These Unquiet Bones

by Dean Harrison

  Hank lowered his eyes into his drink. “I hit her.”

  MacCallum was silent for a moment. Hank gave him a glance. The older man stared at him, his green eyes ablaze with a cop’s self-righteous judgment and disapproval.

  Hank had seen it a dozen times. His Uncle Keith used to give him similar looks whenever he got in trouble as a youth, which was often.

  “She lied to me about some party she went to last night,” Hank said before a lecture commenced. “I lost my temper.”

  “Where you drunk?”

  Hank sipped his drink. “Was on my way to it.”

  MacCallum sighed. “Making all the wrong moves, pal. You know what I’m talking about.”

  Feeling bile boil in his stomach, Hank slammed his glass down on the counter and jabbed a finger at MacCallum. “Don’t fuckin’ start. She’s my daughter. You mind your own fuckin’ business!”

  McCallum kept his calm. “When she was born, you and Ellen asked me to be her godfather. I’m just trying to play the part. You can’t protect her forever. All I’m saying.”

  “Watch me.”

  The two men sat in silence. Eddie reappeared to take drink orders from a few new patrons.

  MacCallum leaned in toward Hank. “I checked on that thing you asked me about yesterday. Got nothing. Think you’re wrong about this one. You’re just being your old paranoid self.”

  “I don’t think I am. You’ve seen them girls. Do I have to spell it out for you?”

  “Afraid you’ll have to.”

  “They all look like her, too much so to be a coincidence. I mean damn. If it ain’t him, it’s a copycat, and you know what that means.”

  “Hank, right now we don’t have evidence to suggest there’s foul play, or that these disappearances are connected. Besides, kids go missing all the time. Most of the time they turn back up.”

  “That’s bull and you know it.”

  Joe took his first sip of club soda. “Big stubborn bastard. Tell you what, though, you made one a hell of a detective. Still don’t know why you had to quit. Nobody believed you had a thing to do with Ellen’s death.”

  Eddie freshened Hank’s glass. “Some did.” He thought about Patrick Keene, he thought about his ex-father-in-law. “Some still do.”

  “Who, Barrett? You still bothered about him?”

  “He called yesterday afternoon. I wasn’t home. Amy was.”

  Pool balls clacked. Someone shouted an explicative and slammed their pool stick on the floor in frustration.

  MacCallum glanced over his shoulder, caught the offender’s eye with a warning glance, and turned back to Hank. “You worry yourself ragged. So what? Couldn’t he’ve been calling to wish her a happy birthday?”

  Hank swallowed down a long drink of whiskey, put the glass down and took one last drag before snuffing out the cigarette butt in the ashtray. “After the shit he tried to pull. I don’t even want him calling to tell her he’s dying.”

  “That’s harsh.”

  “So is tryin’ to take my only daughter away from me after my wife died. Like I hadn’t lost enough.” Hank felt his temper flare. Rage rattled his bones.

  “Just calm down. No way that was ever gonna happen anyhow.”

  Hank took a deep breath and collected himself. “I loved Ellen. You know that.”

  MacCallum nodded somberly. “Yeah. I do.”

  Hank gazed back into the mirror, and into the haunted eyes of his haggard reflection, into the bloodied battlefield of the restless dead.

  For a moment, he saw Ellen’s reflection standing back in the smoky gloom watching him. But when he blinked, she was gone.

  Hank ignored the shiver scuttling down his back. He really needed to lay off the sauce, but knew that probably wasn’t going to happen.

  “Gotta get to the shop.” He polished off the rest of his drink. “Thanks for looking in on that other thing. Let me know if anything comes up.”

  “Sure thing,” MacCallum muttered. “You paranoid sumbitch.”

  “It ain’t paranoia,” he patted MacCallum on the back. “It’s instinct.”

  Chapter 20

  Amy ventured back up the driveway one step at a time.

  Looking at the house, she eyed the plastic skeleton hanging in the living room window. It was positioned with a hand waving hello, its death-head grin frozen in mocking laughter.

  She felt a chill that had nothing to do with the breeze that brushed against her face. She rounded the corner to the back door and re-entered the kitchen.

  Shutting the door, she listened for unusual sounds. She heard none.

  It was just your imagination. There are no ghosts.

  The floorboards creaked beneath her feet as she crept to the door at the end of the hall. A cold wave of apprehension washed down her shoulders as she entered the room.

  She looked around. The only disturbances she found were the cracked mirror and the photographs scattered on the carpet. As her fear thawed out, she bent down to pick them up.

  When she came across the wedding photo, she tucked it in a pocket of her jeans, dumped the others in the upturned shoebox, and returned it to the chest at the foot of the bed.

  Picking up the Louisville Slugger, she glanced at the cracked mirror. How was she going to explain that to her father? He never liked her snooping around in here. Especially after Grandma Snow died a year ago…

  Amy eyed the reflection over her shoulder.

  In that very bed.

  Turning away from the mirror, she stared at the floral bedspread. It was smoothed out and straightened. There was no sign that she had sat on the bed it at all. Feeling her body grow numb, Amy rolled her eyes around the room. “Grandma?”

  She wasn’t answered, but she half expected to be.

  Ghosts are everywhere, after all. When you least expected…

  I am losing my mind.

  With a slight quiver, she hurried from the room, and slammed the door on her way out.

  In her bedroom, she took the photo from her pocket and stared at the face she had come to call the Nightmare Man. Could it really be him?

  It sure looked like him. She saw some resemblance to Billy Brown, too. She wondered if it was just a coincidence, or if the two were somehow connected.

  What would her father have to say about this? Did he know the man in the picture? And what if he did? What would that mean?

  The Nightmare Man came by to collect a debt, and she was that debt.

  Amy thought about all those who blamed her father for her mother’s death, those who said he was responsible, those who said he knew who did it.

  Was there truth to those accusations? What would Dr. Massie say? Was she still projecting her fear onto her father?

  Amy felt sick to her stomach. She didn’t want to consider the possibility that her father was in any way related to the Nightmare Man, but there was always the possibility.

  What if?

  Hiding the photograph beneath her pillow, she reached for Romeo and curled into a tight ball. This did nothing to stop the tears that ran down her face as she closed her eyes and prayed it wasn’t so.

  She woke up when a heavy hand fell on her arm and squeezed.

  “Huh?” She looked up from the pillow, blurry eyed and confused.

  At first all she saw was a hulking shadow looming over her bed. A bolt of terror struck her heart.

  It’s the Nightmare Man.

  Her breath caught in her chest.

  No!

  She opened her mouth to scream but no sound would come out.

  He’s come to get me… come to collect me!

  The ghost had been right.

  Amy tried to escape the baleful presence hovering over her, but fear held her to down. She couldn’t move a muscle.

  So she closed her eyes, hoping death would be swift and painless.

  “The hell’s the matter with you, girl?”

  She recognized the voice, and hesitantly opened her eyes to see her father.

  “You left th
e back door unlocked,” he growled. “Anyone could’ve come in while you’re sleepin’.”

  She smelled liquor on his breath which raised a red flag. Afraid of being struck in the face again, Amy cringed. “Sorry.”

  But he seemed to be in control of his anger. .His demeanor lightened. “Sit up. I want to talk to you.”

  Relaxing, she did as told.

  Hank eased down on the edge of her bed. The look in his eyes softened as he touched the side of her face where he struck her. He caressed it gently. “You worried me to death last night. You know that? You’re the only thing I got left in the world.”

  Amy drew her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs, and bowed her head. She knew what was coming.

  Her father dropped his hand. “But I decided to trust you,” he continued. “I gave you a little freedom, let you go out and party with your friends. And what did you do? You betrayed my trust. For that, I’m tightening the leash. Understand?”

  Upset with the punishment, but knowing protest would only enrage her father, she nodded her head.

  “Until I say otherwise, when you’re not in school your butt will be home. Your friends can come over here if they wanna see you, but other than that you go nowhere unless I say it’s okay.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “I love you, peanut.” Hank caressed her hair and kissed her forehead. “I hate that it has to be like this, but you leave me no choice.”

  Just then Amy’s cell phone jingled, signaling that she had a text. She reached for the nightstand and grabbed her phone.

  The text was from Layne. He wanted to know if she was up for doing anything tonight. He asked her to call him.

  Amy sighed and looked at her father. “Is it okay if Layne comes over? We won’t do anything but watch a movie.”

  Hank stared at her, his frown chiseled deep. “You and that boy are just friends, ain’t’cha?”

  “Yes,” Amy said, cowering a little under her father’s steady gaze.

  “I wonder sometimes. Don’t like the way you two always hug on each other.”

  Amy shrugged. She never thought it would be an issue, but then it occurred to her she never really knew how he felt about Layne. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Maybe to you it doesn’t. But I know what goes on inside the brain of a teenage a boy.”

  “He’s just a friend. I promise.”

  “Prove it, then. No more of this huggin’ and cuddlin’ crap. You say you’re just friends, act like it. Hear?”

  Suppressing her annoyance with his dour interpretation of her friendship with Layne, Amy agreed. “But can he come over?”

  Hank stood up with a grunt. “As long as he’s gone before nine.” He scratched his beer gut and stretched. “You want a pizza? I kind of got me a cravin’.”

  Amy smiled thinly. “Sure.”

  “All right then.”

  She watched him walk out of the room and remembered the picture under her pillow. She pulled it out and studied it.

  Who were these people? How did her father know them? What did they have to do with her mother’s death?

  If she had the courage she would’ve asked her father, but that wasn’t an option right now. She wondered when it would be.

  “When you conquer your fears,” said Dr. Massie. “Confront your father.”

  Amy wished that was possible.

  “What’s the worst that could happen?”

  She could end up like her mother.

  Chapter 21

  After getting off the phone with Amy Layne grabbed his keys, and a mix CD he made. He rushed downstairs. Before he could reach the front door, however, his stepmother called to him from the living room.

  “Where do you think you are going, mister man?”

  The tone of her voice made him flinch.

  Gritting his teeth, Layne wondered what the bitch wanted now, and turned to face Kelley McLain, the witch who married his father and went out of her way to make Layne’s life a living hell on earth.

  The black-haired slob stared at him from the couch with her baleful blue eyes. “You gonna answer me, or stand there like a dumb-ass?” she asked around a mouthful of potato chips.

  Hatred burned in Layne’s chest. He forced a tight smile. “I’m going to a friend’s house to watch a movie.”

  Kelley dug a bony hand into the crinkled bag of Ruffles in her lap and sneered. “Going out every night doing God knows what and coming home late. I swear, if you cause any more trouble for me, I’ll send your butt to military school.”

  Layne’s taut smile twitched.

  “And I don’t care what your daddy says. After what you did to that Weber girl, it should’ve happened a long time ago.” She returned her attention to the Lifetime movie on TV. “Bastards. You men are all a bunch of bastards.”

  He would’ve countered that the rape of Marianne Weber was not his fault as he had numerous times before, but he knew it would be pointless. Kelley never believed a word he told her.

  Taking a deep breath, Layne bottled his rage and exited the house, slamming the front door in his wake.

  When he pulled into Amy’s driveway he climbed out of the Pathfinder and spotted her sitting on the unlit porch petting a pumpkin like it was a plump tabby cat.

  He approached from the driveway, hands tucked in his jacket pockets, as a brisk autumn wind wafted through the thick cluster of azalea, magnolia and crepe myrtle. “Enjoying the night?” he asked.

  Amy ran a hand through her hair and nodded. “It’s nice out here.”

  Listening to the choir of crickets and cicadas humming in the black-green shadows, Layne agreed. “It’s spooky.”

  He saw the troubled look on Amy’s face and stepped closer. “Everything all right?”

  Lips compressed, Amy stood and folded her arms across her chest. She peered into the wooded darkness. “Just been a rough day.”

  Layne climbed the steps and placed a hand on her arm. Amy flinched at his touch. “Is it about last night?” he asked.

  “Don’t want to talk about it now. Let’s go inside. Pizza should be here soon.” She turned for the door. “Want to watch Halloween?”

  Layne shrugged, following her into the living room. “Cool with me.”

  Her father was sitting in his usual spot, cigarette in one hand and beer in the other. Layne eyed him cautiously.

  “Want a Mountain Dew or something?” Amy asked, moving into the kitchen.

  “Sure.” Layne sat down at the far end of the couch near an old wicker rocking chair. The TV was tuned to TNT. Law & Order was on. He glanced back at Amy’s father.

  A long, oily mane with split ends framed the man’s hairy caveman face. He wore a black, sleeveless World Wide Wrestling T-shirt that showed off his numerous tattoos, and had a look in his eyes that spat out nails.

  Layne looked away, wondering if he had anything to do with why Amy was so upset.

  Wish the creep would go away.

  Amy handed him his drink. “You going to watch the movie with us, Dad?”

  Hank took a drag from his cigarette. “Maybe a little bit.”

  Layne sipped his Mountain Dew, hoping to wash down his rising anger.

  Calm down, man. You’ll get your chance to be alone with her, and then you can pour your heart out. Be patient.

  Amy popped in the DVD when the pizza arrived. Paying the delivery boy, she took dinner into the kitchen. Layne followed.

  “Want a couple of slices, Dad?” Amy reached into the cupboard for plates.

  “Yeah, thanks, peanut.”

  Layne looked closely at Amy’s face. “What happened to your cheek? There’s a bruise.”

  “Courtesy of Billy Brown,” she muttered, plopping two large pizza slices onto a plate. “And my Dad doesn’t know anything about what happened last night, so keep quiet about it.”

  He wasn’t sure he believed her about the bruise. He didn’t remember seeing it last night. But for her sake, he let it go.

  Back in the
living room, Amy handed her father his plate and took her seat at on the couch. Layne did the same.

  The telephone on the side table rang. Amy answered it. “Hello? Hey, Uncle Joe, whaddya know? Thanks, it was a good birthday. Yeah, he’s here. Hold on.”

  She handed the phone to her father. Layne munched on his pizza and watched the big man.

  “S’up?” Hank said. “Yeah, give me a second.” He rose from his chair and staggered from the room. Layne felt relieved.

  Hope he stays gone.

  Sitting close to Amy as the movie started, he reached into his jacket and pulled out the mix CD. “I made this for you.”

  Amy smiled and took the CD. “You keep giving me CDs.”

  Layne shrugged. “You like music. It has some cool songs.”

  “Thanks.” She set the CD aside and returned her attention to the movie.

  Layne, however, kept his eyes on her and tried to work up the nerve to say what he’d been meaning to say for a long time.

  Now’s not the time.

  But he wanted to tell her how he felt. He wanted her to know he loved her. He wanted to get it all out once and for all.

  Not with her father around.

  The watchdog would only complicate things especially if he came back in at the wrong time. It would have to wait.

  Irritated, Layne set aside the speech he had worked on all day and looked away from Amy.

  On the television screen, the masked killer butchered his first victim. In his mind, Layne was doing the same to Amy’s overbearing father.

  When the movie was over, the big man reappeared from the back of the house. He looked pissed.

  “Time to say goodbye to your friend,” he said to Amy as the credits rolled. His voice was stern. “I wanna talk to you.”

  Layne could hear the tension wind in Amy’s voice when she said, “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

  “Make it quick,” Hank snapped as they walked toward the door.

  Layne realized another reason he hated that man so much— he reminded him of Kelley, the cold-hearted bitch.

  Outside by the Pathfinder beneath the pale blue-green luminescence of the mercury vapor lamp humming monotonously above them, Amy said, “I’m sorry. It’s been a bad day.”