. The constant reminder of death had a very unnerving effect. He would attempt to warn Jackie, but she might just as easily sense something at the same time or before him even. No two people’s psychic abilities were the same.

Nick opened and stepped through the gate leading to the back porch. He could already feel the faint tug from whomever had died inside. Jackie stood at the base of the porch, seemingly unaware. He pulled out a small box from his coat pocket. She watched with curiosity until she realized what he had.

“Do I want to know where you learned how to use those?”

He smirked. “Taught myself. Not hard really. Just takes a deft touch.” Pulling out the correct set, Nick made quick work of the lock. “I didn’t want to wait for one of your coworkers to arrange to have the door unlocked.” She watched him with a wide, glassy stare, hands crossed tightly over her chest. “You as cold as you look, Jackie?” But it wasn’t the cold, at least not the sort made by temperature.

Her gaze snapped back and she sucked in her breath. “What?”

Shelby, who had walked up from the street, stopped behind Jackie. “Can feel it, can’t you?”

Jackie looked at each of them and then nodded. Nick said, “Thought so. We’re close to whomever it was.”

“
Was
is good, long as they’re not here. Just hurry it along,” she said. “I don’t want nosy neighbors wondering why the feds have to break into a crime scene.”

The lock clicked before he had even turned back. “Wait here, OK? I don’t want any ghostly surprises.”

Nick stepped inside. The screen shut behind him but he left the door open. He was in a small utility room with a stacked washer and dryer. A pair of poles mounted across the other interior wall still had freshly washed clothes hung upon them. He found the switch just inside the door and flipped on the light. One door opened on the right, going to the kitchen. Beyond it, he could smell the lingering scent of bleach and household cleaner. Stepping onto the white, speckled linoleum floor, Nick could understand why nobody was staying in the house. The back corner of the kitchen was a surreal painting of blood spatter. Someone at least had cleaned up the vast pool on the floor, though he could still see faint traces of where it had been.

“It’s right here by the door.” He turned on the harsh, overhead light. “Come on in.”

He could hear Jackie muttering under her breath. “Sure. Let me put on my special ghost gloves first.”

He poked his head out the kitchen door. “It’s safe. Just some blood spatter that didn’t get cleaned up. No active spirits around right now.”

Jackie opened the screen door, gave a cursory glance at the washed clothing, and stepped up by Nick. “Will they pop in unannounced?”

He had opened the screen for her when she stepped up, and Jackie brushed passed him into the kitchen.

“Not likely,” he said.

“You aren’t inspiring my confidence, Nick.”

“We can deal with whatever may show up. Don’t worry.”

“Yeah, this is me not worrying here.” She stared down at the faint traces of outline from the pool of blood that must have been four feet across. “Remind me never to give Laurel shit about getting spooked again.”

Shelby stepped by them, chuckling. “I’m going to check the rest of the house. Be right back.”

“Feeling anything beyond the spiritual residue?” Nick asked.

Jackie looked up from the bloodstained floor. “The what?”

“That sense of Deadworld you feel now is basically the leftovers of the ghost’s presence here. It’s residue of the dead, you might say.”

“Lovely.” Jackie closed her eyes. Nick watched her trying to take deep breaths, but there was a slight, nervous stutter in her chest. Her hands thrust deep into her pockets. “I’m getting nothing.” Nick simply nodded once. It would be some time before her nerves were out of the way. She stared at the dried droplets of blood against the door leading down to the basement. If she was willing, blood might do the trick again.

“This generally works better if the victim is here. It’s a more direct connection. Whatever was here had very negative energy though, but I’m not getting much beyond that,” he said.

Jackie stepped over to the basement door and squatted down on the balls of her feet. Nick smiled down at the finger that hovered in the space between with the slightest tremble. She glanced back at him with a worried little furrow between her eyes. “I touched blood the last time, but I could hear the baby before that.”

“Likely because it still lingered at the scene. The blood allowed you to turn up the volume, so to speak.”

“Does it always work like that?”

“I find there are no absolutes,” Nick replied, “with the living or the dead. All you can do is try and see. We’ll go from there.”

Jackie laid her hand down flat on the door, covering some of the blood spatter. A moment later her body went rigid, frozen in place, eyes wide, staring at nothing. Nick could feel the surge coming through from the other side, a wash of energy flooding back through the doorway that had been closed for several hours now, but at the touch of her finger had sprung open. No effort at all. Astonishing. She cried out, stumbling away from the door.

Nick stepped forward, using his leg to block her backward motion and scooped his arms down around her waist. Something not remotely close to surprise or fear boiled up out of her throat.

“Jackie!”

“I . . . will... kill you!”

She turned in his grasp, and Nick was so startled by the twisted snarl that warped her mouth and pulled the lines of her face into something he could have scarcely imagined, that he did little more than take a stunned half-step backward. Consequently, his reactions were all too humanly slow and the swinging roundhouse from her small, but effective fist caught him square in the mouth.

Nick immediately tasted blood. She had got him good, and she was getting ready to come after him with more.

“Nick? What’s going on?” Shelby stopped before him, having run back from the front of the house at Jackie’s screaming proclamation.

“Jackie!” He grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a firm shake, but she reached over to clamp down on his hand with her mouth and forced him to let go. The force of whomever had been here was still quite strong and Jackie had soaked it up like a sponge. He had little choice now but to either bind her up until it faded or snap her out of it. Nick, having always found that directness paid off in the long run, brought his hand around and slapped Jackie across the side of the face.

She yelled in pain and Nick pulled her small body against him, wrapping her up in a big, bear hug. “Jackie? You with me?”

The tension washed out of her in a rush. She sagged against his chest, legs barely able to hold her upright. “Nick? Holy shit! What happened? I touched the wall, and now you’re crushing me in your arms.”

He eased Jackie back on to her feet. “Sorry. I had to keep you from decking me again.”

“What?” She turned, looking up at him in wide-eyed disbelief. A tentative finger reached up to his mouth but didn’t quite touch, before she withdrew it, followed by a sharp inhalation of breath. “Shit. I did that?”

“Yes.” He smiled, splitting his lip open once more and wincing. “Can’t say I expected that, or the ‘You will die’ sentiments either.”

“I did not say that.”

Shelby, who now stood next to them, took Jackie’s face in her hands and looked into her eyes briefly. “I heard you, hon. You were pretty pissed.”

Nick realized he should have been looking for any remaining signs of lingering possession, but the fact it had happened at all still was boggling his mind. “It’s OK. I’ve heard far worse.”

Jackie glanced over at the dried spatter on the door. Her body began to tremble. “But I didn’t say that. I know I didn’t. I’d remember saying something like that.”

Nick gripped her by the shoulders and turned her around. She had the wide-eyed look of a child on the verge of tears, realizing they’re in trouble for something they didn’t even know they had done. “Jackie, look at me. You tapped into the energy left by whoever was here. They were pretty angry. It overwhelmed your senses and you spoke through that emotion. I know it wasn’t you, but the words did come out of your mouth.”

“But . . . but I don’t remember,” she said helplessly. Her shoulders sagged. She kept darting her gaze back and forth between them, looking for some kind of reassurance that neither of them had to give. Not the sort she wanted anyway.

“I know,” he said, trying to sound soothing. “No harm done, though I’d say we’ve just confirmed that your connection to Deadworld is still quite strong.”

“No.” She shook her head. “God, no. This isn’t happening, not to me.”

Shelby laid a soft hand upon her shoulder. “Jackie, it’s all right—”

“No!” Jackie pushed herself away and reached for the back door. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

“Jackie,” Nick pleaded. “Shit.”

The cold air was a relief after the thick, oppressive heat of the house. Jackie ran to the Porsche, flopping down in the seat and slamming the door shut. A moment later, Nick climbed behind the wheel.

“I can’t be here right now.” Her breath came in ragged gasps. She was close to hyperventilating.

“Deep breaths, Jackie,” Nick said, laying a hand upon her knee. “Slow, deep breaths.”

She filled her lungs and then let it out in a rush. “No. Just need to get the hell away from here.”

Nick nodded.
Fair enough.
It had been a long time, but he could still recall those initial days of terror when he realized what he could do.

Jackie huddled against the door, her head resting against the window. Her voice, quiet and distant, sounded almost like a child. “I never escaped from Deadworld,” she said. “We came back, but I never got away.”

Chapter 10

Jackie slammed the apartment door behind her, leaning against it as though someone might try to push their way in. Who knew? Maybe whatever that thing was that had usurped her brain and played puppetry with her body had followed them home. Could ghosts move around at will? Drake had seemed to pop back and forth as it suited him, but he hadn’t actually been a ghost either. Bickerstaff waltzed up and rubbed himself on Jackie’s ankle and she nearly kicked at him in surprise.

“Bickers! Christ. You nut. Can’t you see Mommy is freaking out here?” She picked him up, letting him rub his face against hers. The act was instantly soothing. Nothing like a little unconditional love to calm a racing heart. “You don’t care if I’m turning into a big, ol’ freakish joke, do you, baby?”

Jackie made a beeline for the bathroom, kicking off her shoes along the way. She needed to get the grime of death off her. It was not the usual sort of grime that came from poking and prodding around dead bodies. She could be hip-deep in blood and entrails and not lose her lunch, but this had been different. The death had been inside her somehow, like a poisonous gas that had invaded every cell of her body. Perhaps there could be no getting rid of it once it had entered, fused to one’s very DNA.

With the shower spraying the tiled wall with pure hot water, Jackie gave it a few minutes to build up steam before stepping in. She stared at her face in the mirror, grown sharper the past couple of weeks from lack of eating. Her eyes, once proudly intense, looked weary and, dare she think, fearful? If you looked deep enough could you see the dead in her eyes, too?

The steam began to obscure her image and Jackie gladly turned away. She stepped into the shower to breathe deeply of the warm mist, and hoped maybe some of that death that had somehow invaded her earlier might find its way out through her pores. She turned off the water thirty-odd minutes later when she had reached the limits of her water heater. Her muscles had finally begun to relax and the steam did appear to have cleansed some of the bitter aftertaste of death from her body. Now it was time for a glass of wine, maybe two, and her piano. She needed the piano tonight.

Jackie needed some worry-free solace and something capable of driving away the events of the day. That meant either drink or play and Jackie didn’t feel so depressed at the moment to chose oblivion over Brahms. Shuffling out in pajama bottoms, socks, and a T-shirt, Jackie opened a bottle of pinot noir, poured a very full glass, and turned on the TV to a blue screen. After turning off the rest of the lights Jackie sat down at the bench. As though the blue lighting were a cue, Bickerstaff sprang up on top of the piano and peered down at her with his lazy gaze.

One huge gulp to warm her belly, and Jackie set her fingers upon the keys to do as they wanted. More often than not, she would pick out snippets of songs and refrains, music with repeating melodies and rolling scales. When stressed, her mind craved hypnotic rhythms, never-ending roads that her mind could wander on and get lost, away from all things.

Exactly nine whole minutes into her playing, just when her brain had taken its first steps out onto that blissful, solitary road, someone knocked at her door. Three soft raps. Jackie paused and held her breath. Either Mr. Chen in the apartment behind her was coming to complain, or Mrs. Galloway had let some fucking solicitor in through the bottom door again.

“Go away,” she whispered. “I’m not here.”

Three soft raps again upon her door. “Jackie? Are you there?”

The voice was disturbingly familiar. She should know it, so familiar in fact, Jackie knew she was just spacing on who it was.

“Jackie? Please, just a few moments of your time.”

Her breath sucked in so quickly she coughed and nearly gagged on her lungs. Tillie! Oh-my-fucking-God Dr. Erikson. Jackie started to scramble off of the bench, and then abruptly realized that her apartment was in damn fine condition for visitors. There wasn’t a thing to pick up. One could even say a normal person lived in this apartment. One who didn’t hear screaming ghost babies or blackout and sucker-punch people. She reached over and turned on the floor lamp by the piano and walked to the door.

“Dr. Erikson? It’s almost ten.” She opened the door, leaving the chain guard on. It was indeed Tillie, dressed down in jeans and a smartly fitted cashmere sweater. “Why are you here?”

“Because John told me he had given permission for you to come back to a case on a limited basis. He would not give me a clear answer on your exact status and you didn’t return my calls, so I came to see for myself.”

She sounded polite. To most, her voice might appear calm and unruffled, but Jackie knew without a doubt she was more than a little upset. That hard sparkle in her eyes might even indicate furious. Reluctant, Jackie unlatched her door and stepped aside.

“I’m not really actively investigating this case,” she said, hoping the excuse would waylay her. “I’m just acting as liaison to the Special Investigations team. They think something supernatural might be involved on this case.”

“Thank you,” she said with a smile and crossed the threshold, a sight Jackie could not have imagined in a million years. Matilda Erikson standing in her home. The world really was conspiring against her.

“Oh, for goodness sake, Jackie. Quit looking at me like that. I’m not upset with you. John is the one who should know better. He didn’t even consult me beforehand.”

“Would you have said yes?”

Tillie gave a tiny, noncommittal shrug with one shoulder. “The answer is that it always depends, and since I know nothing of his reasoning, I can say that I honestly don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

Jackie found herself grasping for answers. Her mind had begun to drift and now the gears were slipping and clunking, trying to find their rhythm once again. “Um, I’m not sure exactly. Does it really matter?”

Her head tilted at Jackie, an exasperated look that required no words. “May we sit down?”

Do we have to? I really don’t want to tell you a damn thing, Tillie. I know I should, but I don’t.
“Sure. You want something to drink? I don’t have tea.”

She gave Jackie a faint, amused smile. “I’m fine.” She stepped into the living room proper and walked up to the piano. “So this is the famous piano.”

“I hardly think so,” Jackie said with a snort. “I bought it from a piano store like thousands of other people do.”

“It was one of Laurel’s favorite things,” she said. “To her, it was famous.” Her voice had a lilt of sadness to it that brought a lump into Jackie’s throat. She really hoped this would not be some sort of sentimental stroll down memory lane. She’d be sobbing in no time for sure. Bickerstaff stared at her from atop, looking decidedly lofty and pensive. “And is this the glorious Mr. Bickerstaff?” She walked up and held out her hand, which Bickerstaff leaned forward to smell and then rub his face against. Jackie had half hoped he would bolt for the bedroom, terrified to death of her. Traitor.

“He apparently believes you’re safe,” Jackie said.

“Cats are finicky creatures.”

Jackie walked around and turned off the television before sitting down in the chair in the corner. Tillie seated herself on the couch, keeping her posture rather straight. This would not be a kicking back with a beer sort of chat. She wondered how much Tillie really knew of her life. How much had Laurel told her? Had every page in her life’s book been read through and analyzed, tsk-tsked and laughed over for the past five years? Likely she knew a lot more than Jackie wanted her to know. Hiding out in the shadows was very difficult when the other knew just where to shine the light.

“It’s a nice apartment, Jackie. About what I expected, I think.”

“Did Laur draw you floor plans?” When Tillie just stared at her with raised eyebrows, Jackie finally slumped back in her chair. “Sorry. This is very disconcerting, having you here in my living room. I can assure you, though, I’m perfectly . . . OK, not perfectly, but I’m doing much better and I feel confident I can do the small job that I’ve been given.”

“You know, dear,” she said and folded her hands in her lap, “you are one of the few agents I’ve ever worked with who has actually made more effort to get back to work than to get out of it.”

“Tillie, you know this is no vacation for me. I’m tired of brooding. Being around the action, even if I’m not directly in it, will help keep my mind off things.”

“So, why do Mr. Anderson and Ms. Fontaine need a liaison with the murder unit? Can’t they just contact one of the team members on this case?”

“I think it’s just because I’m familiar with what they do and how they do it and some of the team aren’t quite so . . . open-minded I guess you’d say.”

“All of them?”

“I don’t know,” Jackie said, throwing up her hands. “I haven’t talked to them all. Mr. Anderson asked John if I could assist them in coordinating with the team on this case until they determined the extent of paranormal involvement.”

“The request came from Mr. Anderson, not you?”

“Yes. He called John about it because he said there was the possibility of a very pissed-off spirit being involved.”

“Is there?”

“Maybe. It looks like there’s something going on, but it’s difficult to tell.”

“I see.”

Her eyes wandered very carefully over Jackie. She felt sure the woman was likely a cyborg from some secret government lab sent to make sure they had no psychos in their midst. Tillie was probably measuring her blood pressure as they spoke.

“Are you enjoying it?”

“What?”

“The work,” she said. “I’d always considered you to be the sort who either wanted to be right in there in the muck or not at all.”

“I would prefer to be in there, but as you know, I’ve not been cleared for it.”

“Yes, I know.” A corner of her mouth curled up and Jackie could hear the gears grinding away. “So what did you get to do today?”

“Today?” And there goes the ballgame, goddamn it. She’s going to know I’m lying or covering or something. “I took Nick and Shelby to the crime scenes to see what they could, you know, sense.”

“Anything good?”

“You mean did they sense anything?” Her tongue was turning into a dusty, dry snake, the tail of which was squeezing a quick, unsteady beat around her heart.

One of Tillie’s eyes narrowed at Jackie. “Yes, dear. Ghosts. Isn’t that what they do?”

“Yes, of course. They did sense ghosts.” Her smile felt rubbery and fake.

“How fascinating,” she said, and sounded genuinely interested. “Did you get to see any?”

Her voice came out too high and too loud. “Why would I have seen any ghosts?” And why did this demure, middle-aged woman have to make her feel so defenseless? She was the Yoda of shrinks, all seeing and knowing, and it terrified her beyond words.

Tillie smiled her warm, comforting smile. “If they saw a ghost, I just thought you might have got to see it, too, that’s all. I think that would be an amazing encounter.”

“You really believe all that you’ve heard about them?”

Her head tilted, the little curl of her mouth flattening out. Tillie’s eyebrows, pristinely plucked, rose into perfect question marks. “You know the answer to that as well as I, Jackie. Of course I believe it. Hadn’t I been seeing Laurel for the past five years? You two had a couple of cases that involved supernatural phenomena as I recall. You should—” She cut herself off with a wave of her hand. “Why is this making you so nervous? I thought coming here would make you more comfortable talking to me, but you seem less. Did something happen today?”

“No. No! Nothing happened,” Jackie snapped back in a rush. “I mean, other than the ghost stuff. It was kind of creepy, but, you know . . .” She shrugged, feeling like a wilted teenager under cross-examination on the witness stand. It just wasn’t fair. Nobody should have this kind of effect on someone. She was the mother from hell. “Fine. I saw a ghost. Happy now?”

Tillie laughed. “Oh, Jackie, my dear girl. You need to quit thinking I’m out to get you. I never have been and I never will be. Period. End of story. If you saw a ghost, then you saw a ghost, and I firmly believe that you did.”

She laughed along with Tillie. “Dr. Erikson, I don’t think it’ll be possible for you to ever not make me nervous.”

Her eyes rolled. “I just have an advantage over you because Laurel has spoken about you so often. That’s her perspective, mind you, but I get the benefit of insider information.”

“It’s cheating.”

“Agreed, but I’ll take it. Otherwise, with your stubbornness, we’d never get anywhere.”

“That’s not . . . OK, maybe it’s a little bit true, but I’d be far more comfortable if I didn’t think you knew everything about me.”

“I’m sure there are a great many things I don’t know about you, Jackie. As I’m sure there are some things I’m aware of that you would prefer I’m not. All I can tell you is that I will never use it against you. My job, and also my desire, is to see you as a functional, healthy, and hopefully reasonably happy member of the FBI.”

Jackie rubbed her face with her hands. “I’m just afraid you’ll think I’m crazy and want to throw me in a padded room. I never used to see any ghosts, not until all the Drake shit went down.”

“Nearly dying can do that,” Tillie said. “It changes your perspective on things.”

“Oh,” Jackie laughed. “It did a lot more than that, I think.”

Tillie sat back in the couch. “Will you tell me? What happened I mean. The report is mostly ‘need to know’ and at this point I apparently am not on the list.”

“Will you promise not to freak out and pull me from this case?”

“Can you keep your nosy little hands out of the case and remain a liaison?”

They stared down one another for about ten seconds until Jackie heaved a sigh. “Yes, I can remain a liaison.”

“Very well, but I would like coffee to hear this story. If you don’t mind.”

“You drink coffee?” Jackie blinked in amazement. “But I thought you were the prim and proper tea lady.”

“Tea is for the office, dear. Coffee for the real world.”

Jackie got to her feet. “Wow. I may almost like you now.”