Revenant

by Allan Leverone

  “You told me, yes.”

  “Well, apparently he was anxious to relive the not-so-good old days, because after he drove into the woods, he hauled my ass into the front seat and tried to rape me.”

  “What? The guy was a walking corpse, an undead shell of a human being, and he was worried about having sex?”

  “I always heard that’s all you guys ever think about. I guess it’s the case even after death.” Sharon flashed a crooked grin and Mike could see how hard she was trying to keep herself together, and his admiration for her increased. He wouldn’t have thought it possible. “Or maybe somewhere deep down he realized he was never going to get out of the mess he was in, with or without Brett Parker, so he figured he might as well enjoy one last roll in the hay, I don’t know.”

  Mike stared at her, horrified, and she continued. “Anyway, after he threw me onto the front seat and fell on top of me, I looked up and spotted the wooden box containing his heart and the sacred Navajo stone. He had placed it on the dashboard, for safekeeping I guess. I shoved him hard and grabbed for my gun, which he had jammed into the waistband of his jeans after taking it away from me. I knew I couldn’t stop him by shooting him, but I figured maybe if I blasted his heart I could somehow break the mystical connection that was keeping him alive. Or dead. Or whatever he was.”

  “What made you think that would work?”

  “I had no idea whether it would work or not, but I knew shooting him wouldn’t accomplish anything, except to piss him off even more than he already was. I guess at that point I figured I had nothing to lose. I took the shot and got lucky.”

  Mike leaned down and looked back into the cruiser. On the dashboard, covered by a blizzard of automobile safety glass, was a shriveled grey lump of muscle tissue that he knew immediately was Earl Manning’s heart. The lump had been torn almost in half by Sharon’s 9mm slug. He blew out a breath and felt suddenly very cold.

  “The stone’s on the floor under the brake pedal,” Sharon said. “I assume you’ll want to bag it as evidence, but I’m not going to touch it. It’s powerful and it’s dangerous and I’ll be happy if I never see it again. It’s cursed. Literally.”

  Mike fell to his knees and rummaged around on the floor until locating the stone. He kept his eyes on Manning’s remains, just a few feet away, not entirely convinced the revenant couldn’t somehow come back to life. But the pile of bones remained motionless and dead.

  Mike hefted the stone and stood, examining it closely. It was greyish and smooth and perfectly round. He had half-expected to feel some kind of power emanating from it, but it felt no different than any other rock, just an inanimate lump. But he knew looks could be deceiving.

  Sharon backed away instinctively, despite the fact she was on the other side of the vehicle. “Keep that thing away from me,” she said, her voice thin and shrill.

  “This is evidence,” Mike said, “and beyond that, it’s Navajo property and should be returned to its rightful owners, eventually. It’s too bad it was destroyed when you fired into the box.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He tossed the stone onto the ground without speaking. It landed to the left of the cruiser and rolled to a stop on the forest floor a few feet away. Mike drew his weapon and took careful aim, moving deliberately, determined not to miss. He fired a single shot and the stone disintegrated, pebble-sized chunks flying in all directions, dust rising into the air.

  “Like I said,” he told Sharon, who was staring at him with a look of disbelief on her pretty features. “It’s too bad the stone was destroyed. Now, let’s get back out to the road. The ambulance will be along any second and we need to get Parker to the hospital. You should be checked out too, and I want to cordon off this area until we can begin the official investigation.”

  Sharon shook her head and Mike knew exactly what she was going to say before she opened her mouth. “I’m not going to the hospital. I’m fine. I’ll stay here and help you.”

  “You know the procedure,” he answered. “You were physically attacked and then involved in a shooting, and—“

  Sharon glared at him, her blue eyes flashing. “I said I’m fine.”

  “I’m sorry, Officer Dupont, but you know the rules. You need to be examined by a doctor. It’s important, and I’m not going to bend on that. You’re going.”

  She kicked at the dirt and turned toward Mike’s cruiser, muttering under her breath. “Oh, and one more thing, before I forget,” Mike said. “I’ll need to relieve you of your weapon pending an official review of the circumstances of the shooting. You’ll be assigned to desk duty until the review is complete.”

  Without a word, Sharon retraced her steps, unsnapped her holster, and handed Mike her Glock, her lips compressed into a thin white line, fury evident on her face. Then she stomped back to his cruiser, arms folded, and slumped into the front passenger seat. She stared straight out the windshield, refusing to meet his gaze as he slid into the seat next to her.

  45

  The Katahdin Diner was typically busy this time of the morning, and today was no exception. Waitresses scurried from the kitchen to the dining room and back again, slinging food, coffee and barbs with the customers in equal measure. Mike sipped his coffee and watched as Sharon entered the restaurant, scoping out the dining room, searching for him. It was a rare day off for both of them; the entire department had been working practically around the clock wrapping up the dual investigations of Max Acton’s murder and Officer Dupont’s shooting of Earl Manning.

  Sharon finally spotted him in the corner and weaved her way through the crowded diner to his table. She was dressed down in faded jeans and a University of Maine Black Bears sweatshirt, but Mike decided if she was trying to blend in with the rural crowd she was doing a damned lousy job of it. She could wear a potato sack and look gorgeous, he thought. Her short pixie hairstyle framed her pretty face as sat, nodding hello, working hard to keep her face neutral.

  He had taken the liberty of ordering breakfast for her—a toasted bagel with cream cheese and coffee—and waited for her to complain about his presumption. To his surprise she said nothing, instead sitting and taking a sip of coffee before biting delicately into the bagel.

  Mike could see curiosity was killing her. They were no longer dating and she had been placed on desk duty, so there was no reason for him to have called. He was amused and wanted to drag out the suspense just a bit longer. So he brought up the weather—it was unseasonably cool, even for northern Maine. Then they discussed the fortunes of the Red Sox, currently suffering through a horrific mid-season slump.

  Finally she could stand it no longer. “So,” she began, and waved her bagel in a circular motion at him.

  He shook his head. “So . . .?”

  “So, I know you didn’t call me here just to talk baseball, boss. What are we doing here? It’s our day off, remember?”

  “Ah, our day off. Well, I thought you might appreciate me getting you up to speed on things.”

  “Up to speed? What do I need to get up to speed on? I’m a desk jockey, remember? Do we need to order more toner for the copier?”

  He tried, unsuccessfully, to keep from smiling. “Your statement’s not entirely accurate. You were a desk jockey. My investigation’s complete and as of now you are officially reinstated to active duty. Welcome back.” Mike picked Sharon’s weapon up off the diner’s vinyl seat next to him and slid it across the table. “I’d have a little ceremony, but I don’t want to freak out any of these happy diners by waving a gun around in the air.”

  Sharon stared at her weapon for a moment before picking it up with a smile of her own and placing it on her seat. “I almost wish I was wearing my uniform so I could put this baby on my hip where it belongs. But what gives? It’s only been a few days. When you said ‘investigation,’ I pictured a weeks-long process.”

  “Ah, that.” Mike waved his hand like he was shooing away a mosquito. “That was just for show. My main goal was to get you to a doctor, make
sure you were telling the truth about being okay. Fighting with a dead guy is kind of uncharted territory, you know, in case you weren’t aware of it.”

  “Oh, I’m aware of it, all right. It’s not something I’m likely to forget any time soon.”

  “That’s what I figured. The investigation into the shooting was going to be a formality right from the get-go. There was a witness to the whole thing, after all. Besides, how the hell do I write up the circumstances of that confrontation? No one outside of you, me and Brett Parker—who’s already out of the hospital and going to be fine, by the way—would believe it if I told the truth.”

  “Good point. But won’t that also be the case with the ME’s report? What is Dr. Affeldt going to have to say about the fully decomposed skeleton of Earl Manning lying in a pile in the front seat of my cruiser—the skeleton of a dead man with none of my bullets lodged in him?”

  Mike sipped his coffee and smiled. “You know, after the incident last fall with Professor Dye and Chief Court, I think our friendly neighborhood medical examiner has decided to follow the path of least resistance. The poor old guy has now been confronted with medical impossibilities twice in less than a year, and I don’t think he has the energy to do much more than rubber-stamp an autopsy report. His findings won’t be available for some time yet, but I’m betting when they’re published, Mr. Manning will have died from a single gunshot wound following an attack on Officer Sharon Dupont in the front seat of her police cruiser.”

  “You won’t be able to fool Manheim the Maneater, though. That reporter’s going to smell the supernatural connection from a mile away.”

  “She already has. She called me last night requesting an interview. ‘Work with me and we’ll get out the real story,’ she said.”

  Sharon laughed at Mike’s falsetto imitation of the reporter’s voice. “What are you going to do?”

  “Ignore her, what else can I do? She’s already going to make a fortune off one tell-all Paskagankee book, I’ll be damned if I’m going to give her the chance to write another.”

  “Think she’ll give up that easily?”

  Mike shrugged. “I hope so, but I doubt it. In any case, the crew from Hollywood is due next week to begin filming location stuff for the movie based on her book about last fall’s murder spree, so I’m hoping she’ll be too busy hob-nobbing with the glitterati to worry about badgering me.”

  “She’ll never leave you alone,” Sharon muttered.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come on, I’ve seen the way she looks at you. She’d like nothing better than to sink her man-eating teeth into you.”

  “Is that right? Well, as much fun as that sounds, I’m hoping she’ll soon get the message that this broken-down old cop is off the market.”

  “And how are you going to convince her of that?”

  Mike ignored the question, instead glancing down at the floor next to his chair. “Would you look at that. I dropped my napkin.” He eased down to one knee.

  Sharon looked down. “I don’t—“

  Out of his pocket Mike pulled a gold band, topped by a glittering diamond.

  “—see any—“ Sharon froze, her confusion evident.

  “I know I’m not any great prize,” he said. “Most of my future is behind me and you’ve barely scratched the surface of yours. And I swore after Kate left me that I’d never get married again. But that was before I met you. And now I can’t imagine living a fuller life than one with you as its centerpiece, or an emptier life than one without you. I love you, Sharon, and I need you, and I always will. Would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

  The tears spilled down her cheeks and Mike sensed diners all over the restaurant turning in their seats to watch the drama unfold. The clatter of silverware on porcelain and coffee mugs on Formica came to an abrupt halt and the buzz of conversation died away.

  Sharon nodded. “Yes,” she whispered after an eternity, and the diner erupted in applause as Mike slid the ring onto her finger, then pulled her to her feet and engulfed her in a bear hug.

  He wiped her tears away and took a deep breath, blowing out forcefully. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so nervous,” he said. “Fighting a murderous dead guy was nothing compared to that.”

  They settled back into their seats as the applause died away. He noticed a strange look on Sharon’s face. “What’s bothering you? Second thoughts already?”

  “Never. But what about our jobs? The whole reason we had to stop seeing each other is that you’re my supervisor. The Town Council will really freak if we get married. They’ll never allow it; you’ll lose your job for sure.”

  “I’ve already considered that. It’s a non-issue.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean my last official act as Chief of the Paskagankee, Maine Police Department was to reinstate you to active status. I’ve already submitted my resignation to the council, effective noon today.” He looked at his watch. “Or in about ten minutes, according to Timex.”

  Sharon stared, her mouth agape. “What if I had said no?”

  “Then I suppose I would have been heartbroken as well as unemployed.”

  “But . . . who’s going be chief?”

  “That’s up to the Town Council, but I’ve recommended Pete Kendall. The guy’s an outstanding cop for such a young officer—he’s a lot like you in that sense—and he’ll make a wonderful chief if he gets the chance. But that’s out of my hands.”

  “And what are you going to do for work?”

  “I don’t know. I figure I’ll watch TV all day in my underwear and live off the hard work of my wife.” Sharon kicked his shin under the table and he grinned. “Okay, okay, I’ll get off my lazy ass and seek gainful employment. There must be a security firm in the area that could use a moderately successful ex-cop on their roster.”

  “Moderately successful? I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. But good luck finding a security firm way out here in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Yeah, well, we’ll figure something out. That’s an issue for another day. I came to the conclusion pretty quickly that you’re a hell of a lot more important to me than any job, especially one where people sometimes shoot at me or lock me in freezers and leave me there to die. But right now, I think we need to celebrate.”

  “Agreed. What did you have in mind?”

  “Why don’t we go back to your place? I’m sure we can think of something.”

  Sharon smiled. “But it’s barely past breakfast.”

  “Even better. That gives us all day.”

  REVENANT is the second entry in Allan Leverone’s series of supernatural suspense novels set in the isolated little town of Paskagankee, Maine. The first in the series is titled PASKAGANKEE, and is available here: http://www.amazon.com/PASKAGANKEE-ebook/dp/B0072PMYNM

  About the author

  Allan Leverone is a 2012 Derringer Award winner for excellence in short mystery fiction and a 2011 Pushcart Prize nominee. He is the author of the Amazon bestselling thriller, THE LONELY MILE, as well as the thrillers, FINAL VECTOR and PASKAGANKEE. He has authored three horror novellas: DARKNESS FALLS, HEARTLESS and THE BECOMING. Allan lives in Londonderry, NH with his wife, three children, one beautiful granddaughter and a cat who has used up eight lives. Connect with Allan on Facebook, Twitter, @AllanLeverone and at AllanLeverone.com.