The Love of the Dead Page 17

  “Tell them Detective Coleridge. I’ll get in touch with them later. I’ve got to go.”

  He didn’t wait. Couldn’t.

  A thin stretch of light on the horizon was all that was left of the day. Night would rule soon, maybe before he even got there. Maybe he’d be too late, all because of some idiot thought he was a race car driver.

  He floored the accelerator and squealed away, flicking his headlights to full as he drove.

  Another couple of miles, and he’d be there.

  To his left, the light. To his right, night. Somewhere in between, Beth waited.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Beth was alone. She felt Miles leave and knew he’d gone to be with Peter. She didn’t mind. It was better that he was with Peter and that she was alone. She wished Coleridge was here, but that was selfish. It was better that he didn’t make it.

  Dark fell, complete. Outside the circle of lights, she could feel it coming. Her breath felt tight as her heart sped, imagining him striding through the night on clicking heels, blackness following him and turning off all the lights in the world as he passed.

  The beast, rising from the dark. His power, drawing from the night.

  The policemen in the kitchen couldn’t do anything but die.

  They didn’t deserve that.

  She pushed herself from the couch, checking the clock about the stove.

  4:35. The sun was gone. The last of the light gone.

  It was just her and the dark. The way it should be.

  “You’ve got to leave now,” she said as she entered the kitchen.

  “Mrs. Willis,” one of the policemen said. “We can’t. We’ve got orders.”

  “You don’t understand. You’ve got to leave. Now. He’s coming. You can’t do anything but die.”

  “Mrs. Willis...”

  The policeman who spoke to her had sad, tired eyes.

  She closed her eyes so she didn’t see him. When she opened them again, his granddad was there, at his shoulder. He spoke to her, not with words, but with pictures and feelings, into a place within her deeper than words could reach.

  The room was colder now from nightfall, but from the icy presence of the dead, too.

  “Your girlfriend just gave birth to your son. Your first son. His name is...” she concentrated on the picture his granddad was showing her. A man with a bow, chasing down a deer.

  “Archer. No. Hunter. His name is Hunter. Your son needs you. Go to him. You’ve got to live for him.”

  His tired eyes widened. His faced paled.

  She turned to his partner, his tea halfway to his lips.

  “Your grandmother is here, in the room. She’s telling me that you’ve got a son about to go to university. The first in your family to go to university. She’s very proud. He’ll graduate, too. But if you stay, you won’t see it.”

  He paled, too. His hand shook suddenly, and he spilled his tea.

  “John,” the younger one said. “I can’t...my boy.”

  “We’ve got orders.”

  “Don’t be stupid, John,” said Beth. She kept her voice calm. There was no sense in shouting, no matter that she could feel him coming, and time running out for these two men. Every second they stayed with her brought them closer to death.

  “Trust me. Leave now.”

  They stood, but still uncertain.

  Outside, an engine roared, close enough to her house for the windows in the front room to rattle.

  She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or sad.

  She decided she could feel happy, because, selfish as it was, she wasn’t brave enough to die alone.

  “Coleridge is here. He’ll stay. You go. Please. Save yourselves. You can’t do anything here.”

  “Ma’am...”

  “Beth,” she told them automatically. “Don’t feel bad. Your duty is to your children. Trust me on this. They need you more than I do. You can do them some good. All you can do for me is die.”

  The younger one was decided. The older, John, still unsure.

  She took his arm and guided him out of the kitchen. He walked slowly, not saying anything, but she was gentle. She didn’t rush. She didn’t push. Coleridge was coming, and she felt all right.

  The last weight on her lifted as she opened the door and was sure she was as ready as she could be, because Coleridge was there, and he was a rock she could cling too, if only until the tide pulled her out.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  The phone rang as Beth’s house and the circus surrounding it came into view. Coleridge picked up.

  “Not now. Call back.”

  “Coleridge. Freeman. It’s important.

  “Quick.”

  “I weighed him. A normal person’s bones, that height...”

  “Get to the point.”

  “He was too light. Way too light.”

  “So?”

  Coleridge squeezed the car through a gap and flashed his badge at a cop flagging him down. He floored it again and drove right up to Beth’s door. Gritty sand sprayed the front door and the windows.

  Coleridge pushed himself out of the car, shifting his gut to get free of the steering wheel.

  “When I opened him up, checked his bones...his bones...ah...”

  “The point, Freeman.”

  “They were hollow, almost...not like some kind of disease...not, ah...”

  “Because of the starvation?”

  “No. It wouldn’t do that. The structure, Coleridge. It’s...shit...”

  “Freeman, I’m in some shit here. Come on.”

  The door opened and Beth was there.

  Suddenly Coleridge felt his heart lighten. The pressure on his chest eased. He breathed easier, the pounding in his head faded away.

  She smiled at him, genuine and warm. He could see she was terrified, it was in every line of her face, but pleased, too.

  He smiled back.

  “I’m not an ornithologist, Coleridge, but the only thing with bones like his are birds. It’s not a symptom of any kind of disorder. It’s like it’s a mutation. It’s totally unnatural.”

  Coleridge was interested, but whatever it was, it was too late. Too late to make a difference.

  Two policemen, afraid, looking around like a killer was on their heels, stepped down past him.

  He hopped up to the door and took Beth’s hand. He didn’t get to say goodbye to Freeman, because his phone died as soon as he crossed the threshold.

  The door shut behind them, and the night began.

  Part Five

  The Devil

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  “Coleridge,” she said, smiling sadly. “I’m glad you came. I wish you hadn’t, but I’m glad you came.”

  “Me, too,” he said. “I didn’t want you to be alone. Not tonight.”

  “You feel it, too?”

  “I know it.” Beth took him by the arm and led him into the kitchen. A bottle of Speyburn sat on the table, a single malt she’d been saving. Two tumblers.

  “It doesn’t matter now, right? You believe me?”

  “I do. He called me last night. Said he was coming. Sawyer was dead before the call. It isn’t Sawyer.”

  “It is, Coleridge. It is.”

  They sat. Coleridge thought about what Beth said as she poured for them. He watched the clock and heard the tick. Front and back lights blazed. TV crews had set up on the beach. They looked confused, milling about, fussing over cameras and lights. Probably trying to get a good shot of her and Coleridge. She didn’t care anymore. She wouldn’t be around to see it.

  “I saw him today,” she said.

  “What? He was here? How...?”

  “Not him, but a vision of him. He was in a room surrounded by heads. The people he’d killed.”

  “How...Beth...?”

  “All you’ve seen and you still doubt? You’ve got to believe, Coleridge. Take it on faith if you have to, but you’ve seen proof and you still doubt it?”

  He shook his head. The whiskey
seemed to calm him but his thick, strong hands still shook.

  “I was there today. I wish you hadn’t seen it.”

  “I do, too. But I saw it and I can’t change it. He’s coming. A spirit wants what a spirit wants. I could go to the other side of the world and he’d still be coming. It wouldn’t take him any longer to get there. Sawyer was just a shell. A body he lived in. He’s older than that. He’s something we could never understand. There’s no point in trying. You can’t fight him, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s not here for you. He’s here for me.”

  “I saw his body. He looked old, ancient. He was just a husk, starved, but he looked like someone in their nineties.”

  “Just a shell. He kept his body young and when he died his power left. He’s all spirit now. He doesn’t need a body anymore.”

  “The pathologist said his bones weren’t human. Like a bird’s.”

  “He’s not a bird. He’s the Devil. Maybe not the real Devil, but some kind of devil, at least. He’s ancient. Older than civilization. Who knows what power he holds? The knowledge he has. To change his form like that? The raven in my house wasn’t him. It died, remember? But he sent it. I don’t doubt that. Maybe he controls them.” She shrugged. “That’s the thing with faith. You can never know. You just have to believe. You have to surrender control. And what can we control? Him? We can’t do anything. He’s a spirit now. He made himself a spirit. One that even the dead are afraid of, because he’s not controlled by any rules. He moves through the spirit world at will. Do you get it, Coleridge?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve seen things I don’t understand. That’s nothing unusual for me. I see things I don’t understand every day. Then I try to find out.”

  “Aren’t you listening?” she said, shaking her head. “There aren’t any answers. There never will be. He’s as unknowable as God. He’s just a thing. A man not bound by any rules. Maybe once he was a man. Maybe he found some kind of mystical book, discovered secrets, rituals. He ate the hearts raw, Coleridge. He got something from them. But not just anyone’s heart. He ate the hearts of people with talents. Talents like mine. People who were gifted. Powerful hearts. He took their heads to use their eyes. They served him in death.”

  “How much of this do you know? How much are you taking on faith?”

  Beth looked at the clock. Ten past five. Her glass sat untouched and full on the table, and she hadn’t touched it. She was late.

  She drank it quick, like she was thirsty, and she was. God, she was so thirsty.

  She filled it again. Drank some more. Then she felt better.

  “How much do I know? Really know? About the same as you. I’ve got a thousand questions and very few answers.”

  She passed Coleridge a cigarette but he wasn’t looking at her. He looked out of the window, confusion on his face.

  “It’s getting darker.”

  “It’s already dark,” she said, sipping her scotch now that her initial itch had been scratched. She watched the smoke swirl into the air from the tip of her cigarette. She blew the smoke from her lungs and watched it drift lazily away.

  “Look.”

  She turned and saw what he saw. The spotlights set around her house by the TV crews were still there, but they were dimming, like a black fog was rolling over them. In a few moments the lights were gone, like they were never there before. Sounds that had been there all day faded away. The background murmur of feet on the sand, the surf rolling in, the wind whistling through her worn wooden window frames. Sound was muffled, then nothing. The light outside was dim and then faded into blackness.

  A black wall between her house and the beach. It would be the same in the front.

  “God. He’s so strong.”

  “Is this him?” Coleridge said, fear making his voice weak. Beth felt it, too. The world was closed out. She wondered if they could make it through that black wall if they had to. She didn’t think so. Maybe it was better not to try.

  “It’s him,” she said. “Us. Him. That’s all there is now. Drink, Coleridge. It’ll make it easier.”

  “You know what’s coming?”

  “Death. What else?”

  “You’ve seen it.”

  “Not you, Coleridge. I don’t know about you.”

  “You?”

  “Something you just have to accept, you know? I made a terrible mistake once. Miles.”

  “Miles?”

  She shrugged and smiled sadly. “Why do you think he haunts me? Because he loves me so much? No, Coleridge. He haunts me because of what I did. Now I have to pay the price.”

  He took her hand. “I’m sure you’re not to blame.”

  Beth shook his hand free and laughed. “You don’t know me. You think you do, but you don’t. He hates me because I killed him. He won’t leave me alone. Every day he’s there. My guilt, my conscience, following me from the moment I wake up to the moment I sleep. I drink so I can pass out each night. He’ll never leave me. I’m afraid, but you know what? I’m hoping for peace. I don’t think I deserve it. I think there’s a hell for people like me, but at least I know he won’t be there. I’m tired. You understand? Every day. Without end. My whole life ahead of me, with Miles following me, looking at me. Accusing me. I can never forget. I can never pay it back. I was always too scared to end my life, be done with it. Now the choice has been taken out of my hands. I’m ready, Coleridge. So ready.”

  “Oh, Beth.” Coleridge’s face was rock steady. He didn’t turn away from her. He reached across the table instead and took her hand again, holding it tight. “What did you do?”

  Tears came unbidden. She didn’t think she could cry for Miles anymore. But she realized that she wasn’t crying for Miles. Even with the end in sight she was still selfish. She cried for herself.

  “I went to pick him up from school one day. He’d started walking. He saw me, saw my car. He was only young, you know? Kids that age, they don’t know what they’re doing. He stepped out into the road, excited to see me. Not thinking for a minute. I couldn’t stop in time. I couldn’t stop.”

  “Beth, that’s not your fault. An accident. You can’t blame yourself.”

  “In my dreams I can’t stop,” she said, ignoring Coleridge. “I relive it over and over. Wake in the night, screaming. I see him next to me in bed, and sometimes I think it was all a dream. But then he turns, and I see his broken ribs, the blood pouring from his mouth, his head shattered. I’m in the car, and the road’s flat and straight. Then I see him. Then there’s a bump, another bump. The wheels running over him, breaking my son.”

  Coleridge had a tear in his eye, but he didn’t waver. “Beth, that’s awful. So awful. I’m so sorry.”

  “Never as sorry as I’ll be.”

  “You’ve got to forgive yourself, Beth. Accidents happen. People get killed on the roads. It’s just something that happens. Something terrible, but people move on. They learn to live with it.”

  Beth laughed at him, scornful and bitter. He recoiled but then gathered himself and took her hand again.

  “Some things you can’t change, Beth.”

  She shook her head. “That’s the truth. I can’t change. I’ve tried. I have. But I’m a drunk now. I was a drunk then. I was falling down drunk when I hit him. Understand now? You’re here because you think I need saving. The big man. But I don’t need saving. I need to pay. I deserve this. I brought it on myself. I can never learn to live with it. I killed my son because I was drunk. You think you need to save me, but I want this. I want to die. I’ve wanted to die since that day. Every day, drunk or sober, it never leaves. It never will. I can’t live with it anymore.”

  Coleridge felt cold listening to Beth speak. The depths of her hatred for herself. It came off her in waves, like a blast of winter air. Her heart was so broken she couldn’t see a way through.

  But he couldn’t leave her. No matter what she’d done. They all bore guilt. It was the thing that forged you. You lived with it. You paid the price.

  So cold he w
as shivering. Beth was cold, too. Freezing. She squeezed his hand tight.

  “I’m sorry, Coleridge. You shouldn’t have come. I don’t deserve it.”

  “I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” he said. He squeezed her hand back. “I’m here for you. We’ll see it through.”

  “I’m so sorry. I wish it could be some other way.”

  She pushed herself up from the table and stepped away. Stepped back, looking over his shoulder.

  The room was so cold Coleridge could see his breath frosting the air. He turned to look where Beth was looking. Felt death in the room.

  “Beth...”

  “Don’t get in the way,” she said to Coleridge, looking him in the eye, pleading.

  “Beth...” he said again, fear making his legs weak.

  “You came,” she said, but by then she wasn’t speaking to Coleridge anymore.

  Coleridge couldn’t see anyone, but he could feel him, behind him. At his shoulder.

  A third chair was pulled out from the table by a hand he couldn’t see.

  “I’m ready,” Beth said, and listened to a reply Coleridge couldn’t hear from beside him, from the killer sitting at his left hand.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  In the back of the ambulance, Peter’s heart stopped. The paramedic tried to resuscitate him manually for sixty seconds, counting as he pumped his clenched fists down into Peter’s ribs. Dimly, in some distant part of his mind, Peter was still aware of the pain.

  The paramedic pulled Peter’s shirt aside and placed the paddles of the portable defibrillator on his chest. Peter’s body bucked as the electrical charge passed through him.

  He sat up and cried out, pushing the defibrillator from the paramedic’s hands.

  “What the fuck?”

  Peter ignored him. It suddenly came crashing back down on him. Beth, in danger.

  He could feel it, just a few miles north. A black hole surrounding Beth. Death, coming for her.

  There was no time. He pulled aside the straps holding him to the gurney and barrelled into the doors. The ambulance was moving fast, but he fell out into the road at a tight corner as the ambulance slowed. He tumbled, rolled, sat up. There was no pain. His terror, the urgency he felt, lending him strength and driving him on. North.