Final Breath (18 page)

"I'd put up with that," Kyle told her.

Put up with that?
Though she was complaining, she secretly loved those idiosyncrasies. Those were the weird, quirky little things about Joe that no one else knew. She cherished them--beyond his good looks and good deeds. And if she thought about it too much, she couldn't help crying, because this man she loved so dearly had obviously done something vile and deplorable.

But she couldn't admit any of this to Kyle.

When her brother had to go back to Seattle at the end of that week, Sydney cried inconsolably. Yes, she was going to miss him, but there was another reason for her tears. There would be no more distraction, no more stalling. She would have to face this awful thing Joe had been hiding from her.

At the time, Sydney had thought she wouldn't see Kyle for at least another year. She'd had no idea when she'd put her brother on a plane at O'Hare, she would be seeing him again--and temporarily moving in with him--in only five weeks.

Sydney glanced in her rearview mirror as she turned down their street. Eli wordlessly reached up toward the sun visor to press the gate-opening device for the Tudor Court Apartments. She didn't think that gate would keep Number 59 out. If he was the one who had broken into their apartment on July Fourth, he could certainly get in again.

She didn't want to call the police about this guy, not until she was positive he was stalking her. She'd already phoned 9-1-1 about their possible break-in last week; she didn't want to call them again about a possible stalker. They'd think she was a nut.

Turning in to the driveway, Sydney stopped to watch in the rearview mirror as the gate closed behind them. "What do you say to a pizza tonight?" she asked Eli, trying to sound nonchalant about it. "I can call Uncle Kyle and see if he's free. Maybe he can bring over a DVD."

Eli shrugged. "Sure."

He didn't sound too thrilled about it. Then again, it wasn't like one of his friends was coming over. Sydney had gotten in touch with Sharon McKenna to see if Tim could fly out and spend a week with his pal; she'd done the same thing with Brad's parents. She'd offered to pay for the flight. But the McKennas and the Reeces each had misgivings about putting their twelve-year-old on a plane by himself. And in the case of the McKennas, they were friends with Joe once again, and she was the villain for taking her son and moving away.

Approaching the front stoop with the keys in her hand, Sydney couldn't help worrying that she'd find the door unlocked and open again. She'd experienced that same apprehension several times since coming home on July Fourth. The door was closed and locked, thank God.

Eli followed her inside, then headed upstairs to the bathroom. Kicking off her shoes, Sydney went into the kitchen, where she checked the back door to make sure it was closed and locked. No break-in. It only made sense. If Number 59 had followed them to Auburn and back, when would he have had time to break into their apartment?

She phoned Kyle and got his machine. "Hey, it's me," she said to the recording. "This is kind of last minute, but I would love it if you could come over tonight. Color me needy. I'll buy the pizza if you bring the DVD. Call me when you get this. Bye."

She was checking her voice mail when she heard Eli bounding back down the stairs, jumping from landing to landing.

On her voice mail, there were three hang-ups, and no messages. Ordinarily, she wouldn't have given the hang-ups a second thought. But she was already unnerved by this potential stalker situation. Moreover, the person calling each time stayed on the line long enough for Sydney to hear people talking in the background. She checked the last call return, and the automated voice told her:
"The number called cannot be reached."

Sydney told herself that it was just a telemarketer.

It sounded like Eli was in the dining room. She heard a drawer squeak open.

Sydney headed toward the refrigerator, but remembered stashing Joe's letter in the breakfront's bottom drawer.

She swiveled around and hurried into the dining room. "What are you doing in there?" she asked, surprised at her own, almost-shrill tone. "Get out of there--"

Startled, Eli glanced up at her. He was crouched down in front of the built-in breakfront. He had the bottom drawer open. "What's wrong? What'd I do?"

"What are looking for?"

"The charger for my iPod," Eli answered, squinting at her as if she was crazy. "Jeez, what's the big deal?"

Sydney took a deep breath, then stepped over to the drawer and closed it. "Your charger's in the kitchen drawer, top right hand, where it always is."

"Well, thanks," he grumbled. He brushed past her and headed into the kitchen. "God, you don't have to bite my head off."

"I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean to snap at you," she called after him.

She listened to him open and shut one of the drawers in the kitchen. "Did you find it?" she called.

No answer. She heard him stomping toward the stairs.
Swell, now he's mad at me--again
. She should have just let him see the damn letter from Joe, and then he would have known just how much his dad cared about them. But she couldn't break his heart like that.

Sydney stooped down and opened the breakfront's bottom drawer. She found the letter in the back of the drawer, where she'd originally stashed it under a pile of loose papers and bills.

She heard the front door slam. "Eli?" she called, shutting the breakfront drawer. "Honey, are you there?" She didn't want him going outside, not when that stalker could be lurking around. "Eli?" she repeated, running to the front door. She opened it and called out his name again. He wasn't in the courtyard.

"Eli? Honey, where are you?" In her bare feet, she hurried toward the garages and gazed down the driveway. The gate was still closed. She didn't see him anywhere.

"Oh, God," she murmured, tears stinging her eyes. Her son had no idea this potential nutcase was out there--watching and following them. "Eli, honey, answer me, please!" she screamed.

But there was no answer.

Sydney obviously had no idea he was studying her every move right now.

From an alleyway off the courtyard--within the gated premises--he'd seen Eli bolt out the front door. The boy had ducked into the shadows of a little alcove, where the caretaker's unit was. He'd stayed there while his mother called out his name again and again.

He couldn't help smiling. Her son was hiding from her. He hated his own mother.

Sydney looked so upset--
unhinged
. Even this far away, he could see the tears streaming down her cheeks. A hand over her mouth, she kept glancing around the courtyard. Each time she called out for her son, her voice became more warbled and strained. She looked so scared and pathetic, wandering out there barefoot, crying for her son. It amused him to see her suffer.

And he hadn't even really started in on her yet.

C
HAPTER
T
EN

Eli listened to his mother calling out for him. She seemed awfully panicky, considering he'd just stepped out less than a minute ago. What was her problem? It was barely twilight, not even dark yet.

"Eli? Honey, can you hear me?"
she called out, her voice shaky.
"Oh, God..."

He kept his back pressed against the brick wall in an arched alcove to the caretaker's unit. There was a light above him, but none of the outside lights had gone on yet, so Eli was shrouded in darkness. It sounded like his mom was crying. Part of him felt bad for her, but he was angry at her, too.

Okay, so she'd caught him searching for that letter from his dad. She didn't have to get all snippy about it. Could he help it if he missed his dad?

Eli waited until he heard her go back inside the apartment. Then he slowly emerged from the shadows to make sure she'd gone. On the opposite side of the courtyard, he thought he saw someone in the alley. A dark figure darted behind some Dumpsters.

Eli gazed at that alley for another moment. Nothing moved. He told himself it must have been his imagination.

He glanced over toward their apartment. He thought about sneaking out of the courtyard and walking for a while--maybe along the beach. He just wanted some time to calm down--and yeah, maybe keep her wondering about him a little bit longer. It was pretty dumb, really. Here he was, twelve years old, and
running away from home
. Some home. He didn't think he'd ever call this place home.

He really did need to be alone for a while right now. He kept thinking about what that psychic lady had told him--about the danger around him, the loss he would have to face, and his communication with someone dead.

Reaching into his pocket, Eli pulled out the twenty-dollar bill with the two corners ripped off. He felt a little pang in his gut. His mom had given him this money to go on rides and have fun, and now he'd made her cry. What a little shit he was.

Eli figured he'd better go back inside and let her know he was all right. But then he saw something move in the alley again. He hesitated, then ducked back into the alcove. Keeping perfectly still, he studied the alleyway, especially around the Dumpsters. But he didn't see anything. He wondered if it had been a crow or something.

Maybe there were ghosts
outside
their apartment, too. Maybe Carl wasn't the only
undead spirit
haunting Tudor Court.

Eli glanced at the caretaker's door. If anyone knew about their ghost--and the murder-suicide in their unit--it would be Larry, the caretaker.

Eli figured his mom would be okay for another minute or two. In fact, that was all she probably needed to realize he'd just stepped out to blow off some steam. He was coming back. No reason for her to freak out about it.

He rang the caretaker's bell--then listened at his door. Larry's studio apartment was in the basement. Eli heard someone coming up the stairs. He stepped back from the door as it opened.

"Mr. Eli McCloud in Unit Nine," Larry said. "What can I do you for?"

About thirty, with a pale complexion, dark eyes, and a crooked little smile, Larry was handsome, but also kind of crazy looking. When they'd first moved in, Larry's black hair had been in a ponytail, but he'd recently cut it all off so he was practically bald. He was friendly enough, but a bit of an oddball. He'd come to the door in a thin, yellowish, tight T-shirt, pale blue shorts, and brown socks with sandals. Thick, black hair covered his pale arms and legs.

"Sorry to bother you," Eli said. He shot a glance over his shoulder. "I wanted to ask you a few questions."

"Didn't I just hear your mother calling out for you?" Larry asked.

"Yeah, she found me," Eli lied. "Everything's okay. Um, do you have a few minutes?"

"Sure. My dinner's in the oven, but it won't be ready for a while. C'mon down."

Eli followed Larry down a short flight of stairs toward his apartment. He hadn't been inside Larry's place before, and had only glimpsed it passing by the basement windows sometimes. It seemed like a really cool place to live. But now, as Eli walked down the steps to a dark corridor, it felt like a dungeon. Whatever Larry was cooking had an overly sweet, spicy, meat odor that filled the studio apartment. It wasn't the kind of smell that was welcome on a hot day. But at least Larry's place was a bit cooler.

"Have you had dinner yet?" Larry asked, leading the way into his combination living room and bedroom. "I'm cooking rabbit. There's enough for two. It's mighty tasty. I have a whole freezer full. My buddy's a hunter."

"Oh, gosh, thanks anyway," Eli managed to say.

For someone who kept the Tudor Court's grounds so neat, Larry was a slob at home. Clothes were strewn over the unmade bed as well as the back of an easy chair that was losing its stuffing. Random pictures Larry had torn from magazines were haphazardly taped to the beige walls: lots of pretty girls (Eli recognized Cameron Diaz in three photos); some race car shots; nature scenes; and quite a few pictures of the Beatles. In the corner, he'd spread some newspapers beneath the cage holding a canary that wouldn't stop chirping. Just enough light came through the small, high windows for Eli to see how dirty and dusty the place was.

"So what did you want to ask me?" Larry said, heading into his kitchen.

Eli stopped in the kitchen doorway. Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink, and a portable TV sat on Larry's battered, old wooden breakfast table. A Princess Di commemorative plate was being sold on the Home Shopping Network. Larry had it on mute.

"Um, I was wondering if you knew anything about the lady and her son who used to live in our place," Eli said.

Larry stirred some greasy-looking potatoes and cabbage cooking on the stove. "What lady and son?"

"The ones who died there, back in the seventies," Eli said.

"Oh, them," Larry nodded. "Well, I wasn't here then, sport. Hell, I wasn't even born yet." He opened the oven and checked on his rabbit.

"Still, I figured you might know something about them though, maybe like how they died or something."

Larry was silent for a few moments. Eli listened to his canary chirping away in the next room.

"Listen, I'd like to help you out," Larry said, finally. "But if the property manager ever got wind I was flapping my mouth off to you about what's gone on in Unit Nine, I'd get shit-canned in no time. Then Anita and I would be out on our tails."

"Who's Anita?"

"She's my girl," Larry said.

Eli stepped aside as the pale, hairy caretaker walked back into the messy living room. He opened the birdcage. "C'mon, Anita, girl. There's my boopie-boopie. That's my nickname for her. Hey, boopie-boopie!" The canary jumped on his finger, and Larry carefully took Anita out of her cage.

"My mom and I already figured out the place is haunted," Eli said, watching him play with his bird. "Plus one of the neighbors told us about the lady who killed her son in there and then killed herself. I just thought you might know more. I won't tell anyone you said anything, I swear."

Larry pursed his lips at the canary and cooed at it. Then he gave Eli a wary look. "You rat on me, and I'll have Anita peck your eyes out."

"I wouldn't," Eli murmured.

"Ha, I'm messing with you," Larry grinned. He put the bird back in its cage, then fussed with the water and feeder trays. Eli heard some seeds spill onto the newspaper. "I really don't know that much about it, sport," Larry said. "I do know they replaced the tub upstairs in that unit."

"The tub?" Eli repeated.

Larry nodded. He seemed focused on his chores with the birdcage. "Yeah, that's where she shot herself after she slit the kid's throat."

"The mother shot herself in the bathtub?" Eli said, blinking. He thought about all the weird disturbances in their bathroom.

"Yep," Larry replied. "They found her in the tub with a bullet in her head and the gun on the bathroom floor. They replaced the tub for the next tenant. Everything else in there is the original fixtures."

"And the son," Eli said numbly. "Where did they find him?"

"In his bed," the caretaker answered, still tinkering with his canary's cage. The bird wouldn't stop chirping. "I think she killed him in his sleep, but I'm not sure."

Eli nervously rubbed his forearms and felt gooseflesh. He was thinking about what the Ouija board had told him. It had said the boy died in his bedroom. It had spelled out
L-A-C-ER-A-T-I-O-N
. "She cut her son's throat?" Eli heard himself ask.

"That's what I hear."

"Do you know how old the son was?" Eli asked. The Ouija board had said Carl was fourteen.

"A young teenager, I think," Larry replied with a shrug. "Probably around your age."

The sweet, spicy smell of that rabbit cooking started to make Eli sick. "Um, do you know when this happened?" he asked. "What year?"

"Some time in the mid-seventies."

"Did you--did you ever get their names?"

"Nope," Larry said, wiping his hands on the front of his pale blue shorts. He peeked into the cage. "Okay, boopie-boopie, all cleaned up," he cooed to Anita. The bird kept chirping.

"Is there any way to find out their names and when they lived here?" Eli pressed. "I mean, the management company must have some kind of records, right?"

Larry reached under his yellowish T-shirt and scratched his pale, hairy stomach. "Nope, sorry, sport." He shook his head as he walked past Eli and into the kitchen again. "They tossed out all the old documents when the apartment complex changed ownership back in 1987." He stirred the potato concoction on the stove, then turned up the heat.

"Do you think any of the neighbors here might know more about them? The kid and his mother, I mean...."

"I doubt it," Larry said, opening the oven to peek at his rabbit again. "Most of the people who were living here when it happened in the seventies are long gone now."

"Do you know if any of them still live in the neighborhood?" Eli asked.

Larry shut the oven door, leaned over the stove, and scratched his chin. "Shit, what was that old lady's name?" he muttered--almost to himself. "Vera something, she moved away two years ago. Wait a sec, I know..."

Larry brushed by him as he moved back into the living room. He opened up the middle drawer of an old rolltop desk. "She sent me a Christmas card last year. It's in here somewhere. Good thing I don't throw anything away. Vera something, she was still pretty much on the ball for an old lady, only her legs were giving out. So she moved into this rest home. Sucks to get old. Here it is..." He pulled out an envelope. "Cormier, Vera Cormier," he said, reading the preprinted return address label. Then he handed the envelope to Eli. "Go ahead, you can keep that if you want."

Eli glanced at the shaky penmanship on the front of the envelope and the Christmas wreath return address label:

Vera D. Cormier

Evergreen Point Manor

7711 Evergreen Court, N.E.

Seattle, WA 98177-5492

"Do you know where this Evergreen Point Manor is?" Eli asked.

"It's this rest home up in north Seattle," Larry said. "Not too far, about a fifteen-minute drive."

There was a hissing sound, and Larry rushed to the stove to turn down the heat on his potato dish, which was boiling over. Now a burning smell competed with the sickly sweet waft from the roasting rabbit.

"Did you want to keep the card?" Eli asked, pulling out the Christmas card. It had a cheesy painting of a bird on a holly branch on the cover.

"Read what she says, will ya?" Larry replied, tending to his potatoes and cabbage.

Under the preprinted
Merry Christmas,
she'd scribbled something in her frail hand. "Um,
'Happy Holidays to you and all my Tudor Court neighbors,'
" Eli read aloud. "
'I keep busy, busy, busy here. Miss you, Larry. Hello to Anita. Best Wishes for the New Year. Vera.'"

"Keep it," Larry said, still toiling over the stove. "Anyway, if you want the real lowdown on that murder-suicide, Vera's your lady. She was living right next door in Number Ten when it happened."

Eli politely turned down Larry's second offer to dine with him. Larry cut off a piece of his roasted rabbit, then wrapped it in tinfoil, and stuck it in a plastic store bag for Eli to take home with him. "I promise you, you haven't tasted anything like this," Larry said with a wink.

"Well, thanks," Eli said.
And I promise you, I'm not going to taste it
, he thought.

He was glad to breathe fresh air again as he stepped out to the courtyard. Slipping Vera's Christmas card back into the envelope, he folded the envelope and shoved it in his pants pocket. Eli held onto the plastic bag with the roast rabbit part in it. Though tempted to toss it in the Dumpster, he didn't want Larry finding it tomorrow and getting his feelings hurt.

A cool wind came off the lake, and Eli shuddered. He suddenly had a weird feeling. It was the same sensation he sometimes got in his bedroom at night--when he wasn't quite
alone
. He felt this invisible
other presence
, like someone or something was there watching him.

Glancing around the courtyard, Eli didn't see anyone. He stopped to stare at that alley again. But no one was there.

He still felt a little sick to his stomach, but it wasn't something left over from the smell of that rabbit cooking. It was a feeling of dread he couldn't shake.

Eli nervously patted the envelope in his pocket, and he hurried toward the apartment.

"Eli?" his mom called, when he came in the front door. "Honey, is that you?"

He didn't even have time to answer or shut the door. She scurried out of the kitchen. "Oh, thank God," she said, hugging him. "You gave me such a scare. Where were you?"

He gently pulled back from her. "I just went for a short walk, that's all. What's the big deal? Why are you acting so weird?"

She glanced at the plastic bag in his hand, the one holding Larry's roast rabbit section, wrapped in tinfoil. "What's that?" his mom asked.