Charlaine Harris (67 page)

“I don't want to leave this bed, either,” he said and kissed me. His hand released mine to skim across my ribs. “But I'm exhausted, too.”

“Oh, poor thing. Did I wear you out?”

“I'm a shadow of myself.”

“That's funny, you feel substantial enough,” I said, rubbing my hand across his (okay, flat and muscular) belly.

“Woman, I need fuel,” he said. “If I'm going to keep up with your insatiable demands.”

“You haven't even met insatiable yet,” I said. Then I dropped the smile. “I can't believe we did it, Tolliver. This is all I ever wanted.”

“Me, too. But my metabolism is telling me to eat first and talk later.”

I kissed him. “So shall it be.” I slid my sweatpants back on and made a dash for the bathroom. Fifteen excruciatingly cold minutes later, I was more or less clean, and I was wearing several layers of clean clothes. I had on two pairs of socks and some rubber boots that Tolliver had pulled off the shelf at Wal-Mart the day before. While Tolliver took his turn in the bathroom, I looked on the shelves above the stove to find a cheap metal pan. I put some water in it and set it on a level place in the large fire. When there was a chance the water was fairly warm, I used Tolliver's folded-over sweatshirt to get the pan off the fire and I poured the hot water into two mugs with powdered hot chocolate in them. We had some Pop-Tarts. Sugar would help restore our energy.

Tolliver smiled when he saw a little steam coming up from the mugs. “Aw, that's great,” he said. “Wonder Woman.” We sat in the two chairs closest to the fire and drank and ate while we listened to the battery-powered radio. The roads were in terrible condition, and though the temperature would rise above freezing by the midafternoon, roads wouldn't be clear until the next morning. Even then, they'd be patched with ice. Power crews were out repairing downed power lines, which should be reported, and checking on isolated farms. Citizens were urged to check on their elderly neighbors. I glanced out the window. “The Hamiltons are okay, Tolliver,” I said.

“Have you tried your cell phone?” he asked.

When I turned it on, I had a few messages.

The first one was from Manfred.

“Hey, Harper, my grandmother got real sick late yesterday, and she's in the hospital here in Doraville,” Manfred said. The second message was from Twyla, hoping we were okay out there at the cabin. The third message was from Manfred. “It would be great if you and Tolliver would stop by; there are some issues about Grandmother I'd like to talk about,” he said, very much as though he were trying to sound adult but not quite achieving it.

“That sounds bad,” I said. “That sounds like turning-off-the-machines bad.”

“Do you think we can make it into town?” Tolliver said. “I'm not even sure we can make it up the driveway.”

“Did you not notice that I moved the car before the storm hit? It's up by the road.”

“Where anyone trying to drive on that narrow road can bash it?”

“Where we won't have to get up an icy slope in it and possibly end up in the lake.” Apparently, happy sex and our altered relationship didn't preclude our occasional squabble.

“Okay, that was a good idea,” he said. “We'll see if we can get into town around noon, when whatever's going to melt has melted.”

Somehow we never got around to talking further about what had happened between us, and somehow that was okay. Tolliver got restless, which I'd expected, and he bundled up and went outside to help Ted Hamilton for an hour or two. When he came back up the stairs, I could hear him stomping snow and ice off his boots. I was reading by the fire, and I was getting a little stir-crazy. I looked up expectantly, and he came over and bent to give me a casual kiss on the cheek, just as if we'd been married for years.

“Your face is freezing,” I said.

“My face is frozen,” he corrected me. “Did you call Manfred? We saw a car go by while we were out there working, and they made it okay.”

“I'll call him now,” I said, and found I had to leave a message on Manfred's voice mail.

“Probably has it turned off while he's inside the hospital,” Tolliver said.

I opened my mouth to ask a few questions about our new relationship, and once again I saw the wisdom of closing it. After all, why would Tolliver know any more about it than me?

I relaxed and let the tension drain away. We would make this up as we went along. We didn't have to send out announcements. I did have a sudden awful thought. “Ah, this new thing we've got may be a little confusing for our sisters,” I said.

I could tell from the expression on Tolliver's face that this hadn't occurred to him. “Yeah,” he said. “You know…you're right about that. Mariella and Gracie…oh, God. Iona.”

Our aunt Iona—well, strictly speaking, my aunt Iona—had gotten guardianship of our two half sisters, who were much younger than us. Iona and her husband were raising the girls in as different a way as possible from the life they'd led with my parents. And in a way, they were absolutely right. It was much better to be brought up as a fundamentalist Christian than as a kid who didn't know what a real meal was, a kid at the mercy of whatever scum our parents let into the trailer. Because that was the way I'd been brought up after my preteen years. Mariella and Gracie were well clothed, well fed, and clean. They had a stable home to come back to every day, and they had rules to follow. These were great things, and if their early years led them to rebel against this regimen now and then, well, so be it. We were trying to build bridges to the girls, but it was uphill work.

Iona's reaction to our new relationship hardly bore thinking about. “Ah, I guess that's a bridge we'll have to cross when we come to it,” I said.

“We're not hiding anything,” Tolliver said, with sudden firmness. “I'm not going to even attempt it.”

That had a very nice permanent sound to it. I'd been sure how I felt, but it's always nice to know your partner is feeling the same way. I let out a silent sigh of relief.

“No hiding,” I said.

We ate peanut butter sandwiches for lunch. “Ted's wife probably whipped up a four-course heart-healthy meal on a woodstove,” I said.

“Hey, you eat heart healthy most of the time.”

My eating habits had gone by the wayside while we stayed in Doraville, for one reason or another. I'd have to resume them soon. With variable health problems like I had, it paid to stave off as much as I could by following good rules.

“How's your leg?” Tolliver asked, following the same train of thought.

“Pretty good,” I said, extending my right leg and rubbing the quads. “I can tell I haven't been running in a few days, though.”

“When do you get to leave off the cast?”

“Five weeks, the doctor said. We'll have to try to be in St. Louis then, so I can check with our doctor there.”

“Great.” Tolliver smiled so broadly that I knew he was thinking of several things that would be much easier when my arm healed.

“Hey, come here,” he said. He was sitting on the floor in front of the fire, leaning back against a chair. He patted the floor between his legs, and I eased myself against him. He put his arms around me. “I can't believe I can do this now,” he said. If my heart could have wagged its tail, it would have. “It's okay to touch you. I can touch you as much as I want. I don't have to think twice every time.”

“Were you really thinking twice?”

“I thought I might scare you off.”

“Same here.”

“Idiots.”

“Yeah, but now we're okay.”

We sat there in contentment until Tolliver told me his leg was asleep, and we figured if we were ever going to try to go into town, the time was right.

SEVERAL
times during the trip into town, I was almost sorry I'd turned on my cell phone and gotten Manfred's message. That was the most frightening driving experience I've ever had. Tolliver managed it, but he said every bad word in his vocabulary, even a few I didn't quite understand. We met one other car on our journey, and it was filled with teenage boys, who all have a built-in death wish. As soon as I thought that, I remembered the boys in the frozen ground, and I was sorry.

There were mighty few visitors' cars parked in the hospital parking lot. Snow had covered the sodden yard around the little building, so it looked almost pretty. When we went in, the reception lady was not at her desk, so we wandered back until we found a nurses' station. We inquired there about Xylda Bernardo.

“Oh, the psychic lady,” the nurse said, looking a bit impressed. “She's in ICU. Her grandson is in the ICU waiting area, if you want to see him.” She gave us directions, and we found Manfred sitting with his head in his hands. He was in one of those waiting areas that's just a little nook lined with chairs and littered with coffee cups and old magazines. It looked as though the hospital cleaning staff hadn't made it in this morning. That wasn't good.

“Manfred,” I said. “Tell us what's happening with Xylda?”

He raised his head and we could see his eyes were red. His face was tear-stained.

“I don't understand,” he said. “She was better. She kind of collapsed last night, but this morning she was better. The doctor had been in to see her. The minister came and prayed with us. They were going to move her to a regular room. Then she just—I left just for a minute, just to get some coffee and use the phone—and when I came back she was in a coma.”

“I'm so sorry,” I said. There's really nothing you can say that'll make the situation any better, is there?

“What does the doctor say?” Tolliver asked. I sat beside Manfred and put my hand on his shoulder. Tolliver sat at right angles to us and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. I looked at his face, so serious, so focused, and I felt a wave of love that almost knocked me over. I had to concentrate to get my mind back on Manfred and Xylda's misfortune.

“It's the same doctor that saw you, Harper,” Manfred said. “The guy with white hair. He seems okay. He says he doesn't think she's going to wake up. He doesn't know why she took such a turn, but he says he's not surprised. It's all…it doesn't seem definite enough. No one's telling me exactly what's happening with her. I thought medicine was sharper than that now.”

“Have you called your other relatives?”

“My mother is on her way. But in the traffic conditions between Tennessee and here, there's no way she'll get here before Grandmother passes away.”

This was awful. “Your mom's relying on you to make the decisions?”

“Yeah. She says she knows I'll do the right thing.”

What a great thing for a mother to say, but what a huge responsibility.

“I was hoping,” Manfred said after a long moment, “if you could go in to see her, you'd be able to give me some advice.” He was looking at me when he said this, and he said it very seriously. I understood what he meant, after a moment. He wanted to know if her soul was still there.

Okay. I was cringing inside, but I nodded.

He showed me the door to the ICU unit, which of course was quite small at such a little hospital. I thought Xylda would benefit from going to somewhere larger with more machines—isn't that what it boils down to?—but there was no way to get her there. Nature had overthrown technology once again. That seemed amazing to me, as I looked at all the machines Xylda Bernardo was connected to. They silently recorded everything that was going on inside her; and yet, when Manfred wanted to know something as basic as whether or not his grandmother's soul was still attached to her body, he had to ask me to do it.

I held Xylda's limp hand for a moment, but it wasn't necessary for the task that had been set me. Xylda's soul was still there. I was almost sorry. It would have simplified the decisions ahead for her family if her soul had already departed.

Barney Simpson stuck his head in the door and looked at me quizzically.

“I thought we'd kicked you out,” he said, keeping his voice low out of respect for the quiet figure on the bed.

“You make visits to the patients in the ICU?”

“No, to the families of those patients. I saw someone in here, so I came to check.”

“I'm just standing in for her grandson for a minute,” I said.

“You're a good friend. This is the other lady, right?”

“Xylda Bernardo. The psychic. Yes.”

“She told the law enforcement people about Chuck Almand.”

After a second, I nodded. That was more or less true.

“Yes.”

“What an extraordinary talent,” Simpson said. He ran a hand over his bushy dark hair, trying to tame it, but he didn't have any luck.

“She's definitely out of a different mold,” I said. I took a step toward the door. I wanted to report back to Manfred. Simpson stood back to let me pass. A nurse went by us as she entered Xylda's room. “You again,” she said to Simpson. “Can't get rid of you today.”

“Nope. My car's iced in,” he said, smiling.

“Oh, so your stay isn't voluntary,” she said.

“I'd love to go home.”

So would I.

By the time I reached Manfred, Barney Simpson had continued on with his round of visiting.

“She's still intact,” I said. Manfred closed his eyes, whether in dismay or gratitude I couldn't imagine.

“Then I'll wait in there with her,” he said. “Until she goes.”

“What can we do for you?” Tolliver asked.

Manfred looked at him with an expression that almost broke my heart. “Nothing,” he said. “You've claimed her, I can see. But having you two as friends is good, and I'm really grateful you made the effort to get into town to see us. Where are you staying?”

We told him about the lake cottage. He smiled at the story of the Hamiltons. “When you two leaving?” he asked. “I guess the cops have cut you loose?”

“I guess we'll leave tomorrow,” I said. “But we'll come by the hospital to check on you before we go. Sure there's nothing I can get you?”

“Since the hospital still has electricity,” Manfred said, “the shoe may be on the other foot. You can get hot food here. The cafeteria is open.”

The phrase “hospital cafeteria” didn't sound very appetizing, but “hot food” did. We coaxed Manfred into going with us, and we ate hot biscuits with gravy poured over them, and some hamburger steak, and some green beans. I had to swear to myself I'd do double running the next week.

At the last minute, I almost turned back to stay with Manfred. He seemed so alone. But he said, “There's no point in you staying here, Harper, as much as I appreciate the offer. There's just sitting and waiting here, and I can do that on my own. My mother should be here tomorrow morning, if the roads clear. I'll step out of Grandmother's room from time to time to check my voice mail.”

I gave Manfred a hug, and Tolliver shook his hand. “We'll come if you need us, man,” he said, and Manfred nodded.

“I don't think she'll last the night,” he said. “She's tired out. But at least she had a last moment in the sun yesterday. She told me she thought the boy definitely killed the animals, but that something else was going on there, too.”

“Like what?” I'd been moving away, but now I turned back to face Manfred. This was bad news.

He shrugged. “She never told me. She said the whole property was surrounded by a swamp of evil.”

“Hmmm.” Well, “swamp of evil” sounded pretty bad. What could Xylda have meant? See, this is what makes me nuts about psychics.

“She used a different word.”

“Than what?”

“Than swamp. She called it a…miasma? Is that a word?”

Manfred wasn't stupid, but he wasn't much of a reader, either. “Yeah, it is. It means, like, a thick unpleasant atmosphere, right, Tolliver?”

Tolliver nodded.

Had I missed something, like a body? Had I made a mistake? The idea was so strong, so shocking, that I hardly noticed the bitter cold as we made our way to our car. “Tolliver, we've got to go back to that property.”

He looked at me as if I were nuts. “In this weather, you want to go poke around private property?” he asked, getting all his objections in one sentence.

“I know the weather is wrong for this. But Xylda…”

“Half the time Xylda was an old fraud, and you know it.”

“She wouldn't be about this.” A thought occurred to me. “Do you remember when we were in Memphis, she said, ‘In the time of ice you'll be so happy?'”

“Yeah,” he said. “I do remember that. And it is the time of ice and up until you wanted to go trespassing, I was happy.” He didn't look happy. He looked worried. “As a matter of fact, I wanted to go back to the cabin and stoke up the fire and get happy again.”

I smiled. I couldn't help it. “Why don't we just ask?” I said.

“Just ask this guy if we can look over his property again? Just ask him if he snuck some bodies in there while we weren't looking? Because there's a miasma of evil around it?”

“Okay, I get your point. I just think we have to do something.”

Tolliver had started the car the minute we got in and the heater was finally working. I bent over a little to let the hot air blow directly on my face.

“We'll go by, have a look,” he said, very reluctantly.

“Then we'll follow your plan about the cabin.”

“Okay, that part sounds good.”

We traced our route of yesterday and alternately slid and bumped our way through the nearly deserted streets to the back of Tom Almand's property. The area where all the police and media vehicles had parked was a churned-up mess, the black mud hardened into a sea filled with black crests. Tolliver parked where it would be very hard to see our car from the house. I got out of the car and moved carefully to the barn. What had I missed there?

Inside the barn, the air was cold and still and stale, and there were several holes in the dirt floor. This was where the sacrificed animals had been exhumed. I thought about the boy, Chuck, but then I banished the picture of his sad eyes from my mind, and I concentrated on opening myself to the vibration that came uniquely from the dead—the human dead.

When I opened my eyes, Chuck Almand was standing in front of me.

“Oh, God, you scared me, boy!” I said, raising a gloved hand to my throat.

He was wearing heavy boots and a heavy coat, a hat and gloves and a scarf, so he was appropriately dressed for the weather, at least.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “Did you think you'd missed something?”

“Yes,” I said. I had no reasonable story to tell. “Yes, I wondered if I'd missed something.”

“You thought there might be dead people here?”

“I was checking.”

“There aren't any. They're all dug up, out at Davey's old farm.”

“You don't know of any others?”

His eyes flickered then, and I heard someone else outside. Thank God.

The door of the barn opened, and my brother came in. “Hey, Chuck,” he said casually. “Honey, you finished?”

“Yeah, I think so,” I said. “Negative results, like we expected.”

Chuck Almand's light, bright eyes were fixed on me. “Don't be scared of me,” he said.

“I don't believe I am,” I said, trying to smile. And it was true I wasn't exactly frightened of the boy. But I did feel very uncomfortable around him, and I was concerned about him in an impersonal kind of way.

Then I heard another voice calling from outside, “Chuck! Hey, buddy, you in there? Who's here?” To my bewilderment, Chuck's face changed in the blink of an eye, and the boy punched me in the stomach as hard as he could. His lips moved as he hit; I saw them on my way down to the floor.

“Get out of here!” he screamed as I stared up at him from my kneeling position on the cold dirt. “Get out! You're trespassing!”

Tom Almand dashed in, the door to the old barn creaking and groaning as it kept moving after he'd shoved it. “Son, son! Oh, my God, Chuck, what did you do?”

Tolliver was at my side, helping me up. “You little son of a bitch,” he said to the boy before me. “Don't touch her again. She wasn't doing anything to you.”

I didn't say anything, I only stared up into his eyes, my good arm across my middle. He might hit me again. I wanted to be ready this time.

But the only thing that happened was a lot of talk. Tom Almand apologized over and over. Tolliver made it clear he wasn't going to let anyone else pound on me. He also made it clear that he didn't want the boy anywhere around me again. Tom thought we shouldn't have been trespassing. Tolliver said the police had been glad to welcome us here to this same spot the day before. Tom informed us that it wasn't the day before and that we needed to get the hell off his property. Tolliver said we'd be glad to, and he was lucky we weren't calling the police to report his son's assault on my person.