Oh, well. It was too bad for the geek, but good for Earl because the genius’s stupidity would make him easier to control. He swiveled his head to look back at the cruiser and lost his balance, stumbling to his knees before scrambling quickly back to his feet. His body was definitely becoming less coordinated, and it was getting much harder to think straight.
His brain felt fuzzy and confused, like it did when he was in the middle of a long bender, only instead of feeling mellow and happy like he did when he drank, he felt an undefined sense of anger and aggression building. That’s not surprising, he thought. I’ve been killed, had my heart torn out of my fucking body. Who wouldn’t be a little twitchy?
Earl stared hard at the cruiser, which had now come to a complete stop about fifteen feet away. His blossoming anger vanished—for now—and his smile returned when he managed to peer through the glare of the sun on the windshield and identify its lone occupant. Seated behind the wheel, staring out at him with wide blue eyes and her perfect angelic face, was his old drinking pal and one-time fuck buddy Sharon Dupont.
Earl heard himself cackle like a goddamned loon as he considered the possibility of expanding his little group to include the Paskagankee PD officer. He had only slept with her the once, back when she was a seventeen year old high school junior trashed on cheap beer, so desperate to get high or drunk that she would screw anyone or do anything.
He knew she had straightened her life out—Paskagankee was a small town; everyone was in everyone else’s business—and was now living with the police chief. Of course, “living with” might be a bit of an exaggeration now that Earl had pitched the loser head-first into freezer and then slammed the lid.
So the chief was dead, or would be soon, which meant Little Miss Officer Goody Two-Shoes sitting there in the cruiser would be back on the market. Earl wondered if his pecker would still work since he was technically dead and decided there was only one way to find out.
He fixed Parker with a stare—easy enough to do, since the damn fool was still gazing longingly at the police car—then began strutting toward the cruiser, wondering if Dupont carried as many pleasant memories of their night together as he did. He smiled. He would grab her around the neck, force her into the back seat along with Parker, then drive the cruiser somewhere nice and private where he could renew acquaintances with—
—The cruiser’s door ripped open, rocking the vehicle on its springs. The little police chick leaped out of the car and took cover behind the door, which she had opened with such force it bounced back and hit her in the side. A hand appeared in the V-shaped space between the door and the car’s body, and the voice he remembered so fondly from so many years ago commanded, “Stop right there, Earl!”
And Earl stopped right there.
Not because he was worried about getting shot—apparently Miss Law and Order was unaware of his new reality and thought threatening him with a gun was a strategy that might be effective—but rather, because he knew there was no way he could control the software geek at the same time he was locked in a battle with a cop who was busy filling him full of holes.
There was no possible way Parker would be stupid enough to stay standing on the side of the road when the gunfire started, and as much as Earl wanted to find out if dead people could have sex, he couldn’t afford to take the risk of forfeiting Parker’s money and technical savvy just for a little corpse nookie.
So stopped in his tracks and then began backing toward Parker, knowing there was no way in hell the young woman who had once screwed him in the front seat of his truck would now shoot him in cold blood. He took three shambling steps before she shouted, “I told you to stop. Now you freeze right where you are!”
He grinned at her for the third time, then turned and strode quickly toward Parker, who finally seemed to realize the cavalry wasn’t going to be doing a whole lot of saving of the day today.
The software geek turned to run, but before he could take two steps Earl was on him. Earl wrapped his right arm around Parker’s throat, careful to cradle the all-important box containing his beating heart in the crook of his left. He pulled his gun hand back toward his chest, squeezing Parker’s throat closed, while at the same time twisting his body to the right, turning his prisoner into a human shield.
He straightened and faced the chick cop, who was still screaming something at him. He had tuned her out just like he tuned out his Ma when she told him to wash the dishes or pick up his dirty socks or stop farting in the middle of the living room. “Looks like we got us a standoff,” he rumbled, cutting her off in mid-harangue, loosening his grip on Parker’s throat just enough to allow the man a bit of air.
“Just calm down, Earl, nobody needs to get hurt today,” Dupont called out, and Earl laughed.
“A little late for that, don’t you think? I’m a walking corpse, I gave that fucking devil Max Acton what he had coming to him, and I suffocated your boyfriend in a freezer, you think for one goddamned second I’m worried about anyone getting hurt?” Earl’s voice rose steadily in pitch as his fury returned, rushing back like a hurricane.
“Chief McMahon is fine,” claimed Dupont. “He’s unharmed. And maybe Acton did get what he deserved, maybe it was a case of self-defense. But there will be no possible defense for harming an innocent hostage, no justification at all. Why don’t you just drop your gun and let Mr. Parker go and we can sit down and talk about it?”
“Just like that? Really? I drop my gun and we all come together in a search for truth and justice? Maybe sing Kumbayah while we’re at it? Because ain’t you forgetting something, Sugar-britches?”
‘What’s that?”
“I’m fucking dead! Where’s the truth and justice for me?”
“Earl, listen to me. Come with me and we’ll figure something out, I promise, but nothing’s going to come from us standing here in the middle of nowhere pointing guns at each other.”
“Pointing guns at each other? But that’s not really the situation, is it, sweetheart? Because you’re pointing a gun at me, but I’m pointing a gun at him.” Earl released his chokehold on Parker and raised Mike McMahon’s Glock until the barrel was pressed against his hostage’s temple. The man whimpered and Earl laughed savagely.
“So if you think about it,” he continued, “I hold all the cards and you hold none.”
He shoved Parker in the back and the two men stumbled forward. “So here’s what we’re going to do.”
He shoved Parker again and again the pair lurched forward a few feet. “You’re going to drop your gun . . .”
Shove, stumble. “. . . and we’re going to take a little ride together . . .”
Shove, stumble. “. . . and then you and me are going to relive the good old days. Whaddaya say about that, baby girl?”
40
The thing that had once been Earl Manning stood swaying like he was drunk, gun barrel placed against the head of a clearly terrified Brett Parker, and Sharon knew she had just seconds to respond. Manning had pushed his hostage forward until he was now positioned no more than a few feet away, but he was using Parker quite effectively as a shield, giving her very little to aim at.
Still, she had been a crack shot at the FBI Academy, and she thought there was at least a decent chance she could hit Earl if he would just stop moving for half a second. He looked like he had just stepped off the Tilt-A-Whirl ride at the Fryeburg Fair, his head bobbing and weaving, now completely shielded by Parker, now hovering over his left shoulder, now gone again.
If she timed it just right, she could take him down. But then she thought about Mike’s words. He’s basically unstoppable because you can’t kill him . . . a mindless killing machine . . .
What if she hit him and he didn’t go down? Or what if she missed him entirely? It was a definite possibility, she was good with a gun but it was still a handgun, and he was still several feet away, and she was shaking like a leaf from the adrenaline coursing through her body. If she missed him or if he survived the shot, he would undoubtedl
y put a bullet into Brett Parker’s head, and he wasn’t a reanimated corpse, he would drop like a stone, and not a sacred stone, either, and an innocent man would be dead.
And it wouldn’t just be any innocent man, it would be one of the richest men in America, a world-renowned software entrepreneur, and the fallout would be instantaneous and devastating. Moreover, he would have been killed with Mike McMahon’s gun, and Sharon knew that after Mike’s accidental shooting of seven year old Sarah Melendez two years ago, he would never recover. He still blamed himself for the little girl’s death. If another innocent person were to die by Mike’s gun, Sharon knew he would be lost forever.
So the decision was really no decision. Sharon tossed her weapon onto the shoulder of the road and stepped clear of the cruiser’s open door. Brett Parker moaned in terror and disbelief. He had obviously been expecting her to take some kind of action, but what could she do?
She stepped forward reluctantly. “What now, Earl?” The stench was rancid and overwhelming, like spoiled meat. Sharon pictured maggots crawling all over Manning’s skin and gagged.
He leered. It was horrifying. “Now we see what this baby can do,” he said, nodding at the Paskagankee Police cruiser, idling patiently on the side of the road.
Sharon moved toward the driver’s seat and Earl shouted, “Hey!” and she froze. Earl chuckled, the sound like breaking glass. “Come on babe, how stupid do you think I am? You’re not going to drive. Get into the back seat.”
Sharon opened the rear passenger door and slid into the seat, her fear mounting rapidly. She had been thinking hard, hoping for an opportunity to use the cruiser as a weapon, to drive it into a tree or something, then grab Parker and run in the aftermath of the accident. Mike had said Earl’s brain was deteriorating rapidly, what were the odds he would remain clear-headed enough to stop them?
But from the back seat she would be helpless. A thick wire mesh screen separated the front seat of the cruiser from the back, a precaution to ensure the safety of the officer after putting a suspect into the vehicle. There would be no way to get at Manning.
Sharon looked up and saw the horrifying skeletal body looming just outside. He maintained a firm grasp on Parker, who was now wide-eyed and pale-faced and appeared seconds away from a stroke or a heart attack. The stench intensified and she wondered how Parker had been able to stand being held against that corpse-like frame.
“Slide over,” Manning ordered, shoving Parker into the back of the cruiser without waiting for her to comply. Then he slammed the door and they were trapped. There were no interior handles on the rear cruiser doors; they could only be opened from the outside, another vehicle modification made in the interest of officer safety that now spelled doom for Sharon and Parker.
“You’ve got to do something,” Parker whispered fiercely, as if maybe Sharon could magically overcome the fact they were trapped inside a police car with no weapon and no way out. “What are you going to do?”
Outside the window, Manning bent down and snatched Sharon’s gun off the side of the road, sliding it into the waistband of his filthy jeans at the small of his back.
“We stay calm,” she answered quietly, “and wait for a break we can take advantage of.”
“Why didn’t you shoot him when you had the chance?” Anger seemed to be taking the place of fear now that he had been released from Manning’s grip.
“Shoot him? When? While he was using you as a human shield? This isn’t a movie set, Mr. Parker, the odds of hitting him were slim at best. I probably would have shot you instead, and then where would we be?” She didn’t bother to continue, to explain that even if she had popped Earl Manning, even if she nailed him right between the eyes, there was still no chance of actually stopping him. He would simply get up, dust himself off, and then probably kill both of them on the spot. The situation seemed hopeless enough without adding that little informational gem into the mix.
“The guy’s a raving lunatic,” Parker continued as if she hadn’t even spoken. His voice was laced with fear and maybe just a touch of wonder. “He says he’s dead and that he needs me to figure out a way to reverse the damage that’s been done to him. He’s out of his mind, he’s completely crazy, he—“
The driver’s side door opened and Manning fell into the seat, banging his head hard against the door frame, the force of the blow rocking the car. He didn’t even react. “Now, now,” he said, speaking in a sing-song voice. “I know you two are conspiring against me and I won’t have it, do you understand?”
He placed the box he had been holding—Sharon assumed it must be the box containing his heart and the sacred Navajo stone—onto the dashboard between it and the windshield, shoving hard until he had wedged it tightly into the space. Then he shifted the cruiser into drive and stomped on the accelerator and the car leapt forward, rear tires squealing on the pavement, the cruiser zigzagging down the road as Manning tried, largely unsuccessfully, to control it.
Sharon’s cell phone rang. It was still sitting on the front passenger’s seat where she had tossed it after talking to Mike a few minutes ago.
Earl moved his foot clumsily from the accelerator to the brake and the tires screeched again, this time screaming in protest from the rapid deceleration. Sharon and Parker were thrown forward and they smashed their faces on the wire screen at the same time, neither one able to stop their momentum with their outstretched hands.
Manning slammed the transmission into Park. He bent down, reaching with his long arms into the passenger-side foot well, snatching the cell phone off the floor where it had fallen as it continued to ring. He glanced at the caller ID and turned and glared into the back seat. “Well, well,” he said. “Looks like someone has a call from her boyfriend.” He seemed to be having trouble focusing his eyes and his tone had changed, losing its sing-song quality and becoming hard-edged and cruel.
Sharon had no idea what to say. She knew Mike would be on the other end of the line and that things were about to go from bad to much, much worse.
She was right.
Manning punched at the “Send” button, his finger missing three times before finally connecting, probably by accident. Before he had a chance to say anything, Mike’s voice came from the earpiece, sounding high-pitched and far away, but still understandable in the silence of the police car. “Well, I did it,” he said. “I just got off the line with the Maine State Police. They now think I’m either drunk or a raving lunatic, but they agreed to put out a BOLO for our friend Earl Manning.”
“Isn’t that nice,” Manning said into the phone, and Mike fell silent. “I never realized how many people cared about me. Where were you when I REALLY FUCKING NEEDED YOU?” Earl was screaming now and the somehow smell of corruption seemed to increase with it.
“Manning?” Mike said cautiously, and the cursed man punched another button, putting the call on speaker before beginning to laugh.
“In the flesh,” he said. “Although maybe not for much longer, as it seems to be sliding off my bones even as we speak.” He grinned at Sharon as though sharing a private joke and she felt her stomach begin to turn over. She clenched her jaw and willed herself not to throw up. Beside her, Parker rubbed his cheek vigorously where he had scraped it against the wire mesh and chanted to himself softly. It sounded like he might be praying.
“Where’s Officer Dupont?” came the voice from the cell phone.
“Officer Dupont? Who’s Officer—“
“—Where is she, Manning?”
“Oh, you mean Sharon Dupont? The sweet little piece of ass we have in common? I spent time with her too, you know, although she’s probably never mentioned that little tidbit to you. Of course, our time together came before she got all high and mighty, before she started toting a badge and a gun to work. Still, I find it interesting to note that all the places you’ve been, I’ve been, too, and long before you. If you get my drift. Isn’t that something, Chief? You and me, we’re practically one and the same, carnally speaking.” He winked at Sharo
n and she stared back, horrified.
“I’m going to ask you one more time. Where is she, Manning?”
“As it so happens, she’s right here with me. Care to have a word?”
“You’re damn right I want to speak with her. Now.”
“Well, that’s just too goddamn bad, Chief; sometimes we don’t get what we want in this world. Didn’t your mama teach you anything?”
“I’m warning you, Manning, you harm one hair on Officer Dupont’s head and I’ll—“
“—you’ll what, smart-guy? Hunt me down and kill me? Too late for that, wouldn’t you say? Now, I’d like nothing better than to continue this delightful discussion, but time’s a-wastin’, as my dear departed granny used to say, and I’m not getting any younger. Or any older, for that matter. Because I’m DEAD. See ya on the other side, Mikey-boy.”
Manning punched clumsily at the END button to disconnect the call and tossed the phone back down on the seat.
He swiveled his head and glared into the back seat. “Now, where were we?”
41
Except the call wasn’t disconnected. Manning must have missed the button on the touchscreen when he tried to terminate the connection, and now Mike listened, frantic with fear, as the rapidly dissembling revenant taunted Sharon. “Honestly, sweetheart, that fucking loser’s dumb as a stump. Why the hell’d you even bother leaving Paskagankee in the first place if you were just going to come right back and get tangled up with an idiot like him when you could have stayed with me and saved yourself all that trouble?”
His voice seemed to be thickening and he had begun slurring his words as if drunk. That frightened Mike more than the threats and taunting. Sharon didn’t respond, or if she did, Mike didn’t hear her answer. He tried to control his escalating panic and confusion. Was Manning at the hospital, and if so, how had he managed to snatch Sharon without anyone else in the building sounding an alarm? It was simply impossible to conceive of any scenario in which the foul-smelling, skeletal bag of bones Mike had tangled with in the basement of this house just a few hours ago could have gotten into Mercy Hospital without a dozen separate 911 calls being placed within seconds.
Revenant Page 20
