by Rick Hautala
And exactly what kind of trouble? he wondered.
“You know what they say about a criminal returning to the scene of the crime?” Frank said gruffly. “Well, I’m just betting whoever dug up that body a couple of weeks ago isn’t done yet. Not after all this shit with Henry and all. I’ll just bet some night he’s gonna come back here to do it again ... or something else. And when he does, I’m gonna nail his ass!”
Norton sniffed. “Yeah — sure.” He looked at his partner with irritation. “First of all, it was probably Barney Fraser who did it. And now that he’s dead as rat shit —”
“There were others involved,” Frank said softly.
“Yeah, sure,” Norton replied, shaking his head. “And anyone’d have to be a damned fool to come back here now.”
“I’d say he has to be a ‘damned fool’ — or worse — to do what he did,” Frank said.
“Yeah, well —”
Frank stopped the cruiser opposite the cemetery gates and stuck his head out the window. A warm breeze played through his hair as he looked up the rutted dirt road that ran over the crest to the grave site. He shivered as he wondered exactly what in the hell had been going on up there that night. Why would anyone — how could anyone — do something like that? It went way beyond the casual “Well, it takes all kinds to make up this world” response that cops usually resorted to when trying to explain some of the unusual things they encountered in their work. Whoever had dug up that body and cut off the dead man’s hand was sicko in the extreme! And if he was responsible for Barney Fraser’s murder and the fire at Henry Bishop’s house, it only made things worse!
“D’you see what I see?” Frank asked, catching a glimpse of ... something, up there on the hill. He purposely kept his voice low so that he wouldn’t betray the jolt of surprise he felt. He wanted to stay calm so that he could gauge Norton’s initial reaction.
Norton leaned forward so that he could see past Frank, but hardly seemed to look at all before shaking his head and saying, “I don’t see a Goddamned thing ‘cept a bunch of gravestones. Come on. Let’s get a move on.”
“Up the hill there,” Frank said. “Doesn’t that-holy shit!” His first impression was that it was a trick of the moonlight, reflecting off the polished tombstones. There was a hazy, blue glow that flickered dimly at the crest of the hill, hovering like a strangely illuminated mist above one of the graves. “That almost looks like a ... like a kid standing on top of the gravestone there. “
“Yeah — sure,” Norton said, stifling a laugh. “Maybe we got ourselves a gen-u-ine UFO. Better call — what’s his name there. That writer guy 1 saw on Donahue who said he was kidnapped by aliens and experimented on and all. Maybe they’re stealing corpses now.” He shifted to one side of the seat and let out a soft, squeaking fart.
“Or maybe it’s just swamp gas,” Frank said. His tone of voice didn’t at all reflect the humor of his attempted joke. “But 1 think we ought to check it out.”
“Come on, Frank,” Norton said, letting his frustration show. “I’ve been riding with you all night, and you’ve barely said ‘boo.’ My bladder’s about to burst if we don’t get back to the station so I can take a leak.”
“What? Have you suddenly gone delicate on me? All of a sudden you can’t piss on the side of the road?” Frank said, as he stared up the hill. It was maddening how, whenever he thought he clearly saw the silhouette of a child perched on one of the tombstones, he would blink and the illusion would be gone. Maybe he had been right; it was pretty swampy behind the cemetery ... maybe it was just fox fire.
“Oh, sure. That’d look great,” Norton said gruffly. “Bristol Mills’s finest, whizzing on the roadside. What, are you looking for something to write me up on, just ‘cause 1 teased you a little about Elizabeth?”
“Well, I’m gonna check it out,” Frank said, bristling. Norton’s reply was lost beneath the sound of the cruiser’s tires scrunching in the dirt on the shoulder of the road as Frank cut across it and pulled up under the black, wrought-iron gateway.
“This is total bullshit, “ Norton muttered. His voice sounded wire-tight, but Frank couldn’t tell if it was because he had to go to the bathroom SQ bad or because he was remembering what they had found up there.
“I just wanna have a look around,” Frank said, not daring to look away from the faintly glowing silhouette at the top of the hill. He got out, unlocked the gate and swung it wide open, then got back into the cruiser and drove slowly up the rutted dirt road. The closer he got, the more teasing the flickering light became. The shimmering figure of a child — a young girl — wavered and then vanished. Frank’s body went cold when he realized he was looking at the same spot he had investigated a couple of week ago — Jonathan Payne’s grave.
“Holy shit!” Frank muttered, as the slow realization worked its way into his mind.
Rather than drive all the way up the hill, Frank stopped the cruiser. Both he and Norton sat there. staring ahead in disbelief. The intervening tombstones blocked their direct view of whatever it was burning up there, but they both could clearly see a light, shining weakly near Jonathan Payne’s grave. The flickering blue glow cast long, black shadows that stretched out and soaked back into the night. Frank’s breath caught in his chest when he saw a dark shape shift against the night, only now it looked like a man’s figure.
“Motherfucker! There’s someone up there!” he whispered.
“You sure?” Norton asked as he strained forward to see into the darkness.
“Radio in what’s happening and get some backup, pronto!” Frank said. “I’ll start up the hill. After you call in, circle around behind.”
He cut the engine and popped his door open. In spite of the warm spring night, a wave of chills swept up his back. The muscles in his shoulders tensed into hard knots as he stepped out of the cruiser and eased the door shut with a soft snap. Loosening his revolver in its holster, he came around the side of the car and, crouching low, dodged between graves as he started up the hill toward the flame. He couldn’t see the dark shadow of a person anymore, and he began to hope it had been an illusion, created by the flames; he wasn’t so sure he wanted to meet up with whoever was responsible for what had been happening around town lately.
The wavering shadows of the tombstones, cast by the fire, made it difficult to see clearly, and Frank stumbled on the uneven ground, silently cursing any noise he made. He wanted to scan the area to see if there was anyone else around, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the glowing area of light. He still couldn’t see exactly what was burning, but his heart felt squeezed by cold hands as he wondered what — and who! — he would find up there. He bent down low behind a tombstone, just outside the area lighted by the fire, and eased his revolver from its holster. Gripping it tightly, he tensed, waiting until Norton swung around behind and got into position.
From behind him, Frank heard the sudden slam of the cruiser door. It echoed as loud as a gunshot in the still night. With a quick glance back, he saw that Norton had started out and around so that he would come up on the site from the other side, but Frank knew it was already too late. If there had been someone up there, the noise had certainly alerted him.
Bursting out from behind the tombstone, Frank dashed up the hill to close the distance. He was just in time to see a person disappear out of the sphere of light, to be instantly swallowed by the surrounding night. There was no sound of running feet other than his own, so he wasn’t sure if there really had been someone there, or if it had merely been his overwrought nerves. Holding his revolver ready, he crouched and swept the surrounding ring of darkness.
“Stop right there!” he yelled. His voice bounced back from the gravestones. “This is the police!”
The night was silent. Once Frank was positive the person — if he had been there at all — had gotten away, he looked behind him at what was burning beside the grave. The cold tightness in his chest got so tight it was almost impossible for him to breathe.
“Holy Mot
her of Jesus!” he heard Norton say, as he crested the other side of the hill and came around from behind Jonathan Payne’s tombstone.
Frank could do no more than grunt as he stared for several silent seconds at the blue-tipped flames. Then he looked at his partner, and his anger suddenly flared. “Do you think you could have made any more noise?” he shouted. “You sounded like a fuckin’ bull moose coming up the hill! You scared him off, for Christ’s sake!”
“I didn’t see or hear a thing,” Norton said innocently, casting a glance around.
“Well, whoever it was must’ve run right through you because he was headed in your direction.”
“I didn’t see a thing,” Norton repeated, his voice tighter and higher than usual as he stared past Frank to the fire burning behind him. “But look at that, will you! Can you fuckin’ believe this?”
Frank realized he was still pointing his revolver in Norton’s general direction, so he lowered the gun and slipped it back into its holster. Nodding grimly, he said “Yeah — I can believe it.” He drawled his words, hoping his own nervousness didn’t show when he turned and looked at the fire as well. ‘‘I’d say even you have to agree now that we’re dealing with one helluva wacko!”
They looked down at the gravestone where the fire was still burning. A severed human hand had been stuck into a fresh mound of soil above the grave. The tips of the fingers and thumb had been dipped in some kind of flammable liquid, and five small blue flames danced above the shriveled hand. A heavy, oily-smelling smoke curled up from the end of each finger and disappeared into the night sky. Shadows weaved sickeningly on the ground and colored the dead hand a deep gray. But what struck the deepest spike of terror into Frank was the name he read on the tombstone. The reflection of the light from the five flames glowed with a bright rose color on the polished marble, casting the inscription into deep, inky shadows.
CAROLINE JUNIA MYERS
OCTOBER 27, 1981-FEBRUARY 15, 1988
4.
Still exhausted from recent events, Elizabeth felt the need to start her afternoon session with Graydon lying down on the couch.
‘‘I’m feeling pretty wiped out,” she said. “There was a fire at the house next to ours. Our next-door neighbor, a friend of my parents, died. They’re saying there must have been a leak in his gas line, and a spark or something touched it off. “
“Oh, that’s right,” Graydon said, nodding. “I saw something about that on the news. The man was killed, I think I heard.”
“After the explosion, the house burned,” Elizabeth said. “I just hope he ... didn’t suffer.”
“It’s such a shame,” Graydon said. “But I sense that this isn’t all that’s bothering you.” He looked at her with a penetrating stare. “Perhaps you’ve been having some dreams you’d like to discuss, for starters?”
Biting her lower lip, Elizabeth shook her head, pushing aside the paranoid thought that Graydon was, somehow, reading her mind. “No. Not really.”
“Well, then,” Graydon said, sitting back comfortably in his chair, “what do you feel like talking about?”
“How about Caroline?” Elizabeth said, surprising herself with the thought that it might actually be less painful than some of the other things on her mind.
“Sure,” Graydon replied, not missing a beat. “We can talk about Caroline if you’d like.”
“What would you like to know’!”
Graydon shrugged and said, “It’s not what I’d like to know; it’s whatever you’d like to tell me.”
Placing her fingertips contemplatively on her chin. Elizabeth let her gaze drift out the window as she pondered for several seconds. When she didn’t speak, Graydon’ interrupted her silence.
“Let’s try a little different approach. How about if we talk about what you would like to say to Caroline if you could. What would you tell her if she were here, right now?”
Elizabeth laughed aloud to cover up the jolt of fear that shot through her. “You know,” she said, “that’s not such a bad idea, considering what my aunt said to me the other day.” She looked at Graydon, who simply sat there listening. “My Aunt Junia asked me if I would like to get in touch with Caroline. “
“How interesting,” Graydon said, shifting forward in his chair. “This is the same aunt you were looking for astrology books for at the bookstore the other night, correct?”
Elizabeth nodded.
“And how exactly did she propose to do that, to let you contact your daughter?”
“Well, you have to understand,” Elizabeth said, “my aunts, both of them, Junia and Elspeth, are getting along in years, and sometimes I think they’re not — you know.” She tapped the side of her head. “Not all there. But Junia told me she could introduce me to someone who could contact Caroline in the spirit world.”
“So ... what do you think about that?” Graydon asked. His eyes narrowed, and Elizabeth didn’t like the way he was looking at her, as though he could see clear through her.
“You mean about the spirit world and all of that?” she asked, arching her eyebrows and sniffing. “I have no idea! I suppose I’d have to say I think it’s a bunch of bullshit, but —” She finished by shrugging.
“But let’s just say, for discussion’s sake, that if you could speak with Caroline, what would you say to her?”
Elizabeth’s next breath caught in her throat like a fishhook, and as much as she tried to stop it, her eyes started to sting as they glazed over. The tips of her fingers got cold and started to tingle, and she started breathing in fast, light gulps, as if the room didn’t have enough air.
“I ... I don’t know,” she stammered, forcing herself to breathe more evenly and deeply, “I just don’t know.”
“Let me ask you this, then,” Graydon said, as he rubbed his hands together and leaned slightly forward. “Do you believe that there is life after death? In any form?”
By taking the discussion onto the abstract level, Elizabeth thought she might be able to deal with it a bit more easily, but still words failed her and she shrugged helplessly.
“I just don’t know,” she finally said. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I don’t buy the straight church line about Heaven and Hell and all of that.”
“But what about life after death? What do you think about existence on a spiritual plane. Do you believe in that?” Graydon asked. He was pressing the point so hard Elizabeth couldn’t help but wonder why. “Do you believe in any aspect of spiritual existence, or are you simply what we’d call a ‘here and now’ kind of person.”
In spite of her stinging eyes, Elizabeth looked at him and, blinking back the tears, said, “Dr. Graydon, what I’ve been through has pretty much weakened or destroyed any faith I might have had in any kind of religion.”
“Beyond all that,” Graydon said, “in a more general sense do you believe in personal existence after death?” He leaned forward even further; so much so that, from Elizabeth’s angle, it looked as though he were about to topple out of his chair. Was he just pushing her for the sake of discussion? Or was he probing with a purpose?
After a thoughtful pause, she said, “I guess I’d have to say that’s just something we’ll all find out ... eventually.”
Graydon laughed softly and added, “Yes ... sooner or later. Pascal’s wager — have you heard of that?”
Elizabeth shook her head.
“The proposition is that, if you make a bet that there’s some form of afterlife, you can only win because anyone who says there isn’t an afterlife, after he dies, will never know there isn’t one. Thus, he can’t win his wager.”
“Sounds like a lot of intellectual bullshit,” Elizabeth said.
“Well then, let’s get back to my earlier question,” Graydon said. “What would you like to tell Caroline if you could talk to her?”
Elizabeth took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to clear her mind. “I think I’d —” she began, but before she could say more, her voice choked off. Forcing herself to go on, she c
ontinued, “I’d want to tell her ... how sorry I am.”
“For what?”
Twisting her hands in her lap, Elizabeth had to fight back the impulse to get up off the couch and run from the office. She felt disoriented and dizzy, and everywhere she looked. her vision got too intense. Dazzling lights and sharp, scary details jumped out at her. Everything was terrifying to look at, and her pulse was making a feathery hammering sound that reminded her of a bird frantically beating its wings and body against an unseen windowpane.
“I’d tell her I was sorry ... for not trying to save her,” she finally managed to say.
“You mean from the car wreck?” Graydon asked. “Because you feel as though your husband may be right — that you were responsible for her death?”
Biting down hard on her lower lip to keep from screaming aloud, Elizabeth nodded.
“But from what you told me about the accident, there was no way either you or your husband could have gotten to her in time,” Graydon said softly.
“Doug ... tried to get to the car,” she said, her voice little more than a gasp.
“But you told me the gas tank exploded before he was even halfway down the hillside,” Graydon said. “And he would have been killed as well. “
Elizabeth nodded tightly, running her teeth over her lower lip. “Yes, but ... I stopped him. I saw what he was trying to do, and I held him back.”
“Because you knew of the danger?” Graydon asked pointedly. “Or because you didn’t want him to even try to save her?”
Elizabeth stiffened as though a megawatt jolt of electricity had slammed into her body. She was only dimly aware of the two hot streams of tears running down her face as her mind filled with the memories of that night.
“I’m sure you must see that your need to apologize to Caroline is rooted in something you feel was lacking in your relationship with your daughter when she was still alive. Do you agree?”
