Scarsdale Crematorium (The Haunted Book 4)

by Patrick Logan

  So Robert did what he had done in the church and at Seaforth: he let his mind go and followed the patterns of dust in the air.

  After nearly a half hour of wandering in what seemed like circles, he arrived very near where he started, where the spooked woman on the phone had noticed him.

  Robert stopped and closed his eyes, fighting back tears of frustration.

  Stop with the self-pity…Amy is out there. You need to keep going.

  His eyes snapped open, and he realized that he had turned around and was now staring at a house, a modest colonial, with an American flag hanging from the porch.

  “What the hell?” he whispered.

  Robert recognized the house; not the style or the build or the color scheme, but this exact house.

  And it was a place that he knew well.

  It was his grandfather’s house.

  Floored, Robert closed his eyes again, thinking that maybe it was just a mirage brought on by the pain and exhaustion.

  But it was still there when he opened them again.

  The last time he had been to the house had been following the death of his parents, Alex and Helen Watts, more than ten years prior. He had since lost touch with his grandpa, for no other reason than he had been too engrossed in his own life.

  But…how? What are the odds?

  Of course, Grandpa lived in Santee, South Carolina, which was near Elloree, but…

  His eyes moved to the neighboring houses.

  …but the “subdivision” was composed of only one or two houses back then. Now they were squished together like sardines in a tin.

  Robert recalled how Aiden had seemed to be randomly choosing streets to turn on, and thought that maybe his decisions hadn’t been so random after all.

  Did he take pity on me? Dropped me near somewhere I was familiar with?

  He couldn’t see how Aiden would have known about where his grandfather lived, but Sean might. Sean seemed to know a lot more than he was letting on.

  Robert swallowed hard and took a step forward, then another, testing the ground each time to make sure that it was solid.

  The large front steps were difficult to navigate in his present state, and Robert felt himself getting dizzy with every passing moment. He reached out and grabbed the banister, squeezing it tightly, trying to fight the vertigo that suddenly threatened to overwhelm him.

  It was a losing battle.

  His eyelids fluttered, and when he went to take another step forward, his vision went double and he somehow landed on the outside of his foot.

  Robert lost consciousness even before his body collapsed against the screen door.

  ***

  There was a girl standing on the beach, her head down, her hair hanging in front of her face. Robert wanted to run to her, to wrap her up tightly in his arms, but he found himself unable to move.

  He didn’t need to look down to know that the black, tarry hands were holding him in place. Another figure appeared behind the girl, just a blurry shadow at first. Eventually, however, the figure became more solid, and his heart sunk in his chest.

  He recognized the black hat, the faded jean jacket.

  “Amy?” he whispered. “Amy, what are you doing here? Why haven’t you…why haven’t you joined the Sea?”

  The girl didn’t answer. Instead, she just shrugged.

  “Is it—is it because of him?”

  Leland started to raise his head, and Robert picked up the unpleasant, grating sound of laughter.

  The man’s head moved impossibly slowly, tilting backward so that the shadow that covered his face slowly started to peel back like a nylon mask. A smiling mouth came into view, one that was filled with hundreds of tiny, pointed teeth. Robert redoubled his efforts to run, only this time he wanted to run away, rather than toward the duo.

  It was a cowardly move. He should have been expending all of his effort trying to rescue Amy, not run away from her, but he couldn’t help himself.

  Because he knew who the demon really was, and he didn’t want to see.

  The man tilted his head all the way back now, the laughter becoming more bestial as his throat was extended.

  And then the mask slipped away completely, and Robert found himself staring into his own reflection.

  Chapter 24

  When Robert opened his eyes, his throat was raw from screaming. Someone suddenly appeared at his side, holding his shoulders, saying something unintelligible, and Robert flailed furiously at his hands.

  “Stay away! Don’t touch me! It’s not me! It’s not me!”

  “Robert!” the man said sternly.

  “Stay away!”

  But the man’s grip was strong, and Robert was spent. They clamped down hard on his shoulders, locking him in place, and he gave up his struggle. Blinking rapidly, he finally managed to clear the tears from his eyes.

  An old man stared down at him with soft green eyes surrounded by a network of creases. His mouth, equally lined, was pressed into a thin line.

  “Grandpa?” Robert asked softly. He didn’t quite believe what he was seeing, but he just went with it. After all, this was one of the least strange things that had happened to him recently.

  “Robert, what the hell are you doing here? And what happened to you? Jesus Christ, you look like you were trapped in a coal mine? And the screams…”

  Robert tried to sit up, but winced at the pain that coursed through his entire body.

  “It’s a long story…”

  “I’ve got time.”

  Robert sighed.

  How long has it been since we’ve seen each other? Ten years?

  A pang of guilt struck him then; he hadn’t even thought to invite him to Wendy or Amy’s funeral.

  His own granddaughter…

  “Help me up, Grandpa.”

  The man put his hands on his back and gently helped him into a seated position. Robert winced, but once he was sitting up, he felt better. A quick glance down revealed that the scratch on his chest had been covered with a series of thick bandages that covered its length.

  Noticing his gaze, the old man offered, “Tried my best, but it was your grandma that was the nursing one, not I. But I guess you knew that.”

  Robert touched the bandage gingerly, the unsightly bruising on his wrist making him nauseated again.

  It was real—it was as real as the bandage on his ear.

  “Here,” the man said, holding out two pills in one hand, and a glass of water in the other, “take these. Then you better let me know what’s going on.”

  Robert’s throat was still raw from inhaling all of the soot in the converted chimney, and it took him three tries before he was able to force the pills down.

  Eventually he finished the water, then looked up at his grandfather.

  “Marv, you have anything stronger?”

  The man smiled a sad smile.

  “I thought you might ask.”

  With a groan of his own, Marvin Watts rose from his kneeling position and left the room. A minute later, he returned with two empty glasses and a bottle of scotch. He poured three fingers into each, and then retrieved a cigar from the humidor on the table and held it up.

  “Mind if I smoke?”

  The last thing Robert felt like was inhaling any more smoke, but he nodded anyway. After all, it was the man’s house, and he was only a guest.

  “Go ahead,” he said, reaching for the scotch with his good hand. It was no 25-year Glenlivet, but that didn’t matter. It warmed his stomach, and numbed his mouth and throat.

  That was what mattered.

  Marvin set about cutting and then lighting his cigar, and as he swished away the initial cloud of smoke from his head, he spoke.

  “Before you start, I owe you an apology, Robert. I heard—shit—I heard about Wendy and Amy and I didn’t even send a card. I ain’t got no excuses, but it’s been tough, you know? Out here all alone. A man can forget his graces, his manners. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  Robert blinked
.

  He’s sorry? I never even brought Amy out here to meet him.

  The one time that he had suggested they drive down south, Wendy had struck him down.

  ‘Drive? In that heat? When’s the last time you even spoke to him? Are you sure he’s even still alive?’

  Robert stared at the man puffing on his cigar across from him.

  He was real.

  Probably.

  “Marv, it’s my fault, I should have—”

  The man waved his hand in a way that only he could, marking the end of the discussion.

  “Throughout a man’s life, he is forced to make decisions for his family,” he said, as if reading Robert’s mind. “Ones that maybe he ain’t none too proud of. I get that. Now tell me what in the Lord’s name you are doing here.”

  Robert stared at the brown liquid in the bottom of his glass. He felt conflicted; he couldn’t rightly tell Marvin the real reason why he was here, as doing so would invariably put him in danger. Instead, he decided to skirt the question and ask his own.

  “Marv, can you tell me about Mom and Dad?”

  There was a pause, inciting Robert to look up. Marvin was staring at the end of his cigar as he rolled it between thumb and forefinger.

  “You know, when I dragged you inside, for some reason I just knew that this was what it was about. It don’t make sense, I know, but I just got this feeling. And this whole time you were passed out—three hours—I was gettin’ ready to answer the question.” He finally met Robert’s gaze and shrugged. “They was going to tell you, Robert—eventually. But you know as good as any how life is. Shit happens, comes up, messes with timelines, with your head. I think, deep down, Alex wanted to find your brother first, and when he couldn’t do that, he was too guilty to tell you. Helen sat right there, right where you are now, bawling her eyes out, trying to convince Alex to tell you. I mean, shit, you were all growed up then. But they died before they got a chance, I guess. Shit happens. What was I supposed to do? Tell you at the funeral? What would be the point to flip your life upside down?”

  Robert’s hands were shaking so badly that he feared he was going to spill scotch all over the carpeting.

  “It’s true,” he whispered. “It’s true.”

  He brought the scotch to his lips and took a sip, while Marv continued as if he hadn’t even heard him.

  “Your parents tried for a long time to get pregnant normally. A long, long time. They tried to adopt, but it was going to take at least two or three years. The most patient of folk, your parents weren’t. At the time, there was some other shit—voodoo-type shit in the swamp…but, another story for another day. Anyways, they had almost given up when they met the priest.”

  “Father Callahan,” Robert said.

  Marvin made a face, then took a puff of his cigar.

  “Father Callahan,” he confirmed. “But the priest, he never told them about your brother. That came later, much later.”

  “How’d they find out about him?”

  Marv shrugged.

  “Your father never told me—he just said he found out.”

  “What else do you know, Marv? About me? About my past?”

  Marvin took a long time before answering.

  “Nothing. Not really. I mean, your dad tried to find out as much as he could from the priest, but the man was as tight-lipped as they come. When Alex came to him about the news of your brother, the man shut up for good. Your mother and grandmother liked to go to his Sunday service, whenever she was around—I hated it, personally, but I went along with her, you know, compromise ‘n all that. But after your dad told Father Callahan about your brother, the man rarely showed up at the church anymore. Soon I stopped seeing him altogether. There were some rumors going around town at the time, but they were just rumors.”

  “Rumors? What kind of rumors?”

  Marvin puffed on his cigar.

  “Oh, you know, the typical shit they say of an aging priest. Lost his faith, lost interest in God. There was even some shit about botched exorcisms—take that for what it’s worth. I had a friend that worked at the library after he retired from the service—God only knows why—and he said that the priest was in there all the time with a book, asking questions about Latin or some shit. I dunno, the guy is old—maybe he had Alzheimer's or something or that other thing…the thing that soldiers get.”

  “PTSD.”

  “Yeah, that’s it. Anyways, the neighbors are saying that since of a couple months ago, there ain’t been nobody at the church. Not even someone to take out the trash. Maybe he just up and left, turned Buddhist or something.”

  Robert finished his scotch.

  “He’s dead, Grandpa.”

  Marvin took another drag of his cigar. Without looking at him, he said, “Yeah, and something tells me that that has to do with why you look the way you do.”

  Robert said nothing.

  “Look, Robert, we might not be blood, but I’ve always considered you a Watts. Loved you as one, too, if in my own way. Even though we lost touch since your parents died, I’m here for you—you can tell me as little or as much as you want, and I’ll stay mum about it.” He took a sip of his scotch, then leveled his gaze at Robert. “Just wanted you to know that.”

  Robert swallowed hard. There was so much that Marvin didn’t know, so much that he wanted to tell him, but the truth was, he too enjoyed his time with his grandpa.

  Which was exactly why he would tell him nothing.

  “I…I need to get cleaned up,” Robert said simply. It felt wrong, and he felt dirty for taking and giving nothing, but it was the best he could do.

  Marvin leaned back in his chair, doing a poor job of hiding his displeasure. He grabbed the remote and aimed it across the room at the old-fashioned tube TV.

  “You know where the shower is. Some fresh towels under the sink, and you can check my closet for something to wear.”

  “Thank you,” Robert said. The pills had started to take effect much more quickly than he had expected, making him wonder if Marvin hadn’t given him something stronger than run-of-the-mill Advil. He grunted and forced himself to his feet. “Thank you, Marv. And for what it’s worth, I’ve missed you.”

  Chapter 25

  Robert felt ten times better after cleaning the soot and blood from his body. Putting on a clean shirt, a little too big, a little too out of style, and a pair of jeans that fit the same mold made him feel even better.

  Still, when he made his way down the hallway to the front room again, his limp had become more pronounced. He had just entered the living room when Marvin spoke, not bothering to look away from the television.

  “Can you believe this shit? Found a girl dead, locked in a cage in the basement of some Wall Street asshole’s apartment. Her fingers had been eaten. Eaten. Police say he had this whole setup in his basement…like a horror movie. They say they would never have found her, but for a vent cover that slipped and the smell eventually drifted upward…”

  That was the thing about Marv: he could be so enthralled by something one minute, but then he would just let it go and move on to something else with a simple snap of his fingers.

  Robert, unfortunately, was not blessed with the same proclivity, and he envied the man.

  “One thing I still don’t understand, Marv,” he started, “is why I don’t remember. I mean, I was four or so when I was adopted, right?”

  Marv shrugged.

  “About that, yeah.”

  “Then why didn’t I remember?”

  Marv shrugged.

  “I don’t know. I mean, you lived with Father Callahan for a while, and you know what they say about little boys and priests.”

  Robert frowned. Marv was like Cal in the sense that his jokes weren’t always the most appropriate in either timing or in nature. His eyes drifted from the television to the couch that Marv had somehow hoisted him onto when he had passed out. He could make out his outline in soot, complete with dark maroon bloodstains.

  Robert felt ba
d for the old, lonely man sitting in his La-Z-Boy. He had probably been living the same existence since his wife died, and then his son. And Robert had ignored him. If things hadn’t taken such an abrupt turn, he could have seen himself in the same position after Wendy and Amy’s passing.

  “Marv? You ever…you ever see Alex after the accident?”

  The man turned around and leaned over the back of his chair and squinted at him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, did you see him? After the accident?”

  The man paused, and Robert thought he saw something cross of his face. But then it was gone.

  “No,” he said, turning back to the TV. “I told you, your grandma was into that stuff, not me.”

  Robert stood there for a moment, thinking about the response. He wondered just how many people in this world had seen their loved ones after they died, either as they left their bodies and crossed over to the Marrow, or as lingering quiddity stuck on the wrong side.

  How many of them had been called delusional, or accused of being unable to deal with their grief, and just plain crazy?

  He also wondered how many of them had resorted to drugs and alcohol because of what they had seen.

  “The keys are on the table. Take the car, Robert.”

  Robert made a face.

  “What? No, I—”

  The man, still facing the TV, held up his hand, silencing him.

  And that was another thing about Marv. Even Alex couldn’t change the man’s mind once it had been set.

  “They’re right beside your album.”

  Album?

  Robert’s eyes darted to the table, and his breath caught in his throat when he spied the blue photo album that he had taken from the church lying atop it.

  It seemed impossible that it had stayed with him this whole time, that during his fall from the roof, driving in the car, and collapsing on Marv’s porch he hadn’t dropped it somewhere along the way.