Halfway to the Grave

by Jeaniene Frost

  “Glad you approve.”

  I lay down next to him on the hard cave floor. He shifted until he had his arm under my head. What a strange, strange relationship this was. Beating the hell out of each other and then cuddling afterwards. I wouldn’t know normal if it shot me in the ass.

  We were going out again tonight. Not the traditional dinner-and-a-movie thing, but something far less romantic. Bones had run what he knew about Switch through his contacts, but they came up empty. It was the same story with pinpointing Hennessey’s location. No one knew, or if they did, they weren’t telling.

  We knew from Charlie that Hennessey and the mysterious Switch needed to restock their human supplies, and there had been a string of disappearances around northeast Ohio. Bones found that out after hacking into the police’s computer mainframe. The cops weren’t even investigating most of them. It was that squeaky wheel gets the grease mentality again. If no one badgered them to look for the girls, more often than not, they didn’t. The unusual number of missing persons in the same fairly narrow geography smacked of Hennessey’s involvement. After getting as much information as we could from the girl’s acquaintances - which weren’t many people, as expected - we managed to get some names of the places the women frequented. When we found ones that crossed over, presto. We had a possible location for a feeding ground.

  Bones had argued until he needed to breathe just to get oxygen to argue more, but I hadn’t budged from what should be done. Bottom line was, when you were looking to catch something that didn’t want to be caught, you needed bait. Someone had to place themselves out temptingly for the unknown Switch or Hennessey to snatch. Hennessey, I knew, would go straight for me on sight. After all, I was the one who got away, though he only knew about that single instance and not how I’d nearly been nabbed by Stephanie the very next weekend. He wouldn’t expect me to put up a fight, either, since all I’d been able to do before was dazzle him with my vomiting skills. If it was Switch I ended up stumbling across, well, that was just as good, too. Then Bones would find out his real identity, get the names of who else was in on their illicit crime ring, and find out where Hennessey was hiding. Both possibilities were well worth me putting on my sleazy clothes and trolling around bars and clubs angling for a fang bang. Regardless if Bones thought it was too unsafe. He’d be close by, after all, and those guys had a lot of paybacks coming to them.

  “Let’s go somewhere softer, pet. You need patching up and I need you.”

  Even with me poking three different holes in him, he was still in the mood. In a sick way it was admirable.

  I let out a disbelieving laugh. “Can’t you just fake impotence and take a nap? You really bashed my ribs. I hope your chest still hurts. You deserved it.”

  He grinned shamelessly. “Apologies all around. Here, this is what I was trying to do when you tricked me with that fake faint. Looked brilliant, by the way. Never saw it coming.”

  With the same knife that had recently resided in his stomach, he slit a neat gouge in his palm and placed it against my lips. Although I still found it repugnant, I swallowed his blood without complaint. I’d need my strength tonight. And my ribcage.

  Almost immediately I felt better. It never ceased to amaze me the incredible power of vampire blood. Bones told me matter of factly that the older and stronger a vamp was, the more potent their blood. Apparently it was similar to wine in that regard. Bones was then a vintage brew. I still preferred gin and tonic for taste.

  He picked me up and carried me into his bedroom, still protesting but with little force behind the words. Bones was a firm believer in kissing something to make it feel better. And better. Who was I to argue with sound medicine?

  Originally, the graveyard scene with Winston the ghost took place in Chapter 18, after Cat and Bones began dating. This is the scene before it was amended to take place earlier in the book before their relationship began.

  It was a full moon out. Since it was late fall, tree branches were naked. They were outlined against the sky like countless skinny, grasping hands. I shivered, glad I’d taken a jacket. Bones had his usual denim one on, but the chill didn’t seem to affect him either way. At least we hadn’t taken his motorcycle. With the cold front that had moved in, my teeth would have been chattering.

  “So who’s the contact we’re meeting?”

  That’s about all I remembered from his one-sided conversation with me earlier. After Timmie left, I’d basically told him I was going to sleep and only death could stop me. Bones hadn’t objected. He’d merely curled himself next to me fully clothed and held me while I drifted off. That was when he’d said something about a rendezvous later tonight, but by then, I’d probably been snoring.

  “Winston Gallagher.”

  It didn’t ring a bell. “And he’s associated with Hennessey how?”

  Bones snorted. “You didn’t hear a thing I said to you before, did you?”

  “I was tired!”

  “Grumpy as well,” he went on, unperturbed. “Your monthlies really sour your temperament.”

  I hadn’t mentioned my period, and nothing but slumber had occurred back at my place. Knowing how he’d picked up on it made me uncomfortable. Some things were personal.

  “So who is he? We’re driving all the way to Athens to meet him, he must be important.”

  “Bloke can’t travel to see us, that’s for bloomin’ certain,” Bones said with a grunt. “Winston was a railway worker back in the sixties. He also had a side business of making moonshine. One day, a fellow bought one of Winston’s products and then was found dead with it the next day. Winston had either mistaken the alcohol content for that batch, or the other sot drank too much. Either scenario was possible, but it all ended the same. Winston was tried for the man’s murder and found guilty.”

  “That’s outrageous!” I exclaimed. “With no motive or proof of malice aforethought?”

  Bones laughed grimly. “The judge, John Simms, wasn’t big on the idea of innocent until proven guilty. He also doubled as the executioner, and Winston was condemned to die. Right before Simms hanged him, however, Winston swore he’d never let him have another night’s peace. And since that day, he never has.”

  “He hanged him?” I repeated. “The man we’re meeting?”

  Bones pulled over. We were still on Peach Ridge Road, but there was no one here. All I saw around me were “No Trespassing” signs, trees, and bushes.

  “Actually, you’re meeting him,” Bones corrected, turning the truck’s engine off. He’d driven, since I hadn’t known where we were going. “Winston doesn’t cotton to vampires. Our kinds don’t get on, you see, so he won’t speak to me. He’ll talk to you, though, but I warn you. He’s about as cheerful as you currently are.”

  “What part of this am I not understanding?” My tone was waspish. Bitchy, me? Nah! “Did you or did you not say that judge hanged him?”

  “Swung him right from the tree jutting over that cliff,” Bones affirmed. “If you look, you can still see rope marks in it, but those weren’t all from Winston. A good many people lost their lives on that wood, but don’t bother speaking to anyone of them. They’re residual. Winston’s not.”

  I picked my words carefully. “Are you telling me Winston’s…a ghost?”

  “Ghost, specter, phantom, take your pick. What’s most important is he’s sentient, and that’s rare. Most spooks are only replays of their former selves. Not able to interact, just doing the same thing over and over, like a record stuck on a turntable. Blimey, I’m dating myself; no one uses records anymore. Point is, Winston was so mad when he died, part of his consciousness stayed on. It’s also due to location. I told you Ohio has a thinner membrane for separating the natural from the supernatural, so it’s easier for a soul to stay instead of crossing over. This particular area’s like a homing beacon. Five cemeteries forming a pentagram, really, what were they thinking? It’s a road map for spirits, is what it is. Thanks to your bloodline, you can see them, whereas most humans can’t. You sh
ould also be able to feel them. Their energy’s like a voltage in the air.”

  He was right. I’d felt that invisible hum increase as we’d gotten closer, but I thought maybe my whole body had just fallen asleep. Could a whole body fall asleep? Or was it only one part at a time?

  Bones handed me a bottle of something clear. “Here, Kitten. Take this. You’ll need it.”

  I held it up and swished the liquid around. “What is it? Holy water?”

  He laughed. “For Winston it is. That’s white lightening. Pure moonshine, luv. Remember, you might have to bang about a bit to get his attention. Ghosts tend to nap frequently, but once you’ve got him up, be sure to show him that. He’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  I gave him a level, disbelieving look. “Let me get this straight. You want me to go stomping through a graveyard brandishing a bottle of booze to rouse an unrestful spirit so that I can interrogate him?”

  Light nod. “And don’t forget this. Pen and paper. Hopefully Winston will give you the names of several newly-deceased persons we can cross-reference. Be sure to have him filter it by age, also. Should cut the list down. Hennessey thinks I won’t be able to track him because he’s killing people who aren’t even missing, but there’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

  “Under the circumstances, I don’t find that analogy comforting,” I muttered.

  He grinned. “Sorry. Bad example.”

  I just shook my head as Bones gave me the pen, small spiral notepad, and bottle of illegal liquor before climbing from the truck and heading out to wake the dead.

  * * *

  Simms Cemetery at midnight was not a soothing place. It had been hidden from the road by thick bushes, trees, and that rocky cliff. True to Bones’ description, a tree still protruded over the precipice, and there was also a large evergreen in the midst of the dilapidated headstones. Seeing some of the dates clarified his earlier comment about Winston being a railway worker in the sixties. He’d meant the eighteen sixties. Not this past century.

  A figure behind me made me whirl with a little scream, my hand whipping out a knife.

  “All right, Kitten?” Bones immediately called out. He was waiting out of sight beyond the cemetery, so none of the dead dead saw him. Personally, I thought the reason the ghosts and vampires might not get along was jealousy. A vampire wasn’t limited in their activities. A ghost certainly was.

  “Yeah…” I said after a beat. “It was nothing.”

  It wasn’t, actually, but it didn’t require backup. A hooded, shadowy form swept past me, literally floating over the cold earth. It went to the edge of the cliff and then disappeared with a faint sound, like a whispered scream. I watched in fascination as moments later, it returned out of nowhere and walked the same path, culminating with another ghostly wail.

  To my left, the indistinct outline of a woman was bent over another headstone, sobbing. Her clothing wasn’t of this era, from the hazy glimpses I could catch of it, and then she too faded into nothingness. For a few minutes I waited, and then her outline blurred into view again. Soft, almost inaudible cries came from her until they, and she too, vanished once more.

  A record stuck on a turntable, I thought with dark appreciation. Yeah. That was a pretty accurate description of it.

  In the corner of the cemetery, there was a headstone with barely visible etched letters, but I saw a “W and a ‘T’ in the first name while the last one started with a ‘G.

  “Winston Gallagher!” I called loudly, rapping on the frigid stone for emphasis. “Come on out!”

  Nothing. A breeze made me tighten my jacket while I shuffled my feet and waited.

  “Knock, knock, who’s there?” I said next. “Come out and play, Winston.”

  Something moved at the edge of the trees behind me. Not the cloaked phantom, who was still traveling the same unaltered path, but almost a fuzzy shadow. Maybe it was just the bushes rustling in the wind. I returned my attention to the grave at my feet.

  “Oh, Winsssttonnnnn….” I cooed, fingering the bottle inside my jacket. “I’ve got something for you!”

  “Cursed, insolent warm baggage,” a voice slithered on the air. “Let’s see how fast you can run.”

  The air in my vicinity got colder all at once even as I turned toward that voice. The shadow I’d previously observed stretched and changed, taking form, revealing a male in his fifties with a barrel-like belly, squinting eyes, brown hair overrun with gray, and untrimmed whiskers.

  “Hear that, do you?” Another odd keening came out of him, eerily echoing. He shimmered for a second, and then the leaves near where he hovered scattered in a small burst of concentrated air.

  “Winston Gallagher?” I asked.

  The ghost actually looked over his shoulder, as if expecting to see someone behind him.

  I put more stress into it. “Well?”

  “She can’t see me…” he said, presumably to himself.

  “The hell I can’t!” I marched over in relief, anxious to get out of this creepy place. “Peek-a-boo, I see you! Is that your headstone? If the answer’s yes, then congratulations. Tonight’s your lucky night.”

  Those squinty eyes narrowed further. “You can see me?”

  Was he this thick when he was alive? I wondered irreverently. “Yeah, I see dead people. Now let’s talk. I’m looking for some newly-deceased, and I heard you could help.”

  It was almost funny to watch those transparent features change from incredulity to belligerence. He didn’t have facial muscles anymore, needless to say. Was it just the memory of them that made his scowl form?

  “Get out of here, or else the grave will swallow you and you’ll never leave!”

  Boy, did he make it sound intimidating. If he had anything to threaten me with, I’d have been concerned.

  “I’m not afraid of the grave; I was born half in it. But if you want me to get out of here…” I turned as if to go. “Fine. That means I’ll just have to throw this in the nearest trash can.”

  Out of my jacket came the clear bottle with the lightning bolt on it. I almost laughed when his eyes fastened on it as though they were magically welded. This had to be Winston, all right.

  “Whatttssss that you’ve got there, mistress?”

  He drew the first word out in a lustful hiss. I popped the cork, waving it under where his nose appeared to be.

  “Moonshine, my friend.”

  Frankly I was still uncertain how I was supposed to bribe him with this. Pour some on his grave? Hold the bottle inside his disembodied form? Or splash him with it?

  Winston made another keening noise that would have chilled anyone near enough to hear it.

  “Please, mistress!” Gone was his hostile tone, replaced instead with one of desperation. “Please, drink it. Drink it!”

  “Me?” I gaped. “I don’t want any!”

  “Oh, let me taste it through you, please!” he begged.

  Taste it through me. Now I knew why Bones hadn’t mentioned how to entice Winston before. He’d known how I would react, the sneaky vampire! I gave the ghost an irritable look while mentally promising myself revenge on a certain pale-skinned, room-temperature creature of the night.

  “Fine. Fine. I’ll drink some, but then you’re going to give me names of some young people who’ve died around here. No car accidents or diseases, either. Murders only.”

  “Read the paper, mistress, why do you need me for that?” he barked. “Now, drink some ‘shine!”

  Up went my eyebrows. “I’ve caught you on a bad night,” I said pleasantly. “I’ll just leave you alone and be on my way…”

  “Samantha King, seventeen years old, passed last night after being bled to death!” he trumpeted. “Please!”

  He hadn’t known I’d been specifically looking for death by fang, so I didn’t think the information he’d just rattled out was a lie. Quickly I wrote the name down and then tipped the bottle to my mouth.

  “Mother of God!” I choked moments later, hardly even notici
ng Winston’s entire form diving through my throat like he’d been shot from of a gun. “Arghh! That tastes like kerosene!”

  “Oh, the sweetness!” was his enraptured reply as he came out the other side of my neck. “Yessss! Give me more!”

  I was still coughing, and my throat burned. Whether that was from the liquor or the ghost was anyone’s guess.

  “Another name,” I managed to get out. “Then I’ll have more.”

  Winston didn’t need to be told twice any longer. “Violet Perkins, age twenty-two, died last Thursday of strangulation. Cried the whole way up.”

  He didn’t sound particularly sad for her. A hand waved impatiently at me, its edges blurry. “Go on!”

  One deep breath later and more moonshine went down the hatch. I coughed just as much as before, my eyes watering.

  “Why would anyone pay for this swill?” I gasped when I came up for air. My throat was almost throbbing when Winston exited it, and he floated back in front of me at once.

  “Thought you’d taken my ‘shine from me forever, didn’t you, Simms?” Winston shouted at the passing, hooded phantom. It didn’t react. “Well, look who’s drinking while you’re condemned to eternally wander off that cliff! This nip’s for you, old John! Carmen Johnson, twenty-seven, bled to death ten days ago. Drink, mistress! And this time, swallow like a woman, not like a gurgling babe!”

  I regarded him with amazement. Out of all things, liquor seemed to be what he missed the most. “You’re dead and you’re still an alcoholic. That’s so dysfunctional.”

  “A bargain’s a bargain!” he belted. “Drink!”

  “Prick.”

  Muttered under my breath as I eyed the bottle unhappily. This stuff made gin taste like sugar water. It’s for the greater good, I reminded myself. The least you can do to catch these killers. Quit bitching and start gulping.

  Fifteen minutes later, my notepad had eleven more names on it, the bottle was empty, and I was swaying on my feet. Winston lay on the ground, his hands over his belly, and when I let out an extended burp, he smiled as though it had also relieved his diaphragm.