What the Dead Can Do, page 30
The threat of a fate worse than death existed. It wasn’t bandied about by residents, but as innuendo, it was well-known. Death for the dead was real, and that’s why almost no one talked about it. Not because they didn’t know what would happen if their residency in Second Plane was terminated by the council, but because they didn’t want to know for sure.
“What do you want from me?” Tag heard Aidan ask. His shout was closer to the window this time and loud enough to wake the neighbors. “I swear to God, I won’t let you do it!”
No new lights from any nearby homes popped on.
A hand lost in the darkness of the room flipped a switch, illuminating the study on the other side of the pane. There, Aidan steadied himself, putting both his palms down on the desk. The man’s face continued its bend into terror as he did his best to reason with Amanda.
“Ask anything else of me,” Aidan said as he looked out the window, past Tag, and seemingly unaware he had Nicole’s body standing there. “There are many more deserving of my cruel hand. I’ve spent a lifetime working within a religion of my own creation, and I won’t let you fuck it up. I can’t. This could’ve been amazing, you and me—that’s what’s so screwed up.”
The rage on his face collapsed as if his expression had stepped on a trap door. He was less than ambivalent, just a body in between souls with empty eyes that stayed open on muscle memory alone. When life returned to his face, he said nothing. Aidan walked from the living room to the hallway, leaving the light on behind him. She had him again. Tag was sure of it.
Waiting for Matthew was no longer an option.
32
MATTHEW
“Mom asked for you to come alone, I get that … but let’s be honest: I know Nicole a hell of a lot better than you. I have a way better chance of talking her down.”
His daughter popped off her bed and headed for the door. Having a headstrong child had always been both a blessing and a curse.
“No,” Matthew said, reaching for her hand from behind to stop her. “And keep your voice down.” She wasn’t happy about his grip but seemed settled enough to at least hear him out.
“If she has my grandson, I’m going too,” Lucinda said. “You can’t talk me out of it, Matthew, so I suggest you quit wasting precious time.”
What he’d been about to pitch them was pointless. Both their eyes said as much.
After concocting a plan, they headed downstairs. Matthew had Em’s daisy-print suitcase in one hand. It was heavy, but only because he’d dumped the dirty clothes from the kids’ laundry basket into it in case the lone officer left in their kitchen insisted on helping them to the car.
“I’ve decided to drive Emily to Lucinda’s … to drive them both. Safety in numbers.”
Matthew’s lie was solid, even if his delivery was flimsy.
The officer hmmed as he reached for his cell, and Matthew glared at Lucinda.
“I don’t need you to get us home safe, thank you,” she said.
Her tantrum was enough for the cop to forget about his phone. Really sold the ruse.
“I can have a cruiser do it,” the officer suggested. “Or take you myself, maybe,”
“I just said I don’t need any help,” Lucinda repeated. “Not his, not yours.”
Lucinda’s castigating stare came naturally. She had friends in all the tentacles of law enforcement, and Lucinda never spoke kindly about any of them. She donated to their causes, but only to stay in good standing with a community that expected public sacrifices from its wealthiest members. She needed their help now, and that probably pissed her off even more.
“It’s not far, thank you, Officer,” Matthew said, hoping the man wouldn’t insist. He put a hand on Lucinda’s shoulder, unsure he’d ever get it back. “Honestly, Mom, I think we all need the fresh air, wouldn’t you agree?”
He’d never called her Mom. The ire on her face came for him, but Matthew didn’t care. Her intensity kept the cop quiet.
“Is that all right?” Matthew asked the detective with his eyes still on Lucinda.
“Are you talking to me now?” the cop asked.
“I’m sorry. Yes, I am, Officer,” Matthew said. “Can we go? Or do you need to call one of the detectives who was here earlier to ask if it’s OK?”
“Suit yourself.”
Whether the cop left behind to babysit them had been flustered by that final line or had just been blasé, it had worked.
Now the three of them were racing north on I-95 in the family Subaru. Matthew wondered if keeping the police in the dark had been the right thing to do. It wasn’t. How could it be? The right thing would have been to tell the police that Nicole had lost her mind. Heading back to play his wife’s voicemail for the detectives was still—
“You’re going to miss the exit!” Em shouted.
Matthew swung the steering wheel hard right, swerving dangerously from the fast lane to thread the offramp leading into Stamford. With a heavy foot on the gas, he looked into the rear-view mirror to evaluate their situation. Had he said “Hold tight”? He’d meant to.
“You see anything?”
Lucinda had her head cocked over her shoulder to make the same investigation. “You are giving the NYPD way too much credit … we’re fine.”
Matthew eased his foot off the accelerator. The rash move hadn’t seemed to fluster Emily, who sat in the passenger seat with her eyes plugged into Google Maps, but he was overcome by the heat of his irresponsibility. The detectives weren’t on their tail; Lucinda was right.
Nicole leaving the hospital undetected wasn’t that surprising. A big city ER at that time of night is its own unique brand of chaos. He’d watched the doctors dose her to calm his wife, and they’d left her sleeping, effectively moving Nicole to the bottom of the hospital staff’s to-do list.
Eventually, someone would check on her and find that she was missing, though, and when they couldn’t find his wife, wouldn’t they be calling him to share that news? And if the hospital phoned Matthew to report her missing, the police would hear that news, too. He’d agreed to let them monitor his cell and computer. Any calls, texts, or emails were as much theirs now as they were his. At some point, a doctor was going to ring him to say Nicole had disappeared, and when that happened, he and Lucinda would no longer be the only two people wondering if it was possible his wife had somehow managed to abduct Ethan.
“Take a left here,” Emily said, pointing at a sign that read Ledge Lane.
As Matthew made the turn onto the street Nicole had given them in her rambling voicemail, he considered going dark. No headlights might raise suspicions, but it might let him see Nicole before she had a chance to see them.
Her instructions had been clear: Matthew was supposed to come alone. It was the only part of her message that made good sense. He had no idea what Nicole was capable of at this point. The whole voicemail would take the bejesus out of the most hardened. The scariest part was that she hadn’t sounded drunk or high, not for her, anyway, which left only insane.
“I know who has Ethan and what he’s planning on doing. Or she, I mean. She hasn’t killed him yet. I’ve seen that they haven’t, but I don’t know how much longer the guy who took Ethan will be able to keep Amanda from murdering him. Not even sure that’s what’s happening, to be honest. Fuck, I sound crazy. This sounds crazy. It’s a lot to hear. It’s a lot for me to say. I mean, physically, it’s difficult to use a mouth that isn’t yours. I hope the important parts make sense. Maybe I’ve lost my mind. Either way, I need your help, Matthew. I’m not as strong as she is … she’s just … it’s Amanda, you know? ‘Doesn’t fuck around.’ Remember when you said that? It’s in Stamford, 1345 Ledge Lane. I’ll be there soon. Come alone. I mean it. This guy, even if it’s not Amanda … things could go bad fast. No police. Just you.”
They’d listened to the message over and over on the way to Connecticut. It’d never sounded anything other than utterly mad. Maybe the fall had given her a concussion, some tiny structural defect the doctors had missed. That was the best-case scenario Matthew could imagine. He’d sent the damn emoji anyway. What other choice did he have?
Ever since the turn onto Ledge Lane, Matthew had kept his eyes on the street numbers. He’d left the headlamps on, too, and had not thought to ask either of his passengers to at least duck their heads. Now, the address Nicole had given him was only four homes up the block.
He stopped the car and killed the lights. He’d walk the rest of the way alone, and if they didn’t let him do it alone, there was no choice really, he’d have to call the cops himself.
“Em, I want you to stay in the car.”
“Not going to happen.”
“Em, this isn’t up for debate. Your mother is unwell.”
“You don’t say?” she said flatly.
“For fuck’s sake, Emily. Can you just trust me this once?”
“I’m not staying in the car either,” Lucinda said.
Punching the old woman was an option, but he gave the thought time to pass. “Lucinda, you are pissed. You blame me. You have every right to blame me, I get that.”
The edges of the anger on her face didn’t soften with his attempt at an apology.
“I know you are going to do whatever you want,” Matthew pressed on. “All I can do is ask you to want to do what’s best for your grandson. And, maybe more so, to want to do what’s best for my daughter. Who is still here, in front of us both. Please, Lucinda, stay here. Stay with my daughter and make sure she’s safe.”
Lucinda looked past him like she couldn’t be bothered to hear him go on. “Someone’s coming,” she said. “Turn the car back on, Matthew. Turn it on. Do it now!”
He heard his daughter scream “Daddy!” as he turned to see who was approaching. The driver-side window burst, and the opposite end of the gun that had shattered the glass pushed hard into Matthew’s temple. His hands instinctively went up and flat on top of the steering wheel. He was instantly blind. Their attacker had a small tactical flashlight in the other hand, bright as hell. The figure pointed the beam at Matthew’s face. He couldn’t make out much more than a form, but there were enough details to know it wasn’t Nicole.
From his periphery, he sensed Emily might open her door and try to make a run for it.
“Em, it’s going to be all right,” he said. “Stay put.”
He wanted to lay a hand on his daughter’s leg to keep her from bolting but feared the tiniest movement would be all it took for a bullet to enter his brain through an eyeball. He managed a peek in the rearview. Lucinda sat frozen in the backseat, finally at a loss for words.
“Let’s everyone just take it easy. Relax. I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding.” He turned slowly against the pistol’s tip, not even three degrees, in an effort to connect with the man holding it. “Right? Wrong place, wrong time type thing.”
His assailant left the question unanswered. The homes around them stayed dark. There were no neighbors shouting about the noise or asking what the hell was going on. For a moment that felt like an eternity, only the crickets spoke, and then the figure moved the flashlight’s beam off of Matthew’s face and onto Emily’s.
It was a man. He saw that now. Only the P in the “please” came out, because the tip of the gun pushed harder against his head, and Matthew swallowed the rest of the word as his amygdala prepared for the worst.
“Your daughter’s OK,” the man said. “That’s good. I’d never perform a choke-hold on a little girl on my own.” He sounded sincere but resigned all the same. “Unfortunately for you three, I haven’t really been me lately. I don’t expect you to believe that, but …”
The pause might have meant an unlikely apology was on its way, but it never came. Instead, the gun went vertical, and the man punched Matthew with the blunt side of its handle, hard enough to stun him. Matthew’s chest fell into the steering wheel. He wasn’t unconscious, but his vision dimmed, and the shapes of familiar things turned blobby and uncertain.
The driver-side door opened as Lucinda asked the man to rethink his situation. Despite her commitment, Matthew felt his feet swing out from under him as the man yanked his body from the car and onto the street. The gun to his head was replaced with a boot to his back. With nothing to focus on underneath the car, his vision couldn’t correct from its blur.
Lucinda’s failing pleas were loud. She was screaming when she threatened to call the police, and Matthew wanted to tell her to stop, but his mouth was more unavailing than his eyes. The POP! overhead left his ears ringing, but he still heard the second shot that ended Lucinda’s whimper. Between the first shot and second, Emily’s feet dropped to the ground, and her possible escape had him too excited or too worried to know if he was feeling anguish for Lucinda at all. With his head firm to the ground, Matthew watched his daughter’s feet take the first few steps of a sprint, and when the echo of the gunfire had subsided, there were no sounds of her sneakers pounding pavement to fill its void. He had no idea how far Emily had run. Another possibility started to form in his head, one where the second shot had targeted Emily. Thank God the man spoke before the idea could take root.
“I pray your girl stays hidden. Truly I do. At least until this is all sorted.”
The man grabbed Matthew’s hand, pulled him up, and stood him stomach to the car.
Lucinda’s body was slumped against the rear passenger window. The hole in her head was spilling blood down the glass, her mouth was agape, caught in a scream she’d never finished, and smushed flat against the pane. The fog of her last breath hadn’t yet dissipated.
Matthew hadn’t meant to, but he heard himself tsk. It felt wholly inappropriate.
Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon her.
He must have mumbled the prayer, but his captor offered no condolences.
“I’d tell you I was sorry,” the man offered, “but I don’t do lies. Simply no sport in it.”
33
TAG
Tag balled up Nicole’s hand to punch through one of nine tiny panes on Aidan’s back door. Breaking into the house would alert Amanda, but he still had the element of surprise.
He cocked the fist, midtorso and to Nicole’s right, ready to unload, but it hung there as he considered the possibility that throwing the punch would cut her wrist, leaving them bleeding out on a psychopath’s back porch. Just then, the only lit lamp downstairs went dark.
It felt like he’d been caught, but scrambling Nicole’s body backward, away from the rear door, was more difficult than walking it forward. Before Tag could turn her body around to run for the bushes, he caught the outline of a human moving toward the entryway of the house. Then, through the window he’d meant to break, he watched Aidan slowly open the front door.
Aidan’s silhouette filled its frame, headlights illuminating his body from somewhere down the street. He seemed bigger than before, like an impossible enemy to vanquish, but only for a moment because the beams went dark. Then he or Amanda—if she was in control—shut the door behind them.
With Aidan in the front yard, Tag worried less about the sound the shattering glass would make if he punched through it to break in. Even if Aidan heard it from the other side of the home, the opportunity to run inside to find and grab Ethan was too good and unlikely to improve.
Go for it, just angle the punch down when you do. I’m good with it.
Nicole hadn’t spoken to him since the hospital.
When the pain from the punch through the glass started to set in, she said nothing.
Once inside, Tag navigated Nicole’s body through the darkness of the room, using the memory of prior observations of the home, until he had Nicole standing near the basement door.
He reached for the knob and noticed her hand was bleeding. He couldn’t tell if it was fatal, but her fingers were unresponsive, and the dangle of her index and pinky was unsettling.
Her left hand was an option, but as he went to use it, he realized everything he’d done that needed hands—at the hospital and while in control on the way there—he’d done with her right.
She might have been right-handed, or she might have been left-handed. He’d never paid any attention to which one held her fork when their families had dined together. She’d almost never eaten anyway. At least, nothing solid. But Nicole’s left was as useless as her right hand had become.
He called out Ethan’s name. Nicole’s mouth moved to deliver the shout, but her vocal cords hadn’t received the same message. It was all croak. Too many actions at once created a glitch in his possession of her body, or maybe all he’d put her through so far was reason enough for his control to wane.
He propped Nicole against the wall and focused on shouting to Ethan, but the pop of a gunshot outside spoiled the effort. What had come out of Nicole’s mouth was pure zombie-hum, and if Ethan had heard her at all, Tag couldn’t imagine his son had found any salvation in it.
A second shot rang out before the echo of the first had finished.
Tag didn’t realize it yet, but a picture of what was happening outside started to form.
The four living room windows he’d used to see into the house earlier had black velvet curtains drawn over them now. He considered moving Nicole closer to investigate.
The knob on the back door started to turn, and by instinct, Tag threw himself and her body to the other end of the hallway and into the open pantry.
Nicole hit the hardwood over the hollow of the basement below. The thud was ten times louder than 111 pounds seemed capable of. The back door slowly opened.
Had Tag been able to move Nicole, he might have closed the pantry door, leaving only a small gap to spy from, but as it was, he’d lost the necessary motor skills to perform that simple task. As a possessor, he was very much an amateur, and he counted himself lucky that her ears and eyes were still working for him, and luckier still that whoever had entered through the kitchen hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights.
He heard footsteps, too soft to be booted like Aidan’s, with a silence between them that was too short to be an adult’s stride. They’d started in the kitchen, had been cautious through the hallway, and though Nicole’s mind might be playing tricks on him, were headed his way.
