A Little Town Called Mercy

by Wendy Saunders

  Tammy stood in front of the full-length mirror and smoothed down the skirt of her pencil dress. Absently her hand rose to touch the pearls at her neck as the soft light caught the shiny reddened skin of the fresh scars which punctuated the length of her arm at very deliberate and methodical intervals. Averting her gaze from the ugly puckered skin she reached over and lifted the matching jacket, slipping it on to cover her bare arms.

  Lifting her dark eyes to her reflection she ran her hand over her chin length bob, automatically smoothing it despite there not being a hair out of place. Her hand dropped numbly to her side as she continued to stare. She didn’t look any different; to everyone else she was still Tammy Burnett, Mayor of Mercy.

  But she was different.

  The injuries she’d sustained that night in the woods, the hours of sadistic torture she’d endured at the hands of the demon Nathaniel had irrevocably changed her. No one else saw it. She wouldn’t let them.

  Tammy Burnett was gone, when she looked into the mirror it was Temperance Beckett staring back at her. She didn’t belong here anymore. Mercy didn’t feel the same. It was as lost to her as Tammy was. The world was darker, colder…emptier.

  Olivia had managed to heal most of her wounds, but she hadn’t been able to get rid of them completely. She wasn’t sure why, it should have been well within her magical capabilities. Just as Isabel West had healed Olivia after she’d been tortured by Nathaniel, Olivia should have been able to do the same for her. But no matter what she did some of the injuries refused to fade.

  She was damaged.

  She looked over as the door to her apartment opened and Mac entered, stomping the snow from his boots. She watched dispassionately as muddy slush splashed across the clean floor. Turning back to the mirror she absently applied a fresh coat of lipstick.

  ‘Sorry I’m running so late,’ Mac hung his heavy coat up and headed into the apartment.

  ‘Problem?’ she asked as her eyes met his in the mirror.

  He stared at her for a moment, frustration and exhaustion clearly evident in the lines under his eyes and around the set of his mouth.

  ‘Nothing I can’t handle,’ he finally replied. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Fine,’ she answered in a clipped tone.

  He nodded. The air between them hung like a miasma, heavy with unspoken words.

  ‘I’ll only be a few minutes, I’m gonna take a quick shower and change.’

  Tammy’s eyes lingered on him for a second before she averted her gaze and resumed her task of applying a layer of make-up she didn’t need.

  Mac turned away and headed into the bedroom, unhooking his belt and dropping his gun and badge on the bed. Shedding his clothes, he dumped them in the hamper and turned on the shower as hot as he could stand it. Stepping under the spray he turned up the intensity and let the water beat hard against his face and shoulders, hoping it would bring some sort of clarity.

  His mind was a maelstrom, a confusing mess of frustration, disappointment, anger, helplessness and regret, all tied up in a pretty bow of ‘what the hell am I doing?’

  He lifted his head and let the water drum against his chest while he unconsciously rubbed the healed bullet wound. Another reminder of how his past had collided with his present with sickening consequences.

  He’d tried to keep Tammy as far away from his connection to the Veritas as he could but, in the end, it had been no use. The Veritas had come looking for him in the form of Simon Flores, the Governor of Massachusetts and incidentally one of the high-ranking members of the secret organization. That had ended with Tammy putting a bullet in his head, something she should never have had to experience. She’d taken a man’s life in order to save his, despite knowing he’d betrayed her by lying to her about his past.

  It was fucked up, everything was fucked up and hell if he knew how to fix it. After finding out the truth about him he knew he was lucky Tammy hadn’t tossed his ass out onto the street, but she hadn’t. Even now, months after that night, she allowed him to stay but things between them were far from okay.

  That first night, when she’d been hurt and distraught she’d allowed him to hold her, to comfort her, but ever since then she’d been careful not to touch him or allow him to touch her. They still slept in the same bed, but it was like they were strangers, facing away from each other with a kind of no man’s land down the center of the bed that may as well have been as wide as the Panama Canal.

  He had no idea how to fix things between them. All he knew was the longer things went unsaid between them the further away she slipped. He was losing her, and he couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it.

  Shaking the depressing thought from his head he grabbed the shampoo and began to scrub his hair. He needed to be quick, they were supposed to be at the pub soon to meet with some reporter staying in town. He’d meant to be back hours ago but just as he was getting ready to leave they’d caught a case. A fucking strange one at that, even by Mercy standards.

  His brow creased into a frown as he tipped his head back under the spray to rinse. A sudden and unexplained death had been called in and for the life of him he just couldn’t figure it out. They’d been called to the apartment of a well-liked middle-aged woman named Bianca Shepherd. At first it appeared that they were dealing with a suicide, a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the temple.

  If only it had been that simple.

  The problem was, Bianca may have died from a gunshot wound to the temple, but it couldn’t have been suicide because the gun was nowhere to be found. There was also no gunshot residue on or surrounding her and there was no goddamn bullet. It was another JFK magic bullet scenario, the bullet had entered her temple, drilled through her brain and blown out the back of her head. Following the trajectory of the exit wound they should have found a bullet embedded in the wall behind her, but there was nothing, not so much as a nick in the paint.

  That wasn’t even the weirdest part. She was found in a locked apartment… locked, and dead bolted from the inside. There couldn’t have been anyone else in the apartment but if she was alone, where the hell was the gun and bullet?

  It made no sense.

  He should tell Tammy; a couple of months ago he would have. They talked about everything, not just as the Chief of Police and the Town Mayor, but as a man and woman, as confidants, as friends… as partners.

  It felt as if all that was gone now. He wasn’t even sure how she’d take it if he did tell her. She seemed as distant and unreachable as the moon. It was as if she’d just stopped caring.

  Washing his body quickly he shut the cooling water off and dried himself, strolling unapologetically naked into the bedroom to dress.

  By the time he’d stepped back into the other room Tammy was still standing in front of the mirror staring at her reflection, her expression indecipherable.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Mac rumbled, his voice low and gravelly.

  She turned to look at him, blinking slowly before finally nodding. Pulling on a heavier winter coat Mac watched as she picked up a walking stick and limped slowly and painfully toward the door.

  His throat felt tight and achy every time he watched her struggle in silent pain with the injuries he’d been unable to prevent. Another wave of guilt rolled in his stomach. It was his fault. If he’d been honest with her from the start, if she hadn’t found out about his involvement with the Veritas the way she had, she wouldn’t have run from the apartment that morning, wouldn’t have run from him and straight into the grip of a psychotic demon.

  ‘Are you coming or not?’ she asked without even turning back to look at him.

  Grabbing his own jacket, he followed her out of the apartment locking the door behind them.

  ‘Ahem.’

  Jackson looked up from the glass he was drying and glanced around. Unable to see anyone he plucked another glass from the dishwasher and ran the cloth over it, checking it carefully for water marks.

  ‘AHEM,’ the sound of a throat bei
ng pointedly cleared came a little louder.

  Setting the glass down on the shelf Jackson leaned over the bar and looked down. Standing there glaring at him was a man no taller than perhaps four feet, his short stature and disproportionate limbs clearly indicating that he’d been born with some form of dwarfism.

  The man stared up at Jackson with dark penetrating eyes. He was sharply dressed in an expensive suit and wore his deep blue shirt open at the collar, minus a tie. His face held the barest hint of a stubble and seemed to be by design rather than by lack of personal grooming. Likewise, his hair, thick and full, with dark chocolate waves, was styled to portray a carelessly disorganized sweep. When he reached out and climbed effortlessly up onto the barstool, his legs dangled, ending in very expensive designer shoes. He glanced down at his Tag Heuer watch and lifted one heavy dark brow in displeasure before turning back to Jackson.

  ‘My apologies,’ Jackson smiled disarmingly, ‘I’m afraid I didn’t see you there.’

  ‘Isn’t it the job of a good bartender to notice everything?’

  ‘Ah, you have me there,’ he answered easily without a trace of self-consciousness. ‘I’m afraid I have been a little preoccupied today… Jackson Murphy,’ he held out his hand.

  The man looked down at his outstretched hand for a moment before reached out and gripped it, giving a brief shake before letting go.

  ‘Dominick Savage.’

  ‘Ah,’ Jackson nodded, ‘you’d be Roni’s reporter friend.’

  ‘Hardly,’ he replied, ‘I barely know the woman. She wouldn’t stop harassing me until I visited this… little town.’

  He offered the last two words with a mixture of distaste and boredom, suggesting that if he’d seen one little town he’d seen them all.

  ‘That’s our Roni,’ Jackson laughed, ‘she’s tenacious when she gets an idea into her head.’

  ‘She’s something alright,’ he muttered.

  ‘Can I get you a glass of wine then?’ Jackson asked.

  ‘Wine,’ he raised an eyebrow. ‘Do I look like Tyrion fucking Lannister to you?’

  ‘No,’ Jackson replied with a straight face, ‘if you did I’d offer you a casket of wine and three of my best whores.’

  Dominik’s mouth twitched slightly at the corner.

  ‘What’s that?’ he nodded his head toward the two huge urns set up behind the bar

  ‘A delight to the senses.’

  Jackson turned and filled a tankard from one of the urns, setting it on the bar in front of his guest. Dominik stared down at the old-fashioned tankard and then looked back up at Jackson.

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘I could find one with a Lion crest on it if it would make you feel more at home.’

  This time Dominik did smile.

  He grasped the handle and lifted it to his lips, taking a deep swig. Setting it down on the bar he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

  ‘It’s good,’ he frowned, ‘really good. What is it?’

  ‘Peach and Apple cider,’ Jackson replied, ‘from a local supplier, James Wilkins Orchards, just on the outskirts of Danvers. The recipe is nearly three hundred years old, passed from generation to generation, and as you can tell it’s really good warmed for the winter. But take my word for it, its amazing chilled too.’

  ‘What’s in the other?’ he nodded in the direction of the second urn.

  ‘Wilkins Applejack; that too is excellent.’

  Dominik nodded and lifted the tankard, taking another deep satisfying gulp before wrapping his hands around the warm metal.

  Jackson looked up as the doors to the kitchen swung open and Shelley walked out holding a tray of steaming bowls.

  Dominik observed in interest, noting the way Jackson’s expression softened as he watched Shelley serving customers.

  ‘You’re from Ireland then?’ he asked. ‘County Clare unless I’m mistaken.’

  ‘You’ve a good ear,’ Jackson nodded.

  ‘I travel a lot.’

  ‘So I hear, how’s your room?’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Dominik lifted his tankard to his lips, ‘but then again I’ve slept in some real shit holes.’

  Jackson’s brow rose.

  ‘That didn’t come out right did it?’ Dominik actually smiled, ‘I meant the room’s fine. I didn’t expect much from this town.’

  Dominik glanced over as Jackson watched him silently.

  ‘Look I’m sure it’s nice for you, but from a tourism point of view it hasn’t got much to offer. I mean the whole witchcraft/magic thing has been done to death round here. There’s nothing really special about this place, not when you’ve got the real thing an hour’s drive away.’

  ‘The real thing?’ Jackson repeated.

  ‘Salem has the witch trials and all the history to back it up. It’s well known, and people gravitate toward it. Mercy has none of that, just the story that it was founded by Hester West and her sister Bridget who apparently were survivors of the Salem trials.’

  ‘You’ve done your homework.’

  ‘I have, and nowhere in all the records I’ve found does it state that Hester and Bridget ever lived in Salem.’

  ‘They were in hiding,’ Jackson replied, ‘from what I understand they lived out in the woods on the outskirts.’

  ‘Doesn’t help sell the story,’ Dominik finished his drink. ‘People are fickle. They like tangible truth, they like sex, murder and torture with their history. What you’ve got here is a quaint little town with a bit of gossip about witches. There’s nothing here.’

  ‘Then why are you here?’ Jackson asked curiously.

  ‘Because Miss Mason wouldn’t let me say no. It’s not often I get someone who’ll stand up to me. She interests me, so I figured I’d come and look at her little town.’

  ‘I think if you give it a chance it will grow on you Dominik,’ a familiar voice spoke up behind him.

  He swiveled in his seat turning to find Roni standing behind him, Jake at her side.

  ‘I doubt it, Miss Mason,’ Dominik nodded.

  ‘Stranger things have happened,’ Jake murmured.

  ‘I’ve told you, it’s Roni,’ she replied, ‘and this is Jake.’

  ‘Pleasure,’ Dominik took Jake’s outstretched hand.

  Jackson’s eyes suddenly widened as he watched the empty tankard slide a fraction of an inch along the bar while Dominik continued to talk to Roni and Jake. As it jolted and slid again, Jackson’s hand shot out and snatched it up just as Dominik turned back around.

  ‘Uh another?’ Jackson asked as Dominik’s gaze fell on the tankard in his hands.

  ‘I’ll try the Applejack this time,’ he nodded.

  ‘Tammy should be here soon,’ Roni announced drawing his attention back to her. ‘Oh good, here she is now.’

  Dominik glanced across the pub and watched as a slim elegant woman in her forties limped across the room with the aid of a cane. A tall well-built man, with a dark stubbled jaw and dark hair winged at the temples with grey, followed alongside her, almost hovering protectively over her. Easily able to read people, he’d have pegged them as a couple, but there was something about their body language which seemed off.

  ‘Mr Savage,’ Tammy held out her hand.

  ‘Mayor Burnett,’ he inclined his head as he shook her hand.

  ‘This is Layton Macallister, our Chief of Police.’

  ‘Mac,’ he extended his hand and shook it.

  Dominik glanced down at the cane Tammy was leaning heavily on.

  ‘A car accident a few months ago,’ Tammy lied easily with a smile, showing no trace of her earlier mood.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Shall we?’ Mac asked, ‘I believe we have a table booked at Giuliano’s?’

  He glanced at Roni who nodded in confirmation.

  ‘Actually,’ Dominik glanced around the pub, at the merrily snapping fireplace at the far wa
ll, the warm polished cherry wood tables and chairs and the cozy booths. He sniffed the air and was rewarded with the tantalizing scent of whatever was cooking in the kitchen, ‘do you mind if we stay here?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Tammy answered easily, ‘Roni?’

  ‘It’s fine,’ she pulled her phone from her purse. ‘I’ll just call and cancel our reservation.’

  Shelley suddenly appeared by Jackson drawing his attention.

  ‘Shelley love, have we a table?’ he asked.

  ‘Um,’ her gaze scanned over the group, ‘five of you?’

  ‘Aye,’ Jackson nodded. ‘Shelley this is our guest Dominik Savage.’

  ‘The travel reporter?’ she smiled warmly, ‘I’ve read your blog.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he replied, ‘Sally was it?’

  ‘Shelley,’ she corrected as her smile dimmed a little.

  He nodded and turned his attention back to the rest of the pub, watching the customers with interest.

  Shelley glanced over at Roni who rolled her eyes in solidarity.

  ‘Well,’ Shelley turned to Jackson, ‘the large booth is almost ready. Nancy’s just cleaning down the table and then it’ll be free.’

  ‘Perfect,’ Jackson nodded.

  ‘Okay then, I’ll just go and…’ her voice trailed off and her mouth fell open in shock, her eyes wide.

  Jackson glanced over following her gaze and his stomach jolted in shock. There was a strange woman sitting at the edge of the bar. She was sipping a drink from a cocktail glass, and was dressed in a vintage dress and heels, with her dark hair scooped up into deep waves and victory rolls at her temples. She glanced over at them and smiled as she continued to sip her drink, but what really shook them to the core was that she was completely colorless. It was as if she was part of a black and white film reel, even her lips and her fingernails, which should have been a murderous red, appeared dark grey.

  Jake glanced over and blinked, holding his shock in check as he watched silently. Roni squeaked slightly as she spoke on the phone but managed to cover it with a cough. Both Tammy and Mac stared at the woman, their expressions almost identically indecipherable.