The Forgotten (27 page)

Authors: Tamara Thorne

Tags: #Horror

BOOK: The Forgotten

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“This is a beautiful place, Will,” Maggie said, looking across the acres and acres of grave markers. Michael's stone was partially shaded by a majestic live oak and they sat at the edge, just out of the bright hot sun. “Somebody left a baseball here. It doesn't look like it's even been used. That's kind of nice, don't you think? I realize it's a coincidence, but since Michael loved to play. . .” Her voice drifted off.

“Peaceful,” said Will.

“Do you still come here on his birthday?”

“Yes. And the baseball's no coincidence. I brought it. I do every year.”

“That's nice. Better than flowers.”

“Michael'd like it better.” Will smiled, then looked at Maggie, suddenly serious. “I still have
his
baseball. I keep it in wrapped in tissue in the trunk of the car just in case I decide I'm ready to leave that one.”

“Is that why you wanted to come here today?”

“No. I came here today to tell you a story about the ballâit appeared in my bedroom the other night.”

“What?”

“I can't explain it. Michael has been visiting me. He whispers to me at night. He says he wants to tell me something or sometimes that he wants to show me something. And the other night, I got up and looked under the bedâhe whispers from beneath the bedâand then I stood upâand the ball was there, the one I keep in the car. It was right where I'd been sleeping.”

“Will! Michael is haunting you?”

“Well, in a sense. I realize that I must have been sleep-walking and brought the ball in. Either that or Pete's gaslighting me.”

“Wait. Don't explain it away. What about the whisper? Do the cats hear it?”

“That's what scares them. Last night I slept in the office with them. First good night's sleep all week for me.”

“Michael is back. . .” she said, wonder in her voice.

“Maggie, I don't mean literally. It feels literal when it happens.” He went into a recitation of how hypnogogic states work. “So you see, it's really me. I'm using a ghost to force myself to confront what I did that day.”

“What you did? What do you mean?”

“I'd forgotten this, Maggie, in self-defense. It's horrible, horrible.” He shook his head, close to tears. “I was the one, Mags. I killed Michael.”

“I know.”

“You
know?”
How can you know?”

“You told me the night it happened. And then you forgot. It's good that you did.”

He nodded. “Got me through childhood, but I wish I hadn't forgotten so well. I must've really been a basket case for Pete to go along with it.”

“Will, don't give him any credit. He doesn't do anything for nothing. Think about it.”

“About what?”

“After I ran into him the other day, I thought about it. I think he hid it because it made him look good. He took care of you, he comforted everyone. If you'd told your parents you shot Michael accidentallyâ”

“They would've hated me.”

“Will!” Maggie snapped at him, made him look at her. “Don't feel sorry for yourself. Be honest. You know they wouldn't have hated you.”

“Pete said they would.”

“Fuck Pete! Fuck him! You might've believed him when you were a kid, but you know better now. What would your parents have done?”

Will knew, but couldn't say. He looked at the gravestone instead.

“They would have loved you and tried to make sure you felt no guilt.”

He nodded. “Yeah. That's true.”

“Pete wouldn't have had any attention then.”

“Oh, please, Mags, even he's not that shallow.”

“Oh, please, yourself. He's that shallow and more! You see things about people so easily, why are you so blind about him and about yourself?”

Will shrugged. “It's human nature, actually. Ego takes a beating about things like this and it's hard to get through it.”

“But you know, right?”

“I know. I think. I still have trouble wrapping my mind around the idea that he's that bad.”

“Don'tworry about it for now. Tell me how Michael coming back ties in with your memory returning.”

“Your people skills are a little raw,” Will said lightly.

“Good thing I'm a vet. Will, this is me. Tell me.”

“It's pretty simple. I remembered I killed him. I need forgiveness. I keep apologizing to my made-up ghost, but it hasn't been laid to rest yet. I have to continue to confess, to apologize, until my subconscious accepts it and the ghost is exorcised.”

“Will?”

“What?”

“You said the ghost says something.”

“Yes. I can't understand most of it. It wants to show me something, to tell me something.”

“And you're not listening. You're too busy apologizing.”

“There's nothing to listen to.”

“You don't know that. Whether it's really Michaelâdon' t make that faceâor whether it's your own subconscious, something wants to tell you something. Until you hear it, it's not going away.”

“I don't know.”

“Look, let's assume it's your subconscious, since you won't allow it to be anything else.”

“Maggieâ”

“Hush. Your subconscious is still holding back a detail of some sort that you need to remember. Doesn't that make sense? Don't you think you should relax and listen?”

“I guess you think you're pretty smart.”

“You bet.”

Colonel Wallis Tilton had been doing a lot of thinking during the week. He had watched Doris get more and more irritated, had seen her mood improve whenever they were away from the house and seen her crumble into annoyance and anxiety when she was home. The more she was there, the worse it was, and vice versa.

And he himself had felt an unease like termites slowly burrowing into the very foundation of his home, into his walls, and, damn it, into him.

And he knew. He
knew.

Goddamned Project Tingler is active.

Disgusted, he stood up and unhooked the cable box then started yanking cable out of his house. He should have put it together already. Pete Banning was one of the Tingler ops. His civilian statusâ
apparent
statusâchanged nothing.

The Goddamned thing of it was, Tilton couldn't do shit about it. He was lucky to be aliveâthe others in his camp were dead or sent far, far away. Tilton pulled half a string, got a discharge, gave it up. Looking back, the only reason he was alive now was probably because Doris was a cousin of the president.

Outside, he removed the cable entirely from his house, following it to the back of the yard where it attached to a small phone pole. There, he cut it off as high as he could, then coiled up the cut part and put it in the back of the tool shed.

Back inside, he took the cable box apart and swept the house for bugs. Clean.

“Wally, what are you doing?” Doris asked, coming in from the market.

“We just gave up cable television.”

Her eyes widened. “You're kidding. What about our shows?”

“We're getting a satellite. I'll call in a little while.”

Doris smiled. “Good. I never liked giving Caledonia Cable our business. That Banning character, wasn't he a problem for you years ago in the service?”

“He was.” He hugged his wife. Banning was still a problem, but he didn't dare say so. All he could do was try to get rid of the new cable in town. If he was too overt, he'd be dead. Who could he talk to safely? Who would believe him?

“What was Pete Banning's brother's name, Doris?”

“Will? The psychologist? Such a nice man. Those two are like night and day.”

The Deliciously Dark Bookshop in Red Cay was a marvelous little store stuffed full of specialty books, mostly horror, fiction and otherwise. Every bit of wall space was covered with posters or with strange
things
ranging from body parts from movies to gargoyles for sale. There were greeting cards with Dracula on them and jewelry in the shapes of skulls and snakes and bats, and Will was extremely surprised to find that he liked the place. Despite all the strange thingsâand a few very unusual people, mostly kids in black clothes and goth makeupâthe store had a nice feel.

The signing was winding down when they got there, but there was still a line to see David Masters, who sat in a throne-like chair before a table in an alcove created by removing a set of bookshelves on the right hand side of the store. Will and Maggie grabbed a book and got in line. When other people came along, they let them go ahead.

“This is strange,” Will whispered to Maggie.

“I know. I've never done it before. I feel like a fan. I'm a little embarrassed.”

“Just don't ask him to sign your breasts, and I'm fine with it.”

Maggie elbowed him in the ribs. “Watch it.”

“Have you read any of his books?” he asked her.

“A couple. He gives me nightmares. I kind of like Dean Koontz.”

“He's good. I've read a couple.”

“I like the dogs.”

Will raised his eyebrows.

“You know, lots of times he writes about golden retrievers. Sometimes they're regular dogs, sometimes they're preternaturally smart.” She grinned. “You should take up writing thrillers, Will. You could do for ginger cats what he did for ginger dogs.”

Will opened his mouth to reply and shut it again as he spotted Lara Sweethome enter the store. “Oh no,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Quietly. One of my patients just walked in.”

“Dr. Banning?” Lara called. “Dr. Banning, is that you?”

“That must be her.”

Will nodded, then smiled and introduced Maggie. Lara started telling her all about her armless mother's ghost.

It went on forever.

Finally, it was their turn. Will almost put Lara ahead of them, but considering her penchant for talking, and his lack of desire to hear the same story yet again, he held his place.

David Masters looked up and smiled. A pleasant manâMaggie probably thought he was downright good-lookingâhe smiled at them then stared at the book Will held.

“How would you like that signed?”

“Oh, I don'tâ”

Maggie stepped on his foot and took the book. “Make it to Will and Maggie.”

“Okay.”

Masters began writing.

“This is embarrassing,” Will said.

“Oh, don't be embarrassed, Dr. Banning,” piped up Lara. “Mr. Masters, this is Dr. Banning, he's my psychologist, and that lady is Dr. Maewood, she was my veterinarian until my little Scottie dog passed away in 1993. Dr. Banning, are you going to ask Mr. Masters about my ghost?”

Masters looked as confused as Will felt, but after a moment, everything started to gel in various minds and Will was glad of Lara's introduction.

“A psychologist?”

“Yes.”

Masters glanced at Lara, who was obviously going to stick like glue. “I'm writing a book with a psychologist protagonist, Doctor. If you're not in a huge hurry, would you let me buy you a cup of coffee when I'm done here? If I could ask you a question or two, it would really help me. I'm in a little bit of a bind for an answer.” He took a business card from his shirt pocket, wrote on it, then put it in the book and handed it to Maggie.

“My pleasure.” Will accepted the book from Maggie and smiled at Lara. “I'll see you next week.”

She started to protest, then forgot about him when Masters addressed her. Will paid for the book and they stepped outside and away from the window before checking the card.

“Lara is a nice person, but I can't talk to him with her breathing down my neck,” he said.

“Of course not. So, what's it say?”

“Miss Scarlett in the pantry with the dagger.”

“Wiseass.”

“He wants to meet at the coffee shop on the pier in twenty minutes.”

“Let's start walking.”

The Pigskin Sports Bar's parking lot was less than half full but it sure as hell looked inviting to Pete Banning when he pulled in for a cold one. He had worked hard and the brew would be a richly deserved reward. After fucking Heather Boyd until her eyes were ready to pop outâthe girl was insatiable and had damn near worn him outâhe'd made six house calls to install various bugs and cameras. It was time for a break.

He walked into the cool, dark bar, and was instantly hit by a barrage of sports noise from the eight televisions scattered around the place, all of which had been equipped with new cables by Mickey earlier in the week. Live baseball was the big thing at the moment, Angels versus Padres, though at least one TV was running an old Super Bowl game.

“Miller Draft,” he told the bartender, sliding onto a stool. “How's business?”

“Fair.” The bartender looked at him. “You're the cable guy. Banning?”

“Pete. Owner/manager.”

“Nice picture. Funny thing, though.”

“What's that?”

“Ever since you installed the new cable, something funny's been going on over there.” He pointed to an empty group of tables where a TV was being ignored. “Some sort of double picture or something. Puts people off. They say it's a ghost.”

“Ghost?”

“Oh, well, you know how it goes. There's an old ghost story about this place. Former owner hung himself. That's true, but the ghost part. . . I dunno.” He shook his head. “A few people like to blame broken glasses and so forth on the ghost, but nothing spooky's ever happened here before. It's all been talk. Go have a look. Some of the customers say they can see a dead guy hanging there, sort of superimposed over the screen.”

Pete snorted, then walked over and looked.

And saw it. “Holy shit.” Shimmering transparently before the screen, which was playing the Angels/ Padres game, was a dim image of a man, hanging by a noose. Pete shuddered slightly, glad he couldn't see it better; the tongue lolled, the eyes bulged, he could even see that the face was purple with trapped blood. “Incredible,” he muttered, walking from side to side. The form seemed to be almost in front of the television, though some of it went through the set itself. Looking up, Pete saw that a dark-stained open beam lay in precisely the right spot to hold the spectral rope. “I'll be damned. I'll be Goddamned!” He reached up and snapped off the set, then looked away, clearing his vision. When he turned his gaze upward again, the hanging man was still there, even with the set off. “I'll be fucked six ways to Sunday. This isn't supposed to. . .”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He waved off the bartender, who had followed him. The Tingler microwaves were meant to disrupt thought, to bring out and prey upon the frailties of an individual human mind. The waves piped into places like this via the new cable held no subliminal messages, they were simply a tweaked-up frequency that messed with brain function.

These particular extra low frequency waves rarely, in earlier Tingler experiments, produced anything in the shared-hallucination camp, and although it was possible that a person could, after a long enough exposure, be plagued by hallucinations when the set wasn't transmitting, it wasn't expected.

In fact, it was fucking rare as hell.

And here I am, seeing somebody else's hallucination and the goddamned set isn't even on.

He and the bartender returned to the bar. “A lot of people see it?”

“Yeah. Most people.” The guy used a remote to turn the set back on. “It's less noticeable when the TV's on. So what is it? You're the expert.”

“You got me. Get me another beer, will you?”

The bartender nodded, filled a fresh glass and set it before Pete, who asked, “You can see it?”

“Yeah, but I don't like to admit it, not unless somebody else says they do and they're not soused, you know? I sure never saw anything like it before. It's like one of those Disneyland thingsâlike in the Haunted Mansion, you know, where the ghost gets in the cart with you at the end?”

“Hologram. Yeah.”

Somebody called the bartender away, which was good because Pete wanted to stare at the alleged ghost while he finished his beer. The phantom was sort of in the television, but sort of outside of it. Damndest thing he'd ever seen. The barkeep was right; the thing looked like a faint hologram.

He drained his glass, then went out to the SUV and phoned Nedders.

“Got a mass sighting of an apparition.”

“Where?”

“In a bar.”

“Real funny,” Nedders said. “Pink elephant, is it?”

“No. Something's hinky. I saw it, too. Evidently, it's been there for days, appeared right after we installed. It's a dead guy, hung himself on a rafter. It's a ghost. And it doesn't go away when the tube is off.”

“Well, fuck me,” Nedders said. “I didn't really think that would happen. Shouldn't happen. The boys at the top haven't figured out how to make a ghost appear.” He barked a dry laugh.

“Well, one did. You sure there's nothing subliminal programmed in?”

“As sure as possible. No. It's just the Tingler wavelength. Subliminals belong to the other guys. Project Sybil's subliminal messaging. Project Medusa is visual hallucinations.”

“Right. Any crossovers from Medusa on the Tingler team?”

“No.”

“By the way, we installed at Colonel Tilton's house last week. Remember that old bastard?”

“Sure do. You have him bugged?”

“No. Not yet. Is the old silver eagle knowledgeable about anything anymore?”

“No. Completely out of the circuit since retirement. Old boy never really wanted in in the first place.” Nedders cleared his throat and spoke tersely, “Nevertheless, something has happened.”

“What?”

“You've been breached.”

“What?”

“You left your home office open, Chief.”

“I did? How do you know?”

“Because your wife walked in. She didn't see the camera that watches the room, that's for sure.”

“Felicia went in there?”

“She sure did. How much did those boobs set you back? What a looker.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She walked in naked. Looked like she'd been working out. I'd say it looked like she'd been fucking but that came later.”

“She's cheating on me?”

“Yeah. With your secretary. She brought her in and showed her your screens. Your secretaryâcalls herself Labouche?”

“Yeah.”

“Labouche was all over her. I couldn't see the screens, but they were watching you do some woman and they were grooving on it.”

“Felicia's no lezzie. Neither's Labouche.”

“Then you better smell their breath, Pete, because you are wrong, wrong, wrong. And you didn't background check Labouche, did you?”

“With that mouth?”

“With that mouth. You let your dick do too much of your thinking for you. That'll get you in trouble every time, Bucko. I checked her out. Can't be sure yet, but she might be a spy in your ointment.”

“Spy? What do you mean, spy?”

“Military. Anti-Tingler people. Same ones Tilton used to be friendly with. Can't be sure yet, in fact, it's mostly a hunchâshe was in the Air Force for one tourâbut I think she was handpicked to keep an eye on you.”

“Shit. I better take care of her.”

“No. They're going to take care of you. They're pissed at you for cheating on them.”

Pete suddenly got a hard-on, wondering if they'd go for a three-way.

“Don't even think about it,” Nedders said, knowing how he thought. “Don't go home. Don't go to the office. Go blow yourself or something. Just don't be where they could find you for now.”

“My wife is no killer.”

“You didn't know she liked pussy, either. But you're right, she probably isn't a killer. But Labouche is a cipher. I had a lipreader look at the video. They want revenge.” That dry laugh again. “From what we could tell reading lips, it's too bad you went and shoved it up Labouche's ass.”

“Jennifer Labouche is a dumb blonde, Captain. She seriously thinks that swallowing sperm will make her boobs grow.”

“Pete, you're an ass if you believe that. Put your goddamned dick away and give those women some credit. Male chauvinists are a dying breed, Chief. Smart women are killing them. We have three women on Tingler and I wouldn't want to cross them any more than you.”

Emotions roiled up. Nedders was saying he was as harmless as a woman, and he didn't like that. But he was right about everything else, so he was probably right about the womenâJennifer, Felicia, and the gender in general. “Shit.” He dug in his glove box for Rolaids.

“Don't do anything until your Uncle Neddy says so. Just stay low. Wouldn't hurt if you got out of town until the intelligence boys find out what we need to know.”

“I'll stay low.”

“Pete?”

“Yeah.”

“I know you like to masturbate on that satellite receiver.”

“How do youâ”

“You think I don't keep an eye on you? I'm your Charlie, you're my Angel.”

“Fuck you.”

“Hey, cool off. You can spew on that dish all you want, what do I care? But not until I give the go-ahead. Stay away from Felsher Hill.”