Dark & Disorderly

by Bernita Harris

  When the truth came out and I showed up very much alive, I could kiss my job goodbye. People don’t like being tricked into sympathy and then finding it wasted.

  I went to the dining room and pulled the drapes on the north window there. After checking for loiterers, pulled the drapes across the bay window as well. I resented shutting out the day. Resented the idea of being confined, restricted, trapped in my own house.

  Johnny sprawled in his chair, eyes closed, one boot propped on the desk. One arm behind his head, the other arm rested across his body, his hand by his belt near his holster. A big, dangerous man, exuding male and muscle. Nathan had never sat there so. Nathan had never sprawled so carelessly in his life.

  I snagged both mugs and went back to the kitchen. I needed another cup too. I drank it standing in the kitchen, thinking very hard. Then I went back to the living room and Johnny Thresher.

  “Now,” I said, after plunking his coffee in front of him and jolting him out of a doze, “you talk.”

  And with that I crossed the room and curled up on the recliner. “I talked. I told you what happened. I can’t tell if you’ve done an about-face and decided you’ll believe me or not. If you don’t, drink your coffee and get out of my house. I’m damned tired of your attitude.”

  I pulled a blanket from the pile and wrapped it around me like a shawl. The recitation of yesterday’s events made me feel chilled again in spite of the coffee.

  “You blow in here from some federal office. You seem to have a lot of clout, a lot of authority, a lot of credentials. Enough to impress the locals anyway. You are more interested in my exorcism skills than seems relevant to any investigation of paranormal crime. I know you’re a psychic of some sort, maybe a Talent, possibly an animator deluxe. Which, considering my recent experience with that Nathan-zombie-thing, raises a nasty possibility that does not exactly fill me with confidence. Let me remind you that suspicion is a two-way street. You accused me of playing some kind of game. What games are you playing, Sergeant?”

  I waited. His turn. His call.

  He sat there regarding me steadily for several minutes, drinking his coffee. I stared back just as steadily. He blinked first.

  “I’d heard about you,” he said finally. “I didn’t quite believe it.”

  He meant the Campus case, I figured, but I didn’t bite. He would get to the point, or he wouldn’t, but I wasn’t going to derail the conversation by suckering into a diversion gambit out of personal curiosity.

  “There’s been a disturbing increase not only in the malignancy of some apparitions but also a corresponding increase in non-spectral—though that designation is negotiable—Other World entities such as the dullahan that your friend Vanderveen encountered. We have to learn how to deal with those if we don’t want to face another Dark Age.”

  “The increase in paranaturalities is pretty obvious to anyone who’s been paying attention,” I retorted. “But isn’t Dark Age a little extreme? I mean, a dullahan might scare the living shit out of a person, but he represents nothing more than a forewarning when you come right down to it.” Projections must indeed be bad if the federales were moved to action.

  “Lillie, you’ve heard of the Sluagh?”

  “The Unforgiven? The evil and unsanctified dead? Of course. I put down a reasonable facsimile of one the other day.”

  “Then think about it for a minute. Think about a band of them en masse hunting through a neighborhood. Also, think about the possibility of an Other Worlder, with his or her anachronistic attitudes about justice, equality and property, usurping a position of power within one of our essential institutions. ‘Dark Age’ might turn out to be an understatement.”

  I thought about it. “Like zombie ghosts. Point taken.”

  “I’ve been seconded to the NSA to set up a federal task force and put together a mobile team of Talents and/or experts to monitor and address the rising rate of these paranormal incidents. You were on my preliminary list of people to approach. At the top of it, by the way. You were highly recommended. I came here to arrange an interview to see if you could be recruited, and found your recommender in hospital and you in the middle of a situation.”

  Bobby. Bobby had recommended me. Probably months ago. That explained his careful and casual questions, and his detailed interest after each of my cases. I wished I had known.

  “Then you showed up at the station before I had unpacked my laptop with a story about what was obviously a pseudo-zombie from your description. The coincidence struck me as just too pat.”

  “I don’t do zombies,” I reminded him. “But that made you suspicious.”

  “Yes.”

  “Of me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Your logic sucks, actually,” I said. “I could view your showing up as a suspicious coincidence, for that matter, equally suspect. We never had zombies and such here until you arrived on the scene. Sorry, proceed with your presentation.”

  “Naturally there’s been a concern that this increase in phenomena of both types leads inevitably to human exploitation—psi-crime, in short, of both the organized and individual variety. Just as inevitably, it leads to attacks on any Talents that might be in a position to uncover these crimes. I know of three strong Talents in different parts of the country who have died in the last three months under suspicious circumstances. I’m sure you read or heard about them,” he added meaningfully.

  I hadn’t, but didn’t see any point in saying so. He intended to suggest my situation appeared to be a deliberate imitation, a manufactured faux peril. His shadow preceded him when he got up and stalked over to my chair and stood gazing down. He’d crossed his arms again. Not a good sign.

  “This same human propensity also leads inevitably to the co-opting of people with paranatural abilities by criminal interests. A few by coercion, most by inclination. Talent, though rare among the population, occurs indiscriminately and is not automatically tied to a conscience. One cannot assume that a Talent is also honest, ethical and law biding.”

  “Certainly inevitable, Sergeant. You’ve put it so well. The White Talent and the Black.” I smiled up at him, not nicely. “How difficult for you.”

  23.

  Before I could say more my phone rang. And rang. I didn’t move. Johnny raised his brows at me. I shrugged. His call. The question of whether I’d go along with his suggestion to play dead or not hadn’t been discussed. I hadn’t heard his reasons. They would have to be very good.

  He walked back to the desk, picked up the receiver and barked into it, “Waredale PD.”

  Some babble from the other end.

  “That’s not possible at present,” he said, and cut the connection.

  This time he brought the kitchen chair with him. He straddled it and crossed his arms over the back. Better body language from my perspective, but he blocked me off from the rest of the room. I didn’t like that.

  “Your callback. Your insurance rep. Very anxious, excited. Obviously, she’s seen news coverage.”

  “She’s probably more excited now because of the way you blew her off… Now, that was a very nice, clear overview of your aims and authority. Congratulations. But for some reason parts of it set my bullshit meter blinking. You’ve made it clear that you suspect I’ve been conniving with criminal parties for deep, nefarious purposes—or just because I’m bent that way. You also made it plain by all those dark allusions you don’t accept my account of last evening. Have you finished your coffee yet?” I concluded. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

  He took a last sip and put his mug on the floor. He made no move to leave.

  “No negotiation, Lillie?”

  I didn’t understand why he was prolonging this. From his words I was no longer at the top of his list, or even on it, for possible recruitment.

  “There appears to be nothing to negotiate—whatever you mean by that. When you first showed up here you accused me of making a neurotic try for attention. Now you imply I’m part of a criminal
conspiracy. I don’t ‘negotiate’ with assholes. I don’t even like to talk to them. So you can go now.”

  He got up but only to twirl the chair so there was no wooden barrier between us.

  “Lillie, if there’s been sabotage to your car, your life’s in danger. This is an escalation.”

  “No kidding. You noticed. And I don’t agree it’s an escalation. It’s another attempt. Period. Furthermore, I seem to remember you inspecting my car with that suspicion in mind just the other day. Today, after something actually happens, you accuse me of playing games. Actually, I should thank you. Maybe someday, when I’m feeling less insulted and pissed off, I will. If you hadn’t put the possibility in my head, it never would have occurred to me to look under the car, spotting the fluid leak, and I would have been going a lot faster.”

  “We won’t know with any certainty until the car’s been put through forensic mechanics. Meanwhile…”

  “Meanwhile, what?” I snapped. “You’ll probably claim I did it myself. And now that I think of it, I seriously doubt you were looking for sabotage, I think you were planting a bug and this GPS business is utter horseshit.”

  “Meanwhile, Lillie, whoever planned your accident might come out of the woodwork if they believe you’re dead.”

  “And do what? Just how do you expect they would show themselves? And what if they do nothing? I’d have to surface. It couldn’t be kept under wraps very long. Playing dead and then rising from it doesn’t really appeal to me—too zombielike. I’d likely lose my job over a deception like that, the waste of public resources and all—and my professional reputation, such as it is. No matter what story was cooked up to cover my absence. It’s one thing not to be aware there’s been a search for me—it’s quite another, ethically, to connive at keeping up the pretense.”

  I waited for him to expand on the hows and whys of his suggestion, but he didn’t. He just lounged there and watched me.

  “You did call off the search didn’t, you?” I asked, anxiously. “You can’t let it go on as if I were truly missing!”

  “Yes, they’re toning it down, using it as an excuse for practice. Search-and-rescue exercise. I told them to soft-pedal the media.”

  “Seems to me the smartest thing for me to do is go directly to the media and tell them someone’s trying to kill me. That would spike his guns,” I declared. “People might not love Talents, but the publicity would insure anything that happens would be investigated for foul play and not dismissed as an accident. That sort of public attention would be a deterrent. Your idiot idea sets me up for more risk, not less.” I yanked another blanket from the welter on the floor and spread it over my legs. Half-assed, ill-thought plans annoyed me. I thought he was smarter than that.

  “And another thing, apart from the practical fact there’s almost nothing in the house for me to eat during this imaginary and time-unspecified interim—you know, practical difficulties like that—what if there’s a paranormal emergency that needs me?”

  “Your colleague, Vanderveen, could cover any eventuality.”

  “Ric? Our terms of employment are different. Ric is an employee of Works. He does highways and byways exclusively. He doesn’t even like to do underpasses and bridges for fear he’ll get in trouble with the union. I’m the designated heavy lifter in this municipality because I’m the stronger Talent and I have credentials. This is screwy. You don’t have a clue, do you? Neither do I, but I’m not the cop here.”

  That wasn’t quite true. I had half an idea. I went on, “And even if I did, any ideas of mine would be suspect, considering your attitude.”

  “You’re content then to continue to be a target? I can’t encourage that, Lillie.”

  “I’ve been a target all my life.” I turned my face sideways into the cushion and burrowed into the blanket, shutting him out.

  “Shadow Woman,” he said.

  “The door, Sergeant. You. The other side of it.”

  He hitched his chair closer and folded the blanket away from my face.

  “Lillie, look at me and consider this: three attempts in four days. Moving from the arcane to the direct. That indicates urgency. A time factor. Your adversary isn’t going to relax at the thought of success. He’ll move to secure his objective, his motive.”

  “Not if he’s nuts, he won’t, or out for revenge. He’ll be satisfied for a short time. And then, when I’m found to be alive, it would begin all over again.”

  Johnny leaned his elbow on the arm of my chair and on the blanket flung over it. I was wrapped and trapped.

  “This last incident replicates your husband’s accident and ties them together by modus. We’re likely looking at the same person responsible for both.”

  “Not exactly. Nathan survived the accident. He was alive when they got him to hospital.”

  I clenched my fists to help me get the words out and looked him right between the eyes. Confession time, and it would not be good for my soul.

  “The accident didn’t kill Nathan—I did.”

  I don’t know how I expected him to react—with steel and ice, maybe—but it wasn’t the way he did. Nonchalance. Dismissal.

  “Is that so? Lillie, that’s survival guilt talking. I read the interview about the circumstances of that evening. Very carefully. Just because you were supposed to take the car that night doesn’t make you in any way responsible.”

  I shook my head over and over. He stopped the movement with his hand. When I tried to pull away from his touch, he tightened his fingers in my hair.

  “No, Lillie. Open your eyes and look at me. I read the coroner’s report. Massive internal injuries. Massive internal bleeding. By the time they found him, it was already too late. The man never had a chance.”

  “You don’t understand. They brought me to the hospital. I saw him in Emerge. His aura was all funny. I couldn’t feed it energy. And I buggered their equipment, their life support machines. Me.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  “No? He used to say I was a soul sucker, a succubus, a lamia out of legend.”

  “Lillie, stop it. You’ve locked yourself in a guilt loop, for no good reason.”

  “You don’t understand,” I insisted. “I was glad he died… I’m not safe to be around.”

  “Life is full of risks,” he said and laughed. Then he peeled me from my wooly cocoon and dragged me half across his knees.

  “Lillie,” he said, his voice like black powder waiting for a spark.

  I struggled against the power surge between us, the flow and mingle of aura meeting aura, and the longing, the want, the greed. Because he was in an awkward position, I managed to wrench my mouth away before he kissed me. I didn’t want to.

  “You horny bastard,” I said with quiet venom. “You still don’t understand. I’m a danger to you because of Talent. In more ways than one.”

  “I know, Shadow Woman. But it’s one way to get your attention.” He pulled me tighter and made to stand up.

  Which was how we ended up on the floor—something smashed through the bay window and billowed the drape.

  Before the glass stopped falling, Johnny threw us both sideways in a shoulder dive to the shelter of floor beside the sofa. He rolled on top of me, pressing me down like stones.

  We held our individual breaths and listened. Waiting for eternity.

  Nothing followed. No flash and blast. No smell of burning fuse or the stink of gasoline. Just blood pounding in our straining ears.

  “Stay flat,” he whispered and eased his arm from underneath my back. Using his elbows, he slithered off my body like a snake. When he reached the wall, he rose to a crouch, his pistol out. I heard the soft click of a safety and the barest rasp of his clothes along the bookcase, like scales over rock or the brush of fur along a ledge. I rolled carefully on my side and drew up my legs. While I waited I counted the dust bunnies under the couch.

  When I heard his open tread returning, I pushed up to a sitting position and rested my cheek against the nubby fabric of t
he couch’s fat arm.

  “Lillie? It’s clear.”

  I opened my eyes. He’d hunkered down beside me. His gun back in place.

  “The projectile is a rock. Some slimeball’s hit and flit calling card. You’ll see when you have a look.” He rose and held down a hand. “Let me help you up.”

  “No.” I hauled myself wearily to my feet and pulled my top back in place. I waited until I was sure my legs would carry me before I followed him across the room.

  A smooth quartz ovoid, of a size that would fit neatly in the palm of my hand, lay lightly glittering in the narrow fall of sunlight that bordered the floor behind the drapes. A few splinters and shards of glass gleamed beside it. If this was a stone from the museum collection, common river rock or not, it was far more interesting than the curator had described.

  “Have you had a problem with broken windows, with vandalism before?”

  “No. Just the hate mail and telephone nonsense. Safe distance stuff. Nathan’s presence may have served to some extent to shield me from attentions of this nature. That, plus a certain fear of retaliation. People think Talents have more powers than we do…” I stopped. That was really true. And the point probably applied to Nathan. Had he been more or less circumspect because he wasn’t sure how I might retaliate?

  “Go on.”

  “Sorry. If people think I’m dead and gone, and the house is empty, they feel bold. Spray paint. Graffiti. More windows. Maybe arson. Either out of sheer love of destruction or as a cleansing. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to play dead, Sergeant, for that reason alone. I’ve no desire to be immolated some night in a fire set by vandals.”

  “The story broke this morning. That’s not enough time for the vandal impulse to grow, Lillie. Many people will not have heard your car’s in the creek and you’re presumed drowned.”