A Kiss Beneath the Veil (6 page)

Daphne
stared up at Isaac’s face, dumfounded by this revelation. For a second she
almost asked if he was kidding, but his eyes were tense and serious as he hovered
over her. A living nightmare? And what did that make the dead Garmorlgan child?
Daphne wondered if it would be free to move on once her murder was avenged.

“But Emma
was flesh and blood. If the Garmorlgan are all flesh and blood, couldn’t they
be hit by a bus driven by a goblin and die? Why does it have to be a human?” she
asked. A lot about the night breeds didn’t actually make sense. The Human
Relations Council tried to pretty them up and make the breeds appear to fit
within their accepted boundaries of science, but Daphne knew different. She’d
seen things through the eyes of the people she channeled that didn’t fit within
the realm of human understanding. A lot of it could be explained away by the
basic weirdness of ghosts, but some of it just couldn’t.

“The force
that binds them into flesh and blood beings is drawn directly from humanity’s
dreams. As long as people are born and live and age, so too will the
Garmorlgan. But, nightmares can be beaten. You see? It wasn’t the killer’s
hands that took Emma’s life, it was his intention,” Isaac said.

“Okay,”
Daphne murmured. Not much point asking for more details, better to just accept
it and move on. “So, why did we leave like that? Could Mrs. Berkley hurt us?”

“Consider
the nature of nightmares. They generate fear, growing stronger and bigger the
more frightened you are of them. That is also how the Garmorlgan feeds. It
isn’t likely that Mrs. Berkley would try to feed on you, but I will not take
any chances with your security,” Isaac said, frowning down at her and tracing
her own furrowed brow lightly.

“Thanks,” she
said quietly, grateful that he was looking out for her. Isaac’s eyes softened
as they traced her features. She could see it in those pale blue eyes, the “I
love you” he wasn’t saying. She cleared her throat, trying not to get lost there
and actually start enjoying it.
Moving on...
“So that means the
scarecrow really is a human. I wouldn’t have thought so after seeing him.”

“Describe
this creature to me again,” Isaac asked, standing to pace at the end of her
bed.

“Well, his
face was covered with something like burlap. You know, the stuff scarecrows are
made of. And he wore jeans and gloves and a button down shirt. And he was super
thin, like a stick figure,” Daphne said, picturing the man as he shambled toward
Emma. Something had begun to bother her about that walk...

 “
...needs
me to be a killer then, hey, I’ll be a killer.”

“Who needs
him to be a killer?” she asked absently.

Isaac had
stopped pacing and was staring at her solemnly.

“Perhaps you
do,” he said.

Daphne
reared back as though he’d slapped her. “What do you mean? You don’t think I
have anything to do with this, do you?” she asked. First Mark, then Isaac. What
was this, the Salem Witch Hunts, take two? Now murders would be blamed on the
medium channeling the victims? Mark’s innuendo meant nothing to her, but
somehow Isaac’s cut her to the quick.

She was
ready to throw him out, or burst into tears and hadn’t decided which would feel
better when he quickly scooped her into his embrace and reassured her.

“Of course
not! But these clues lead me to believe that the killer is performing these acts
to attract your attention,” he said quickly, smoothing his fingers through her
hair and kissing her temple gently. She absorbed his reassurance for a long
moment before pulling away.

“You think someone
is killing kids to get me to notice them? Who would do something like that...”
she asked, but she’d just arrived at the same conclusion that Isaac had moments
before her.

Mark.

But could he
really have killed those children so viciously as a way to maintain contact
with her?

She pictured
the scarecrow’s ultra-thin appearance and his lazy, loose jointed walk. Fear
and disgust made her breath come in quick pants. The first child had been
killed not long after she moved to Rockford. Mark had come to her the next day,
asking her for help. They’d worked closely together on the case ever since.

Could the
murderer have actually said “If
she
needs me to be a killer...
”?
Did Mark think that the only way to keep contact with her was through her work
channeling the dead?

“Oh god,
Isaac! Could it really be him?! I’ve seen him almost every day for the last
year. I’ve sat beside him and talked about the children. And all the while he
may have been the one killing them?!” Daphne gasped on a sob. She covered her
face, unable to bear the thought that she’d had some, albeit unknowing, part in
the death of so many kids.

“We don’t
know for sure, Daphne. Please, love, don’t imagine you’re responsible in any
way for what he’s done. Evil needs no justification. Just because it points its
finger at you, it doesn’t change the truth. You are innocent,” Isaac said
firmly, pulling her hands away and staring into her eyes. “We’re going to stop
him. But first we need to know for sure if the killer is really Mark or not.”

Daphne tried
to take Isaac’s words to heart, but all that she could see were the faces of
the children and Mark’s cold stare the last time they’d met. If he’d killed to
get her attention when she was single, what would Mark do now that he knew she
was seeing someone else?

“Isaac-” she
cried, visions of mass murder entering her head.

“I know. We
need to draw him out. Now,” he said, handing her phone over as his eyes slitted
in preparation for the hunt.

####

Daphne’s
hair blew into her face and stuck to her damp cheeks. She pulled it free and
rubbed the tears from her eyes again. The rhythmic creak-squeak of the swing
she sat on was the only sound in the dark playground. Most of the park was
black as pitch with only its edges lit by the distant glow of streetlights. No
lighting had been added near the equipment, probably to discourage kids from
playing there at night. Daphne thought it only
en
couraged trolling
molesters to hide there.

She’d called
Mark fifteen minutes ago crying - no acting there - telling him that Isaac had
tried to take advantage of her and that she needed a ride home. He said he’d
leave to get her immediately, but to hang tight because he was driving from the
other side of town.

Daphne
imagined she’d caught him out hunting for a new victim. She didn’t want to
believe Mark was capable of killing anyone, but giving him the benefit of the
doubt was getting harder the longer she sat in the dark with her fears. And as
the minutes ticked by that fear of him grew, but Isaac was watching from
nearby. He’d told her that he could be at her side in the time it took Mark to
blink, let alone get his hands on her. Daphne trusted Isaac totally, a fact she
briefly marveled over. Had she actually been running from him just twenty-four
hours ago? She squinted at the hedge that Isaac had disappeared behind and saw
something flash from the shadows, helping her relax. It was the wink of glowing
eyes.

Headlights
from a car lit over her briefly as it parked nearby. Daphne’s heart skipped a
beat and she jerked as though her body were trying to dash off without her.

He can’t
hurt me. He can’t hurt me.

Her
whispered mantra ended on a gasp as the scarecrow she’d been fearing materialized
at the edge of the playground. Daphne couldn’t have screamed if she tried as
her breath seized in her throat, which was a good thing, since the scarecrow
manifested slowly into Mark’s familiar form.

Lots of
people are thin, that doesn’t prove anything
...

She waved at
Mark in what she hoped was an encouraging manner, hoping her smile wasn’t as
distorted as it felt. He waved back and took a seat on the swing next to her.

“Th-Thanks
for coming so quickly,” she stuttered, swallowing hard against a mouth dry with
fear. Could he see how terrified she was of him? She kicked off and let the
swing glide back and forth, hoping she looked comfortable, watching Mark from
the corner of her eye in case he suddenly tried to choke her.

“Of course.
So, what’d the guy pull? You need me to rough him up for you?” Mark asked as he
rocked the swing with his feet on the ground.

She laughed
a little and really looked at Mark as she swung by. He seemed concerned, not
like a murderous psychopath as far as she could tell.

“No, he was
just a guy I used to know. Turns out I didn’t know him as well as I thought,” she
said. Which was actually true. Five years ago she’d judged Isaac based on her
own preconceived notions about love. Now she was finally seeing him for who he
truly was: a rescuer of dogs, a lover of hole-in-the-wall restaurants, and a man
with a constant heart. He’d never given up on her, seeing more value inside her
than she’d ever seen herself.

“Ah. Those
sorts of things are tough, we get time-warped and see people the way they were
instead of the way they are. I have a college friend like that. I know he’s
just a mean drunk who’s never going to go sober, but I keep helping him out. I can’t
seem to let go of the memory of him playing Frisbee with me freshman year,”
Mark said, trailing off with a crooked smile.

“Yeah,” she
agreed inadequately. This was the reason she’d always kept Mark as a “maybe”. He
really did seem like a great guy. He just wasn’t the guy for her.

When it
looked like he was on the verge of getting up to escort her home, she
remembered the plan and quickly skidded her swing to a stop. “Emma had more to
tell me tonight,” she said, watching him closely for his reaction. The darkness
hid the more subtle aspects of his expression. Had he looked startled? Afraid?
Or hopeful.

“When? What
did she say?” he asked, bending toward her and squinting.

Daphne
gulped, not wanting to be this close to him anymore.

“She
repeated part of something the killer said to her,” she told him, and mimicked
the murderer’s words. Daphne would have sworn that he flinched when she spoke.

“Does that
mean anything to you, Mark?” Daphne asked, flicking a glance toward Isaac’s
hiding place. He said that he could be there in a blink. He’d better be
watching Mark’s twitchy eyes closely.

“No....”
Mark said softly, drawing the word out as though speaking over some internal
argument. He finally looked back up at her then glanced quickly around the
park. “We shouldn’t be out in an unregulated section of town. Lemme drive you
home now,” he said, standing and shoving his hands in his pockets.

This was it.
This was the part of the plan that she was dreading. She had to go with him.

“Okay,” she
said. He didn’t seem to notice the breathy terror making her voice warbley, and
he didn’t offer her a hand up. Not that she needed it, but Isaac would have
offered. Daphne didn’t want to touch him anyway, she’d finally come to the
conclusion that he hid his hands in his pockets like the filthy murder weapons
that they were.

He was
already wandering away into the dark toward his car, not waiting for her to
keep up. His head swung back and forth, watchfully. Daphne just knew he was
scoping out the shadows for witnesses. She kept her fists knotted tight at her
sides, wanting him to just get on with it already. Wishing that he’d try
something now so that she didn’t have to get in the car with him.

But he
beeped the locks open and slid into the driver’s seat, starting the car before
she’d even opened the passenger door.

She fell
into the seat and turned her back to the door, watching him with wide eyes. He
didn’t look at her as they pulled away from the curb. Her behavior should have
been suspicious to a seasoned cop, but Mark just sped away without comment.

He was
totally the killer.

Daphne could
barely breathe, she felt like he already had his hands around her throat. A low
moan began to build inside her as Mark continued to stare straight ahead and
press the engine ten, then fifteen miles over the speed limit. As they drove
past the plate glass of a dark storefront she caught the flicker of something
that brought her heartbeat skipping back into a more normal rhythm. Isaac was
stretched across the roof of the car. He’d promised to stay with her, she just
hadn’t realized until now how he would accomplish that.   

Mark braked
and barely paused at the turn toward her house before blowing right past it.
Daphne couldn’t contain a yelp as he gunned it out of town.

“Mark! You
missed my turn, where are you taking me?” she asked, pressing herself tighter
against the door as Mark hunched over the wheel.

“I just have
to do something first, it can’t wait,” he muttered, shaking his head and
ringing his hands on the steering wheel till the leather creaked.

Like he
obviously planned on doing to her neck.

“Mark, you
don’t have to do this. You obviously need help-” she tried, but he cut her off.

“No! I should’ve
known. I
did
know. I was just too stubborn to admit it,” he said, his
lips pulling back from his teeth in a grimace akin to horror.