Death Screams (34 page)

I loved that old guy.

"It seems that Mr. Mason had been keeping an eye on Jade's place for months," his eyes flicked to mine. I tried to remain neutral but he saw what there was to see.

Anger.

He held up a hand. "Listen, son, these are the facts. I can't change them, I can only relay them." His eyes locked with mine and I unclenched my hands, trying for composure and missing it by a mile.

"Anyway, he had seen LeClerc show up on a bender... "

My eyebrows shot up.

"Drunker than a skunk," Gramps elaborated.

Right.

Garcia nodded, pausing to recover. He nodded at Gramps. "Brett knew the signs and gathered his group together to back him."

"Back him for what?" I asked.

Garcia shrugged. "Don't think there was a grand plan there, Caleb. I think he knew Jade was going to be in trouble, he took his friends to try to make sure it didn't happen. And your group collided with his." He made a smacking sound as his palms slapped together.

So coincidence? He saw my look.

"In a way. But I think he was carrying that knife for awhile. It'd worn a mark in his jeans." He gave me a significant look.

Holy hell, he'd been packing metal and I'd been none the wiser.

Gramps and I exchanged a full glance.

"It would have been a different outcome if Brett Mason had that weapon last year," my dad said ominously.

Yeah, like they would have carved me up like Swiss cheese. Jezebel couldn't have saved me. Even Clyde wouldn't have been able to.

Garcia gave me a look. "There is no historical precedence for using zombies as weapons for assault... or murder."

He hadn't spent enough time with Parker's.

"But, if that tomahawk," he paused, "it was a tomahawk, wasn't it?"

"Skopamish again, Caleb?" Gramps interrupted.

I nodded.

"Huh, they're Johnnies-on-the-spot," he said as he palmed his chin.

I looked at Garcia, his patience on thin ice. "Yeah, it was a tomahawk."

He inclined his head as if he'd already known that. "Anyway, if Brett hadn't struck first," he shrugged his shoulders, "it would have been bad for you."

Dad looked at him, his brows jacked down over his eyes. "I am sorry, this is so confusing to me."

My dad was never confused about anything. Gramps looked on with interest.

"How is my son, in a position of defense for his life against a known felon, in any way compromised by his actions? Further, he is able to use whatever is at his disposal to protect his physical body and those around him. Unless I misunderstand my constitutional rights?" Dad straightened.

Garcia waited and Gramps said, "Yeah, that about sums it up."

Garcia sighed. "That is how it will work with Brett. The weapon is illegal, his use to defend himself... not. But it leaves us in a conundrum. He used a weapon he should not have had access to. He then used it to murder the attacker. It is clear cut. He will be punished for the possession, not the use." He paused then gave me cop eyes. "But you... you're different. You will set a precedence, Caleb. You and your zombies. Parker's zombies too."

He looked at my folks and they shifted their weight. He had them in the cross hairs. "Your boy has a powerful weapon at his disposal. If he were to fall into the wrong hands," he turned his attention to me, "or decide on a different life path, it could end badly. And let's face the facts here, Caleb. Zombies are not inanimate objects to be wielded. They move, they breathe, they think, somehow. They could be assassins."

I thought of Clyde and all that he was.

All that he was becoming.

Garcia was right. I had the potential Arsenal of Assassins for use.

For hire.

"Our son is not like that, Officer Garcia," Mom said in a deeply offended tone.

His eyes shifted to hers. "It may not be up to him, Mrs. Hart." His eyes traveled back to me. "Someday you could command many and someone could command what you control. It's not simple."

No shit Sherlock.

Gramps said, "What are we talking here?"

"Graysheets," Gale whispered.

They'd made a try for me twice this year. But without a kidnapping. Only warnings.

Their executions of said warnings needed work.

"Parker's got something up his sleeve, I'll admit it. But it's speculation as to what." I shrugged.

"The only good thing that came of this was we know who the DI is," Gale said.

I guess there was that.

"Duly noted," Gramps said for me.

"I'm your friend here, Caleb. I just want you aware of how close this came to you being in irrevocable trouble."

I nodded, I was getting that.

"I think I want to go talk to Brett," I said.

"That's not a good idea," Dad said immediately.

I shook my head. "If he hadn't been watching out for Jade," my words squeezing out from between my teeth, "she might be dead. He saved her. As much as I hate his ass," I looked at Mom, daring her to correct my language but she was still shell shocked, "because I do. He deserves my thanks. And I did rip off his life force." I shrugged.

That had to suck balls.

Mom said quietly, "I feel sorry for him, Kyle."

Dad looked at her in surprise. But her stare was all for me, standing tears in her eyes. I couldn't begin to understand what about Brett could make her sad.

"Because you'll be his first visitor, Caleb," she said, answering my unspoken question.

I let that sink home.

His friends hadn't come.

His family
.

Nobody came.

I nodded, decision made.

As I walked away Garcia called my name and I turned back. "I have to know." He stared at me and I watched him think about his words. "How many do you think you could raise, Caleb. How many zombies?"

I thought about how much power it took to subdue myself so I could raise just
one
zombie when the whole graveyard pulsed in response to the call. The zombies coming to my distress. Not needing any juice from Tiff or Jade anymore. How my ability simmered underneath the surface of who I was in a constant river of power. The current sure and swift.

I opened my mouth to respond but it was Gramps that said it best, "Legion," he said as an absolute.

Gale's eyes widened and Garcia nodded with resignation, unsurprised by the answer.

I didn't refute Gramps' tally. As markers went, it was dead accurate.

No pun intended.

I headed to Brett's room, gratefulness and resentment combining in a sour play of emotions, the cheeseburgers a churning lump in my stomach.

"Hart," Brett croaked out a greeting as I came in, the door shutting itself behind me.

The first thing I noticed was he looked like shit. His skin was ashen, the platinum blond of his hair making it appear more washed out, not less. His eyes looked like two black piss holes in a snow bank.

I restrained a grimace and walked over to his bedside.

We stared at each other uncomfortably for several seconds.

Finally, I said, "Thanks, man."

His eyebrows rose.

"Ya know, for saving Jade."

Slight color rose on his cheeks. "Yeah, it was no big deal. I was just there. I wasn't gonna let that asshole lay hands on her again."

Right
, I thought, my bullshit meter singing a tune to beat the band.

Some of what I thought must've shown on my face because he pressed his lips together. "Listen, don't bust my balls, Hart. I know she's your girlfriend. Hell, you all but brand her in the hall every day."

I do? I scowled at that.

"But I live close, I got a bead on LeClerc. I knew he was getting ready to do something."

"You're no precog, Mason," I stated.

He nodded, the first genuine smile of the day appearing on his bloodless lips. "True. But that's the difference between you and me, Hart. I've learned through hard lessons when violence is coming. I've read the signs. I don't need no paranormal skills to see." He tapped the side of his head. "I got built in radar right here."

I thought of his dad beating the tar out of him, the gophers attacking daddy dearest on the front lawn. Yeah, he might have a small point.

Or a big one.

"The cops said you'd been watching her house for months."

He nodded. "Yeah. I always kept Jade in my sights."

"Why?" I asked, frustration leaking out of my voice.

"Girls like Jade, they don't go for dudes like me. But," he made serious eye contact, "she was one of the only people that was nice to me when things turned to shit at the house. The only one. I never forgot, Hart. Never."

I took in his expression. I could see he hadn't.

Swell.

"So the cops said I was in trouble for the weapon. But not the deed."

I nodded. "Yeah, you lucked out." I paused for a second, "You okay with... all this."

The murder.

He nodded slowly. "Yeah I am. He was a fuck. He would've killed Jade. Ya got that, right?"

I did, my eyes told him so.

I shrugged. "Well, he killed Andrea but only because he got to her first. And you saw Mia?"

He shook his head.

"Broke her nose, punched her face," I said, thinking of her beauty being covered in battery, a patchwork quilt of abuse. An image of LeClerc as my zombie to torture came as an unbidden image again. I shook it off with regret.

Brett closed his eyes for a second then opened them. "He deserved it."

I nodded in perfect agreement.

"Okay, well, that's all I wanted to tell ya," I said, walking away.

"Hart," he called in a hoarse voice.

I turned, my hand on the door, my foot in the hallway.

"Your zombie did okay," his eyes were steady.

Translation: you're not a total dick.

I nodded and left.

An uneasy truce established. Did it give me relief? Make me feel like our shit together was done?

Not on your life.

Or death.

****

It wasn't three days until Jade came back to school, it was four. I stuck to her like a wart on her sexy booty (not that her hotness could ever have a blemish). She looked weak and it made me sick and anxious, not necessarily in that order. LeClerc's death should have made me feel she was safer. Instead it had heightened something primal deep within me and I'd learned to listen to that warning.

Through hard experience.

It was completely creepy that Jade, Sophie and Mia were sporting a ton of bruises and cuts on their faces. The story swirled around the school in a siege of gossip that swept away talk of anything else.

Everything else.

Thank God there were only three days this week. Thanksgiving made the usual lame Monday feel like Wednesday.

I was constantly feeling like I needed to bash heads. Everyone was so insensitive. They'd see Jade walk by, weak, pale and battered and whisper. I wanted to tear their heads off and shit down their throats.

A Gramps-ism I really believed in.

Instead, I stood by her while she was beyond embarrassment, mortified. She was alone and vulnerable. Her aunt gone, her dad dead, his status of abuser and murderer firmly established forever in the archives of KPH gossip. A legacy that Jade had to shoulder.

But not without me.

The worst part was that she couldn't live in her own house until the probate people figured it all out. They said as much as a half year. Meanwhile, she was hangin' at Sophie's.

It didn't matter that she was emancipated. She was still in school, her high school education negating her ability to live independently. That meant foster care. Those knuckle-draggin'-mouth breathers didn't care about the trauma she'd just experienced. To them, she was a sixteen-year old girl that needed to be placed within the Kent School District. Period, end of discussion.

Jade didn't know where she'd live. Neither did I. It drove me crazy. Her future determined by adults that didn't know her, didn't care.

We walked down the hall together, her body tucked against mine, my arm around her waist. She didn't say hi to anyone or look at them. They were leaking their communal feelings all over her. We got to her Empath Core and she turned to me. "I want to go back to my house, Caleb."

I put a finger under her chin and held it softly while I looked into her eyes. "We can go together, Jade."

She'd been having panic attacks about the beating and one looked like it was comin' on. She breathed deeply, evenly, trying to stave it off. "I want to get my stuff. My dream catcher."

I raised an eyebrow. Of all the things she could get from her room, I wouldn't have thought that would be the priority.