The Vengeful Dead

by J N Duncan

  Jackie needed some worry-free solace and something capable of driving away the events of the day. That meant either drink or play and Jackie didn’t feel so depressed at the moment to chose oblivion over Brahms. Shuffling out in pajama bottoms, socks, and a T-shirt, Jackie opened a bottle of pinot noir, poured a very full glass, and turned on the TV to a blue screen. After turning off the rest of the lights Jackie sat down at the bench. As though the blue lighting were a cue, Bickerstaff sprang up on top of the piano and peered down at her with his lazy gaze.

  One huge gulp to warm her belly, and Jackie set her fingers upon the keys to do as they wanted. More often than not, she would pick out snippets of songs and refrains, music with repeating melodies and rolling scales. When stressed, her mind craved hypnotic rhythms, never-ending roads that her mind could wander on and get lost, away from all things.

  Exactly nine whole minutes into her playing, just when her brain had taken its first steps out onto that blissful, solitary road, someone knocked at her door. Three soft raps. Jackie paused and held her breath. Either Mr. Chen in the apartment behind her was coming to complain, or Mrs. Galloway had let some fucking solicitor in through the bottom door again.

  “Go away,” she whispered. “I’m not here.”

  Three soft raps again upon her door. “Jackie? Are you there?”

  The voice was disturbingly familiar. She should know it, so familiar in fact, Jackie knew she was just spacing on who it was.

  “Jackie? Please, just a few moments of your time.”

  Her breath sucked in so quickly she coughed and nearly gagged on her lungs. Tillie! Oh-my-fucking-God Dr. Erikson. Jackie started to scramble off of the bench, and then abruptly realized that her apartment was in damn fine condition for visitors. There wasn’t a thing to pick up. One could even say a normal person lived in this apartment. One who didn’t hear screaming ghost babies or blackout and sucker-punch people. She reached over and turned on the floor lamp by the piano and walked to the door.

  “Dr. Erikson? It’s almost ten.” She opened the door, leaving the chain guard on. It was indeed Tillie, dressed down in jeans and a smartly fitted cashmere sweater. “Why are you here?”

  “Because John told me he had given permission for you to come back to a case on a limited basis. He would not give me a clear answer on your exact status and you didn’t return my calls, so I came to see for myself.”

  She sounded polite. To most, her voice might appear calm and unruffled, but Jackie knew without a doubt she was more than a little upset. That hard sparkle in her eyes might even indicate furious. Reluctant, Jackie unlatched her door and stepped aside.

  “I’m not really actively investigating this case,” she said, hoping the excuse would waylay her. “I’m just acting as liaison to the Special Investigations team. They think something supernatural might be involved on this case.”

  “Thank you,” she said with a smile and crossed the threshold, a sight Jackie could not have imagined in a million years. Matilda Erikson standing in her home. The world really was conspiring against her.

  “Oh, for goodness sake, Jackie. Quit looking at me like that. I’m not upset with you. John is the one who should know better. He didn’t even consult me beforehand.”

  “Would you have said yes?”

  Tillie gave a tiny, noncommittal shrug with one shoulder. “The answer is that it always depends, and since I know nothing of his reasoning, I can say that I honestly don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”

  Jackie found herself grasping for answers. Her mind had begun to drift and now the gears were slipping and clunking, trying to find their rhythm once again. “Um, I’m not sure exactly. Does it really matter?”

  Her head tilted at Jackie, an exasperated look that required no words. “May we sit down?”

  Do we have to? I really don’t want to tell you a damn thing, Tillie. I know I should, but I don’t. “Sure. You want something to drink? I don’t have tea.”

  She gave Jackie a faint, amused smile. “I’m fine.” She stepped into the living room proper and walked up to the piano. “So this is the famous piano.”

  “I hardly think so,” Jackie said with a snort. “I bought it from a piano store like thousands of other people do.”

  “It was one of Laurel’s favorite things,” she said. “To her, it was famous.” Her voice had a lilt of sadness to it that brought a lump into Jackie’s throat. She really hoped this would not be some sort of sentimental stroll down memory lane. She’d be sobbing in no time for sure. Bickerstaff stared at her from atop, looking decidedly lofty and pensive. “And is this the glorious Mr. Bickerstaff?” She walked up and held out her hand, which Bickerstaff leaned forward to smell and then rub his face against. Jackie had half hoped he would bolt for the bedroom, terrified to death of her. Traitor.

  “He apparently believes you’re safe,” Jackie said.

  “Cats are finicky creatures.”

  Jackie walked around and turned off the television before sitting down in the chair in the corner. Tillie seated herself on the couch, keeping her posture rather straight. This would not be a kicking back with a beer sort of chat. She wondered how much Tillie really knew of her life. How much had Laurel told her? Had every page in her life’s book been read through and analyzed, tsk-tsked and laughed over for the past five years? Likely she knew a lot more than Jackie wanted her to know. Hiding out in the shadows was very difficult when the other knew just where to shine the light.

  “It’s a nice apartment, Jackie. About what I expected, I think.”

  “Did Laur draw you floor plans?” When Tillie just stared at her with raised eyebrows, Jackie finally slumped back in her chair. “Sorry. This is very disconcerting, having you here in my living room. I can assure you, though, I’m perfectly . . . OK, not perfectly, but I’m doing much better and I feel confident I can do the small job that I’ve been given.”

  “You know, dear,” she said and folded her hands in her lap, “you are one of the few agents I’ve ever worked with who has actually made more effort to get back to work than to get out of it.”

  “Tillie, you know this is no vacation for me. I’m tired of brooding. Being around the action, even if I’m not directly in it, will help keep my mind off things.”

  “So, why do Mr. Anderson and Ms. Fontaine need a liaison with the murder unit? Can’t they just contact one of the team members on this case?”

  “I think it’s just because I’m familiar with what they do and how they do it and some of the team aren’t quite so . . . open-minded I guess you’d say.”

  “All of them?”

  “I don’t know,” Jackie said, throwing up her hands. “I haven’t talked to them all. Mr. Anderson asked John if I could assist them in coordinating with the team on this case until they determined the extent of paranormal involvement.”

  “The request came from Mr. Anderson, not you?”

  “Yes. He called John about it because he said there was the possibility of a very pissed-off spirit being involved.”

  “Is there?”

  “Maybe. It looks like there’s something going on, but it’s difficult to tell.”

  “I see.”

  Her eyes wandered very carefully over Jackie. She felt sure the woman was likely a cyborg from some secret government lab sent to make sure they had no psychos in their midst. Tillie was probably measuring her blood pressure as they spoke.

  “Are you enjoying it?”

  “What?”

  “The work,” she said. “I’d always considered you to be the sort who either wanted to be right in there in the muck or not at all.”

  “I would prefer to be in there, but as you know, I’ve not been cleared for it.”

  “Yes, I know.” A corner of her mouth curled up and Jackie could hear the gears grinding away. “So what did you get to do today?”

  “Today?” And there goes the ballgame, goddamn it. She’s going to know I’m lying or covering or something. “I took Nick and Shelby to the crime sc
enes to see what they could, you know, sense.”

  “Anything good?”

  “You mean did they sense anything?” Her tongue was turning into a dusty, dry snake, the tail of which was squeezing a quick, unsteady beat around her heart.

  One of Tillie’s eyes narrowed at Jackie. “Yes, dear. Ghosts. Isn’t that what they do?”

  “Yes, of course. They did sense ghosts.” Her smile felt rubbery and fake.

  “How fascinating,” she said, and sounded genuinely interested. “Did you get to see any?”

  Her voice came out too high and too loud. “Why would I have seen any ghosts?” And why did this demure, middle-aged woman have to make her feel so defenseless? She was the Yoda of shrinks, all seeing and knowing, and it terrified her beyond words.

  Tillie smiled her warm, comforting smile. “If they saw a ghost, I just thought you might have got to see it, too, that’s all. I think that would be an amazing encounter.”

  “You really believe all that you’ve heard about them?”

  Her head tilted, the little curl of her mouth flattening out. Tillie’s eyebrows, pristinely plucked, rose into perfect question marks. “You know the answer to that as well as I, Jackie. Of course I believe it. Hadn’t I been seeing Laurel for the past five years? You two had a couple of cases that involved supernatural phenomena as I recall. You should—” She cut herself off with a wave of her hand. “Why is this making you so nervous? I thought coming here would make you more comfortable talking to me, but you seem less. Did something happen today?”

  “No. No! Nothing happened,” Jackie snapped back in a rush. “I mean, other than the ghost stuff. It was kind of creepy, but, you know . . .” She shrugged, feeling like a wilted teenager under cross-examination on the witness stand. It just wasn’t fair. Nobody should have this kind of effect on someone. She was the mother from hell. “Fine. I saw a ghost. Happy now?”

  Tillie laughed. “Oh, Jackie, my dear girl. You need to quit thinking I’m out to get you. I never have been and I never will be. Period. End of story. If you saw a ghost, then you saw a ghost, and I firmly believe that you did.”

  She laughed along with Tillie. “Dr. Erikson, I don’t think it’ll be possible for you to ever not make me nervous.”

  Her eyes rolled. “I just have an advantage over you because Laurel has spoken about you so often. That’s her perspective, mind you, but I get the benefit of insider information.”

  “It’s cheating.”

  “Agreed, but I’ll take it. Otherwise, with your stubbornness, we’d never get anywhere.”

  “That’s not . . . OK, maybe it’s a little bit true, but I’d be far more comfortable if I didn’t think you knew everything about me.”

  “I’m sure there are a great many things I don’t know about you, Jackie. As I’m sure there are some things I’m aware of that you would prefer I’m not. All I can tell you is that I will never use it against you. My job, and also my desire, is to see you as a functional, healthy, and hopefully reasonably happy member of the FBI.”

  Jackie rubbed her face with her hands. “I’m just afraid you’ll think I’m crazy and want to throw me in a padded room. I never used to see any ghosts, not until all the Drake shit went down.”

  “Nearly dying can do that,” Tillie said. “It changes your perspective on things.”

  “Oh,” Jackie laughed. “It did a lot more than that, I think.”

  Tillie sat back in the couch. “Will you tell me? What happened I mean. The report is mostly ‘need to know’ and at this point I apparently am not on the list.”

  “Will you promise not to freak out and pull me from this case?”

  “Can you keep your nosy little hands out of the case and remain a liaison?”

  They stared down one another for about ten seconds until Jackie heaved a sigh. “Yes, I can remain a liaison.”

  “Very well, but I would like coffee to hear this story. If you don’t mind.”

  “You drink coffee?” Jackie blinked in amazement. “But I thought you were the prim and proper tea lady.”

  “Tea is for the office, dear. Coffee for the real world.”

  Jackie got to her feet. “Wow. I may almost like you now.”

  She made strong coffee, and Tillie drank it, even if it was with a couple teaspoons of sugar. And she told the story, from the point when Laurel died until she decked Nick at the crime scene earlier in the evening. It took her nearly an hour. Jackie kept a careful eye on Tillie, watching every facial expression, every blink of the eye, and every quirk of her mouth. She paused at certain points to give Tillie the opportunity to express incredulity, but Tillie only listened in interested silence, hands folded neatly in her lap. In the end, all she could see was that Tillie had been truly intrigued, fascinated, and horrified by what had happened. Jackie had spoken her piece, ready to jump over and throw Tillie out at the first hint that she thought this whole story was ludicrous. But there wasn’t one iota of disbelief. Or she was the best liar Jackie had ever seen.

  “And so here we are,” Jackie said. “The depressed, wacko, circus freak and her shrink.”

  “Well,” Tillie replied and said nothing else for a few moments. “You’re neither a wacko nor a freak, Jackie. Depressed? Yes, though you appear to be handling it reasonably well, all things considered. Honestly, I’m in awe. You realize you’ve likely done something nobody has ever done before.”

  “I doubt that,” Jackie said. “I’m sure it’s happened at some point in the past. We’ve just never heard about it.”

  “Unlikely, but fine, almost nobody. You’ve seen ghosts. You’ve died and come back. It’s . . . it’s really quite astonishing, Jackie. I believe I’d have had a nervous breakdown.”

  “Yeah, well I did and I’m still not all the way back, but being around work, even this little bit makes me feel a bit more normal, Tillie. I need it.”

  “Not too much though,” she said. “And if you miss seeing me because of it, that shall be the last day of work you see until I say you come back.”

  “Christ. You big meanie. I’ll come in. I swear, every week. If Laur can see you for five years, I can handle a few weeks.”

  Tillie’s eyes widened and her head tilted a few degrees. “A few weeks? Do you honestly feel you can get all of this sorted out in a few weeks?”

  Jackie had no snotty rejoinder for the truth. “How long do you think? Reasonably, I mean, to help sort through my, um, issues.”

  She raised her hands up, unknowing. “A few months? A few years? It’s up to you, Jackie. How long will it take for you to be able to speak about your mother to me without wanting to punch me in the face?”

  A tide of heat washed up through her face. “I said I was sorry about that. It’s just . . . you know what all my buttons are. It’s really not fair.”

  Tillie smiled and chuckled quietly. “No, it’s not, but I’m not paid to play fair, dear. I get paid to help people figure things out and if that means pushing your buttons, then that’s what I shall do.”

  “Deep down, you really are an evil witch, aren’t you?”

  “Only for you, Jackie. I derive great pleasure in your endless torments.”

  “I figured as much.” Jackie let out a deep breath. “I’ll try. Really. I know I’ve got some shit to deal with.”

  “I won’t make you talk about anything,” she replied. “If it’s your mother, that’s fine. If it’s someone else, that’s fine too. I just want you to be willing to face some of these things directly. It’s time you quit running from your life, Jackie. You can handle these things. I promise.”

  “Yes, Aunt Tillie.”

  “I’m serious, Jackie.”

  “I know you are,” Jackie replied. “This talk just makes me nervous and the more nervous I am, the snarkier I get.”

  “There’s no rush. We aren’t on a timetable. We’ll just talk and see what happens, but you have to be willing to really talk to me. Can you do that?”

  “If you don’t think I’m crazy already, the
n I guess I can talk about anything.” Or so she hoped. Some things had been buried for so long and so deep, she wasn’t even sure she knew where to dig.

  “Good.” Tillie clapped her hands together and Jackie jumped. “Now then, one last thing. A small favor.”

  “What?” She prayed for something normal.

  “Play a song for me. Anything, but I’d like to hear you play just once.”

  “I don’t really play for other people,” she said.

  “Laurel spoke of it so often,” she said. “I would so love to hear you play something. Five minutes, Jackie. That’s all I want.”

  “I’m not that good,” Jackie replied. “Really. It wouldn’t be a big deal.” She watched Tillie’s face sag with each word. Laurel and Tillie had made a very close bond over the years. Jackie had just never realized how much so until recently. And guilt was a wonderful motivator. Nothing like cursing out your shrink to get you doing stuff you really didn’t want to do. “OK, fine. One song.”

  Tillie got up with a little bounce in her step. “Oh, good! Thank you, Jackie. I know it’s a lot to ask.”

  “I should get a free pass card or something for this,” she said, shaking her head. She walked over to her piano bench and sat down.

  “That’s fine,” Tillie answered. “Give me five minutes and you get one free call-off, no questions asked.”

  “You want to come over for dinner every Saturday?”

  “Oh, funny girl.” She smiled and leaned against the piano, much like Laurel used to do on Saturday nights when they would stay up late and bullshit or talk cases and drink wine. “Let’s go with this once and see what happens.”

  “Any requests?”

  She shrugged. “Just play something Laurel liked. I don’t care what. This is just a pleasant reminder of her for me.”