Nevermore (26 page)

He had told Manfred to have a band meeting Thursday night at his place. Manfred pointed out that they hadn’t had a “band meeting” in years—

“Matter of fact, I don’t think we
ever
had a meetin’ that wasn’t a rehearsal,” he’d said—but 270 SUPERNATURAL

he nevertheless called it, getting everyone on the phone and saying to come over to his place instead of rehearsing at Tom Daley’s.

Tommy, not surprisingly, was the last one to arrive. Sam had noticed that he was the last one to show up at all the gigs, even though as drummer he had the most setup work to do, since he refused to keep his drum kit at the Park in Rear. “Paid too much for this snare,” was what he had said when Sam queried him on the subject Sunday night, though it was unclear why he couldn’t just take the expensive snare drum with him and leave the rest to save himself setup and tear-down time.

When Tommy finally showed up, Robbie, the keyboard player, and Aldo were bitching and moan-ing about their respective day jobs on the couch, Dean and Manfred were standing by the record player discussing the relative merits of the remasterings of Robert Johnson’s recordings (leading Sam to wonder if Dean intended to mention that he’d recently met the very demon to whom Johnson had sold his soul), and Eddie, the bass player, was standing by the window, staring out it at the backyard.

“Sorry I’m late,” Tommy said. He was wearing a bright pink shirt that Sam suspected could be picked up from orbiting satellites. The other band members were in sweatshirts and jeans, except Nevermore

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for Eddie, who had the same all-black ensemble he usually wore on stage. “So what’s the up, here?”

For his part, Sam had been going over the spell in his head. It was a simple summoning, which Dad had duly recorded in the notebook (confusingly, on the page right after the one on Reapers and before the one on the Calusa Indians), and Sam had the notebook at hand to consult, but there were some tricky Latin words in there, and mispronunciation could be fatal. (He still recalled, with alarming clarity, the time when he was ten and he had done his first tracking spell, only his Latin was suffi ciently poor that he instead summoned a sprite, who then proceeded to wreak havoc on the cabin where they’d been staying. Dad had managed to send it back to where it came from, but he never did get the security deposit back on that place . . . )

“Well,” Manfred said after fetching Tommy a requested beer, “you’re prob’ly wonderin’ why I called y’all here. It’s simple, but I don’t think you’re gonna believe it. See—I been havin’ some problems lately here in the

house. These two

fellas—Sam

and Dean—they been helpin’ me with it.” Dean had, at this point, gotten up to stand next to Sam at the living room entryway.

Robbie frowned. “Thought they was friends’a Ash’s.”

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“We are,” Dean said. “That’s how we found out about Manfred’s problem.”

“And this problem has to do with Roxy?” Aldo asked.

Dean smirked. “Gee, Aldo, why would you assume that?”

“ ’Cause you been askin’ about her all week. It’s kinda pissin’ me off. That ain’t a parta my life I’m all that thrilled with.”

“And why would that be, exactly?” Dean asked, moving toward the couch.

“Bitch disappeared on me. No phone calls, no apologies, no ‘sorry it didn’t work out,’ no ‘can we be friends,’ she just up and left. Pissed me off, all right?”

Sam noticed that Aldo didn’t have the usual bright expression on his face. Ever since he fi rst saw the guitarist on stage last Friday night, Aldo always seemed pleased with the world. How much of that was his usual demeanor and how much was due to his enrollment in Alcoholics Anonymous, Sam wouldn’t have ventured to guess.

Now, though, Aldo was as skittish as a kitten under a rocking chair, which led him to think their theory was right.

“Thing is,” Dean said, “the last time anyone saw Roxy before she went missing was right before you house-sat for Manfred here.” Nevermore

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Everyone leaned forward at that—except Eddie, who was his usual bass-player-still self. Tommy, who was seated in the easy chair in recline mode, flipped it back forward. “Missing? She’s
missing
?”

“Was reported as a missing person right after that weekend, actually,” Dean said.

Now Aldo looked confused. “What the hell’re you talkin’ about, Sam?”

“I’m Dean.”

“What-the-hell-ever, I didn’t house-sit for nobody.”

Manfred put his hands on his hips. “You damn well did, Aldo—that was when I had Lucille, and you gave her insulin each morning while I was off at the family reunion thing.”

Aldo put his head in his hands. “Dammit.” He looked up. “Man, I’m sorry, but—look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but—I really hated that cat. We didn’t get along, so when I said I’d house-sit—I lied.”

Sam frowned. This wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, though Aldo denying he was in the house made sense if he was guilty.

Standing up from the couch, he walked over to Manfred. “I didn’t wanna let you down, but I couldn’t be around that stupid moggy for more’n five minutes, so I asked the guys to cover for me on the insulin shots.”

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“Wait,” Robbie said, “this was when you had the reunion, you said? What was it, oh- four?” Nodding, Manfred said, “Yeah. And I trusted you to—”

Aldo held up his hands. “I know, I know, but—” He turned around. “Tell him, guys.” Robbie and Tommy both nodded. “Yeah, we took care of it.”

Sam looked over at Eddie, who was also nodding.

Now Manfred was shaking his head in disbelief.

“I never even showed you guys how to give ’er the shot—I just showed Aldo.”

Tommy laughed. “Dude, we know how to navi-gate around a hypodermic, I’m telling you
that
right now.”

Sam looked at Dean. Dean shrugged and said,

“Well, look, it doesn’t change one fact: Roxy’s dead.”

Everyone turned and looked at Sam and Dean, as if surprised that the two of them were still even in the room. “Say
what
?” Aldo said.

“She’s dead,” Manfred said. “And the reason I know she’s dead is ’cause her ghost’s been hauntin’

me for a couple weeks now, every time I come back from a gig at the Park in Rear.”

There was silence for several seconds after that.

Then Aldo, Robbie, and Tommy burst out laugh-Nevermore

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ing. Eddie didn’t, but Sam assumed that his face would crack open if he even smiled.

Between guffaws, Robbie said, “I coulda sworn April Fool’s Day was in, y’know,
April
.”

“We’re serious,” Dean said.

Aldo shook his head, still laughing. “I always thought Ash wasn’t wired too good, and this proves it, if you jokers’re his friends.” Dean turned to his brother. “Sam?”
Showtime,
Sam thought, and hefted Dad’s journal, turning it to the page he’d bookmarked with a paper clip.

“Phasmates mortua hic ligata admovete audieminique!”

Robbie frowned. “What is that, German?” Tommy looked at Robbie. “Nah, that’s Latin.” At Robbie’s dubious look, he said, “What? I took it in high school.”

Sam repeated,
“Phasmates mortua hic ligata
admovete audieminique!”

“This is
nuts
!” Aldo said. “There ain’t no such thing as—”

For the third and final time, Sam said,
“Phasmates mortua hic ligata admovete audieminique!”
With a clatter, the windows started rattling and the CDs started vibrating in their racks, the colli-sion of plastic on jewel case making a terrible racket.

276 SUPERNATURAL

Leaping to his feet, Tommy said, “What the
hell
?”

The others were all looking around and at each other and at Sam. He recognized the expressions on their faces because he’d seen it more times than he could count:
This can’t be happening. This isn’t
real. This must be fake. This violates my view of
the world. Make it stop!

Then the cackling started.

Aldo went incredibly pale after that. In a small voice, he said, “Roxy?”

The cackling continued, but Roxy’s voice cried,

“Love me! Love me! Love me!”

And then she appeared.

The blond hair was stragglier than it had been the last time, and it was harder to make out her eyes, but the Queensrÿche shirt was still visible, and her mouth was wide open, screaming the words,

“Love me!”

This time, though, she went straight for the window where Eddie was standing.

Eddie’s face changed for the first time in Sam’s brief acquaintance with him: His eyes widened, his mouth contorted into a scream, he waved his arms back and forth in front of his face, and he yelled,

“Get away from me, you bitch! You’re dead! Dead and buried!”

Manfred stared at the bass player. “Eddie, what the
hell
?”

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“Love me! Love me!” the spirit of Roxy Carmichael kept screaming.

“I told you no, you stupid bimbo!” Eddie screamed. “Get away from me, you’re dead!”

“Love me!”

Tommy and Robbie had run over to the living room entryway where Sam and Dean were standing with Manfred and Aldo. “Make it go away, man,” Robbie said.

“Why?” Sam asked.

“What the hell kinda question’s that?” Tommy asked. “Get ridda that thing, or I swear, I’ll go medieval on your ass, I’m tellin’ you
that
right now!”

“Love me! Love me!”

Several CDs fell onto the hardwood fl oor. The windows rattled harder.

“Go away!” Eddie screamed. “I killed you already, go
away
!”

Dean walked over to the hallway, where he’d hidden his shotgun. Cocking it, he walked into the living room and held it up, taking aim at the spirit.

Predictably, one of the band members objected.

Robbie stepped forward, but Sam grabbed his shoulder. “Trust us.”

“Hell with that—you brought that thing in here.”

“It was here before these fellas got here,” Manfred said.

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Aldo, Sam noticed, wasn’t saying a word, but he looked furious.

“Love me!”

“Cover your ears,” Sam said, suiting action to words.

With a deafening blast, Dean fi red rock-salt rounds at Roxy’s spirit, and she dissipated.

“Ow!” Eddie gripped his right arm with his left.

Some of the rock salt had pelted him. Sam couldn’t bring himself to be sorry about it.

As soon as Roxy disappeared, two things happened: The house stopped rattling, and Aldo ran across the living room and belted Eddie in the jaw.

Even as Eddie collapsed to the hardwood fl oor, Aldo kicked him, then bent over to punch him again, screaming, “You son of a
bitch,
you
killed
her!”

Dean grabbed Aldo’s wrist. “Don’t. I’m right there with you, dude, but don’t.” Aldo whirled around. “Let go’a me, Sam.”

“I’m Dean, and I ain’t lettin’ go. Let’s give him a chance to talk.” Dean looked down at Eddie, who was curled up into a fetal position, tears streaking his cheeks. “If you don’t like what he says, then I’ll
help
you beat the crap out of him. But if nothing else, we need to know what he did to her—and to her body.”

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Aldo stared at Dean for several seconds, then nodded, lowering his arm, at which point Dean let go of it.

“It was an accident,” Eddie muttered.

Grabbing the bass player by the lapels of his black vest, Dean hauled him to his feet. “Get up.

Now talk, or I let him go to town on you. What happened?”

“It was—” Eddie sniffled, and wiped the tears from his eyes. “It was when Manfred was at his reunion. Aldo didn’t wanna be near Lucille, so Robbie, Tommy, and me each took turns. I had Saturday night and Sunday mornin’, so I could stay the night Saturday. I invited Roxy over.”

“What?”
Aldo screamed.

“I was screwin’ her, okay?” Eddie said defensively. “It wasn’t a big deal. She told me you didn’t satisfy her in bed no more, and I figured what the hell, I’d been wantin’ a piece’a her since she came on to Manfred back in the day. But it was nothin’, it was just sex.”

Aldo stepped forward, fists clenched. “Just sex?”

“Easy,” Dean said, a hand on Aldo’s shoulder.

“So after we screwed, she put on the Queensrÿche T-shirt and starts talkin’ about how we should be together permanent. I didn’t want that.”

“What, she wasn’t good enough for you?” Aldo asked. Sam could hear the fury in his voice, and he 280 SUPERNATURAL

wasn’t entirely sure Dean would be able to hold him back much longer.

“For screwin’ around, sure, but I didn’t want the stupid bitch as a
girlfriend
. Woulda messed up the band, for one thing, ’cause if she broke up with you and went with me, it’d be
all
messed up, and I didn’t even
like
the stupid bitch. Just liked her body’s all.”

Manfred said, “So, what, you
killed
her?” Turning to face Manfred, Eddie said, “No!

God, we just—it was an accident, she tripped and fell down the damn staircase, right after we had this big-ass fight. I told her I didn’t want a relationship, she said fi ne, whatever, she was getting something to drink in the kitchen, and she tripped and fell.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Aldo asked.

“Roxy never tripped in her life.”

“Maybe she was drunk,” Eddie said lamely.

Shaking his head, Manfred said, “She was sober, man, you knew that. C’mon, we ain’t stupid.

’Sides, you just said you killed her and that was, whadayacallit—spur of the moment stuff.” Sam said, “I’m willing to bet all these guys will testify to you admitting you killed her.” He hoped that
wouldn’t
be the case, honestly, as the other members of Scottso would make awful witnesses, plus the circumstances under which Eddie confessed Nevermore

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weren’t really repeatable in a court of law. Rather than pursue that, Sam asked, “What did you do with the body?”

“Buried her in the backyard.” Eddie shook his head. “Took all freakin’ night, too.” Sam felt a vibration in his pocket. He’d muted his Treo, but the vibrate function still worked.