Graham pulled out the quilt and they wrapped her in it. How could it possibly help? “She’s frozen. I mean, I think she’s actually frozen.”
“Hypothermia makes the muscles lock up. Can you find your way back to the house? So you can call for an ambulance?”
“No.” He was worthless. “I can try.”
“I don’t want you getting lost too.”
“How far is it?” Graham checked his watch. Four-thirty.
“Two miles at least.” Evan handed his flashlight to Graham. Then he crouched down and picked up Kristin. Or the body of Kristin, because Graham couldn’t quite think of it as a person.
Graham led the way, with Evan following behind, giving him verbal directions.
Kristin wasn’t a small girl. She couldn’t have been light, even if she’d lost weight. Yet Evan, as emaciated as he was, didn’t seem to have trouble carrying her.
Sh, sh, sh.
“Don’t look at them,” Evan commanded. “Keep your head down and keep moving.”
What was he talking about?
Graham glanced up.
In the blackness, he could make out the darker outline of towering tree trunks silhouetted against gray clouds that reflected light back at the ground. The image reminded him of the construction-paper silhouettes he used to make in grade school.
But then the branches moved and shifted, shapes breaking away to float above them.
Graham stopped and blinked.
“Go,”
Evan commanded from behind.
“What
is
that?”
“Nothing. Just go.”
But Graham knew.
The dead of Tuonela.
“Christ,” he breathed.
People had reported seeing strange shadows and shapes in town. And then there was the museum janitor who said the Pale Immortal had moved. “They’ve gotten out, haven’t they?”
“They can’t hurt you. Just keep going.”
But they
could
hurt him. The psychic had claimed they were looking for bodies to inhabit. She’d been right all along. It was probably one of these things that had skinned Claire and the other woman. And maybe even coaxed the old lady into the river. “Why didn’t they take Kristin?”
They drew closer. He couldn’t see them, but he could feel them.
The air in front of him changed. It became heavy and dense; then it seemed to retreat, to get sucked away. Graham tried to inhale, but nothing happened. There was nothing to inhale.
Panic.
Evan appeared beside him.
The shadows retreated and the air returned. Graham gasped and dropped to his knees, pulling in deep breaths.
Whatever was out there had been afraid of Evan.
Join the club.
Chapter Forty-three
The way to unfuck your life is to die.
That’s the big mystery I finally figured out.
Now that I knew the answer, I couldn’t believe I’d missed it for so many years. It had been right in front of me all along. Right in front of everybody.
Some religions claimed the secret to life was really death, but that’s not what I’m talking about.
Dying feels good. The right kind of dying, anyway. Nobody tells you that. I suppose if the secret got out people would be jumping from bridges shouting,
Yee-haw!
It’s the best feeling. The best high I’ve ever experienced. I’ll even admit right here that I tried heroin once. I liked it so much it scared me, and I never did it again. But this is better. Who would have thought death was like heroin, only better?
The way it embraces you. The way it takes away pain and regret and sorrow. I don’t need anything. It doesn’t matter if I make the best documentary in the world. Or the worst.
I don’t care.
That’s the high. The complete absence of caring.
It’s beautiful and amazing and wonderful.
Peace.
I’m finally at peace with myself and the world. I no longer hate myself. I’m no longer disappointed in myself. I’ve lived the best life I could live, and that’s all anybody can do.
“Did she say something?” the kid asked, his voice coming out of the darkness.
We’re moving. Going somewhere.
What’s his name?
Graham. That’s right. Nice kid. But I’ve gone beyond him and his world.
“No,” the father replied.
Maybe it’s them. Yeah, I’ll bet it is.
Whispering all around me.
Sh, sh, sh.
When I open my eyes I can see them watching me. Am I already dead? Is this hell? Because I could swear I am being carried through the woods by the vampire known as Evan Stroud.
Oh, well.
No big deal.
Hard to believe I’d been afraid of him. Now he seems . . . Well, he seems like one of
them.
Like the others who are watching me and whispering. Waiting for me.
You’re already dead,
one of them whispers. And the rest join in, taking up the chant:
Already dead. Already dead.
Why are they saying that? I haven’t crossed the threshold yet. I’m still trapped by the weight of my body, the confinement of my skin.
Skin is the largest organ.
You’ve been dead a long time. Ever since that day you fell through the ice.
No.
The heroin haze began to lift and I didn’t like what I saw.
I opened my mouth.
“She
did
say something.”
Graham swung around to hover over me. “What is it?”
“Am . . . I . . . dead?” The words came out as a funny croak. I don’t think I’ve talked in a long time.
“No!”
He sounded upset.
Don’t be upset.
“Are
you
dead?” I asked. Because wasn’t this the land of the dead?
“No!” Even more upset.
“But they’re dead.” I pointed above us. “And I’m pretty sure he’s dead.” I pointed to Evan Stroud. “So I thought I must be dead.”
Graham made a strange sound. Kind of a terrified sob. The kind of whimper people make when they know things are definitely not okay.
“Don’t worry. I don’t mind being dead,” I said. “Really I don’t.”
“She’s delirious,” the vampire told the kid.
Didn’t they get it? I was the opposite of delirious. Every kind of delusion and self-deception had fallen from my eyes. My mind was clear, and I was connecting with the truths of the universe in ways I’d never come close to before.
We walked and the sky swirled and the voices whispered until we arrived at the Manchester house.
Things became a jumble, and I kept dropping away into unconsciousness. I think Graham called an ambulance, but there seemed to be some problem. Nobody came. Maybe nobody would come. Maybe there was no ambulance to come. Whatever the reason, the two men argued briefly.
My next awareness was that of bouncing roughly down a road. I had the vague idea that I was in a backseat, being held against someone’s chest. Arms around me, cradling me.
I couldn’t keep my eyes open. When I did manage to open them slightly, I couldn’t focus.
“Should I rub her hands? They’re like ice.”
Yes, it was Graham. Graham was holding me like a baby.
“No, she might have frostbite. Best to just leave her hands and feet alone.” We hit another bump. “Goddamn rural ambulance service,” the father muttered under his breath. “What good are they if they can’t get here in under an hour? I can get pizza delivery in less than that.”
He ate pizza? A vampire?
I wanted to laugh.
Instead, I began to slide. Down a black pit that had no bottom. Down, down, down where the dead people were.
How many times can a person die?
I wondered.
Only once,
the voices answer. Maybe I should rephrase my question.
How many times can a person come back from the dead?
They took her to Tuonela Medical Center.
Evan pulled up to the emergency room entrance, his eyes protected from the glare of streetlights by dark glasses. “Sorry, I can’t get out of the car.”
“I can handle it.” Graham wished Evan could have come in, but the sun would be up soon. He had to haul ass.
Three people in scrubs shot out the emergency room door. They placed Kristin on a gurney, but couldn’t straighten her arms or legs. “Go,” one of the nurses said. They wheeled her up the ramp. Graham followed, and Evan drove away.
They started an IV.
“Are you family?” someone asked.
“No.”
“You’ll have to stay in the waiting area.”
Graham didn’t argue. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be in there anyway.
In the waiting area, the chairs were hard and the ceiling was low. He walked down the hallway and looked out a big window. The sun was coming up, and he could see downtown Tuonela and the pattern of light on the river.
His heart swelled and he knew it was too late for him.
Maybe he would leave this place, but he would always come back.
His eyes felt gritty and his stomach felt weird, the way it did when he hadn’t slept for a long time. He suddenly became aware of himself. His boots were muddy; his wool coat was littered with burrs and twigs. He reached up and pulled some leaves from his hair.
He walked back into the waiting room, sat down, and fell asleep.
“Graham?”
He turned to see one of the nurses standing over him. He shot to his feet. Was Kristin dead?
“Your friend would like to see you.”
He almost ran.
Kristin was in an emergency bay behind a blue curtain. She looked tired, but her eyes were lucid.
She plucked at the blanket. “Guess I’m going to live.”
He stared at the IV needle in the back of her hand. “That’s good.” But she seemed sad about not dying.
“What happened out there?”
He could see her searching her memory. She frowned in concentration. “I wanted to get some footage of the grove. . . . I was walking around, and I saw something. Something that scared me, so I ran. And I got lost.”
“What did you see?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know.” She looked up at him. “I don’t remember.”
Her gaze suddenly shot to his left.
He turned, expecting to see someone behind him.
Nothing.
Nobody.
When he swung back around, she was still staring at the spot. And he knew she saw something he couldn’t see. The dead Evan had let out. The dead who whispered in the dark.
Chapter Forty-four
Downstairs in the morgue office Rachel checked her e-mail while outside a front moved in and the wind made the building creak.
A friend in California had sent her a JPEG. The title of the e-mail was:
Anybody you know?
She scrolled down.
A photo.
She immediately recognized the location. Aspen Grove. One corner of the shot just caught the end of her van with the letters COR visible. She was in the picture.
She could feel the way the air had felt that day, she could smell the way it had smelled. She recalled the brush of something against her arm. A slight turn, expecting to see someone.
Nothing.
Now she stared at a child in a nightgown. Long blond hair. Standing to Rachel’s right and back a few steps. She felt herself sinking, felt herself slipping into something she wanted no knowledge of.
Numbly, she let her eyes shift and she read the rest of the e-mail.
This has been traveling around the Internet. Thought you might find it interesting, or at least get a good laugh out of it. Hope all is well in spooky Tuonela. Come back to California, where you belong. Love, Zak.
Which world was real? California or Tuonela?
Even if Tuonela didn’t exist on the outside, it was real to her.
She looked at the image again.
Little blond child.
She slipped a sheet of photo paper in her printer and pressed the print button. While the image was processing, she crossed the room to the fireproof filing cabinet. She opened the drawer and pulled out the journal Evan had brought.
She’d put it away that night, and hadn’t looked at it since.
She opened it to the page where the photo had been tucked by the hand of a woman who’d been dead a hundred years.
Little blond girl.
The printer shut off.
She held the two images side by side.
The same child.
She turned the photo over.
Our sweet, darling Sarah.
She pressed a hand to her mouth.
Dear God.
What did this mean?
What conclusion could a logical person draw? A doctor of medicine? A medical examiner?
The image was fake. Something made in Photoshop.
No.
The time for denial was over. She’d been in denial for too long. The entire town of Tuonela was in denial.
Why had Evan done it? Why had he insisted upon digging out there? The ground. It was the ground. Couldn’t he see that? Didn’t he understand?
Maybe it wasn’t his fault. All along she’d blamed him, but maybe he had no control over his actions. Maybe instead of avoiding him, she should have been helping him.
She put a hand to her stomach.
How many times had she made that protective gesture in the past few months? Maternal instinct had engaged long ago. She wasn’t abandoning Evan; she was protecting her baby. Mothers did what they had to do. Parents did what they had to do.
She looked at the photo again.
Sarah. Victoria’s daughter.
Murdered by Richard Manchester, the Pale Immortal.
The words of the psychic came back to her:
They are spirits looking for bodies to inhabit.
Was Sarah caught between two worlds? The world of the living and the dead? In her confusion, was she seeking human form? Had she skinned the two women?
This can’t be. This is impossible.
Whatever was going on, Evan was somehow involved. Even if he didn’t know it.
She locked the journal back in the safe, put on her jacket, and hurried to the morgue’s delivery entrance. A turn of the knob and the tongue slipped from the catch plate. The door was ripped from her hand, smacking against the wall. Her hair shot straight up. A nearby tree creaked and bent; electrical lines snapped against the sky.