Authors: J. N. Duncan

The Lingering Dead (16 page)

BOOK: The Lingering Dead

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“Yeah,” Shelby said. “What the fuck is going on here?”

Someone called for her,
Laurel said.
For Rebecca. I'm going to go in there in and look. Back in a minute.

“Laur, wait!” But it was too late. Laurel had stepped out of her body and was now walking across the clearing toward the house. Out of the corner of her eye, Jackie saw something else, a wisp of fog shifting across the ground, until she realized it was another ghost.

“Over there,” Nick said, pointing toward the Mill. It was yet another ghostly figure moving toward the house.

“Laur!” Shelby called in a harsh whisper. She turned to Jackie. “What's going on?”

“She said someone called for Rebecca. She's going to check it out.”

“Shit.” Shelby stood up and whispered out toward the house, “Laur, get back here.”

It was too late though. Laurel was already going up the porch steps. Jackie scanned the house but could still see no movement. “Damn it. Now what?”

Another ghost came up from behind, passing by them within a few feet and Jackie nearly jumped out of her skin. Yet another appeared over by the mill building.

“Interesting,” Nick said. “That answers our question about multiple Rebeccas.”

“OK, but who the hell just called them over?”

Nick stared intently at the house. “I don't know. There's so much spiritual energy floating around here, I can't tell.”

Jackie reached into the side pocket of the pack and pulled out one of the tranquilizer guns. “It's time to find out,” she said. “Watch my back.” She crawled up out of the undergrowth and stepped out into the clearing, marching purposefully across the packed dirt and gravel toward the front door.

“Jackie!” Nick called out. “Get back here.”

She ignored him and kept moving, gripping the pistol tighter to calm her trembling hand. Laurel could be walking into trouble and she was not about to let her do it alone. At the top of the steps, she found the screen door to the porch locked, and with one deft punch, thrust the end of the pistol through the screen mesh. Jackie reached in and undid the lock, yanked open the door and moved quickly to the front door.

“Robert Thatcher!” She pounded on the front door. “I know you're in there.” She hammered on it again. “Mr. Thatcher, I'd like a wordâ”

Laurel's familiar cold presence abruptly bled through the door and into Jackie's body.
Go, Jackie! Now! She called Carson up here.

“Shit.” She waited a moment, hoping that Thatcher would open the door, but he did not. Instead, one of the ghosts stepped through the wall and stopped next to her, staring in silence, her face unexpressive. Jackie forced a smile upon her lips. “Hello.” The ghost merely stood there, eyes frozen upon her. Then another came through, blocking the door. Impassive as the other, she simply stared, whether at her or through her, Jackie could not tell. It was unsettling. When another came up from the opposite end of the porch and approached, Jackie decided that was enough. She spun on her heel and fled back off the porch, heading for Nick and Shelby.
Laur, what the hell was that?

It was the sister. She saw me.

“What?”

“Jackie,” Nick said, grabbing her by the arm as she hopped down over the embankment. “What are you doing?”

“Let's go,” she snapped back. “Carson's coming.”

“Ah, hell,” Shelby said.

“All right,” Nick replied. “Back down the hill.”

They shuffled and skipped their way down the hillside. Twice, Nick grabbed Jackie by a handful of shirt to keep her from tumbling down. As they threaded their way along the edge of the wood toward the Explorer, the red and blue flashing lights of Carson's police car sped up the drive toward the Thatcher's.

They slammed the doors shut as Nick gunned the engine, backing lightless out of their space and onto Main Street.

“Well, that was a fucking bust,” Shelby yelled, slapping the back of Nick's headrest hard enough to jolt him in the seat.

I saw her,
Laurel said.
Rebecca. I got a good look.

“Laur got a solid look at her. We'll get a sketch done,” Jackie said. “And I think we have a new lead.”

Nick flipped on the lights when he took off up the highway, illuminating a sedan parked across the street about one hundred feet away. Someone stood against it, leaning on the hood of the car, watching them.

As the Explorer passed him by, the man waved, grinning. It was Margolin.

Jackie just shook her head in disgust. “Sonofabitch.”

Chapter 15

Jackie flopped onto the bed in her room of the Fairfield Inn, Dubuque. She rubbed her hands over her face and groaned at the sweet feel of the comforter her body sank into.

“Call me in the morning,” she said. “I don't think I can move now.”

Shelby walked out of the bathroom, brushing her hair. “Tempting. Sure you don't want to trade to Nick's room?”

Jackie growled in reply. “Do you ever stop?”

“When life has suitably resolved itself to my satisfaction,” Shelby said and flashed a smile.

Jackie flipped her off. “Well, I'm screwed then. I don't think my brain is capable of resolution.”

“Then quit using your brain so much,” she stated. “Quit thinking about every last thing that might or could go wrong.”

“Easy for you to say,” Jackie replied. “You've probably already done everything that might or could go wrong or right for that matter.”

Shelby fell onto the other bed. “I'll tell you something, sweetie. Experience isn't always what it's cracked up to be. Believe me. I would trade many things back to experience the newness of something all over again. You don't appreciate it until it's gone.”

“Thanks,” Jackie said, “but I'd just as soon skip the irony aspects of life.”

The cold chill of Deadworld wafted through the room and Laurel returned. “Irony is good for you, and Spindly Man is here. I'm almost getting used to this cat-and-mouse stuff.”

“Speaking of new experiences,” Jackie said, “what the hell are we going to do about that thing? Not that I plan to ever cross over again, but if we ever had some ... issue, I do not want to run into that thing.”

A knock came at the door, and Shelby sat up. “No fucking clue, babe. It worries me though.”

Great. The Queen of No Worries showing a twinge of something Jackie had not seen before. Fear.

Shelby let Nick in and walked back into the room with him. He set the laptop down on the desk and sat down. “You doing all right, Jackie?”

“Tired,” she said, “and wishing things would go right just once for us ... for um, Special Investigations.” She pointed a finger at Shelby, who smiled at her with a raised eyebrow but said nothing.

Nick eyed them both for a second before continuing. “I wouldn't say things didn't go right, just not as planned. We did, after all, learn new information.”

“Laur got a good read on Rebecca,” Jackie said, “which we can hopefully translate into a decent likeness. I'll call McManus and see if he can arrange a sketch artist for us.”

“Laurel,” Nick said, “how did the sister react when you showed up?”

“Surprised,” she replied, “and then angry. That's when she dialed up Carson.”

“What exactly did she say? Do you remember?” Nick wondered.

“Something like, âCarson, we've got a situation up here,' or close to it. It certainly did not sound like your panicked 911 call.”

“So, Carson has a connection with the Charlotte sister,” Nick said. “And someone called those ghosts to the house.”

“Why would someone do that?” Jackie asked. “We need to find out about the sisters. We need to know who they really are. Once we can prove they don't belong there, I think I can get McManus in on this, so we can get the damn authority we need to properly investigate.”

“I agree,” Nick said. “We can find out about the parents though. Their name changes are legal record. We should see if we can find out where they came from and how they ended up in Thatcher's Mill in the first place. Jackie, how soon do you think we can get a sketch of Rebecca and Charlotte worked up?”

“I'll call McManus and see what he can arrange,” she said.

“I had another thought,” Nick said. “What if we ask that reporter to help us to find out about them.”

“Margolin?” Jackie could not believe he would suggest that. “Why would that asshole want to help us? He ... oh, you're right, Nick. He just wants a damn story. Let him think we want to give him one.”

“Keep your enemies close at hand,” Shelby said.

“He's not part of the ghosthunters invading the town,” Nick added. “He might be able to talk to some folk who would otherwise not talk to us.”

“Shouldn't be hard to track him down,” Jackie said. “He seems to be following us wherever we go. Let me touch base with McManus here before we do anything else.”

McManus got her the number for the sketch artist, someone not at all familiar with her working situation, and Jackie updated him on their progress. A call to Hauser got her Margolin's cell phone number, and then Nick reminded her to call Cynthia and fill her in. Pat Taggert, the sketch artist, set up an appointment for them tomorrow afternoon, and gave her an e-mail to send as many preliminary details as she could.

Margolin picked up his phone on the first ring. “Margolin,” he said.

“Hello, Margolin,” Jackie said.

“Agent Rutledge! This is a surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure of your phone call?”

Jackie gripped the phone tighter. She wanted nothing more than to tell the ass-hat off. “I want to put your ability to be a fucking pain in the ass to some use. If you're interested in a story, that is.”

He was silent for several seconds. “Always looking for the story, Rutledge, but then you know that. So, what gives? Last time we chatted you were ready to plant your fist in my face.”

“Can't say that feeling has changed much, but the good people of Thatcher's Mill aren't real keen on talking to a group of ghosthunters.”

He laughed. “I don't think anyone around here much cares for you. You wore out your welcome pretty fast. It's that charming way you have about you.”

She covered the mouthpiece and pulled the phone away from her ear. “When this is all done, can I kill him? Please?” Nick smiled at her and Shelby giggled. Jackie put the phone back to her ear. “Putting my charming ways aside for a moment, I think you can help us figure this story out.”

“Really?” He sounded skeptical. “You're just going to give me the story? Why do I feel like there's some twist in here you're not mentioning?”

Jackie sighed. “Look. I don't like you. Honestly, I hate reporters, but you are apparently good at what you do, and we could use some information. If you can find it for us and it helps us resolve this situation, I'll give you the story.”

Another pause. Could he actually turn down such an invitation? “OK, I'm game. I'll listen to what you have to say at least. Where do you want to meet?”

“I've got something to check on in the morning,” she replied. “We'll meet you there at the diner for lunch, and no, I'm not buying.”

Margolin chuckled. “I'll bet you get all the guys, Rutledge. Diner. Noon. I'll see you there.”

Jackie clicked off and dropped her phone on the bed. “Ugh. I really hate that guy. We're meeting him for lunch at the diner tomorrow. That work?”

“Should be fine,” Nick said. “That gives us time to go through reports from the medical examiner in the morning. Laurel, you want to give us descriptions so we can send the artist the info? Maybe by tomorrow afternoon we'll start to have a few answers.”

They compiled the list and sent it off, by which time it was nearly ten. Shelby had pizza delivered from a place that, thank the gods, the Blessed Mother, and anyone else worthy of thanks, also delivered beer. Settled into Jackie's head again, Laurel pined over the sausage, onion, and feta.

That pizza and beer looks so good. I think food is one of those things I miss the most.

It's just pizza,
Jackie said.
Kind of ordinary, too, far as that goes. The beer, though, that really hits the spot.
She popped the top on a second one.
Even this crap stuff is good sometimes.

It's another one of those things you don't notice until it's gone.

Jackie felt badly for her. It was difficult to imagine existing in the state Laurel did, to have no physical body, no real sensations to speak of. She wanted to help her.
Laur, do you think you'd be able to taste things if you were me? You know, if you had control of my body?

Oh! I don't really know. I haven't had opportunity to try it out and see.

You want to? Try, I mean. I can let you take over for a few and see how that works.

Really? Oh, hon, that would be sweet of you. I don't want to stress you out over a piece of pizza, though. I know how much you hate that sense of not being yourself.

What could a few minutes hurt? It was a small enough sacrifice to bring Laurel some happiness, even if only temporary.
Let's go for it. Have a slice. I'll be fine.

Hon, are you sure? I don't wantâ

“I'm going to let Laur take me over for a few minutes so she can have a slice of pizza,” Jackie said. “Just, you know, warning you, in case I start praying to the Blessed Mother over my pizza or want to give Nick a tarot reading or something.

You're a snot. Maybe I'll go sit in Nick's lap while I eat.

Don't you even!

Nick eyed her curiously. “You sure about this, Jackie? You know what you're doing?”

Jackie shrugged. “No, but Laur deserves no less.”
OK. Let's do this. Push or pull or hit the magic button.

Laurel did, nudging at that indeterminate place inside Jackie where body and soul joined forces, where the bonds had been snapped by Deadworld and now seemed held together by little more than Velcro. The world made a subtle shift, and in one blink of an eye, Jackie found herself watching the world from a distance, peering through someone else's body, only it was hers.

Jackie listened to her voice moan at the first bite of the pizza. She could tell her mouth moved, but whether it held pizza or a clod of dirt, she could not tell. The beer bottle came up to her lips to wash it down, and she heard herself laugh.

“Oh, this beer really is wonderfully bad.”

The laughter began to melt into sniffling, and Jackie realized her vision had blurred slightly, her eyes blinking rapidly to quell the tears.

Wait. Laur? Are you crying? What's wrong?

“No, it's fine,” she said, laughing again. “It just tastes so good. I really missed this.”

Shelby looked at her, at Laurel, her head tilted at an odd angle. There was a look there Jackie had never seen before. Shelby swung her legs off the bed and fell to the floor on her knees in front of Jackie, hands resting on her knees, though she could not feel the pressure of the fingers there.

“Are you really there, sweetie?” Jackie watched her view bob up and down several times and then watched her hands come up to cup Shelby's face. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

Laurel brushed the tear away with the thumb of Jackie's hand. “I am. Your skin is even softer than I remember.”

“Kiss me,” Shelby whispered. “Before Jackie changes her mind.”

Hey now! Wench.
Laurel hesitated, inching forward an inch, but doing little more than letting Jackie's fingers brush across the features of Shelby's face.
Oh, good grief. Go ahead, Laur. Kiss her.

Jackie leaned toward Shelby, head tilting to the side, and then the world went dark, burying Jackie in effusive, whispered proclamations, little gasps of pleasure, and the soft, suckling sound of flesh.

And then the darkness was swept aside in tide of green, an eerie, phosphorescent glow. The thin wall between worlds buckled and pulsed with an unfamiliar energy.

Laur? Something's wrong here.

No, hon. It's perfect. Thank you.

Another voice, thin and hollow, an asthmatic old man sounding off through a crackling megaphone, rang in her ears.
At last. You've come at last.

Laur!
Jackie pushed away from the strange, frightening voice, pulling at Laurel's vibrant energy, until she found the connection to her own body again. The green glow faded away and Jackie found herself pulling away from those full, red lips.

Shelby's brow furrowed with confusion. “Jackie?” She rocked back on her heels. “Why'd you have to ruin ... what's wrong?”

Jackie leaped up from the bed, knocking Shelby onto her butt, half expecting there to be a residual, glowing green spot left behind by whatever that thing was that had beckoned to her from the other side.

Nick came to her side, his hand gripping her arm, steadying her. “Jackie? What happened?”

She pointed at the bed, finger shaking uncontrollably. “It was that thing, the spindly whatever-the-fuck-it-is thing.”

BOOK: The Lingering Dead

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