The Vengeful Dead (24 page)

Chapter 29

Shelby paced back and forth in Nick’s office. Cynthia sat in the corner chair, sipping tea. Nick ran a hand over his short hair in frustration. “I have no good answers for this one. Reasoning with her is not going to work. And we can’t get to her from a defensible position. She would likely kick our asses.”

“Can you just suck her up, like Drake did with the others?” Shelby asked.

Nick shook his head. “She’s strong enough to resist. I just scared her earlier, and I’m not sure how I’d feel leaving the babe’s spirit to wail there for eternity.”

“Maybe she doesn’t care that Laurel is there,” Shelby said. “Maybe we could just go in, and get her away from Rosa. You create a distraction while I grab and go.”

“And what then?” Nick leaned back and opened up his hands. “You got some powers I don’t know about? We get in a fight with her, we might not be able to get back out.”

“What about Jackie?” Cynthia said quietly from her corner.

Yes, Nick thought. There was always Jackie, the great unknown. “We’re still a bit clueless about what it is Jackie can do. We still don’t understand what happened to her over in Deadworld.”

“Laurel possessed her before, when we got Drake,” Shelby said, shaking a finger at Cynthia and nodding in agreement. “If Jackie could coax her into possession, she could take her back over to Deadworld.”

“Jackie is in no position to be going anywhere,” Nick replied. “And we used Laurel to get Jackie through before. I’m not sure we could do it without her.”

“But Jackie has her own power and abilities now,” Shelby insisted. “I’ll bet the three of us could open the door wide enough to get us through.”

“Shel . . .” Nick sighed. No reason would be good enough right now. She wanted something hopeful to cling to and would not stop until she had it. It was odd to see her this attached to someone. It had been a long time. “We can see how Jackie is doing later. Maybe she’ll feel better and be willing to try. I’m sure she’s just as worried as you are.” And utterly terrified of doing anything with Deadworld.

“All right!” Shelby said. “We’ll do that. First thing,” she added.

“I should’ve had her stay at my place,” Nick said. The more he thought about it, the more uncomfortable he felt about Jackie’s safety in this whole situation. “Too many unknowns going on with this.”

Shelby’s smile drifted away. “You think she’s susceptible, don’t you? Because of what happened with Laurel.”

“I agree,” Cynthia added. “Her body has been used once, which will make the next easier, and she is weak. I wouldn’t put her anywhere near an angry spirit.”

“You’re right,” Nick said. “Foolish of me. I should have stayed with her or brought her home.” He started to get up and noticed Shelby’s arched brows and faint smile. “Don’t give me that look. It’s her safety I’m worried about, not whose bed she’s sleeping in.”

“Awfully nice to have both, though,” she replied.

Nick grabbed his coat off the back of his chair. Cynthia gave him a bemused smile over the top of her tea cup and he pointed an accusing finger. “You could take my side once in awhile, Cyn.”

“But I am,” she said, lowering her cup. “I thought you wanted to sleep with her.”

“You know what?” He forced the zipper on his coat together and yanked it up. He didn’t know what, actually, but was tired of them pointing out the obvious. “Whatever happened to chivalry? It used to be a noble aspiration.”

Nick opened the door and strode out into the hall, not waiting for the answer.

Behind, Shelby’s voice yelled after, followed by her and Cynthia’s snickering, “I’d rather get laid, Nick!”

Fact of the matter was, he did want her, in a way he hadn’t wanted anyone since Shelby. Perhaps it was because Drake was dead and he had saved her life. He was trying to move on and she was the most obvious connection to move on with. The thought had crossed his mind more than once that he wanted Jackie due to convenience. As the days wore on, though, Nick had discovered she was far from convenient. She had a troubled past that continued to plague her. Her best friend had died. She drank too much and, to top it off, some fair part of her was still terrified of what he was. It was enough baggage to sink just about anyone.

Nick rolled down the windows of his Porsche and let the chill of the early evening air assault him. He cranked up his stereo when, coincidentally, Sinatra’s
My Way
came on. He could easily let Jackie go. The part of her that cringed at his touch would breathe easy and say good riddance. Then what of that part that came to life beneath his lips? That had not been his imagination. They were both lost souls hoping to find a way to reconnect with life, and that was really all that he needed to know. Everything else was just icing.

As the minutes rolled by, Nick’s worry grew. He shouldn’t have left her alone. The shooting incident had been nagging at him from the moment it occurred. Something had not been right about it all. He had dismissed the idea that Jackie had been used by Rosa. After all, Jackie had woken up in the hospital as herself. What if Rosa was not so utterly single-minded, though? What if she was smart enough to leave and come back at a more opportune time? What if Jackie was as susceptible to possession as he suspected?

Nick picked up speed, weaving through evening traffic that was heading into town, cruising by the solid line of cars heading out.

The most damning evidence of all, however, was the one Nick had glossed over. The smell of blood. Rosa’s murder scene had been ripe with it, cloying and dense, so much so you wanted to wash yourself after leaving. Jackie had not been able to get rid of it. Rosa was lingering on her in a palpable way. And maybe it was all just paranoia and the simple desire or excuse to be near Jackie. Nick decided he would gladly take that alternative if it meant Rosa was not interfering with her. Possession was the last thing in the world she needed after all that had happened.

He had to park two blocks away from her apartment. People were just getting home and taking all of the spots. Nick walked briskly down the sidewalk, providing an imposing enough presence that people eagerly sidestepped out of his path. Half a block away, he reached out, trying to sense her, feel her sleeping, buried in the soft down of her comforter. Jackie’s blood would tingle in his veins when he got in close proximity to her, a bond he would have with her no matter what might happen.

At the downstairs entry, Nick grabbed the handle and focused some of his energy upon it until the lock released. He still could not feel her. Up the stairs three at a time and still nothing sparked his senses. All of this he could have brushed off except that he found the front door to her apartment unlocked. He was sure he had locked it, and Jackie would never leave without locking. She kept the chain hooked even when answering the door.

“Jackie!” he shouted, moving quickly around through the living room and marching down the hall to the bedroom. “Jackie?”

The bed was empty.

Bickerstaff sat on one corner, staring apprehensively, ready to bolt. Nick looked in the bathroom and checked the rest of the apartment. Nothing looked disturbed. It had been three hours and a normal human being would not have woken up from what he had done for at least eight—ten if you were lucky. And Jackie had proven she was far from that.

Nick took out his phone and hit speed dial. “Shel?”

“Hey, babe,” she said. “Snuggling up with your girl?”

“Get your cycle. She’s gone.”

Chapter 30

Jackie came to a stop at last, sitting down on an embankment beneath a bridge with Laurel in her lap. It had been several minutes or maybe an hour, she could not tell. Time did not run properly in Deadworld. She had not stopped because she was tired or out of breath. Being a spirit rather alleviated that problem, but Jackie figured if Rosa had been chasing them, she would have caught up or given up by now, if she had even chased them at all.

Laurel’s face had not changed. She still looked as though she slept peacefully. Somewhere in there, however, her pulse or life force or whatever it was beat ever so faintly. Rosa had left it alone or been unable to reach some part of her. Jackie brushed her hand across Laurel’s cheek.

“Laur? Can you hear me? Are you there? It’s safe now. Please. I need you. You have to come back for me.” As she expected, Laurel continued her unresponsive slumber.

Jackie turned and set her down on the incline, carefully folding her hands over her belly and straightening her clothes. If she was aware in there, at least she would be comfortable. With arms crossed over her knees, Jackie set her chin on top and stared out into the dense and shifting gloom beyond the bridge, eyes scanning from one side to the other at quick, regular intervals. There had to be something she could do. She had to find a way to contact Nick or Shelby or even Cynthia and let them know what had happened. Then again, it would be helpful if she knew just what the hell had happened.

Assuming for the moment this was not still a horrid nightmare, it meant Rosa had booted her to Deadworld and taken over her body. It also meant she had done it the night before, which explained why she had been so utterly exhausted. She had never actually gone to sleep. Rosa had been out there trying to track down Rennie Vasquez. It meant she was out there now, driving around in Jackie’s Durango, hoping to pick up those needed clues to go finish him off. And then what? Would she come back to her babe so Jackie could return? Or, what if like Morgan she got caught in a shoot-out and her body died? Then Deadworld would be her new home.

“Fuck no,” Jackie said. “No way that’s happening.” She reached down and laid her hand on Laurel’s. “Wake up, Laur. I really need your help with this one.”

Jackie took a deep breath and counted to ten. Her brain was beginning to turn into frazzled mush. Her piano would have been good right about now. The first step any good investigator took was to look at what you already knew. Primary fact: she was now a ghost. What did she know about ghosts? They could possess people. They could move back and forth between the real world and the dead one. With a point of reference, they could will themselves to another place in a fraction of the time it took to walk. Laurel had done this. Nick had, too. She had tried and failed.
But I wasn’t a ghost then
.
So, I should be able to now.
Crossing over would be the trick. Jackie hadn’t the foggiest idea how one went about doing that.

If she could travel, where should she go? Nick instantly came to mind. Nick knew how to cross over. Laurel had helped him. If he could sense her presence like she could with Laur, then maybe he could let her know how to get out of this Godforsaken place. Jackie tried to recall what it was Laurel had explained before, about moving as a ghost, but then her focus was interrupted by someone running by along the stone streambed.

He looked like an Amish man, given the conservative attire and the beard, but he paid her no mind. He just looked over his shoulder once and continued to run like a bat out of hell. The first thing that popped into Jackie’s mind was the smarmy, pretentious smile of Cornelius Drake. There were other vampires, though Nick told her he had only ever seen one other. What were the odds another vampire was roaming around in Chicago’s side of the dead? Of course, Nick did not know how things were here, not for sure. Her first trip over had been his, too. Maybe there were a lot of soul-slurping vampires running around over here.

Whispering voices moved quickly overhead on the bridge, fading on the other side. Maybe it was Rosa on the warpath or some other royally pissed-off ghost? Jackie decided it would be best not to wait around and find out. She scooped up Laurel’s body and walked out in the direction the Amish man had gone. Up the embankment on the other side, Jackie paused to try and figure out where she wanted to go. It was not an area of Chicago she was familiar with.

Ahead of her, it was turning into a mix of old business and residential. Across the dry creek-bed, it was purely residential, neat rows of 1920s and 1930s homes, of which Jackie could only get glimpses of the nearest ones. Two more people ran across the bridge, one leaping down to the bed below and continuing on past her. By the expression on her face, Jackie would say she was terrified.

“What’s happening?” she called out as the woman passed her.

One furtive glance was all she afforded Jackie. “Run!” she yelled.

Still not seeing anything, she pulled Laurel tighter against her chest and stepped over between two buildings. It was not much cover, but when your visibility was one hundred feet with favorable Deadworld winds, it would do.

Jackie half expected some sort of Godzilla to come stomping through, but the air remained silent. The wispy blanket above continued to eddy and shift, reaching down with tenuous fingers toward the ground. About to give up and start walking, Jackie felt a shift in the breeze, a subtle change in direction, from blowing into her face to coming at her back. She watched the dangling fog, drifting toward her abruptly bend and twist and begin its quest in the opposite direction. What sort of thing would cause the wind to shift? Something that scared the shit out of people, no doubt.

It was not Godzilla that came to the foot of the bridge on the opposite side, but it might as well have been for the imposing presence it radiated. Jackie first saw something dark moving through the gray, not much bigger than a person. It might have been a person for all she could tell, except that nothing in this place had any sort of crisp color. Deadworld was a washed-out palette of grays. This was black, nightsky darkness. It moved slowly, and because of the cottony strands of fog that were being drawn to it like the eye of a hurricane, Jackie could not tell if it walked on two legs or just floated across the ground.

The thing had arms, long and spindly, with sharp joints that gave the appearance of tree limbs, which swung with smooth grace next to its body. Without getting closer, Jackie could not tell for sure, but it looked to be covered in something, stiffer than fur, maybe quills, that ran vertically over its body, flowing right up into its head, which gave it a ragged paintbrush look. Well, it wasn’t human, of that Jackie was certain.

The black creature began to move over the bridge at a very casual pace, its head turning back and forth. It seemed to be looking for something. Jackie turned away to gain protected cover from the corner of the building.
That’s not human, whatever it is. So why is it in this place?
Of greater concern was the fact people were running away from it frightened for their lives.
Maybe it’s time I got the hell out of here.

Jackie gave it one last look and froze. It stood in the middle of the bridge, facing her with silverdollar-sized eyes distorted by the wiry hair that grew over every part of its body, glowing with a luminescent emerald-green stare. The head cocked to one side as though perplexed or confused by what it saw.
It wonders why the hell I’m here, just like I do.
But Jackie did not think that little cock of the head was curiosity in a puppy-dog sort of way. She got the panicky feeling its curiosity tended toward the “how many different ways can I cook it?” side of things. This was where humans came when they died, so what in God’s name was that? The panicky feeling bloomed into full-on dread. When it turned and continued to cross the bridge, Jackie spun back between the buildings and fled, hoisting Laurel up over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

“Shit. Holy shit. Laur? Now would be a good time to wake up. Something really bad is after us.” Jackie sprinted down the street, watching the gauzy fingers of fog make their sluggish turns in the other direction toward the gathering storm that had to be named Death.

Jackie ran until the wind shifted back to its usual direction. Then she ran some more, praying that she was not somehow running in a circle back to that dark, swirling storm. She wanted to get to Nick’s. If she was going to be safe anywhere in this chill world, it was Nick’s house, but she couldn’t leave Laurel, and Jackie had no idea if she could pull both of them along. Maybe it would work, but she could not risk failure and leave Laurel within the clutches of that black thing.

She reached a park, a smooth open field of stone, likely soccer fields in the real world, and decided to stop. She could not hide here, but nor could the thing sneak up on her. The first hint of changing wind and she would be off again. Jackie laid Laurel on the ground and cupped her face in her hands.

“Laur? I know you’re in there. Can you hear me? If I can help you somehow, you need to let me know.”

She came back to Deadworld to recharge. Laurel had told her that much, but how? Did it happen naturally or did she have to do something? More importantly, maybe she could do it for her? Jackie closed her eyes and tried to relax, hard to do when green eyes were somewhere behind them and swirling in their direction. It was all a matter of relaxing and focusing, like with her piano. The piano was her meditation or so Laurel had proclaimed.

Jackie tried to let her mind drift to those memories, blocking out the edgy panic that gripped her and the unknown danger that closed in. Imagined sitting at her piano, Bickerstaff parked on top, eyes halfclosed while she played, churning through clues or just playing out frustration or depression. If she could get to that place then maybe she could bring Laurel what she needed. Jackie had no idea how it was supposed to work. She was not a psychic, but she could play those notes in her head, feel herself seated at the bench, her fingers stretching, pressing, lifting, and floating over the keys, filling her with lush sounds that dulled and pushed away all the things that threatened her being.

Something began to pull at her, like the suction from a straw, drawing upon her insides.

“Hon? What? What are you doing here?”

Jackie opened her eyes and found Laurel blinking rapidly up at her, trying to focus her gaze. A wave of dizzy exhaustion swept through Jackie and she let go of Laurel’s face, bracing a hand on the ground. “Damn, it worked.” She laughed, unbelieving. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you.”

Laurel looked around and sat up, still shaking the cobwebs out. “Where are we? Rosa was beating the crap out of me . . .” Her hand came up to cover her mouth. “Oh, Sweet Mother, Jackie. Why are you here? How? Oh, please, no!”

“Oh! I’m not dead. At least I don’t think I am.” She reached out and hugged Laurel, whose arms enfolded her, the first embrace she had received from her best friend since before she had died. Jackie began to cry. “God, Laur. You don’t know how good that feels. I’ve missed you so much.”

Laurel held her for a moment longer and then pulled back, taking Jackie’s face in her hands. She leaned forward and gave her a brief kiss. “Why are you here?”

“I think Rosa took my body while I was sleeping and booted me over here.”

“But . . . when, Jackie? I don’t understand. It doesn’t work like that.”

Jackie shrugged. “I don’t have a fucking clue either, but we don’t have time to discuss this now. There’s some . . . thing out there following us.”

“A thing?” Laurel’s forehead wrinkled up with confusion. “What sort of thing?”

“I don’t know! It was black and had these big, freaky green eyes,” Jackie said. “Everyone was running as fast as they could in the opposite direction, so I figured it would be good to stay away. Maybe it was the Grim Reaper or something.”

Laurel got to her feet, turning slowly in a full circle. “How do you know it’s following us?”

“Because it saw me, and gave me this cockeyed
who the fuck are you ?
look and started walking our way.”

“It came after you, particularly?” Laurel said, still gazing out into the dense fog. “But why?”

“Eating ghosts for breakfast? I really don’t want to hang around and find out. I was going to try that teleport thing you tried to teach me before, but I was worried I’d leave you behind.”

Following her cue, the wind abruptly switched from the left side of her face to the right. Laurel perked up and turned around. She had noticed it, too.

“Teleport or run?” Jackie whispered in a rush. “It can’t be far.”

“Let’s go to Nick’s,” she whispered back. “Don’t feel like running.”

“Just focus on his place?”

She nodded. “Imagine it and you will arrive.” Laurel took Jackie’s hands in hers. “Close your eyes, hon. Easier that way.”

Jackie did and imagined Nick’s living room with its enormous, comforting, river-stone fireplace. The perfect place to curl up on a cold Chicago night. There was a pull on her, like wind pulling sand off a dune, digging deeper and deeper into her, until they were drawn away, fired across the gray like an arrow. A moment later, stillness enveloped them and Jackie opened her eyes. She was greeted by the familiar expanse of stone and heaved a sigh of relief.

Laurel, on the other hand, stared in shock, her mouth agape. “Sweet Mother, that thing was definitely not human.”

“I know,” Jackie replied. “Now then, how do we cross over? Because the broken girl here wants her body back before Rosa gets it filled full of holes.”