The Lost: Book Two, The Eddie McCloskey Series (The Unearthed 2) (19 page)

Bernar
d
got up off the sofa. He’d been stuck in the house all day. Had intended to go out in the afternoon, but then the news about Colin had come in and the nor’easter started.

Officer Toll stayed on the recliner but his eyes tracked Bernard.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

Toll nodded. There was nowhere to go anyway. “I’ll be right here.”

Bernard left the living room. He needed something to do. And he needed some privacy. It was awkward sharing a room with a stranger for hours with no end in sight.

What he really needed the most, though, was to be free of this guilt. It had tracked him his whole life. Maybe he was just wired this way—to feel guilty more than others.

People he knew had done worse. Colin, for example, God rest his soul, had dealt drugs and wasn’t good to women. He’d been a mean drunk and a poor friend. That day on the ice, he’d egged Tessa on just as much as Marty had. He’d called Mike the worst name you can call a young man who doesn’t have a lot of belief in himself: pussy. And in front of everybody too.

And yet, Colin didn’t feel responsible. In their fleeting conversations over the years, Colin had just once admitted to feeling bad about the whole thing. But never guilty. He’d simply brushed it off and gone on with his life. Gone on drinking and knocking a woman or two around.

And Marty? Who knew what that guy was thinking. Ever. He’d been a strange boy. The girls had seen him as mysterious, and being the son of the most prosperous man in town had also helped in that regard too. Women had flocked to him.

Marty had never seemed to feel guilty about it. Especially right after, when they were at the police station, and he’d put it all on Mike. For panicking on the ice. For not staying still. For not helping his girlfriend. Marty had said Tessa would still be alive if Mike had just manned up.

Bernard could have spoken up at the lake. He didn’t think the ice was safe enough to take the weight of one person, let alone two, but he didn’t want to appear the coward. So instead he’d joined in the ragging. As long as Marty, Colin, and Tessa were making fun of Mike, they weren’t making fun of him. He shouted that Tessa had more balls than him.

He could still hear the awful groan of the ice as it cracked.

If only he’d said something.

Afterward, when he had a chance, he still didn’t speak up. He didn’t say what he’d been really feeling the entire time. That playing chicken was dumb, especially when the temperature was hovering around thirty degrees. Monumentally dumb.

Rather than be brave and say something, he’d been a chicken shit. And he continued to be a chicken shit.

He wondered how the others could shake it off. It was like they’d sustained some minor injury, sat out for a few minutes, then returned to the game like nothing had happened.

He hadn’t. After the drowning, he’d retreated inside himself more. He still hung with the guys, but he didn’t laugh as much. With each day, he’d enjoyed going to school less, while everyone else was living up their senior year. He’d avoided senior week altogether. Hid out in his room most of the week, watching TV or reading. When Marty called, he told his mom to say he wasn’t feeling well. When Marty called a second time, he told her to say he wasn’t there.

After that, Marty stopped calling.

Not only was he partly responsible for what had happened, but now he was being a bad friend too. He was making up for it by compounding his mistake.

He lasted a semester at college. Dropped out and told everybody he’d be back when he figured out what he wanted to do.

He’d been bright in high school, but his grades in college were a joke. Now he was wasting his talent.

Marty’s old man took him on at the Mill that summer. He was grateful for the job, for any job. But two weeks in, he realized he hated the work. He let his mind wander to stave off the boredom. But that wasn’t the smartest thing to do when you were using a power saw.

Someone else almost got hurt because of his careless attitude. It shocked him into action. He rededicated himself to the job, and for a few months, he was a model employee. But then the boredom came back. The negligence followed.

He lost the tips of two fingers.

Outraged by how unfair the universe could be, he blamed the Mill for its lax safety standards. Blamed everyone except himself.

He knew deep down that he’d been at fault, but he wasn’t brave enough to admit it. So instead he’d pointed what fingers he had left at the Mill. Turned on the people who’d given him, the college drop-out with no future, a job.

There were days when he just sat in his living room and looked out the window. The guilt and shame sapped him of his will. He bounced from job-to-job, his only goal to give notice before he got fired.

When his dad died young, he’d inherited the rancher. His pop had just paid the property off, so he owned it outright. A good thing, too, because otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to afford it.

There were nights when he looked at his pistol and wondered.

He’d done the right thing only once.

Six months ago, he’d written to Mike Hollis. Admitted to not speaking up that day on the ice. Apologized for being so bad to Mike. Said he wished he could change things. Sometimes he wished it’d been him that had drowned.

He didn’t have Mike’s address, so he’d gone up to see his crazy old man, Mitchell. He explained that it was a letter for Mike and asked for the address. Mitchell told him he didn’t give the address out but he’d mail it himself.

Bernard went into the kitchen and walked to the back door. The single bulb over the backdoor was on outside, but he hadn’t powered on the floods. Normally he’d keep them off but tonight was different. What if somebody was stalking them? It made sense. They all deserved it for what happened.

He most of all because he hadn’t spoken up.

The high-powered bulbs lit up the backyard. The snow came down in swirls and was piling up now. He put his face up to the window and looked out. He didn’t see anybody. And he almost didn’t care if he did.

His breath fogged the windowpane in the door.

And he saw it.

In the corner of the pane he’d fogged, a shape. It looked like a J. On a whim, he blew on the glass more. The J took shape and became a U.

Then he squinted and focused closely on the pane. Something was written on it.

He blew again and more letters appeared. It reminded him of the invisible ink he and Marty had used in grade school to pass notes during class.Y and O appeared.

He blew again to be sure.

YOU

Kindle
r
walked them down a long hallway. “The truth is, we were dumb kids living on the edge. But hey, that’s the way we all live.”

Eddie said nothing, looking to draw Marty out.

“You know, the edge … what do they say, about how fragile our existence is on this planet?”

“The knife’s edge.”

“Bingo, bango, bongo. The knife’s edge. We’re all there, whether we have the bottle to recognize it or not.”

“So …?”

“So what? Like I said, we played our game. Life is a game. Sometimes you die. That’s all there is to it.”

Ana’s lips formed a thin line. “That’s all there is to it?”

Kindler palmed her shoulder. “Oh you sweet girl, don’t get me wrong—Tessa was a remarkable woman. Remarkable. She had a bright future. It’s a goddamned tragedy what happened. Kind of like a Greek tragedy. Yeah, that’s it. She’s the heroine of the play. You get it?”

“No.”

Kindler shrugged like he couldn’t be bothered to explain it. “So that’s what happened.”

His story largely comported with what Colin had told them. There was none of Bernard’s angst, none of the second-guessing. They followed him into the pool room and Kindler stopped in front of the hot tub. Girlfriend Number Two was in it, her lips barely above the bubbling water line.

“So where do these footprints appear?” Eddie asked.

Kindler disrobed to reveal a Speedo that was hanging on for dear life. He adjusted the banana hammock and climbed into the hot tub with Girlfriend Number Two.

She got up to give him the spot where she’d been sitting. She was nothing like Ms. Anders. Just the opposite. Meek. Could barely meet their eyes. Fair-skinned to a fault, like she was allergic to sunlight. On her good days, she was a B-cup.

The only similarity between the two women was the boyfriend they shared.

“Eddie, Eddie, Ed, I want you to meet somebody first. This is Lori. Say hi, Lori.” Kindler put his arm around the girl. Eddie recalled that she was distantly related to Ana.

“Hi.”

Her voice was so soft, Eddie wasn’t sure if she’d spoken at all or just opened her mouth and his brain had filled in the sound. “Nice to meet you, Lori.”

She could have been sixteen or twenty-six. It was impossible to tell. She and Ana exchanged polite hellos.

Ms. Anders appeared with a tray of drinks and set them down next to the tub, within Kindler’s reach. “Ana, would you care to join us. We have plenty of spare suits around.”

Ana squirmed like she’d stumbled upon a nest of centipedes. “No, thanks. I’ve gotta help Eddie.”

“When you’re done, maybe?” Kindler asked.

Eddie was about to say something but Whitmore actually beat him to it. “Marty. Can we focus here?”

“The footprints …” Kindler inhaled another drink. “ … they’re everywhere. And nowhere. Like God.”

Eddie was in no mood to decipher Kindler’s painful aphorisms. “Which rooms?”

“My man cave. Just about every hallway. Never upstairs, though. They could show up just about anywhere.”

“Does it happen at a certain time?” Eddie asked.

“Always at night. Always when we’re sleeping.”

Ms. Anders made a big show of turning around to climb into the hot tub. And Eddie saw why. The bottom of her bikini was a dental-floss thong. And she had an absolute moral right to wear it.

Ana gave Eddie a sharp look and said to Kindler, “So, uh, anywhere on the first floor and any time after you go to bed.”

“That’s right.”

“Where does it happen the most?” Eddie asked.

“The man cave. Why?”

“I’ve only got one camera, so we’ll set it up in there and place ourselves—”

“Ed, you don’t need your camera. I’ve got my whole palace on film. Closed circuit. There’s a camera in every room.”

“What?”

Kindler gave Ms. Anders and Lori a kiss then stood up in the hot tub. Water dripped down his hairy abdomen. He was sporting a semi. Ana turned away.

“I’ve got a few of them on tape.” Kindler stepped out of the hot tub on surprisingly steady legs. The guy had downed three stiff drinks since they’d arrived. “You don’t need to set-up your camera anywhere.”

Eddie shook his head. “My investigation, Kindler. I’ll put my camera in the, uh, man cave.”

“No need.” Kindler wrapped a towel around himself. It didn’t help to hide the erection. “I just told you I have cameras everywhere.”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed. He was thinking about what Ana had said in the car on the way over. He hadn’t controlled the environment at Bernard’s. Using Kindler’s own cameras right now would violate every principle of paranormal investigation.

And yet, he couldn’t
not
use them. According to Kindler, there was activity throughout the first floor. Hoping to catch it with one camera was a long shot. And with Colin dead and Bernard and Kindler possibly in jeopardy, the need for answers was absolute.

“Colin’s death might be linked to the activity in town. And you don’t seem that worried,” Eddie said.

“I don’t worry.” Marty grabbed another towel and dried his torso. “My soul is beyond that. Only the sheep worry. Worry doesn’t rhyme with sorry, but it should.”

“You’re not even a little worried?”

“This place is a fortress, I’m its lord, and no ghost is going to kill me.”

All eyes were on Eddie. He weighed his options. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Bernar
d
blew on the windowpane one final time, though he was certain of what it said. The words were branded on his mind.

YOU SAID

NOTHING

He blew on the next pane and found more letters. After fogging up the window, more words appeared:

YOU DID

NOTHING

He cupped a hand over his mouth to stifle his sobs. He blew on the next and final pane.

I WAS SO

COLD

It was just too much. Too damned much.

In his mind, he saw Tessa go through the ice and slip into the murky blackness of the lake. Bernard had stood rooted to the shore. Unable to move. Unable to help. Paralyzed by fear and self-preservation.

And all along, he’d seen it coming.

He thought he heard Toll approaching, so he stopped crying and straightened up, putting on a brave face like he had been for years. But Toll wasn’t coming. It was just the house creaking, making a noise like the ice had, still settling even though it was fifty years old. Maybe the house would never settle.

Just like his memories.

He wanted to scream. Had to. But then Toll would hear him and wonder what was wrong. And he’d have to explain. He couldn’t bear the telling. It had taken him all those years to write one letter to Mike Hollis. And Mike had never written back. There was no forgiveness, even after all this time.

The thermostat made sense. He’d known all along.

It was Tessa lowering the temperature. She’d come back to repay him.

It was true what they said, hindsight was twenty-twenty. But foresight wasn’t completely blind, either.

There was no other way to explain the thermostat. The lowering of the temperature was too obviously symbolic to ignore. Before drowning, Tessa had known the cold. Now she wanted him to experience it too.

It was only fair.

And now he had the perfect opportunity. A beautiful symmetry appeared before him. The nor’easter had come. Snow piled on snow on ice. The temperature in the teens, maybe the single digits. Tessa wanted him to go outside.

To know the cold.

I WAS

SO COLD

Bernard soundlessly turned the deadbolt then eased the back door open.

The cold assaulted him. The snow covered him in an instant, and the wind punished him.

But he didn’t feel a thing.

He stepped outside.