Pale Immortal (28 page)

"No!" Graham panicked, then forced himself to calm down. "I have to be able to get a drink. I need water." He ran a tongue across his cracked lips. "Just one bottle of water."

Alba looked disgusted and annoyed by all of them. "Let's go." He and his gang blew out the candles and took the lantern and flashlights, leaving Graham and Isobel alone in the dark.

In Tuonela, twilight never lingered and darkness always came quickly, like an extinguished flame or a dropped curtain. The sky was a deep blue velvet when Rachel checked her cell phone and found she'd missed a call from Evan—made from her number. Most likely while she was waiting for a response from AAA. She called her own number, then tried his cell but there was no answer.

Without leaving a message she pocketed her phone and made the final ascent up a sidewalk that was broken by steep steps. Once she gained street level, she paused to catch her breath—and spotted Seymour's patrol car parked in front of the morgue.

She hurried across the street, and around the back to the service entry. The door was unlocked. She stumbled inside to find her dad standing in the hallway outside her office, the green semigloss walls a backdrop, the ceiling light casting a dark shadow on his face below his hat.

"Isobel Fry has been reported missing," Seymour said. "She didn't come home last night."

Evan had seen Isobel last night.

"And remember the girl up north who vanished?" Seymour asked. "Just found out that Evan was in the area that night. Used his credit card at a gas station three miles from where the woman was last seen."

The circumstantial and physical evidence was mounting. Add that to Evan's lost time and strange behavior and he couldn't look much guiltier.

Rachel was also guilty. She'd helped him avoid arrest. If Isobel was dead, it was Rachel's fault.

She glanced up, toward her apartment.

"He isn't there," her dad said, easily reading her. "I already checked. He was at his house not long ago. Left in his car and lost the officer who was tailing him."

"You think I might know where he went?"

He looked at her with expectation. "I was hoping."

She moved quickly past him, almost running into the autopsy suite. She opened the cooler drawers. One, two, three. The only occupant was the mummified corpse.

"Lose something?" her dad asked, appearing behind her.

"Just checking."

"I'm heading to Evan's house right now to see if I can stir up any clues."

She shut the cooler door with a loud click. "I'm coming with you."

Seymour didn't speed and didn't use his siren. He drove smoothly and efficiently, relaxed in the seat, one hand on the wheel. They might have been head- ing to Dairy Queen. He would order a hot-fudge sundae and she would get a cone with sprinkles. They would sit at a picnic table under the oak tree and watch the hatched mayflies come shooting out of the river.

Seymour turned the final corner, drove up the hill, and stopped in front of Stroud's house. A single police car was already there, an officer standing outside. Seymour put the car in park and shut off the engine. "All the other patrol units are at Isobel's house," he said.

On the porch, Seymour pulled out his handgun. The door was already unlocked. He pushed it open and stepped inside. When he gave the all-clear, Rachel followed.

Stroud was everywhere. This place was Evan as much as any place could be a person.

She forced herself to move through the living room, looking for any sign of disruption, any clue to where Evan might have gone.

Had he killed Isobel last night, before he'd returned to the morgue? Before they'd made love? Or had sex? Whatever it could be called.

She'd moved through the day in a fog, as if deliberately trying to forget what had happened between them. Now she concentrated on last night, and a memory came rushing back. In her mind she saw Evan wearing the Pale Immortal's scarf.

Evan is the copycat killer.

Moments ticked by until she straightened and stared at her father. "Evan thinks he's the Pale Immortal."

"That's kinda why we're here," Seymour said.

"No, I mean Evan really thinks he's the reincarnation of Richard Manchester."

Seymour looked skeptical.

"It all makes sense." Rachel spoke in a rush. "Everything. His infatuation with Old Tuonela. Even his disease. Especially his disease."

"You mean his disease isn't real?"

"It's real. The disease brought all of this on. Think about it. People have been accusing him of being a vampire for years. They treat him like a freak. The disease had destroyed his life. So he lost it. In his own head he became a vampire. He became the Pale Immortal. The fantasy has replaced what's lacking in his own life. As long as he imagines himself a vampire, he can be stronger than Evan Stroud. More powerful than Evan Stroud. He can be more than he really is."

Last night he'd pulled her into his fantasy. Last night she'd believed it too.

"That's an interesting theory, sweetheart. But to be honest, I don't care about any of that psychological stuff. I don't want to get in Stroud's head and stroll around to figure out why he's doing what he's doing. I just want to stop him."

Seymour checked Evan's answering machine. Only a few messages, all old. Two were from his editor, one from his agent, another from his father, and a couple more from a lawn-care company. The editor and agent wanted to know the approximate delivery date of his next book.

How quickly things changed.

"They must have called before word got out that he was wanted for questioning," Rachel said.

She sifted through a pile of mail on the table, but nothing jumped out at her. "He came for the car, of course," she said. "But what else would he have gotten?"

"Money. Credit cards. Travel clothes. Passport maybe."

"So you think he's heading out of the country."

"That would be my guess."

"He can only travel at night."

"He'll go as far as he can, then stop for the day."

"I don't think he's leaving. Not with Graham still missing."

"He wasn't even aware of the kid's existence until two weeks ago. And let's face it, you know the statistics. Graham's been missing long past the crucial window. Evan would also know that."

Rachel pulled out her cell phone and tried to reach Evan again. No answer. His phone was probably turned off.

The next room they hit was the library.

On the way down the hall, Rachel managed to slip past the photo of the woman in the tub without so much as turning her head in that direction. Inside the library she spotted a large, thin book teetering on top of a stack of much smaller ones.

A plat book of Juneau County.

She picked it up and thumbed through it. A page had been torn out. After examining the maps on either side of the missing section, she looked up at her father. "I know where he went. Where all vampires go. To Old Tuonela."

Isobel gradually returned to groggy consciousness.

So tired. Too tired to even try to open her eyes. As she lay on her side, her wrists bound in front of her, she gradually became aware of pain and hot spots on her hip, her thigh, her breastbone. She tried to move, to stretch, but couldn't; she was not only taped, but bound by a heavy chain.

Breathing.

Behind her.

She gasped in terror and her eyes flew open, her own breathing ragged.

Black.

She'd never seen such darkness. It was so close. It covered her. She struggled, fighting the bindings, terror and the need for flight taking over all thought.

She screamed.

A hand clamped over her mouth. "Shhhh," a voice rasped in her ear.

She struggled, and whimpered deep in her throat.

"Isobel!" The person holding her gave her a small shake.

She stopped fighting, but her breathing was still rapid and shallow. Slowly he removed his hand from her mouth.

"Graham?"

"Yeah. It's me."

For a brief second she relaxed, then tensed again. He was one of them. A Pale Immortal.

"W-where are we?"

"In the church."

"What are
you
doing here?"

"I'm supposed to watch you. Make sure you don't scream or try to get away."

"Where's Alba?"

"Don't know."

"Is there anybody else around?"

"Don't know that either."

Maybe he wasn't really one of them. Maybe he was just an opportunist. "We have to get out of here."

That suggestion was met with a long silence. "Didn't you hear what I just said?" he finally asked. "I'm here to watch you. To make sure you don't get away."

A chain had been wrapped around them both, binding them together. "You're a prisoner too."

"Temporarily. This is a test. A test I'm going to pass."

She thought about the boy she'd known, and tried to connect him to this stranger.

You couldn't trust anybody. She felt like such a fool. She'd actually daydreamed about him. She went out of her way to avoid that conventional, mainstream crap, yet she'd daydreamed about him.

"You drank my blood," she said. "Do you realize how sick that is?"

"Depends on your perspective."

"Do you really think you're a vampire? Because you drank my blood?"

"Not yet. I'm not one yet."

"Vampires don't exist."

"Do you believe in God?"

"Yes. I think so."

"Do you have proof He exists?"

Alba's betrayal had hurt, but Graham's betrayal hurt more. "I was good to you. I helped you. I defended you. I taught you to knit." Her voice broke.

"It's nothing personal."

"You stink."

Behind her, he shifted. He touched her hair.

"You smell good."

"Vampires don't exist."

"Did you forget? My dad's a vampire. That makes me a vampire's son."

She wished she could see him. Wished she could look into his eyes. Maybe then she could reason with him. Maybe she'd be able to tell if he believed what he said.

"They're going to kill me. You know that, don't you?"

"Haven't you ever wished you were dead?"

She didn't answer.

"Everybody does at some time or another. I know you have. Alba will be doing you a favor, if you really think about it."

The air in the room was cold, but she suddenly realized he was putting off a lot of heat. It radiated from him. And his voice was strange, kind of fervent and slurred at the same time.

She lifted her bound wrists to her mouth and began chewing the duct tape. Once she got a good rip going, it was easier.

"Stop that," he said.

With her teeth, she tore a narrow strip free. She spit it out, then wiggled her hands, finally pulling them apart. Her muscles were cramped, and at first she couldn't control her arms. Finally, with a slow, awkward movement, she raised one hand behind her—to touch Graham's temple.

"You're burning up."

She ran a hand down the side of his face.

She could feel whiskers, and once again she had the sensation that this wasn't Graham, that this was a different person, someone she didn't know. His jaw was sharp, his cheekbones pronounced. In her mind she pictured how he'd looked when she'd first seen him in the church. Like some homeless guy. Skinny, his kneecaps poking sharply through his jeans.

"I think I have a fever."

"You need a doctor."

He made an annoyed sound and slapped her hand away. "Quit trying to talk me into something that isn't going to happen. Let's change the subject." He paused for a new thought. "Do you read?"

"Read?"
That was his new subject?

"Yeah, like books. Do you like to read books?"

"I'm not sharing anything else with you." And she wasn't going to let him lead her off in a different direction. "Graham, listen to me. We have to try to get out of here. Before . .. someone ... comes ..."

Suddenly she didn't have the energy to continue. Her voice trailed off. Her chin dropped to her chest. She jerked awake, but immediately began to drowse again. "Sleepy ..."

"You lost a lot of blood. That's what happens when you bleed to death. If you're worried that it'll hurt, it won't. You just fall asleep. And you never wake up again. It's no big deal."

No big deal. Her death would be no big deal. "You're an animal. Worse than an animal. I hate you. I
loathe
you."

"You said that before."

Nothing touched him.

She wanted to hurt him. She wanted to get back at him, at least a little.

"I listened to your stupid CD with all of those stupid songs. I didn't want to, but I did just to be polite."

She'd loved them, every single one. She would lie in bed at night and listen with earbuds.

"I hated them. Lame, happy, naive crap. Stupid, stupid stuff. I mean, my parents are classical musicians. I know good music. The stuff you gave me was like something somebody who doesn't know anything about music would like. Like something a baby might listen to."

She wanted to say more, but her rant had worn her out. She tried to lift her arm, but couldn't. Her eyes fell closed again, and her body went limp. Before she lost consciousness, she imagined she heard a strange sound. Like a sob.

Travis stood outside his house, hands in his pockets, shifting from one foot to the other while waiting for Johnson to pick him up. It was actually going to happen. The trap had been set. Everything was going just like they'd been told it would. Travis had to admit he'd been skeptical at first. He'd just gone along with the whole vampire thing because he liked that kind of shit But this was the real deal.

He patted his waistband, making sure his dad's handgun was still there. The front door opened and his mother stuck her head out. "Honey, don't forget your jacket. You really need a light jacket tonight."

He walked to the house and took the jean jacket from her. "Thanks." He realized he might not be coming back. A car came barreling around the corner, then squealed to stop.

"I wish Craig wouldn't drive so fast," his mother said. "Tell him not to drive so fast."