by J N Duncan
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Jackie put her arm around Nick’s waist, hugging herself to him. “It is. God, why can’t you vampires be warmer? This sucks so bad.”
His arm shifted behind her back, and Jackie felt herself roll over in his lap until she looked up into his face. “Look at me, Jackie.” He tapped a finger next to those radiant blue eyes. “Let me try to ease that pain a bit.”
“You going to hypnotize it away, Sheriff?”
He shrugged. “I can try. It hurts to see you like this. I want to try.”
Jackie’s eyes watered up again, and a tear trickled down her temple. “You stop this shivering, and I’ll kiss you right now.”
“Deal,” he said and brought his lean, strong hands down to cup her face. “Just keep looking up here, Jackie. Think calm, warm thoughts. Wrap yourself up in a blanket by the fire. Bask in the afternoon sun. Trust me. My warmth is yours.”
His face inched down toward hers as he spoke, and Jackie tried to think warm thoughts. A fire would have been a wonderful thing about now, if it would indeed have made a difference. She continued to look into the bottomless depths of those eyes, sensing that they were beginning to glow brighter the longer and deeper she stared. His hands did indeed feel slightly warmer-not much, but any warmth in this place was a blessing.
“I think it’s working,” she said, her voice a whisper from somewhere far away.
“Good,” Nick replied, his mouth an inch above hers. “I was looking forward to that kiss.”
Smart-ass. The thought dwindled away beneath the warm caress of his mouth. It was not a kiss full of lust, but the soft, lingering brush of affection and care that did more to warm her then anything sexual. Jackie could hear his voice in her head, a quiet, repetitive chant to relax, breathe, and feel the warmth of his skin against her own.
The shivering began to subside. Her muscles unclenched to some degree, at least so that her body no longer screamed in pain with every movement. Sadly, and all too soon, the contact with his mouth ended.
Nick’s face still hovered above hers, the eyes glowing with luminous blue light. “Better?”
Jackie nodded. “I feel drunk.”
“I know. Can’t do much about that. Think you can move okay now?”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to. It feels good to lay here like this.”
Nick smiled down at her. “Wish you could, but we need to move.”
“Why?”
Laurel’s voice startled her. “Drake’s still on the other side, but he’s got his goons out in force. He must know something went awry with his plans. I can’t find a safe spot for us outside.”
Nick eased Jackie up into a sitting position next to him. “Meaning what? Inside?”
“Yes. We need to get by the front doors.”
“I have no idea what the inside of the Hancock building looks like, Laurel.”
She nodded. “I know, but you know what someone in there looks like.”
“Does it work like that? You can travel to a person as well as a place?”
“You can go where your mind wills, Nick. Different rules. Can you remember what your wife looked like?”
Jackie felt him stiffen against her, his voice a whisper. “What?”
“Your wife. Gwendolyn, I think? Can you still envision her strongly?”
Jackie looked over at Nick, who stared in silence at Laurel, his mouth a thin, pale line. She recalled the room up behind his office, filled with all the memorabilia from his old life and family, obsessive in its detail. Then there was the painting. Oh, yeah, he could envision her strongly. Question was, did he want to go there?
Jackie touched his arm. “Nick? You okay?”
He turned toward her in slow-motion, eyes glassy and distant. One shoulder offered a barely discernible shrug. “Yeah. Just not what I was expecting. I haven’t seen her in… a long time.” He turned back to Laurel. “You sure she’s there?”
“You think Drake would let them go before you got here? Isn’t the point here to make you suffer as much as possible?”
Nick’s back stiffened. “You make a good point, Ms. Carpenter. Thank you.”
Laurel smiled. “Get cold feet at the last moment, Sheriff, and I’ll kick your ass.”
Nick’s mouth puckered in consternation. “Not sure she’s going to want to see me.”
“Nonsense,” she replied. “She loved you, didn’t she?”
“Yeah, I suppose she did.”
Jackie recalled what Nick had said about the events of his wife’s death. Would she ever get over something like that? Much like him, she would blame herself, no doubt about that. But Gwendolyn had wanted him to do it. The children, on the other hand… Jackie laid her hand on Nick’s thigh. “She’ll be glad to see you, Nick. They all will.”
He stared at her for a moment, the eyes locking on to hers and holding her perfectly still. There was a brief look of anger there, a “don’t be a presumptuous bitch” gaze that melted away as quickly as it had come. “Unlikely, but thanks.”
“She won’t blame you,” Jackie said. It was not a certainty, but she felt reasonably sure that this Gwendolyn would know exactly how Nick would be feeling and act accordingly. “I wouldn’t.”
He said nothing, but his mouth relaxed, one corner flickering with a smile, and he turned back to Laurel. “All right, I’ll try to take us to her and see what happens.”
“Great,” Laurel said, walking over to the couch. “Nick, hold on to Jackie and focus. I’ll help give you the strength to get us there.”
Nick stood up and offered Jackie his hand. “You ready to do this?”
“Could I ever be?” She reached up and let Nick pull her up to her feet. Her body swam in syrup, sluggish but, thankfully, not shaking any longer.
“He’ll get us there, hon,” Laurel said. “Just concentrate on Gwendolyn.”
Nick’s hand squeezed Jackie’s. “I’ll get us there. Trust me.”
The surety of his words brought little comfort. They were walking into a death trap with no plan for getting out. Then again, she was dying. A few hours, and the life in her would freeze into a solid block. There was nothing in this wretched place to make sticking around worthwhile. Worse, she could die and find herself in the same place.
“Okay. I guess.” She put her arms around Nick’s waist and held him tight. His body had the same musty, dry smell as the air around them. Laurel’s cold presence closed in behind.
“Let’s go, Nick,” Laurel said, her voice in Jackie’s ear.
A voice, lost somewhere in the haze that filled her brain, was screaming to her to wait, that she was not ready at all, but Jackie knew they had little choice or time.
Nick’s arms pressed against her, one at the small of her back, the other cupping her head against his chest. “Relax, Jackie. Let’s get this prick.”
Jackie closed her eyes and imagined the Hancock building in her mind, an iconic symbol in the Chicago skyline, sleek, black, and-in this shrouded ghost land-full of death. After a little extra help from Laurel, they were off.
Chapter 56
The trip to the Hancock building likely took seconds to complete, but it was more than enough time for a thousand panicked thoughts to bounce at random off each other inside Nick’s head. The worst being the dreaded notion that his family would be far from pleased to see him again, ghosts full of rage and hate for abandoning them in this place and failing to save them back when he had a legitimate chance to. A part of him was convinced they would attempt to kill him for what he had done and since become. What was there to understand? He had let them down in the worst way imaginable and been unable to bring them the justice and peace they deserved. If they wanted him dead, Nick was ready to accept that fate.
Except there was the dying woman in his arms. What would they say when he left to try to save her? Because if there proved to be a chance to do it, as Laurel stated, he would leave them again to save her. Jackie was still alive, and his family was not. After
all these years, would they understand? A part of him was ready to just say, “Screw it,” and spend what remained of his time in the arms of his family. It had a certain appeal. He was tired of all this and ready for it to end, but the sheriff inside would not and could not stop. It would be selfish of him to relinquish the badge at the very end, not to mention cowardly. Yes, as much as it would break his heart, Nick knew that no matter what awaited him in the Hancock building, he would leave them all to save the one among them who still lived. There would be no living with himself to do otherwise. He only hoped his family would understand.
All the fears were moot, however, if Drake killed him before he had a chance to do anything. Failing again before all of those who had come before would be the last and worst slap in the face.
Nick could feel them before they arrived, a swarming mass of spiritual energy, some of which had a pang of familiarity. There were dozens of them, but none so significant or intense as the one he zeroed in on, which Laurel pushed them toward, and that Nick found himself standing before in a dissipating swirl of bone-cold mist. His throat constricted, and for a moment he might as well have been dead, given the frozen state of his heart.
Gwendolyn stood before him, straightening her gray, homespun dress about her legs. She stared directly at Nick as he tried to orient himself. There was no sign of the former mutilation Drake had inflicted upon her. She looked much the same as the day she had gone, only pale and ashen. A smile turned up the corners of her bluish lips, not even the vaguest sign of animosity in the lines of her face.
“Hello, my love.” Her hands reached out for his, full of acceptance and forgiveness. “We’ve been expecting you.”
Shouts of “Sheriff!” and “It’s Mr. Anderson!” echoed through the cavernous room, with a few assorted variations of his name used at different times over the decades. The crowd shifted and drifted toward him, apparently eager to catch sight of the man who had brought them all to an early grave. A nervous twinge gripped Nick’s gut, but he refused to move. If his fate was to die at the hands of those he had failed, so be it. He deserved no less.
“Nick, it’s all right,” Gwen’s voice said, so painfully sweet in his ears. “We’re all glad you are here.”
“And about fucking time, too,” an all-too-familiar voice chided. Shelby stepped out from the crowd behind Gwen and moved up beside her. She didn’t look much better off than Jackie. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, the usual brilliant red of her mouth washed out to the color of old, dried blood. “I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”
He gulped, trying to get the vaguest hint of moisture back in his mouth. She honestly and truly stood right there before him. His Gwen, with none of the rage and anger he had feared for all these years. Shelby’s presence barely registered. The rest were little more than a gray wash of fog. Gwen’s hand reached out and touched his, cold fingers grasping his own. The lack of warmth mattered little. The touch jolted Nick’s heart back into action, and he blinked away the tears.
“Gwen.” His voice cracked. It was all he could manage to say. He pulled her into an embrace, burying his face in her hair. For the few seconds it lasted, she didn’t feel at all cold and lifeless but warm and comforting, smelling of fresh baked bread and a smoky fire, the scents that always greeted him upon his return home each evening. Her arms wrapped around him, and Nick felt the same measure of desperation and relief in her touch. “God, how I’ve missed you,” he whispered.
Her voice was hushed against his shoulder. “Too much, love, too much.”
Nick pulled back to look Gwen in the eye. She was serious. “Why would you say that?”
The faintest smile touched her lips. “Shelby told me about your room over the garage.”
He turned his gaze to Shelby, who only stared back with her usual unflappable stare and an arched brow, daring him to say something. What was there to say? “I couldn’t forget,” he said. “I couldn’t afford to have the memory of you fade, not while Drake was still alive.”
Gwen nodded and kissed Nick’s cheek. “I know. Let’s hope we can bring this to an end now. I’m ready to move on from this place. I’m also curious why you’ve brought a living soul here. She can’t stay, Nick. She’ll die.”
“I know. Drake left us no choice. We were dead on the other side.”
“I thought as much. So is this the detective Shelby told me about?”
“Jackie,” Jackie interjected, voice quivering with the chatter of teeth. “Agent Jackie Rutledge.”
Gwen turned and gave her a nod of acknowledgment. “I’d say welcome, Ms. Rutledge, but this is no place to welcome anyone.”
She gave Gwen a little wave, and Nick grimaced at the visible shaking of her arm. “You should sit down, Jackie, conserve your strength.”
“I’m… fine, thanks.”
Gwen stepped over to her, her hand brushing through the edge of Jackie’s arm. “Dear, you better sit before you fall over. Now is not the time to be stubborn. Save it for Nick. He likes that.”
Jackie collapsed, cross-legged on the floor, the fight to argue obviously gone. “He should love me, then.”
Gwen’s mouth quirked at the corner, her glance flickering over to Nick, who could not hold her gaze and looked away. Having the three women he had had any kind of involvement with over the past century and a half gathered around him at the same time was just a little bit disconcerting. Gwen stood up from Jackie and faced him, her look bemused.
“That’s the least of your worries right now, Sheriff.”
Nick swallowed hard. “No, Gwen, it’s not that, really. I will always-”
“Nicholas,” she said, placing her hands upon his shoulders. “Don’t.” She brought a finger up to his lips to emphasize the point. “I know, but you will promise something right now before Cornelius makes his way back and this all comes to some kind of end.”
He nodded once. “You know I’d promise you anything.”
Gwen smiled. “When… when you get back, you will move on, and place me in that part of your mind filled only with good memories.”
“But you’re-”
“Shut up,” she said. “You will put me there and get me out of that place of guilt and obsession you have been wallowing in for all these years.”
“Gwen, that’s not how…” Nick stopped, cut off by her look and the grim knowledge that she was right. Was it even possible to not live in that place anymore? Could there be anything after this? A normal life was such a far and distant memory that Nick could not be sure he would even know how to live one. His gaze fell to Jackie, shivering on the floor, huddled around herself as tightly as she could manage.
Gwen shook him gently. “Promise me, damn you, so I can finally move on.”
The words were a slap to the head. The notion she had wanted to and could not move on because of him had never occurred to Nick. Was everyone here waiting as well? “All right, I promise.”
She kissed him. “Good, thank you.”
The rest of the crowd was gathering in close now, looking as though their long-lost brother had finally returned home. It hit him then, what Gwen had said, and who he now realized were missing. “The children? Are they here?”
“No,” she replied, her features turning at once from stern to sad. “They moved on a long time ago, Nicholas. I couldn’t let them stay here, not with Drake. I helped them let go.”
Tears welled up in his eyes, realizing that, ghosts or not, he had truly wanted to see them again. “That’s good. They don’t belong in this place. Nobody does.” There were murmurs of assent among the crowd, and Nick finally turned and looked at them all, acknowledging them for the first time. Most he recognized, and there was not an angry face among them. They were glad the sheriff was back in town, such that it was.
“What’s the plan, Sheriff?” someone asked.
“How do we get him?”
Yes, exactly. How did they get Drake? What possible tools did Nick have at his disposal here, other than a couple guns? Th
ey needed something positive, but as he stared out over the sea of hopeful, eager faces, hoping that something brilliant would spring to mind, that something would be different this time, Nick realized he had nothing. He had nothing to give them.
“Folks,” he began, but faltered. The usual sheriff’s bravado, the confidence he had so long ago to bring the bad guys to justice, had been beaten out of him by the continual years of failure.
“Nick.” Gwen’s cold hand touched his arm. “I have a notion about what might-”
“Ah, Nicholas!” Drake’s voice boomed like hollow thunder through the room.
Nick had felt him the moment he entered, a cold wash of stinking dread invading all his senses. He was there, standing in a doorway on the far side of the large room, the blood-red tie shining like a beacon against his black pinstripe suit. The crowd of ghosts instinctively parted, leaving an open path between them.
“Finally, you surprise me. Good show, I say. I am pleased.”
Nothing in Drake’s voice sounded pleased, and Nick did the only thing he could think to do. Pushing the flaps of his coat aside, Sheriff Nicholas Anderson drew his old six-shooters and prepared for the end.
Chapter 57
Jackie did what any self-respecting agent would do when confronted by the man who had killed her partner and friend. She emptied her Glock into the man’s body, though her aim was not nearly so lethal, given her trembling hands.
“Die, you son of a bitch,” she said through gritted teeth, pulling the trigger for several rounds even after the clip had emptied.
Drake had begun to walk forward but stopped, flinching for just a moment at the initial shots. He stood there, a faint smile on his withered face, as if the bullets were little more than annoying mosquitoes. Small, pasty white smears appeared where the bullets hit him, one on his stomach, a pair in the chest, another in the throat, and finally beneath the cheekbone. When she had finished, he glanced at Jackie, a “what do you know about that?” look on his face, and then adjusted the suit on his thin frame and continued stepping forward.
