by C. L. Bevill
Tavie nearly fell over with relief. Both were wriggling furiously. Coco was panting like a racehorse after the Kentucky Derby. She finally threw her head back on the floor and kicked weakly with her mummy-like wrapped feet.
The priest turned his head to look at Coco. “It won’t do any good,” Sternstein said. “Just accept your judgment and rest yourself.”
“I WILL NOT!” Coco shrieked. “I did that once and look where it got me! That pervert strangled me and I CAME here, where you are!”
“Not here,” Sternstein corrected gently. “You went to Deadsville.”
“What did I ever do to you?” she shrieked again.
“Why, don’t you know? Didn’t you put it together?” Sternstein asked.
“The child doesn’t understand,” Nica said. “But I understand. You don’t have to hurt her. You can hurt me and have your revenge. You can let her go.”
Tavie couldn’t tell for sure but it appeared as if Sternstein was amused by Nica’s proclamation.
“She is responsible for the death of a good woman,” Sternstein said.
Coco said a nasty word. “What woman? I didn’t murder anyone! You’re the one who did some bugging crap to people, to that Darren guy and that Minh. I didn’t—” She shut her mouth and then added, “Oh.”
Sternstein chuckled. (Tavie thought for the briefest instant she should call him Byrne but she was too used to Sternstein.) It was a chilly laugh that sounded positively jaded. Why hadn’t she seen that in him before? It was probably because he was used to putting on a mask. He’d done it as a priest, and he’d perfected it in Deadsville.
“You mean that woman in Albuquerque,” Coco said in a muted tone. “I didn’t mean to kill her. It was an accident. I feel badly about it.”
“Yet, all you can do is whine about how your ‘steppie’ murdered you,” Sternstein said. “Poor little baby. Had to steal a car from your headmaster in order to go home because you were having a bad day. Then you couldn’t be sensible enough to pull over because you were tired, and she had to pay the price. Did you know she was alive for four hours after you left her car like a pretzel?”
Coco didn’t say anything.
“The doctor worked on her, but he didn’t save her either,” Sternstein went on. “Too much internal damage. She didn’t even open her eyes after the wreck. All because of you.”
Coco made a sound like a whimper.
“She made a mistake,” Nica said. “We’ve all made mistakes. Don’t you understand, Patrick? You’ve talked to so many people about their mistakes; you’ve helped them to forgive themselves, to obtain God’s forgiveness, as well. Can’t you see she’s not evil? She’s only a child.”
“She’s sixteen years old,” Sternstein said. “She’s old enough to know that she has to take responsibility.”
“Do you know what you’re doing?” Nica asked. “You didn’t send those two men to hell; you condemned them to nonexistence. They will never have a chance at redemption. You’ve damned them forever, and yourself by your actions. Your wife wouldn’t have wanted you to damn yourself in the process.”
“YOU DIDN’T KNOW MY WIFE!” Sternstein shouted and Tavie winced.
“I did know your wife,” Nica said serenely. “I know all about her. I know every secret she had. I know what she was most ashamed about. I know that she was a good woman, and she was ready to move on. You know that she didn’t end up in Deadsville or a place like Deadsville, because she was a good woman.”
“Don’t,” Sternstein said weakly.
“Lisa was her name,” Nica went on. “Lisa Nicole Byrne, and she was proud to be your wife, even though she was the reason you left the priesthood. She put spiders she found inside your house outside unharmed. She opened doors and held them for the elderly or people with baby carriers. She wanted children so badly. That’s why she was out that day. There was an appointment with a specialist. He thought he could help her with the fertility issues she was having.”
Tavie moved slowly through the shadows. She could sense Pudd at her heels, stepping where she stepped, keeping as quiet as she was.
“That’s where Lisa was going?” Sternstein asked with mild surprise. “I never knew. I never knew.”
“When I came to her in the hospital, Lisa wanted to leave a message for you, but she never woke up, and reapers don’t carry messages. Lisa didn’t want you to curl up and die with her.”
“I didn’t,” Sternstein said. “I lived.”
“To see justice served, only to see it denied. Then you killed yourself because something whispered in your ear.”
“It wasn’t fair!”
“You, of all people, should know that,” Nica said softly. “No one ever made that promise to you.”
“He should have,” Sternstein said. He lifted his head from his chest and the brilliant white of the clerical collar was almost like a light in the gloomy room. “He should have, and since He didn’t, then it’s up to me to make it right.”
Tavie lifted the Glock and pointed it at Sternstein. “I don’t think so,” she said.
Sternstein slowly turned his head and looked at Tavie. The muscles in his face contorted and moved, and then, unexpectedly, he grinned broadly. “We were expecting you,” he said.
Chapter 22
Death is the revealer of secrets – African Proverb
~
“She just vanished. No one knew what happened. It was some weird shizz.” – Lillian on Octavia Stone
~
Tavie sighed intensely. There wasn’t anything as mentally disappointing as hearing a stupid line being emitted from of a criminal’s lips. She should say something like, “You’ll never get away with this,” or “We’ll find you no matter where you go,” but she couldn’t quite bring herself to be so banal.
“Sure, bud,” she said instead. “I’ve got a bead on you. Do I really need to do the talk about how the bullets in my Glock are badass and will blow a very big hole in you? Plus, I’ve noticed that the rules in this place don’t work exactly like Deadsville, so I don’t know what happens if or when I do blow a big hole in you. I’m really okay with that, but are you?”
Sternstein didn’t lose the grin; in fact, the grin grew larger. It gave Tavie a distinctly uncomfortable feeling, as if she should glance over her shoulder and make certain that he didn’t have an accomplice who was sneaking up on her.
“TAVIE!” Coco screamed. “He’s bugging! He’s lost all his marbles! He’s tripping with Mr. Brownstone or something! Cut us loose!”
“I probably should have duct taped her mouth,” Sternstein observed.
“How’s about hands behind your head?” Tavie said. Coco would have been well-served to have her mouth duct taped, but Tavie wasn’t going to say that aloud. It was bad enough to even think it.
“I don’t think so,” Sternstein said.
“I don’t normally spend a lot of time talking to people like you,” Tavie said, “but we’ve got a little bit of time here, so I get that you’re ticked off with the people you think done you wrong. Done your wife wrong. I do get it.”
“You get it?” Sternstein asked. The grin faded away. “You don’t get anything.”
“I put some of it together. I heard what you said. I heard what Nica said. Coco hit your wife’s car and killed her, but it was an accident. The emergency room doctor tried to save her and he couldn’t, and it wasn’t his fault, either. Then the lawyer got Coco off. It sucks, to be sure. I’m a cop. I’ve seen worse. I’ve seen lots worse.” Tavie tried to inject her voice with her utter seriousness. She had seen worse. She had done what Sternstein had done; she should be patting him on the back, but instead she was trying to stop him. “It’s not too late to stop this.”
“Or what?” Sternstein asked. “You’ll shoot me? Do me in? Plug me?”
“If I have to do that, I will.”
“Don’t you want a few more answers?” Sternstein asked. “Like what your role is in all of this?”
“My role,”
she repeated. “I didn’t do anything to your wife.”
“You were there, too!” Sternstein accused. “You were the traffic cop who was first on the scene.”
First on the scene. But that had been Phoenix, Arizona, not Albuquerque. Tavie couldn’t remember actually being in Albuquerque. Sure, she might have driven through it once or twice, but she hadn’t even stopped to use a bathroom in a gas station.
“I was never a traffic cop in New Mexico,” Tavie said. “I was a cop in Phoenix. I spent three years as a traffic cop in Phoenix and a year in vice until I made the grade for the violent crimes unit. But never in New Mexico.”
“You lie!” Sternstein called. “You lie in the church of God, in this holy place, before His symbol.” He pointed at the large cross in the front of the church.
“I have lied,” Tavie admitted, “but I wouldn’t lie in this place, no matter what. My mama taught me better. The wreck happened in 1982, right? I was only a toddler then, probably not even walking. I didn’t have anything to do with your wife’s death. I couldn’t have.”
“It’s true,” Nica said. “It wasn’t Octavia Stone who was the first traffic cop on the scene. I was there, waiting and watching. I know this.”
“What do you know about it, reaper?” Sternstein roared.
“I brought them over to the dead world, both Octavia Stone and Lisa Byrne. I know them both.”
“That’s why you’re here, too,” Sternstein snapped. “You should have seen that her death was wrong! You should have refused to escort her! You should have made an executive decision!”
Tavie stared at Sternstein. He was a sad broken man who once been a priest. Everything he’d believed in had been sorely tested. Then he had come to Deadsville, and things had probably gone from wretched to who-the-frick-knows worse.
“Someone told you how to get revenge on those you thought wronged you,” she said.
Sternstein’s head swiveled toward her. “It’s someone who sees the injustices being committed in the name of the gods of the dead.”
“They told you when you were going to die,” Tavie said. “They told you to bring certain items with you. They wanted you to be prepared to take your revenge.”
“The law of retribution! Lex talionis! Vindicta! Et ulciscar!”
“They were using you, Patrick,” Tavie said solemnly. “They’re still using you. If you do this, the living world and the dead world will go away forever. It will unravel as surely as dust blowing away in a strong wind. It’ll be your fault, your responsibility, and you will be the one to destroy everything.’
“No,” Sternstein denied. “I’m not being used. I’m the instrument for revenge. These people didn’t believe in taking culpability for their actions. This is the way for them to pay. Look around you, sheriff! Are they suffering in Deadsville? No, they still act and play and laugh. They’re just waiting for their final judgment, and there is no consequence. I am the consequence!”
Sternstein began to pray in Latin. Tavie didn’t know the words but she understood the gist. He was beginning the exorcism to eliminate those who believed had wronged his long dead wife.
Coco began to wail in earnest. “It hurts, Tavie!” she cried. “He’s hurting me.”
The expression on Nica’s face was similar to Coco’s. His face twisted as evident pain struck him. Every muscle of his body strained in reaction and his back arched.
“Stop!” Tavie cried and Sternstein ignored her. She took a breath, took aim, and put pressure on the trigger.
Nothing happened.
Tavie pressed again. There was still nothing.
Sternstein shot her a triumphant glance and continued to pray in Latin.
Tavie didn’t know what he’d done to her weapon. Perhaps it was simply being in this place that did it. She knew her Leatherman worked here just fine, but perhaps that was because he hadn’t found it.
“Oh, dear,” came another voice. Her head shot to the left just as Pudd growled abruptly.
Barastyr stood about ten feet away. This time he was another cinematic cowboy she couldn’t quite place. The hat was white and ten-gallon. The shirt was a white, black pinstriped western one with fluted pockets with arrows pointing upward. The scarf was red and tied rakishly on one side of his throat. The matching Jodhpur pants seemed a little too much, but the white boots had rows of embroidered roses blazing across them. Finally, he rested his hands on the butts of two pearl handled pistols. If she wasn’t mistaken they were a set of Colt New Services, which had been made before the turn of the 20th century.
The large mottled dog stood behind him, halfway in the shadows, its bearish face grimacing as it regarded her and, then to a lesser degree, Pudd. Pudd growled harder. His little body was shaking with fear, but he had planted himself in between Tavie’s legs and he didn’t budge. She put the Glock back into its holster and kept her hands and arms loose in preparation of whatever would happen.
“Who are you today? Tom Mix?” Tavie looked him over. It really could have been Tom Mix except that he was short and his hair was silver and long. It shouldn’t have been mentioned that his eyes looked like two pieces of obsidian, but she couldn’t help herself. They were two dark chips of blackest night and frankly frightening. “And who’s your friend? Tom Mix’s cowboy dog? I don’t remember Tom having a dog.”
Sternstein paused in his prayers to look at Barastyr.
“Tom Mix!” Barastyr said excitedly. “I do appreciate a woman who knows her Hollywood cowboys. I even have a Tom Mix pocket knife. I tried being one of the singing cowboys but that didn’t really work for me. It turns out that I still can’t carry a tune.”
“My great-grandmother used to listen to the radio show in the forties,” Tavie said, with a quick glance at Sternstein. The former priest hadn’t resumed the exorcism for the moment. His interest was captured with Barastyr.
“As for my animal, well, he’s a servant of the god of the dead,” Barastyr said with a slyness she patently disliked, “like all of the gods have.”
Tavie didn’t have a response for that.
“Have you reconsidered which side you’re on, Octavia Stone?” Barastyr asked, examining his fingernails as if the answer didn’t really matter. She abruptly remembered that he was very much still capable of reading her thoughts and thought of something accordingly. Types of cheeses. Swiss. Cheddar. American. Gouda. Parmesan. Toe.
“Okay, if you’ll release the reaper and the girl,” Tavie said promptly. Limburger. Mozzarella. Havarti.
“Didn’t you just tell poor, deluded Patrick that you don’t lie in church?” Barastyr asked in a scolding tone. “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.”
“I didn’t lie,” Tavie said. Cheese curds. Cottage cheese. Blue. “You let them go, and I’ll do anything you want.”
“You can’t let them go!” Sternstein cried.
“Well, there you go,” Barastyr said with a little cunning smile. “I can’t let them go. I did promise the poor man he could have his revenge in the world of the dead.”
“Patrick,” Tavie said, “he’s using you. If you do this, there’s no coming back. You’ll never be with Lisa. You do understand this?” Velveeta. Monterey Jack. Colby.
“Lisa is in heaven with the angels and I know I will never go there with her,” Sternstein said, “but I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing that the people responsible for her death will pay forever.”
Tavie knew when there wasn’t a point in talking to someone so demented. She was simply sorry she hadn’t seen it earlier when she was speaking with Sternstein. Despite that, she had to give it one more try. “Barastyr is one of them!” she said loudly. Blue Marble. Brick. String. “He’s a god of the dead! He’s responsible for your wife’s death! In fact, he’s accountable for your death, too! He manipulated it so that you would die and come to Deadsville, just like I was manipulated. Did he tell you that I was the first police officer on the scene of your wife’s accident? It isn’t true!”
Sternstein looked at Barastyr with obvious conf
usion. “He said that…”
“I said that she accepted responsibility,” Barastyr said.
“I accepted responsibility,” Tavie repeated. “I was still in diapers. How could I be responsible?” Um. Did I list Swiss?
“You were given a choice,” Barastyr said and he laughed.
“Charlie,” Tavie said in abrupt comprehension. Why hadn’t she put it together before? Charlie Solomon had been her mentor, her ‘rabbi’ with the Phoenix Police Department. He’d been her friend, a second father, a man who had spent years as a police officer. He’d been on the PPD for twenty-two years. Before that he’d been a patrolman in…New Mexico. His first year on the job had been in the early eighties. “It was Charlie who was the first cop on the scene in Albuquerque,” she guessed. She loved Charlie like she loved her own father, and if he had needed saving, she would have walked on red-hot coals to save him. In essence that was exactly what she had done.
Tavie wasn’t sure why it was that she didn’t remember everything. She’d been tasked to figure out what was happening and why. If she already knew, it wouldn’t have been fair. She would have fixed it before even one deadie had been exorcised. Barastyr had made it so, and Thana had attempted to stop it by gifting Tavie with the ability to look and see. Muenster. That’s a cheese, right? Goya. Brie.
There had been another crime scene in Phoenix on the day Tavie had died. She had been the first on the scene. No one else had been there. There had been a phone call, and then…nothing. She couldn’t remember. Soy cheese, which is thanks to Marlisa, my cousin, who is not only afraid of clowns, but doesn’t do dairy.
“I died, and you gave me a choice,” Tavie said slowly, guessing. “I could go on my merry way or I could take Charlie’s place. But I wasn’t a good person. How could I not have been paying for that?” British cheeses! Crowdie. Cheshire. Stilton. Or maybe Crowdie is more Scottish than British. Hmm.
