The Night Is Alive (20 page)

“You can do that?” the woman asked.

“With her help,” Malachi said, gesturing at Abby.

She walked over to join them. “Savannah is my home. I know the people who can get this done,” she told them.

The man turned to her. “You would really help us?”

“Of course.”

“You two are always here,” Malachi said.

“Always.” The man took his wife’s hand.

“You must notice what goes on around here,” Malachi remarked.

“We watch. We watch over this grave,” the wife said.

Malachi nodded. “A mother’s love, a father’s dedication. But perhaps you could help
us,
too. People are disappearing. I know the city is crowded, that tourists come daily. But...late at night, or even during the day, do you see things?”

The man studied Malachi for a long time and then slowly lifted his arm, pointing. “There is something—there, on the corner—something that is odd.”

“Not truly odd. It was dug years and years ago,” the woman said. “It is part of the old drainage system.”

“And it was abandoned years ago!” the man added.

The woman sniffed. “Abandoned. Sealed after the horror of the yellow fever! But there were things that went on then that... I believe they thought if they could get the bodies out of the city through the sewer system, they would not infect others. They dug deep tunnels by the old hospital. But there was more that went on than was ever recorded.”

“Have you seen anything there?” Malachi asked.

“Shadows at night. By day, who knows?”

“People move around,” the old woman said. “There is an alley behind the first mausoleum. Sometimes a tall figure goes there...and does not come back. But there are many of us here. Many, many walk the city. Our kind. We are like shadows. And shadow-walkers may be restless by night. So what we’ve seen...I am not sure. But we will watch for you,” she said anxiously. “If you wish, we will watch for you.”

“That’s very kind.”

“My son...he fought bravely in the War of 1812. Please. His marker should read ‘Lieutenant Josiah Beckwith, born April 9, 1790. Died for his country, September 12, 1814, at the Battle of North Point during the War of 1812. Beloved son, husband and father. A patriot.’”

“We’ll see to it,” Abby said, jotting the details on a small notepad. She prayed she could keep her promise.

The man’s arm was around his wife’s shoulder. He started to offer his hand, but let it fall. “I am Edgar Beckwith. This is my wife, Elizabeth.”

“Malachi Gordon,” Malachi said. “And Abigail Anderson.”

“Anderson?” the woman said, looking at her. “Are you related to the family that owns the tavern?”

She nodded.

“Your family are good people, Ms. Anderson.”

She thanked them, and Malachi took her arm. They left the old couple gazing sadly at their son’s tombstone. Abby saw two young women standing by a red brick aboveground grave—watching her and Malachi. She felt her cheeks growing red.

As she glanced at Malachi, embarrassed, he smiled. “Don’t worry!” he said.

“They think we’re crazy, that we talk to imaginary friends,” Abby muttered.

Malachi laughed. “These days? Everyone looks crazy because half the time they have headsets on or they’re on the phone and they seem to be talking to themselves. So...”

“Do you think the Beckwiths really saw something in the alley?”

“I think they did and that they’ll lead us where we’d eventually have gotten—except we’ll get there more quickly now.”

“Get where?”

“Back beneath the ground,” he said.

10

M
alachi called David, asking him to send a few officers to the alley. Then he called Jackson, suggesting he get someone to do historical and architectural research on the area.

In the meantime, he told Jackson, he and Abby would drive back to the hospital to talk to Helen.

“Any word on Bianca Salzburg?” she asked.

He repeated her question to Jackson; no, Bianca hadn’t appeared.

He and Abby got into the car and headed back to the hospital.

“What made you want to stop at the cemetery and talk to that couple?” she asked him.

He sent her a warm smile. “You.”

“Me?”

“When you talked to the Mortons and then told me how you envied them, I started to think about these two in the cemetery. They’re there for the long haul. Some people don’t care—dead is dead. You move on. Others...well, honor was a big thing to them. They need that tombstone fixed.”

“How am I going to convince city council and the staff in charge of the cemetery that I know how that gravestone should be corrected?” Abby asked.

“We’ll pull something out of a history book somewhere,” Malachi assured her. “Or some old record.”

Abby stared ahead, looking tired and grim. He reached over and took her hand.

“I’m worried about Bianca.”

“He holds his victims. We have time to find her.”

“He assaults his victims,” she said.

He couldn’t argue with that.

“We’ll see what Helen can tell us now that she’s a little more removed from the situation,” he told her.

At the hospital they learned that Helen was resting comfortably. Kat had been sitting with her; when Abby and Malachi came, she rose and stretched. “I’m off for a bit—walk around, maybe grab some coffee.”

“We’ll stay until you get back,” Malachi said. As she moved toward the door he asked quietly, “Has she given you any information?”

“She’s been asleep for the past hour. I suggested she try to remember details, but I’m sure she’s telling us everything she remembers—or what she thinks she saw. Maybe you can get more.”

Kat left, and Abby sat beside the hospital bed. Helen’s eyes flickered open and, for a moment, they registered fear—until she saw Abby. “Hey,” she said weakly.

“Hey, yourself. How are you doing?”

“Okay. Dirk came to see me.” She smiled. “With Aldous and Bootsie. Aldous is a sweetheart. He told me he’s been so worried, he almost grew back some hair.”

Abby laughed, then glanced at Malachi.

He nodded, letting her know she should do the talking for now.

Abby drew a deep breath. “Helen, we think he’s taken another woman.”

Helen’s eyes closed; she went gray, trembling visibly. “I’m so sorry!” she whispered.

“You’re the only one who can help us.”

Helen shook her head. “I don’t know how,” she said, her voice raspy. “I just...don’t.” Her eyes opened and she stared at Abby. “I never believed in ghosts before. And I know he was supposed to be a gentleman pirate, and that Errol Flynn and Johnny Depp made pirates seem cool, but...it was Blue, Abby. I
know
it was Blue Anderson. He’s dead, but somehow...”

“Helen, it wasn’t Blue. And even if he came back as a ghost, he’d
never
do anything like this. It’s someone dressing up as Blue.”

“But...”

“Think about it, Helen. You know that has to be true.”

Malachi stepped forward, dragging a chair closer to Helen, across from Abby. “Helen, you were hurt. You were hit on the head. You were abused and kept in a dark place. You’re being wonderful, but what we need you to do is try to remember every little detail. What happened right before Abby pulled you out of the water?”

Helen’s forehead wrinkled with her effort. “I remember hearing water. I remember it being dark, and I remember the man...Blue.”

“It wasn’t Blue. It was someone dressed as Blue,” Malachi said again. Abby frowned at him, but Helen let out a breath.

“Someone dressed as Blue,” she agreed listlessly. “I—I only saw him briefly. He put something on my eyes.”

“He blindfolded you?” Abby asked.

“Yes.”

“You remember him being in the room,” Malachi said. “What kind of room?”

“It was...I think it was a cabin.” Tears welled in Helen’s eyes. “Touching me,” she said with a whisper.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to remember that part right now,” Malachi said. “But did he wear cologne or aftershave? Do you remember anything about his voice?”

“It was gruff—like a pirate’s voice.”

“Do you remember any other sounds? Did you ever hear people?” Malachi asked.

Abby glanced at him and set a gentle hand on Helen’s. She carefully avoided the IV dripping fluids into a vein in Helen’s arm, but tried to comfort the young woman.

“I didn’t hear people...” Helen said. Then she bit her lip. “Yes, once...but it was early on. I thought I heard people. Maybe music. And tapping. A rhythmic tap...tap...tap. Only sometimes. Maybe it was a band...”

“Thank you, Helen,” Abby said.

Malachi took over again. “What do you remember about being held captive?”

Helen shuddered; Abby reached over and smoothed down a lock of her hair.

“I was in the bed...the bunk...whatever. It wasn’t comfortable. He said I was a captive who’d fallen in love with him. But he repulsed me. He...he made me want to vomit. I gagged or choked and then...then he was angry. He told me I was a bad captive.”

“Helen, was he with you all the time?” Malachi asked.

“I don’t...I don’t know. I remember lying there...my hands were bound and my feet were tied to something and I couldn’t move. He’d go away...and then he’d be back. And then he’d touch me again. So...so disgusting. I couldn’t—I couldn’t pretend. I couldn’t be what he wanted, couldn’t even pretend to be in love with him. He was very angry. My hands were still bound, but then...then he untied my feet...my ankles, I guess. He jerked me up and wrenched my hand around and...I felt one of his hands holding mine down on a table or something and then—”

She broke off with a sob.

“He cut you,” Abby said quietly.

“He cut off my finger!” Helen sobbed. “I can still hear the sound. There was a whoosh...and then I felt the slam of it...and I felt the pain. I was still blindfolded but I knew...I knew it was my finger.” She continued to sob.

“Oh, Helen!” Abby said, stroking her cheek gently. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Malachi apologized to Abby with his eyes but she obviously understood that he had to press forward. “Helen, he took your finger while your blindfold was on. What then?”

“He dragged me along the floor,” Helen began. “Maybe...maybe there was music again. I heard a beat...tap, tap, tap. And I thought I heard laughter across the water. I—I felt the night air on my skin. I knew he had a knife and I thought he was going to stab me. But he cut the ropes—and then I was in the water. I was suddenly in the water, and I was trying so hard to swim, but I was in pain, and my arms...they were so stiff. I got the blindfold off. I...I don’t know what happened to it. I don’t even know what it looked like. I couldn’t swim. I felt so heavy, I was all tangled up in something....”

“You were found wearing a wench costume,” Malachi told her. “Do you recall changing into it, or when you were changed into it?”

Helen shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes again. “I’m so sorry. I should just be grateful to be alive!”

“Helen, it’s okay,” Abby said. “You were assaulted, you were nearly killed. That’s a terrible trauma, and you’ll probably need counseling to get over it. But don’t worry now. You’re safe here, protected by people who’d die before they let anything else happen to you!”

“I owe you both my life,” Helen said.

“You owe your life to your own will and strength, Helen,” Malachi said firmly. “You are a survivor. You’re going to be fine. And don’t apologize for the pain you feel, and don’t ever apologize for crying. You have real inner strength, and you’re going to get through this.”

Helen managed a shaky smile.

There was a knock at the door. A tall, brawny male nurse was there; Malachi wondered if he’d been specially chosen to watch over Helen, just in case there was trouble. He didn’t doubt that Jackson Crow might have seen to such a thing.

“There are a few people out here asking to see Ms. Long,” the nurse announced.

“Oh?”

“I told them only two at a time. There’s a fellow out here named Roger English and a couple of others—Jack Winston and Blake Stewart.” He shrugged. “Earlier, they said it was fine for Mr. Johansen to see her with his friends. But I was told to check with whoever’s here from enforcement.”

Malachi could see that Abby was about to get up and prevent anyone from coming near Helen.

“Abby, could you talk to Roger for a minute? Tell him Helen’s had it very rough and that he shouldn’t push her. I think it’s okay for the other two gentlemen to come in right away. But, of course, that’s up to Helen.” He turned to her.

Helen nodded. “Yes, of course. I want to see my friends, but I— Abby? Would you run that brush through my hair?”

“Of course!” Abby hastened to do as she was asked.

When she was finished, Helen said, “How silly—I’m lucky to have my life and I’m worried about how I look.”

“That’s not silly,” Malachi assured her. “That’s life-affirming.”

“And you look beautiful,” Abby said.

“Wenches are supposed to be tough, aren’t they?” Helen asked.

Abby smiled, glanced at Malachi and hurried out. A minute later, the two young actors who worked for Dirk came into the room. Malachi studied them. They looked very different from the way they had when he’d seen them on the
Black Swan.

Jack Winston, the older and more confident of the two, was dressed in a T-shirt that advertised Guinness and a pair of stylishly threadbare jeans. He was well-built and had a naturally cocky way about him, but his eyes were filled with tenderness as he walked in. Blake was younger and his heart appeared to be prominently displayed on his sleeve as he followed Jack. Tall and lanky, he wore jeans as well, but had on a polo shirt.

“Helen!” Jack said.

“Hi,” Blake greeted her. Jack kissed Helen on the cheek; Blake stood awkwardly beside the bed.

“Hey, you two!” she said.

Jack didn’t seem to recognize Malachi. He walked over to him and thrust out his hand. “I’m Jack Winston and this is Blake Stewart. We work with Helen. We’ve been worried sick. We, uh, called the hospital and they said it was okay to visit.”

“Sure. Helen needs to see her friends,” Malachi said, shaking hands with Jack. Blake seemed confused, as if he should know him but didn’t. Malachi smiled. “Malachi Gordon. I’m a private investigator working as a consultant with the federal unit down here.”

“Oh, uh, great,” Blake said. Still confused, he turned back to Helen.

Jack did the talking; he was a good bedside guest. He regaled her with tales of kids who’d been on the ship and told her how much she’d been missed. Blake listened, just staring at Helen, his infatuation evident.

He sat down, taking the place Abby had been in before. “Helen...oh, God. Oh, Helen, we missed you so much! We’re so glad... Anything, anything you need or want, you let us know. We’ll get it for you!”

“I’m going to be okay, Blake. Abby and this gentleman here, Mr. Gordon—they saved me.”

“I wish it had been me, Helen!” Blake said passionately. “I wish I could have saved you. If I ever find out who did this, I swear, I’ll kill him!”

His words hung in the air for a minute. “You can’t say that,” Helen told him. “You...you have to let the law take care of him.”

“Don’t worry,” Malachi said. “I understand how you feel, Blake. But she’s right. You have to leave this in the hands of the law.”

Blake didn’t answer.

Jack placed a hand on his shoulder. “They’ll get him, Blake. They’ll get him. Don’t upset Helen.”

“I’m fine,” Helen said softly. Malachi thought she was; seeing how Blake felt meant something to her. His affection made her stronger.

Just then, Abby came back into the room with Roger English, Roger looking duly chastised. He went over to Helen and bent down—then straightened abruptly and asked, “Is it all right if I kiss your cheek? It won’t hurt you or anything?”

“I would love a kiss on the cheek,” she said.

“I’m so glad you’re okay, Helen.” Roger kissed her cheek with great care.

“Thank you, Roger.”

He nodded, stepped back and looked at Malachi. He didn’t say anything else.

Malachi rose. “Come on, Roger, let’s go get some coffee.”

“So, Helen, we’re hoping you’ll be back with us soon. I mean, we want you to get rich and famous in a zombie movie, but we’d like you back with us, too,” Jack said.

Roger came forward again. “Helen, he’s taken another girl. Her name is Bianca Salzburg. You might have met her.... She took some of the local tours and she might have been on the
Black Swan.
Helen, you have to remember—”

“Stop it! Leave her alone!” Blake said.

Malachi got up, stepping between the two of them and glancing at Abby.

He clapped Roger on the back. “Kat should be back soon,” he told Abby.

He was done at the hospital; he’d gotten from Helen everything he thought he could, and it was time to start going over what she had said, and trying to put the pieces together. Now, Helen deserved a little peace.

As soon as he was outside the room with Roger, he said, “You were very good in there—at first. But we already told Helen that another woman is missing. She wants to help. I’m glad you came to see her, but badgering her won’t help. Abby explained that to you.”

Roger was red-faced but he nodded dully. “They haven’t found Bianca yet. She hasn’t been back to her B and B, and she isn’t answering her cell.”

Malachi didn’t tell him he was sure the police had put a trace on the phone. “We’re going to do everything we can” was all he said.

“Can I tell Helen I’m sorry?” Roger asked.

“I think it’s best if you don’t. She’s had enough for today.”

“All right,” Roger said. “Is there anything I
can
do?”

“Take a walk. See if you can think of anything. If you do, call me.” Malachi presented a card. It had nothing on it but his cell phone number.