The Vengeful Dead

by J N Duncan

  Jackie took in the soft smile and her now glassy-eyed gaze and realized that Tillie really did love Laurel in that caretaker, mother-daughter sort of way. She thought for a long moment, trying to pick out a favorite that she felt she knew well enough to not sound like a hack. Jackie dramatically flexed her fingers together until a knuckle cracked. “OK, here goes. Do you listen to classical music?”

  “Some, yes.”

  “Then you will likely recognize this one if I don’t butcher it all to hell and back.”

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly before she began, her fingers playing Beethoven’s Ode to Joy. She was pretty sure Laur had only liked it because of the title and the fact it had been in the Gary Oldman movie about the composer. Laurel’s tastes though, tended more toward New Agey stuff and classic crooner tunes. She liked this piece, however. The title fit the gradual building of tones to the triumphant, glorious climax. Joy could hit you that way, sneaking up until it suddenly overwhelmed.

  The nerves bled away into the notes after the first thirty seconds and she forgot that Tillie was there, chin propped on her hands, eyes closed. This one is for you, Laur, an Ode to Joy, because I think you brought it to everyone you met. Jackie tried to recall some of those joyous moments she had experienced with Laurel, from graduating, to the first day on the job, to breaking their first case. She caught the sound of Tillie sniffling, which brought tears to her own eyes, and the sense of Laurel was there too, just beyond the veil. She was near and listening in, and then tears began to fall upon the keys while she played.

  After a few minutes, a hand came down lightly upon her shoulder. “Thank you, Jackie.” The hand wiped at the tears on her cheeks. “You can stop now. That was lovely. Really and truly lovely, but I shall soak my shirt if we keep going.”

  Jackie wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Sorry. I didn’t—”

  “Oh, Lord no, dear. No apologies.” She sat down on the bench beside Jackie. “Good for us both.” She smiled. “Is a hug all right with you? We’re not on the clock.”

  She shrugged a shoulder and didn’t say anything, which they both took as a yes. In the middle of it, when Jackie took a moment to breathe in the soft fragrance of Tillie’s perfume and the warm, strength of those arms embracing her, a knock came at the door. She reflexively pulled away. “Damn it! Who could that be?”

  Three more soft knocks. “Jackie? It’s Nick.”

  Her heart froze for a moment. She glanced back at Tillie, now with a tissue in her hand dabbing at her eyes. “Ah, hell.” she muttered and unlatched the door. “Something out there truly hates me.”

  Chapter 11

  “Hey, Nick. Why are you back without calling? Again.”

  “Sorry, Jackie.” He gave her a pained smile. “I . . . are you OK?” His hand rose up between them and then stopped, unsure if he had a right to continue. “You look up—”

  “Mr. Anderson, I presume?” Tillie stepped into the entry. “I thought I heard your name.” Jackie saw the barely concealed smile on her lips and her shoulders slumped. Lovely, just lovely. “Did you have a previous engagement, Jackie? I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “No, Tillie. It’s fine. Nick just came by for . . . what exactly?”

  “I just had a few things I wished to discuss about . . . well, earlier today.”

  Jackie waved a hand at him and marched back into the living room. “She knows, Nick. I told her the whole thing.”

  He nodded. “Ah. I see.” He put out his hand to Tillie. “And you must be Dr. Erikson. Jackie has mentioned you.”

  “And I’m not nearly as evil as she claims,” Tillie said and shook his hand with a nervous laugh. “So, you’re the vampire, as it were.”

  “I am indeed, ma’am.” He grasped her hand and glanced over at Jackie who was back on the piano bench. “Am I interrupting an appointment?”

  “No, no. Just a friendly chat. I wanted to see how she was doing being back on a case. You’ll keep a careful eye on her, won’t you?”

  Jackie palm-slapped her forehead. “Tillie! Holy crap. That’s not his job.”

  Tillie stepped up close to Nick, staring him directly in the face. “Goodness.” She reached up with both hands and held his face. “Look at those eyes! I think, my dear, that it is his job.” She came down off her toes and gave one of Nick’s cheeks a soft pat. “Yes, I think so.”

  “Dr. Erikson,” Jackie said, exasperated, “what are you talking about?”

  “Nothing, Jackie. It’s nothing.” She beamed at both of them. “I’ll let you two discuss whatever it is you need to. Jackie, my dear, that was so lovely, I can’t even say. Thank you.” She nodded at Nick. “And Mr. Anderson, I do hope we get to speak at some point in the future. I would be very interested to talk about things.”

  He gave her a sardonic grin. “I’m sure, Dr. Erikson. Perhaps soon.”

  Tillie walked out, smiling back over her shoulder at Jackie as she closed the door. Jackie shook her head in disbelief. “Un-fucking-believeable.” Now she would have Tillie to deal with regarding Nick. “What is it, Nick? Come in. Sit down. Have a beer. Relax and stay awhile.”

  “I apologize. I should have called.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because, you don’t answer your phone,” Nick said. “And I wanted to be sure I talked to you tonight about doing any more forays into the supernatural.”

  “You couldn’t just leave a message?”

  “About this? No,” he said, walking through the living room and toward the kitchen. “It’s too important to leave to the whims of technology.”

  Jackie huffed. “Whatever, Nick. I would have got my messages by morning.”

  “That was a marvelous ‘Ode to Joy’ by the way.”

  The warm flush ran right by her annoyance and heated her face. “Quit changing the subject. Why didn’t you just call and save the hassle of coming all the way back over here.”

  Nick pulled out the espresso cup from a drawer, the grounds from the freezer, and filled a cup with water for the machine. “I don’t find it a hassle to come over, nor is it out of my way. I like being here.”

  Jackie swallowed what felt like a mouthful of dust. It wasn’t so much the words but how he had said it, earnest and sincere. Why? When he had that glorious expanse of house out in the country with its sprawling stone fireplace and endless books and the steam bath that melted you down into a gooey puddle.

  She propped her elbow on the piano and laid her cheek against her hand. “I just wish you’d called, that’s all.”

  “Because of Dr. Erikson?”

  “Yes, because of Dr. Erikson,” Jackie snapped. “It’ll be the first thing she mentions when I see her next week. So, thanks for that. You and I are not on my list of things to chat about with my shrink.”

  The espresso machine began to chug under the pressure of the steam and Nick got a carton of milk from the fridge. “Good to know we haven’t reached the therapy level yet.”

  Jackie sighed. “I wouldn’t go that far. Our . . . um, friendship hasn’t exactly played out like a normal relationship.”

  “Is that a bad thing?” He turned on the steam and began to froth milk. “You can’t exactly say that things have been boring.”

  “Given the option, I’d take boring over this supernatural crap any day. A plain old normal relationship, thank you very much.”

  Nick spooned off some foam into the top of a cup. “I understand completely,” he said in a far quieter voice. He brought her the cup and sat down on the piano bench, his thigh an inch or two from hers.

  Jackie took the warm cup into her hands. “I didn’t really ask . . . thanks.” She gave Nick a wistful smile and took a sip of the coffee. The man was a genius with an espresso machine.

  “I’ve been dealing with the dead for a very long time, Jackie. It’s not easy.”

  She nodded through another sip of coffee, licking the foam off her lips. “I’m never going to be rid of this, am I?”

  He lai
d his hand on her thigh, the large spread of his fingers reaching nearly from one side of the bench to the other. “No, you won’t, which is why you have to be very careful here and try not to do anything without Shelby or me. You’ve got something . . . I’m not even sure what it is yet, but it’s a remarkable ability. It’s also potentially very dangerous. Promise me you will be careful with this until we understand it better.”

  “Nick, I’m a very capable FBI—”

  “Promise me.” The hand squeezed lightly around her leg. “I mean it.”

  Some small part of her found the concern sweet, but the rest took offense. “I know how to take care of myself,” she said.

  “Can’t say I’m one to talk about caring for one’s own life,” he said.

  “At least we’re not boring.”

  He gave Jackie that half-cocked grin, the right corner of his mouth curled up which exaggerated the tiny crow’s feet around the eye. At that moment, for that second at least, she wanted to kiss him.

  His breath huffed out the barest laugh. “Heaven forbid we were ever—”

  Jackie reached out with her free hand and cupped his cheek, turning that smirk toward her. The bright, bottomless eyes glowed down at her with something other than laughter. And while her nerve held on to that moment, where she forgot the age and the blood and the dead, Jackie leaned up and kissed Nick, sliding her hand around to the back of his head. The hand upon her leg squeezed more firmly, sending warmth to areas not touched by coffee.

  She inhaled sharply, her grip on his head relaxing until his teeth nipped down on her lip, holding her to him, not letting her pull away. Jackie relaxed into it once again, tongue slipping over and around his. Nick’s mouth tasted of wine and coffee, disconcertingly cool to the touch, but she didn’t care. He liked it here, wanted to be here, and it gave Jackie’s heart a flutter of relief to know it really was because of her, even if she still did not understand why. For now, the kiss was enough.

  “Thanks for being worried,” she said. “And for the coffee.”

  The hand withdrew from her leg, where Jackie could feel the imprints of his fingers linger for several seconds after. “Welcome. So, it’s a promise?”

  “I promise to be careful, Nick. As much as I know how anyway.”

  He laughed. “Guess I can’t ask for much more than that.”

  He seemed pleased and Jackie relaxed. Not a stupid move after all. Maybe she would get the hang of this stuff. Jackie set the coffee down and tucked her hands between her legs to keep them from shaking. She might have been sixteen the last time that happened, and maybe not even then. The thought of asking Nick to stay danced like a fleeting whisper through her head, tantalizing but still out of range. One step at a time. Pour a few drinks down her throat and you could skip all of the steps, but this was real, clearheaded stuff, and Jackie found herself suffering a bad case of nerves over it. A simple kiss. God forbid what would happen if she crawled into bed with him. Jackie smiled, sipped her coffee, and avoided catching Nick’s direct gaze.

  “You look tired,” he said. “Touching the other side can drain you more than you’d think.”

  “More stressed-out than tired. I don’t like this, Nick. It’s scary, and I don’t scare very easily.”

  “I know. Go lay down on the sofa.” When she made no move, he added, “Please.”

  Any number of things could happen on a sofa. “For what?”

  “Just go. Your Ode to Joy has me in the mood to play, and perhaps it will help you relax. If you fall asleep, I’ll just let myself out.”

  Piano. Ah, well, that she could handle. No trembling required. She did as he asked and arranged the throw pillows for her head. One more long draft from her cup and Jackie set it on the coffee table. Nick began with a simple, quiet melody, so soft she could barely hear it. The tune had strength in it though, and it brought to mind the courageous solitude of those who endured and climbed above hardship to eventually reach once unattainable goals. Of a young girl, brought low by betrayal and death only to fight her way back to reach the once far-away goal of justicebringer.

  In the back of her floating, drifting mind, Jackie had the notion that Nick was doing a bit more than just playing the piano, that he had put a little more force behind those notes than just his fingers. She was beyond the point of caring, however. Jackie was riding across the sky on billowy clouds, sailing toward a full moon that beamed down upon her with its cool, tranquil glow.

  Chapter 12

  Two hours out of Chicago and the cries of her baby boy rang like tornado siren in her head. They had not faded. They never would. Her baby boy would be screaming for justice for all eternity, because the one who should have protected him was as dead as he was. The living had failed as well, incompetent and uncaring for a woman who had tried to do right only to experience a horrible wrong for all of her efforts. The living were not concerned with justice, but the dead cared a great deal. It was the only thing that mattered. There was no tomorrow when you were dead, only the moment. And this moment was consumed in a storm of rage and vindication.

  I will get you justice, Morgan’s voice pleaded.

  “Not strung out on Oxycontin, you won’t.” Rosa glanced up at the face in the rearview mirror, sallow and pale, with red-rimmed eyes, puffy from a lack of sleep. “Look at you! Sorry-assed nigger detective. Chicago’s finest! What a crock of shit. Your kid proud of you? Your mama? Fuck you and your justice.” She swept the hand across and broke the mirror off its mount, sending it tumbling to the floor. “I’m doing just fine.”

  Please! If you let me go, I will bring them down. I’ll kill them all. I have the resources.

  “You’re weak and a man whose begging makes me sick. If you’re strong enough, then break free and show me justice. But you’re no man, Detective Morgan. You’re just a fucking addict!”

  No, wait! I’m not. I can prove it.

  She pushed his voice back until it faded into her boy’s plaintive and angry cries. “Not proving nothing with this body, Detective.”

  The drive heading back into the trees off the county road was not marked with an address. Of course, it didn’t matter that every other drive was. One could never give credit to Rennie Vasquez for being brilliant. Charming and vicious perhaps, but the man’s brain only had two gears, fight or fuck. She parked the car and noticed that Morgan’s hands had a slight tremble to them. She clenched them for a moment and then relaxed. For now, it was gone, but withdrawal was really starting to wear on Morgan’s body. Having kicked over the cocaine bucket three years ago, she knew how quitting was only just the beginning.

  The rutted gravel drive disappeared beneath a lightless, cloud-covered sky, and the falling October leaves. Fortunately, she had been down here before and knew more or less how it took a gentle curve to the left through the trees to a clearing. The mobile home on the right was storage, and overflow sleeping when they had more than five or six people down here, but the lights were only on in the one on the left.

  She absently rubbed at her belly. “You ready for this, little man? Mama is going to cut open Loopy Lopez for you, so you can watch him bleed out on the ground like the pig that he is.”

  Somewhere inside, beyond the raging wail, Morgan screamed out in frustration, unable to stop his body from obeying the invader’s commands.

  Rosa pulled the Glock from its holster. “Shut it, Detective Morgan. I’m just doing your fucking job.”

  The leather loafers clung to the soggy drive, making soft, slurping noises as Rosa came out from under the trees and marched toward the lit-up mobile home, the Glock dangling with a deceptive casualness from her hand. Laughter bubbled out of a corner window when she came alongside. A woman, whose voice she did not recognize, giggled and then turned to husky desire. The man, however, she knew. It was Loopy, coked up and screwing his brains out. Rosa paused, hand clenched around the pistol’s grip, itching to empty the clip into the thin walls, but then gathered herself once again and continued on to the door.

  Th
e stairs creaked beneath her feet, but nobody would be hearing much of anything with the television blaring in the living room. She could sense the souls of two more wretched clones in Rennie’s drugaddled army, half-dead already. Rosa pulled open the screen door and stepped up to check the door. Locked. This time around, they would not just walk up to answer the door. They didn’t come down to this hole expecting visitors.

  Rosa held the screen in one hand and aimed the gun at the lock. Morgan’s voice cried out from the depths. Don’t do this! You’re ruining my life!

  “Already ruined, Detective,” she replied and fired at the door, following it quickly with the heel of her shoe.

  The splintered door flew open, giving Rosa a wide-angled view of the kitchen, living, and dining room area. Someone jumped back from the fridge, while another scrambled off of the couch. She recognized him.

  “Hello, Miguel,” she said, and turned the gun upon him.

  “What the fu—” he began, but never finished, when the bullet caught him just above the ear and sent him flipping backward over the couch.

  A scream came from down the hall in the bedroom, and Rosa turned toward the sound. In the kitchen, the other guy had pulled a knife from a block on the counter. His screaming charge made it about three steps when Rosa fired again, blowing out the guy’s knee. He stumbled to the floor, the knife bouncing off of the linoleum and stopping at Rosa’s feet. She reached down and picked it up; it felt a bit small in Morgan’s large hands.

  “Thanks,” she said, and fired off another round, blowing off the left side of the guy’s face.

  Behind the closed door at the end of the hall came the sounds muffled hysterics and Loopy’s harsh swearing, telling the woman to shut up. Rosa did not pause and marched down the dark, wood-paneled hall, kicking open the hollow door with enough force that the lower hinge broke free.

  The skewed door interfered with Loopy’s lunging attack, and Rosa found herself knocked back into the doorframe, switchblade buried in Morgan’s thigh. She brought the butt of the pistol down on Loopy’s head and sent him staggering back into the room. It was accompanied by the women’s scream and the shattering of glass. She was attempting to crawl out of the window. Even ghost-powered reflexes were not enough to get off a clean shot, and the bullet pierced clean through the woman’s calf before she tumbled out to the ground below.