Garden of Darkness

by Anne Frasier

  Evan stared up in baffled confusion.

  Graham heard a sound behind him. He swung around, the flashlight beam swinging with him. Kristin stood there, mouth hanging open.

  “Get away!” He shooed with his hand. “Get the hell out of here!”

  She turned and ran.

  Had she been holding a camera? Had she been filming? This freak show?

  He looked back at Evan.

  The man was oblivious.

  Graham had to call somebody for help. But who? Did he even know a single sane person in Tuonela?

  Chapter Fifteen

  This was so normal. So nicely normal.

  Rachel smiled at the man across the table.

  David Spence.

  She’d known him since high school. He was divorced, his marriage another casualty of Tuonela. He’d married an outsider, and his wife had never adjusted to the town. Few did. But there were some, like the mayor, who settled right in without even seeming to notice anything odd about the place.

  David was still funny and charming. They’d even come up with some high school stories to relive. But he had a sadness around the edges that people from Tuonela had. The sadness that came once you finally acknowledged that this was something you couldn’t fight. You couldn’t change the past, and you couldn’t pretend Tuonela didn’t call to you. He got it. Which meant he already got her, to some extent. There was something comforting about that.

  “I was glad to hear you’d moved back,” David told her. Embarrassment washed over him as he obviously recalled why she’d moved back.

  “I’m sorry about your parents. That had to be tough, losing both of them so close together.”

  If she agreed, he would just feel worse. “I miss them.”

  “It hasn’t been very long. It takes a while.”

  He wasn’t just mouthing an empty, conditioned response. She could feel his concern, and sense the sorrow he felt. She found herself warming to him, to the idea of him. To the idea of having a guy in her life.

  Maybe it wasn’t so impossible. The promise of something normal within the confines of Tuonela. An intriguing concept.

  But she was getting ahead of herself, ahead of the situation.

  They ordered pizza.

  She hadn’t wanted to go anyplace fancy. She hadn’t wanted to put that kind of real-date pressure on the evening. Just two friends out for pizza, reconnecting.

  They talked some more, and for a short while she forgot they were sitting in a pizza joint in Tuonela. They could have been anywhere. They could have been in Iowa, or California.

  Her cell phone rang.

  She reached into her pocket and looked up at David with apology. “Sorry. I have to get this.”

  “No problem.” He understood the responsibilities of her job.

  She flipped open the phone and checked the display.

  Evan Stroud.

  Her heart raced.

  No. Not here. Not now.

  One more ring. Deep breath. Answer.

  It took her a moment to recognize Graham’s voice.

  “Can you come out here?”

  His words came fast and breathless.

  “Here? Where’s here?”

  “To our place. Evan’s.”

  To Old Tuonela.

  The pizza shop and David tunneled away and she visualized herself at Evan’s house. She hadn’t been there since all the bad things had happened. She hadn’t been there since her father’s death.

  “What’s wrong?” Why didn’t Graham call somebody else? He should know how hard a visit to Old Tuonela would be for her. But he was a kid. Kids didn’t think about those things.

  “It’s Evan. He’s acting weird. Doing weird stuff. I didn’t know who to call. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “When? How soon?”

  She looked across the table at David. He was watching her with concerned eyes, clinging to her yet knowing she was already gone. But he still hoped.

  “Twenty minutes.”

  “Okay. Good.” So much relief conveyed in those two words. “Thanks.”

  She disconnected and pocketed the phone. “David, I’m so sorry. I’m going to have to go. An emergency has come up.”

  “That’s okay.”

  But she could see he was disappointed. And maybe hurt. How could you hurt somebody you didn’t really even know? But it happened all the time.

  “Want me to come with you?”

  What a perfectly horrendous thought. “No, but thanks. That’s sweet of you to offer.” She opened her wallet.

  He shook his head. “What are you doing?” He looked horrified, so she put the wallet away.

  “I’ll get it next time.” Why had she said that? A promise of next time? It had just come out.

  He smiled and relaxed.

  She reached behind her and slipped on her coat, buttoning it before getting up. To hide her stomach? Probably. Even though he knew about her pregnancy, she didn’t want to flaunt it. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll call you,” he said.

  David was wiped from her mind as soon as she stepped from the restaurant. She hurried to the van, shot out of the parking lot, and headed for Old Tuonela, her heart beating fast.

  What was wrong?

  What had happened?

  When Evan had gone behind her back and purchased Old Tuonela, she’d vowed never to speak to him again. She’d felt betrayed. He could have at least told her. Coward. Maybe that was part of the reason she’d been so anxious to get away. There was too much pain here. The death of her parents. Then, at a time when she’d needed Evan, he wasn’t there for her.

  Now here she was, leaving a date to run out to the very place she’d sworn never to go again, to a man who’d betrayed her.

  She pulled off the highway to take the narrow, twisting lane to Evan’s house. Branches scraped the sides of the van and rubbed loudly against the undercarriage. She pulled up next to Evan’s little black car, cut the engine, and jumped out.

  Someone materialized from the darkness of the porch.

  Graham. He ran across the yard to meet her.

  “I tried to call you before you got here, but I just got your voice mail. Cell phones don’t work here very well.”

  “It never rang.”

  She started walking toward the house. He reached out and put a hand on her arm, stopping her. “I don’t think you should go in. He’s better now. That’s why I was trying to catch you. To tell you that you didn’t need to come.”

  “Better?” She frowned.

  “He’s going to be mad that I called you. You should go. You should leave.”

  Graham was as skittish as a cat. He glanced at the house, then at the car. He wants to jump in and get the hell out of here.

  “Graham, what’s going on?”

  “You didn’t see anybody when you were driving up the lane, did you? A girl? With red hair?”

  “No.”

  “I need to find her.” He gave a little launching jump and ran for the car. “Go back home,” he shouted over his shoulder. “You don’t want to talk to him.”

  “Is he drunk?” That didn’t seem like Evan. But then, a lot of things didn’t seem like Evan anymore.

  Graham paused in the open car door and let out a snort. “I wish. Then maybe he’d just pass out, like my mom used to.” He shook his head. “He’s nuts. That’s what he is. Nuts. Go home. Please. Thanks for coming, but everything is fine. Or it will be when I get him to see a shrink.”

  “What about the girl?”

  “She’s a friend of mine. I’ll find her.”

  “Nobody should be running around out here.” She didn’t have to state the obvious—that someone had been murdered just a few miles away.

  He gave Rachel an impatient wave, started the car and took off.

  With her hands in the pockets of her coat, she turned and looked at the house. A few lights on. One upstairs, one at the back of the building, maybe coming f
rom the kitchen. She blew out a breath. She took a step.

  I ran through the trees, small branches smacking me in the face. My breathing was loud, my lungs raw.

  I stopped, hands braced on my knees.

  Son of a bitch.

  What the hell was that? What had I stumbled upon?

  I pulled out my cell phone.

  No signal.

  My mind had been playing tricks on me, that’s what it was. I hadn’t really seen what I thought I’d seen. Had I? I’d been scared shitless, and it had been raining like hell. And dark.

  But I’d had my camera running. When I got back to Tuonela I’d look at it. I’d see there was nothing there, that my mind had invented some crazy bullshit. Because minds did that. Filled in the blanks with nonsense.

  Film might lie, but at the same time it told a certain amount of truth. It would tell if I really saw what I thought I’d seen.

  Car lights.

  The vehicle skidded to a stop. A door slammed.

  I turned and ran.

  My legs were shaking, and I was running with the additional weight of my camera.

  As I ran I blindly felt across the tape compartment door. It was like some old Western where the cowboy reloaded his gun while running from the Indians. I would have laughed if I’d had any extra air. I did manage a laugh in my head, if only to help chase away the terror.

  I popped open the camera door, pulled out the tape, shut the door, and shoved the tape inside my bra.

  “Kristin! Stop!”

  Graham.

  Wow, had I ever been wrong about him. Thinking he was some sweet, naive kid.

  He was part of that world back there, the world of his dad. A world that involved swimming around in a mud pit with bones and mummified corpses.

  I killed a man.

  Maybe he didn’t mean he’d killed a man when the guy stepped off the curb in front of his car.

  Maybe he was some evil spawn masquerading as something human.

  Good job.

  I heard him behind me, crashing through the brush, getting closer. I didn’t have a prayer.

  He tackled me. I catapulted forward. As the ground flew toward my face, I instinctively wrapped my arms around my camera, protecting it. I hit and rolled to my side with a loud oomph.

  “I told you to stay in the car,” Graham said.

  “You’d better not have broken my camera.”

  “Give it to me.”

  I hugged it tighter. “No.”

  He shone the flashlight in my face. “Give me the damn camera.”

  “Go to hell.”

  He pried it from my hands. He turned it around, going over it like a damn monkey. “How do you open it?”

  I smirked.

  He popped open the tape door.

  “Where’s the cassette? What’d you do with it?”

  “I threw it away.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Was that your dad back there? Was that Evan Stroud?”

  I couldn’t see his face. I wished I could see his face. He was just a murky, dark shape, backlit by fractured headlights.

  “What did you see?”

  “Nothing. It was dark.”

  “And you weren’t filming either, right?”

  “Right.” I played along even though I knew he knew I was lying.

  He shoved his hand into my coat pockets, one after the other. Then he patted down the pockets of my jeans, frisking me. “Where is it? I know you have it.”

  He wasn’t going to give up. He was protecting his father. Protecting himself.

  I struggled for breath. “I don’t have it.”

  I tried to get away. I hit. I kicked. He was strong for a wormy kid. He held me down with his weight. I felt his hand go up my shirt, then into my bra, searching and finding the minicassette. He pulled it out, let me go, and jumped to his feet.

  I followed. “I’m sure you’ll want to view that on holidays. Maybe show it to your kids, if you ever have any.”

  “Come on. I’ll give you a ride back to town.”

  I pulled out my phone.

  “You won’t get a signal out here.”

  He was right.

  I could walk, but I didn’t even know the way back to Tuonela. A woman had been murdered not that far away, and Evan Stroud was wandering around loose. What was a girl to do?

  “I won’t hurt you.”

  Graham may have been part of that other world, but he still seemed my safest choice. “Give me a ride then, asshole.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rachel could have called David and told him to hang on—she’d be right back. Save her seat. Save her some pizza. Maybe save her a place in his life.

  She didn’t.

  Instead she walked around to the back of Evan’s house, where a dim light could be seen in the kitchen window. She knocked. When no one answered she pushed against the door. It wasn’t latched, and swung open slowly.

  Because of his illness Evan couldn’t use regular bulbs. The kitchen was shrouded in a murky light that bathed the room in negatives, giving it a red-hued, darkroom appearance.

  The place was in various stages of restoration and abandonment. Projects begun by previous owners, then forgotten. No doors on the cupboards. A wall that was in the early stages of demolition, slats and pieces of stained floral wallpaper showing.

  She stepped inside—and let out a small gasp of alarm.

  Evan sat on the floor, his back against the wall, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles.

  He was shirtless, his arms resting on his thighs, hands caked with what looked like mud. He didn’t move. He didn’t turn his head.

  “Rachel.” Her name floated across his lips in a whispered exhale.

  He’s lost so much weight.

  Even in the dim light, she could see his ribs outlined against pale skin.

  How long had it been since she’d last seen him?

  She did some mental calculations. Months. Before she knew she was pregnant. He’d come to the morgue in what she later realized was a last goodbye before his betrayal.

  Rachel had worked hard to convince the Tuonela city council to purchase Old Tuonela, bulldoze the buildings, and fence off the ground so that no one could go there again. No one could die there again . . . But Evan had come along and bought the ground from under them. He hadn’t even told her he was thinking about it, and he didn’t tell her he was the one behind the purchase once it was made. She’d read about it in the paper.

  He was inviting trouble. He was putting everyone at risk. For what? A piece of dark history? The living were much more important than the dead.

  He may not have been the vampire that half the people in Tuonela claimed him to be, but Evan couldn’t be trusted.

  He hurt you.

  Yes.

  Evan scrambled awkwardly to his feet and tried to stand up straight, one hand resting against the counter, one hand on his waist. On the right side of his chest, just above the nipple, was a red, raised scar that matched another one a few inches away on his arm.

  Gunshot wounds.

  She closed her eyes for a second and pulled in a deep breath, struggling to keep her distance. She’d always struggled to keep her distance when it came to Evan. But she didn’t always succeed. . . .

  It’s so dark here. . . . So bleak . . .

  Instability and confusion radiated from him, along with an attempt to cover it up.

  Graham shouldn’t be here.

  It wasn’t a healthy environment for a kid.

  Evan didn’t smell like alcohol. Graham had been right about that. “Have you been in the sun?” Was he suffering from light exposure? She knew how debilitating that was to him.

  His hair was getting long and shaggy, and his jaw was covered with dark stubble—a contrast to the paleness of his face.

  “I’ve been excavating.”

  “In Old Tuonela?”

  “Yes.”

  “At night?”

  “All night. Grah
am made me stop because of the rain. It wasn’t raining that hard. It doesn’t bother me.”

  Now she could see that his jeans were soaked.

  She suddenly realized that he was staring at her in an almost bemused way, with a sort of half smile, as if pleased she’d stopped by.

  He was breaking her heart. He’d always broken her heart.

  She’d loved him ever since she could remember. She’d loved him with a love that made no sense, that put her in danger’s way, that left her exposed and vulnerable.

  He could hurt her. He had hurt her.

  The baby moved.

  Jesus.

  Like a somersault.

  She felt something that may have been a small heel slide across her stomach. She put a hand to the top button of her coat, checking to make sure she was covered.

  This was not good.

  He’s too fragile.

  She was always thinking about other people. What about her?

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “Graham called me. He was worried about you.”

  “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

  Be the friend. Just be the concerned friend.

  “I don’t think so. What’s going on, Evan? Besides the excavating? I think you need to move back to Tuonela. You and Graham.”

  “Everybody keeps saying that.”

  “Who?”

  “My father. Graham.”

  “They’re right.”

  “I have to be here.”

  She stepped closer. She reached up and touched his face, his jaw, made him look at her, listen to her. “This place is bad for you. It’s bad for everybody.”

  He turned his face and touched his lips to her palm. He inhaled. “You smell different.”

  Her heart was hammering, and it took all of her willpower to keep from holding him close. “It’s probably the new disinfectant I’m using in the morgue.” She tried to pull her hand back, but he held on.

  “It’s you. There’s something different about you. Your blood . . .” He paused for description. “It’s singing.”

  Something’s not right. Something’s more wrong than usual.

  She managed to tug her hand away. “What are you talking about?”

  “I can hear it.”

  A strange sound of unease escaped her.