by Joanne Fluke
Harry opened his mouth wide and yawned. He scratched his leg idly and then grinned. For the past two weeks, he’d been working close to eighteen hours a day, barely taking time for an occasional shower. Only sixteen days until the election now—sixteen days left to ensure that Doug would be the new senator. Harry picked up his red marker and crossed another day off his wall calendar.
He yawned again and stretched, then padded across the floor to his swivel chair. His legs found their habitual position on top of his desk. He should really do something about losing some of the flab around his middle. Not that he cared how he looked, but it was getting to be an effort, lifting his legs up there. He wiggled his toes impatiently, thinking of the candy bars he snatched for quick energy, and the way he munched continually when he was nervous. It was impossible to even plan a diet until he got through this election and Doug was safely installed at the nation’s capital. Then he could relax and eat well-balanced, healthy meals. Until that time, he would just have to continue existing on candy bars, quick, fattening snacks, and the occasional meals he managed to catch at the greasy spoon around the corner.
The church bells pealed again, and Harry took a second glance at the calendar. It was Sunday! With his work schedule, he’d lost track of which day of the week it was. They were all the same—work, work, work. Harry was not what most people would regard as a religious man, but right now he hungered for the cool, air-conditioned interior of a church, and especially the Christian concept of a day of rest.
“A day of rest.” Harry sighed, grinning wryly. He was lucky to get five hours of rest. He wouldn’t know what a day of rest was if it came up and bit him on the ankle. Christ! He wouldn’t have the slightest idea what to do with a day off, but he sure would like to try.
“Damn,” Harry groaned mildly, pulling out the operative reports that had come in last night. He’d been too tired to read them, and he sighed mournfully as he picked up the file on Kathi Ellison. Doug would surely fire him if he found out that she was being tailed. It was a pretty sneaky thing for Harry to do, but that was political life. His job meant taking chances like that, and Harry accepted all the risks. If there was anything wrong with Kathi, Harry was going to be the first to know about it.
* * *
“Jesus!” Harry said as he finished the thick report and glanced at the enclosed cassette. If he hadn’t known the investigator personally, he’d think someone was playing a rotten practical joke on him. “Jesus H. Christ!” Harry slammed his fists on the desk. If this was on the level, Kathi was going to blow the whole goddamn campaign.
Harry located his cassette recorder under a pile of Nut Goodie wrappers in his center desk drawer, and slipped the tape into place. He almost hoped that the investigator was playing a crude, rotten joke. Or maybe Kathi had caught on that she was being tailed and staged this whole thing to shake him up. Did she have that weird of a sense of humor? If he was lucky, she was putting both of them on.
When he’d heard the entire tape, Harry sat back and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. What was going on? This couldn’t be real, but the end of the tape had clearly been Kathi’s voice. That other voice—the little girl’s voice that said all the weird things—it couldn’t be Kathi!
Harry thumped his fist down the desk, imagining the worse. Either Kathi was ready for a straitjacket, or she was some kind of junkie. The investigator had seen her take some pills—it said so right in the report. This was a hell of a mess!
“That’s all I need!” Harry bellowed, his face turning purple. Why the hell hadn’t Doug sent her to a nice girls’ school in the East? Dope! Jesus!
Harry’s eyes shut, visualizing headlines announcing that Doug’s own daughter had been carried off, kicking and screaming, to a private sanitarium, to recover from what they called “mental illness.” It would be the same sort of slander that had killed Eagleton’s chance for vice-president, and it could happen all over again in this election if he didn’t find out how to stop it.
“Wait a second,” Harry muttered, forcing himself to stay calm. “She could be putting us on. There’s always that. She could have recognized Dan and made this whole thing up to see us sweat. I wouldn’t put it past her. I wouldn’t put it past her at all!”
That had to be it. Harry shook his head and grinned at himself. All this was ridiculous! Kathi wasn’t the type to use drugs and act crazy, but she was the type to warn him with a stunt like this, if she thought her privacy was being threatened. He’d catch a plane up there this afternoon and have a talk with her. They’d straighten out the whole thing then. Jesus! She really had him going there for a minute. Kathi was a reasonable girl. He’d pull off the tail, and she could stop this silly retaliation of hers. It was simple.
Harry removed the tape from the machine and dropped it into Kathi’s file. He supposed they’d laugh about this someday, but he’d had a nasty scare, all the same. The cover on the recorder snapped shut with a click, and Harry shoved it back into the center desk drawer, ignoring the mess inside. The drawer closed with difficulty, and Harry mopped the sweat from his forehead. It was this damn heat. Heat made people do strange things, like Kathi’s silly stunt with the investigator. He would level with her this afternoon, tell her exactly why he’d had her followed, and she would understand. Kathi was a bright girl. She’d appreciate his efforts for her father.
Harry sighed heavily and lit up one of the small, smelly cigars that were his secret vice, despite strict orders from his doctor. Harry was a philosophical man. If he stopped smoking, he wouldn’t get lung cancer, but he’d die of a heart attack because he’d be so damn nervous. He was supposed to stop smoking because it was dangerous, quit the spicy foods and alcohol because of his ulcer, and lose weight to boot. Even with all those restrictions, he was ordered to stay calm and get plenty of sleep. He supposed he could do it, but who wanted to live another year or so without any of life’s small pleasures? He would go out in a blaze of glory—a cigar in his mouth, a drink in his hand, and a bag of tortilla chips on his desk.
Harry leaned back in his chair and pondered the campaign. So far, so good. The women voters loved Doug. He was at the top of the polls again this week. There was a quality of boyish charm that made the ladies’ hearts palpitate every time Doug made a speech. The men listened to his speeches and liked his logical, honest approach to issues; the women all fantasized about sleeping with him.
Harry blew a cloud of dark smoke at the ceiling fan that sounded like a backfiring motorcycle. Sixteen days, and it would be over. The major groundwork was long since done. The finish would be hectic, but all they had to do was maintain the status quo with plenty of good publicity. There was no reason to be so worried. Doug was a perfect candidate.
Harry nodded and winced. Perfect? If he could find one unethical thing Doug had ever done, no matter how trivial, maybe then he could relax. It was impossible for a man to be so perfect. In all of his other campaigns, Harry had found at least one thing to hush up. He kept thinking that there must be something here too. A corner of his mind was prickling. Call it a hunch, or intuition, or whatever, but Harry had found that this uneasy feeling always preceded the discovery of a real whopper of a problem. His little inkling never failed him. Something about Doug didn’t quite ring true.
He leaned back and closed his eyes. The office felt like the inside of a steam room already, and it was only ten in the morning. His sharp mind ran through the history of Doug’s life from birth to the present, and he shrugged his shoulders. Then he opened his eyes and stared at the fly-specked ceiling. Something would turn up. It always did. He’d keep his eyes open, and he’d find it. Then he’d give Doug holy hell and cover it up for him. He’d never run into any problem he couldn’t cover up with a few bucks in the right places. This would be no exception. All it took was the moxie to find it before the opponent did.
CHAPTER 18
The day was so smoggy, it was difficult to breathe. David had gone to the library, presumably to return some books, but Ka
thi knew he was going to search through the psychology journals to discover the treatment and prognosis for people who believed they were possessed. This morning, it had been even more clear that he didn’t believe her. He was humoring her, and, while she was grateful for the concern, it didn’t change a thing. Why couldn’t he just believe her?
Now was the time, but she had to hurry. David would probably be gone for an hour or so, but she might need that long if . . . if Sheri Walker . . . if anything happened. She was terrified, but she had to read the second sheet of paper Sally had sent. It might be something to help her.
She sat on the couch, in the same spot where she had sat last night when she and David celebrated their engagement. Kathi gave a slight shudder as she remembered the ordeal. Somehow she’d got through it.
With shaky fingers, Kathi unfolded the paper and started to read. It was a newspaper clipping.
GALLOPING GOOSE DERAILS: The Galloping Goose, Northern Pacific’s small passenger line, derailed at approximately nine PM Thursday night, killing three local residents. The accident occurred at Carlson’s Crossing, one-half mile north of Swanville. Among the dead are Mr. and Mrs. Irvin Miller and their foster daughter, Sharon Elizabeth Walker, who were passengers on the train. The engineer states that the train collided with a car driven by Mrs. Roma Ellison of Little Falls. The Morrison County Sheriff’s Office reports that Mrs. Ellison was killed on impact, and her daughter, Kathleen, was thrown out of the vehicle. Miss Ellison is in a coma in critical condition at St. Gabriel’s Hospital in Little Falls. Services for Irvin and Dorothy Miller will be held on Monday at St. Steven’s Catholic Church in Swanville with interment at Brookside Cemetery. Arrangements for the funeral of Sharon Walker are being handled by the Catholic Adoption Home in Little Falls.
“Oh, God!” Kathi moaned, covering her face with her shaking hands. “We were in the same accident!” It was what she feared. She had been right there, in a coma, when Sheri Walker died. And if Sheri’s spirit had entered her unconscious body—Oh, God! It was real now, and that made it even more frightening. What did Sheri Walker want? What sort of terrifying thing would the spirit make her do?
Kathi moved automatically, hands fumbling in her haste. Now the paper was folded and back in the box, hidden in the very bottom of her dresser drawer. She closed the drawer and looked up, her heart in her throat. The walls of the apartment were closing in on her, like a huge trap. Kathi felt a scream rise in her throat, and, with great difficulty, she held it back. She had to be calm now, everything depended on that. She had to wait . . . to trust that Sally’s mama was right. If she could do what the spirit asked, Sheri Walker would leave her in peace.
Kathi shivered involuntarily and walked quickly to the window, standing directly in the bright sunlight. It was hot, but not even the golden stream of heat could warm her. She had to pull herself together before David came home.
With visible effort, Kathi forced her arms and legs to move. She walked into the sunny kitchen and stared at the sink full of dirty dishes. She had to pretend that there was nothing wrong, and convince David that she was fine now. If she didn’t, she might be endangering David’s life. Sheri Walker had already tried to kill her, and she might try to kill David, too, if he interfered. She would never forgive herself if anything happened to him because of her. Once David was safely out of the way, she would wait, in her moments of privacy, for the spirit to tell her what to do.
Kathi turned on the water full force and tried to think of what to fix for dinner as she squirted soap into the dishpan. She was usually a very good housekeeper. David would think that she was feeling much better if he came home to find the dishes done and dinner on the stove. But as the water ran noisily into the dishpan, Kathi began to feel the familiar dull ache at her temples, the rhythmic throbbing behind her eyes. It was time.
Shimmering droplets of water splashed out of the sink and dripped to the floor, forming a puddle at her feet. The terrified girl watched the puddle grow with a sinking feeling. She was coming now. The inevitable terror was creeping over her in numbing waves. She stared fixedly at the puddle, frozen with fear as her mind whirled back . . .
* * *
Harry heard the water running before he knocked on the door of the apartment. Someone was here. At least he hadn’t wasted his time coming up here.
Harry tried the door after minutes of fruitless knocking. It was unlocked. The door swung inward, and he hesitated for a moment, and then entered. Kathi and David weren’t very careful about locking their doors.
The sound of water was coming from the kitchen, and Harry set down his briefcase on the couch, noting the size and furnishings of the apartment. Brick and board bookcases, slipcovered couch, posters on the wall. The traditional student apartment.
“Hello, Kathi!” Harry called out politely, hesitating at the kitchen doorway. Then he poked his head around and drew a sharp breath. The moment he set eyes on her, he knew that there was something drastically wrong. She was standing in front of the sink, her hand over her mouth, staring at the pool of water growing at her feet. She seemed to be withdrawn completely, as if in a trance, and Harry quickly reached around her to shut off the water. For the first time, he began to believe that the investigative report wasn’t some sort of joke. Kathi was clearly not herself at all.
“Kathi?” Harry’s voice was quiet. “Kathi? Are you all right?”
Her eyes were wide and vacant, and her body was rigid. He could hear her quickened breathing.
“Kathi?” Harry tried again, a little louder. “Kathi, honey, it’s Harry. I’ve come to visit you.”
There was a long silence, and Harry felt his uneasiness grow. What the hell was he going to do now? She didn’t seem to hear him at all. He sure didn’t want to call in a doctor, but what if the kid was really sick? Where the hell was that guy she was living with? Why wasn’t he here taking care of her?
“Kathi!” Harry repeated, much louder. Her body quivered slightly, and she gave a petulant sigh, not taking her eyes away from the pool of water at her feet.
“I’m not Kathi!” she answered in a high, childish voice. “Why do you call me Kathi? My name is Sheri!”
Harry felt the dread grow as he recognized that girlish voice. It was the voice on the tape, and now Harry knew the tape had been real.
“I did it again,” Kathi said, before Harry could think of anything at all to say. “She’s going to be sad again. They try to make it so nice for us, but things are too big for me, and for Baver too. My arms are sore from trying to reach the squirter. And Auntie says I’m too big for the chair. If I stand on the chair, the water goes on the floor, no matter how careful I am. She got me this little stool. It’s all painted white, with little roses on it because I’m a girl.”
Harry was speechless. At first, it seemed as if Kathi were dreaming about her own childhood, but that was impossible. She didn’t have an aunt. He had to think of something to say to bring her out of it, but Harry was so shocked, he couldn’t think at all. For a moment, he was tempted to grab Kathi and shake her, but he was afraid that would frighten her into doing something even more bizarre.
“Who’s this Baver you’re talking about, Kathi?” Harry asked softly, hoping to draw her into reality. He hoped that if he got her talking, then she wouldn’t freak out.
“You know who Baver is!” Kathi said, in a shocked sort of voice.
“Sure . . . sure,” Harry soothed. “I know who Baver is, all right. I just forgot. Why don’t you tell me again.”
“Silly!” Kathi giggled. “Baver’s my brother. He’s my little baby brother, and he’s awful scared of trains. It’s ’cause of the Galloping Goose. When the Galloping Goose comes in, right after the noon whistle blows, Baver runs in the house. Auntie says he’s scared of trains because the loud noise hurts his ears. She can’t remember though. Growed-ups never can remember what it’s like to be scared.”
Without blinking, Kathi giggled again. “I used to be scared of the Galloping Goose too,” she co
nfided. “That was when I was little. You can feel the ground moving, and then you hear the whistle. Baver cries because he thinks it will get him. He doesn’t believe that it can’t come off the tracks.”
Harry felt the skin prickle at the back of his neck. This was incredible! Dan had been entirely accurate in his report. She was talking about relatives she’d never had, and now a brother! Now he hoped the hell she was on drugs! At least that could be cured. If she was flipping out—really going crazy—it would be the end of Doug’s career unless they could hush it up.
“It’s like an animal, you know?” Kathi continued, her face impassive even with the changing inflections of her voice. It seemed as if another voice, not Kathi’s, was moving her lips.
“You can feel it coming after you, and it breathes louder and louder, like just before someone catches you. Sometimes the whistle screams, and your feet stick right there even if you tell them to run. I stuck one time, and I saw it coming, all shiny and blasting, but the Tiger was there, so I knew it couldn’t get me.”
“The tiger?” Harry questioned, keeping his voice even and quiet. “Is the tiger a toy?”
His question elicited a flood of giggles. The childish laughter bubbled out, even though Kathi herself was not smiling. There was something eerie about the childish emotion in Kathi’s voice and the immobility of her face. It gave Harry a creepy sensation in the pit of his stomach.
“The Tiger’s not just a toy!” Kathi giggled, her voice merry and rich with untold secrets. “He’s real. He’s real, but he’s not people. The Tiger’s my secret.” For a moment Kathi was silent, and then she gave another long, heartfelt sigh. “The Tiger says that if Auntie finds out about him, she’ll make him go away, and then he can’t bring me messages from Mommy and Daddy anymore.”
“Where are Mommy and Daddy?” Harry asked quietly, hoping that she’d wakeup from this delusion of hers the way she had on the tape, when Dan had asked the same question.
