The Lingering Dead

by J N Duncan

  “What are you thinking, Sis?” Rebecca asked, wiping at her tear-filled eyes.

  “A lot of things,” she replied absently. Her gaze refocused on Rebecca. “How much do you love me, Bec? I mean, really, how much?”

  Her big, brown eyes blinked several times in silence. “More than anything,” she whispered.

  Charlotte took Rebecca’s face in her hands. “More than life itself? Would you be willing to die for me?”

  There was only the briefest hesitation. “More than anything,” she repeated.

  She kissed Rebecca hard on the mouth. “Good. You are my sister in blood. Do you want to be my sister in spirit, too?”

  The wide-eyed stare narrowed. “But we are sisters in spirit. I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “It means ...” She slid her hands down and took Rebecca’s in her own. “It means that I died for you once, a long time ago, but I came back because I could not leave you behind. I loved you so much that even death could not take me.”

  Rebecca blinked away tears, her lower lip trembling. “I would die for you. Our bond is stronger than death.”

  She squeezed Rebecca’s hands. “Do you believe so? Truly?”

  She nodded emphatically. “How could death be stronger than love?”

  Charlotte smiled and wiped a tear off her own cheek. “So very true, Sis. So very true.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the small switchblade. “When death comes, we will be stronger, together forever.”

  Rebecca threw her arms around Charlotte again. “Forever, Sis! We are—” The words cut off with a sharp gasp and she pulled away, staring down at her stomach, where the slowly blossoming red flower of blood began to creep across her dress. She looked back up at Charlotte with wide-eyed incredulity. “Charlie?”

  “Hush,” she said and eased her back on the bed. “Conserve your strength. Death is coming and our love shall keep it at bay.”

  “I’m bleeding,” she replied, still in disbelief.

  Charlotte looked down at her, tasting the energy of her upon the air, the sweet force of life seeping out of the wound in her stomach. “I know. It will all be fixed soon enough. Just be still and breathe.”

  “It hurts, Sis!”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “I do, but—”

  “Then lie still,” she said more forcefully and Rebecca eased back down. “Do you think I would let you die?”

  “No, but ... I don’t understand.” She grimaced and brought her hands up to the wound.

  “Don’t touch it,” Charlotte insisted. “Just be still. I mean it. Think about us, our bond together, sisters in blood, and the fact that nothing, nothing in this world can break it.” She reached down and clasped Rebecca’s hand. “Even death cannot break it, no matter how strongly it says your time has come, I will always be with you, Sis.” She leaned over, eyes pulsing with a swell of power. “Even in death, I shall never leave you. Our love is stronger than death, Becca. You must have faith.”

  “I don’t want to die,” she replied, wincing in pain.

  “Do you want to be with me forever, Sis?”

  Rebecca nodded at Charlotte.

  “Then we must show death that it cannot win over love. I defeated it for you. Now it’s time for you to prove that you love me and want me more than anything in this world.” Charlotte stood up straight and turned toward the hall door. “Ma-ma! Come now!”

  “Sis?” Rebecca’s face was beginning to lose some color now. “I’m afraid.”

  Charlotte spun back to her and leaned over, placing a hand on each of Rebecca’s shoulders, pushing her down against the mattress. “No fear! Death feeds on fear. Fear will let it get you and take you away from me. You must be strong, and I will be here with you to fight him, Sis. When he comes, I will be with you.”

  Light footsteps could be heard moving quickly down the hallway before the door swung open. Beverly stuck her head around the edge of the door and gave them a pensive look. “What is it, sweetheart? Did you girls need some tea or maybe—” She stopped when her gaze finally recognized what was going on. “Oh, dear Lord! What’s happened to Rebecca?”

  “Ma-ma, sit down, here, next to Rebecca,” Charlotte said, pointing and motioning with her finger. After Beverly rushed over and sat down on the other side of the bed next to Rebecca, Charlotte grabbed her wrist when she tried to look at the wound in Rebecca’s abdomen.

  “Ma-ma?” Rebecca said in a sleepy voice. “I’m going to be with Charlie forever.”

  Charlotte tightened her grip on Beverly’s arm until she gasped and looked away from Rebecca. “Ma-ma, Rebecca is bleeding to death, and she needs some more blood now. Are you willing to give her some?”

  Beverly looked down at Rebecca and then back again. “Of course, but don’t you think we should call an ambulance?”

  “We don’t have time,” Charlotte replied and pulled out her blade again. “Will you give her some? You won’t feel a thing, I promise.”

  “If she needs me, then, of course,” she said. “I’d do anything for you girls.”

  With a quick flash of steel, Charlotte opened up a deep, inch-long cut into the veins on Beverly’s wrist, who gasped but said nothing. “See, Ma-ma, you can’t feel a thing, can you?”

  “No, sweetie, it’s OK,” she replied.

  “Good. I love you.” She pulled the arm toward Rebecca, dripping a trail of blood across the spread. “Lay down here next to her and put the blood to her mouth, just like we used to do.”

  Beverly slid up next to Rebecca on one side, while Charlotte settled in against her on the other; Rebecca gave them a pleasant moan and then made a face at the taste of blood on her lips. Charlotte pinned the wrist to Rebecca’s mouth so she had little choice.

  “Drink, Sis,” she said. “You must. Blood has the energy of life within it, and you need more to fight off death when he comes. Life and love, Bec. Look at me.” Her head turned enough so she could see, and Charlotte held her gaze, putting on her best, most dazzling smile. “Let’s show them all that our love is the most powerful of all.”

  Charlotte kept the wrist clamped down over her mouth with one hand, while the other gently brushed at the hair falling across her forehead. Beverly murmured reassurances. She reached out, feeling the energy of her fading slowly, weakening the bond between the physical reality and her soul. With the piece of Rebecca’s soul flowing through her veins, Charlotte could make the connection to her easily enough. The key element on her part would be timing. The other would all be on Rebecca and her will to stave off the pull of death. The cold push of the other side was beginning to seep through.

  Rebecca tried to say something, spluttering against the wound pressed to her mouth, as rivulets of blood spilled out across her cheek. Charlotte hushed her. “Drink, Sis. It’s almost time. Be ready. I’m right here with you. Always.”

  After dozens of attempts, Charlotte had learned that she could not force them to fight. She had tried many different ways of charming, of trying to build a high level of emotional need and desire to stay with the living, but she had come to realize that in the end, it was still just a charm, a forced response, and death did not capitulate to such fakery. She could only build up a genuine desire and love, create a real bond, and believe herself that this girl was her sister come back to her. This Rebecca was the closest she had felt in so long. Other than convincing her that she was Rebecca and not Jessica Davies, the rest had come almost too easy.

  “How much more?” Beverly asked, her voice strained.

  “Until she is done, Ma-ma,” she replied in a harsh whisper. “Do not speak again.” A cool shiver ran down her spine. The dead were coming to make Rebecca their own. She refocused on Rebecca, whose mouth did little to drink the blood spilling from Beverly’s wrist, and took one of her hands in her own. Charlotte squeezed it. “I love you, Sis. I will stand with you against him. Death cannot win.” She kissed Rebecca’s cheek, leaving a bloody smear across the skin. “Our love is stronger.”

&n
bsp; Charlotte pulled upon her reserves of power, built upon the blood of the townsfolk, and waited for the proper moment. That door would open and she would stick her proverbial foot in the door, keeping it open for as long as she might, funneling the energy through her bond with Rebecca and hoping against hope that she would see and utilize her own reserves to keep that hungry spectre of death sated. In the end, though, it would be Rebecca’s will to turn back to the living, because once that door opened, the call of the spirit world was nearly irresistible.

  As if she knew it was coming, Rebecca’s hand squeezed hers at that moment when death arrived, and Charlotte fed the hungry monster with all she could afford to give. The pull of the other side was always compelling, such an easy thing to give in to. It came with such a sense of peace and release, but Charlotte knew better. She had been over there, where spirits roamed the cold, gray wastes, lost and aimless. Where they went after that, she could not see or tell, but if anyone knew the truth of what lay beyond this world of the living, consuming blood might not sound so appalling.

  She felt Rebecca drawing toward the door, like fog into a vacuum, an alluring compulsion. This time, unlike the others, Charlotte did not demand she fight or resist, but only infused her power into Rebecca’s mind, giving her the ability to see what the other side was pulling away, separating the soul from the last vestiges of the material body. Need and demand had always failed. No matter how strong it might be, such things did not influence death. This time would be throwing away all of the influence she had grown accustomed to, setting aside what she had become and be only what she had been once, long ago, a sister to the other half of her life.

  “I love you, Sis,” she whispered in Rebecca’s ear. “You are a part of me I can’t live without. I need you here, Bec.” She swallowed down the lump in her throat. “I only live for you, so please come back to me.”

  The energy shifted then, a subtle change in flavor. Rebecca’s life energy began to blend, tainted with Beverly’s, and the flow of energy through the door thickened and slowed. Charlotte pressed Beverly’s wrist more firmly against Rebecca’s mouth. The time was now if it was going to take hold. It was up to Rebecca to realize what was happening, to take the energy being given to her and use it to pull that door back to the point where the life force only trickled away and blood would feed the cold pull of death.

  Charlotte continued to whisper into Rebecca’s ear, the seconds ticking down like minutes. It would happen at any moment now, the choice made to either fight or go, and as much as she wanted to shout encouragements at her, to force her own will upon her, Charlotte refrained, remembering those last moments over a hundred years hence, when the smiling preacher man had licked the blood from his fingers while she had cradled Rebecca much like she did now and sucked upon the blood seeping from the gash in her neck.

  Rebecca spluttered and coughed, eyes fluttering open, and Charlotte propped herself up next to her, digging her fingers into the wound upon Beverly’s wrist, who now lay unresponsive on the other side of Rebecca, her breath shallow. “Oh, Bec! Drink, Sis. Pull it in and feed that monster. Come back to me.”

  Rebecca sucked upon the wound, her own hands coming up now to grasp ahold, pulling hard upon it, her eyes still closed. Charlotte placed her hands over the soaked stain on her stomach and directed her energies there, binding and healing the flesh there. A minute, perhaps two later, and it was done, as quickly as it had begun.

  Rebecca pulled the wrist away from her mouth, eyes blinking rapidly, confused and filled with fear. “Sis? What ... what happened. How? I don’t understand.”

  Charlotte covered her face in kisses, laughing with hysterical disbelief. “You’re back! We did it! Love does conquer death. I told you. I told you, Sis!”

  She smiled at Charlotte, wiping the blood from her mouth. “I feel ... strange.” She turned and saw Beverly lying still next to her. “Ma-ma? It worked!”

  Charlotte reached up and turned Rebecca’s face back to hers. “She sacrificed herself for you, Sis. Ma-ma’s dead.”

  “But ... what will Pa-pa say?”

  “Pa-pa will understand,” she said and smiled. “Everything is going to be OK now. We’re going to be together forever.”

  Chapter 17

  It would take them longer than the morning to go through the medical examiner’s files, situated in downtown Dubuque. Jackie leaned over Shelby’s shoulder at the computer screen. “Six years isn’t much of a window to look at.”

  “You want to thumb through file cabinets trying to find Thatcher’s Mill residents?” Shelby asked. “Without knowing names, we’re kind of screwed.”

  Jackie stood up straight, hands on her hips. Through the office window she could see Dr. Kirby Mathews staring at them with arms folded over his chest and a scowl on his wrinkled face. “How soon you think he’ll be calling down to Carson to let him know we’re snooping around?”

  “That old fart?” Shelby turned and waved her fingers at the man, whose scowl deepened even more. Could a man’s face look any more like the bark of a tree? “Probably has already.”

  Nick opened a file drawer on the other side of the room. “I can look up Thatcher at least,” he said.

  After an hour, Jackie was convinced that it likely would not matter how long they spent looking at files. Every last one of them was the same. The people of Thatcher’s Mill all died from natural causes, just as Hauser had stated. Every form was filled out and signed by Carson and Mathews. As far as they could tell, they were all in order, not a letter or word out of place.

  “What could Carson have on this guy to get him to sign off on all of these, no questions asked?” Jackie wondered.

  Shelby turned off the monitor, having finished their exploration of the files. She waved her hands dramatically in front of Jackie. “It’s the Thatcher’s Mill Curse.”

  Jackie huffed in frustration. “Such bullshit.”

  Nick set the stack of Thatcher files on top of the cabinet. “At least this should stir up Carson’s ire. It’ll be interesting to see what he has to say to us the next time we see him.”

  “Which should be soon,” Jackie said. “After yesterday, he’s probably parked on Main Street waiting for us to drive into town.”

  “Wouldn’t hurt to have a few words with him anyway,” Nick added. “See what he says if we accuse him of being involved in the Thatcher cover-up.”

  “Have half a mind to go confront the Thatchers directly and just ask the sisters who the hell they really are,” Jackie said. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “They could have Carson arrest your ass,” Shelby replied. “We really don’t need to deal with that on top of everything else.”

  “Arrest me for what? Knocking on their door?”

  “You think he actually needs an excuse?” Shelby replied. “If he’s involved at all, he’ll arrest you for breathing wrong.”

  “I think it’s prudent for us to continue to work behind the scenes as much as possible,” Nick said. “Let’s wait until we have some proof of wrongdoing before we start confronting people.”

  Jackie frowned. “Let’s go. You guys are no fun at all.”

  They hit up a Starbucks for coffees before heading south toward Thatcher’s Mill. Jackie filled in McManus by phone, who said he would pass along the information through the appropriate channels to see that Dr. Mathews was looked into. He was looking forward to hooking up with them in the afternoon for the sketch-artist appointment. Hauser, on the other hand, had more information on the strangest town in America. Jackie put him on speakerphone so everyone could hear.

  “It just gets weirder and weirder,” he said, a gleeful tone to his voice. At least someone appeared to be enjoying this investigation. “Not only is your local chief of police a generational position passed down through the family, every position I can dig up info on is the same way. The mayor, your local volunteer fire department, the town electrician, the local diner, everything I look at is handed down to the next generation. It’s like
the town never changes.”

  “And how likely is that?” Jackie asked, knowing the answer already. It wasn’t.

  “Exactly,” Hauser said. “The only odd ones out are the Thatchers. Those daughters of theirs don’t exist, at least not on any official records. Everyone else I’ve tracked has maintained a consistent family size. If it grew, someone died. If Smith married a Jones, then a Smith married a Jones in the next generation. This is some cool shit you’ve stumbled upon, Jack.”

  “Not the choice of words, I’d use,” Jackie said. “Have you actually found anything illegal for us to make use of?”

  “Sadly, no,” he replied. “Anything put on computer that I can access looks legit.”

  “You suck, Hauser,” she said. “Focus on Chief Carson and the Thatcher girls. They’re the key to all of this, and thanks for all the help.”

  He laughed. “No problem, Jack. We live for the freaky stuff down here.”

  They rounded a bend in the highway and Thatcher’s Mill came into view, looking so utterly ordinary and quaint beneath a now clear November sky.

  “Someone has to be doing this,” Shelby said. “There’s no way a town just does this on its own.”

  “Or a group of someones,” Jackie said. “How the hell do you garner that kind of control over so many people? One person couldn’t do this. It’s been going on far too long.”

  “I could,” Nick said, staring out the window at the nearly empty town streets. “Shelby could.”

  Jackie turned to him in disbelief. “A vampire? But ... wait. Wouldn’t we have felt one by now?”

  Shelby snorted. “If they stepped into Deadworld maybe. There’s so much spiritual energy saturating this place, you’d be lucky to notice if they were standing right next to you.”

  “I would,” Jackie muttered, staring up at the Thatcher house through the spider web of trees. “It’s always the eyes that give it away, even with your funny contacts.”