The Unearthed: Book One, The Eddie McCloskey Series (19 page)

“John, please come outside.” Talia sounded close to hysteria to Tim.

Jackie said nothing.

“John, please.”

He shook his head. “I’m not leaving my house. Billy’s going to come back. I know it.”

Talia almost barreled into Tim. He caught her. She looked up at him, eyes wide and wild. Then she ran out, leaving the front door open.

Tim turned back to Siobhan Moriarty. She reached her hand out one last time before her husband grabbed the back of her leg and started pulling her toward him. The blood trail she had left made pulling her back all the easier. She slid over the now frictionless kitchen floor.

Tim watched in horror as the massacre replayed itself. He watched John Moriarty climb atop Siobhan and he watched as the blade flashed. He slashed her hands, her wrists, her forearms, barely able to control his own movements now. It was gruesome to watch, and yet, Tim couldn’t take his eyes away. He knew he was seeing something that no one had ever seen before. Something that few if any would ever see again.

Siobhan’s arms moved in slow motion it seemed, and each time, the knife came closer to her body. Until finally, John plunged the knife into her. Once, twice, again, again … Her body convulsed with each stab. One arm fell to her side. The other flailed uselessly above her.

John tapped into some hidden reserve of energy to kill his wife.

And even after she was dead, so obviously dead, he stabbed her again, and again, and again. It seemed to go on forever.

When he was done, he slumped on top of her.

Tim felt his stomach heave, but he was able to not vomit.

Eddie said, “It’s just a recording, Jackie. I know it’s gruesome, but it’s just a recording.”

Jackie said nothing.

The scene had not fully played out yet.

William crawled to his parents. He fell onto the kitchen floor, sliding along the bloody path Siobhan had made. Mother’s and son’s blood mixed. Unlike Siobhan, however, William looked much more alive. He had some strength left in him. He had lacerations across his face, and he was reaching out, begging for help. He looked so real, so real that Tim felt an urge to take his hand and pull him away from all that death, to pick up the phone and dial nine-one-one so the paramedics would get here in time.

Mercifully the scene faded. The blood and bodies disappeared from the floor. But Tim could still picture them all, very clearly. The image would never leave his mind.

Haunted, they stood silently for a long time. Nobody knew what to say. Moira went to Stan and he hugged her. Tim caught Eddie watching them.

Jackie looked like he’d aged five years in the last day. Without a word, he wandered out the front door into the night.

“Jackie, we all need to take a break.”

“Tim,” Eddie said. “What the hell are we going to do now?”

“Tomorrow we start again. We need to see how much of this was Billy or if it was just a recording.”

* * * *

He had had enough. When he realized he was having trouble keeping his eyes open, Billy climbed out of the tree. Falling asleep in a tree was a bad idea. He was beyond fear, he was so tired. He didn’t care if someone came upon him in the woods or not. He needed sleep.

Billy reached the bottom limb of the tree and dropped to the ground. He sank to the dirt like a sack of potatoes. He was so tired, the ground actually felt comfortable. He rolled onto his side and propped his head with his hands.

They’ll listen to you now.

Billy didn’t respond.

Aren’t you going to thank me?

Billy shut his eyes. He was grateful for sleep.

“What’
s
the plan?” Stan asked.

The team was huddled around Tim.

“I’m staying here tonight,” Tim said.

Michelle looked like she wanted to say something but didn’t.

“I’m staying too,” Eddie said.

Tim needed to have a long talk with Eddie. His brother had done a good job in Billy’s bedroom, but he was still too reckless. But Tim was too tired. He’d do it first thing tomorrow.

“You want me to start scrubbing the data?” Stan asked.

“Yes. Start with the EVP.”

“How about me?” Moira asked.

“Help Stan tomorrow. Maybe we get lucky with the EVP. Maybe there’s something on there about where Billy is. Two sets of ears will cut the listening in half.”

Tim caught Moira exchanging a look with Stan.

He looked around and registered the fear and fatigue and shock on all their faces. He needed to say something to them, something that would reassure them and make sense of the night.

“I want to thank you all. We dealt with some serious shit tonight. Hopefully that was the hard part. We’ve uncovered a lot and have a lot of evidence. Now we need to find something that’ll lead us to Billy Rosselli. Now go get some sleep and recharge for tomorrow. I’ll need you all sharp. Great job tonight, everybody.”

Tim looked over his team. They were tired, he could tell, but they were all on edge too. They’d be lucky to sleep tonight. And he couldn’t blame them. They’d just witnessed murder. It wasn’t like seeing it in a movie, either. Tim had seen pure hatred and rage, to an extent he’d never thought possible in a human being.

Michelle stepped to Tim and buried her head in his chest.

* * * *

Moira walked up to Stan. “You mind if I catch a ride?”

“To your place or mine?” Stan smiled wickedly.

“Funny. To mine.”

Moira followed Stan to his SUV.

“Hey, guys.”

They both turned at the sound of Eddie’s voice.

“You guys rollin’?” Eddie asked.

Moira knew he was asking if they were leaving together. Awkward.

“Yeah,” Stan said. “You want a ride too?”

Eddie seemed to consider it. He looked at Moira, his eyes almost pleading with her to go home alone. She felt bad for him in that moment, but also, she felt annoyed. It was time Eddie accepted the fact it was over between them. She’d told him flat out a few times now. A girl liked persistence but enough was enough.

“Nah, it’s cool. I’m staying here. I just wanted to talk to M real fast,” Eddie said.

“Yeah, sure,” Moira said.

Stan went to his car to give them some privacy.

Moira faced Eddie, just wanting to get this over. “What’s up?”

“So, M. I’ve been wanting to tell you something for a long time and … seeing all that shit tonight has got me …”

“Eddie …” Moira hoped she wouldn’t have to say more.

“No, listen, M. It’s important for me to tell you how sorry I am about what happened. It was stupid of me. And I just hate myself for thinking that I blew it with you because of some fucking pot.”

“Eddie…”

“It will never happen again. I’m different now. A different person.”

“You’re telling me you don’t smoke up anymore?” Moira didn’t care how angry she sounded. It was late and they’d had this conversation too many times already.

“No, not that. I wouldn’t bring that stuff over your place again.”

“Eddie, I believe you. But it’s more than the weed. How do I say this …” She considered her words carefully. She wanted to get her point across, but she didn’t want to crush him either.

He waited, with the slightest bit of hope in his eyes.

There was no good way to say it. “Eddie, it’s just over between us. I’ve moved on.”

“But, M, we made a great couple. I don’t understand.”

That was it. She was too exhausted to deal with this anymore, and she really just wanted to go home with Stan and tell Eddie to leave her alone. She was tired of things being awkward because Eddie wouldn’t move on.

“Eddie, I want a guy with a little direction in life.”

“Direction?”

“Don’t make this diffi—”

“Difficult?”

“Eddie!” She knew she was going to cross a line but couldn’t help it. “Even your own brother thinks I should date Stan.”

As soon as it had come out, she regretted it. She saw the look of hurt in his eyes, the look of utter betrayal. She couldn’t have said anything worse. And she had gotten Tim in trouble as well.

“He said that?” Eddie looked past her at his brother.

“Wait a minute, Eddie, I just got mad and made something up to get you off my back. Please …”

“No, you meant it.” He turned and walked away.

Moira let him go. She figured she’d only do more damage, if she said any more. She’d rejected him and revealed his own brother’s betrayal.

She watched him stalk off then hurried to Stan’s SUV. Stan reached across and popped the passenger door for her. She got in.

“You okay?”

Moira felt his hand on her shoulder, and was grateful for it. “I’m such a bitch sometimes.”

* * * *

“You okay to drive home?” Tim asked Michelle. They’d taken a walk up the block just to get away.

“Yeah.”

“Hey.”

She turned to face him.

“I love you.” 

She beamed a smile. “I love you too, Tim.”

“I want you in my life.”

“Tim …” She was rarely taken aback but his words were having a huge effect.

“I’m so glad I have you.”

They kissed for a long time. Then he walked her back to her car.

Tim watched her back out of the driveway. He got a strange feeling he would never see her again, but dismissed it as fatigue and frayed nerves.

Tim went back to the house. Eddie sat on the front steps, smoking a cigarette. He was staring at the ground in front of him. He looked like he wanted to be alone so Tim gave him a wide berth and met Charlie in the driveway by the cop’s cruiser.

“You ever seen anything like this?” Charlie asked.

Tim shook his head. “I don’t know if anybody has.”

Charlie lowered his voice. “Christ, she’s sleeping in the car.”

Tim turned and saw through the open garage doors Talia getting into her car, then rolling the windows down.

He couldn’t blame her.

It was nearly three in the morning, and the air was crisp and cold. Tim wondered how Billy Rosselli felt, wherever he was.

“You taking off?” Tim asked Charlie.

“Can’t. What if I left and tomorrow found out the four of you killed each other? There’d be my job.”

Tim smiled wearily. “You are a true humanitarian.”

Charlie shrugged. “So, where are we beddin’ down then?”

“Family room.”

Eamo
n
Moriarty woke early. He knew it was early because he always woke early and no one else was up. He didn’t know how they could all sleep so late. His brain would not let him.

It was Sunday, which meant seeing the therapist today and going back to school tomorrow. He did not look forward to either.

Eamon got out of bed, feeling the carpet with his bare feet. He grabbed his sketch pad and crawled back under the covers. He flipped through the pages of his pad.

He could never get the house right. The angles were always off. The perspective of the roof was wrong.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.

He flipped to a clean sheet.

Or what he thought was a clean sheet.

At the top of the page was scribbled:
Billy is your friend
.

The handwriting looked familiar. But not his own. It was slanted oddly, too, like someone left-handed had written it. He racked his brain. No one else in the house was left-handed.

Eamon crossed out the line, tore out the sheet, balled it up, and tossed it at the trash can. He missed.

Houses were the hardest thing to draw for him. Almost as difficult as the three Fs: fingers, feet and fire. With houses, he knew he had to be technical and artistic at the same time. Lines needed to vanish along the imaginary, hidden horizon at the same point. Details needed to be felt, but not overwhelming. And it was so difficult to picture his old house anymore, which made the process even more frustrating. He found himself making up more and more about it out of practical necessity; however, that made the house look even less real.

Eamon reached under his bed and pulled out the tackle box he used for his art supply kit. He opened it and fished out a used piece of charcoal.

Eamon angled the sketch pad so he could use his left hand. William had always told him that good artists were left-handed, and that it was easier to draw with your left hand. It was the only thing he did with his left hand. He turned his head to the side and stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, and put charcoal to paper. He didn’t bother to outline or frame the house with a pencil. He wanted to see if he’d do better without those tricks.

William had always been good at drawing, especially with charcoals. He’d known it, and he’d bragged about natural talents constantly. He also loved rubbing his charcoal-smeared fingers on Eamon’s clothes or face. Eamon frequently woke from afternoon naps with smudge marks on his cheeks and down the bridge of his nose.

The house he was drawing did not look right. It never did. He could hear William now, offering him “advice” in the form of condescension and ridicule.

William had been such an asshole.

He was glad his brother had died horribly.

* * * *

“I’m sorry.” Talia stood over the sink, cracking and dumping eggs into a bowl. “I couldn’t sleep in here. It wasn’t because me and Jackie were arguing.”

She trailed off, looking very embarrassed.

Tim said groggily, “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

The microwave clock said nine-forty-seven.

“How do you like your eggs?”

“However you make them.” He didn’t want her fussing over him.

She gave him a weak smile.

Tim rubbed his lower back, kneading the muscles. He always woke up with a sore back whenever he slept on floors. He heard the sizzle of the eggs on the pan.

Someone knocked on the sliding glass door leading to the backyard. Tim snapped his head around, and Talia dropped what she was doing and ran to the family room.

Billy.

“Thank God!” Talia yelled.

Tim watched as Talia slid open the door and crushed Billy in a hug. He felt an enormous burden lifted. Billy was home; he didn’t have that hanging over his head anymore. This morning they could just focus on drawing the spirit out some more.

Talia pulled away and looked at Billy. Tim could see the kid’s face was dirty, his t-shirt was ripped in a few places, and his hair was a mess.

“Where have you been? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Talia asked, rapid-firing her questions.

“I’m okay, Mom. I’m okay,” Billy said.

* * * *

Stan heard Moira leave the guest bedroom and walk down the hallway. She’d been too tired to go across town to her place so instead he’d brought her home. He’d made sure that the guest bathroom had fresh towels and rugs. He didn’t want her thinking he was a slob.

He left the studio and looked down the hall to find her standing there, almost as if she’d been waiting for him to seek her out. She looked gorgeous with her bedhead.

“You’re up early,” he said.

“So are you,” she said, yawning.

“I couldn’t sleep. I was still too worked up.”

“You look like you could go to sleep right now.”

And you look like you want to join me, he thought. He considered saying it jokingly, to test the waters.

Instead, he asked, “What would you like to eat?”

“Surprise me. I eat just about anything.”

“Sounds good. We can get started on the data after.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I like your energy.”

Stan watched her close the bathroom door behind herself, then he heard the water pouring in the sink. He imagined her in the shower, naked. Before day’s end, he’d make a pass. He was tired of worrying about Eddie’s feelings. He’d had his chance with Moira and blown it.