The Gathering, page 29
“The only other people we know were involved with the Doc are the boys.”
“Marcus is dead.”
“Which leaves Stephen and Jacob,” she mused. “And only one of them was there the night Doc Dalton was killed.”
“You think Jacob’s a killer?”
“No…I don’t know…” She raised her hands and let them drop helplessly. “I think we’re missing something,” she said. “And I think it’s time to talk to the Colony.”
“You mean Athelinda?”
“Seems she’s more likely to talk to you than me.”
Tucker shifted uncomfortably. “Just because I’m half-turned, doesn’t mean I’m one of them.”
“Can you hear them? The telepathy?”
“No. They don’t let you hear if they don’t want you to.”
“Still, you know Athelinda better than anyone else here.”
“She hasn’t got more time for me than any other human.”
“She saved you.”
“Athelinda didn’t save me. She wanted to punish me.”
Barbara opened her mouth to reply as her phone pinged with a message. She picked it up and glanced at it.
“It’s the prints I took off the glass at Nathan Bell’s house,” she said.
Tucker leaned forward. “He’s in the system?”
She clicked on the attached file. “Looks that way.”
The photograph was fairly recent. Unmistakably Nathan Bell. The same sallow face and sullen look. Tousled dark hair, longer in this picture.
Arrested for assault and disorderly conduct. And not the first arrest. There was a long list of previous convictions—theft, fraud, burglary.
That didn’t surprise her.
What did surprise her was the name underneath the mugshot.
Mitch Roberts.
She stared at Tucker: “He’s not Nathan Bell.”
Her Rescuer was thin and gangly. Long, dark hair tied back. His teeth were yellowed with sharp incisors, one slightly cracked.
He was dressed in patched jeans and a dirty T-shirt, and he looked nothing like the girl had hoped for. Rescuers in books were always gallant and handsome. Not like this.
“What are you staring at?” he asked. “C’mon. We haven’t much time.”
He held out a key. She inserted it into the lock around her leg, releasing the manacle.
“Thank you,” she said.
He looked at her, frowning. “You got any other clothes?”
She glanced down at her thin sundress. “Well, I guess I have some other dresses.”
“They all like this?”
“Mostly.”
“Okay. We’ll grab something from upstairs.”
Her Captor’s clothes? But her Captor was an old lady. Before she could question him, he had grabbed her hand. His palm felt rough and calloused. “C’mon. I knocked her out. But we need to drag her down here before she wakes up.”
“She’s alive?”
“Yeah.” He pushed her toward the stairs. “We don’t want the police turning up and finding a dead body. We lock her down here. Hopefully, it’s a while before she’s found. We’ll be long gone.”
They climbed the stairs and emerged into a small hallway. The girl paused, suddenly feeling dizzy. The first time she had been upstairs, out of her basement room for…how long? The air tasted different. The light was so bright it made her squint.
“I’m gonna run up and get you something to wear.”
Her Rescuer disappeared up another staircase.
The girl took a few deep breaths and looked around. To her right she could see a kitchen. She walked forward and entered. Neat and tidy. Shiny chrome appliances, a small table with a checkered tablecloth. Everything in its place. The smell of baking in the air. She walked slowly through to the adjoining living room.
Her Captor lay on the floor, blood trickling from a head wound. A hammer lay nearby. The living room was bright and homely. Saggy floral sofas, an overflowing bookcase. A huge white cross hung above the fireplace and music played faintly on an old radio. A song she vaguely recognized. Something about a Mr. Blue Sky.
“Here you go.”
She turned. Her Rescuer had returned. He handed her a pair of jeans and a jumper. They looked big and matronly. Of course. They were her Captor’s clothes.
“These are grown-up’s clothes,” she said. “I can’t wear these.”
He frowned again. And then something seemed to click. “You have any mirrors down there?”
“No. Why would I?”
“You’ve been here a long time.”
“I know, but I’m not like her. You said I’m like you.”
“You’re a vampyr. Time slows for us, but it doesn’t stand still completely.”
He took her arm and led her back into the hall. A mirror hung on the wall beside the door. He nodded toward it.
“Go on. Don’t believe the old wives’ tales about having no reflection.”
The girl stared at herself in the mirror. A stranger looked back. Not a girl. A grown woman. Slender but tall. Ridiculous in the flimsy dress which barely reached halfway down her thighs. And her hair. She had always thought it was lightest blonde. But now she could see it wasn’t blonde. It was white.
“Are you okay?” her Rescuer asked. “I thought you knew.”
She reached out a hand and touched the woman—the old woman—in the cool glass. Then she turned and strode back into the living room.
She heard her Rescuer shout, “NO.”
But it was too late. She picked up the hammer and smashed it into her Captor’s head, again and again, until her skull was nothing but a mush of gray and white matter oozing into the floorboards.
The girl paused, breathless but filled with a sudden sense of invigoration.
“What the hell?” Her Rescuer strode over and glared down at the mess on the floor. “You stupid bitch.”
He swung his arm and slapped her across her face. The girl reeled backward, gasping in shock. Even her Captor had never struck her.
“You realize how much shit you’ve got us in. Fuck!” Her Rescuer glared at her. “I only saved your ass cos we’re short on female company. You’d better pay me back good for this.”
The girl stared at him, wide-eyed. “I will. I promise.”
“Damn right you will.” He grabbed her hair. “Me and my friends, we been apart from our colony a long time. We’re hungry—and I mean real hungry.” He smiled, all ugly teeth and bad breath. “We’re gonna pump you so full of cum it’ll ooze out your goddamn eyeballs.”
And the girl realized her mistake. This wasn’t her Rescuer. This was just another Captor.
She raised the hammer and swung it into the side of his skull. He stumbled backward. She swung the hammer a second time and a third, a fourth, savoring the ache in her arms, the soft squelch of his disintegrating brain. Once her (former) Rescuer’s head was simply a nasty, lumpy stain, she took a hefty kitchen knife, dug out his heart and stabbed it into tiny pieces; raw, wet morsels.
She wiped a bloodied hand across her mouth, relishing the irony tang, and smiled.
“Now, I’m okay.”
54
Barbara pulled up outside the Bell house, which looked gloomier and more dilapidated than ever.
“The pickup’s gone,” Tucker said.
Barbara cursed. “Let’s go check inside.”
They traipsed through the snow toward the falling-down porch. Barbara pulled out her gun. As an extra precaution, she had her UV gun tucked into a second holster. They still didn’t know who, or what, they were dealing with here. They climbed the steps to the front door. Barbara could see it was ajar. She shoved it open.
“Police!”
Silence. The house was dark, cold, and Barbara could smell something. A familiar irony tang.
“Check the dining room and kitchen,” Barbara instructed Tucker. He nodded wordlessly and disappeared down the hall.
Barbara walked slowly forward and pushed open the door to the living room.
“Shit.”
Blood. Everywhere. The walls and furniture were spattered with red. Thick rivulets ran down the TV screen and a large stain had turned the faded rug in the middle of the floor black. Blood-soaked towels had been dumped on the sofa, as if someone had made a futile attempt to clean up.
Tucker walked back into the room and stared around. “Damn. That’s a lot of blood.”
“Let’s check upstairs,” Barbara said tightly, trying to swallow down the bitter taste in her throat.
A quick check of Nathan’s closet showed a clean sweep of empty hangers. Jacob’s room was oddly bare for a teenage boy. No posters of rock bands on the walls. No PC or laptop. But his wardrobe was still full of clothes. Dread dug its claws into Barbara’s gut.
“What are you thinking?” Tucker asked.
“Nothing good,” she said.
“Maybe Jacob was injured, and Nathan went to get help.”
“After packing up all his clothes?”
But then, if Nathan had killed Jacob, why not leave the body and flee?
“There’s only one road out of Deadhart,” Tucker said. “That’s the AK-3 to Talkeetna.”
“And from there?”
“If Nathan makes it to Talkeetna, which is unlikely in this weather, it’s still a long way to Anchorage, and that’s if the road is passable.”
“But if he does make it, he could disappear pretty quickly.”
Barbara looked around. Dammit. She had known something was wrong here. She should have followed her gut.
“He can’t be that far ahead of us,” she said. “That blood looked fresh.”
“What d’you want to do?”
Barbara debated with herself. They should call the state police. Get them to be on the look-out. It was probably foolish trying to catch up with Nathan in this weather. However, there might still be time to save Jacob.
“We go after them,” she said.
* * *
—
After easing a little, the snow was coming down heavier again and the wind had picked up. Barbara could hear the yowl over the engine and feel it rocking the vehicle as they pulled out on to the highway. She leaned forward, nose almost pressed to the glass. The windscreen wipers whirred noisily back and forth.
She had notified the state police before they left the Bell house. An APB was out so all the patrols in the area would be on alert for Nathan and Jacob.
Tucker was on the phone to Rita. “That’s right,” she heard him say. “Yes, Jacob is missing too. We’re heading out on the AK-3, but we need you to be on the look-out in case he’s come back into town.” A pause. “Okay, put the word out. But not too many words. A need-to-know basis.” He nodded. “Yeah, I do know what you’re like.”
He ended the call and turned to Barbara. “Done.” He paused. “Do you think Nathan is our killer?”
Barbara squinted into the white. “I have no idea…about anything anymore. Is Nathan Bell even Nathan Bell?”
“You think he’s this Mitch Roberts?”
“If so, why pose as Nathan Bell? What does he get out of it?”
“A house,” Tucker said. “And all the stuff inside. It looked like they were packing stuff up to sell, right?”
She thought about this. “So, Roberts killed Nathan and took his identity…for that old wreck of a house and some family silver?”
Tucker shrugged. “I’ve seen people killed for less.”
“And how does Jacob fit in?”
“Maybe he’s just dragged along for the ride.”
Can’t choose your parents, Barbara thought again.
“Let’s just hope we can find him in time,” she said.
“Yeah.”
Tucker didn’t ask “in time” for what. They both knew. The blood, all that blood.
The truck crawled onwards. Barbara wanted to ram her foot down on the accelerator, but she didn’t dare. The tires’ grip felt precarious, and the snow was settling on the windscreen faster than the wipers could shove it off. The truck’s headlights barely cut through the misty sheet of white in front.
Tucker suddenly leaned forward and pointed. “Up ahead. Look.”
Barbara squinted. His eyesight was better than hers, but now she could just make out a red shape ahead, off the road to their right. A truck, its back end in the air, bonnet smashed into a tree trunk.
“Dammit.”
She pulled the police truck over, stopped and stuck the hazards on. They climbed out and approached the truck. The brake lights glowed faintly. The back looked relatively unscathed. It was only when they reached the front of the vehicle that they could see the damage.
The impact had caused the entire hood to concertina, like a crumpled tin can. The windscreen was smashed out, blood smeared all over the jagged glass. Barbara peered inside. A mangled mess. The dash and steering wheel were rammed so hard into the seats that it was hard to see where one ended and the other began. More slick trails of dark red were smeared over what was left of the interior. But the cab was empty.
Barbara turned. “Let’s look around.”
They trudged through the snow. A short distance away, Barbara spotted something black half buried in the white. She walked up to it. A backpack. Must have got thrown out of the cab. She unbuckled it clumsily with her gloved hands. Stuffed inside was a bundle of men’s clothes. Nathan’s, she thought. So, he’d been in the truck. Where was he now?
It was several meters before they saw the body. That happened sometimes in a crash. No seatbelt. High impact. A body could fly a long way. Sometimes not all of it at the same time. The figure lay face down in the snow, limbs flung out in a star shape. But the angles were all wrong. The arms crooked, palms facing up, knees twisted the wrong way. Blood formed a halo around the head.
Barbara waded through the drifts toward the body, Tucker close behind. She knelt down. You weren’t supposed to move crash victims in case you caused more injuries, but Barbara could tell it was already too late here. She turned the body over.
Jacob. His head flopped sickeningly on his neck, which had been ripped open in a wide scarlet grin. His clothes were lacerated with broken glass, blood seeping from multiple wounds. His eyes stared blankly upward, snowflakes landing and melting on the delicate corneas.
“Damn!” Barbara cursed. Then she turned away and screamed into the storm. “Fuck and shit and screw your Gods to hell and back!”
She took a few deep breaths, the biting air scouring her throat.
“Feel better?” Tucker asked.
“No.”
“You couldn’t have done anything. It was an accident.”
She turned on him. “We were there. We were there in that damn house, and we knew something was wrong. We could have saved him.”
“You can’t save them all,” he said thickly.
But that was a cop-out, Barbara thought. Just like her mom blinding herself to her dad’s abuse with food and soaps. Just like the townsfolk who confided in her after his death that they had always worried for her, what with his drinking and temper, but they didn’t like to interfere. Barbara had recognized the warning signs with Nathan and Jacob, and she had still walked away.
“Shit,” she cursed again, more wearily. Then she looked around. “Where the hell is Nathan’s body?”
“Maybe he was thrown further?”
She stood and they walked into the forest, torches scanning the snow. But there was no sign of another body.
Barbara glanced back toward the truck. “He can’t have been thrown further than this.”
“You think he got out?”
Barbara thought about the concertinaed cab. “Not without severe injuries…but I haven’t seen any tracks or blood.”
“If he’s out there, he won’t last long,” Tucker said. “Especially if he’s injured. Either a bear or a wolf will get him, if he doesn’t freeze to death first.”
He was probably right, Barbara thought. But what if Nathan had somehow escaped the crash? What if he’d jumped clear before the truck hit the tree? The forest was deep and dense. He could already have a decent head start. And they had no idea which direction he would head in.
“We can’t just let him get away,” she said, feeling frustration gnaw at her.
“We’re not. But it would be crazy to try and search for him in this weather. He’s already the walking dead.”
“Fine,” she said reluctantly. “We’ll head back into town with Jacob’s body. I’ll update the state police. As soon as the weather improves, I want a search party out there. We get him, dead or alive.”
They wrapped Jacob’s body in an emergency foil blanket from the back of the truck and laid him gently inside. He seemed light, insubstantial. Barbara fought back the burning behind her eyes and climbed into the driver’s seat.
She put the truck into gear and pulled off. They drove in silence, the only sound the heavy whirr of the wipers and the howl of the wind outside. Barbara clung to the steering wheel. Blood stained her gloves. She realized something was still bothering her.
“The blood in the house? Do we still think it’s Jacob’s?”
Tucker took a moment to reply. “If he was injured or dead before the crash, I guess so.”
“So, either Nathan was driving to get help or to dispose of the body?”
“Looks that way.”
The twinkling lights of Deadhart came into view as they breasted the hill.
“Yeah, I suppose it does,” Barbara said. But it was there again. That niggle.
They drove back down Main Street. No lights glowed in the windows, only the omnipresent Christmas decorations, but Barbara couldn’t be sure no one was watching. Once again, they pulled around the side of the Grill, and Tucker carried Jacob’s body into the kitchen. Barbara flicked on the lights.
“Lay him down on the floor,” she said. “I want to take another look at his injuries.”
