The Messenger: A Novel

by Burke, Jan

  “Long story of my own,” she said, forcing her gaze back to him, ignoring the dog and the crowd at the other end of the room.

  “Shade startled you, didn’t he?” he said. “Shade, where are your manners?”

  Shade lay down, but he kept looking toward the ghosts. Could he see them? She remembered reading once, long ago, that if you thought there was a ghost in the room and looked between a dog’s ears, you’d be able to see it. She had always wondered who would want to do either.

  So here she was, watched by ghosts, ghosts who were seen by a dog that seemed to understand every word spoken to him. She didn’t understand how Tyler’s “bargain” worked, but she knew—deep down knew—he was telling her the truth. She took a resolute breath and said, “I’m sure it was really hard to tell me your secrets.”

  “I don’t blame you if you don’t believe me. I really don’t. All I ask is that you not repeat what I’ve told you to anyone else.”

  “And if I do believe you?”

  He looked at her in surprise. “You believe me?” he said, and seemed unable to say more.

  “Yes, I believe you, Tyler Hawthorne.”

  He reached out and squeezed her hand, and said, barely above a whisper, “Thank you.”

  The ghosts started to move closer, and Shade growled.

  “Shade!” Tyler said, letting go of her hand. “What’s gotten into you?”

  The ghosts retreated. She found herself feeling angry with them—not for the first time. She was determined not to let them interfere in what was happening here, whatever it was, between her and Tyler.

  “How long have you been alone?” she asked.

  He smiled. “As for being alone, I’m not, really. Shade has been with me from the start, and he’s an excellent companion. And the dying are invariably willing to befriend me.”

  “I can understand why. Let me make sure I understand. For a short time, a few minutes, really, the dying are completely open to you, and tell you their secrets.”

  “Yes.”

  “And then you have to say good-bye to them.”

  “They are always happiest right at that moment. It’s as if they gladly surrender to whatever draws them away. At that point, I don’t think they really notice my being there—or anyone else’s presence—as they leave.”

  “But you don’t ever get to leave.”

  “No.”

  “Hmm. And while I am sure Shade is a great comfort to you—”

  “More than you can imagine.”

  “I’m sure that’s true. But—does he talk to you?”

  “Not in words, no. But he’s excellent at conveying meaning.”

  Shade wagged his tail, but he kept his eyes on the ghosts.

  “And you befriend a few people, like Ron. Like me.”

  “That doesn’t happen very often,” he said.

  “I can understand why. You’ve got all these secrets, both your own and those of the dying, and you can’t afford to have someone discover what I learned out in the desert.”

  “That’s part of it.”

  “So if you befriend someone who isn’t dying, you have someone to talk to for a period of time—without really being able to tell them your own story, of course. And then what?”

  “After a few years, I move.”

  “Because otherwise people start to wonder why you aren’t aging the way they are.”

  “You begin to understand why Los Angeles appeals to me.”

  “I’m sure it won’t take long for people to be begging you for the number of your plastic surgeon.”

  He smiled.

  “So, when were you born?”

  “In 1791.”

  “Seventeen ninety-one!”

  He shrugged.

  “Oh. Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Seventeen ninety-one—A.D.?”

  That surprised laughter from him. “Not, I will admit, the question I expected at this point. Yes, 1791 A.D.”

  She waved this off. “I can’t help how my mind works. So what happened to you? When you were twenty-four, I mean. That would have been—1815?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you here then, in Los Angeles?”

  “No, I was in Europe. I was born in England, but at seventeen I joined the army and spent several years fighting on the Continent. I made a brief trip home, but in 1815 I was back and fighting in Belgium.”

  “With the British army?”

  “Yes.” One corner of his mouth quirked up. “What can I say? Having spent roughly two centuries in the U.S., I’ve lost my accent.”

  She didn’t let that sidetrack her. “The British army in 1815—you were fighting Napoleon?”

  “Yes. Boney, we called him. Have you studied history?”

  “I like it, but I haven’t taken more than basic classes,” she admitted. “Sorry. Does that bother you?”

  “No, not really.”

  There was a soft knocking at one of the doors leading from the hallway. Amanda saw the ghosts vanish as he called, “Yes?”

  Ron came in. “Hi! Alex told me you were in here. Mind if I join you?”

  “Not at all,” Tyler said. “How are you this evening?”

  “Better, although I wish I had more energy. My sleeping schedule is so crazy. I haven’t been awake much today, and now I’ll probably be up all night. What time is it? Almost eleven-thirty? What did you two do today?”

  “We went to the hospice,” Amanda said, then looked to Tyler.

  “I’ll let you tell Ron whatever you want to about today. As for me, I need to take Shade out for a bit.”

  “Whatever I—”

  “Yes, anything,” Tyler said, standing. He turned to Ron and added, “We have another houseguest—Amanda’s cousin Brad.”

  “Brad! No wonder you looked so shaken up when I came in here, Amanda. Brad! Of all the—”

  “He’s been badly injured,” Tyler said quickly.

  “Oh! Oh…I’m sorry.” Ron looked at Amanda in confusion. “I thought he was with Rudebecca.”

  “One of these days,” Amanda said, “you are going to call one of the other Rebeccas we know by that name.”

  “Not a chance. I like Rebecca Davis,” he said, naming a friend who now lived on the East Coast. “I like Rebecca Johnson. Those are wonderful Rebeccas. Nice people. The Trainwrecka, though—”

  “I hate to interrupt this fascinating recital,” Tyler said, “but I need to get going.”

  “Maybe we could talk more, when you get back?” she said. “If you aren’t too tired.”

  “Of course. And don’t hesitate to call if you need me. You still have the cell phone number?”

  “Yes—but—you aren’t just walking him here, around the grounds?”

  “Sorry, no. He has a few favorite places to roam, so I’ll be taking the car. But I’ll be only a few minutes away. And Alex and her crew will be here to protect you while I’m gone.”

  23

  Tyler went to his room, found the slender packet of handwritten sheets, and ran his fingers over the paper, so unlike the paper of these times. The words were inscribed in his best copperplate, written with neatness and care—once she became accustomed to the style of the hand, she should be able to decipher it. He wondered if the day was coming when no one would be able to write without the aid of a keyboard.

  If so, he’d be around to see it, wouldn’t he?

  He shuddered.

  He took the sheaf into her room, a guest room. She had not had time to make any personal impression here, hardly time to do more than unpack.

  He began to set the papers on the desk, then halted and turned to the bed. Ignoring all the warnings in his mind that this was trespass, and his fear that she would see this as an insult, he pulled the light comforter aside and set the papers on the soft sheets below, near but not quite on her pillow, then left the room.

  “I don’t know what she’ll make of it, Shade,” he said later, as they walked together through the cemetery. He pa
used and stared out over the tombstones. “I hardly know what to make of all of this either. Courtship, at my age? A little ridiculous, isn’t it?”

  The dog stopped and stared back at him, then butted his head against him. From long experience, Tyler knew this to be a gesture of comfort. He reached to stroke the dog’s soft, tufted ears. “Thank you. I’ve often wondered if you long for the company of another dog, but you’ve never seemed more than mildly interested in other canines.” He paused. “And I don’t know where to find another cemetery dog for you. Should I try again to find someone else who does what I do? The closest I’ve come is Colby.”

  Shade walked on. He always seemed disapproving or indifferent to any mention of Colby. Tyler could hardly blame him.

  “Colby once told me there are no others, but he’s never felt compelled to be truthful. I feel strongly that there must be others, and yet whenever we’ve traveled—not the smallest bit of success, was there? Perhaps I’ve kidded myself, hoping we’d at least be able to meet an animal who could provide better companionship for you than I do.”

  Shade looked up at him again, this time with an intensity that made him wish he could read the dog’s mind.

  They walked on for a while. He confessed to Shade, “I can’t stop thinking of her.”

  Shade turned to him and wagged his tail.

  “Yes, that’s all very well until I imagine what sort of future I would be offering her.” He sighed. “It would be better, don’t you think, if I could find someone else who is in my situation?”

  Shade looked away from him, then moved off, back toward the car.

  Tyler tried to shake off the sensation of having disappointed the dog.

  24

  Daniel awoke to the sound of something tapping against his bedroom window, a soft, relentless, irregular beat. He turned on his bedside lamp and pulled back the curtain. He stifled a cry of revulsion—the screen was crawling with small brown beetles. Even as he watched, more flew to join the ones now clinging to the mesh, making the tapping sound as they landed against it.

  He dropped the curtain into place and scrambled off the bed. He dressed hurriedly and headed out down the hall toward Evan’s room. Evan’s door flew open before he reached it.

  “Goddamn!” Evan said. “You should see what’s happening!”

  “Bunch of bugs on your window screen?”

  Evan nodded. “Yours, too?"

  “Yes, we better tell the boss.”

  Evan paled. He whispered, “You think so? He’s already unhappy about that fucking wimp.”

  “It was his plan. Did you think for one minute that plan was going to work?” Daniel whispered back.

  “No, I did not. Not for one minute.”

  They fell silent and made their way toward the kitchen. Daniel heard the sound of running water as they came closer to the kitchen door.

  He put a hand on Evan’s forearm, halting his progress. “Did you leave the water running in the kitchen sink?”

  Evan, listening to the rushing sound coming from the other side of the kitchen door, shook his head.

  Daniel steeled himself and pulled the door open. He flipped on the light and jumped back against Evan. “What the hell!”

  The floor was moving. From beneath the door on the opposite wall, which led to the back porch, a steady stream of brown beetles squeezed through an opening and joined the others that filled the kitchen floor. In the next moment Daniel saw that they seemed uninterested in coming through the door he had just opened—in fact, they did not come near Daniel or Evan. Instead, they all moved in one direction, clambered over one another in their eagerness to reach one destination: the door to the basement. There a great pile of them scrabbled against that barrier in a futile frenzy to overcome it.

  “Open the door!” the voice from the basement called.

  “My lord?” Daniel answered.

  “Open the door to the basement, you fool! Let them come to me!”

  Daniel tried not to think about the crunching beneath his shoes as he walked over to the door and unlocked it. He opened it, and the beetle river plunged past him and down the stairs. He felt the rush of them against the sides of his shoes, and stood paralyzed. Even when he squeezed his eyes shut, he could hear the click of their bodies knocking together, a sound that became louder, as if someone were pouring gravel down the stairs. After another moment, though, it began to taper off.

  “Not enough! Not enough!” the voice from the basement said angrily.

  Daniel opened his eyes.

  “Evan!” his lordship commanded from below. “Open the door to the porch!”

  “Yes, my lord!”

  Daniel looked back to see Evan cross the kitchen floor. There were not so many beetles now, and though the stream continued to come in from beneath the porch door, Evan was able to cross the floor without stepping on any of the insects.

  But when he opened the door, what seemed to be thousands of the beetles came rushing in, scrabbling over Evan’s shoes toward Daniel, who quickly moved back from the doorway to the cellar. They charged past him, and again the flow down the stairs became noisy, their shiny, hard wing cases battering together in their eagerness to go below.

  Eventually the river of beetles became nothing more than a trickle, although a steady procession of them still made its way from the open door.

  His lordship spoke again, and it seemed to Daniel that his voice was stronger than ever before.

  “You shall leave that door open, Evan, until I tell you otherwise.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  A silence fell, and then Daniel realized that this was not quite silence. There was a continuous crunching sound coming from the basement.

  At last there was a pause. “Daniel, you need not bring me any more remains. As you have probably guessed, I’m able to feed myself now.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Daniel answered, a little shakily.

  His lordship laughed, but his voice was sharp when he said, “Do not interfere with anything that comes through that door, do you both understand me?”

  “Yes, my lord,” they answered in unison.

  “Good. Now, soon I shall finally be able to emerge from this hovel and find us a decent place to live. But when we leave this house, you must never use my title when addressing me before others. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, my lord,” they answered again.

  Daniel wanted to ask him what they should call him, but didn’t dare. He saw Evan open his mouth and shot him a look of warning, which Evan had no trouble reading. They waited in silence for dismissal.

  “Henceforth,” said the voice, “refer to me as Mr. Adrian. You might as well start practicing that here at home. I don’t want any slipups in public.”

  “Yes, sir,” they said.

  “Very good. Daniel, take off your shoes and toss them down the stairs. Leave the door to the basement open.”

  “Yes, Mr. Adrian.”

  When this task was accomplished, the voice said, “You may go. I bid you both a good evening.”

  They wished him a good evening in return, as they had been trained to do. They exchanged a look of shared fear and confusion, but did not speak to each other as they made their way to their rooms, except to say good night when they reached their doors.

  Daniel took off his shoes and climbed back into bed. He lifted the curtain over his window. The screen was empty. He let the curtain fall back into place.

  He did not fall asleep again for several hours, but over that wakeful time no answer to his most worrisome question occurred to him. Even his dreams did not tell him how he might escape from someone or something he must now call Mr. Adrian.

  25

  Amanda decided she would let Tyler be the one to tell his own secrets to Ron. She wanted time to think over all Tyler had told her, to sort through her feelings. So she told Ron about Brad’s misbegotten attack, leaving out the part about Tyler’s quick recovery from injury. Instead, she talked about Brad’s wounds, her worries that h
e had been drugged. She hardly needed to say more after that—Ron’s earlier derision of Brad was forgotten, replaced by his ready sympathy. They discussed and quickly dismissed a list of possible enemies.

  “I can think of one or two people who might have wanted to punch him out,” Ron admitted. “He doesn’t always know when to shut up, you know what I mean?”

  “Yes. But this wasn’t just a punch thrown in anger.”

  “No. I don’t know anyone who’d be that mad at him. That mad at Rudebecca, maybe. Do you think someone would try to get to her through him?”

  “Then why set him loose and tell him to attack Tyler and me?”

  They could think of no answer to this.

  “Whatever makes sense as a reason for taking him—getting back at Rebecca, ransoming him for money, whatever I can think of—doesn’t make sense as a reason to let him go or to tell him to go after you,” Ron complained.

  “I don’t think we’re going to have any answers until he’s feeling better,” Amanda said. “If then. The doctor said that whatever drug Brad was given might have affected his memory—it will be some time before the lab tests come back to tell us what he was given. In the meantime, Tyler is going to ask Alex to look into who might have kidnapped Brad.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What?”

  “You think she’s really a serious detective?”

  She stared at him in surprise. “Ron, has anyone working here been less than the best?”

  “I guess not.”

  “What’s going on? Did she do something to upset you?”

  He lowered his gaze. “No. Not at all.”

  He was hiding something from her, and she felt a little dismayed by that, then realized that when it came to Tyler, she was hiding much more from Ron.

  “So,” Ron said, as if reading her thoughts, “you and Tyler seem to be getting along better.”

  “I don’t know what I would have done without him.” She paused, then added, “But it’s not just gratitude.”

  Ron said nothing, but when he looked up at her again, he was grinning.

  “What?” she asked.