Dead Spots (20 page)

“But you're—” She stopped herself.

Grant's blue eyes lifted to stare into hers. Within their depths, she saw his sorrow. In some ways it perfectly mirrored her own. Maybe that was why he seemed to understand her grief. “Yes, I'm a bit worn down. Battered. But I'm better now that you are here.” The smile that followed was heartfelt and kind.

Mackenzie returned the gesture, her hand lightly touching his.

The banging on the door in the rear of the small kitchen startled them.

“Please!” a voice screamed. “Please open up!”

Mackenzie fumbled with her purse, searching for her knife, while Grant seized his walking stick.

“Please! I know you're in there! Please! Open up!” It was a female voice, young and terrified.

“Is it a wraith?”

“Most likely.” Grant inched toward the door.

“Please! Open the door! He's coming for me! I can't die again. Please! Please!” The frantic hammering shook the wooden door.

“Is she real? She sounds real.” Again, Mackenzie was torn between her desire to help and her own fears. The voice of the child screaming still haunted her even though she knew it had been part of a trap.

“Please,” the woman sobbed. “Please. I can't take much more. I just can't. I don't want to die again.”

The soul-crushing pain in the woman's voice sounded too much like her own after she'd lost her son and abolished Mackenzie's doubts. The emotional rawness of the woman's cries echoed as truth within Mackenzie. She darted past Grant to let the weeping woman in to their haven.

“Mackenzie, no!”

“I have to help.”

Mackenzie jerked open the door. On the stoop stood a young woman in a faded pink sundress, her blond hair darkened by the streams of rainwater running off from the tips. Her brown eyes were puffy from crying and her lips were blue from the cold.

“Please, he'll kill me again. I can't go through that again!” she wailed. “I just can't!”

Mackenzie reached out, snagged her arm, and yanked her inside. With an irritated sound, Grant slammed the door shut and locked it. Violently trembling, the young woman sank into the chair Mackenzie scooted toward her as her wild eyes searched their faces. Grant laid his jacket gently over her shivering shoulders.

“Thank you! Thank you!” she whispered gratefully. “Thank you for letting me in.”

Mackenzie slid into the chair next to the woman who appeared genuinely terrified. It was difficult for Mackenzie to see the desperation in the stranger's eyes and not be compelled to help. “I'm Mackenzie. That's Grant. Who are you, hon?”

“Tildy,” the young woman answered in a distinct East Texas accent.

Grant busied himself making coffee while Mackenzie pushed the remaining half of her cheese sandwich toward Tildy.

Waves of fear were rolling off the woman, pulling at Mackenzie's own anxieties. “Who's after you?”

Tildy snatched up the sandwich and ate hungrily. Around large bites, she said, “The Clown. He's why I got trapped in a dead spot. He follows me. Every time he kills me, he finds me so he can do it again.”

“Oh, Lord.”

“I sometimes get away for a few weeks, but then he finds me again.” Tildy rubbed her nose with her hand, wiping away snot and tears.

Mackenzie grabbed a towel off the nearby counter and handed it to her. “That's horrible. I'm so sorry.”

Shoving her wet hair back over her shoulders, Tildy scrubbed her face with the towel and blew her nose again. After giving Grant a wary look while he prepared a pot of coffee, Tildy regarded Mackenzie with fearful eyes. “You're real, right? I used to be able to tell, but I have trouble now. I get so riled up and nervous everything looks dark.”

“We're real,” Mackenzie assured her. “We're not wraiths.”

“Wraiths? You mean those black blobs that turn into monsters?” Tildy didn't ask for permission, but drank the rest of Grant's milk in one gulp.

“Yeah. Grant calls them wraiths. What the Clown is,” Mackenzie answered.

“Oh, no. The Clown ain't no wraith, hon.” Tildy shook her head adamantly. “The Clown is a person. A real person. I know because he's the asshole who kidnapped me when I was at the county fair in the real world. He knocked me out when I was walking to my car. When I came to he had me all tied up in the back of his van.”

Grant set a cup of coffee in front of Tildy and another sandwich. Tildy tore into the meal, gobbling it hungrily.

“So the Clown brought you into the dead spot?” Grant asked in a calm, soothing voice.

“Yeah. He … he dragged me into this old abandoned barn. And then it went really bat shit crazy.” Tears welled in her eyes as she gulped down the food with some difficulty. “That's when the dead spot got us.”

“How do you know about the dead spots?” Grant watched the newcomer thoughtfully. Mackenzie had the impression he didn't trust Tildy, but was at least willing to listen to her story.

“Honey, I have been in here long enough to know about the dead spots. The Clown killed me the night he trapped us here. I woke up in a field and took off running away from that damn barn. Along the way I ran into other people and a whole lot of monsters. I thought I was in hell at first, which made no sense because I'm a Baptist and was saved by Jesus. I learned about the dead spots from this old man in a truck. He set me straight after I asked him for a ride, but he said he couldn't take me with him. I was too messed up already, he said. So I kept running, but the Clown found me. He always finds me.”

“Did you just escape him?” Mackenzie asked, her heart rapidly beating in her chest. The story was too horrible not to be true and it frightened her. Grant refilled the woman's coffee cup and got up to make her yet another sandwich.

“You could say that,” Tildy said in a grim voice. “He killed me again today. I just woke up nearby. He'll be looking for me.” Her reddened eyes were glossy with tears and Mackenzie reached out to take her dirty hand. “It doesn't matter how far away I get. He always finds me. I know he kills others, but he has this special taste for me. He told me so.”

“Grant, this guy is a shadow, isn't he?” Mackenzie noted the stiffness in Grant's shoulders and his very controlled movements. She suspected he was upset that she was giving shelter to someone who was only going to put them in more danger.

“He's a fuckin' serial killer, that's what he is,” Tildy spat out. “He loves it. He always makes it go so damn slow. He likes to take his time and enjoy it. The pain … the pain…”

“You don't have to say any more.” Grant's voice was kind, but firm. “We believe your story.”

Tildy sipped the hot coffee, rubbing her hands against the ceramic when she set it down on the table. “Thank you. Thank you for taking me in.”

Mackenzie felt a little faint and she uneasily scrutinized the rainfall outside the windows. She thought of the two balloons she had seen since arriving and wondered if they were connected to the Clown. If so, the word “soon” may have been a warning, a threat, or a promise. Or all three.

The quiet sobs of the woman broke Mackenzie's heart. Leaning forward, she said, “We'll protect you, Tildy. I promise.”

“You're so good to take me in. Things aren't always as they appear in this world, you know.” Tildy lowered her voice in a conspiratorial manner.

“Yes, I know. Trust me. I've seen things that…” Mackenzie was at a loss for words. She felt foolish for even comparing her ghastly encounters with the wraiths to the terrible violence Tildy had experienced.

Grant set another sandwich and cup of coffee in front of Tildy. “Here you go.”

“Oh, God. I'm so grateful! To both of you! It's been so long since I had a real meal of any kind. The more I die the harder it's getting to shape anything useful.”

“That's the aftereffect of death in this world,” Grant answered in a gentle voice.

“Unlike the aftereffect in the real world. You know, staying dead.” Tildy shook her head in agitation. “I wish I would stay dead. I wish I would stay dead so it would all just stop!”

Not knowing what to say, Mackenzie clutched the other woman's hands while Tildy wept. Grant left them alone, and Mackenzie heard the old sofa in the living room squeak and the rustle of paper.

“You're so sweet to take me in,” Tildy managed to say after a few minutes.

“I'm just doing what I can.”

“You're new here, right? You can do all of this still.” Tildy's eyes darted over the room.

“Yeah. I've only been here a day.”

“A day?” Tildy gaped at her. “A day! Then you still don't know how bad it can get.”

“Probably not, though what I've gone through already is…” Mackenzie stopped herself. “It's nothing compared to what you're going through.”

“You have a much better handle on all this than I've ever had,” Tildy said in awe. “Look at this place! And you have that man with you, too. I just … I can't make anything like this happen for me. I just run. I just always run.”

“You're doing what you can,” Mackenzie said, trying to console her.

“I want to make it to the dream palaces, but I know they won't let me in.” Tildy sighed, her eyes gleaming wetly. “I'm ruined. Broken.”

Mackenzie wondered what a dream palace was, and was about to ask when a creak on the floor drew their attention to the doorway to the living room. Grant stood there, his expression inscrutable. “We need to go. The rain has let up. To keep ahead of the Clown, we best get moving.”

“You don't think we should let her clean up? Maybe get warm?” Mackenzie glanced at the forlorn woman worriedly. Tildy looked so bedraggled and afraid.

“Not if this Clown is after her. It's better for us to move on than stay here.” Grant gave her a pointed look, but Mackenzie wasn't sure what it meant. He disappeared into the living room.

Turning to Tildy, she saw the woman staring after Grant with a look of longing on her face. “I suppose you don't need to travel to a dream palace. You can make your own.”

“I don't under—”

“Let's go!” Grant called out.

Mackenzie pushed out her chair and stood to help Tildy up. The woman was still violently shivering and clutching Grant's jacket with her thin hands.

“I'm sorry to put you out like this, Mackenzie, but I just can't bear to die again. Not so soon.”

“I understand,” Mackenzie said soothingly. “Don't worry. We'll help you. There are three of us against one of him.” Mackenzie hoped that would be enough. She wasn't sure what it would be like to battle a living being in this terrible world.

“It's better odds than I usually have,” Tildy said, forcing a smile onto her face. She wasn't a pretty girl, but her smile was sweet.

Wrapping one arm around the woman's shoulders, Mackenzie guided her out of the kitchen and into the living room. Grant stood in the doorway staring out at the drive that led to the road. “It's clear. I don't see anyone. We better get going.”

Opening the door, Grant exited onto the porch, scrutinizing the area before motioning for them to follow. Their footsteps thumped over the porch. Stepping into the knee-high wet grass, Mackenzie listened to the soft patter of water drops falling from the trees lining the drive. It was a peaceful sound that belied the danger of their situation.

Tildy's feet were caked in mud, the straps of her leather sandals frayed and stained. The mud sucked at her feet and made it difficult for her to walk. Tildy didn't complain, but soldiered on, her thin arms crossed over her chest, her elbows and shoulders sticking out sharply against the fabric of Grant's jacket. Witnessing Tildy's discomfort, Mackenzie wished she could bring along the objects she restored in the dead spots.

The world around them was hushed. Even the roar of the tornado spinning on the horizon was strangely muted. There wasn't a breeze, but the air was crisp against Mackenzie's face. Huddled in Grant's jacket, Tildy slogged along behind the tall man with Mackenzie a step behind her.

When they arrived at the road, Grant spent a good minute or two scrutinizing the woods. Mackenzie and Tildy clustered close together watching and waiting for him to speak.

“Are we heading up toward Nacogdoches?” Tildy finally asked.

“We should keep heading south,” Grant said at last. “There is too much activity to the north and east.”

“You said there is somewhere safe for us to stay, right?” Mackenzie's fingers lightly touched the knife she had tucked into the side pocket of her purse. Its presence was reassuring.

“There's a motel somewhere up ahead,” Grant answered.

“Near the old amusement park. I hate that place.” Tildy pulled the jacket lapels, shivering from either the cool dampness in the air, or fear.

“An amusement park?” Mackenzie appealed to Grant with her eyes. “We can't. Isn't that like the perfect place for him to haunt?”

“This is the only road that will lead us away from where we have seen the worst activity today. There are hardly any towns or houses in this direction.” Grant tapped his walking stick against the pavement, his brow furrowed, and his expression frustrated. “I just don't see how we have a choice.”

“He's right.” Tildy's voice was barely above a whisper. Her dark eyes shifted about, surveying the dark woods and the ominous clouds above. “Besides, that asshole could be anywhere. Excuse my language.”

“Nothing to excuse.” Mackenzie withdrew the knife from her purse and stared at its scorched blade. Could she actually use it to defend herself and her companions against someone she knew was not a wraith? She hadn't thought twice about attacking the wraith imitating Tanner, but could she use the knife against an actual human being? Even if he was a serial killer? Deep within herself she knew the answer was that she could. Recognizing that aspect of herself made her uneasy.