The Dead Ones (Death Herself Book 3) (18 page)

This is my fault. He died because he loved me.

“I'm sorry,” I whimper, squeezing my eyes tight shut. “I'm so sorry.”

“M'am?” asks a voice nearby, probably a police officer.

“I'm so sorry,” I sob.

“M'am?” The voice sounds distorted now, as if it's both near and far at the same time, echoing through the air.

Leaning forward, I start weeping with rage. After everything that happened, I lost the one person who means the most to me. I've spent my whole life trying to hold my mind together and keep from falling into madness, but that fight is finally over. I hold Josh tight and let out a long, uncontrolled wail of sorrow.

“M'am?”

Suddenly I open my eyes and see the girl from the jewelry store smiling at me. She's standing behind the counter, and the entire store seems to have been put back to how it was before Dyson showed up. The ceiling, the walls, the display cases... Instead of being damaged beyond repair, they'll all firmly in place. Even the air-conditioning unit, which a moment ago was hanging down in disarray, is now tucked back up with the ceiling tiles. I take a step away, shocked, before feeling a kiss on my neck. When I turn, I see Josh standing behind me.

I blink a couple of times, convinced that he'll fade away, but instead he smiles.

“Have you seen anything you like yet?” he asks.

All I can do is stare. I can't believe that he's real, not yet. What if my mind is broken? What if this is some kind of fantasy world?

“Honey?” He frowns. “Why do you look so shocked? Did you find a ring you like? Am I going to look equally shocked when I see the price tag?”

Spotting movement nearby, I turn and see that everything truly seems to be back to normal outside. Saturday shoppers are milling about in the town square, and every scrap of damage has been undone. There are no dead bodies on the sidewalk, there's no blood running between the cobbles, and the sky is clear and blue. People who were dead a moment ago are now wandering past, seemingly without a care in the world. It's as if time itself has been rolled back.

Josh puts a hand on my shoulder. “Bonnie?”

“Are you okay?” I ask, reaching up and touching his neck, checking to see that his head is properly connected. All I can think about is the horrific sight of his dead eyes a moment ago, and I can't shake the fear that maybe I've retreated into an illusion, that my mind has been completely shattered.

“I'm a little freaked out,” he tells me, “but... Seriously, Bonnie, is something wrong?”

Still staring at him, I can't help wondering if everything that just happened with Hannah and Dyson was all in my mind. I guess it's possible that I had some kind of brief mental hiccup that filled my head with scenes of carnage and pain, all of which took place in the space of just a few seconds. It felt so real, but at the same time there's no way it could have suddenly been undone, which means it must have all happened in my head. There's no other possible explanation. Unless I'm willing to accept that a crazy girl appeared from nowhere, twice in my life, and saved this whole town from some kind of monster.

“I'm fine,” I whisper, before turning to see that the girl behind the counter has taken out a tray of rings, ready for me to take a look. “I think I just... I think... I don't know what I think. It's almost as if...”

And then I faint, slumping down and hitting my head on the side of the counter. Not that I remember that part, but Josh tells me all about it later at the hospital once I wake up.

Eighteen

Twenty years later

“Keep it together,” I whisper as I sit on the edge of the bath, wiping my eyes with tissue paper. “Just keep it together.”

I can hear Josh and the kids outside, setting up the barbecue. I should go and join them, but another panic attack struck me while I was in the kitchen and I just need a few minutes to get my head straight.

“Come on,” I mutter, frustrated by my own weakness. “Just get the hell over it!”

***

“So Uncle Malcolm was, like, a serial killer?” Janey asks, her eyes as big as plates.

“Not a serial killer,” I reply, passing the salad bowl to her. “It's complicated, I'll tell you all about it later.”

“But why didn't you mention it before now? Why did I have to hear about it from someone at school?”

“It's really not something I like talking about,” I tell her, taking a deep breath in an attempt to hold off another panic attack. My hands are trembling, and I feel certain I'm going to drop something soon. “It was a long time ago, too. Everything was different back then.”

“How many people did he kill?”

Sighing, I realize that there's no way she'll let go of this. Sometimes, my daughter is like a terrier with a bone.

“There were eighteen victims,” I tell her, “plus -”

“Eighteen! Jesus Christ, Mom, and you never mentioned this before? Like, seriously?”

“Your grandmother was one of them,” I explain, “and I almost -” Before I can get those words out, however, I start blinking furiously. Ever since the incident at the jewelry store several years ago, I've developed a nervous twitch that comes out any time I have to talk or even think about Malcolm. “Not now,” I mutter. “Please, Janey, go and help the others.”

“But how -”

“Janey...”

“I need details,” she continues excitedly. “Like, did he -”

“Enough!” I shout, momentarily losing my temper as I step toward her. For a brief second, I actually come close to slapping my own daughter, but fortunately I'm able to hold back.

“I'm sorry,” she stammers, stepping away as if she sensed what almost happened.

“We'll talk about it another time,” I reply, taking deep breaths as I try to calm my nerves. “I'm sorry, honey, I just find it a little difficult sometimes. You know that's not your fault, right?”

“Sure. I shouldn't have pushed. I just -”

“Now get moving,” I add, interrupting her. I know I should be more open, but her sudden barrage of questions has come up so suddenly, and I need time to work out what to say. “Your father's getting the barbecue started and people will be arriving soon. We'll talk about your uncle tonight.”

“I guess our family's name is mud, then,” she replies, heading out to the garden. “No wonder you moved halfway across the country.”

“No wonder,” I say with a sigh, watching as my oldest daughter goes to join the others. I guess I always knew that one day she'd start asking about my family history, but at the back of my mind I was somehow hoping that there'd be a miracle and I'd never have to even think about Malcolm again. Ever since Josh and I came to live in California after our wedding, I've tried to focus on the future and forget as much of the past as possible. Not just the shooting, but also the events that came after it. Sometimes I worry that if I re-open old wounds, I might have another relapse and start seeing or hearing things.

Hold it together, Bonnie. You're tougher than you think.

“Aw,” a voice says suddenly, right behind me. “She's cute.”

Turning, I find Hannah standing next to the sink.

“She looks like you, too,” she adds with a smile. “She's got that slightly intense, furrowed brow expression. I like it. Then again, she seems to lack the manic, frazzled thing you've got going on there.”

Taking a step back, I try to make sense of my spinning thoughts. A rush of panic fills my chest, and I look around, terrified that I might spot Dyson. This can't be happening, I can't have lose my mind again, not at the mere mention of my brother's name.

“Relax,” Hannah says, “everything's fine. Dyson is gone. I've spent the past twenty years tearing him apart atom by atom and freeing the souls he'd consumed.” She grabs a potato chip from one of the bowl and dips it in some salsa, before taking a nibble. “I managed to send all the souls back to where they're supposed to be, and then I took what was left of Dyson and...” She pauses as she finishes the potato chip. “Well, let's just say that he won't be troubling anyone ever again. I took all the atoms from his body and put a field around each of them individually, to ensure they can't ever combine again. The universe could go through a billion more life cycles, and Dyson physically can't ever be reformed. It's quite neat, when you think about it.”

I stare at her for a moment, before grabbing a knife and holding it up, ready to defend myself.

“Seriously?” she replies, raising a skeptical eyebrow as she takes a cherry tomato from the bowl and pops one into her mouth. “You've aged,” she continues, speaking as she chews. “You've got wrinkles and lines on your face. It's cool, I like that about mortals. It's always pretty easy to work out how old you are. Not like me.” She grabs the knife from my hand and uses the blade to examine her reflection. “I don't look a day older, do I? Damn, I'd kill for a wrinkle or two. They add character.”

“Are you real?” I stammer.

Glancing at me, she seems amused by my reaction.

“Are you real?” I hiss, although I manage to keep my voice low so that hopefully the others won't hear me from outside.

She sets the knife down. “Do we have to go through all of this again?”

“It's been twenty years!” I tell her. “
Twenty years
since that day at the jewelry store! I thought... I thought it was all in my head! I thought I'd just imagined you!”

“No such luck,” she replies, glancing around at the kitchen for a moment. “Nice place.”

“I never found out why he did it,” I say suddenly, blurting the words out before I even know they're coming. “My brother, I mean. I never found out why he and Jonathan did such an awful thing that day.”

“And you never will,” she replies.

“But I
have
to.”

She shakes her head.

“Do
you
know?” I ask.

“I know why they were angry,” she continues. “They hated the world, they thought it was unfair. But plenty of people think like that, without doing what they did. So I don't know why they took those guns and killed so many people. I learned long ago that there are some facets of the human mind that even
I
can't understand.” She pauses. “That's a tough thing for someone like me to admit, by the way. The idea that I can't know everything is pretty annoying.”

“I suppose I have to live with it,” I mutter.

“You will.” She pauses for a moment. “I know one thing that might help,” she adds finally. “That night when you met me outside the prison, just after your brother had been executed... I wasn't there to check up on you, I was there to see him. I appeared to him in his cell. In his final months in prison, your brother was a changed man. Calmer. Wiser. He spent a lot of time counseling other prisoners and helping them see a future for themselves. Some of them were eventually released and went on to turn their lives around, so at least he contributed something in the end. It doesn't excuse everything else he did, but it shows he wasn't a monster.”

“I should have gone to see him,” I reply. “I was a coward.”

“You were just a kid.” She turns and looks around the kitchen, before glancing back at me. “Looks like you've got things sorted here, though. Sorry I couldn't come back sooner to check on you, but I've been kind of busy dealing with Dyson. I only finished sorting him out five minutes ago, but then I came straight back to see how you're doing. Clearly you don't need me, though. You've obviously built a good life here. Married to Josh, with three pretty cool kids and a nice house.” She takes a piece of sliced cucumber and slips it into her mouth, although she instantly spits it back out again, letting it fall to the floor. “I'm surprised,” she continues. “I thought there was a good chance you'd have completely lost your mind. I half expected to come back and find you sobbing in the corner of a padded cell.”

I watch as she sticks a finger into the bowl of sour cream and then licks it clean.

“That day in the town square,” I stammer. “It... I mean, did it...”

“Did it really happen?”

I shake my head. “It can't have. It's impossible.”

“It happened,” she replies. “How are you holding up, by the way? You seem tense.”

“Then how did it un-happen?” I ask, as I feel a headache starting to form.

“How do you think?”

“You changed time,” I say finally. “You literally rolled back the events in the town square and made it so that they never happened. People died and then they came back to life. Josh died, and then...” For a moment, I can't help thinking back to the sight of Josh's severed head, yet now he's out in the garden tending the barbecue. “He has no idea,” I whisper. “None of them do, but they were brought back to life.”

“Technically that wasn't
my
doing,” she replies, as she starts chewing on a stalk of celery. “That was my... friend. It was one of the favors I called in while I was dealing with Dyson.” She checks her watch, and it's clear that she's anxious about something. “I don't have long,” she continues, with a hint of fear in her eyes. “I have to go and see him soon.”

“Who?” I ask.

“My friend. The one who helped that day.”

“But who is he?”

“You don't need to know,” she says darkly. “Sorry, I'm not even sure I could explain it to you properly, but let's just say that I've been a bad girl. I made a mistake a long time ago, and I've been running ever since. The plan was to stay under the radar and make sure no-one ever noticed me, but I see to have started making too much noise. Maybe I'm not an under-the-radar kind of person, but hey, at least I tried.” Finishing the celery, she makes her way around the counter and takes a handful of olives and feta cubes. “I'm delaying things,” she explains. “I'm trying to fill up my time, wasting a few minutes here with you, but I know he's waiting for me.”

“Waiting for you?” I look around, but there's no sign of anyone. “Who? Where?”

“It's not going to be very nice,” she adds as she tips the olives and feta cubes into her mouth. “I don't know quite how it's going to straighten out, but I think there might be rather a lot of pain and screaming. From me, obviously. He's going to want to really ram the point home and make sure I never go rogue again, and I wouldn't be surprised if he tries to make an example of me, to warn the others. God, that's going to be embarrassing. I seriously doubt -”

She stops suddenly as a brief surge of white energy dances across her left hand.

“That's new,” she mutters.

“But you'll be okay, won't you?” I ask. “What's going to happen? Will you be punished?”

She nods, while staring at her hand as if she expects the energy to return. “He's reaching out,” she whispers. “Latching on, getting ready to take me.”

“Should I come with you?”

She turns to me. “Seriously?”

“Maybe you need someone,” I continue. “I could offer moral support.”

“You wouldn't last a second,” she replies. “Your entire body would be fried as soon as you left this reality. I'm going to a place where no mortal can tread and you, Bonnie, are most definitely mortal.”

“So there's nothing I can do?”

She shakes her head. “Thanks for the offer, though.”

“Will you at least come back and let me know how it goes?” I ask. “I'd like to... I mean, I'd like to know that you're okay at the end of it all.”

She smiles, but there's sadness in her eyes. “I don't think I'll be able to do that. Sorry.”

“You could try, though.”

“I could try.”

“Or send a postcard or an email or...” My voice trails off as I realize how hopeless it all sounds.

Another ripple of energy crosses her hand, this time making it all the way up her arm before fading at the elbow.

“It's okay,” she continues, taking a deep breath. “I always knew this would happen. I thought I'd have longer to flit about, fixing things and putting the universe to rights, but at least I managed to make
a few
positive changes in the world here and there. There are people out there whose lives are better as a result of my actions, and remarkably few who ended up worse off. All that interference was strictly against the rules, of course, but I never liked rules. I thought I could ignore them, but -”

Suddenly another blast of energy hits her, stronger this time. She winces and takes a step back.

“Oh, he's angry,” she gasps, her eyes filled with shock. “I knew he would be, he had to be, but he's really not going to let me off with just a slap on the wrist. He's going to rip me a new...” She pauses. “Well, you know what I mean. There's going to be hell to pay. Maybe literally. I don't know why, but bosses never like me. I'm always -”