Authors: J. N. Duncan

The Lingering Dead (10 page)

BOOK: The Lingering Dead

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The father had been bled out in the tub, with long, thin slices through the veins of his arms and legs. The hilt of a knife still protruded from his chest. And it was in one of the bedrooms that Nick found the remains of what once was Becca. He sagged against the doorway when he saw her, sprawled on the blood-soaked sheets of her bed, her insides spilled out. It was an all-too-familiar image from his past, and Nick was about to turn away, when it occurred to him that he was looking at Charlotte. Becca had not just been her sister. They were twins.

Nick rubbed a hand over his face and shook his head. “God damn you, Cornelius.” He turned quickly away. There was no point in lingering there any longer. Back downstairs he stooped before Charlotte. “I need to check the mill and then I will return to help you and find someone in town who can take care of you.”

Charlotte nodded, but said nothing.

The body outside of the mill appeared to be a sheriff's deputy. He had a single, dark hole in the middle of his forehead. His gun remained holstered. Nick reached down and closed the man's eyelids, to shield his dead eyes from the rain. At the door to the mill, he kicked the mud off of his boots and stepped inside. The room was stocked with barrels of grain. Sacks of flour lined a shelf along one wall, and on the opposite, a water wheel lurched against the current of water running through the slough beneath the floor. In the center of the room, the milling machinery groaned with the effort of movement from the wheel.

It took a moment for Nick to realize that the ragged movement of the gears was due to the fact that someone was stuck in them.

The hard soles of his boots echoed across the floor planks as he made his way over to the figure that sagged against the wooden housing of the millstones. The man's arm was threaded through the metal cogs, what remained of his hand dangling by ligaments and flesh coming out the other side. He sat on his knees, unable to fall any closer to the ground, soaking in his own blood. When Nick knelt beside him, he could see the sheriff's star pinned to the shirt inside his coat. Somebody at least had tried to save the Thatchers.

Short of cutting off the arm, there was little Nick could do here. “My apologies, Sheriff. Had I been able to warn you, I would have gladly told you to run for your life.”

At the sound of his voice, the sheriff groaned, his eyes opening a crack.

Ah, dear God, he's still alive!
“Sheriff. I wish I could have helped you. This man you fought ... I'm sorry. You had no chance. He is inhuman.”

The sheriff only groaned again and closed his eyes once more. He was close to death, Nick could see that. There was too much blood on the floor. Cutting off the arm would only end things that much sooner, and time was short. He was in sore need of blood. The call of the dead was getting stronger by the minute now.

Nick pulled the straight razor from the inside pocket of his duster. “Forgive me, Sheriff. I can only offer this small mercy.”

With one deft slash, Nick opened the man's neck. He would be dead in moments, but the blood Nick could take in that small time would get him through the next few days. The loss of pressure from so much blood loss already, gave him only a few seconds before the last sigh of breath from the sheriff's lungs escaped him, but Nick drank what he could, feeling the energy of the man's life flow into him, pushing back against that yawning door in his soul that continually threatened to pull him through.

Finished, Nick withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood from his mouth. When he stood, the unmistakable creak of the floorboards greeted him. There in the doorway stood Charlotte.

“Ms. Thatcher,” he said quietly. “This is not a sight for such young eyes.”

The rifle shook in her hands, braced against her shoulder and pointed at his chest. “Monster!” she hissed. “You're one of them.”

Yes. He was, doomed to a hellish existence spawned from the hands of something created by the devil himself. Nick folded the handkerchief and tucked it back in his pocket. At this point, he hoped her fear and rage would again send her aim awry.

“There is no need for that, ma'am,” he said, attempting to sooth away her terror. “You can put the gun down. I will not harm you.”

Charlotte stared at him in silence for several seconds, the gun wavering over his body. Nick held her gaze, hoping that his sway would be enough. For a moment, he thought the bright, teary eyes were losing their fire, but then the handle of the rifle popped.

Her lips barely moved. “You will die.”

The muzzle burst to life, and Nick smiled grimly at the whimsical hand of Fate, as he attempted to turn and felt the burn of metal rending his flesh.

Chapter 9

Nick practically stormed into the diner, his short hair dark and slick with water. He did not appear angry from what Jackie could tell, but then he was always difficult to read. Once again, Shelby had sat next to Cynthia, leaving him no choice other than to plop his wet body down next to hers. He leaned forward, arms resting on the table.

“I finally remembered why this place felt so familiar,” he said in a hushed voice. “Drake murdered a family here, a husband, wife, and a daughter. The second daughter survived. They lived up the hill on the edge of town at the mill that the town is named for.”

Jackie felt the hollow ball of nerves in her gut tighten.
Christ. How many people had that thing killed?
“And you think that had something to do with what is going on here?”

He sat back up and heaved a sigh. “Perhaps.”

Cynthia waved a suggestive finger at Nick. “That might explain the source of the curse.”

Molly, the waitress, chose that moment to stop by with her pot of coffee. She reached out without asking and filled Nick's cup. Jackie shoved hers over for a warm-up.

“Wouldn't even talk about that around here if I were you,” she said. “It's not safe.”

Jackie pulled her coffee cup back. “Safe for who?”

“Anyone,” the waitress whispered and moved along before anyone could reply without raising their voices and being heard throughout the restaurant.

“We need to talk to her,” Jackie said. “Alone.”

“And we need to talk,” Nick said, and for a terrifying moment, Jackie thought he meant about them. “But not here. Everyone in this town seems to be wary of our presence.”

“Got that right,” Shelby said. “Ghosts and otherwise. Every time I mentioned the word âghost' everyone just clammed up and did their best to shoo me away.”

“And their chief of police is an asshole,” Jackie added. “I thought for a minute he might try to escort me to the edge of town.”

Nick said, “So, do we want to stay close by or fly back home?”

Laurel stepped out of Dead world, and pushed directly on Jackie.
Let me in, please!

Shelby smiled at Jackie. “Well, that took long enough. I thought there wasn't much to see over there?”

Let's head back, hon. That thing is coming.

What? The spindly fucker? It followed us?

Yes! And I'm pretty sure it's you, not us, that it's following.

“We're going back home,” Jackie said, the decision made within one stuttering heartbeat. “That ... whatever the hell it is followed me.”

Shelby slammed her hand down on the table. “Fuck.”

Nick stared at Jackie for several seconds, mouth tightening into a frown, and then got to his feet. “She's right, let's head back. If it took several hours for it to catch up to us, we'll have several to figure something out once we're back.”

Jackie slid out and followed close behind Nick. What they could possibly figure out in that time remained to be seen. What did one do with strange alien beings following you around via a parallel, dead universe?

Jackie let Nick drive. As much as she hated giving up vehicular control, her hands were damp and fidgety. Worse, though, was the fear that she might abruptly see those glowing green eyes appear in the middle of the road and swerve everyone to their doom. She stared off into the low-swept gloom, and listened to the others discuss probable causes to this town. The stupid thing was, they could just leave it. There was no apparent crime. They had no authority to investigate, make arrests, conduct searches, or anything. They were just a group of civilians digging into a potential problem. It could be anything or nothing at all, but Jackie had a firm feeling that it was far from nothing.

Five minutes into their flight home, Jackie's cell phone rang. It was McManus.

“Hey, Jack,” he said. “You all have a problem back here.”

Shit! What else could go wrong with this day?
“Great. Just what I wanted to hear. What's up?”

“Looks like someone broke into your office.”

“You're shitting me.” Jackie wanted to hurl the phone across the cabin. “How bad is it?”

“A broken window, but from what we can tell, nothing's been taken. You'll have to come by to make sure.”

“Goddammit. You're not making my day any better, McManus.”

“Sorry,” he replied. “You guys find something out there?”

“Maybe, I don't know. A lot of ghost shit we don't understand. We need to get some more intel on the place.”

“Hauser should be working on it.”

“He is. I'm sure he'll dig up something. He always does.”

“You going to be coming by, then?”

“Yeah, guess we are. An hour or so, I'd guess.”

“Cool. Sorry, Jack. I'll see you then.”

Jackie clicked off her phone. Everyone was now giving her an expectant look. “Someone may have broke into the office,” she said and shoved the phone into her pocket. “We need to go by and check it out.”

McManus was sitting on the edge of Cynthia's desk when they walked in. “Hey, you guys. How was the trip?”

“Bad enough without having to deal with this crap,” Jackie said. “Any leads on who did this?”

He shrugged. “Still very little. I was hoping you all had your security system operational before you left.”

“Cyn,” Nick said, “pull up the security cameras and see what's there.”

She was already around the desk when he said it. Jackie and Shelby walked down the hall toward the back offices. A quick, cursory look-over verified what McManus had said earlier. Other than a broken window in the conference room, nothing appeared to be missing or out of place. Back in the front, McManus leaned over Cynthia's shoulder on one side, while Nick stood behind looking down at the computer screen.

Jackie stopped next to him. “Find anything?”

Nick pointed at the screen. “See for yourself.”

The intruder, wearing jeans, a black leather jacket, and a ski mask, climbed in through the broken window and then stopped to look at the files they had stacked on the conference table. He then pulled out a digital camera and began to take pictures.

“Who gives a shit about these old files?” Jackie wondered. Who could possibly know that they even had them?

“Good question,” McManus said.

The intruder walked out of the room and came up to the front, where he proceeded to attempt to get onto Cynthia's computer.

“Not a hacker, that's for sure,” Shelby commented.

Cynthia glanced up and smiled. “He'd never guess my password anyway.”

After about a minute, the man gave up and wandered back down the hall, taking more pictures as he went. In Jackie's office, he stood in the middle and did a slow turn before walking over to her case board. He looked over what little information was there, copies of what they had on Thatcher's Mill, and took several more pictures. He then proceeded to hastily make his exit back out through the broken window.

“Pictures of what we're doing,” Jackie said. “Why?”

McManus stood back up, his hand brushing across Cynthia's arm. “Thanks, Cynthia. In and out in under five minutes. Security company arrived in six. So, he knew what he was doing.”

“Not a professional, though,” Nick added. “And not sure what he was looking for.”

“He wanted to know what we were doing,” Shelby said. “Like Jackie said, why? And who would care? Nobody except FBI has any idea about what we're up to.”

Jackie pointed an accusing finger at the computer screen with the frozen image of the man climbing out the window. “That fucking reporter! The shit followed us to the airport.”

“Reporter?” McManus said. “What reporter?”

Nick nodded. “The one from your apartment. That would make sense.”

“He found a discrepancy at the Tannenbaum fire,” Jackie said. “Thinks we're covering up something.”

“And now the strange FBI agent is working for an even stranger organization called Special Investigations.” Shelby chuckled. “No wonder he's curious. I'd be wondering, too, given what he knows.”

“Who is this reporter?” McManus asked. “I'll track him down for you and see what he's up toâunofficially, of course.”

“He wants a story,” Jackie said. “It's what they all want. You know what? Just leave the asshole alone for now. There's nothing for him to find. He wants a conspiracy and cover-up, but he won't believe the truth even if he finds it.”

Nick gave her an arched eyebrow. “Breaking and entering, Jackie. You want to just give that to him?”

“He'll show up again,” she said. “We'll have words when he does.”

Shelby snorted. “I'll bet.” She picked up her purse off of the desk. “Should let me talk to him. He won't come around anymore after that.”

“No voodoo mojo bullshit, Shelby!” Jackie demanded. She took a breath and wiped from her mind the image of Nick's hands holding her face the night before, his depthless eyes glowing with the gray fog of the dead. “Last thing he needs is to figure out the things we're capable of.”

“Then let me arrest him,” McManus said. “You don't need this kind of thing going on, not to mention that it's, you know, against the law.”

“Not worth it,” Jackie said. “All he did was break a window. He'll pay for that, but I'm not tossing a guy in jail for wanting answers.”

McManus nodded. “OK, fair enough. You let me know otherwise, though.”

“Can we go now?” Jackie said. “I'm starving and tired and want a break from all of this crap.”

“I've got steaks,” Nick said. “We could figure out what we're doing while I grill.”

“Beer?” Shelby asked.

Nick smiled. “Of course. Jackie?”

She really just wanted to go home, but they did need to figure out what to do next, and her fridge was back to its cartons of Chinese and other things past their expiration dates. And this time she would make sure to go when the others did. And Nick was grilling steak. She was salivating at the mere thought of it.

Jackie glanced up at him. “Steaks sound great.”

He turned to McManus. “Welcome to join us, McManus. We can fill you in on what we've found and you can help us plan out next steps.”

“Um,” he said, and then caught Cynthia looking up at him from her chair. Jackie watched Shelby poke him in the back. Did the woman ever
not
stick her fingers into other people's business? “Sure. It's too late for me to get anything done back at HQ anyway.”

“Sweet,” Shelby said and bounded toward the door. “Cookout at Nick's.”

Jackie rolled her eyes and nudged Nick. “Don't you ever want to smack her? Even just a little?”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Every day.”

BOOK: The Lingering Dead

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