The Loveliest Dead

by Ray Garton

  “I don’t feel well,” she said.

  Claudia stood beside Lily’s bed. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Lily patted the mattress and Claudia sat down on the edge of the bed. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I saw?” She spoke just above a whisper—to speak any louder made her headache worse.

  Claudia shrugged. “I know you’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

  “You don’t want to know.” Lily put both hands over her face and rubbed them up and down, then dropped her arms at her sides and closed her eyes.

  “Would you like me to leave you alone for a while? Maybe you should sleep.”

  “God, no. I’m afraid I’ll dream about the vision I had. I’d rather not be alone, if you don’t mind sticking around.”

  Claudia laughed. “Where else am I going to go?”

  “You asked me why I’ve never told you about my experiences with the police. Because they’ve been mostly unpleasant and I don’t like talking about them. The police haven’t been unpleasant, but the experiences have.”

  “How often do they come to you for help?”

  “They don’t. Well, they have, but I can’t really help them when they do. I’ve tried, but I haven’t been much good.”

  “I don’t understand—you ... can’t help them?”

  “This gift of mine is very moody. Let’s say a woman’s missing. The police come to me with some of the woman’s personal effects, and they want me to handle them, see if I pick up anything. I’ll pick up things, but the chances they’ll help them find her are pretty slim. On the other hand, if I start having a vision about a woman who’s, say, locked up in a room somewhere, and I read in a paper that a woman is missing, and she matches the description of the woman in my vision, I can go to the police and give them information that will most likely be helpful. It works when it works.”

  “Did that really happen? The woman locked in the room?”

  “Nine years ago.”

  “And they found her with your help?”

  “Yes. But they don’t always turn out that well.” Lily took a deep breath, lifted her right arm, and rested her wrist on her forehead. “The year before I met you, an eight-year-old girl went missing in Bend, Oregon. Remember?”

  Claudia thought a moment. “Yes, I remember. It was all over the news.”

  “I kept seeing her in a bathtub in the visions. I went to Oregon and told the police everything I knew. I met the parents. They asked if she was still alive, and I told them I was sure she was because I kept seeing her in a bathtub with bubbles, always smiling every time I saw her. I was sure she was alive.” She sighed and dropped her arm. “They found her in a junkyard fifty miles away from the spot where she disappeared. She was lying in an old bathtub wrapped in a plastic tarp. There was snow on her. White snow. Like bubbles in a bubble bath. I couldn’t face the parents. I came straight home. I’ve always felt bad about that, but... what could I have said? There was nothing to say.”

  “I remember that story well,” Claudia said. “But I don’t remember hearing anything about you. Didn’t the police credit finding her to an anonymous tip? Why weren’t you given credit?”

  “Because I don’t want credit. It’s bad enough that word gets around among cops. My God, if I showed up in the news once, I’d never have a moment’s peace.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  Lily groaned softly and whispered, “Can you hear my head pounding?”

  “You should sleep for a while, let your pill take effect.”

  Without opening her eyes, Lily whispered, “No, I don’t want to waste any time. That boy’s in trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “I wish I knew. They’re very... confusing ... these visions.” She hovered on the edge of sleep, thinking about Miles Kellar. “Maybe ... just until... the pill kicks in,” Lily muttered just before she drifted off.

  Jenna sat on the couch with Martha, watching Law & Order: Special Victims Unit, while David snored in the recliner. Miles was upstairs in bed with his overhead light on, sleeping soundly by now, Jenna hoped. The living room was warm from a healthy fire and the only light on was the lamp beside the recliner. The television was the only sound in the house, and even that seemed muted by the smothering atmosphere.

  Jenna and David had gone through the usual fights in the early years of their marriage, but none of them had ever lasted long. And none had ever filled the air with as much tension as their disagreement earlier that day. Miles had noticed after getting home from school that afternoon. “Did somebody die?” he’d asked Jenna after being home for only a few minutes. She’d laughed and told him everything was fine, even though they both knew better.

  David had spent most of the day in front of the television, where he’d passed in and out of sleep, and spoke only when absolutely necessary.

  As she always had whenever she was upset or worried, Martha had baked that afternoon—a batch of black-eyed Susans, David’s favorite cookie. But as if he knew Martha had taken Jenna’s side, even though Martha had not said a word about anything all day, he’d turned a cold shoulder to-the cookies.

  Jenna knew a good deal of his behavior was due to the pain in his hand and the powerful painkiller he was taking to fight it off. But she knew just as well that she had made him very angry when she’d told him she intended to let the Binghams in when they arrived the next day.

  She was still amazed by how quickly Mavis Bingham had offered to come to Eureka. She had been sweet and friendly on the phone, and Jenna had told her everything—not only about what she’d seen and experienced, but David’s strange behavior and everything Martha and Miles had told her as well. Mavis had listened attentively, comforting and calming her when she got upset.

  “Listen to me, dear,” Mavis had said after Jenna had finished. “I’m going to insist that Arty and I come see you right away.”

  “Come here?” Jenna had said.

  “That’s right. You caught us at a perfect time. We just finished an investigation in Georgia—oh, there’s a story to raise the hair on the back of your neck—and we have nothing on our schedule at the moment. Are you Catholic, dear?”

  “No. We’re not religious.”

  “Well, after this, you might feel differently. I can tell that you need help right now, that we shouldn’t waste any time—I can feel it.”

  “You can?”

  “I’m clairvoyant, dear, did you know that about me? I’m picking up all kinds of things from you right now, just sitting here on the phone with you. From what you’ve told me—well, I’m hoping it’s not what I think it is, but I think we should get out there right away and see what you’ve got.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Oh, of course, dear, we do it all the time, it’s what we do. We’ll catch the first plane out there tomorrow— probably to San Francisco, and then we’ll rent a car and come to your house. I will do a reading to see what kind of problem you have. Then we can decide how to deal with it.”

  “I need to make sure I understand this correctly. I mean, I can’t... we can’t pay you anything for this.”

  “We wouldn’t take it if you could, dear. We don’t charge for investigations.”

  Jenna had given her their address and directions from the airport, and Mavis had said she would call when she knew their schedule. It had been as simple as that.

  Mavis had called back an hour later and told Jenna they were scheduled to land in San Francisco at 11:44 A.M. and would show up at the house as soon as they could get there.

  Ada had called that afternoon, as well. Fortunately, David had been asleep in his recliner at the time. Jenna told her everything that had happened since Ada had been at the house.

  “Dwayne told me whatever you’ve got beat the hell out of him,” Ada had said. “That’s typical poltergeist behavior, by the way—the damned things’ll knock you silly if you let ‘em. But he says it’s not a poltergeist.” She sounded thoughtful, but at the same time
detached. “I wish I could help you, hon. But like I told you before, I don’t do that sort of thing anymore. I helped you out ‘cause you were nice and, to be honest, I needed the money. But I won’t deal with anything violent.”

  Jenna told her she’d called the Binghams and they would be coming tomorrow.

  “Binghams. The name’s familiar. But I don’t keep up anymore. I don’t read the literature. I don’t read much of anything anymore—it gives me a headache. Mostly, I just crochet and watch TV. I hope they can help you.”

  As Jenna hung up the phone, she’d muttered, “Thanks for nothing, Ada.”

  The television show ended, and Martha stood and said, “I’m going to get ready for bed.”

  Jenna stood too. “Yeah, I need to get David upstairs.” She went to the recliner and gently placed a hand on David’s shoulder. “Come on, honey, let’s go to bed. Come on.”

  He grumbled as he sat up, yawned, slowly stood, then went upstairs without a word.

  After he was gone, Jenna turned to Martha and whispered, “I’m not looking forward to tomorrow.”

  “Would you like me to talk to him in the morning?” Martha said. “He might listen to me.”

  “Maybe. I’ll let you know. What am I going to tell Miles?”

  “Oh, I think Miles will be a lot more open-minded about this than his daddy.”

  “Probably. Good night, Mom.” She kissed Martha on the cheek.

  “Good night, honey. Sleep well. I know I will. I sleep much better out here on the couch.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Jenna went into the kitchen and turned out all the lights. On her way down the hall, she paused a moment outside Martha’s closed bedroom. When she’d told Mavis Bingham what Martha had seen in there in the dark—Hanging on the walls and strapped to chairs. Young boys. Naked and bony, like they’ve been starved—Mavis had said simply, “Oh, my. Oh, my, my,” and her tone had suggested nothing good. But she would say no more about it over the phone.

  Jenna slowly climbed the stairs, went down the hallway to the bathroom, and brushed her teeth. In the bedroom, she was relieved to find David asleep.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Saturday, 1:08 A.M.

  Lily woke with a full bladder. The glow of a streetlight outside bled through the closed curtains. Claudia slept in the other bed.

  The previous evening, Lily had slept until almost seven, then Claudia had gone out for some take-out Chinese food. Lily had been able to eat only a little wonton soup, while Claudia had eaten everything else. Her head still ached, and she’d taken another Vicodin. By ten o’clock, she’d been back in bed and sound asleep.

  It took an effort to get out of bed. Her feet felt like lead weights and her muscles were stiff and achy. She still had a mild headache, and her hands trembled. The visions were steadily sapping her strength. Along with weakness and fatigue, they gave her an increasing sense of urgency. Whatever was going to happen would happen soon.

  After emptying her bladder, she left the bathroom with the light still on and went to the sink just outside the door for a drink of water. She was holding her glass under the tap when she smelled bananas and the flashing began.

  “Oh, God,” she groaned. “Not again.”

  She quickly gulped down the water, put the glass down beside the sink, and turned off the tap. She turned to go back to the bed, but felt her strength draining from her quickly. Before blacking out, she managed to say, “Claudia!”

  Lily sees through someone else’s eyes.

  Walking steadily down a dark hallway, then down a staircase, right hand on the banister. Turning left at the bottom into a short, dark hallway. But the eyes are adjusted to the dark and can see the familiar surroundings.

  There is throbbing pain in the left hand, which feels enormous. The left arm is in a sling, because to let it hang loose at the side only makes the throbbing worse.

  Walking down the hall, pausing for just a moment to look to the left at a mirror on the wall. In the glass, she sees the leering face of the fat man. Small eyes lost in shadow beneath the brim of the forward-tilted cowboy hat. Gray stubble on the lower half of the fat, jowly face and pendulous double-chin.

  Walking on down the hall, to the end, turning right, into a dark kitchen. To the refrigerator, opening the door with the right hand. The refrigerator light is blinding in the darkness. Reaching into the refrigerator, jerking a can of Michelob beer from its plastic ring. Putting it on the counter and popping it open as the refrigerator door slowly swings closed on its own. Taking a few swallows of the beer. Turning and leaving the kitchen, walking back down the hall.

  A sense of delicious anticipation, of growing sexual excitement—the churning of an insatiable carnal hunger.

  Turning to the right and holding the beer under the chin while opening a door. Stepping into a dark roam and pausing to close the door again.

  Taking a few swallows of the cold beer, then looking around in the dark. It takes a moment for the eyes to adjust to the utter darkness in the room. Then seeing them. ..

  Three boys on the wall, arms stretched taut over their heads, naked and terrified. Their terror is exciting, invigorating. A smaller boy with red hair and freckles is strapped into the high chair.

  Deep inside and far away, Lily’s own consciousness recoils in horror.

  Whispering, “Bad puppies. Gotta take care a the bad fuckin’ puppies.”

  The music woke Jenna again. She sat up and found the filthy old teddy bear lying at the foot of the bed playing Brahms’s “Lullaby.” Standing in the dark nearby were three small figures. She rubbed her eyes, turned to look down at David. He was gone.

  Jenna reached over and turned on her bedside lamp. The three figures that had been standing at the foot of the bed disappeared. She looked around the room. The bottom drawer of the chest in her closet was open again. The bowling ball in its bag had been pushed aside.

  She thought about David walking in his sleep— driving in his sleep—and threw the covers aside and got out of bed. She put on her robe as she hurried out of the bedroom with bare feet.

  Miles’s bedroom door was open. His overhead light lit up a section of the hallway.

  The bathroom was dark and unoccupied.

  Jenna went downstairs and turned on the hall light without slowing her pace. She went down the hall and into the kitchen. There were no lights on, so she flipped the switch just inside the door and the rectangular fluorescent overhead flickered on.

  The Mag-Lite stood undisturbed beside the locked back door. The laundry room was dark, the basement door closed.

  She went through the dining room into the living room, where it was still warm from the remaining embers in the fireplace. Martha was asleep on the couch. Jenna checked the front door, made sure the deadbolt was still locked, then went back through the dining room and kitchen and into the laundry room, where she turned on the light. She opened the door to the garage, reached out, and turned on the light. The pickup and Toyota were both there.

  Jenna was wide awake now. Her heart machine-gunned beneath her ribs as she turned off the garage light, closed the door, and left the laundry room. She left the kitchen, intending to go back upstairs and check the computer room, but stopped in the hall when she heard a low, muffled voice, then laughter. She turned back and went to the door of Martha’s bedroom, leaned close to it, and listened.

  “You gonna be good puppies from now on?” Then deep, throaty laughter.

  It did not sound like David, but she knew it had to be. She turned the knob and pushed the door open, but did not step in yet.

  Light from the hallway spilled into the bedroom and fell on David. He stood barefoot in his robe with his back to her, a beer in his right hand. The robe’s left sleeve hung empty from the shoulder, and the untied belt dangled at his sides.

  “David?” she said, her voice hoarse. He turned toward her, and she gasped.

  Once again, he stood with shoulders back and hips thrust forward. The robe was open in front and
he wore nothing underneath. His face had been transformed— forehead creased with a deep frown, a grin peeled back over his teeth.

  “What the fuck’re you doin’ here?” he said, his voice low and throaty. He put the beer on a dresser and walked with a lazy swagger as he came toward her.

  Jenna stepped into the room and said loudly, “David!”

  He stabbed his left elbow into her left shoulder and knocked her aside, saying, “Get outta my help me fucking Jenna way.”

  Jenna stumbled sideways and fell to the floor in front of Martha’s vanity. She lay there motionless for a moment, digesting what she had just heard: Get outta my help me fucking Jenna way.

  David’s bare feet thumped up the stairs.

  Jenna thought of Miles sleeping in the bright light of his room. She scrambled to her feet, left the room, and hurried up the stairs as the door of Miles’s bedroom slammed shut, darkening the hallway. She was afraid her heart was going to explode. She had never moved so fast before in her life.

  Back up the stairs, down the hallway, quickly, quickly. The open door on the left—step inside, turn and close it.

  In passing, Lily glimpses the digital clock on the bedstand, shaped like a flying saucer. It reads 1:19.

  The boy, Miles Kellar, sits up in bed, eyes wide, mouth forming an 0. “Dad?”

  The throat laughs as the right hand reaches out for the covers and rips them off the boy.

  In Spider-Man pajamas, Miles screams, uses his feet to push himself back against the headboard, hands clutching the crushed pillow.

  Climbing onto the bed and laughing as the right hand reaches out for the boy...

  Jenna burst into Miles’s bedroom, shouting, “David!”

  He was kneeling on the bed, with Miles pressed against the headboard, screaming. Ignoring her, David tore Miles’s pajama top open and the buttons scattered through the air, over the rug, cluttered on the hardwood floor.

  Jenna went to the bed and grabbed David’s right arm. “David, stop it!” she shouted. “Leave him alone! Let him go!” She tried to pull his hand away from Miles, but his fist clutched Miles’s pajama top. Miles continued to scream, and the sound was filled with fear and confusion. Jenna pounded on David’s back with her fists as she shouted for him to let Miles go.