Skellyman

by Rie Sheridan Rose

  She stepped into the hall and stood on her toes to pull the brightly-wrapped package off the shelf. It was just one of many. Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to do anything with them either. Maybe she would donate these to some charity come Christmas too.

  Daisy’s were the only packages that had been opened last year.

  The shiny red paper was dusty now…no longer a symbol of cheer, but just another dingy reminder of what was lost.

  She ripped off the slick paper with a savage growl. She couldn’t stand looking at it anymore.

  The advertising on the camera box inside promised to capture all life’s happiest moments. Brenda felt a surge of bile in her throat and gulped it back. No happy times here—only someone’s idea of a crummy practical joke…distasteful at best.

  She took the boxed camera back into the kitchen and handed it to Phillip. It was a kit promising to include everything needed to just open up and go. She had expected Ethan to be taking pictures of the kids opening gifts with it, not some guy who was practically a stranger using it as a crime scene camera.

  Phillip removed the camera from the box, made sure the data card was seated correctly, inserted the enclosed batteries, and checked to see that they were still charged. Nodding in satisfaction, he quickly snapped several shots of the floury handprints and the note scrawled beside the sink.

  “While we’re at it, let’s get shots of the other areas of disturbance.”

  “Didn’t the crime scene team do that yesterday?”

  “Probably, but it never hurts to have copies of your own. In case there’s a need to go to trial.”

  The sentence refused to process through her brain. Brenda looked up at him, her mind blank. “What?”

  “The other areas that were ransacked might be important at trial. Like the damage to your bedroom, for example—and it might help you see if there’s something missing. We might as well document the playroom area as well. Even if the video game cabinet’s gone, a trained investigator might’ve seen something in the room that I’ve missed. We’ll check in with the station when we’re through here.”

  She shrugged. “Whatever you think best.”

  She trailed after Phillip like a ghost as he moved through the house snapping picture after picture. It’s a good thing I opted for a decent memory card, she thought wryly.

  When they came to the master bedroom, Brenda steeled herself to face the mess again. She struggled to remember whether or not her underwear had been thrown about the room. With her luck, those holey panties that were worn only on laundry days would be front and center.

  But when Phillip pushed the door fully open, the room was spotless—or at least as neat as it usually was. The drawers had been closed, the clothes in the closet hung neatly. The top of the dressing table had been straightened, bottles in ordered ranks. Brenda was thunderstruck.

  Phillip turned to her with a puzzled frown. “We didn’t clean up in here, did we?”

  She shook her head numbly.

  “No. It was a wreck. The crime scene team wouldn’t do this, would they?”

  The thought that some stranger had spent time cleaning her bedroom was worse than the fact it’d been trashed in the first place. It sent a shiver trembling through her.

  What the hell going on here? Why is someone doing this to me? How could anyone be so damn cruel?

  Phillip shook his head adamantly. “No. There isn’t a CSI in the world who doesn’t know to leave the scene as close as possible to how they found it.”

  He took a few pictures of the bedroom despite its newly-cleaned condition. “I’ll compare these to those they should’ve taken yesterday. We’ll see if we can figure out why someone would do this.”

  Brenda was having second thoughts about being on her own in the house. Someone seemed to be coming and going about the place as they pleased.

  “You aren’t staying here alone, and that’s final,” Phillip announced. “You can come home with me, or I can stay here with you—hell, I’ll even check you into a motel if you want me to—but you are not going to be in this house by yourself.”

  “I-I think you’re right,” she answered, in a small, timid voice. “I don’t want to be alone.”

  “It’s almost daylight outside now. Do you think you would feel more comfortable here or at my place?”

  “I need to get the place ready to bring Daisy home. My parents aren’t really equipped for an extended visit from a four-year-old. She can be a real handful.”

  “I’m sure they’re loving every minute of it. She’s a real sweetheart.”

  Brenda smiled. “Yes, yes she is. I’d be lost without her.” She stifled a yawn behind her hand.

  “You’re dead on your feet,” Phillip scolded. “Come and lie down on the sofa for a while and I’ll call in the latest incidents.”

  She was grateful he didn’t suggest that she lie down in the bedroom. She might never sleep in that room again.

  “Do we have to call it in?”

  “I’m sorry, but we do. Someone broke into your house yet again, Brenda. We need a full report in evidence in case it’s needed on down the line. We need someone who knows what they’re doing to look into it.”

  “Can’t you look into it?” she pleaded.

  Phillip shook his head.

  “I’m not really a crime scene investigator. I’m just a patrol officer. That’s why I called the experts yesterday. I’m good for writing parking tickets and settling domestic disputes, but I’m no good at stuff like this.”

  “I just hate the thought of more strangers rooting through my things.”

  “I’ll ask them to send the same team, okay? They know what they’re doing, sweetheart. I promise they’ll be careful. And when they’re done, I’ll help you straighten up for Daisy.”

  Brenda yawned again.

  “If you think you should call, go ahead. I think I’ll take one of my painkillers and sack out on the couch until you’re finished with everything.”

  “Sounds good. And while we’re at it, I think I should get someone to change the locks as well.”

  She nodded her agreement. The hassle and expense of changing the locks would be worth it if it’d keep the intruders out of her house.

  And, although the thought of being present while crime scene personnel invaded her home still bothered her, Phillip’s reasoning was sound, and she was too tired to argue anymore. Her arm hurt, her head hurt, and her heart hurt—though maybe not for the same reason.

  She plodded to the kitchen and drew a glass of water from the tap. She somehow managed to get the cap off the pill bottle, but it wasn’t easy. She looked at the instructions on the bottle. TAKE 1 OR 2 AS NEEDED FOR PAIN. NOT TO EXCEED 12 PER 24 HOURS.

  She bit her lip and shook two into the palm of her hand. Popping them into her mouth, she gulped down half the glass of water, staring down at the note in the flour.

  She wondered if it would hamper the crime scene investigators to find her unwashed glass in the sink, and then decided she didn’t care. She set the glass down and wandered out to the living room.

  Lying down on the sofa, she kicked off her shoes and managed to pull the crocheted throw off the back and cover herself with it. She could already feel the pain pills kicking in—or maybe it was all placebo effect. Whatever it was, she was getting sleepy, and the pain was sliding away. It will be nice to leave all the important stuff to Phillip and just drift off…

  The next thing she knew, the front door was slamming back against the wall of the hallway. She heard Robbie’s voice, filled with excitement— “Mom! Mom! We won! We won! I got to pitch most of the game, and I scored two runs and drove in three more.”

  She heard the clatter of the bat hitting the tiles of the hallway, and the slap of his glove following it.

  With a sigh of exasperation, she sat up on the couch. “Robert James Barnett! Pick up your things and take them to your room.”

  “Mooooommm!” The tone of exasperation in Robbie’s voice matched hers to a t
ee.

  She grinned as the boy ran back to the hall and gathered up the baseball equipment.

  “Come here and give your old mom a hug,” she called.

  “Do I have to?” he groaned, with all the pent-up dismay a twelve-year-old boy could muster for an unreasonable mother.

  “Yes, you do,” she answered.

  She grinned. It was good to have Robbie home.

  She pushed off from the couch and turned to face the hallway. She could hear the boy coming toward the living room, and a niggling dismay started to build.

  Something was wrong with this picture. There was a reason Robbie shouldn’t be here tonight.

  Was he supposed to stay over with someone…?

  Suddenly she remembered. Robbie was dead. He’d been dead for almost a year. He couldn’t be here.

  And then Robbie cleared the doorway. The stench of him hit her in the face in a palpable wave—rot with a hint of charred meat. The gleam of bone could be seen through his burned, desiccated flesh. He wore a moldering baseball uniform—even though he had been buried in a dress suit. He grinned up at her, one eye dancing, the other gone. He reached out toward her. “If you insist…” he said.

  She screamed.

  Chapter 29

  Brenda sat up with a strangled gasp, her heart pounding so loudly in her chest it echoed in her ears. In fact, it seemed to be pounding outside her body.

  After a moment of disorientation, she realized the pounding was actually knocking on the front door. Groaning, she swung her feet off the couch and buried her head in her hand. It must be the crime scene team.

  She registered Phillip answering the door, and thanked God that, apparently, this time her screams had stayed inside her dream.

  At least that is something. What will he think of me if I scream like a banshee every couple of hours?

  She could hear a murmured conversation in the hallway, and struggled to shake off the effects of the dream, straightening her clothes and raking her good hand through her hair. As she was slipping her shoes back on, Phillip poked his head into the living room. She smiled at him wanly.

  “The crime team’s here,” he told her. “You want me to show them what we discovered today?”

  “Could you? I-I’m not up to talking to them right now.”

  “Sure.” He nodded.

  “Thanks.” She got to her feet, not really wanting to interact with the crime scene people at all. She opened the sliding glass door to the backyard and stepped out into the early morning chill. The sun was just peeping over the horizon, and most of the yard was in shadow.

  She wandered over to Daisy’s window and looked at the ground where the footprints had been. There were still vague impressions in the damp earth, though the footprints weren’t as clear as they had been when she first discovered them. Hopefully, they had taken impressions yesterday, but there was no evidence of it.

  She studied them more closely. She was no trained investigator, but she could still tell the person who had stood staring in had been wearing shoes. So, at least it means he was human…doesn’t it?

  No self-respecting skeleton would be caught dead in shoes, so it suggested a less supernatural visitor, despite Daisy’s claim to the contrary—and what she thought she’d seen in the restaurant.

  She frowned, squatting down on her haunches and examining the footprints more closely. It’d been dark the other night when she found them, and in all the chaos since, she hadn’t gotten back to look again. There was a definite pattern in the bottom of the impressions, and it looked familiar to her. Where had she seen it before…? Try as she might, she couldn’t remember.

  She supposed she should check with the crime scene people to see if they had taken impressions yesterday. Maybe if they’d taken a cast or whatever it was they did with footprints these days…it might make the pattern easier to see. She should get Phillip to come and take a photo or two as well.

  She stood up with a stifled groan and started for the back door. Phillip opened it just as she got there. He was followed by a petite blond with a ponytail and a large tackle box of equipment.

  “This is Officer Coleman,” he told Brenda. “Can you show her where those footprints are? The impressions they took yesterday were inconclusive as to brand of footwear, so they want to try again.”

  “I was just coming in to get you so I could,” she replied, nodding at the blond. “They’re over here.”

  She led the way back around the house to the window. The area where the footprints had been was now smooth and pristine. The impressions were completely gone.

  She stared at the ground in surprise.

  “I was just looking at them. They were right here. Phillip…you saw them.”

  He looked at the ground.

  “Actually, I didn’t. You told me about them, but I never saw them.”

  Brenda was stunned. I could have sworn…

  “Well, it doesn’t really matter. You got some kind of impression yesterday, didn’t you?”

  Officer Coleman shrugged. “Not really, ma’am. The plaster just showed two vague depressions. Could have been anything. I wasn’t sure the tech was even in the right spot if those were supposed to be footprints.”

  “I guess I can describe them to you at least. They were about this long—” She held up her hands about a foot apart. “And there was a pattern on the sole. I think I’ve seen it before, but I don’t remember where. I can try to draw it for you.”

  Coleman glanced sideways at Phillip, eyebrow raised. She was obviously skeptical about Brenda’s story.

  The thought rankled. Brenda drew herself up to her full height.

  “They were there. I saw them not one minute ago.”

  “I’m sure there was something—” Phillip began soothingly, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder.

  She shrugged it off angrily, not in the mood for consolation.

  “There were footprints right here!” She pointed at the flower bed. “My four-year-old daughter saw a skeletal man standing outside her window less than a week ago. She was scared to death!” Okay, so maybe she was stretching the truth a bit, but a normal four-year-old would have been…

  “Brenda, calm down.”

  Phillip is using his suspect-placating voice, I bet. Well, I’m not going to stand for it!

  “I will not calm down! I’m not crazy. There was someone here. Right here!” Her finger stabbed toward the ground.

  Following the line of her finger, she noticed something in the strengthening daylight.

  “Look,” she said excitedly, “you can see marks in the soil. Someone swept this spot clean. Don’t you see the brush marks?”

  “Let’s go inside, Brenda,” Phillip murmured. “Let Officer Coleman take a look.”

  This time she accepted the arm around her shoulders, but it seemed less comforting than condescending now. That probably isn’t fair. Phillip is only trying to help…isn’t he?

  Darn it—she just didn’t know if she could trust him fully or not. She wasn’t sure if she should take the chance.

  Inside the house, Phillip introduced her to the rest of the crime scene crew. She didn’t grasp their names; she didn’t really care. Her mind was spinning, trying to make sense of the footprints—or lack thereof.

  “Why don’t we go check on Daisy?” Phillip offered.

  “It’s barely sunrise. Besides, Mother will insist she go to church, even if we do go over. It would be better just to wait. God, I could use a nice hot bath.”

  “Well, then, let me take you back to my place where you can take one.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t have any clean clothes to change into.”

  “I bet the gang would let you grab something from your bedroom, especially since things have been straightened up. I’m sure they got the photos they needed of the bedroom yesterday. Come and pack a bag.”

  “Oh, alright,” she sighed. “But I don’t want to go back to your place,” she said firmly. “I’d rather go to a hotel.” />
  The same hurt she had seen before flashed across his face again—could she trust that look?

  “Whatever you want.”

  She slipped past him toward the bedroom as Phillip spoke to one of the crime scene crew.

  The man nodded toward the closet.

  “I think we’ve done all we need in here, ma’am. Go ahead and pack a bag if you want.”

  She moved mechanically around the room, gathering underwear, t-shirts, and clean sweats and carrying them to the bed, where she had laid one of Ethan’s old gym bags. She was keenly aware of the man standing in the doorway behind her. Her cheeks burned with the thought he was seeing her most intimate garments—and the knowledge they weren’t the newest…

  She debated whether she should bother to pack something dressier than the everyday clothing, but decided it didn’t matter. She had no reason to dress up anymore. It didn’t appear likely she and Phillip would be meeting for anything outside the case again.

  Not knowing when she might be back, she slipped a photo of the family in on top of the bag—a happy photo when the four of them were together and laughing. She ran her fingers over the glass.

  Oh, Ethan…how much I miss you, she thought, biting her lip.

  She gulped, fighting the zipper closed on the bag. No more maudlin memories. She had to keep herself together, for Daisy.

  Once church was over, she would call her parents and tell them she would be staying at a hotel for a couple of days. Her dad would want her to come back to their house, but her mother wouldn’t. She’d figure out a way to get out of it. With Mary being against it, Papa wouldn’t push too hard.

  She slipped the strap of the bag over her shoulder. It was sad she really didn’t need anything else out of the room. Her purse was still be at Phillip’s—damn, a reason to go back to the charming bungalow she had felt so at home in. Well, she would make him go in and get it. She would need it at the hotel to check in, but she wasn’t stepping foot inside his house again. At least not anytime soon.