by C. J. Parker
The sounds of feet striking the hard soil intensified. “Drop the gun, Mary,” Mason shouted. “Drop it, or I’ll shoot.”
Travis Dillon, Hal Wayne and Troy Jackman worked their way around Mary until she was surrounded.
“I’ve got her covered.” Mason moved his hand in a sweeping motion over the cemetery. “Go check the area. Make sure she’s alone.”
Travis darted to the left, Hal to his right, and Troy directly behind Mason.
Mary turned her gaze to Derek. “This is all your fault, you know. If you’d only loved me.” She raised the gun toward Mason. Before she could pull the trigger, Derek drew his gun and fired.
The bullet struck Mary in the chest just above her heart, her body stumbled backward before she sank to the ground, dead.
“No.” Frank scrambled on all fours to her side and picked up her gun. “No. Mary, don’t die. I’m sorry. I do love you. Please don’t leave me.”
“I’m sorry, Frank.” Derek stood and left the mist of Elizabeth’s protection to the edge of the circle and squatted to be at eye level with the man. “She was sick, Frank. She let obsession dictate her life. She had a good man, but it wasn’t enough. It’s not your fault.”
Mason placed his hand on Frank’s shoulder. “Come on, Frank. It’s over.”
Frank jerked away from his touch, bared his teeth and snarled like a rabid dog. “Get away from us! We don’t need you.” He hugged Mary’s gun to his chest. “If I’d only loved her more, none of this would have happened.”
Tabatha pushed herself to her feet and took a step toward him but stopped abruptly. “Let me go, Elizabeth.” With a kick at the soil, she broke the circle of power and knelt in front of Frank.
Derek yanked her back. “No. Let me do this.”
He reached out for the weapon. “Let me have the gun, Frank. You don’t need it. No one is going to hurt you.”
Frank’s eyes met Tabatha’s. “Bring her back to me. I’ll love her more this time. I’ll make her forget Derek. You can do it.”
“No. She can’t. It wouldn’t be her, Frank. Look at Elizabeth. Is that really the woman we loved?” Derek’s words hit home. It was true. The corpse standing before them wasn’t Elizabeth.
Frank did as Derek said and then shook his head. “No, but I don’t care.” He leaned toward Tabatha and whispered, “I know who the Lord of the Guardians is. If you bring her back to me, I’ll tell you.”
Mason took three quick steps forward before Frank raised the gun. “Detective Panner, you’ve had a terrible shock. You don’t want to do this. Put the gun down.” Mason inched closer.
Derek turned his attention away from Tabatha for a second to try to stop what he thought was about to happen.
Frank grasped Tabatha’s blouse and pulled her closer. “The Guardians’ Lord is...”
“Frank,” Mason yelled. “Let her go. Now.”
Derek lunged toward Tabatha. “No, Frank. Don’t touch her.”
Frank jerked his arm out straight, the gun never wavering from Mason.
Mason pulled his trigger. A single shot rang out. The bullet entered the back of Frank’s head, and blew out his forehead and top of his skull. Blood and bone peppered Tabatha’s face and upper body. She gasped and scrambled away from Frank’s body.
Screaming her name, Derek rushed to her side. He tried to reassure himself that Tabatha was unharmed. But the blood and gore covering her was too much like what he’d found on his wedding day. He couldn’t live though that again. He franticly wiped away the blood splatters on her face and arms.
“Did he hurt you? Are you hit?”
She ran her hands over her body and face. “No. I’m fine. I think.” Derek rounded on Mason. “You son of a bitch. You could have missed. You could have killed Tabatha.”
Mason sighed. “She’s fine. I wouldn’t hurt Tabatha. You know that.”
Derek drew her closer. The only reason he didn’t beat the shit out of his boss was he’d have to let her go. “I ought to rip your balls off and shove them down your throat. What the hell are you doing here anyway?”
“Old John the caretaker called to make sure we got his message that he’d left the gate open. When I asked him what he was talking about, John told me the Voodoo Killer would be here tonight.”
Tabatha opened and closed her mouth several times before sound finally came out. “Derek, I’m okay. Let me go. I need to go to Elizabeth. I’ve got to get her back in the tomb.”
Derek released her reluctantly then raced toward Mason and grabbed his boss by the shirtfront. “Frank could have jerked at the last minute, and that bullet would have been in her head instead of his.”
Mason pulled out of Derek’s grip. “I’m sorry if I frightened you, Tabatha. But he was going to kill me. I had to do it.”
She nodded. “I know. Maybe he’ll talk to me. Maybe I can still find out.”
In a way, Derek hoped Frank would remain silent. Then he’d know Frank had gone on in peace.
Mason shook his head. “He’s dead, Tabatha, and even if he could still tell you, he’d regret it. His mother is still living. If Frank had been in his right mind he would have thought of that. The Guardians would have killed her if he talked. Still could. They’re a bad bunch.”
Derek returned his attention to Elizabeth’s body. Her once silky skin had begun to rot, her fingers decayed to the bone. Thin strands of sinew held the flesh that remained together, and her eyes had disintegrated to black holes. It was time to let her go. He didn’t want to remember her like this.
Mason gasped. “Who or what the hell is that?”
“Send her back, Tabby.” Derek fought to keep his emotions out of his voice.
A single tear trailed down Tabatha’s cheek. “Return to your resting place, Elizabeth. Rise again only when God calls your name.”
The corpse rose into the air and hovered over the tomb, then descended. The concrete slab returned, covering the shell that had been Elizabeth Ann Morrie. Derek said a prayer for her to finally find her peace and said his goodbyes.
“Holy Mother of God,” gasped Mason.
Troy Jackman ran toward them, Hal and Travis trailing behind him. “We heard the shots, but were all the way on the other side of the cemetery. Found some kids in here smoking dope. What happened?” He glanced down at Frank’s body. “Damn, who is that?”
Mason nodded but never let his stare leave Tabatha. Mason’s Adams apple bobbed in his throat and his eyes were round and wide. “What did I just see?”
How the hell were they going to explain this to his boss?
Tabatha cupped Mason’s cheeks with her hands and leaned her mouth close to his ear. A thick gray mist surrounded them closing them off from the others. Derek leaned close enough to hear her whisper to Mason. “You will not remember seeing Elizabeth. Derek and I were here because of an anonymous tip that the killer was going to bring Missy’s body tonight. You neither saw nor heard nothing more.” She then mumbled a phrase Derek didn’t understand.
She released Mason’s shirt and walked away.
Mason took a step back and shook his head. “Come on boys, we need to call the coroner and the crime scene guys. We need to clean this up before the reporters and public see this mess.” Mason never looked back at Elizabeth’s gravesite.
Hal walked over to Mason. “What did she say to you, Lieutenant?”
“Who?” He glanced around and shrugged. “Oh, she thanked me for saving her life.”
Derek joined Tabatha beside Elizaberh’s grave. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
She crumpled into his arms. “No, dammit, you’re not okay.” He searched for one of the officers. “I need an ambulance.”
“No. I just need rest. My magic is empty. I’m exhausted.” She shoved against his shoulder when he resisted her attempt to push him away. “Look. Elizabeth is waiting for you. Go to her. This is your chance to say goodbye.”
Elizabeth’s spirit stood in the center of the mist and smiled back at him. He no longer needed or
longed to go to Elizabeth. He had want he wanted right here in his arms. “I don’t need…”
Tabatha tried to straighten her hair and clothing. “Yes you do, and so does she. I’ll be fine.”
Lizzie’s spirit drifted behind a nearby crypt, hiding them from view of the others. He stood before the spirit not sure what to do or say. “Lizzie, I wish it could have been different. I had no idea Mary could do such a thing.”
“Shhh.” Her lips formed a perfect circle, as if she were sending him an air kiss. “None of this is your fault. You can’t make someone love you, nor could you make her not. You have to let me go, Derek. I’ll go happily, knowing you have someone to watch over you. Someone who loves you as much as I do.”
He nodded, but the old nagging worry surfaced. “She’s so young, and I’m so...”
“She’s had a tough time of it. You are the first glow in her life since her grandfather and father died. I know you love her, Derek, and I’m okay with that. She needs you as much as you need her.”
Lizzy was right. Life would be empty without Tabatha now. “I’ll always love you, Lizzie. I’ll always carry you in my heart.”
“You’ll always be a part of me.” She raised her hand and touched his cheek, her fingertips nothing more than a warm wisp of air against his face but it warmed him to his bones. “Be careful, Derek. Someone you hold trustworthy is not what he seems. Tabatha is in danger. You must keep her close, safe from harm.”
His pulse raced. It didn’t take long to run the people he considered close to him through his mind. None of which he envisioned could mean Tabatha harm. But he wasn’t a fool. He knew she was delving into things that were dangerous and best left alone. But he also knew she wouldn’t, couldn’t walk away from her goals. “I promise.”
Elizabeth’s voice weakened, blending with the breeze. “The children’s killer works in her own backyard. Stop her before it’s too late for Missy.” She smiled. “Goodbye, Derek.”
Tears moistened his eyes. He was ready to let his Lizzie go, but it still hurt deep in that place that would always be a bit hollow without her. “Goodbye, Lizzie.”
Her spirit began to fade, then with a flash of blinding light she returned. In a shriek of terror she warned, “Tabatha’s house is on fire! You must hurry. They’re inside!”
Derek’s heart raced. “What?”
“Hurry,” she whispered into the wind before she disappeared.
Chapter Forty-Three
“Hurry,” Tabatha pleaded with Derek. Panic seized her in a vise-like grip as her lungs struggled for air.
“I’m going as fast as I can, Tabatha. If I drive any...”
Derek’s voice faded, the forward motion of the car froze and the scenery around Tabatha vanished. Blackness closed before an explosion of light threw her back against the car seat and sounds and sights assaulted her senses. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. Tabatha tried to bring her shield up to ward off the frightening visions and sounds, but it refused to obey her command. Strange laughter drifted into her ears. Images of the upstairs hallway of Gray Manor flashed across her mind, and the overpowering scent and taste of kerosene burned her nose and throat.
The walls rotated around her, stopping long enough for her to see piles of rags at the foot of the bedroom doors. The sensation of bending at the waist while walking backward threw Tabatha into a momentary state of vertigo.
She felt herself reach inside her pocket and withdraw a box of matches, watched the match grate along the striker and a flame spark on the end of the wooden stick. She brought the match to eye level and marveled over the colors—yellow, red, and streaks of blue. Tabatha could see the image so clearly but it came from such a far distance, it left her confused.
“So pretty, so dangerous” a voice said in a half-whisper. “Must not play with matches, little girl.”
Not her voice, Tabatha realized with a start.
The match fell from her fingers, and trails of flames raced toward the bedroom doors before igniting in a scorching flair of heat.
“No. Bobbie, you have to get out. Rhonda run,” Tabatha shouted. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”
The intruder shrieked then hissed, “Get out! Get out of my head.” A mental door slammed in Tabatha’s face, and the scene was gone. She found herself back inside the car, staring into Derek’s worried eyes.
“Hurry.” Fatigue weakened her muscles. She ached and sleep tried to drag her into the darkness. “Someone is trying to kill them.”
Once again she was slammed against the seat, as a thunderous crash of sounds rushed over her. Tabatha jerked forward, and discovered she was looking through someone else’s eyes.
She watched the cup of tea in her hand as it tumbled to the floor. Smoke. She smelled smoke. A rush of panic-fueled adrenaline rushed to her head. I have to get out.
Her mother’s voice was a comfort at first. Then Carla’s panic struck Tabatha full force. Her mind whirled with questions. What do I do? Is anyone here besides me? Tabatha? No. She went out with Derek. Those girls? Oh God!
Her mother’s mind rebelled against the smoke drifting under the door. Excruciating pains shot through her head, confusion tried to make her deny what she saw. Her mother’s hand reached out for the doorknob, then she hesitated and peered around the room at her belongings.
“No,” she cried. “I can’t lose it all. I won’t. It’s mine.” The window was thrown open and her mother leaned out. “No. Too far down. Everything will be ruined.” She ran her fingers through her hair, and her thoughts were a jumble again. The money. The jewelry. She stilled for a moment and a memory played across her mind. “The girls, the child. Oh, God! I’ve got to let them know. I’ve got to get them out.” Her mother’s memories of childhood, a fire, and a little boy rushing across the space separating her and Tabatha linked them to the past. Her mother’s terror settled on her psyche, threatening madness.
The backdrop spun in front of Tabatha’s eyes like a movie on fast- forward, stopping in another bedroom.
Suddenly, Tabatha was jerked from actor in the production, to horrified observer. Instead of looking out of another’s eyes, she watched the scene unfold from a distance that forbade participation. Bobbie and Rhonda’s thoughts were as if spoken aloud. Tabatha could hear but couldn’t speak. She couldn’t help. All she could do was watch helplessly as her friends fought an unseen foe for their lives.
Rhonda lay on the bed, sleep fogging her thoughts. A strange glow permeated the front room of the suite, growing then dimming. Cigar? Maybe Derek was back. But why would he be in her room? Besides, she’d never seen him smoke anything before. She coughed from the offensive odor. No cigarette or cigar could smell that bad. She sniffed the air. A campfire, decaying logs, fire. Fire!
Rhonda shoved her fear behind her, stood and forced herself to enter the other room. Her breath caught, and terror gripped her by the throat.
Flames licked at the base of the door, and smoke hovered along the ceiling. Her magic began to build inside her, a heat that thickened her blood. The familiar tingle, the pressure growing, pressing against her skull, the curse was trying to break free. Did she start this fire? She cringed in shame and horror at knowing she may have set fire to Tabatha’s home. Had she dreamed of doing it, causing the magic to escape? She shook her head in answer to her own questions.
Reverse the magic, Rhonda.
Rhonda turned in a circle looking for Tabatha, but no one was there. She stumbled into a nearby corner trying to escape the madness taking hold.
“Tabatha?”
Pull the power in. Take the fire away. Reverse the magic.
The scared little girl returned. Didn’t want anyone to see her do these things. But Tabatha had seen. She accepted her. “I don’t know how.” Rhonda waited for a reply but none came. She slid down the wall and curled into a ball, concentrated on the magic, trying to push away, force the flames back down to the pits of Hell where she was sure they had been born.
Tabatha’s
vision spun like a camera panning the room. Her skin shrunk away from the scorching heat. Her sinuses burned from smoke filling the room. The groaning of buckling wood closed in around her.
Try Rhonda. I know you can do it. Turn the magice back on itself.
The heat intensified to the point Rhonda feared she would combust. The door groaned as the wood buckled. Rhonda stared at the entryway but kept her thoughts on refusing the magic. A rush of heat ran up her spine.
Tabatha hissed at the pain of flames licking at her back. Reverse it, Rhonda.
Flames shot up the door. Rhonda pulled at the magic with invisible fingers. A cold settled around her, she envisioned the fire gone, the smoke leaving, then, as if blown out like a birthday candle, the flames vanished.
Tabatha shuddered from the sudden cold. You did it, Ronda, you did it.“
Rhonda jumped to her feet. Her relief so complete, she nearly crumbled when her knees threatened to buckle from under her. She raced to the door and grasped the knob.
~
Tabatha reached out and placed her hand between the knob and Rhonda’s hand. Tabatha cried out. Scorching pain seared the palm of her right hand. Blisters instantly formed.
“Damn, Tabatha, what happened to your hand? How...”
Derek’s voice jerked her back to the car. Her mind recoiled, wanting to be back where she could help her mother, her friends. “Oh, God, Derek. I saw everything they saw. Experienced their pain, their fear.”
He gunned the engine after turning onto St. Charles Avenue. “If you can feel them, they’re still alive. Have you seen everybody?”
She leaned back, closed her eyes and pulled in a deep breath. “The killer. Momma. Rhonda.” She bolted forward, eyes wide and found herself back in her home. A new sense of urgency pushed her forward, searching for, “Bobbie!”
As if in answer to Tabatha’s call, Bobbie switched off her hair dryer and raised her nose into the air. The blended scent of fire, hot metal, and singed wood hit her like a two-by-four in the face. “Shit. The damn house is on fire.” She ran to the connecting door to Rhonda’s room and flung it open. “Rhonda,” she screamed. “Get the hell out. Run.”
