The Darkness of Shadows (16 page)

“Nigel!” a tiny, sing-song voice said. “Come on! Let’s go!”

Oh good, there’s more than one imaginary creature in my yard.

“Camille, she saw me! Please don’t tell.” He was hovering in front of me.

“I won’t. I promise. You have my word.” After the debacle of seeing my dead mom standing in the yard, I was keeping this one to myself.

“Thank you!” He breathed, seeming relieved.

“She gave you her word. No worries, boy. Let’s go!” The island accent was stronger now.

Nigel and his unseen companion disappeared into the shadowy night.

I scrubbed at my eyes, then fought with the crank to close the window. Just shut the blinds, curtains, whatevers, set the alarm, and pretend this didn’t happen. That’s what I was going to do.

I needed a Coke. The magnet on the fridge taunted me. The Poe quote read, “I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.”

I snagged the bag of Cheetos from the top of the fridge and a can of soda from inside, then made my way to the living room and settled into the chair. I placed the pistol on the side table, within easy reach.

Age quod agis? Why was that so familiar?

So much for sleep. I fired up the TV. It was going to be a bumpy night.

T
he day was dark and dreary, so much so that it falsely represented night. And I was in a bad mood. No idea why, it just happened.

Our schema was as good as it was going to get. We had the pages, a place to meet, and a recycling plan. Now we were in hover mode, waiting for Karl to get back to us with a phone number so we could get the party started.

What I said before about not knowing why I was in a pissy mood wasn’t entirely true.

Val had brought up the topic of head injuries and hallucinations. She was as subtle as the scale at a Weight Watchers meeting, and I’d been ignoring her calls. I would continue to do so until I got over my mad.

I went for a ride to clear my head. And doing so, I ended up someplace I thought I never would go—the cemetery behind the middle school.

Before I knew it, I was clicking along the plots and grounds, not knowing why I was there. I decided I wanted to be toasted and tossed—no burial for me. People left cards, balloons, and decorations on their loved ones’ graves. I guess it was more for the living. Dead was dead, right?

Something drew me to a headstone set back from the others, with space on either side of it for family, I guessed. The area was tidy and fresh flowers were laid in front of the stone. My mother’s grave.

In all the years she’d been dead, I never once came here. I didn’t go to her funeral either. Lieutenant and Mrs. Guerrero told me I should. Yeah right—I disappeared for a day and a half and caught hell from them both. It went in one ear and out the other. I didn’t care.

Now, I stood there looking for answers. A Dickensian move on my part. Would I ever be whole, or would I remain shattered, with only glimpses of where the pieces fit?

I was stupid for coming here. I glanced at the headstone. Part of the inscription read “… as long as we live, they too shall live, for they are a part of us …”

I stepped away from my mother and my past, and bumped into someone.

“Excuse me,” I said.

There were two people—at least I think they were people—standing on the path behind me. They looked kind of like twins. They stood several inches shorter than me, with long, straggling black hair and pale white faces, sunken pale blue eyes and mouths twisted as if in pain. Black wool clothes flowed around them like a Goth nightmare.

“Sorry, didn’t know you were there.” I tried to move past them, but they blocked my way.

This was not good. I looked around. What did I spy with my little eyes but a completely deserted graveyard. Great. I said excuse me again and tried to get past them. No dice.

“Something I can help you with?” I reached around and put my hand on my pistol.

The one on the right stretched out a pale hand and in a husky voice said, “Give me the pages.”

Crap. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I was a little more than nervous now. “Excuse me, I need to leave.”

The twins moved forward as I drew my gun from the holster. With a blurred quickness, I was disarmed and the H&K tossed aside. I stepped back and held my cane like a bat as they advanced again.

“My dad’s a cop, so this isn’t a good idea,” I said.

They both smirked. The chatty one said, “Your father is William Gannon. Give me the pages.”

Oh shit.

I took a warning swing. It didn’t faze them as they came closer. The next swing connected with the quiet one’s head and bent my cane.

He shook his head like a drenched dog ridding himself of the wet. He laughed. It chilled me to my DNA.

Chatty stood in front of me, the other circled around. Val’s self-defense training didn’t cover this scenario. Chatty landed a punch to my side. It knocked my breath from me.

“I don’t have any pages!” I threw an elbow at his head.

The quiet one was going over me like a used car. His touch was a cold burn.

“Hey!” I said. He backhanded me to the ground and shook his head at Chatty.

Their heads swung around in unison and they looked up the path.

Chatty said, “She’s here! We need to leave!”

The quiet one’s parting gift to me was a heavy kick to my side. They raced down the path and out of sight, not once looking back.

What the hell? Scanning the cemetery, I saw nothing. I pulled myself up with the help of a headstone, feeling the pain grow in my side. I looked around again.

Was that Mrs. Guerrero on the hill? It was too far for me to be sure.

I retrieved the gun and reholstered it. Okay, I can do this—I just didn’t have my trusty cane to lean on. I got to my truck, dragging my right leg as if it was a fifty-pound sack of flour. I put the key in the ignition and turned it. Nothing. I turned it again. Still nothing.

I slammed my palms onto the steering wheel and swore. I reached for my cell. Dead battery.
Dammit!

“Please just get me home, and I promise I’ll take you where really cool cars and trucks go to die.”

The automotive gods took pity on me and the engine turned over on the next try.

“Thank you,” I said to the dashboard.

When I got home, I plugged the cell phone into the charger. The next point of order was a shower.

I let the water run over me, washing the muck and fear off my body. My side hurt like hell and my jaw was catching up. I dressed in loose clothes and didn’t dare to look in the mirror.

I went into the kitchen, opened the freezer, grabbed a few ice packs, and headed to the table.

The stereo remote was waiting. I punched a button and Ella Fitzgerald graced the house. I put my right leg up on a chair and put an ice pack on my knee. If it could have sighed with relief, it would have. My jaw felt neglected, so I held one of the other packs to it. Much better. My side would have to wait its turn.

So the Goths were joining in the fun-filled search for my father’s journal pages. Did he have a network of creeps, or were they independents working for someone else? The threat level was now orange.

The damned house phone kept ringing. Then the cell started. It was like they were playing tag. I clicked the remote and turned Ella up a few notches to drown it out.

A car pulled into the driveway. My watch read seven o’clock. Where had the day gone?

Val strode in with a casual grace. She was clenching and unclenching her jaw so the muscle popped back and forth.

“Hey.” She walked past me to the phone on the counter. She picked it up and punched the Talk button. A dial tone hit the air.

“Huh,” she said. Then she picked up the still-charging cell and repeated, “Huh.”

I was still miffed about the head trauma thing, but I was curious. “What are you doing?”

“Both your phones are working,” she said.

“And your point would be?”

“I called you a dozen times today, on both lines, left messages. Shocking but true, you didn’t bother to call me back.”

I looked at the answering machine. Its red light was blinking and the message counter read nine. I grabbed the cell—seven new voice mails.

“I was busy.”

“I’ve been worried sick about you all day.” She took a step closer.

“It would be
really
bad for your award-winning business if you beat up a crazy cripple.”

She grabbed the remote and turned the music down. She caught a glimpse of my jaw.

“What happened?” Worry creased her brow. “Are you all right?”

I pointed to the bruises. “These? Just figments of my imagination.”

“Nat, for Christ’s sake—”

“I went to my mom’s grave,” I said, “and ran into a little trouble.”

Disquiet crept into her posture. “Oh.”

I lifted my head and did a neck roll: snap, crackle, and pop. And I waited for the lecture.

She said nothing as she grabbed two sodas from the fridge and sat down. The quiet continued.

I rolled the can between my hands, letting the cool condensation drip between my fingers.

“Just return my damned phone call to let me know you’re okay, you dumbass,” she said.

More quiet.

I broke first and told her what happened.

She blinked at me, unbelieving. “Did you file a report with the police? What about the self-defense stuff I taught you? Let me see your side.”

I lifted my shirt—the bruise was going to be a beauty. At least it was right below my bra and missed my stylin’ new scar. I’m not stacked or anything, but I don’t feel comfortable braless.

“Who’d believe someone like me?”

She heaved a sigh. “You always need to be aware of your surroundings. Ugh! We should get that looked at. You might have a broken rib or something.”

“It’s fine.” I winced as she touched it.

“Nat—”

“NO!” I dropped the shirt down and she stepped back.

“Okay! Jeez!”

She went back to her chair and waited.

“I need answers. And just once, I hoped my mom could help me.” I shook my head. “I was looking for the Rosetta stone, and ended up with nothing. Just found old hurts.”

And a few new ones. I bit my lower lip, waiting for her to say something. She was pissed big time. She drummed her long, slender fingers on the table. I couldn’t read anything in her eyes. Great, she was going to kill me.

“I would’ve gone with you,” she said. “It must’ve been hard for you to go there by yourself.”

Huh? I slumped further down in the chair. My side protested the movement.

“I think I saw your mom at the cemetery today.”

“Could be. She goes to visit Dad—plants flowers, cleans up.”

Ha! She
was
there! More and more interesting.

An undercurrent of worry swirled around us as we said nothing to each other.

“You okay?” Val said.

I nodded.

“I should’ve approached the head trauma thing differently,” she said.

“You think?”

“Really sorry.”

“Whatever,” I said.

“It’s like you’re daring your father to come after you. We have a plan. We’re supposed to be doing this together.”

That’s when it hit me. This wasn’t just about protecting Val and me anymore—it was about preventing my father from resurrecting dead things.

I went to the bedroom closet where the biometric vault-thingy lived. It was the safest place in the house and that’s where I kept the journal pages. I gimped back into the kitchen, grabbed a few other things, and went outside. Val followed.

The fire bowl was in the center of the patio, surrounded by four chairs. I placed the pages in the basin.

“What are you doing?” Val said.

“My father can’t ever get ahold of these. He can already bring a dead cat back to life with a simple ritual. Whatever he’s planning is bigger. Something to do with my mom.”

“I don’t get it.”

“How else would my mom appear out of nowhere?”

Val’s tone was one reserved for whiney, cranky, and more pointedly, crazy clients.

“You’ve been through a lot lately. It’s brought up things you haven’t thought about in years.”

“I’m sick of your bullshit,” I said. “You’re either with me on this or having me committed to the Haldol Hotel.”