By the time they hit the outskirts of Arcos, Virgil had bottomed out the cruiser three times, sending sparks flying and bouncing Cooder’s head off the roof. Audrey and Zach were pressed into the corner in the backseat as they rounded the last turn on two wheels. Virgil whipped into his driveway and exited the car at a run. Audrey, Cooder, and Zach followed him silently into the house.
Marg met Virgil at the top of the stairs, shaking her head.
“No!” he screamed, shoving past her. “Doris! Doris!”
He stumbled into the bedroom and dropped onto his knees on the floor, stroking her cheek and holding her hand. She couldn’t be gone. She was still so warm. But his fingers couldn’t find a pulse. “Doris. Oh, Jesus. I should have been here. I should have stayed.”
Marg leaned in the door. “She was peaceful, Virgil. She went easy. There wasn’t any pain. I promise.”
He stared at Marg, trying to make sense of her words. Reality dropped on his shoulders like a stone.
Doris’s gone. I’m alone.
He leaned over and kissed her gently, and it dawned on him that this was the last time he would ever kiss her. He stroked her hair, so thin.
“I love you, sweetheart,” he choked. “I’ll always love you.”
The room seemed shiny, even the bedspread glistening through his tears, and he sniffled loudly. Doris had always been his first thought upon awakening and his last before going to sleep. Now she was gone and he would never hear her laughter again, never feel her warm breath against the nape of his neck in the middle of the night, never see her eyes light up in mirth or anger.
“I can’t live without her,” he whispered, thinking instantly of his pistol.
Somewhere in the distance, he thought he heard a commotion, but his focus was on the glow still lighting Doris’s face. There seemed to be a real gleam to it that was fading. He wanted to catch it as it went.
“No, Zach!”
The sound of small feet pattering up the stairs caught Virgil’s attention and he waved at Marg to stop the boy, but Zach slid under her fat arms and slipped around to Virgil’s side of the bed. Virgil wondered if it was a good thing to be having the boy seeing Doris like that. Dead. There, he’d thought it. But then it occurred to him that Zach Bock had seen far worse tonight.
Virgil wiped his face on the back of his sleeve and sniffled loudly. He felt a small hand on his shoulder and he almost laughed.
He’s consoling me. After all he’s been through, this kid wants to make me feel better.
“She says you shouldn’t be sad,” said Zach.
“Is that right?” said Virgil, stroking Doris’s hair back into place.
“Did you have a cat?”
“What?”
“She said not to be sad. Kitty’s with her.”
Virgil’s jaw dropped and he turned to face Zach. He took the boy by the shoulders, trying to look inside the kid’s head through his eyeballs.
“Tell me what she said about Kitty.”
Zach frowned. “She says Kitty thinks it’s funny you can’t see her. You never could find her. Was she a bad cat?”
Virgil smiled. “Kitty was my kid sister. She died when she was seven.”
“That’s a funny name.”
“I gave it to her.”
Audrey peeked in past Marg, who stared at Zach in disbelief.
Virgil pulled Zach up close, staring at him wonderingly “Babs said that people could only talk to souls who hadn’t crossed over to heaven yet. She said nobody could really talk to heaven.”
Audrey smiled. “Babs didn’t know my son.”
“She misses you, but she says to wait,” said Zach.
Virgil closed his eyes and leaned until his forehead touched Zach’s. The boy stood motionless until Virgil pulled away.
“Tell her I will, then,” he said.
Zach shrugged. “She heard you,” he said.
The crowd had left and the cemetery was empty except for Virgil, Cooder, Audrey, and Zach. The grave diggers stood patiently beside the tent, tactfully staring off into the distant trees and acting as though they were ignoring the conversations around them altogether. A light rain had fallen earlier in the day and now the sun glimmered in the droplets on the grass. Zach fidgeted in his new suit and tight-fitting shoes. Audrey stroked his hair and beamed at him as though he were a newborn.
Cooder looked resplendent in a new suit of his own that Virgil had insisted on purchasing for him. He had also insisted that Cooder avail himself of his shower and then he drove him to the local barbershop for a shave and a haircut. Ralph, the barber, had given Virgil a look, but kept his mouth shut through the entire procedure—which was completely out of character for Ralph.
“I want to thank you all for coming,” said Virgil as they walked toward their cars.
“We wanted to,” said Audrey.
Cooder and Zach nodded.
“Richard would have been here if he could,” said Audrey.
Virgil nodded. “Doc Burton says he’ll be fine in a few weeks.”
“We all will,” said Audrey, hugging Zach.
“I don’t know what I would have done without you the last few days,” said Virgil.
Audrey had dragged Zach along and Marg had practically taken over for Virgil. Arranging the funeral, orchestrating the people who would bring food afterward, setting up times for people to sit with Doris, making sure that Virgil was eating and sleeping. Marg and Audrey were becoming fast friends and Zach liked Marg too. He called her Mama because she told him her real name was Mama Cass. Zach had no idea what she was talking about, but he thought she was funny.
Audrey gave Virgil a funny look. “Richard and I have been talking. I’m going back to school.”
Virgil smiled. “Let me guess… to be a shrink?”
She laughed. “No. I’m going to study horticulture.”
“That’s perfect for you,” he said, patting Zach on the head. “This boy needs some nurturing.”
She glanced at Zach and nodded.
“Thank you again, for everything. And I don’t want any of you to be strangers from now on,” said Virgil, shaking hands all around. “You need a lift, Cooder?”
“Walkin’.”
Virgil chuckled. “Of course.”
“What about the other boy?” said Audrey.
“The one on the table we don’t know yet, but we think we’ve identified one of the older… you know,” said Virgil.
“Bodies,” said Zach.
Virgil nodded. “It was Timmy Merrill. Apparently he had some talent that interested Tara. It was my friend Mac that took him. God knows how many others he kidnapped for her.” Who better to find new victims for Tara’s research than a private investigator? Mac had contacts everywhere. But that was for the troopers to handle. Virgil had given them all the information he had and backed off. He just didn’t have the heart for that one.
“It wasn’t his fault,” said Audrey, touching Virgil’s arm.
“I keep telling myself that. I want to forget what he did.”
Audrey sighed, shaking her head. “Don’t,” she said. “Remember the good things about your friend, instead. Babs told me to always remember the good times.”
Virgil smiled. “She was a nice lady. I’m sorry I didn’t get to know her better.”
“She was another one that Tara missed.”
Virgil frowned. “She might have missed Babs’s talents. But Babs had the misfortune of working closely enough with her to get dragged into Tara’s web. The best I can figure is that sometime while she was working at Perkins, Babs stumbled across Tara’s lab, and Tara hit her up with her drugs and hypnosis, never knowing that she was throwing away one of her best subjects until it was too late. If that hadn’t happened and Babs hadn’t dragged me into this, maybe the whole thing would never have unraveled. Or worse. Maybe it would have come undone just enough to get your family killed.”
“Babs thought everything happened for a reason,” said Audrey, matching Virgil’s
frown. “Now she’s dead.”
“It’s over, Audrey. Babs is at peace. I know it. Go home, love your family, and get better. If you need anything, ever, you just call me. And you stop by and say hi, you hear?”
“Sure,” said Audrey. But she watched his face, reading something there. “What?” she said.
Virgil shook his head. “I was just wondering… Why’d she do it? It doesn’t make sense to me. Why did she want to enhance people’s abilities so much she was willing to kill them to do it?”
Audrey frowned. “I don’t believe that’s what she wanted.”
“But she said…”
“I know what she said. But what she wanted was what she got. Tara always got what she wanted.”
“You mean a pile of corpses?” said Virgil, glancing quickly at Zach who was ignoring the conversation, shadowboxing with Cooder.
Audrey nodded. “A pile of dead adepts. Tara couldn’t stand the fact that they had powers that she didn’t.”
Virgil shook his head, stopping to pat Zach on the shoulder by way of saying good-bye.
Virgil slipped the cruiser into gear and let the car drive itself. But he knew where it was heading and he wasn’t at all surprised to see a truck sitting where he usually parked the cruiser. He put on his hat, closed the car door quietly and climbed the hill, trying not to disturb Tom Merrill. But Tom knew he was coming. Virgil could see it in the way his shoulders straightened. Tom didn’t turn to speak though, and Virgil didn’t intrude on his privacy. He knew what it was like to be caught crying.
Tom spoke without turning, choking out some of his words. “I know you come up here a lot yourself, Virg. I’ve seen you. I never stopped while you were here. It didn’t seem right. I mean, I didn’t want you to feel like I knew. Like I blamed you or anything.”
“I know, Tom.”
“The troopers just called me today and told me they found Timmy in the basement up there in Perkins.”
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
“So it was the Beals woman that took him. The woman in the papers.”
“Yes.”
“And she tortured him.”
“We don’t know that, Tom.”
“No,” he said. “No. That’s right. It might not have happened like that. Right?”
“Right.”
Tom took a long deep breath. “I’m going to have him buried right here. Beside his mother. Think he’d like that?”
“I think he’d like that a lot.”
Virgil stared at the dark splotches of shadows in the trees, where specters had always waited for him. Today the shadows were empty. A whippoorwill called in the distance and a light breeze stirred the grass. The woods seemed alive. Timmy wasn’t waiting anymore. He wasn’t haunting this place, hoping for someone to find him so he could rest.
Tom turned and Virgil glanced away, not wanting to embarrass him. But Tom stopped right in front of him. “Do you think there’s a hereafter?”
“Yes.”
“You mean it? Rosie always talked about it, but she was more of a churchgoer than I am. You really believe when we die we go to a better place?”
Virgil took a long time answering. Not because he didn’t know what to say, but because he wanted his voice to carry all the conviction he felt. He stared deeply into Tom Merrill’s tear-stained eyes and nodded gravely. “Yes, Tom. I know we go to a better place. Doris and my little sister are waiting for me. Rosie and Timmy are waiting for you.”
He thought of the séance with Babs and suddenly he was absolutely sure that now Timmy could move on out of that dark, fearful place.
Tom bit his lip, nodded, and squeezed Virgil’s shoulder in passing.
“Just seems like so long to wait,” he said.
“Yes,” said Virgil, bowing his head in front of Rosie’s gravestone. “It seems like a long, long time.”
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. Chandler is proud to hold the rank of Shodan in Kyokushin Karate, and is now studying Aikido. He is the author of the suspense novel, Cold Heart, and other soon-to-be published thrillers. Chandler can be reached at www.chandlermcgrew.com.
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THE DARKENING
Restless waifs with empty arms
Whispered chants and leather charms
Herald dark and wayward things
Finalizing ever afterings.
—Night Land by Cooder Reese
from Dead Reckonings
Lucy
LUCY DEVEREAU SPENT HER DAYS WORMING information out of people she didn’t believe, searching for men and women she didn’t like, for clients she tried to feel a connection with but most times could not. She existed in a constant state of tension, waiting for some unseen ax to fall, some bullet to burst through the wall of her foggy past, and blow a giant hole in her head.
That night she’d lain in bed past midnight, trying to remember why she’d watched the cable news for the past six hours. The stories were all the same, Palestinian Muslims murdering Jews, Irish Protestants murdering Irish Catholics. When sleep finally took her, she tossed and turned, dreaming of a giant blind man with rotting teeth, who chased her down a darkened street, screaming at the top of his lungs that he was God, and he had the answers.
At two A.M. men broke through Lucy’s front and back doors at the same time, the noise of the battering devices blasting through her dreams like thunder. Booted feet slapping her hardwood floors echoed down the hall. She’d barely had time to reach for her robe, when bright lights blinded her and she was whipped around and forced facedown into a mattress. Powerful hands jerked her arms behind her, binding them with something thin and constricting. A gag that tasted like a balled sock was shoved into her mouth, so her first scream was little more than a plaintiff moan. The lights went out as a cloth sack slipped over her head, tightening around her throat. Two of her silent assailants lifted her from the bed, dragging her toward the door, where she collided with a third.
Before she knew it, she was thrown into a vehicle out front. The engine roared to life and she was pressed back into the seat, and in no time at all the car had made so many turns she was impossibly lost. Just when she was certain she was going to die from asphyxiation, rough hands untied the bag and slipped it off. She blinked and sniffled. A giant of a man on the seat beside her regarded her with eagle eyes. He wore a coal-black jumpsuit with gun belt and a large knife in a scabbard. His thick red mustache made him look like a pirate, and Lucy thought that that might be just what he was.
“You going to struggle anymore?” His voice sounded like gravel bouncing around in a blender.
She shook her head. Anything to breathe again.
He jerked the gag over the top of her head, ripping out a handful of hair along with it. She bit her lip, glancing at the cloth in his hands. It was a sock.
“We on time?” said the man, glancing at the driver.
The driver nodded.
“What do you want with me?” asked Lucy.
“The Boss wants to see you,” said the man beside her, smiling.
“Who?”
“Never mind,” said the big man, glancing around nervously.
Maybe it was a case of mistaken identity.
“My name is Lucy Devereau,” she said. “I live at Forty-two Mayfield Lane. I’m a private investigator—”
“We know all that.”
“I don’t understand. I just find people’s real parents.”
“and I told you we know all that stuff.”
She shook her head. “Then why—”
“Are you stupid, or what? I told you we’re taking you to see the Boss, and you don’t want to disappoint the Boss. Do you, Frank?”
The driver glanced over his shoulder, smiling like a wolf and shaking his head. “I can guarantee that,�
� he said. His voice was just as raspy as the first man’s. Lucy wondered if they were on some kind of drug that affected their larynxes.
“Whoever the Boss is, I don’t want to meet him,” she said.
The passenger in the front seat frowned. “You don’t have any choice, lady. Or, at least, you wouldn’t like the other choices.”
The road outside was country lane, open rolling fields lit only by moonlight. The eyes of the man beside her danced from window to window like flies in a bottle. He reached across the seat and tapped the driver on the shoulder.
“Pull over,” he said.
The car slowed and Lucy’s heart slowed with it. In the distance she could see the faint lights of a farmhouse. She leaned forward a millimeter and noticed a bright screen on the dash between the driver and passenger. Words scrolled along the bottom, but they seemed to be in some foreign script.
“We got company,” said the man beside her, opening his door. He stepped outside and then leaned back into the car. “Get out.”
She shook her head. Why get her out of the car now, in this deserted place?
“Get out,” he said. “I mean now!”
The driver and his partner slipped out of the car with a fluid grace surprising in such monstrous men. Her door jerked open, and she was dragged onto the shoulder. She struggled, but her hands were still bound tightly behind her back, and the men’s grips on her arms was as hard as steel manacles.
“Shove her under the car,” said the big man.
Ed and passenger complied. Maybe they weren’t going to kill her after all, but apparently no one cared if she was scraped or bruised. She twisted her head enough to stare back down the road, but no one seemed to be coming that way, and she hadn’t noticed any oncoming headlights either.
“I’ll do anything you want,” she gasped.
All three men laughed.
“What?” said Ed, glaring at her. “You think we want you? If we did, we’d have had you already.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” she whispered, sensing the lie.
Silence from above.
In the narrow slit between the back bumper and the road, headlights suddenly appeared like a double white dawn. The trunk lid slammed shut and Lucy heard what she thought was a rifle bolt clacking into place. Ed crouched beside the rear tire, and craning her neck, she saw Frank’s or Passenger’s feet on the other side.
Night Terror Page 37
