Speak the Dead (21 page)

67

K
ameelah gunned the Jaguar along the empty interstate and Jersey thought she appeared relieved to be back in control. Giving her pride and joy over to another person, never mind to a member of the untrustworthy male species, had been, in Jersey's mind, a huge compliment to the trust they had built in such a short period of time.

Kameelah rolled down the window to get some air blowing in her face, and Jersey worried that neither of them was as alert as they ought to be for traveling at high speeds in the middle of the night.

He was about to say something when his cellphone rang. He answered it with a yawn.

“Sorry,” said a young male voice, “did I wake you?”

“Hardly,” said Jersey. “Who's this?”

“John Underwood,
Idaho
Statesman
.”

“Isn't it past your bedtime, John?”

“Definitely, but your call earlier inspired me to go over some old ground.”

“Three blinded women?”

“I believe there may be more.”

Jersey stifled another yawn. “Sorry,” he apologized, “it's been a long day. Go on, I'm listening.”

“I phoned the parents of the two women whose murders I originally looked into. Neither of them appreciated my serial killer angle at the time, but they were at least grateful that I was doing something, unlike the police. We got to talking and I discovered a link I never knew before.”

“Which was?” Jersey encouraged.

“Both women were adopted when they were young girls.”

“Coincidence,” said Jersey.

“Possibly, but I managed to track down the parents of the third victim, the one up in Canada, and it turns out she was adopted, too.”

“It's still slim,” said Jersey, although his tone betrayed an increased interest.

“The Canadian family is expat American,” said the reporter. “When I dug further, I discovered all three girls were adopted from the same state agency in Bismarck.”

“That's an odd connection,” Jersey agreed.

“I would have called you earlier, but I had difficulty gaining access to the agency's computer records. There are at least two more unsolved murders of young women in this general area that match those first three. The police reports make no mention of missing eyes, but I've managed to link their names to the agency. Those victims were adopted as children, too.”

“So what's your theory?” Jersey asked.

“Someone's hunting these girls using their adoption records.”

“Why?”

“Beats the hell out of me. Maybe the killer abused them when they were kids and is now trying to cover it up before they come forward. It could be anything.”

“Or,” Jersey said, thinking aloud, “he could be searching for one specific girl. He kills the ones who turn out to be false leads just to scratch their names off his list.”

“Now that's twisted,” said the reporter.

“You've done good work, John.”

“Thanks. Now, any chance of a quote so I can build a story from facts rather than theory?”

Jersey laughed. He liked the kid's spunk. “Give me twenty-four hours. Then, I'll give you all the quotes you need.”

68

S
ally lay on the bed, her mother's patchwork quilt clutched tightly in her hands.

Fear was gone. In its place was rage.

It wasn't just adrenaline, it was some primal need to punish. Twenty-five years of running. Running from a nightmare, running from the blood and the fear and the agonizing pain of the night that destroyed everything.

She couldn't, wouldn't, run anymore. It was time to plant her feet and make a stand.

Father Black had been firm but not overly rough when he dragged her back to her room and locked her inside. He hadn't berated or beaten her. He had simply uttered a chilling warning: “Your spirit shall be broken.”

Her biggest danger was Aedan. Twice she had bested him; both times by surprise. He wouldn't take that lightly.

She rolled off the bed and crawled underneath, her arm stretching to its full extension until her fingers found what she was looking for: the broken knife. The handle was heavy and what was left of the blade was barely a nub, but its snapped tip had a ragged edge sharper than its blade ever did.

Sally returned to the bed and slipped the weapon under her pillow. Its presence gave her a momentary feeling of comfort.

69

A
edan, his head lowered in supplication, stood before his father. Despite his meek posture, rage coursed through his body and made the veins in his neck vibrate like high-tensile cables.

“The future of this church is in your hands,” Father Black said. “I've told the elders of my plans for both you and the church, but unless the Seer can deliver, I fear it will be all for naught.”

“I
will
make her talk,” said Aedan.

“But how?”

Father Black walked to the fireplace where photos of his dead brothers and their families stared out at the desolate room. He picked up one photo that showed Sally as a child of no more than four. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her mother's neck, her eyes peeking out from between the long curls of her mother's red hair, while her father looked on. Only the mother was smiling, and in her eyes there glistened something akin to madness.

Father Black said, “Until shortly before the end, her mother was a true believer. A Seer of extraordinary talent, she guided our followers to the other side with such enthusiastic relish that… ” he chuckled, “that I often felt jealous it wasn't my turn.” He turned to his son. “Salvation's years away from the church have made her blind to her gift. How do you plan to make her see?”

Aedan bared his teeth. “I will plunge her neck deep in blood until she—”

“But,” Father Black interrupted, “violence isn't working. She isn't afraid of you.”

Aedan bristled. “I will step up—”

“She's a Seer,” Father Black interrupted again. “She knows the path, she's seen the Journey. How do you threaten someone who doesn't fear death?”

Aedan stayed silent, knowing his father's question was meant as rhetorical, something for him to think upon while he slept. But in his mind, he already knew the answer:
Make her fear
living
.

70

W
hen his mother and father were asleep, each in their separate bedrooms on the second floor, Aedan returned from his cabin.

He crept up the stairs to Sally's bedroom, unlocked the door, and slid inside. A labored whine emanated from the bed as though the sleeper was wrestling with demons.

Walking softly, he crossed to stand beside her bed. She had kicked the blankets off and was lying on her stomach, bare except for a pair of white panties, her torn and mud-splattered dress tossed in a heap on the floor.

With the dim light disguising the bruising on her face, she actually looked quite beautiful. Her lips trembled in sleep as though struggling to speak, but the only noise that escaped was the undecipherable whine.

Aedan slipped one hand over her mouth as he climbed onto the bed and sat on her buttocks. She instantly arched her body in protest and began to struggle, but Aedan simply leaned forward until his full weight was pressed along her bare back. His stubbled cheek brushed against her smooth skin and her lungs wheezed, his dead weight making it difficult for her to breathe.

He pressed his lips against her ear. “Killing you is not difficult. We could simply lie here in this embrace, not moving, and before the sun rose in the morning, your body would be cold.”

Sally tried to move her arms, but Aedan had them pinned to her sides with his knees.

He continued, “I could sodomize you and then slit your throat, or do any number of unspeakable things to your flesh both before and after death.”

Sally tried to bite his fingers, but his hand was clamped too tightly across her mouth.

“The pain I can inflict is great,” he said. “But I fear you don't believe me.” Aedan lifted his head and sucked in a deep, cleansing breath. He released it in a hiss as he returned his mouth to Sally's ear. “It's time to believe.”

Aedan yanked his hand away from Sally's mouth and sat up, releasing the pressure in her chest. She only had time to gulp a quick lungful of air before Aedan snatched up her left arm and pulled it tight.

Gripping it above the wrist and below the elbow, Aedan dug in his thumbs and bent her arm to the breaking point.

Sally groaned in pain and begged him to release her.

Her whine hit notes of glass-shattering proportions as Aedan bent the arm over his knee, and then—

Sally screamed as the large bone snapped.

Mother rushed into
the unlocked bedroom to find Sally sobbing on the bed, her face white with shock, her left arm cradled against her chest.

There was no one else in the room.

Aedan returned to
his cabin and headed straight to the bathroom. His eyes were spinning in his head as he struggled to control the rate of his breathing.

Everything was moving too fast. He could see air molecules flying around him, too large to enter his lungs.

He pulled open the medicine cabinet and flattened a square of foil. He wished he had a needle; something faster, more efficient.

His head was going to explode.

The heroin melted and bubbled and began to smoke. He inhaled deeply, greedily, wanting to turn his lungs inside out so he could wrap them around the smoke and swallow it in thick, white chunks.

Had the bitch learned her lesson? He didn't know. There was too much pressure. The church, his father, his obsession… the weight of it was becoming unbearable. He had been searching for Sally for most of his life and now, after all his effort, she was refusing to help.

The bitch deserved to feel pain; mountains of it.

His eyes rolled in his head until he could see the back of his skull. There was something back there, hiding behind his brain. It had mustard yellow eyes and tiny, sharp teeth… Aedan's thoughts drifted as though commanded by the creature. It didn't want to be seen. Aedan staggered out of the bathroom, his limbs rubbery and ethereal, and down the short hallway to his bedroom.

He found his bed and crawled on top of the covers, clutching the corners of the mattress so it wouldn't fly away without him.

In his dreams, he would build four mountains, and upon each peak he would build a house, and within each house he would raise a family, and everyone would worship him as Father.

71

J
ersey opened his eyes to a red dawn.

The car wasn't moving. Kameelah had parked in a wooded rest area beside the road and reclined her seat as far as it would go. The awkward position of her neck caused her to snore, and the nasally rumble was so grating that Jersey wondered how he had possibly managed to sleep through it.

Jersey opened his door and stepped out to take a leak in a copse of scraggly pine. The air was crisp and his breath rolled from his mouth in ghostly, near-transparent puffs. Winter was approaching fast; the threat of snow ominous. When he was done, he zipped up and returned to the car.

Kameelah blinked open her eyes at the sound of his door closing. She wiped drool from her lips and wrinkled her nose as if she was about to sneeze.

“Sorry.” She rubbed her eyes. “I couldn't stay awake.”

“Better to pull over than end up in a ditch.”

Kameelah grinned. “That was my thinking.” She started the engine. “New Town isn't far. We can get coffee, directions, and splash some water on our faces before heading to the church.” She hesitated, then asked, “Do you have a plan?”

Jersey shrugged. “We knock on the front door and ask if Sally's there.”

“And if they say ‘No'?”

“We'll insist they look again.”

Kameelah pulled onto the highway and brought the car up to cruising speed. “Not much of a plan.”

“No,” said Jersey, “but since we don't have any jurisdiction, the harder we insist, the more pissed off they might become.”

“And if they become violent?”

Jersey grinned. “Then that gives us enough probable cause to get the local cops to kick the door down and see what they're hiding.”

“And what if Sally isn't there?”

Jersey's grin faded. “Then I better hope
The Rotten Johnnys
get more gigs, because my cop career will be in the toilet.”

72

S
ally sat in the bathtub with her back to the taps and washed herself one-handed. Her left arm hung over the side, the broken bone set in fresh plaster.

The doctor who arrived in the middle of the night had been a short man with sickly, jaundiced eyes beneath thick-rimmed glasses. Despite the lateness of the hour, he wore a western-cut suit adorned with a ridiculously colorful bowtie. The garish tie gave Sally hope that he wasn't a church member and that she could use him to get a message to Jersey.

Her hopes were dashed the moment he examined her arm and told her how privileged he was to be of service to the Seer. When he moved her arm, Sally's face drained of all color and she struggled not to either faint or vomit.

“It's definitely broken,” the doctor murmured. “But I suspect it's a clean break.” He smiled at her. “No sharp bones sticking out of the skin, so that's a good thing.”

Sally opened her mouth to spit back a reply, but the menacing look on Father Black's face, as he loomed in the doorway, made her reconsider.

Without an X-Ray, the doctor said he had no option other than to wrap her arm in wet plaster and hand over two Tylenol #3s for the pain. When he finished setting the plaster, he told her to keep the limb elevated to bring down the swelling and that he would check on her later in the day to make sure the cast wasn't too loose. The fast-drying plaster hardened into a smooth white shell by the time the doctor had washed his hands and been escorted out of the house.

The pills had helped Sally gain a few more hours of sleep, but as she sat in the bathtub and clumsily splashed warm water on herself, she felt a raw weariness deep in the marrow of her bones.

Her escape plan had done nothing but cause her more pain, and she worried for April. She had asked to have the girl visit this morning, but Mother had refused.

“You'll see her in church,” Mother said as she filled the bath. “You both have a big day ahead of you.”

Sally pulled the plug and listened to the water gurgling down the drain. She wished she could join it; hold her breath and slide into the sewers; float to the river and away.

She climbed out of the bath and toweled herself dry, then slipped into fresh underwear and a new white dress. She wondered if the church bought the dresses in bulk, since all three had been identical, or if each time she wrecked one, Mother had to go begging to another church family for one in the right size. She hoped it was the latter; maybe someone would question why.

When she finished dressing, Sally crossed to the bathroom door, knocked and waited.