by C. J. Parker
Tabatha watched as the young boy’s chest swelled with pride. “Yes, sir. I wasn’t afraid of them people. I told her you’d come get us. I’m Momma’s brave little man. She said so.”
Tabatha’s sinuses burned, her eyes moistened and her chest tightened. That little boy loved Derek. She glanced at the others and noticed there wasn’t a dry eye among them.
Bertha grasped her by the arm, drawing Tabatha to her other side. “You, too, baby girl. I want you to get some rest.”
“Bertha, I just slept for twenty seven hours straight. I’m not in need of any more rest.”
The look Bertha gave her nearly singed her hair. “You ain’t too big for a whippin’ either, baby girl. You don’t have to go to bed, but I don’t want you gallivanting about looking for the bad guys. They’ll still be around in a couple of days.”
That was the problem. They’d be here in a couple of days and probably still in a couple of months. This was too big for them to handle. Tabatha followed them through the kitchen and into a small room to the left.
“I made up the servant’s room. Thought with Mr. Derek’s leg being all messed up, he couldn’t do to well with the stairs.” Bertha turned down the covers and started to unbuckle Derek’s belt.
He battled with Bertha’s insistent hands. His eyes were wide and wild as they looked from one face to another. The horror on his face was comical. “Whoa, woman. I can undress myself.”
Bertha frowned. “Mr. Derek, I’ve seen it all before.”
“You ain’t seen this particular ‘all.’” Derek’s eyebrows drew together crinkling his brow.
Tabatha sidled up to Bertha and smiled. “That’s my job.”
Bertha giggled like a little girl. “Yes, I guess it is.” She took a few steps before turning back. “I’ll give you ten minutes, then I’ll be back with some food. I’m sure that hospital didn’t feed you like I do.”
“No, ma’am.” Derek gave the old woman a peck on the cheek. “No one has ever fed me like you do.”
Bertha’s face glowed with his praise. “No hanky-panky. Ten minutes.”
Her laughter trailed behind her.
Derek unbuckled his belt then paused and turned toward the door. Rhonda, Shane and Bobbie stood watching. “You girls looking for a free show?”
“Oh!” they said in unison.
“Sorry. We’ll let you get settled.” Bobbie turned to leave.
Shane stood his ground.
“What is it, son?” Derek ruffled the boy’s red hair.
“I’m not a girl.” Shane wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt. “I can stay and help, can’t I?”
A surge of pity hit Tabatha square in the chest. This little boy needs a daddy. She pleaded silently for Derek to let the boy stay.
Derek’s eyes glistened with emotion. “Yeah, you can help. Shut the door, okay?”
Shane pushed the door closed and walked to Derek’s side.
Tabatha waited until Derek had unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans before she helped him sit on the bed. She carefully pulled the pants down until they were past the wound. “Okay, Shane, help me take Derek’s jeans off.”
Shane nodded vigorously. “Yes, ma’am.” He grasped the bottom of the pants on the good leg and pulled. Tabatha did the same to the opposite side. Once the jeans were off, Shane folded them carefully and placed them on the chair. “Now what, Tab?”
Derek took off his shirt and handed it to the boy. “Hang this on the chair back, then go tell Miss Bertha I’d like to have an icepack. Can you remember that?”
“Yes, sir.” He hung the shirt and raced away. “I’ll knock when I come back, okay?”
Tabatha glanced from the boy back to Derek and for the first time in her life wanted to have a child of her own. She wanted Derek’s son or daughter. Or both. Maybe four or five. She smiled at the thought.
“You’re a good man, Shane.” Derek settled on the bed with a sigh. Tabatha sat on the bed beside him, placing her hand on his forehead.
His warm skin worried her. It could be just the fatigue, or it could be the first sign of infection. She’d keep close watch over the next twenty-four hours. “After you eat, I think you should get some sleep. I’ll wake you if Mason calls.”
“Don’t look so worried.” Derek cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand. “I’m fine.”
She slid her face into his hand and kissed the moist palm. She rose from the bed and stared out the window. “I’ll have to let Dana talk, Derek. She tried to talk to me that night but I... well...”
“Went down like a brick.” He nodded. “The Doc told me.”
“Yeah.” She drew in a deep breath. Dread tightened every muscle and nerve in her body. “The dead are usually freer with their information. Maybe she’ll give up names.”
Derek’s brows drew together. “You going to do it now?”
Tabatha shook her head. “Not here, not now. You need to rest. Later. Besides, Bertha will be here in a minute. There won’t be any peace until you eat.”
There was a light knock on the door. Tabatha pulled the blanket over Derek. “Come in, Shane.”
The boy opened the door and poked his head into the room. His eyes were round and his mouth slack. “How’d you know it was me, Tab?”
“That’s your special knock.” She smiled and waved him in. “I’d know it anywhere.”
He giggled. “Here’s your icepack, Derek. Where you want it?”
Derek reached out and took it from the boy, cleared the blanket away and placed the cold bag on his knee. “Ah, feels better already. Thank you, son.”
Shane kicked at the scatter rug. “Momma said I have to take a nap. Can I sleep in here?”
Derek patted the side of the bed. “We’ll take one together.”
Shane jumped onto the bed and scurried under the blanket. “I’ll be careful. I won’t hurt your leg.”
Bertha returned with a bowl of soup and a tall glass of iced tea. Derek curled his lips at the tea. “Got any beer, Bertha?”
“Dr. Vissman said no beer.”
Tabatha waited until Derek cleaned his bowl and drank his tea before leaving him and Shane to their nap. She closed the door and made her way out to the back stoop where she dropped her shields and waited. The voices came in a jumble, making it impossible to know who they were or what they were saying. “I need to talk to Dana, first. Dana, are you there?”
There was a moment of silence before a timid voice broke the quiet. Tabatha, are you coming to find me?
The shock of hearing the timid voice was enough to throw Tabatha into a moment of confusion. Her heart raced, sending a rush of blood to her brain. She leaned back against the door to keep from falling face first onto the patio. This was impossible. “Missy?”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Tabatha ran through the days since Missy’s death, re-counting and trying to understand how she could possibly still hear the child.
I’m not afraid anymore, Tabatha. I have a new friend with me.
Tabatha stood and paced the walkway. This couldn’t be happening. How could she still hear Missy after the three-day period? This had never happened before. Who could be with her? Another soul? An angel of death come to take her?
“I’m glad, sweetheart. Derek and I are going to find you. We got held up for a while.”
Oh, no. I aint going for this shit. Dana’s rough voice replaced Missy’s calmness. This is my time.
“Dana,” Tabatha warned. “Keep your tongue civil, or I won’t talk to you at all.”
I have a question, and I want it answered pronto. Got it?
Tabatha sighed. She owed Dana her time, but her patience with this woman was growing thin. “I’ll be right back, Missy.”
All right. Missy’s voice held such patient peacefulness that Tabatha wondered what had changed in the last twenty-four hours. She had to force herself to give her attention to Dana.
Are you going to listen to me or not, bitch?
Tabatha’s right eye twitched. If Dan
a were standing in front of her right now, she would pound the woman. She returned to the stoop and sat on the top step. “One more profane word, and the answer is no.”
Am I dead?
Tabatha swallowed hard to remove the lump of emotion from her throat. “Yes.”
You killed me?
Tabatha heard herself laugh. “Live by the gun, die by the gun. You shot Detective Bainbridge and would have shot me. I made a choice between us. Guess who won?”
No remorse?
Yeah, there was a lot of remorse, but Tabatha refused to answer that one. Dana didn’t deserve and answer. “Do you have any remorse for the people you killed?”
I don’t kill people, I killed monsters.
Anger speared Tabatha’s gut. “Is that what you think I am? A monster?”
Frank turned the corner of the house. She jumped to her feet as he
came closer. She looked to see if he had a weapon, but didn’t see any.
“Talking to the dead again, woman?” Frank’s lip curled in a sneer.
“Hello, Frank.”
Oh, hell. Someone else cutting into my time. Dana’s voice ripped through Tabatha’s conscience.
Tabatha ignored her and studied Frank’s face. His cool, green eyes held no emotion, revealing nothing of his intentions.
“What are you doing here? What do you want?” Tabatha despised the quiver she heard in her voice.
He snorted and glanced around the yard as if searching for something. “You don’t have to worry. I didn’t come here to harm you. Believe me, when you come to your end, I’ll have a good alibi for my whereabouts.”
Her heart pounded against her ribs. “You didn’t answer my questions.”
“You stole evidence.” Frank tightened his hands into fists at his side. “Give it back, or I’ll see to it you go to jail.”
She rolled her eyes. She’d had her fill of cops for one day. “What are you talking about?” It took a few seconds for Tabatha to remember the folder she’d taken from the seat of his car.
“Don’t play coy with me.” His voice grew louder with every word. “You have the Guardians’ initiation folder. You took it that night at the station. I want it back.”
The back door swung open, and Derek stood with a crutch in one hand, his revolver in the other. With a face the color of a Virginia baked ham and a gaze hard enough to scare anyone with a lick of sense, Derek aimed the gun at Frank’s head. “Get out of here, Frank. Leave her alone.”
Frank glanced at the gun in Derek’s hand and smiled. “Heard you got yourself shot. Should choose your friends a bit more carefully.”
“I’ve told you a million times, Frank.” Derek cocked the pistol. “I don’t have any friends.”
Frank’s face reddened. “I want my folder back. Hiding evidence is a crime. I could arrest her.”
Tabatha had a comeback ready, but Derek came up with it first. “You’d have to be a cop to arrest someone, Frank. Last I heard you got canned.”
She decided to stop this before it got out of hand. She’d give Frank back the folder. She walked past Frank to get to the door.
“Where do you think you’re going, witch?” Frank’s hand grasped her upper arm.
Derek moved to go down the steps. “Get your hands off her, Frank.”
Tabatha’s instincts kicked in and with little effort she turned, twisted from his grip and landed a solid jab of her elbow into his ribs. He landed on his knees, holding his side, gasping for air.
Tabatha strode up the stairs and past Derek, not stopping until she was in her grandfather’s study. She slid open the desk drawer and breathed a sigh of relief. The original folder lay atop several copies. “Thank you, Bertha,” she whispered.
She removed the folder and closed the drawer. When she drew close to the kitchen door she heard Derek’s anger-filled voice.
“If you ever come near her again, I’ll personally send you to Hell.”
Tabatha stepped to Derek’s side and opened the folder as if she planned to read it. “What do you think, Derek? Think I should give it back to him? Or would you like to see it first?”
“No!” Frank reached for the paperwork, but she pulled it out of his reach. She couldn’t resist the urge to aggravate the man. “Uh uh. Don’t get grabby, Frank. Didn’t your momma teach you it was rude?”
Derek ran his fingertips over the file. “Do I need to look at this, Tabatha?”
“Not really.” She pitched the folder toward Frank, hitting him in the middle of the chest. The papers fluttered to the ground in disarray. “There’s your file. Now go away.”
He fell to his knees and nervously gathered the scattered papers. His eyes narrowed. “Did you read it?”
She shrugged. “Not really. I’ve been kind of busy. Glanced at it a couple of times. Saw a filled out application form.” She smiled at the alarm in Frank’s eyes.
His gaze scanned the yard. “I’m not any part of the Guardians. I was investigating them.”
“Bull.” Tabatha laughed, the sound mirthless. “You’re in it up to your eyeballs. Go away, Frank. You have what you came for.”
Tabatha. Missy’s voice cut through Tabatha’s anger. Elizabeth said you shouldn’t make Frank mad.
The air rushed out of Tabatha’s lungs, and all the warmth inside her body drained toward her toes. She glared at Frank.
Frank’s face paled. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “What? What’s wrong? You look like you...” Fear filled his eyes and panic added force to his words. “Did you see something about me? Can you see the future? Can you read minds, too?”
“I... I’m... not feeling well. I need to...” Tabatha staggered against the doorjamb and drew hard, deep breaths. Could Missy’s new friend be Derek’s Elizabeth? And why was she worried about angering Frank. Oh, God. Could he have...?
Tabatha’s stomach tightened. She’d have to tell Derek. But how? How could she tell him that Elizabeth was with Missy? Tabatha pushed herself away from the doorframe. “I need to sit down for a few minutes. Goodbye, Frank. Not that it hasn’t been a fun visit, but I’d like you to leave now.” She ran her fingertips over Derek’s arm. “Don’t stand here too long. You need your rest.”
Derek searched her face, concern coloring his expression. She must have hidden her reaction well, because he nodded before he turned his attention back to Frank. “You have what you came for. Why are you still here?”
Tabatha shut out Frank’s reply as she stumbled toward the living room. She collapsed onto the couch and lowered her head into her hands. “Missy, who is your new friend?”
Her name is Elizaberth. She said she’s a friend of Derek’s. When are you coming, Tabatha?
Tabatha’s whole world spun and crashed. “Soon, baby. I promise.”
Damn, woman, Dana roared. You said it was my turn. I want to be heard.
Tabatha gritted her teeth. She didn’t have the patience for Dana’s attitude right now. Elizabeth was with Missy. “And I told you if you didn’t stop swearing in front of the child, I wouldn’t listen to you at all.”
What child?
Confusion seemed to be a constant diet for Tabatha lately. “You can’t hear Missy?”
Bertha sat beside Tabatha nearly scaring her to death. Bertha pulled her into her arms. “Honey, you know they can hear thoughts directed at them. You don’t have to speak aloud.”
Tabatha met Bertha’s loving caress with one of her own. “Paw-Paw never told me that. I thought…” She shook her head. “Makes sense. I hear them in my head.”
“Baby girl, you look like day-old grits. Stiff, gray and...”
“Hard to clean up after.” Tabatha wiped tears from her cheeks. “I remember you telling me that when I was a kid. If I remember right it was when I had the stomach flu. Threw up on everything in sight.”
I’ve had enough of this. Who are you talking to now? I know it aint me.
It took every ounce of strength Tabatha had not to shout at the dead woman. “Dana, what do you want fr
om me?”
“In your mind, baby girl,” Bertha reminded her.
What do I want? Dana’s laughter sounded manic, grating. I want to be alive. I want my life back.
Tabatha wished she could give it back to her. Maybe with a second chance she’d change. “I can’t give that to you, Dana. I’m not God. Is there anyone I can talk to for you? Anything I can do for you?” Tabatha’s whisper was barely audible.
You’re going to come get me. I’m not dead. If I’m dead how can I be talking? If I’m dead how can I hear you? You own me.
And that’s the only reason I’m not shutting you up. “Last chance, Dana. Tell me what you want, or I will rescind my link to you. Your remaining time will be spent in silence.”
You listen to me, bitch. Ain’t nobody going to shut me up.
Tabatha sighed. She’d given her the warning. She released the power holding the psychic shield down. Slowly it raised, Dana’s voice grew distant. “I beseech the curtain of silence to descend. No words shall pass between us.”
No! I won’t let you leave me. You did this to me. I’ll…
The shield closed, shutting out Dana’s rants. Silence swirled around inside Tabatha’s head like an over-active Jacuzzi. She sighed with the release it offered and curled into Bertha’s inviting arms.
Bertha patted Tabatha on the back and kissed her forehead. “I’m going to go fix you kids something special for dinner tonight. Mr. Derek needs to get his strength up, and you need to be alone for a few minutes. There’s someone else needs your attention, isn’t there?”
Tabatha looked away. How did Bertha always seem to know? “Yes. Someone I need to talk to.” She waited until Bertha left the room before speaking again. “Elizabeth, will you talk to me?’
Yes.
Tabatha sighed. Even in death, her voice was innocent and alluring. “Did Frank kill you?”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Tabatha curled into a tight ball, burying her face into the musty overstuffed couch. She longed for the days when, this, her grandfather’s favorite place, held his comforting scent—a mixture of cherry-blend pipe tobacco and aftershave. Her heart reached out to find him—to feel his warmth, to hear his words of love.
