In Shadows
Page 32
Cramer glared at the raging fire, his hand over the rude bandage Mandi had fashioned from his shirt. “I’ll second that,” he muttered.
“You sure you don’t want us to make you a pallet on top of the hood?”
Cramer chuckled. “I’ve been shot by better men than you.”
Jake shook his head, boosting Mandi up onto the dozer, and then turned to help Pierce. Mandi watched the boy as Pierce tested the muddy track with his fingers.
“There was nothing else we could do,” Jake whispered, ashamed and guilt-stricken.
After a moment she rested one hand on his shoulder and squeezed, nodding sadly. But Jake knew the hurt of having seen Pierce whole and then broken again would be with both of them for the rest of their lives. Their son had saved all of them and given up the most precious of gifts to do so. Jake was proud of the boy, despondent, and confused.
As Pierce settled into the seat Jake noticed that the rain had completely stopped, as though even nature itself would have nothing to do with saving the old mansion. Finally he helped Virgil up beside Cramer on the engine cowling, just ahead of the driver’s seat. The machine would carry all of them, but not comfortably. Oswald woofed at Jake’s feet and he lifted the little dog up into Cramer’s arms.
He clambered aboard, easing into the wide seat beside Pierce, Mandi sitting on the thick armrest. As he started to shove the machine into gear, Pierce took his hand, spelling.
Are we going home?
Jake spelled back. Yes.
Are you going to stay now?
I’ll never leave you again.
Pierce smiled, and Jake sighed, but the boy seemed to sense his discomfort.
It’s all right, Pierce spelled. They’re fixed now. They won’t hurt anyone ever again.
Are you sure of that?
Yes.
But you can’t see or hear.
Pierce squeezed his hand before spelling. It was a fair trade.
Then he wrapped his arms around Jake’s neck and squeezed even harder.
ULES ROSE WEARILY TO HIS FEET. The first rays of dawn creeping through the windows had wakened him from a fitful half-sleep.
The phone had not rung all night, and he’d made up his mind. This was the day. Now was the time. He wrapped his fingers tightly around the walnut grips of his pistol to keep his hands from shaking. He planned to place the barrel of the gun directly against the old woman’s temple and pull the trigger before she could move. The closeness of her skin would deaden the noise of the shot. Nothing to it.
But he was afraid.
He glanced toward the doorway into the altar room, and he could have sworn he heard whispers coming from that direction. Muffled voices. Threatening sounds. But the old woman was in the bedroom. He could hear her snoring.
“There’s no voice,” he muttered to himself, continuing the chant until the whispers disappeared.
He grasped the pistol tighter, wanting nothing more than to be done with this job, to kill the old bitch and get the hell out of this apartment, out of this crazy neighborhood. The long thin rays of the sun through the living room drapes caused the shadows inside the bedroom to be deeper and darker, and as he entered the room he was momentarily blinded.
As his eyes began to readjust, he was shocked to see that the old woman’s bed was empty. He spun, ready to blow the bitch to hell and gone, but she was nowhere to be seen. It was impossible for her to get out of the bed so fast. But she had. She was always doing things like that, driving him crazy.
She had to be in the bathroom. The door was half open, the night-light still on. He slipped over against the wall, listening, waiting for her to come out. He could hear water running, and when he glanced through the door he saw steam rising from beneath the shower curtain, and the mirror was fogged. He edged into the room, careful not to slip on the wet floor or to get between the light and the curtain and throw a shadow.
He couldn’t understand how the old woman had gotten to him. He’d killed dozens of men in his life and a couple of women. He’d been in situations where the slightest misstep or misspoken word could have cost him his life, and he’d never broken a sweat. But ever since Jimmy had left, he’d been living in fear of a woman so ancient her teeth had rotted out of her head. And now he was going to end it. He tightened his grip on the pistol and reached out to grab the slick shower curtain.
But suddenly an image of a corpse flashed before his eyes. An emaciated, rotten thing, with bones showing through the decaying flesh but living eyes and a gummy grin, tufts of gray hair still clinging to its skull. And the corpse was standing on the other side of the curtain, showering just like a living, breathing person. It was all he could do to not run screaming from the room.
It’s all in my head. She’s doing it to me, somehow. She’s trying to stop me from killing her by driving me crazy.
He forced himself to jerk the curtain aside, almost filling the empty shower with lead before he realized that there was no one there. No wrinkled old woman with her blue hair pasted to her head. No laughing corpse. The shower was running, but no one was home. He whirled, aiming the pistol back into the bedroom, his heart pounding against his ribs. He leaped back out into the room, expecting the old woman to be making a break for the door, but there was no one in the room. No one in the living room, or the kitchen, either, when he checked to see if she was hiding behind the counter. That left only the room full of idols. The room where he’d just heard the whispered voices.
He crossed the carpet slowly, glancing through the door to make sure the snake was still coiled up in the aquarium and the top was held down tight. He didn’t want the old bitch pulling some shit and throwing the snake on him or something. Once again he leaned against the wall, listening. And again he was sure he could hear voices whispering. But there was no way there was anyone in there but the old woman.
Shit.
He couldn’t even figure out how she had managed to slip by him and get into the room, much less anyone else. She had to have a recording or something. Trying to freak him out. Well, this was going to be over in a heartbeat. He strode into the room, ready for a quick couple of shots. Then he was out of here.
The room was darker than he’d expected. All the altar candles were out. Not even a trickle of light seemed able to make its way into the place, and the whispered voices were louder inside, closer. He couldn’t understand what they were saying, but it sounded like the Voudou Cajun crap the old woman was always jabbering. Only the voices weren’t hers. They didn’t even sound human. It was more like the noise a grinder might make chewing up broken glass. When something hard struck his gun hand his finger tickled the trigger, and a shot burst through the back wall.
Jules spun toward his attacker, but suddenly hands seemed to be all over him, grabbing, choking, punching, pinching, chopping. The wind was knocked from his lungs, the gun dropped to the floor, and he struggled to make it back through the door into the living room, but it looked as though it were a million miles away and he ran toward it, as though it were receding. When he was finally able to reach the jamb and jerk himself back into the living room he staggered on to the front door, fumbling open the locks with trembling fingers, whipping open the door, blinded by the direct morning sun. He stumbled out onto the landing but was caught by more powerful hands and forced hard against the side of the building.
“Whoa, partner!” said a heavy male voice in his ear.
He felt cuffs being clicked onto his wrists, but he didn’t care. He was outside. In the sunlight. Away from the crazy old bitch. Away from whatever the hell she’d unleashed inside.
“You okay, Memere?” said another male voice.
“Oui,” said the old woman, as Jules’s eyes began to adjust again.
She was standing in the doorway, smiling a toothless grin at him and stroking her snake.
“I am so glad you caught dis man,” she said, nodding at Jules. “He has held me the—how you say—kidnapped.”
“Jesus, Memere,” said the firs
t officer. “Are you okay? Cramer just called and asked us to check on you.”
“I am the plenty okay now,” she said, smiling and nodding at Jules again. “Dis one here and his boss, dey is not so okay. But me and my snake, we be fine, t’ank you. It good to be out of de shadows and see de sunlight again, dough.”
“What’s a big, nasty fella like you doing picking on a nice old lady like this?” said one of the cops, jerking Jules away from the wall.
Memere laughed. “I tink dis one he gots what you calls de baggage.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Chandler McGrew lives in Bethel, Maine, and has four women in his life—Rene, Keni, Mandi, and Charli—all of whom wish it to be known that he is either their husband or father. He is the author of the suspense novels Cold Heart, Night Terror, and The Darkening. Chandler can be reached at www.chandlermcgrew.com.
IN SHADOWS
A Dell Book/October 2005
Published by
Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2005 by Chandler McGrew
Dell is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc., and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
eISBN: 978-0-440-33563-4
www.bantamdell.com
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