The Returned

by Bishop O'Connell

  “Probably,” Edward agreed and dragged his finger along the arm of his glasses, whispering something to himself. “I don’t see anything unusual at either house.”

  “Oh yeah, duh,” Wraith said and lowered her goggles. “Yup, looks normal to me too.”

  “We should check anyway,” Caitlin said. “Don’t you think?”

  Edward nodded. “It’s possible there’s some artifact or something giving them the power. The person might not even have magical talents.”

  “So I ask again,” Wraith said.

  “Police following up on the investigation?” Edward asked.

  “You might look the part of a detective,” Siobhan said to Edward and nodded at Caitlin. “And her as well, but I don’t recall many guard what are blue-haired teenagers.”

  “Discriminatory bastards,” Wraith said.

  Caitlin thought about it. “What about reporters?”

  Edward’s eyebrows went up. “That’s good. Doing a story for a magazine and we want to ask those involved some questions. Plus it avoids that nasty bit about impersonating a police officer.”

  “Yes,” Caitlin said. “Let’s avoid felonies whenever possible.”

  “Okay. A story on what?” Wraith asked. “Recent increase in resident zombie populations?”

  “If we get inside,” Caitlin said, ignoring Wraith’s comment, “do you think between the two of you that you can find whatever this thing might be? Even if it’s not being used or in the same room?”

  Wraith nodded. “Probably. If it’s a person, we should see it once we get inside. The house will be soaked in magic, even if it’s not leaking out.”

  “Really?” Edward asked.

  Wraith nodded. “Homes, real homes, tend to hold things inside better. It works like insulation. If it’s an object that’s doing it, even if it’s not . . . I guess ‘turned on’ is the best term to use, we should see still magic pouring off it. Either way, the house will have residue in it.”

  “Let me do the talking,” Caitlin said to Edward. “We both know you’re a terrible liar.”

  Edward nodded reluctantly, and the four of them walked up to the first house.

  “Take this, just in case,” Wraith said and handed Caitlin something.

  Caitlin looked down to see a cardboard credit card, like what you get in new wallets.

  “What is this going to do?” Almost before the question had left her lips, the card shimmered and became an ID with the Newsweek logo and Caitlin’s face on it.

  Wraith smiled.

  “Should I be worried about your proficiency at making fake IDs?” Caitlin asked.

  “It’s only so I can vote,” Wraith said. “Now, let me see if I can make the gun-toting, tattooed badass here and myself a little more nondescript.”

  Caitlin felt a tingle in the air and watched as Wraith’s and Siobhan’s appearance changed: Wraith’s hair shifted to brown, Siobhan’s tattoos vanished, and they both looked to be wearing plain shirts and jeans.

  “Don’t see what the problem was,” Siobhan said as she looked down at herself.

  Caitlin tucked the card away and knocked on the door.

  “Who is it?” said a man’s voice through the door.

  “Mr. LaPier?” Caitlin asked.

  “Who’s asking?” the man said.

  “My name is Caitlin, and I’m a writer with Newsweek magazine—”

  “I ain’t interested in no subscription,” he said.

  “No, sir,” Caitlin said. “It’s not like that. My colleagues and I are doing a story about the New Orleans police.” She hoped that angle would get the man’s attention. “Word is the department has improved, but we’re talking with those who were victims of crimes for their side of it.”

  The door opened, just a few inches, and a man in his early forties looked out. “Who you say you with?”

  “Newsweek,” Caitlin said and held out the ID Wraith had forged.

  The man eyed it for a moment, then Caitlin, his gaze lingering a bit on Wraith. Then he nodded and opened the door. “Come on in.”

  They stepped through the door and into a small living room. To one side was a galley kitchen, its sink overflowing with dirty dishes. The entire house looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in months. There was trash on the old coffee table and floor, with several pieces of dirty clothing. Caitlin tried to ignore the odor of sweat, garbage, and stale beer.

  “Excuse the mess,” he said and began clearing some things away but quickly gave up.

  Caitlin scanned the room and saw several pictures of Mr. LaPier and a rather attractive woman. It showed them aging together in various scenes, always smiling and laughing.

  “It’s, uh, been hard since I lost my Jen,” Mr. LaPier said and sat on the couch.

  “I’m very sorry for your loss,” Caitlin said.

  He motioned for them to sit, but there was only a single chair. Caitlin took it. Wraith, Siobhan, and Edward stepped up behind her. She glanced back and saw them taking notes and whispering to each other. Wraith surreptitiously slipped Caitlin a small notepad and pen. Caitlin took it as casually as she could and flipped to a clean page.

  “Thank you for agreeing to talk to us, Mr. LaPier,” she said.

  “Call me Jason,” he said. “Can I get y’all anything?”

  “Thank you, no,” she said. “I promise we won’t take much of your time. And so you know, we won’t be using any names or direct quotes, so please feel free to be as frank as you like.”

  Jason nodded. “All right, what do you want to know?”

  “Anything you can tell me about the event, including the investigation after,” she said. She felt more than a little ghoulish intruding on this man’s pain and loss. However, the thought of why she was doing it was enough to keep up the ruse.

  “I wasn’t home when it happened,” he said. “I was working a double at the casino. I was working as much overtime as I could get. I wanted to surprise her with a trip to Paris.” He looked up. “Jen, I mean.”

  “Is that her?” Caitlin asked and nodded to a picture on the end table. It sat in an oasis of cleanliness. No clutter or trash was within a foot of it, and the picture itself looked as though it was dusted daily.

  He took the picture and held it reverently as he stared at it. “Yeah.”

  “She’s lovely.”

  Jason nodded. “Yes, she was.”

  “I know this is hard, Jason,” she said. “But please continue.”

  He did, explaining how he’d been pulled off the casino floor by police who told him Jen had been killed early in the shooting. She was just getting home when it got bad and was killed by a stray shot. Through tears and barely contained sobs, he told how the police did what Caitlin thought sounded like a normal and thorough investigation. This much gave her some relief.

  Watching him, she knew even before Wraith gave her a slight shake of her head that he wasn’t responsible. This poor man wasn’t angry; he was broken and empty. Her heart broke for him, and she wished more than anything she could do something for him. In the end, she decided that all she could do was listen to his story and let me him go on about his late wife. She couldn’t help but think back to her time in the Dusk Lands and how Edward would’ve been if she hadn’t made it back. They weren’t romantically involved at the time, of course, but he’d been in love with her for years by that point. Then she thought of something happening to him, or God forbid Fiona, and how that might just break her too.

  “Thank you so much for your time,” Caitlin said after twenty minutes or so, when it was clear he’d said all he could. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your sharing your story and how sorry I am for your loss. You clearly loved her very much.”

  Jason nodded and wiped tears away. Then he picked up a beer can off the coffee table and drank it down.

  Caitlin let herself out, the others following. Jason didn’t so much as look up from the picture.

  “Jesus,” Siobhan said when they’d crossed the street. “There�
�s hardly anything left of the fella.”

  Edward didn’t say anything. He just took Caitlin’s hand and held it tight. She squeezed back, each of them saying all they had to in that subtle gesture.

  “Okay, I’ll be the asshole,” Wraith said and drew some looks. “We need to go to the next house.”

  Everyone nodded and walked three houses down to the next address.

  Caitlin knocked, but no one answered.

  “They could be at work,” Edward said. “It is the middle of the day during the week.”

  Caitlin nodded. “Let’s go to the last place. If that’s a dead end, we’ll try again here later.”

  “Assuming the Legion doesn’t come here first,” Wraith said.

  “I don’t think they’ve come to this conclusion,” Edward said. “They were following us, and I don’t think it was just to keep tabs on us.”

  “Why do you think that?” Wraith said.

  Edward shrugged. “Instinct. One’s body language wasn’t the sort of surety I’d expect from someone at the end of a chase. I suspect he was trying to see if we knew anything and followed us in hopes we’d take him to his next lead.”

  “Bollixed up them plans, didn’t you, love?” Siobhan asked Wraith.

  “No telling for how long though,” Wraith said.

  The third address was at the corner, just two houses down. It was in the best shape of any house on the block. As they stepped up to the door, Caitlin noticed the doormat. It was clean and bore a quote from Joshua 24:15. “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”

  Caitlin knocked.

  The peephole went dark.

  “Who is it?” an older woman asked.

  “Mrs. Moreau?” Caitlin asked, glad she remembered the name.

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Caitlin Brady,” she said and gave the same story she’d used on Mr. LaPier.

  There was a moment of silence, and Caitlin wondered if this was the person responsible. What if she attacked them through the door? It suddenly occurred to her how stupid she’d been. If someone was under the influence of a dark force, there was no telling—

  There was the rattle of a door chain, a couple of deadbolts unlocking, and then the door opened. A grandmotherly woman, barely over five feet tall, looked them up and down. Caitlin again offered the false ID, which she glanced at to make sure it was still working.

  The woman took it and looked it over and then looked up at Caitlin. “Y’all don’t look much like reporters.”

  “Well, it’s not like a newspaper reporter,” Caitlin said. “I’m more of a human interest writer, and my colleagues here are specialists in stories about the police.” She fought hard to keep her poker face and tried to not look like she was trying.

  The woman looked at Wraith and arched an eyebrow.

  “I’m the lackey,” Wraith said and smiled. Then she glanced at Caitlin. “Sorry, boss. I mean intern. I fetch coffee and perform menial tasks too lowly for them.”

  Caitlin felt a rush of panic, but the woman smiled and laughed. “All right, then, come on in.”

  This house was a stark contrast to Jason’s. It was small, but it truly felt more cozy than cramped. It was exceedingly tidy, the smell of pine cleaner still in the air. It reminded Caitlin of her own grandparents’ house, where she’d grown up after losing her parents. It was smaller, and instead of antiques all over there were crafts, but it had the same feel to it. A familiar twinge stabbed at her heart. Sometimes she really missed them, but mostly she just wished they’d have lived long enough to know Fiona.

  Pushing the feelings away, she looked over the living room. There was a well-worn Bible on the coffee table open to Psalms, and a large picture of Jesus hung above the TV and next to a cross.

  Wraith wandered over to a cabinet on the far wall filled to bursting with small porcelain figurines.

  “My mother collected Hummels,” Wraith said.

  “She doesn’t anymore?” Mrs. Moreau asked as she closed the door.

  Wraith shook her head. “She’s dead.”

  Caitlin winced.

  “Oh, dear child,” Mrs. Moreau said. “I’m sorry, and you so young.”

  “Thank you,” Wraith said.

  “I was just making a pot of tea,” Mrs. Moreau said. “Would y’all like some?”

  “Thank you, but—” Caitlin started to say.

  “I could go for a cuppa,” Siobhan said.

  Mrs. Moreau smiled. “Irish?”

  “Aye, mum,” Siobhan said and smiled back. “Galway.”

  “Lovely country,” Mrs. Moreau said and went into the kitchen.

  Caitlin shot Siobhan a look. She just shrugged.

  “Mrs. Moreau,” Caitlin said. “Thank you for taking the time to speak with us.”

  “Call me Nancy,” she said. “Mrs. Moreau was my mother-in-law, and I sure ain’t her. Bless her heart.”

  Caitlin couldn’t help but smile.

  A minute later Nancy came out with a tea service and set it down next to her Bible. She sat and began filling cups, asking how each person took it and preparing it carefully. Everyone took one and sipped. Nancy patted the sofa.

  “Sit down here, child,” she said. “Y’all are making me nervous looming like that.”

  Caitlin sat down on the sofa, Siobhan took the loveseat, and Wraith and Edward each took a kitchen chair and sat.

  “Now, I’m happy for the company,” Nancy said, “but I’m afraid I don’t have much to tell you. True enough the police weren’t always so good, but I can’t say a bad word for how they handled everything.”

  Caitlin was ready to thank her for the tea and leave. There was no way she could believe this woman was capable of using dark magic. She glanced over her shoulder at Wraith and Edward. Both of them were staring around the room with wide eyes.

  Wraith looked over and nodded very slightly.

  No, there was no way. They had to be reading something wrong.

  Caitlin turned back to Nancy, who sipped her tea and smiled.

  “Um, I’m glad to hear that,” Caitlin said. “But if you don’t mind, I’d still like to hear your side of it. If it’s not too painful to think on, of course.”

  Nancy set down her cup and sighed. “Child, I miss my Gerrard every day. He was a good Christian man, hardworking and loving. We had fifty-eight years together, which I see as a blessing. He’s with Jesus now, and I’ve come to peace with that.” She patted the Bible. “The Lord says to forgive, and it wasn’t easy, but that’s what I’ve done.”

  “That’s incredibly admirable,” Caitlin said. “I’m not sure I could’ve.”

  Nancy took a black-and-white picture of a man from the end table and touched it with her fingers as she smiled. “I’d rather my heart was filled with love for my husband than hate for his killers.” She shook her head. “I remember it though. Shooting started in the distance, which I’m sorry to say isn’t that uncommon around here. Normally though it’s a few shots and nothing more. These kept coming and got closer.”

  Caitlin took meaningless notes and focused on studying Nancy. If this woman was responsible, she was the greatest actor Caitlin had ever seen.

  “When they got to the old furniture factory,” she said and nodded in the direction of the burned-out building, “Gerry called the police and went to look out the window.” She swallowed. “I still remember the sound of the glass breaking and seeing him falling to the ground.” Her eyes went a little wet. “I went to him, and man that he was, he told me to get back and stay safe.”

  Caitlin felt a lump in her throat and wiped at her own eyes.

  Nancy straightened a little and looked at Caitlin. “Well, I never did listen to anything he told me to do, and I wasn’t about to start then. I tried to help, but he just pulled me down and covered me with his own body, holding me tight.” She shook her head. “The shooting just kept going for what felt like days. I should’ve been scared, but I wasn’t.” She smiled down at the picture. “I know he was protecting me.�
� She closed her eyes and let out a sigh. “He whispered over and over that he loved me. I told him to hush, but he didn’t.” She opened her eyes and touched the picture again. “The paramedics didn’t make it in time.”

  “I’m so sorry, Nancy,” Caitlin said and found herself taking the old woman’s hand and squeezing it.

  “Thank you, darling,” she said. “It was a tragedy, and it broke my heart. But I refuse to give up any space in my heart to hate or anger, not when I can fill it with memories of Gerry and the time we had together.”

  Caitlin looked up at Wraith and Edward, who both shrugged. They had to be wrong. That’s when she saw another picture on the end table, this one smaller. Nancy was cutting a birthday cake as Gerry smiled on. Next to him was a girl of maybe fourteen.

  “Is that your granddaughter?” Caitlin asked without thinking.

  Nancy looked over. “Oh no, darling,” she said. “The Lord didn’t bless Gerry and me with children of our own. That there is Anna. She’s a girl from our church. I had hip surgery a couple years ago. She would come over and help me around the house or with the shopping.” She smiled bright. “Gerry and I took to her like she was our own though. She even called me Memaw and him Pop-Pop.” Her smile faded, and she let out a breath. “Poor thing took it hard. Cried for weeks after.”

  Caitlin felt a chill spread from her stomach.

  “She’s a good girl,” Nancy said. “But she’s got a sensitive nature to her, you know?”

  Caitlin nodded absently, staring at the smiling girl with dark eyes.

  Nancy went on to explain how the police were kind and polite but how hard Anna took the fact that the killers were probably dead.

  “I tried to tell her that God would judge them,” Nancy said and shook her head. “But she’s young and still struggling with that. She don’t really have no one. Her mama has to work all the time to pay the bills, which is part of why I think she took to Gerry and I so quick.”

  “I think there’s another reason,” Caitlin said.

  Nancy smiled. “Thank you, child,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong, her mama loves her something fierce. Even sends her to Holy Mount, that fancy private school.” Nancy smiled more. “Anna got herself a scholarship, but it don’t cover everything.”