by Jason Hawes
He thought he heard a whispering voice then, its words as soft as leaves rustling in the autumn breeze. He couldn’t make out what the voice was saying, not clearly, but he somehow still understood its meaning.
“I know what you want, and I can help you get it. But first, you’ll have to help me.”
There was no voice, he knew that. It was all in his head, nothing more than a product of stress and sleep deprivation. Still, he whispered back.
“I’m listening.”
Drew was glad to see that the interior of Burial Grounds looked like a typical coffee shop. More funky than corporate, a college hole-in-the-wall hangout instead of the anonymous ubiquity of a Starbucks. The items on the menu had spooky-cute names such as Mocha Monster, Hemlock Tea, and Java of the Living Dead, but otherwise the place had few visual associations with death—which was exactly what Jenn needed right then.
They had to push two tables together to accommodate them all, and Drew figured they were lucky to find anywhere to sit, considering the Dead Days celebration was in full swing. He assumed that word about Tonya’s murder had spread quickly, and a number of Burial Grounds’ patrons had left to go check out the scene, leaving the place only half full. Death was a powerful lure for many people—it both fascinated and repelled in equal measure. More so, he suspected, for those who were already attracted to Exeter because of its morbid reputation.
Amber asked Jenn what she would like to drink, but she didn’t answer. She sat expressionless, staring at the tabletop. Trevor answered for her.
“Just coffee, with cream and two sugars.” He glanced at Amber and in a softer voice added, “Better make it decaf.”
Jenn didn’t contradict him, so Amber nodded and turned to Carrington and Erin. “Would either of you like anything?”
Both demurred, so Amber went over to the counter to order. Instrumental guitar music played softly over the shop’s speakers, a smooth jazz piece that was the audio equivalent of a tranquilizer. Drew approved. The most important thing was to try to keep Jenn calm.
No one spoke until Amber returned with four coffees. She put Jenn’s down on the table in front of her and gave Drew and Trevor theirs before sitting down with hers and taking off the lid. She hated drinking anything too hot. They didn’t need coffee, not after the amount they’d had at breakfast, but Drew guessed that Amber hadn’t wanted Jenn to feel singled out. He might be a trained psychologist, but Amber had a deep sensitivity to people’s needs and emotions that no amount of training in the world could provide.
The seven of them sat quietly for several moments, until Jenn reached out, picked up her coffee with both hands, and took a sip. She sat holding the cup, as if trying to draw on its warmth for strength.
“I suppose this is the part where I tell you what happened.”
“Only if you want to,” Drew said.
Erin opened her mouth as if she might protest. No doubt, she wanted to hear every gory detail and get it all down on film if she could, but Carrington put a hand on her arm to stop her. She gave him a frustrated look, but she didn’t say anything. Drew was surprised. Carrington didn’t strike him as the caring type. Maybe Drew had misjudged him. Or maybe Carrington simply didn’t want his director’s eagerness to keep Jenn from telling her story.
“I already told you most of it.” She took another sip of coffee. “When I went inside the store, I saw books scattered everywhere. Not a single one was left on the shelves. My first thought was that we’d had an earthquake or something overnight. Ridiculous, right? This is hardly earthquake country. But I couldn’t think of anything else that would’ve knocked the books around like that. Next I noticed the blood. I didn’t realize that’s what it was at first. Tonya had been dead for a while, and the blood had . . . had . . .”
She fought to control her shaking hands as she took another sip of coffee.
“Dried,” she finished. “It was brownish red, not bright red, like in the movies.” She gave them a weak smile. “Movie blood always stays red, doesn’t it? No matter how much time has passed since it was spilled.” She turned to Erin. “I guess it looks better on the screen that way, huh?”
“I, uh, guess so.” Erin shot Drew a look, but he kept his attention focused on Jenn. He wasn’t worried about her going off on a tangent. Unfocused thinking was a normal result of trauma.
“The blood covered dozens of books, but the majority of it was centered on a mound in the middle of the floor. I didn’t know what it was, at least not consciously, but I began to feel nauseated as I made my way into the store. I stepped carefully through the scattered books as I made my way toward the mound. When I got there, I crouched down and reached out to start moving books—I guess I’d figured out there was something hidden beneath the mound—but before I touched any, I saw a patch of pink peeking through a space between two books. I didn’t recognize what it was at first. Maybe I didn’t want to. I stretched my index finger toward it, and when I touched it . . . You know how they always say that dead people are cold? Tonya’s fingers weren’t warm, but they weren’t cold, either. They felt like uneaten chicken wings someone had tossed in the trash. Just meat and bone.”
Another sip of coffee. Her hands didn’t shake as much this time, which Drew took as a good sign.
“I didn’t scream, didn’t jerk my hand away from Tonya’s fingers. I kept touching them for several minutes—at least, it seemed that long—not really thinking or feeling anything. And then I heard myself speak. I said, ‘You shouldn’t be touching anything.’ I stood up, picked my way back through the books to the door, stepped out onto the sidewalk, and called the police on my cell.”
She took another long sip of her coffee and finished it off. Drew, Amber, and Trevor hadn’t touched theirs.
“It only took a couple of minutes for the police to arrive. Chief Hoffman came himself. I went to high school with his daughter. Small-town life, you know? Some paramedics showed up, too, although I don’t know why, since there was nothing they could do for Tonya. Standard procedure, I guess. The county coroner arrived not long after that. The chief started to question me outside the store, but when those two reporters showed up, he pulled me inside and shut the door. He was just trying to protect me, but I couldn’t stand being in there while the police and the coroner examined Tonya’s body. So he took me outside again, and that’s when I saw you.” She paused. “I still don’t believe it. I mean, I just spoke with Tonya yesterday. And to die in such a horrible way . . .”
Jenn seemed calmer now that she’d told her story. Not relaxed, by any means, but she had taken the first steps toward dealing with the trauma: allowing herself to begin processing the emotions she’d experienced. She seemed like a strong person, and although at this stage it was difficult to make any predictions, Drew thought that with time and counseling, she would be fine.
Erin had remained silent while Jenn spoke, but she couldn’t hold back any longer. “How did she die?”
Both Trevor and Amber gave her a dirty look for asking such a blunt question, but Erin ignored them. Her attention remained firmly fixed on Jenn.
“Chief Hoffman said it looked like she’d been hit by books. A lot of them.”
Drew looked at Amber. She had gone pale upon hearing Jenn’s words, and he put his hand on her leg and squeezed gently. She smiled at him to show she was grateful for the gesture, but he could tell by her expression that she hadn’t been reassured. He didn’t blame her. If he found it eerie that the circumstances of Tonya’s death so closely echoed Amber’s nightmare, how much worse would it be for her? Not so long ago, he would have thought the similarity to be nothing more than coincidence. And while he supposed that remained a possibility, he doubted it. He might not understand the nature of Amber’s psychic gifts, let alone the extent of them, but he had seen them in action too many times to discount them.
Trevor gave Drew an “I told you so” smile, and Drew nodded back.
“I don’t suppose you have security cameras in your store,” Erin said,
not bothering to hide the eagerness in her voice. Drew imagined she hoped to get her hands on footage of the murder to use in her film.
“No,” Jenn said. “It’s just a small-town bookstore, you know? Unless you’re an occult bibliophile, there’s nothing worth stealing, and I don’t keep a lot of cash on the premises.”
Carrington jumped in then. “Do the police have any idea who’s responsible?”
“No,” Jenn said. “Chief Hoffman said Tonya had been texting with some of her friends before . . . before it happened. She was supposed to go home after she closed, but when she didn’t show up, they didn’t worry about it. Tonya had an on-again, off-again relationship with an ex-boyfriend, and they figured she’d changed her plans and gone out with him. And before you ask, the chief checked, and the boyfriend’s got a solid alibi. The chief then asked me if Tonya had any enemies. Isn’t that ridiculous? A young girl going to community college in a small Indiana town. What kind of ‘enemies’ would she have? It’s not like she’s some kind of criminal mastermind. The chief didn’t say anything, but I had the impression that he thinks some nutjob who came to town for Dead Days is responsible. Most of the people who visit Exeter are normal enough, and they come here to enjoy a bit of harmless, spooky fun. Some are more serious about the paranormal, but even the most ardent true believers still have a majority of their marbles.” She glanced at Trevor and gave him a small smile. “Although some have more than others. But every once in a while, a person comes into the store and gives off an ‘I’m a little more crazy than the average bear’ vibe. I figure Tonya was killed by someone like that.”
“There might be another explanation,” Trevor said. He sounded hesitant, as if he were speaking against his better judgment.
Anger clouded Jenn’s face. “Don’t you start, Trevor! Tonya was killed by some lunatic, not by some kind of ghost!”
Amber frowned. “I don’t understand. Your store—”
“Is a fun business,” Jenn said. “And that’s all. I don’t judge my customers, but for me, the paranormal is just a game, a way to indulge my imagination. I don’t take any of it seriously.”
Drew and Amber looked at Trevor.
He sighed. “As you might’ve guessed, we’ve had this argument before.” He turned back to Jenn. “But it’s different this time. Amber—”
“Will be happy to get you another cup of coffee, if you like.” Amber smiled, but she gave Trevor a look that said she wanted him to cool it.
Drew agreed. It was not the time or place to try to convince Jenn that not only did the paranormal exist, but it was also somehow tied in with her employee’s death.
Trevor might not have understood why Amber wanted him to shut up, but he got the message and remained silent.
“Thanks, but I don’t want any more coffee,” Jenn said. “I have to pee bad enough as it is.”
“Let’s go, then,” Amber said. “I could do with a pit stop myself.”
She rose from the table and waited for Jenn to do the same. She wobbled a bit as she stood, but she seemed steady enough on her feet.
“I suppose I’ll continue the time-honored tradition of women going to the restroom in packs.” Erin got up to join them.
Drew figured she didn’t want to miss any bathroom talk that might occur about Tonya’s murder. If Amber’s eyes had been capable of emitting laser beams, they would’ve cut straight through Erin. But if the woman noticed Amber’s disapproval, she didn’t react to it. Drew doubted she cared one way or another what people thought of her, just as long as she got what she wanted.
The women moved away from the table, Amber staying close to Jenn in case she needed a steadying hand. When they were gone, Carrington said, “That was quite a story, wasn’t it? And to think we were there filming a segment yesterday, only hours before the poor girl was murdered.”
Trevor pounced on the statement like a cat eager to catch a mouse before it scurried away. “You were? What was it about?”
“Nothing earthshaking, I assure you. Erin’s been filming background on the town’s various attractions over the last week. The Ancient Spirits bar, the Beyond the Veil Museum, and so forth. Important enough for the project, I suppose, but dull work. Erin insists on my being there to offer a quote or two about each place, which I dutifully provide, but the rest of the time, I’m standing around watching Erin and her crew work.”
“She has a crew?” Drew asked. “I had the impression she films alone.”
“It’s a minimal crew: one camera operator, one sound person, one lighting-slash-makeup person. Occasionally, Erin will film on her own if she doesn’t have time to get the crew together, like this morning. But that’s rare. It’s quite a shoestring operation overall. Nothing like what I was used to in my heyday. I remember one time when we were filming a segment for Beyond Explanation in Las Vegas. We were on location at a casino once owned by an organized-crime figure back in the 1960s. Supposedly, he killed several of his enemies and concealed their bodies in the building’s foundation during the casino’s construction. There had never been any proof, of course, so we’d brought a medium with us to attempt to make contact with the spirits of the victims. We were in the middle of shooting my intro to the piece when a little old grandmother from Tallahassee hit on a slot machine not ten feet from where I was standing. She screamed in joy, lights and sirens went off on the machine, and coins started flooding out of the damned thing and pouring onto the floor. When she noticed us, she thought we were there to document her triumph and insisted that I interview her on camera. She refused to listen when I attempted to explain to her why we were really there. Finally, I relented and asked her a few questions to placate her, and she departed with her winnings, satisfied that she was now the celebrity she thought she deserved to be. Well, the crew and I had a good laugh about it, of course, and then resumed filming. And wouldn’t you know it? Another damned slot machine paid out and interrupted me yet again! And since I’d interviewed the grandmother, the gentleman who’d won this time insisted he get his turn on camera as well. By this time, my good humor was wearing more than a little thin, so—”
Trevor interrupted. “That’s a great story, but before the women return, I’d like to get your professional opinion on what happened at Forgotten Lore last night.”
Carrington scowled with displeasure at having his monologue cut short, but he put on a smile as he turned to Trevor. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You know, your opinion as a paranormal investigator.”
Carrington looked at Trevor a moment and then laughed. “My boy, I have been investigating strange phenomena since before you were born, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned in that time, it’s that the principle of Occam’s razor usually holds true. The simplest explanation is almost always the most likely one. So my professional opinion is that last night, poor Tonya had the unfortunate luck to encounter a lunatic with a strong throwing arm. Nothing more. Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I think I’ll get a coffee after all.”
Carrington got up from the table and headed over to speak with the barista.
“He seems more than a bit cynical,” Drew said.
“I thought you’d approve. Better that than too gullible, right?”
“I suppose.” But there was a difference between being objective and being snide, and Drew thought Carrington came down more on the latter side.
“It looks like we won’t have to worry about Carrington trying to horn in on us, which is good.”
Drew frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“There’s obviously some kind of correlation between Amber’s nightmare and Tonya’s murder. And from the way Jenn described the scene inside the store—all the books off the shelves, scattered everywhere around Tonya, covering her . . . Do you really think one person stood there throwing books at her? And that Tonya just remained motionless while her killer pelted her with them? The only reason she wouldn’t have fled is if she hadn’t been capable of getting away. Once the c
oroner’s report is in, I’ll bet it shows she was hit numerous times from multiple angles, just like in Amber’s dream.”
“There could have been more than one killer,” Drew said. “Or someone could’ve struck Tonya from behind, knocked her out, and then hit her with books.”
“But—”
Drew held up a hand to cut off his friend. “But I think the situation is strange enough to warrant looking into. Is that what you’re talking about?”
Trevor smiled. “You read my mind, pal.”
Drew glanced in the direction of the restrooms. “Carrington may not have any interest in interfering with our investigation, but I don’t think we can say the same about Erin.”
“Jenn? Are you OK?”
Amber resisted the urge to knock on the stall door. If Jenn hadn’t heard her words, she certainly wouldn’t hear her knocking. As soon as the three women had entered the restroom, Jenn had gone into the stall—the only one—closed the door, and locked it. She had been in there for several minutes, silent the entire time. Amber was afraid she was crying softly, face buried in a wad of toilet tissue to sop up tears and muffle the sound.
Amber gave in and rapped a knuckle against the metal door three times.
“Jenn? Honey?”
No response.
Erin stood leaning against the sink counter, arms crossed over her chest. “I get that a girl needs her privacy,” she said, her voice raised so Jenn could hear. “But you can’t stay in there all day. Other people have to pee, you know.”
Amber whirled to face Erin. “Leave her alone! You have no idea what she’s been through!”
Erin raised an eyebrow. “And you do?”
Amber fixed her with a cold, direct stare. “As a matter of fact, yes.”
Erin met Amber’s gaze for a three count, finally breaking eye contact and looking down at the floor.
“That’s my girl.”
The voice startled Amber, not the least because it seemed to be coming from inside her head. A mirror hung on the wall behind the sink, and reflected in it Amber could see the back of Erin’s head and, to the right of it, her own face. But although no one stood next to her in the restroom, there was another face in the mirror. A pale, scarred ruin of a face.
