The Loveliest Dead (29 page)

And the basement—what kept drawing him down to the basement? And what did he do while he was down there?

David stopped pacing and listened for sounds of movement upstairs. He heard nothing and assumed Jenna was still in bed. He took the Mag-Lite from its spot beside the back door, went into the laundry room, and pulled the basement door open. He went down the stairs carefully, determined to figure out what he had been doing down there.
 

He turned the light on the three empty, toppled beer cans on the dirt floor beside a crate. A few inches away stood the three remaining unopened cans of beer, still in their plastic rings. He thought again of the fact that he’d driven to 7-Eleven while asleep, and it chilled his blood. Next to the crate were a couple of open cardboard boxes. David stepped toward them when he heard the quiet, moist, gravelly voice behind him.
 

“Y’gotta clean up after yourself. Never know when that bitch upstairs is gonna come snoopin’ around.”

David gasped as he spun around. The fat man was only inches away and coming closer, and suddenly—

—David was standing before a neat stack of boxes while a scream came from upstairs. He took a step back and bent forward, expecting to vomit because of the wave of nausea that moved through him. But then it was gone, and the shrill screaming continued.
 

He turned and looked down, found the flashlight lying across the top of the wooden crate shining at the stacked boxes. The two open cardboard boxes were gone, now closed up and stacked neatly with all the others.
 

David picked up the flashlight, hooked his middle finger through one of the six-packs’ plastic rings, and went upstairs. As he closed the basement door, he stopped a moment and looked at the surface bolt on the inside. A stray thought flitted in and out of his head, there and gone in a heartbeat:
 

Shoulda locked the fuckin’ door.

In the kitchen, he replaced the flashlight, then took the shrieking kettle off the burner. He put the beer in the refrigerator. He sat down at the table, put his right elbow on the tabletop and his face in his trembling hand.
 

When I went down the stairs
, Jenna had said,
I was looking at you, but you were
completely
different
.
 

He scrubbed his face once and his hand scratched over stubble. The pain in his left hand crawled up his arm. He reminded himself he’d just had surgery after experiencing a serious and traumatic accident, and he was under the influence of a powerful narcotic painkiller. Add to that Jenna’s ramblings about ghosts and mediums and seances. He shook his head hard again, then got up and poured steaming water into his mug, stirred the instant hot chocolate, then took it back to the table with him.
 

It was bad enough that Jenna seemed to be reaching out for the kind of crutch David had spent his life trying to avoid. What made it so much worse was the fact that she was starting to make sense.
 

David had thought the fat man with the gravelly voice only inhabited his dreams. But he had not been dreaming a few minutes ago. Had he? Could the Oxy-Contin be causing him to hallucinate? He looked at the clock and guessed he’d been down there for ten, maybe fifteen minutes. The fat man had been standing directly behind him, then had stepped forward, almost as if he had stepped right
into
—
 

He laughed into his palm. He refused to take that thought any further. It was a ridiculous thought, and he simply refused to finish it. He laughed a little harder into his palm as a sense of giddiness overwhelmed him. He felt light-headed and suddenly euphoric. It was the painkiller. And so was that thought he’d refused to finish—it was the OxyContin thinking for him, he decided.
 

I’m not thinking clearly
, he thought.
The drugs are messing with me.

David left his hot chocolate untouched on the table. He went upstairs to bed and was asleep only seconds after putting his head on the pillow.
 

“Thank you for calling the Phoenix Society of Paranormal Research,” a kindly, prerecorded female voice said. “At the tone, please leave your name and telephone number, and a brief description of the paranormal or demonic activity you’re reporting. Please speak slowly and clearly so we can understand you. Thank you.”
 

There was a beep, and Jenna opened her mouth, but realized she did not know where to start. She stood alone in the kitchen in jeans and a red sweatshirt, mouth open for several seconds before she said, “I, uh ... my family and I recently moved, and ... since we’ve been in this house, things are happening that I...” A sob caught her by surprise, and suddenly she was crying and unable to talk.
 

After a click on the other end of the line, the same female voice that had been recorded on the answering machine said, “Hello? Are you all right?”
 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Jenna said. She quickly looked around to make sure David had not come downstairs. He was still sleeping when she left the bedroom. Martha was taking a shower and Jenna had already driven Miles down to the gate to catch the bus.
 

“Don’t be sorry. I’m Mavis Bingham. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Juh-Jenna. Jenna Kellar.”

“You’re having activity of some kind?”

“Oh, God, I don’t know
what
we’re having.”
 

“Why don’t you tell me about it.”

A single laugh broke out through Jenna’s tears. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“Just start at the beginning and tell me the whole thing.”

She looked around again to make sure she was alone, then told Mavis Bingham everything.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Friday, 8:36 A.M.

Over breakfast at Denny’s, Lily opened one of the maps, found Starfish Drive, and worked out the best route there.

“You’re just going to knock on their door?” Claudia asked.

“I don’t know what else to do. I got the strong sense that Mrs. Kellar was listening very carefully. If I could talk to her alone, I have a feeling she’d be open to it.”
 

“Maybe she’ll answer the door,” Claudia said.

“We can hope.”

It was a gray, misty day, cold and damp. Starfish Drive was flanked by thick forests of pines and firs and birches. Houses were spread out and set well off the road, and several PRIVATE PROPERTY signs were posted on the barbed-wire fences that ran along the road. Mailboxes were clearly numbered, and Claudia slowed as they neared 2204. The mailbox and the numbers and letters neatly arranged on the side looked exactly as they had in Lily’s vision. The battered old metal gate stood open. Claudia drove through it and down the gravel road.
 

When Lily saw the house she had already seen in her visions, she was overwhelmed for a moment by a vertiginous sense of deja vu. An almond-colored Dodge Durango was parked in front of the closed garage. She knew that behind the house stood a swing set and a slide, and that probably in the house somewhere there was a teddy bear with a winding key sticking out of its back, a bear that played Brahms’s “Lullaby” when wound. She had some of the pieces, but was not yet able to put them together.
 

As Claudia slowed the Beetle to a stop, the front door of the house opened and two women came out. The first was a tall blond woman in jeans and a red sweatshirt whom Lily recognized immediately as Jenna Kellar. The other was a short, plump, busty woman with long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail—Lily had never seen her before and paid little attention to her. Jenna Kellar noticed them first as she and the brunette walked to the front gate, and a worried look darkened her face.
 

Lily opened the door and got out of the Beetle before Claudia could kill the engine. Her eyes stayed on Jenna Kellar.

“Hello,” Lily said as she neared the gate wearing her biggest smile. “You’re Mrs. Kellar, right? Jenna Kellar?”

She opened the gate and stepped through, nodding. “Are you from the newspaper? Because I’d rather not—”

“No, my name is Lily Rourke. I called you yesterday, from Mt. Shasta. Your husband, uh ... he didn’t want to talk to me.”

“That was you?” Jenna said. She reached out her hand, and Lily shook it gingerly. “I’m sorry about that. We’ve been ... well, things have been very’ strange around here. This is my friend Kimberly Gimble.”

Still smiling, Lily shook Kimberly’s hand and said, “Nice to meet you,” then turned back to Jenna. “Mrs. Kellar, you have a swing set and a slide in your backyard, don’t you?”
 

Jenna frowned. “Yes, we do. How did you know?”

“I told you, I’m psychic. I’ve been having visions about you. You have a son. His name is Miles, right?”

Jenna’s eyes widened. “Yes. What about him?”

The front door opened and a man came out wearing a baggy gray sweatshirt, blue sweatpants, and slippers. The left sleeve of his sweatshirt dangled at his side, empty. His brown hair was spiky and mussed, and he looked like he’d just gotten out of bed. Jenna glanced over her shoulder when she heard the door shut and saw him coming toward the gate.
 

“What about my son?” Jenna said, quietly and urgently.

Lily said, “I have a powerful feeling he’s in some kind of danger. I think you’re all in danger, frankly, but your son most of all. Something in your house—”
 

“What’s up?” the man said as he came through the gate. His weary, puffy eyes moved back and forth between Jenna and Lily, but he faced his wife.
 

“David, this is Lily Rourke.”

He turned to her and frowned. “Lily Rourke?”

Lily sensed a wave of confusion from him—not about her name, but a more general confusion roiling inside him. He was preoccupied, disturbed by something.
 

“She’s the one who called us yesterday,” Jenna said. Before he could say anything, she continued quickly. “I think we should listen to her, because she thinks Miles might be in some kind of danger.”
 

“I told you not to call back,” David said. “I didn’t realize I had to be specific about not dropping by the house.”

“Mr. Kellar, if I could just talk with you for a few minutes—”

He turned to Jenna. “Go in the house.”

Jenna said, “David, I think we should listen to her.”

“We are not listening to any psychics!” To Lily, he said, “Get back in your car and go. You’re not welcome here. If you show up again, I’ll call the police.”
 

Kimberly stepped over to Jenna and gave her a brief hug. “I’ll call you later today, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks for coming by.”

“I mean it,” David said, “get out of here now.”

“All right, all right,” Lily said, taking a few steps back, “I’m not going to argue.” She turned to go back to the Beetle as Kimberly walked by her and whispered, “Follow me.” Lily walked around the Beetle and smiled at the Kellars, who stood together by the gate. Jenna returned the smile, but David did not. She got into the car as the front door opened and an old woman in a pale green housedress stood in the doorway. Lily wondered if the fat man she had seen lived with them as well. She did not think so—there was something different about him, something very wrong.
 

“Follow the SUV,” Lily said as the Durango backed away from the garage.

Claudia followed the Dodge down the long driveway and turned left onto Starfish, back the way they had come. In town, Kimberly pulled over and parked in front of a small strip mall. Claudia parked beside her as Kimberly got out and came to Lily’s side of the Beetle. Lily fingered the button and made the window hum down.
 

Kimberly said, “I think we should talk.”

David slammed the front door. “You see what’s going to happen now?” he said. “We’re going to hear from every nut-Job psychic and fortune-teller in the country.”
 

Martha had retreated to the kitchen as soon as she heard David shouting. Jenna went into the living room, fingers stuffed into the back pockets of her jeans, and paced. David came in and sat down in the recliner.
 

“You’re making a big mistake, David,” she said, fighting to keep her voice low. She was angry too, but she held it in. “We need help, and that woman was offering it. She said we’re in danger, that
Miles
is in danger—she knew his
name
. I believe her, because there’s something in this house.”
 

“And who told you there was something in the house?” he shouted. “It was one of those damned mediums! They’ve got you so worked up, you’re starting to
believe
their bullshit.”
 

“Before I ever called a medium, I saw things that
made
me believe there’s something in this house.”
 

“Look, I’m not in the mood to fight about this. All I’m saying is—no more of this shit. No more psychics or mediums or—”