Southern Haunts (20 page)

With a dismayed sigh, Sandra swept the pieces of her laptop into the trash. “Doesn’t really matter. I mean, we’re still going ahead, right?”

Max wanted to plant a big kiss on his wife. “You’re damn right. But we’ll have to be a little more cautious in the future.”

“A little?”

“Okay, a lot. Still, we’re going to have to move fast. She said she was going on the offensive in three days. I don’t really care what she does to the Hulls, might even help us in the long run, but none of her plans involve saving the Darians.”

“Yeah,” Drummond said. “If the Magi group attacks the Hulls, the Darians will suffer for it. That bottle of Milton Hull’s is going to connect them into this whole mess.”

Sandra said, “So, we’ve got to work harder.”

Drummond brought the brim of his hat down, but Max could still see the smile crawling off his lips. “Okay, you two. If we’re going through with this, then we better get to Freddie Robertson before Mother Hope makes him disappear.”

“You think she’d do that?”

“He’s the only person even remotely connected to any of this that’s still alive.”

Max grabbed his coat. He didn’t have to wait for Sandra and Drummond. They were right behind.

Chapter 24

Max pressed down on the accelerator,
zipping along Route 40, weaving through the traffic as he raced towards Greensboro. “Keep an eye out for cops. I’m going as fast as I can.”

“How am I going to do that and find Freddie’s address at the same time?” Sandra hunched over her cell phone and tapped away. While the name Fred Robertson was common enough in North Carolina, there wouldn’t be that many who were also ninety-some years old and living in Greensboro.

“I was talking to Drummond.”

Drummond floated in the backseat. “Don’t hold back. Go faster.”

“I am.”

“You can go faster than this. Mother Hope’s got her whole organization based in Greensboro. With a phone call, she could have somebody after Robertson before we get halfway there.”

Max cut off an eighteen-wheeler in the right lane and received a blaring horn in response. “We’re almost halfway to Greensboro, now. Can’t you go ahead and check that everything is okay?”

“Of course, I can. Once we’ve got the address. Plus, I wanted to make sure you both were okay and doing the right thing.”

“Got it,” Sandra said, showing Drummond the address. “He lives on Lawrence Street. Just off Randleman Road on the south side.”

“Thanks, Doll. I’ll go take care of that. Be back soon.” Drummond disappeared.

Five minutes later, he snapped back into the car. Both Sandra and Max jolted.

Sandra whipped her head back. “Do you have to do it like that?”

“Time is of the essence. I’ll be subtle when we’re not trying to save a life.”

“Save a life? Did they get to him already?”

“Not yet. I didn’t see them anywhere nearby. It’s possible Mother Hope is keeping the whole thing quiet — even from her own people. I don’t know why, though.”

As they neared the edge of Greensboro, Max said, “I suspect she doesn’t want them knowing she’s been siphoning magic off that Casper bottle.”

“Whatever it is, it’s buying us time. But not much. Ol’ Freddie is looking in bad shape.”

Max exited onto Randleman Road, drove a few minutes until he reached Lawrence Street, and pulled in. Sandra pointed out the house, and Max screeched to a halt. It was a small, starter home, peeling yellow paint and a half-dead yard. They hustled up to his door and banged loud three times on the wood. “Freddie, open up.” To Drummond, Max added, “Would you go in and unlock the door for us?”

Drummond thrust his head through the door. “He’s got a dresser barricading it, but I unlocked the door. Good luck.”

Max backed up a few steps, ready to charge forward. He’d only done this a few times before, and each time resulted in a sore arm. But as Drummond had pointed out, they didn’t have time for subtlety.

He shot forward and slammed into the door. The door slammed back.

Max stumbled to the ground. As Sandra helped him up, he saw that the door had poked slightly ajar — enough to get a foot in. Pressing his face against the opening, he said, “Freddie, come on. Open the door. Don’t do anything stupid. We’re here to help.”

A small voice responded, “There is no helping me.”

Max backed up again and charged the door. He launched all his weight into the air. The dresser knocked back far enough that when he returned to his feet and rubbed his sore arm, they could slip into the house.

“Over here,” Drummond said, waving them down a hall.

They entered a small bedroom with family photos on the walls and a cobwebbed ceiling fan hanging askew from above. Old boxes had been dumped on the floor amongst piles of old newspapers, article clippings, and photos — all the memorabilia of a lifetime. Freddie Robertson sat cross-legged on the bed. His head hung low. In front of him, he had placed a .38 Special, a noose, and a bottle of pills.

“Can’t decide how to do it,” he said. “The gun’s heavy in my old hands, and I’m shaking a bit. I might not be able to hold it in the right place and still pull the trigger. A noose — well, I suppose it’d snap my brittle neck well-enough. Except I’ve always feared drowning, and I think asphyxiating while hanging from a rope seems about as bad. The pills — I don’t know if I like the idea of going to sleep and not waking up. I’ve worried about that happening every night for years. Why should I make my final moments the same?”

Drummond swished in close to Max. “We cannot let this guy off himself.”

Max wanted to level his most sarcastic
Really? I’m so thankful to have you here to tell me these things,
but he didn’t want to confuse Freddie. Instead, as Sandra bent down to look through one of the boxes, Max moved further in the bedroom and said, “Clearly, you’re upset. Let’s talk about it.”

Freddie wiped the mucous dripping off the tip of his nose, but he never lifted his eyes from his weapons of choice. “Talked enough. It was your talking that brought it all back. Your talking ruined everything.”

“I don’t understand. Tell me, what was so terrible about our conversation? I can see that it was a scary memory for you, but you didn’t mention anything that would warrant killing yourself.”

“Get out of here. Leave me alone and never come back. Stop meddling in my life.”

Drummond flew behind Freddie. “What you’re doing isn’t working. We’ve got to try something a little different. You should threaten to kill him.” Drummond raised a hand to hold of Max’s reaction. “I’m talking about reverse psychology. The guy says he wants to die, but he hasn’t done it because part of him wants to live. So, threaten to kill him, threaten to help him along with suicide, and he’ll blubber out everything he knows.”

Max did not like that idea. But he had no way to argue with Drummond in front of Freddie — especially an unstable Freddie. He also worried Drummond might try a hard chill on the old guy. It would help saving the guy from suicide, but it would also knock him unconscious, making him useless for information. Mother Hope would gain time, too, to make her move. Plus, at Freddie’s age, Max wasn’t so sure the guy’s body could handle the pain of a ghost’s touch.

Sandra rescued them. She gently pushed Max aside and sat on the edge of the bed. “Freddie? Is that your name? I’m Sandra.”

“Hi. You’re a lovely lady. What’re you doing in all this?”

“I’m Max’s wife. We’re partners in this.” She spoke calm and soft. Her tone brought Freddie’s eyes up to face her.

“Then I’m sorry, Ma’am, because I can’t help you.”

“It’s not me we’re trying to help. There’s a woman, a pregnant woman, and her life is in danger. That means her unborn child’s life is in danger, too. You understand? We’re here not to cause you pain, but because we believe you didn’t tell us the whole story you knew. We think that story could help us save her life.”

Freddie sniffled loud and rubbed his wet eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. You’re choosing not to.”

“I just want to end my pain. That’s all.”

“Tell me something — have you ever murdered anybody?”

Freddie’s mouth dropped open. “Of course not. I’m no monster. I just saw something.”

“What did you see?” But Freddie shook his head. Sandra went on, “If you won’t talk to us, and you kill yourself, then you will be responsible for the deaths of this woman and her child. And that will make you a murderer. So, you’re not only taking your life, you’re taking the lives of two others.”

“That’s not true.”

“I know it sucks, but that’s the truth. I can’t stop you from suicide, but I can offer you this — if you talk with us now, tell us what we need to know, you might save their lives. Isn’t that better than taking them?”

Freddie’s head swayed to the left and right. Finally, his chin moved up and down in a weak but steady nod. At first his jaw opened, but no sound followed. When he finally spoke, each word seemed to shrink him right before Max’s eyes.

“Everything I told you was true up until we were in that tunnel. Me and Coco listened to that closed door, all that moaning, and that’s when Felix looked up and found a symbol on the wall.”

Max settled next to his wife. “A symbol?”

“You never learn to shut up, do you? You’ve got to keep your mouth clamped, if you want to hear my story.”

Drummond barked out a laugh. “You tell him, Bub.” Max startled but if Freddie had noticed, he must have assumed it was in reaction to his own voice.

“I didn’t know nothing about symbols back then. But Felix, he knew. He pointed at it and told me it was a witch’s symbol. Didn’t know what it was for, but he knew that — and it scared him. I think his parents were Romanian or something like that. Guess that’s how he knew.”

Max wanted to make a comment about racism but held back. At ninety-something years old, Freddie wasn’t going to change.

To Sandra, Freddie said, “I’m sorry, ma’am, but if you intend to hear this, you should know that it will get rather impolite.”

Sandra warmly rubbed the old man’s shoulder. “I think I can handle it.”

“I suppose you already know the tunnel led to the brothel. While I sat there looking at this witch’s symbol, the sounds of sex got louder. Really loud. It was like it was all around us. My friends, they got scared. Jimmy, the one on the stairs, he panicked and called for us to run. Felix and Coco took off with him, but I stayed. In order for you to understand, I have to say some very indelicate things. See, I stayed because I liked those sounds. Of course, I did. I was a young man and what young man wouldn’t want to hear those things. But I especially liked it. I became aroused.”

Max said, “So? Why is that so horrible?”

“You see these weapons in front of me? You keep interrupting, and I’ll use them. I’m old, but I still know how to fire a pistol — aim may not be that good, but that don’t matter when the job gets done.” Freddie stared at the weapon, his words filtering back through him. His fingers inched forward. But Max didn’t have to lunge across to stop the old man. Freddie stopped himself. He turned up a pathetic grin and said, “Where was I?”

“We were talking about —”

“You stay quiet.”

Max made a motion of zipping his lips.

“Understand that back then I had never heard sex before. I was too young. But years later, when I lost my virginity, I got to hear sex again. It was completely different. Nothing was the same. I was not stupid enough to think that every woman would sound exactly alike, but surely the sounds should have been close. There should have been some resemblance. But this was completely wrong. It confused me.

“So, I decided to write down what I remembered from that day in the tunnel. Over and over, I would write the same story. Because each time I went through it, I would recall different details. I was only fifteen at the time I started this; otherwise, I would’ve figured it out. I’m sure you already have. Anyway, it took me time. Going through that day, writing it down, forcing myself to remember. And finally, I saw it all.

“It was the day after we had been in that tunnel. That night my father came home, and he looked shaken. That’s not something he often showed. He would hide an emotion like that. But he was blatantly shaken. From the stairs, I listened as he told my mother about a horrible murder. It was in that house. That’s what I had heard. Not sex, but murder. And I had gotten off on it.”

Freddie paused. When he spoke again, his pitch lowered, and his countenance darkened. “I’ve never told anybody that. I’ve kept it buried all this time. But the past, it always returns. You can’t outrun it. You can’t out-age it. No matter what, it’s there. And it knows. It knows me. Every night, it gets into me. Pounding in my head. Telling me what I already know deep in my bones. That I’m a monster.”

Tears welled in Freddie’s eyes as his hands caressed the noose. Max walked around the room, trying to give the man some space but also inspecting the boxes spread around the floor.

Sniffling, Freddie said, “Yes, I think the noose is the way to go. Least chance of something going wrong at my age.”

Max heard Sandra trying to talk Freddie out of suicide, trying to comfort him from his dark memories, but their voices drifted away. His attention had locked in on one particular box. A stack of notebooks had been placed neatly in the box. The one on top had been labeled in clear, precise print — CASPER BLUE.