Dead Spots

by Rhiannon Frater

  The Clown extended one gloved hand toward Mackenzie, his head tilting to one side. It reminded Mackenzie vividly of a Roman emperor deciding the fate of a gladiator in the arena.

  “We should go,” Grant said again, sounding more afraid than before.

  Mackenzie felt transfixed by the Clown’s hollow stare. Gradually, the Clown twisted his hand at the wrist so that his palm faced upward. His fingers flicked at her, beckoning her to join him. The vice around her lungs constricted and the world tilted dangerously from the loss of oxygen. The Clown was death personified and she had a serious beef with death. She would not relent.

  Adamantly shaking her head, Mackenzie lifted the board in a threatening motion.

  The Clown lowered his hand.

  The balloons sank toward the track, Tildy dangling limply in their grasp. She had ceased to struggle, apparently resigned to her fate. The Clown didn’t even glance at his captive. He merely seized her arm and towed his victim toward him. The balloons released their captive and Tildy slumped to the track, her dirty blond hair obscuring her face. The balloons dispersed, bouncing along the air drafts.

  “It’s too late. He has her,” Grant hissed. “Mackenzie, give it up!”

  “No, I can’t!” Eyes riveted to Tildy and the Clown, Mackenzie took a few unsteady steps toward the station. The Clown continued to watch her. His cocked head and glittering eyes reminded her of a predatory bird observing its prey before swooping down to snare it.

  The movement of Tildy lifting her hand caught Mackenzie’s eye. Mackenzie glimpsed the flash of the blade clutched in Tildy’s fingers a second before the woman rose to her knees and shoved the knife into the Clown’s gut. He grunted as blood blossomed across the front of the white costume. Shocked, he grabbed Tildy by the hair in an attempt to toss her away, but Tildy’s arm pinwheeled as she plunged the knife into him over and over again.

  “Oh, God,” was all Mackenzie managed to murmur. She was so stunned by the burst of violence from the frail woman it was difficult to process the scene. There was nothing Mackenzie and Grant could do but watch in silence.

  The Clown seized Tildy by the throat, but she continued to stab him, the white fabric of the clown costume shredded and stained red. They staggered on the tracks, struggling for balance and dominance. Weakened by his wounds, the Clown stumbled, losing his footing. Seeing her opportunity, Tildy shoved him, driving him over the edge. The Clown didn’t release his grip on the fragile woman and together they hurtled to their deaths.

  CHAPTER 14

  Tildy lay dead, her brains and blood spattered around her head like a gory halo. The reek of death filled Mackenzie’s nostrils, the cloying coppery scent of blood mixing with the vile stink of refuse.

  “It’s over. Let’s go.” Grant’s tone offered no consolation whatsoever. It was as if he was immune to the terrible sight just a few feet away.

  Mackenzie nodded, understanding there was nothing more she could do. Perhaps from the moment she had met Tildy this had been the inevitable outcome.

  Grant took her hand and pulled her from the gruesome scene. Mackenzie went with him willingly, too overcome to protest.

  In a frantic rush, he guided her past the games, vendors, and kiddie rides dotting the midway. Mackenzie struggled to keep up, the pinch of his hand clutching her cold fingers cutting through the numbness of her mind. The pace Grant set was brutal on her tortured feet.

  “He’s dead!” Mackenzie cried out, finally finding her voice. “It’s over! Slow down! You’re hurting me!”

  “We have to keep moving, Mackenzie!”

  “What does it matter now? They’re both dead!”

  “The dead spot lost its focus, Mackenzie. Now it will focus on you!” Grant dragged her around a broken ice cream stand and toward the exit.

  It took a few seconds for his words to sink in to her shocked, frightened mind. The deep open grave, the baby casket, and the horrific silent mourners flashed through her mind. “Oh, God!”

  The ground broke apart around them, long-fingered hands bursting out of it. One lashed out at Mackenzie’s ankles as she passed. The clawed hands tipped with sharp broken fingernails rose up like weeds to scrabble at the concrete. One snagged the hem of Mackenzie’s jeans and jerked her back with surprising strength. With her free foot, she kicked at the mud-encrusted fingers until they released her.

  Close by Grant smashed his walking stick down on the grasping hands, breaking digits and splintering the end of his weapon.

  Mackenzie jumped around the spindly fingers reaching for her, hopscotching toward the exit. Kicking and swinging her makeshift mace at the clawed hands, she fought to escape. The world rocked around her dangerously, her vision dim, and she took a rasping breath, realizing she was forgetting to breathe in her panic. Everywhere she looked the long-fingered hands with their sharp nails were raking the ground, blindly seeking her out.

  This was how Tildy must have felt, Mackenzie thought. Forever trapped, doomed, and unable to escape her inevitable death.

  She leaped over a cluster of the rangy hands, crying out in agony when the last of her blisters broke. Limping, she struggled to escape another pair of the clutching fingers. Beating at the long, emaciated hands with her makeshift mace, she gritted her teeth, fighting the nausea brought on by the gray, dirty skin bursting under her assault, misting her boots with blood.

  The exit was so close she could see the parking lot through the turnstile. Exhausted, she swung her club at the mud-encrusted hands. To her horror, the grasping fingers caught the weapon and jerked it free.

  Rattled, Mackenzie tried to leap away, but a blow from the club across her shins sent her sprawling. Twisting around, Mackenzie watched in horror as the cement disintegrated into the shape of a grave and a figure emerged from the earth. Clods of dirt and concrete clung to its lank blond hair as it hoisted its upper body out of the ground.

  “Run, Mackenzie!” Grant was already at the exit, his walking stick missing.

  Crawling to her knees, Mackenzie scrabbled at the ground, struggling to stand. Her body wasn’t cooperating. Her limbs were slow to respond to her frantically screaming mind. She felt like she was in a horror movie where the heroine can’t seem to remain on her feet, constantly falling in her frantic haste to escape.

  Finally, Mackenzie managed to rise and hobbled toward the exit where Grant waited.

  “Why are you leaving me?”

  Mackenzie startled to a stop at the voice. Trembling with adrenaline and fear, Mackenzie started to look behind her.

  “Don’t look! Just run!” Grant ordered.

  Blond hair hanging limply around her face, Tildy stood at the edge of the grave that had just opened. In one hand she held the knife with which she had killed the Clown and in the other she held the club that had been wrested from Mackenzie’s grip. There was no sign of the grievous wound that had ended her life, her body restored to how it had been before her last death. Fingers, long, dirty, and ending in broken nails, flexed around her weapons. Tears marked tracks through the dirt covering her face, but it was her eyes that sent Mackenzie’s world spinning.

  Cold, sparkling, glasslike, and empty.

  “Are you abandoning me after you promised to save me?” Tildy’s accented voice, once gentle and kind, was now markedly hard and cruel. There was a mocking tilt to her head and ferocity in her gaze. “After all your promises are you really leaving me here with my killer?”

  “You’re a wraith,” Mackenzie sorrowfully whispered.

  Tildy advanced with measured steps, swinging the weapons. The makeshift mace had been heavy in Mackenzie’s grip, but Tildy whirled it about as if it were weightless.

  “I thought you said you’d help me escape? But now you’re trying to escape and leaving me here. You failed me, Mackenzie! You failed me like you failed Tanner, your mother, and sweet little Joshua.”

  Each word felt like truth burning into her soul and exposing it as empty and black as Tildy’s eyes. The dark wave washed over Mackenzie, exti
nguishing resolve and replacing it with cold, unrelenting despair. It filled her completely, washing away her strength and her willpower. Tears blurred her vision as the utter bleakness of the situation destroyed her defense mechanisms and rendered her helpless in the face of such terror. She had failed to save Joshua. She had failed to save Tildy. She would fail to save herself. How had she been so foolish? She felt dead because she was going to die in this world and nothing could save her.

  “It’s the dead spot, Mackenzie! Come here!”

  Mackenzie heard Grant’s voice, yet she couldn’t move.

  “All you ever do is fail, don’t you, Mackenzie?” Tildy was close enough to touch her now, but instead she tilted her head and gave Mackenzie a knowing, sly smile.

  “I try not to,” Mackenzie muttered through trembling lips.

  “But you always fail, don’t you?” Tildy sighed, shaking her head. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Poor Mackenzie. Maybe it’s time for you to feel what it’s like to be betrayed and let down.” Tildy abruptly lifted the knife. It was renewed, the blade glittering dangerously. “Tell me how it feels to die.”

  The gunshot startled Mackenzie. It echoed throughout the amusement park and balloons erupted from the trees like a flock of startled birds. With half her face blown away, Tildy fell over onto the concrete, the knife and board falling from her fingers.

  Grant’s hand closing on her arm startled her. Her cry of surprise died in her throat at the sight of his face. He was terrified. Tugging her about, he forcibly dragged her through the turnstile.

  “The balloons,” was all Grant said as they fled.

  The thumping noise of the balloons re-forming into a cloud drove her forward. More shots sounded. Daring to look back, Mackenzie saw the flock of balloons scatter beneath the gunfire. More blasts destroyed one whole section of the group and bits of colored rubber and ribbon floated to the ground. The balloons swarmed toward the trees located near the exit of the amusement park. Mackenzie caught sight of a tall man in a leather jacket for a second before the balloons descended on him.

  “Run!” the stranger shouted after them. “Run!”

  Mackenzie started to turn back, her gut telling her to help the man who had saved her, but Grant tensed his hold and barreled forward. Tripping over her feet, Mackenzie was forced to follow.

  When they reached the edge of the parking lot, Grant dragged her into the woods in spite of her protests.

  “We should help him!” Mackenzie cried out.

  Grant shushed her with a sharp look. “We’re being followed. Keep quiet.”

  Still reeling from all that had just occurred, Mackenzie acquiesced.

  In silence, they hurried away from the dead spot and the horrors it had unleashed. It was difficult to make progress maneuvering over uneven ground and pushing through underbrush, but Grant kept her moving whenever she faltered. The amusement park gradually disappeared behind the trees and Grant finally let them stop for a rest. Lips pressed together and brow furrowed, he scrutinized their surroundings. Mackenzie wondered if they were lost. She was tempted to lie down on a pile of dead leaves between the gnarled roots of a tree, but instead leaned against it, bone weary and emotionally wasted.

  “Is it okay to talk now?” she whispered.

  Grant responded with a brief dip of his head.

  “Why did we leave that guy back there? The one who saved me?”

  “He’s dangerous. If you ever see him again, you need to tell me immediately.” Grant was disheveled, his clothes a wreck. It felt odd to see him without his suit jacket. Tildy had been wearing it when she’d been abducted by the balloons. “Don’t talk to him, or get near him.”

  “Why?”

  Grant looked truly frightened. More than he ever had before. “He’s a very dangerous human who hunts other humans that are trapped here.”

  “A shadow?”

  “Worse.” Grant shivered. “Much worse.”

  “What’s worse?”

  “He can see how wraiths see. He can see what this world really looks like. That’s how he finds the humans he hunts.”

  “Their brightness?”

  Grant gave her a short nod. “Exactly.”

  “Like how you see me?” Mackenzie rubbed her temple, confusion filling her.

  “No. No,” Grant assured her. “To me you just stand out more sharply. Like a full-color image in a sepia photograph. He can see you like a flame in the dark. That’s how wraiths see us.”

  “Then why did he save me?” Mackenzie struggled to wrap her mind around all that was happening. Everything was so complicated and dangerous.

  “So he could kill you himself. He’s probably tracking us right now. Or at least trying to.” Grant studied the woods thoughtfully. “We’ll stay off the road and head west in a straight line. There is an abandoned ranch that way. It’s far off the main road.”

  “How do you know this?”

  Grant gave her an exasperated look.

  “Oh, yeah. Fifty years trapped in here.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But who is he? Do you know him?”

  “It’s not important, Mackenzie. Just stay away from him. Please. Just stay away.”

  Exhaustion ate at her. It frustrated her that she had started to feel stronger earlier, but now she felt completely drained and completely disconnected from her own body, mind, and reality. It was as if the real Mackenzie was floating somewhere in the ether. Closing her eyes, she let her mind drift in the darkness, not really thinking, but merely existing. Too much had happened in too short a time for her to entirely process. It felt like a hundred years had passed since she had floundered into the dead spot.

  “You’re so pale,” Grant said worriedly, pressing a warm palm to her forehead. “The dead spot took a big bite out of you back there.”

  Tildy’s words earlier during their confrontation had awakened within her the dangerous abyss of dark emotions. Upon reflection, Mackenzie realized she had fallen completely for the bait. “She riled me up so it could feed on me, didn’t she?”

  With a weary look, Grant dropped his hand. “Yes. And it did.”

  “Dammit. This place keeps using Joshua against me.”

  “Yes, it will continue to.” Grant regarded her thoughtfully. “Give me your purse. I’ll carry it.”

  Mackenzie handed it over. The straps had already left a deep groove in one shoulder. She was tempted to discard her small laptop to make it lighter. “Thanks.”

  Grant claimed her purse and slung it over one arm. “Now you.”

  “Huh?”

  Taking ahold of her arm, he pivoted into her, crouched, then tugged her downward so she draped over his back. Grant wrapped one arm around her legs and held on to her arm as he stood with her sprawled across his broad shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

  “Hey!”

  “Trust me. I know what I’m doing. This is the best way to carry someone.”

  Without giving her a chance to protest, he started to trudge through the woods. It was a little uncomfortable lying across his shoulders, but her aching body and throbbing feet were grateful.

  “I don’t need to be saved,” she mumbled into his arm.

  “Yes, you do. Now let me save you,” Grant retorted.

  Tears blinded her instantly, her throat tightening, when she thought of how she had tried and failed to save Tildy. Her whole life she’d waited for someone to come save her. That was probably why she had fallen so hard for Tanner. He swept into her life and turned it upside down, freeing her from her mother’s domination. Since Joshua’s death she’d been waiting for someone to somehow save her from the deep-rooted depression that had engulfed her, but no one had. Now she was exhausted both physically and mentally. Maybe it was time for someone new to save her. She swallowed the protest on the tip of her tongue and closed her eyes.

  Maybe one day she’d be strong enough to save herself.

  CHAPTER 15

  Mackenzie must have dozed because her next coherent thought was that Grant really
needed a shower. Sweat saturated his shirt and dripped off the ends of his hair. Every inch of her body hurt and her feet felt numb. One of her arms was asleep and felt like a deadweight. Lifting her head, Mackenzie surveyed their surroundings, which were surprisingly peaceful and normal in appearance. Grant was carrying her through a field of waist-high grasses and insects hummed soothingly around them. The storm clouds were gone. It was late afternoon, so the sky was turning lavender and pink on the horizon. A farmhouse rose up directly before them. The roof had fallen in to the structure and stuck up like splinters, and the clapboards were gray with time. The porch leaned heavily to one side and broken glass sparkled on the ground beneath hollow windows. The weathered posts of a fallen fence encircled the property resembling rotting teeth and a wrought iron gate rested in the overgrown grass. There were no signs of the balloon swarm, the odd red-eyed owl creatures, or the silent mourners. The ground around them was undisturbed by creeping hands and Tildy didn’t stand hollow-eyed and smirking anywhere in the vicinity.

  “That’s probably going to make my head hurt,” Mackenzie muttered.

  “Ah, you’re awake,” Grant said in a good-natured tone.

  “So the psycho didn’t catch up with us, I take it?”

  “We gave him the slip.” Grant sounded immensely satisfied with this accomplishment.

  “I think I can walk now. My feet are numb. Besides, you must be exhausted.”

  “I’m okay. It’s only been a half hour since you fell asleep.”

  “Who are you? Superman?”

  Chuckling, Grant kept strolling toward the house. “You’re not that heavy. Besides, I carried heavier people off battlefields. You need to preserve your strength to shape the farmhouse.”