by Etta Faire
His once darkened frame faded to a see-through light gray. I thought I heard him say, "Sometimes my jokes aren't funny. I'm sorry about making fun of Tina…”
"Jackson Bowman, you are no longer welcome in this house, and you need to leave now." I moved closer with the sage, waving it toward him, watching as he faded, lighter and lighter. I gulped but continued, circling the sage over the doorways and around the room, walking closer and closer to my soon to be future. "Jackson Bowman, you are no longer welcome in this house, and you need to leave now. Jackson Bowman, you are no longer welcome in this house, and you need to leave now." His voice was a whisper, but I thought I heard him say he loved me. His biggest joke so far. "Jackson fucking Bowman. You heard me. You are no longer welcome in this house and you need to move on."
He disappeared. I stood and watched the sage bundle still smoking in my hand, my eyes tearing up from the smoke, or so I told myself. The room felt empty. And it occurred to me it was.
I hadn't heard Rex all night.
"Rex!" I called, whistling. It was time to celebrate, only I didn't actually feel like celebrating. It was more just a sense of calm. Ash fell onto my shirt and I realized I was still holding hot sage. "Rex," I yelled again as I ran the sage to the sink, listening for the sound of claws scraping along the hardwood, or a cocky ghost too stubborn for sage to work on him. Odd how I didn't hear either.
All the lights went out.
Chapter 28
Shovels
After trying several light switches and getting no responses, I stumbled back into the dining room to look for a flashlight, knowing full well what was causing my electricity problems, a pissed-off apparition who didn't like sage. "Look, I just need my space for a while. Maybe we can make an arrangement if we're going to live together..." My voice trailed off. Something didn't seem right. "Jackson?"
A clanging and a thud came from the kitchen. "Stop scaring me." I yelled this time. "Rex?"
No one responded. Maybe it wasn't Jackson or Rex. Maybe it was the house and the curse. "Look, Mrs. Harpton, I'm sorry I keep messing up on taking care of the house. I was already planning on being extra clean next week."
I pulled open the credenza and rummaged through the dark piles of papers there, where the sage was just moments ago, until my hand found the flashlight. I flicked it on and scanned the room. If we really did trip the circuit breaker, I'd have to go down to the basement to flick it back on.
The thought made my heart jump into my throat. Just like the turret, the basement had an odd entrance, and its own set of spooky problems. I took a deep breath, reminding myself I was 31 years old. I could fix this situation, which was just a tripped circuit. And the noise was just Rex.
Still, I practically ran to the kitchen and threw open the cabinet that held all the keys on little nails. Going to grab the basement one, I noticed for the first time that the key to the turret was missing. Had I forgotten to put it back when I went up for the internet a few days ago?
I yanked the basement key from its hook and closed the cabinet, catching a glimpse of a dark figure out of the corner of my eye. "Jackson?" I said, my voice shaking.
The cabinet with the keys was in the part of the kitchen nearest the dining room and I backed farther away from it, toward my car keys by the microwave and the exit to the veranda. I swung the flashlight around the room as I walked backwards. I no longer thought it was a tripped circuit. But I could still get back to my car if I could get to those keys.
I ran my hand along the tiled countertop by the microwave, never taking my eyes off the beam of light from my flashlight as it moved all over the kitchen. I didn't feel my keys. Instead, right where I thought my keys should have been, my hand brushed against something small, rectangular, and smooth. A cell phone. I'd gripped that plastic case so many times, my hand instantly recognized it as my own. The one I'd lost when I discovered Destiny's body. Whoever was there that night wanted me to know they were back.
The only person who could possibly have put that there... probably also had my car keys right now, and was standing just inside the doorway shadows.
I rushed out the back door, the cool night air hitting my face. The cicadas sounded especially loud tonight, the air thick with humidity. I jumped off the veranda, not even bothering with the stairs. But I had no idea where to go from there. I couldn't run all the way down Gate Hill, not with a killer on my tail. I needed to figure things out.
I ran the list of suspects through my mind. Caleb? Bobby Franklin? Where was my police tail when I needed him?
Something Tina said stuck with me more than anything else.
Rip your fingers off. Bury them in shallow graves. Blue shovel claws...
What I took as the ramblings of a crazy woman... what the entire town thought was the ramblings of a crazy woman... was really a woman sharing with us the reason she went over the edge.
She really saw something that night. Four years ago just before her first episode. Jasmine Truopp. It must've set her off.
And with that thought, I knew who it was. My stomach lurched. Why had it taken me so long to figure things out, to do my good friend right for once?
The sound of tires crackling along dirt and rocks broke the silence. I was never happier to hear it. Still, it might take half an hour for whoever it was to get up that hill.
I ducked behind my car and waited, keeping an eye on any movement in the house, scanning the dirt around me for a weapon. I didn't have many options: a totally-dried-out, brittle tree branch or a couple of medium-sized rocks too large to do anything except toss underhandedly at the killer. I thought about Rex. Rex was probably held up in the turret, which had to be why the key was missing. I knew, as old as that dog was, he'd help me if he could.
That's when I saw it, the dark figure standing on the veranda against the wall in the shadows, right by the opened door to the turret. Damn it. He was waiting for me to try to find Rex.
Smarter than Jackson ever gave him credit for.
The tire sounds grew louder. I thought I saw a gun in the silhouette of the killer on my porch. My guess, he was also wearing his blue-shovel claws, just like Tina said.
His work gloves.
Chapter 29
Unexpected Guests
I wasn't one-hundred percent sure I was right, but it was worth a shot. "It's over, Brock," I said. "Someone's coming up the hill. It's gotta be Justin. You'd better get out of here."
The figure didn't move, probably thinking it through. I went on. "Wondering how I knew, huh? Probably didn't think I'd figure it out."
My nose ran, and I wiped it with my sleeve, catching the faint smell of sage and pepper spray still lingering on my fingers. "You said the last time you visited Tina was last year, but that's a lie. You visited her in March, right before Jackson died of a heart attack. You probably visited every time that poor girl went off."
He didn't move, and I questioned whether or not I was right.
I went on. "Tina's old roommate was Tracey Moorehead. Remember her? A woman with mineral deficiencies? Got your hands on some potassium chloride, huh? Such a great idea to get Destiny to go along with things. She needed a rich husband to change his will and die before he noticed the changes. And you needed a dead pervert to take the fall for some murdered strippers. I'm gonna guess Destiny didn't know that last part."
I could hear the engine now, not just tires kicking up pebbles. Thank Goodness. Justin was almost here. My voice grew to a whole new smug level. "Great plan until Destiny let it slip that I'd found Jackson's journal... and that journal spelled out everything including the potassium chloride you stole from Tina's roommate. You panicked and decided it was time to get rid of the only people who could trace anything back to you — me and Destiny."
Headlights bounced into view. I ran toward them. It wasn't Justin. It was Rosalie. Rats. Waving my arms wildly through the air, I tried to motion to her that she shouldn't turn the car off, that we needed to leave. She seemed to be in a hurry too, pulling right up t
o the house, barely stopping before she kicked open her door. I yanked wildly on the passenger's side. It was locked.
Rosalie didn't seem too concerned with my theatrics. She wiggled her bad hip out. "Honey, thank goodness you're already out here, ready to go. Where have you been and why’s it so dark? I’ve been calling all night,” she said. She was wearing her seance dress, the sleeveless gray one with the moons. "Now I know you've been through a lot, so if you don't want to do this seance, I completely understand. Just remember Suzie is a high-paying..."
I ran over to the driver's side and pushed on the thick of her arm, attempting to shove her back into her car. "The killer's here. We need to go. Now. Get back in. It's Brock," I whispered.
"Brock?" she yelled. "My nephew? A killer? Are you crazy? I'm just gonna use your bathroom then we'll head back down the hill. Stop kidding around.”
I shoved her arm harder. "Just turn the car back on. Hurry. I'll explain later," I looked up. We were staring at a masked figure with a gun.
"Oh Lord," she said, holding her hands up.
"Brock, you don't have to do this," I said, mostly because that's what everyone says at a time like this. I actually knew killing us was his only way out.
He yanked the flashlight from my hands, never taking his mask off, never confirming our fears. He just motioned for us to go inside, probably so he could think things through, get up enough guts to kill us. I knew Rosalie was the part that made this hard for him.
I sat down on the sofa next to her. The dim light streaming in from her headlights was the only thing lighting the room besides Brock's flashlight. "Brock, I know all about your birth mom, how she was a prostitute and an addict. And I understand. You were angry. You were the bear in Tina's psychotic episode, biting people's limbs off."
"Stop saying that's Brock," Rosalie snapped.
The dark figure sat down on the settee across from us, never letting the gun down, like he wanted me to continue. He wanted to know how I knew.
"It came to me when Tina called me back. She kept saying weird things about bears tearing off fingers, burying things. I think she witnessed at least one of the attacks. Probably the first lady to go missing, the prostitute, Jasmine Truopp four years ago. Around Tina's first episode at the Shop-Quik."
Rosalie smoothed out her dress even though nobody cared about dress wrinkles.
"Psychotic episodes are triggered by trauma sometimes. I heard that," I said to Rosalie. “From Caleb, but it's probably true. The blue shovel claws are his work gloves. He gave Destiny the sodium chloride from Tina’s roommate to use on Jackson. Probably the GHB too. If you check the records at Safe House, I bet you’ll find every time Brock visited Tina, she had an episode. And those episodes happened whenever Brock wanted to make sure his star witness was still too crazy to be credible.”
Rosalie stood and held her hand up like she was going to slap me. She sat back down again. "Stop it," she said, her voice quaky, and even in the dim light of the flashlight, I saw her eyes were full of tears. "So Brock visited Tina? Big deal. That does not mean he caused her episodes, or that he stole potassium whatever from the halfway house and killed women." She turned to the man in the baggy sweatshirt with the gun held to us. "He doesn't even look like Brock." She stood up. "I should rip that mask off myself. That's what I should do."
"Please don't," I said.
Rosalie lifted her hand over the figure like she was actually going to remove the killer’s mask, and I saw my chance to go for the phone. In one fluid movement, the figure smacked Rosalie across the head with the butt of his gun without saying anything. She fell to the floor, and he stared at her a second, probably to make sure his aunt was still breathing, while I put the receiver up to my ear. It was my one chance. But there was nothing but silence.
Of course, a cable guy would know to kill the communication lines first.
I tried to drop the phone before he saw me, but he turned, and I screamed.
“I didn’t want to do this, Carly Mae,” he said, yanking his mask off.
I looked down. I really didn’t want to be right. I really wanted it to be Bobby or Caleb or Justin or even the neck-tattoo guy from the Starlight.
But in the darkness of the living room, I saw it was Brock.
He jerked the phone cord out of the wall with one tug then pulled his aunt’s limp arms behind her back and wrapped the cable around them again and again. “I don’t want to do this, but I have to.”
Chapter 30
A Crooked Man
Brock's movements were jerky and quick. It was as if he needed to talk himself into killing me before he lost his nerve. "I don't want to do this," he said, over and over like a malfunctioning robot as he paced the rug in the living room. The beam from his flashlight bobbed all around the dark walls and floor as he gestured. "But I have to. Have to do this.” He was sputtering now; spit flew from his lips as he argued with himself.
The smell of sage still lingered in the air, reminding me how dumb I'd been. Why had I forced Jackson to leave?
"My mother was a filthy whore," Brock went on. "A filthy whore like the girls in the clubs. And they deserved what they got."
His voice was tense, like he was mumbling through gritted teeth. "My own mother left me in the back seat of her car as a baby while she turned tricks. It was all in the police report and my adoption papers. All right there."
At least you have adoption papers, was what I was thinking. I didn't say that, though. I just hoped Brock would keep talking until my police tail got there. Where was Justin anyway?
"I went to see that whore four years ago when she was dying…” His voice raised and lowered unnaturally as he talked; the veins in his neck throbbed. "To forgive her. She didn't even say she was sorry. You know what she did? She begged me, on her death bed, to call her dealer and buy her some meth. She'd already lost her fingers. And she wanted me to sneak her drugs? She didn't say she was sorry. I gave her the chance and she only cared about herself."
“So you took it out on Jasmine,” I said.
He shook his head. "I took it out on a whore. I should've killed Tina too. She saw me outside the Shop-Quik. I told her if she told anyone, I'd bite her fingers off, tear her limbs off like the rotting limbs of my mother..."
He looked all around the room, but stopped when he reached me. "I'm sorry we didn't get to have sex, Carly Mae," he said. I tried to keep my eyes from bugging out, but I honestly hadn't expected him to say that. I somehow held in my shock and my throw-up.
"We should've had sex. You would've liked it." He looked over at his aunt. "Sorry you had to hear that, Aunt Rosalie."
Her unconscious body didn’t answer him.
"Let's go," he said, grabbing my arm, yanking me to my feet. He raised the gun to my temple. “There's still time to make those dreams come true."
He pulled me toward the stairs, but stopped at his aunt's side. Through gritted teeth, he mumbled, "She's my girlfriend, Aunt Rosalie. It’s okay."
I gulped, and he turned back to me. “Move. Up the stairs.”
I couldn't believe this was happening. I bit my lip, telling myself to remain calm. Maybe I could catch him off guard if I went along. Maybe I could get the gun. I needed to get the gun.
Yanking my arm hard, he pulled me up the two flights of stairs to the floor with the bedrooms, pushing me past the room with the blackbird wallpaper and down the hall toward the main one. "Tell me how much you love me and beg for your life."
He didn’t give me time to say anything. He pushed the gun hard against my head. “Don’t make me wait,” he said.
“Please don’t kill me. I love you,” I said.
“Good,” he replied. “That’s the way we’re going to play this game. I tell you to do something, and you do it. No waiting.”
He tossed the flashlight and pushed me down hard onto the chair by the door, shoving his pants' zipper in my face, pointing the gun to my head. I could see his sinister smile in the light from the full moon. I kept my eyes focused
on his smile. On the moon.
But I sat, motionless.
He lifted my hand and put it on his zipper. “I said no waiting,” he said, waving the gun around now.
I tried to get my fumbling fingers to unzip his pants, my eyes on the gun. That's when I noticed the dark shadow behind him.
"Well, this is an awkward 'I told you so,'" a very cocky voice said from behind the man with his crotch in my face. I blinked hard. I'd never been happier to see my awful dead ex-husband in my life.
He hovered by Brock. "I would've been here sooner, but somebody did this sage smudging thing..."
"Jackson," I said, my eyes avoiding Brock's unzipped pants, and the fact he wasn't wearing underwear.
Brock turned his head toward the back of the room. "Who in the hell are you talking to? Your dead ex? You goin' crazy like your friend?"
Seeing my chance, I kicked him hard in the crotch at the same time Brock's zipper flew up mysteriously, full speed ahead, catching along the extra sensitive parts of his flesh and tangling some of it into its teeth. Brock immediately grabbed himself, his face growing to a level of beet red I didn't know you could see in moonlight. He dropped the gun on his way down to his knees. I wasted no time picking it up and pointing it at him.
"Bitch!" he mumble-screamed, looking only at his darkening skin, half tangled in his zipper.
I stood over him, holding the gun with both hands, smiling smugly, taking full credit for his pain even though I'd had a little help.
He leaned on the chair to get up, still fiddling with his zipper.
"Don't get blood on my dead ex's favorite chair." I said, waving the gun toward the door. "Now, move. Downstairs." I still had to figure out how to restrain this guy, and more importantly, how to call the authorities. My phone cord had been yanked from the wall, my electricity was cut, and I had no idea where Rex was or my car keys. I took a deep breath. I could do this.
