Arlan was beginning to suspect that Regan might be involved in drugs, which was strictly forbidden by the sept. It had happened once before, in the midnineteenth century. Opium had been Regan’s drug of choice then. He’d gotten involved with some bad-news Mandarin immigrant vampires in the San Francisco Bay area. His brother Fin had bailed him out that time.
“No,” Arlan said. “Nobody mentioned Regan. No one knows about Athens but me, Jimmy, and Sean.”
“I had a talk with Regan. I told him we weren’t going to put up with his irresponsible behavior anymore. I told him that if he wanted to stay on the kill team, he had to start acting like it.”
Arlan wanted to say she’d wasted her breath, but he held his tongue. He didn’t pretend to understand the connection between siblings; his sister had been beheaded and died early on when the vampire slayer raids had been at their heaviest in the old country. What he did understand was that Fia had a fierce need to protect Regan and he couldn’t help but respect her for that, even if she was sometimes misguided.
“So, you working late tonight?” Arlan asked, deciding that the best thing to do was to change the subject.
“No. Folding laundry.”
“Two-thirty in the morning? Not in bed with lover boy?” he asked.
“Not your business.”
So it wasn’t his imagination. Things weren’t going well with the human. Fia was spending more and more nights alone, and talking less about him.
“I’m home. Guess I’ll say good night. I’ve got some work to do at Eva’s tomorrow. She wants her fence repaired before the big photo shoot.” He walked up the sidewalk to the porch. Before he laid his hand on the doorknob, he knew someone was inside. Macy.
“Pleasant dreams,” Fia said.
“Bet mine will be better than yours,” he teased, walking into the house and closing the door quietly behind him.
“Sweet Mary,” Fia groaned in his ear. “Tell me she’s not there waiting for you.”
“You’re just jealous,” he whispered. “Because I’m getting more sex than you are.”
“Hanging up,” Fia declared.
The phone went dead in his ear. Smiling to himself, Arlan walked down the hallway in the dark. She hadn’t turned any lights on. A lot of humans were afraid of the dark, but not Macy. She seemed to prefer it.
Arlan halted inside his bedroom door. She lay naked, asleep on her side in the middle of his bed, pillowing her head on her hands.
He set his phone down on the bedside table and slipped out of his clothes. He tried to ease into bed carefully, thinking he wouldn’t wake her. It had been kind of nice to wake up next to her yesterday in the hotel.
But the moment the mattress shifted under his weight, Macy stirred.
“Hey,” she said sleepily, reaching for him.
He liked her like this, only half awake, her guard down. She was a beautiful woman, but in this state, she seemed more vulnerable, less jaded by life. Even more beautiful. When she looked like this, Arlan had an intense desire to protect her, to take care of her. He even allowed himself to wonder for a moment what it would be like to live with her, to have a relationship with her.
“Hey,” he greeted, putting his arm around her.
She glanced at the clock and he waited for her to ask where he’d been. He figured he’d tell her he stayed late at The Hill.
But she didn’t ask. She didn’t say a word. She just rested her head on his shoulder and snuggled against him.
She didn’t ask.
Of course it was better for Arlan if she didn’t. Saying nothing was always better than telling a lie, because after a while, there were so many lies that a man couldn’t remember the truth. But Arlan couldn’t help wondering why Macy didn’t ask where he’d been. What if he’d been with some other woman? Didn’t she care?
He kissed the top of her head and said nothing, wishing he was the one who didn’t care.
“You didn’t,” Fia said.
“Afraid I did.” Macy sat down in the sand and pulled a fried fish sandwich from the brown paper sack. The fish was fresh. Some old geezer caught it this morning, according to the girl at the cash register at the diner. Macy loved fresh fish. She loved lunch out of paper sacks. In the Midwest where she’d grown up, you didn’t get fresh fish sandwiches in paper sacks.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Fia swore. “I don’t understand. All you had to do was stay off the Internet.”
“I know, I know.” Macy held the wrapped sandwich in her hand. “I just couldn’t help myself. It was like I knew he was there, waiting for me. He was shook up. He’d been trying to reach me for days.”
Fia exhaled. “So what did he have to say?” she asked, still not over it.
“He said the voice is loud.”
“Whose voice?”
“I don’t know. He just says her, she. He would never tell me who she is.”
“You think someone is actually talking to him or it’s in his head?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Macy said, “but I would guess it’s in his head. He says it gives him a headache sometimes, the voice is so loud.”
“He say anything else?”
Macy unwrapped the sandwich on her lap. “Not really.” She hesitated. “But he was really worked up. I tried to talk to him about not listening to the voice, about not hurting anyone.”
“Jesus H. Christ, Macy!”
“I’m sorry. It’s just how the conversation went down.”
Fia was quiet on the other end of the line for a minute. “You think he’s going to do it again? Soon?”
Macy thought for a second. “Yeah,” she heard herself say. “I’m afraid he is. Maybe I can get some more information out of him. I told him I would talk to him tonight. I promised I would be there.”
“You shouldn’t have said that, Macy.”
“I was trying to help. I was trying to keep him from murdering people.”
“He use the same screen name?”
“A variation. Like I said before, he switches pretty regularly. This was Teddy200.”
Again, the exasperated sigh. “So far, we’ve had no luck with any of the others you’ve given me. He’s made it very hard for us to track him down.” She was quiet for a minute. “Look, they’re talking here about rerouting your IM address and having one of us talk to him.”
“Absolutely not,” Macy said. “He’ll know it’s a trick. You piss him off, I don’t know what he’ll do. The agreement from the beginning was that I would not approach the authorities. Ever.”
“And what did he say he would do if you did? He threaten you?”
“No,” Macy said quietly.
“So he threatened to hurt others. Who? You said you have no family. No friends.”
“He didn’t say exactly what he would do.” Macy rewrapped her sandwich, not sure she was hungry any longer. “But he used the words innocent and carnage a lot.” She paused. “Fia, I’m scared he’s going to do it again. Soon, really soon.”
“But it’s only been two weeks since the Macphersons.” Fia’s voice was tightly strung. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
Macy gestured with one hand. “He’s a nut job. Why does it have to make sense?”
When Fia spoke again, it was in her calm FBI agent voice. “The thing is, somehow in his head, Macy, this all makes sense. That’s why I need your help. That’s why I need you to be more forthcoming with information than you’ve been.”
“What information? I don’t have any information.” Macy thought about the shoe box in the bottom of her closet in the cottage in Virginia. Was there something there Fia could use? She looked down the beach to see Eva approaching from a distance. She was wearing a crazy black and white caftan and her hair was covered with some sort of turban. “Look, I can’t talk anymore. I have a meeting.”
It wasn’t really a meeting so much as a lunch date. It had been Eva’s suggestion that they meet for fish sandwiches after she learned that Macy liked them, too. So this was a lunch da
te between friends. Macy had never had lunch with a friend.
“What do you want me to do about talking to Teddy tonight?” Macy asked into the phone. She knew that Eva knew she was working with Fia to track down the Buried Alive Killer, but Macy didn’t want to involve Eva. She wanted to keep the first friend she had ever made safe.
“Don’t talk to him. That’s what I want you to do. Did you print out the IM from him last night?”
“Yeah. This morning. Want me to fax it to you when I go back to the hotel?”
“That would be helpful,” Fia said.
Macy waved to Eva. “So, I’ll call you later.”
“What a great day,” Eva greeted, opening her arms. The silky fabric of the caftan whipped in the breeze.
Macy hung up her phone and dropped it in her knapsack lying in the sand behind her. “Hungry?” Macy asked, smiling.
Eva grinned, dropping down into the sand. “Famished.”
Teddy stared at the blank screen on his new laptop. He bought and sold them regularly off the Internet so if the police did ever try to track his contact with Marceline, it would be difficult. Not that he thought she would ever betray him by going to the police.
The screen was still blank. She wasn’t coming. His girl wasn’t coming.
“No,” Teddy whispered. “Not tonight, Marceline. Tonight is not the night to be petulant.”
She’s not coming. I don’t know why you’ve been sitting there all night waiting. You know she isn’t coming.
He clamped his hands over his ears. “I can’t hear you,” he sang.
She’s not coming because she doesn’t care.
“She does care,” he said, his voice shaky. “Marceline loves me.”
She doesn’t love you! What makes you think she loves you? She ever tell you that?
Teddy’s lower lip trembled. He stared at the computer screen, trying to will her to log on.
Has she? the voice shouted.
Tears filled Teddy’s eyes. “No.”
No, no. She’s never told you she loves you because she doesn’t. She despises you.
“No.” He shook his head. Marceline told him to fight her. Not to listen to her. “It’s not true,” he insisted, tears filling his eyes. “She cares about me. She cares how I am. How I’m feeling.”
Lies. Lies you tell yourself, Teddy, the voice screeched. It was now inside his head and outside. But he couldn’t see her. He never could. She doesn’t love you and you know why?
He got up out of the desk chair, shaking all over. He knew the moon wasn’t right, but when he got like this, there was only one way to calm himself. One way to get release.
The voice followed him down the steps to the basement. In the basement was where he kept his supplies.
She doesn’t love you because no one could ever love you. Not even your mother could love you!
Teddy lowered his hands from his head, knowing it was no use. She wouldn’t go away now. Not until it was done.
Say it! she shrieked.
“No one could ever love me,” Teddy repeated, taking down the special bag that contained the items he would need to subdue them. “Not even you, Mother.”
Chapter 22
Against her better judgment, Macy did as Fia asked and stayed away from the computer that night. But all the next day, she waited in trepidation. She knew in the pit of her stomach that it was only a matter of time before Fia called with the dreaded news. For the first time ever, Macy recharged her cell minutes, keeping the same phone and number.
It was four P.M. when Macy stopped at the hotel’s front desk to pick up mail. Mrs. Cahall was chatty, as usual. Today, she was wearing a yellow and pink argyle sweater vest over a white polo. Yellow tennis skirt. Her lipstick was Racy Ruby, she’d told Macy. Cover Girl. Two tubes for seven dollars at Hill’s Pharmacy.
When her cell phone rang, Macy knew it was Fia. She was tempted not to answer. She was tempted to drop the phone in the nearest garbage can, go to her room, pack her crap, and move on. She could just skip the Clare Point cottages piece. She didn’t really need the job. She certainly didn’t need the money. The money her parents had left her in their will was more than enough for a lifetime. It was long past time she moved on, anyway, Macy reasoned, staring at the phone in her hand.
“You gonna answer that?” Mrs. Cahall asked. She was sipping from a plastic cocktail tumbler. Straight gin, no doubt.
“No.”
“Why not?” the old woman asked.
“Because it’s bad news.”
“Eh?” Mrs. Cahall cupped her hand to her ear.
“I said it’s bad news,” Macy said loudly.
“You think the bad news will go away if you don’t answer the phone?” She peered intently at Macy, clear-eyed, despite the fact that this was probably her second or third cocktail of the afternoon. She shook her head. “Not been my experience. And let me tell you, missy, I’ve got plenty of experience in the bad news department.”
Macy slowly lifted the phone to her ear. She turned her back to Mrs. Cahall and walked away, leaving her mail from the previous day on the counter. “It’s Sunday. It’s your day off,” she said into the phone.
“Apparently our killer doesn’t understand weekend hours. Did you know he was going to do it?” Fia asked on the other end of the line. She was pissed. “Don’t lie to me, Macy. Did he tell you he was going to kill another family?”
“No.” Macy walked out the lobby door, onto the sidewalk. The late afternoon heat and humidity hit her like a wall. “He did not tell me he was going to kill anyone. You got the fax. You saw what he said.”
“There’s no way for me to know if there was another conversation. You could have printed that screen to throw me off.”
“Are you accusing me of being a part of this?” Macy demanded. Her heart thumped in her chest. It had been a mistake for her to ever contact Fia. She should have known it would be a waste of time. This was never going to work. Teddy couldn’t be stopped. She knew it. He knew it. “Do you really think I have something to do with these murders?” She was so angry, so upset that her voice quavered.
“No.” Fia was calmer now.
“But you considered the possibility?” Macy pressed.
“I wouldn’t be doing my job if I hadn’t.” Fia’s words were frank, but her tone was not unkind. “This wouldn’t have been the first time a killer or someone intimately involved in the killing tried to get himself or herself caught.”
“I called you the other night, Fia,” Marcy insisted. “I didn’t have to tell you I talked to him after you asked me not to. Why would I lie about what was said?”
“I don’t know. Why would you lie to me at all?”
Macy walked to a tree that partially shaded the hotel parking lot. She sank to the ground, her knees pulled up, her back against the rough trunk. She stared at a discarded Coke can under a car. “I’m not lying to you about the conversation I had with Teddy. I haven’t lied to you once since the day I called you.” Not about anything important, Macy thought, wondering if you could burn in hell for lying to an FBI agent. Jail time, maybe, but hell? She was already in hell.
They were both quiet for a minute. Fia wasn’t buying it. She knew Macy wasn’t being entirely forthright with information.
“Not even a full moon,” Macy remarked.
“Apparently that didn’t stop him last time.”
“Who did he kill?” Macy asked, wishing she didn’t have to know.
“The Millers—husband, wife, and six children. The youngest was an infant.”
Macy squeezed her eyes shut. Her chest tightened until she could barely catch her breath. “Six?” she whispered. In her mind’s eye, she saw the faces of her two little sisters, imagined them buried, dead. Their arms at their sides. In those days, Teddy had still been on the learning curve. It wasn’t until later that he buried them with their hands above their heads. “Who the hell has six children these days?” She made the comment as much to herself as Fia. “Where?”
“Lancaster. An Amish family. They were found about an hour ago. They didn’t show up for church, so after services, a family friend went out to the house to check on them. They’re strict old-order so they have no phones. According to the ME, time of death was noon.”
Macy hung her head. “I was afraid this was going to happen. He didn’t have to tell me, but somehow I knew it.” She lifted her head. “How did I know, Fia?”
Fia was quiet on the other end of the line for a moment. “I don’t know, Macy. Maybe some kind of psychic connection to him?”
“I don’t believe in that crap.”
Fia chuckled, but it was without humor. It was as if she was in on some joke that Macy was not privy to. Macy didn’t appreciate it much.
“Look, I’m on my way to the crime scene,” Fia said. “But we need to have a talk. A serious talk. So far, you’re the only lead we have in these cases. You tell me you’ve told me everything, but you’re lying and we both know it. He has a connection to you. What you need to decide, Macy, is if you really want to stop this guy. Do you really want to help stop him? And if you do, you have to be forthcoming with whatever you know. Everything you know.”
Macy lifted her head. Two teens on skateboards glided by on the sidewalk, laughing and teasing each other. Macy thought about the Miller family. She imagined them dead and buried to their chins, their arms stretched over their heads in some macabre exhibition. How could life go on, how could boys still skate and laugh, she wondered, when the Millers were standing upright in their graves, waiting to be excavated?
“Call me later,” Macy said. She hung up.
Arlan was surprised to find Macy sitting on his front step when he got home from work at 5:30. It was early for her. She didn’t usually come by until after dark, which he found ironic since he was the vampire.
Undying Page 20
