Game's End

by Natasha Deen

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The next morning, I snuck out the back of the house, while Craig and Nell went out the front door and distracted the reporters camped outside. A couple of blocks later, we met up and drove to the Sinclair home.

  “What are the chances no one’s home?” Nell asked after I’d rang the bell for the third time and gotten no answer.

  “Serge, go through the door and check,” I said.

  He nodded and disappeared.

  “I hate this,” said Craig. “I have no powers and no answers for all the skulking I did on the other side.”

  I squeezed his hand. “You were trying to help.”

  “I should’ve been smarter about it. Used my connections rather than trying to go directly through the system,” he said.

  “Can you still do it?” asked Nell. “Using your contacts?”

  He shook his head. “No, not until my powers—” He stopped and looked at Nell.

  “What?”

  “You think Tammy and Bruce still have their Ouija board?”

  “It blew up when The Family came out of it,” said Nell. “But I bet they have another one stashed somewhere.”

  “Maggie,” said Craig. “You okay if Nell and I take off? If we can get to a Ouija board, I can use it to call my connections. I’m mortal now, so I can’t pull anything through. And as long as you or Serge aren’t around—”

  “We can do it at my place,” said Nell. “Mom’s at some board meeting, and Dad’s at work.”

  Serge came through the front door. “No one’s around, but there’s a family calendar on the fridge. Mrs. Sinclair’s scheduled to be at the funeral home tonight at eight.”

  “I guess I know what I’m doing tonight,” I said. “Let’s go back home. I’ll get my car, then Serge and I can go to the funeral home later. Nell, you guys can head out to the séance.”

  “Séance?” asked Serge.

  “I’ll catch you up later,” I said.

  “Tammy and Bruce will be thrilled to help with the séance,” said Nell. “More the merrier, right?”

  ✦ ✦ ✦

  It was a weird thing to drive to the funeral home and not see Dad’s minivan in its usual spot. Even weirder to see the flowers, stuffed bears, and notes that had been left in its place, protected by a tarp overhead. Weirdest was the boarded-up window and the faint smears of graffiti that had been painted over it. Love and hate, living side by side.

  “Come on.” Serge unbuckled his belt and stepped out of the car. “Let’s see what we can find out.”

  “I never thought to ask,” I said. “But seeing Mrs. Sinclair won’t be easy for you.”

  “She never liked me, which was just as well. I never liked her, either. She had this weird way with Amber, like they were friends and rivals, more than mom and daughter.” He shrugged. “I don’t think it will be hard to see her, though. She can’t do anything to hurt me.”

  “Do you think she knew? About her daughter and the reverend?” I headed to the entrance.

  “No. She was a lot of things, but she never would have let that happen if she’d known.”

  “Well if it isn’t little Maggie Johnson, the girl who all the ghouls love.”

  Carl.

  “I have nothing to say.” I kept walking.

  “How did he find us?” asked Serge.

  He’s probably been here for a while. At some point, he knew I’d come here.

  “I didn’t get a chance to fully explain myself,” he said. “I’m with the—”

  “I don’t care where you’re from. I just lost my dad to a violent death, and you’re here trying to make money from it. Don’t you have something—anything—better to do?”

  “New age, cult, and supernatural elements are a big thing,” he said. “People like the curiosities of life. You, Maggie, are the most curious of them all.”

  “I won’t let you turn me into a side show,” I said bitterly.

  “A few questions, that’s all I have.”

  “Good luck with them.” I walked away.

  “Interesting, don’t you think?” He called after me. “How the murder rate of Dead Falls spiked since you arrived.”

  “Don’t let him bait you.”

  Too late. “I’ve been here for four years. It’s a little late in the game for me to spike anything, don’t you think?”

  “I think it’s entirely possible for you to do a lot of things,” he said. “Five deaths. Two murders, two suspicious deaths, and an accidental one. Funny how you’re connected to all of them. Funny how they all happened right after your dad and the town sheriff started dating.”

  I laughed. “You think we got together to kill people? For what, an uptick in coffin sales?”

  “I think there’s a lot more to the deaths,” he said. “There’s a lot more to you and your dad. I’ve been investigating your family, Maggie, and there are unanswered questions. Strange things that happen when you’re in town. Sudden disappearances of people.” He peered at me. “All the midnight moves. Why all the moving around?” He walked towards me.

  I wanted to step back, but I held my ground.

  “Strange, the way you’d leave town when teachers and social workers started asking questions, when parents wanted more information on the weird kid in their child’s class.”

  “If you’re asking me to explain parents to you, you’re asking the wrong person,” I said.

  “I don’t expect you to understand parents,” he said. “There was just you and your dad. No mom. Did he tell you what happened to her? Or did she tell you herself?” He moved closer. “Does she come to you? What is it like, being able to talk to the dead?”

  Serge’s eyes went silver. “There’s something supernatural going on with this guy.” He moved closer. “Not soul-eater level, but he’s got a covering of some kind—supernatural protection, maybe.” He reached out his hand, touched what must have been a barrier. “I could probably push through it—”

  If this was a movie, this was the moment I’d harness my power and blast him back with a ball of fire or light. But this was no movie and he had me so terrified, I couldn’t think, I could barely breathe. Don’t, I told Serge. He has to think I’m mortal. You do anything supernatural, and it’s over. He’s probably recording us. I tried again to do something, to say or do the brave thing, but my brain was a sputtering lighter, a few sparks, no fire.

  Carl reached out to me. “I’m scaring you, and I’m sorry. Let’s do a reboot.” He smiled but I didn’t buy the act.

  “Think about it from another point of view,” he said. “Aren’t you tired of holding on to your secret? Aren’t you tired of always being scared the truth will come out? Think of what a relief it’ll be to just be yourself, be out in the open. And think of how much you’ll be able to help the living, not just the dead. There are a lot of con artists in the world, taking people’s money and feeding them lies about what’s on the other side.”

  The bitterness in his tone caught my attention.

  “You could put an end to the liars and really help those who need answers from loved ones who’ve died.”

  “Who did you lose?” I asked.

  “Someone important,” he said. “I’ve been investigating those in the supernatural world to know you’re the real deal. You’re the person I’ve been waiting for.”

  “It’s a line,” said Serge. “Even if it’s real, this guy’s a reporter. He’s going to use you for his career, he doesn’t really care about you.”

  I believe it. More than that, I remembered Dad’s warnings of what the world could do to someone like me, and I wasn’t going to let sympathy or pity force me into a decision I’d regret. “I’m sorry for your loss, Carl, but I can’t help you.”

  His expression turned ugly. “What about the reverend and that kid, Kent Meagher? What am I going to find as I co
ntinue my investigation? Am I going to find the sheriff fudged things on her report? Maybe on all of them?”

  He’d caught me and he knew it. Nancy had smeared the facts, she hadn’t had a choice. How could she explain half the things that went on with me and the supernatural? “Just a few questions. It won’t hurt.” He raised his hands in surrender. “Look, it’s not about spectacle or turning you into a freak show. You have a talent, a gift. Don’t be selfish with it. You have the answers for what’s on the other side. You can help heal all those who mourn.”

  “Go away.” Point to me. I sounded braver than I felt.

  “Fine.” He pulled up his coat collar. “I guess I’ll have to turn my questions over to the cops at Internal Affairs. They can ask Nancy about the discrepancies in her reports.”

  “Are you blackmailing me?”

  “Negotiating.”

  “I’m bored with this and it’s cold. I’m going inside.”

  “What happened the night on the bridge with Popov? How did you find the body of that kid? Why is there no record of your dad’s service?”

  “Keep talking,” I said. “Exercise those lungs.” Big words, but my stomach was a bowl of acid. Nancy had walked a fine line, helping me and covering for me when I investigated. And now, she was facing a possible inquiry, and I had no idea how it would all end. It seemed like my search for justice for the dead wasn’t doing anything but hurting the living.

  He smiled. “Run, rabbit, run. I’ll get you, eventually.”

  “Haven’t you heard of a lucky rabbit’s foot? And I’m doubly lucky, because both of mine are still attached.” Thank you, Nell, for the witty comeback. The wind blew, bringing with it the smell of the old mill.

  “Carl, what are you doing, man?” Another guy emerged from the shadows. Slender, pale, dark hair. “Don’t harass the kid.”

  “You following me, Savour?”

  The guy flipped up the collar of his wool coat. “You’re kidding, right? You think you’re the only reporter looking into this story?” He glanced at me. “I’m sorry. He shouldn’t be on you like this—not all of us are this…dogged.” He stepped to Carl, but the other man dodged out of his way.

  “It’s not going to be like last time,” said Carl. “I’m not letting you steal another story from me.”

  “No one stole the story,” said Savour. “Your car broke down so I got there first. Come on, how about I buy you a beer?”

  “Don’t patronize me!”

  “Fine,” he said. “Then how about you use your head? The kid’s guardian is a sheriff. You think she’s not above finding a reason to arrest you if she finds out you’re harassing her child?”

  “That’s police misconduct.”

  “Yeah,” said Savour. “And then you can write a story about it. In the meantime, go home, and stop giving the rest of us a bad name.” He looked over at me. “I’m sorry. Go do your business. I’ll make sure he doesn’t follow you.”

  “A reporter coming to your aid rather than finding the story?” Serge folded his arms and squinted at them. “I don’t buy it.”

  Tell me about it, I said to Serge. I’m sure it’s a game of good-reporter-bad-reporter and they’re working together. I went inside. The familiar sight of the staircases and reception area hit me like a bullet to my heart. I almost ran outside because dealing with Carl and his partner was better than dealing with the grief.

  “Doesn’t look like anyone’s around,” said Serge.

  That was okay by me. I needed a couple of minutes to keep myself together. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

  “Don’t freak out over what Carl said. Nancy’s smart, and she would never do anything to put you or herself in danger. I’ll text and update her, so she’s prepared for anything that might come her way.”

  “I don’t like him poking around, and I’m starting to wonder—”

  “Don’t,” said Serge. “I know where you’re going, and don’t. This is your destiny, and this is what you scripted for your life.”

  “Except my choices have consequences for other people.”

  “Yeah, and those people have chosen to side with you.” He squeezed my shoulder. “You can’t make other people’s decisions for them. They have freedom, and so do you. So, come on, let’s look around.”

  We checked the main areas for Mrs. Sinclair, then the prayer room and the private space for the families. No luck. I walked to the office. The door was partially closed, and there was light coming through the bottom crack.

  “Don’t tell me that!”

  Mrs. Sinclair’s voice. I glanced at Serge and put my finger to my lips.

  He cocked an eyebrow and said, “I’m dead, remember? You’re the one who’ll make noise.”

  Right. Traumatic situations turned me into an idiot. I dropped my hand and continued along the carpet.

  “It wasn’t supposed to happen,” said Mrs. Sinclair. “You said no one would get hurt, and the truth—” She paused, obviously listening to the person on the other end. “—People are hurt, and there’s no truth. That girl lost her father—”

  “I’m going to get closer,” hissed Serge. “Maybe I’ll recognize the voice on the other line.”

  He disappeared through the door as Mrs. Sinclair said, “I didn’t sign up for this. We have to go to the police—” A quick silence. “What do you mean why? You know exactly—”

  “Saint Maggie.”

  I jerked back and whirled around. “Amber.” She stood in front of me, wearing yellow gloves and carrying a bucket and mop. “How are you doing?”

  Her contemptuous expression said it all. She set down the cleaning equipment and peeled off her gloves. “And people think I’m stupid.”

  “I’m sorry, it was a bad question.”

  “And not like you care.”

  That stung. “I do care.”

  “Yeah, you really checked up on me after it all hit the fan. I must have been too busy eating chocolate to read your texts.”

  What could I say to that? Sorry, Amber, but a few days after we solved Serge’s murder, another ghost showed up at my door. I was trying to figure out who killed him and prevent the town from being possessed, and I forgot to text you.

  “Didn’t think you’d have an answer.” She rubbed her belly.

  “How are you doing?” I asked. “Really?”

  “We’re on welfare, the church turned its back on us, I’m the town’s favourite gossip topic, and Principal Larry kicked me out of school. How do you think I’m doing?”

  “Maggie?” Mrs. Sinclair came out of the office. “What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about my dad,” I said.

  Serge came up behind Mrs. Sinclair. “I could hear you on the other side of the door. So could Mrs. Sinclair. She hung up when she realized you were there. I don’t know who she was talking to, but it was a woman.”

  “Hank? Why?” asked Mrs. Sinclair.

  “I heard he was helping you—”

  Amber snorted. “Some help. Come to my funeral home and clean toilets.”

  “Amber!” Her mom shushed her. “Hank didn’t give charity, and I appreciate that—”

  “He didn’t give a lot to anyone, did he?” said Amber. “He was all over the principal when it came to his precious daughter, but when she stuck her nose in things that didn’t concern her and screwed up everybody’s life, he was suddenly hands-off with the collateral damage.”

  “He didn’t do anything wrong,” said Mrs. Sinclair. “And neither did Maggie.”

  “I guess everyone’s a good person but me,” said Amber. She snatched up the bucket and mop.

  I put my hand up to stop her, but she shoved me aside and stalked off.

  “I’m following her. Amber always went for the drama when she was planning something.” Serge went after her.

  �
�I’m sorry,” said Mrs. Sinclair. “She’s been—”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I know she’s going through a bad time.” God, what an understatement. “I’m sorry for what happened. I’m sorry for what—”

  Her eyes filled with tears that spilled over, unchecked. She grabbed my hand and shook her head.

  “Why don’t we have a seat?” I led her into Dad’s office, ignoring the twisting of my heart. It wasn’t his office, anymore. I took her to the sofa.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” she said.

  I handed her a box of tissues.

  “This isn’t your fault,” she said. “What’s happened to us, it’s not on you. It’s my fault.”

  “No, it isn’t.” I sat beside her. “It was the reverend.”

  “How did I not see it?”

  “Because he was in a position of power and you trusted him.”

  “When I think about how much—” She broke down.

  I put my hand on her shoulder.

  “—I was happy with the time he spent with her. I thought he was like a father to her, a strong presence.” She reached for a tissue. “The worst part is hindsight. I think Serge had tried to tell me.” She began to cry again. “I shut him down. I thought he was rebelling. He was such a horrible kid—now I know why.”

  “He’s in a better place,” I said. “I know it. He’s happy now, at peace.”

  “I wish I could believe that.”

  “I believe it. Dad did, too.”

  “Your dad was a good man,” she said.

  “I had wanted to talk to you, to ask if maybe you were supposed to meet him that night—”

  “No.” She gestured to the room. “He helped me get this job, swore the employees here to secrecy. Most of them were good about it. Rob, he got into it with me one night. Your dad let him go, but I heard your dad also helped him get that job up north in Fort McMurray.” Her hand fell to her lap. “It’s been good, being here. We’ve been getting harassed—phone calls, rocks through the window, spray paint on the house. At least here, it’s quiet.”