Chasing the dead

by Joe Schreiber

  He hangs up.

  A red light appears in the corner of her eye.

  1:59A.M.

  She looks down.

  On the dashboard she sees a diagonal blip the size of a fingernail clipping which, along with that chiming sound, is indicating that one of the doors is ajar, specifically the passenger door behind her on the right.

  Opening her door, she steps out, walks back to pull the other door open the rest of the way with the intention of slamming it shut. That's when she sees it.

  Jeff Tatum's body is missing.

  The leather upholstery in the backseat is still looped and spat on with his blood-otherwise the fact that there isn't another corpse back here might never have struck her as noteworthy-but the body itself is definitely not present.

  She peers behind the seat, into the storage space where Marilyn's body still rests next to the thing wrapped in garbage bags, with Sean Flaherty's case of booze crammed between them like some kind of sick joke. She doesn't know why she checks back there, it's not like the kid was in any shape to climb over a seat. And he isn't there either. He's gone.

  Turning around slowly, Sue looks back at the parking lot, deserted now except for one or two cars parked off in the distance. Snow keeps falling, covering them up. It is so silent that she thinks she can hear the far-off buzz of the light behind the building. There are no traffic noises, no other sounds at all except for her breathing. Her eyes shift reluctantly forward.

  There are marks in the snow, leading away from the passenger side of the Expedition. Long, scraping tracks with red streaks down their centers. The marks shuffle away from her in sequence, creeping upward from the vehicle in the general direction of the embankment dividing the parking lot from the main road. Sue's eyes trace them. Midway up the embankment she sees the heap of rags that can only be the kid's body.

  She walks over to it.

  Tatum's corpse is sprawled on its belly, his buttocks humped in the air, the back of his skull torn open so she can see the cavern where his brains lived until the man standing on her roof blew the kid's eyeballs through them. One arm sticks out while the other is folded beneath him.

  If somebody dragged the body out of her car, why would they just leave it here? And if somebodydidn't drag it out…?

  From here Sue can see that there's something tucked under the body, a sheet of paper. If it's what she thinks it is, she needs it back.

  Squatting down, she reaches out for the triangular edge, tugging the corner of it out from beneath the weight of his chest-and just as she thought, it is the map, the one with the route outlined on it, the one that saysPUNISHED. Whoever dragged the kid's body out here brought the map along too, maybe as a message, maybe as something else. It doesn't matter. All Sue knows is that she needs that map to get her daughter back, and she's certainly not going to leave it out here in the snow just because somebody left a dead body on top of it.

  She starts to pull it the rest of the way out.

  The corpse rolls over, its arms shooting out for her. Too startled to shout, Sue lets out a gasp and falls hard on her side on the embankment next to the body. The map lands in the snow next to her. She's not so much frozen as paralyzed, all her muscles disconnected from her nerves. The kid jumps on top of her, the raw, black-red holes of his eye sockets facing her straight on. There's something shimmering deep inside the sockets. They don't quite look like eyes. Sue doesn't knowwhat they are.

  "Please," she says.

  The sound of her voice is all he needs. He lunges for her. She feels only the faintest pressure as his fingers dig into her neck, but she sees him and hears him, smells him even, with exaggerated clarity. His face is the color of yogurt that's been left out of the refrigerator too long. What's left of his jaw goes up and down and makes a dislocated clicking noise and she can see his tongue flickering around inside his mouth. Their faces are so close that Sue smells cordite floating from the ruined crockery of his skull along with the sourness of scorched tissue. He pushes the words up out of himself, snatching the map back, wrinkling it, and shoving it in her face.

  "Don't go…"

  His breath steams faintly in the night air, less so than her own, his voice sounding like a cartoon version of the voice that's been talking to her on the cell phone.

  "Any farther…"

  A rotten sound pushed through moist ground beef.

  "Up the road."

  Paralysis shatters. Sue plants her foot on his chest and propels him back into the snow, the kid's legs tangling and bringing him down in a sliding heap. Sue rolls, rights herself, and grabs the map, backing away, putting as much distance as she can between herself and him, expecting him to jump up again and charge her.

  But he just lands on his back. The initial burst of aggression seems to have cost all his energy, and his mostly empty eye sockets appear to have rendered him largely blind. Still on the retreat, Sue jams the map back in her pocket and watches him trying to roll over, reminded of when Veda was learning to turn herself on her side, no coordination and very little strength. One hand jerks and collapses across his face so he's talking into the crook of his arm. He's still trying to say something but she can't understand any of it now-it's drunk talk, random babble giving way to a ragged kind of sobbing, then spasmodic breathing, and finally silence. He twitches his right foot and falls totally flat and unmoving.

  Stumbling back from the corpse Sue feels her way to the Expedition. She doesn't take her eyes off the kid's body, even for one second. This is only partly a matter of not letting her guard down. She realizes that she's hoping that if she looks at it long enough then she'll believe it.Pragmatists like yourself believe what they see.

  At the moment her rather permissive ability to believe feels like a snake trying to swallow a pig. No matter how detached she is from the events of this night, no matter how far the elastic of her incredulity may stretch-and tonight it has stretched pretty fucking far-she cannot make herself believe that she just saw the kid's dead body sit up and attack her.

  But it did.This is Phillip's voice in her head now, calm and steady.And those scars on your body are gone. You're not waking up from this one, Sue. You need to accept that.

  Maybe, she thinks, maybe not. Phillip isn't exactly the go-to guy when it comes to acceptance.

  She wedges herself back into the Expedition, still watching the body. It hasn't budged. Inside she hears the putter of paper rolling out of her fax machine. The cell phone is ringing too. She answers it.

  "You found Tatum," the voice says. "Now you understand a little better."

  "Yes." Telling him what he wants to hear. "A little."

  "Good. Because it's important you understand your role in it."

  "My role?"

  "You're not just a chauffeur tonight, Susan."

  She waits, her mind flashing to Gray Haven and the poem that Jeff Tatum recited and the statues of Isaac Hamilton. "What really happened in these towns?"

  "You'll see when you're ready." The voice wants to change the subject. "Your fax machine went off. Who faxed you?"

  "How'd you-" Sue starts to ask, but realizes he probably heard it in the background. She doubts he'll explain himself anyway.

  She glances at the rolled sheets of paper tumbling over the passenger seat. It's the corrected bank agreement for tomorrow's meeting about Sean's pub space. Without looking at it too closely she guesses that Brad has gone through and anticipated her questions, marking the places where he needs her signature. Burning the midnight oil, making sure she's got a hard copy waiting in her car for the morning meeting, and none of it could matter less to her right now.

  "It's a contract for a meeting," she says. "My office manager wants me to fax him back."

  "You know the rules, Susan. No outgoing calls, including faxes."

  "If I don't reply he'll suspect something."

  "It's two in the morning, Susan. I doubt that."

  She gathers the papers up in her fist. Even if she were going to try and fax Brad some distre
ss signal, what would she write?Veda kidnapped by a person in a gray van? She doesn't even know the license number. And while she's not convinced that following the orders will get her daughter back, she's certain that disobeying them will get Veda killed. It's like faith but the opposite, a kind of sacred terror.

  "Ashford," the voice says. "Forty-one miles. It's a long drive. Better get started."

  She puts the Expedition into drive. Backing up, her headlights catch the patch of snow where the kid's body still lies, faceup. Even from here she can tell he's dead, something in the angle of his head.

  Sue pulls the map out of her pocket. She settles it on her lap again and pulls out of the parking lot.

  One last glance into her rearview as she pulls away.

  The kid's body is gone.

  2:26A.M.

  Following the map, Sue heads southeast through the night. The road has no name. The only reason she knows it's the right road is that periodically, when it flattens and straightens and the snow isn't falling too hard, she'll catch a glimpse of the van's taillights up in the distance. She likes seeing the taillights because she knows that Veda is in there. And she knows it's the van because once she got close enough to see its dented back door staring back at her like an ugly face.

  Then the van speeds up and she can't see the taillights at all.

  She hits the gas, taking it up to seventy, then eighty, waiting for them to appear. Visibility isn't an issue at the moment but she still sees nothing. Maybe the van turned off and now they're behind her. She checks the rearview. Nothing back there. Not only are there no other cars on this route, there aren't any signs-no billboards, speed limit signs, or mile markers, just the endless pipeline of the night.

  She finds herself thinking about the route, what it's done, and the two bodies in the back of the Expedition. If it's true that driving through these back roads can resurrect the dead, then what about Marilyn? What about the other, the thing she dug up under the bridge?

  She tilts the mirror down and turns on the dome light. She can't see beyond the backseat, nor can she hear anything over the sound of the engine and the tires on the road. But if a hand were to reach up over the seat, followed by the body itself slinking into the dark space behind her, she could see that. If she were looking, that is. If she weren't looking, or listening, she might not hear it until one of those cold hands slipped between the two front seats and clamped over her mouth. And then she'd hear the voice, right next to her ear. Would it ask her to take it farther down the road, she wonders. Or would it say something else, maybe some old poem about a man who traveled from White's Cove to Gray Haven, to paint the Commonwealth with blood?

  She decides to keep the light on for now.

  She drives another fifteen miles, watching for the next sign that will indicate her turn for Ashford. It's harder to see with the interior light on, but she leaves it on just the same. She remembers how Phillip always hated driving with the light on. Whenever they went anywhere, he would drive and she would navigate, and she always thought it was less about the light and more about her insistence on consulting a map as they went. If it were up to him, he would've found his way by sense of smell.

  Why couldn't you be here now to help me get through this?

  At some point she finds herself thinking about him in a deeper sense, and his sudden departure a year and a half earlier, the way he walked out of her life with almost no warning, leaving the details to his attorneys and accountants. In the brief and awkward telephone conversations that Sue's had with Phillip since then-the last one was several months ago-he always said that he wasn't ready for the obligations of parenthood, that he was afraid he'd be a bad father. For a long time Sue refused to accept that.

  "That's yourexcuse?" she asked, during a particularly awful phone call last August, to which he replied, "It's my reason, Sue. And it's better this way. You'll just have to take my word for it." He refused to go into it any further than that. Ultimately it became easier just to believe him. Her husband, despite the fact that he always seemed like a stand-up guy, had run away from his life with her and Veda simply because he didn't think he was up to the challenge.

  But what if he was running from something else? Something he couldn't possibly tell her about, for her own protection? And what if whatever it was caught up with him, within the last two months, and that was why the phone calls finally stopped?

  She's still wondering about that when, behind her and approaching quickly, the blue-and-red police lights begin to flash.

  3:03A.M.

  "Ma'am?" The approaching officer is medium height, with a Jersey accent and tired eyes. He holds the flashlight up next to his head, shining it low enough that it doesn't blind her. The name on his tag readsO 'DONNELL. Sue can see his partner sitting in the cruiser, and hears the dispatcher's voice on the radio. "Are you having car trouble?"

  Sue stands next to the Expedition, staring back at him, not answering. Her fear levels are still off the chart and she's afraid that if she opens her mouth she might start screaming. And she won't be able to stop.

  "Ma'am?" Now the flashlight goes into her eyes and she hears the cop's voice grow more concerned. "Is something wrong?"

  No. No. Just say the word. Send him on his way.

  Sue's head goes forward, mouth twitching. It probably looks like she's about to throw up. The cop stands there waiting until she finally gets the words out.

  "I'm f-fine."

  He shines the light on the Expedition, across its tires and license plate. "No trouble with your vehicle? What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?"

  "I didn't-" Her voice sounds strained and awful. She clears her throat, swallows and tries again. "I thought I saw something run across the road in front of me." She sounds a little better now, clearer if not steadier. "It was a deer or something, I swerved so I wouldn't hit it."

  The cop shines the light on her tire tracks, running smooth and straight to the shoulder. Then back to her face again. "Where are you headed?"

  "Ashford."

  "Are you aware that there's a winter storm warning in effect for this area for the next twelve hours? You're not supposed to be on the roads unless it's absolutely necessary."

  "It's an emergency."

  "What happened?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "What kind of emergency is it?"

  She stares directly into the flashlight beam, beginning to feel a balloon of apprehension inflating within her. "My daughter. She's-she may be in trouble. She's with her father. I got a phone call asking me to come pick her up. He told me to take this route. I'm not from around here." She's aware that her voice is rising in pitch as she talks, becoming shrill, but she can't do anything about it. "I mean, I am, but not this immediate area, so I was following the directions he gave me. I just have to get to Ashford."

  The light leaves her face. There's a pause. She realizes that he's looking at her hands, bare and encrusted with dirt and dried blood from digging. He shines his light on the Expedition's broken window. His voice becomes formal again. "May I see your license and registration?"

  He waits a good ten feet behind the Expedition while she goes back through the passenger's side to take them out of the glove compartment, all the while anticipating the noise or movement that will make him shine his flashlight through one of the windows. But nothing moves or shifts and he just stands back there, waiting. When she brings him her license and registration, he takes them from her.

  "Return to your vehicle."

  Sue goes back to the Expedition, opens the driver's side, and gets in, eyes riveted to the rearview. She can see both cops clearly inside the car, one of them talking on the radio, the other typing on the dash-mounted keyboard.

  Sue stares at the phone, waiting for it to ring. It doesn't. Her eyes go to the wadded-up fax pages accumulated across the floor, a small pile of discarded paper, the detritus of her night thus far. The phone remains silent.

  But in her mind she can hear the voice telling h
er not to say or do anything that might jeopardize Veda. It gets tangled up with Phillip's voice, the two of them merging into one, telling her to stay calm. She supposes this is the point, the voice eventually infecting her head so thoroughly that it doesn't need to call her anymore, it's just there.

  At last the officer comes back with her paperwork, but he doesn't hand it back to her yet. He shines the light on her face again, not speaking for a long moment. "Ms. Young, are you sure there's nothing you want to tell me?"

  She shakes her head. "I don't think so."

  He leans forward. There's no expression in his eyes, but they are green and alert, and they seem kind as well, waiting for some sign from her, any indication of distress. "There's nothing I can do for you?"

  "No, thank you."

  He sighs. "All right. I'm going to…" Then, almost as an afterthought, he shines the flashlight into the back of the Expedition, Sue's eyes traveling with it to the still-bright bloodstains all over the backseat, the kid's blood sprayed everywhere like modern art. The cop instinctively takes a step back, face stiffening, the flashlight in Sue's eyes again, his voice cold and abrupt.

  "Ma'am, step out of the car and keep your hands where I can see them."

  3:27A.M.

  Sue steps out of the car again and sees the cop signaling his partner without taking his eyes off her. A moment later the other cop is out with his flashlight aimed into the Expedition, following the bloodstains across the upholstery.

  "Ma'am, what happened here?"

  "The deer, when I hit it…" She falters and gives up, unable to weave even the most rudimentary strands of the story together. "Please, can't you just let me go? I have to get my daughter."

  Neither of them answers her. The first cop circles around the back and Sue sees him shining a light down inside, then opening the door. There's a rustle of blankets being pulled aside. Then an awful, staring silence.