C.H.A.R.O.N., page 7
He dropped the flamethrower and raised the shotgun as Travis shouted the last line of the exorcism in triumph.
The miner screamed in fury as his form dissipated and faded into nothing on the wind.
Brent straightened, feeling sore muscles where the sledgehammer had hit his bag. “Is he gone?”
Travis rose from where Brent had knocked him to his knees. “Yes. As far as I can tell.” He frowned. “You’re hurt.”
“I’ve had worse.” Brent stretched and grimaced at the discomfort.
“You’ve been better too. Thank you. I know you protected me.”
“If I let the ghost take out the exorcist, we’re all up shit creek.” Brent managed a smile.
“Are you okay to walk?”
“Yeah, but I’d rather not run for a while,” Brent admitted.
“Let’s head for the library. We can dry out and get warm, and maybe if Calabrese’s wife is working she can help us track down some history. I’ve got ibuprofen in the car.”
Brent knew he was moving like an old man, and his back hurt like hell. He also knew that if he hadn’t deflected the blow, it would have been far worse, but that was cold comfort at the moment.
He swallowed the pills as soon as Travis dug out the bottle from the glove compartment and then got settled into the passenger seat.
“Want to bet there’s a mine nearby that had a fatal accident?” Travis asked.
Brent could tell his partner was surreptitiously checking him over, making sure his injuries weren’t worse than he had let on.
“Sounds like a working theory to me.” Brent sighed as he resigned himself to nothing being comfortable.
“We’ll make sure we get ice before we go to Chris’s house so maybe you’ll be able to move in the morning,” Travis promised.
“That sounds really good,” Brent replied, biting back a groan when he tried to find a more comfortable way to sit.
“Talk to me,” Travis said. “There’s something you’re not saying.”
Brent sighed. “There at the end, when the flamethrower died, I could have sworn I heard Danny yell a warning in my mind. That’s how I knew to duck.”
“Maybe being worried about you was what he needed to push through from wherever he’s been,” Travis mused. “I don’t doubt that he’ll come back to you if he’s able.”
“I hope so. I miss him.”
Travis pulled into the library lot and grimaced to find the only open spots far from the door. “Looks like we found the hot hangout in town—besides Fisher’s.”
“Makes sense,” Brent said. “Most of the people here are older. The library probably has community programs. Maybe it’s social hour for people who don’t day drink.”
Brent did his best not to move stiffly, suspecting he failed badly. He knew he hadn’t broken anything, but they couldn’t afford for him to be off his game, not when they still didn’t understand the threat they were up against.
South Fork Library’s entrance hallway was lined with bulletin boards featuring upcoming programs and reminding patrons that they could also borrow ebooks, audiobooks, and DVDs. Two glass cases featured artwork from children and adults, proudly emblazoned with the names of the artists.
Travis paused to read some of the notices. “For a small town, there’s a lot going on. The librarians are doing their best to offer reasons to stay positive.”
“From what Chris said, this town needs all the help it can get with that,” Brent replied.
The inside was painted in cheerful colors. Toward the back in the children’s section, murals of animals, sailing ships, rockets, and castles covered the walls. Over to one side, three computer terminals were busy with patrons. Rows of bookshelves suggested that despite limited resources, the library had managed to acquire a good-sized collection.
Brent saw more people here than anywhere else in South Fork. Mothers with small children in the back, retirees reading in the comfortable armchairs scattered around the open spaces, people standing in line to check out books.
“Kudos to the librarians. They’ve done a helluva good job with what they’ve got to work with,” Travis said.
Brent knew his partner’s inner academic appreciated libraries and bookstores. “They’ve put a lot of effort into making this a bright spot,” Brent replied. Lord knows, South Fork needs that.
They got the worst of the water off their jackets before heading for the main desk.
“We’re looking for Tammy Calabrese,” Brent said to the middle-aged librarian who waited on them after they worked their way through the line.
She gave them a look Brent realized as sizing up the strangers for threat. “Stay here. I’ll see if she’s available.”
Brent figured their chances were fifty-fifty of Tammy coming out to see them, but he relaxed when a woman close to their age bustled out of the back room. Her dark hair was caught back in a clip, and she wore a t-shirt that read “Free your mind—read a banned book.”
“You must be the guys from out of town Tony said might stop in.” She greeted them with a smile. “I’m Tammy.”
They introduced themselves, and Tammy motioned for them to follow her to a small conference room. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?”
Brent and Travis carefully hung their wet coats over the backs of chairs where the dampness wouldn’t harm anything and pulled up seats across the table from Tammy.
“We’re trying to find news articles or obituaries that might help us track unusual deaths,” Brent said.
Tammy gave a bitter chuckle. “South Fork is the epicenter of ‘unusual deaths.’ Can you narrow it down?”
Brent filed that comment away for later. “We’re looking into the attack on Rick and the other two recent deaths. Is there a way to find out if someone else died in those locations long ago?”
Tammy looked at them with narrowed eyes, thinking. “Probably—but it’ll take some digging. Tony told me the two of you have ‘unique’ skills. You think it’s some kind of malicious spirit?”
Brent felt relieved that she hadn’t dismissed them out of hand. “We’re not sure yet, but that’s one theory.”
“In its heyday, South Fork had coal mines, a rock quarry, a busy railroad depot for cargo and passengers, and a lumber mill. All of those are dangerous. But in my opinion, the usual dangers don’t explain the number of deaths and accidents that happen here in an average year,” Tammy told them. Brent wondered if she felt relieved to have someone who would believe her speculation.
“This town has had more than its share of bad luck, going back as far as we’ve got records. Mine disasters. Railroad wrecks. Explosions or bridge collapses or fires. Outbreaks of one type or another. Multi-car pile-ups. I’ve been trying to trace the phenomena back through the years for a while now. Tony knew that when he sent you here—me and my gruesome little research project,” Tammy added with a grim chuckle.
“We’d love to see your research.” Brent felt like they might have just turned a corner. “Have you come to any conclusions?”
“From what I can piece together, this place has had a higher mortality rate per capita than other towns in this area, especially ones with similar industries. It’s not my imagination. It goes way back. We’ve had fires and floods and drought. Why did people stay? The jobs paid reasonably well—until they vanished—and a lot of folks didn’t have anywhere else to go,” Tammy said.
“Is there a starting point? Did something make South Fork unlucky?” Travis asked.
“There’s a story—might or might not be true—that the Native Americans who lived around here tried to talk the first settlers out of building the town where it is. Of course, they didn’t listen.” Tammy sighed. “Sounds like the beginning of every Stephen King novel, doesn’t it? At least I can tell you that as far as anyone has ever found out, there is no ancient burying ground under the city. Miles of mine tunnels—yes.”
“Did the bad luck get worse at a certain point?” Brent picked up the line of questioning.
Tammy nodded. “In the last five years, there’s a definite uptick.”
“Do you have a theory about why?”
She paused, tapping her finger against the table as if deciding what to say. “I can’t prove it, but I think it’s got something to do with the hospital.”
“Why?” They’d run across plenty of haunted hospitals or abandoned sanitariums, but so far, the South Fork facility hadn’t come up much in conversation.
“All the accidents, suicides, and unexplained injuries go through the hospital,” Tammy said. “I’d think something like that would leave a stain—and ghosts. The hospital’s mortality rates are off the charts—just one of the reasons it’s finally closing.”
Brent leaned forward. “Where would the hospital’s old autopsy records be stored? I mean really old—like more than forty years ago.”
Tammy thought for a moment. “We’ve got the town newspaper on microfiche going back more than a hundred years—you can find obituaries in those, but people often leave out the cause of death if it’s bloody. The autopsy records themselves? Either Doc Medved has them squirreled away somewhere, or they’re wherever the hospital has its long-term storage. I can try to find out.”
“Thank you,” Brent said as a dark possibility occurred to him. “Do you know if the hospital here in town ever offered any special government programs for veterans that weren’t commonly provided elsewhere?”
Tammy looked puzzled. “Like clinical trials? I’m not sure. I’ll add it to my list.”
“I’d appreciate it.” Brent caught the sidelong look Travis sent him and knew his partner guessed the thoughts behind his question.
“How can we help? We didn’t come here to dump a bunch of research on you,” Travis added.
Tammy tapped her pencil against her lips for a minute, deep in thought. “There might be an easier way to come at this. You’re not interested in all deaths—just the weird ones. Those are likely to have required a call to the sheriff’s office. If you find the names of the victims and the dates of the deaths, it would make it a lot quicker to cross-check autopsy records and news coverage.”
Travis grinned. “You’re a genius. Think you can persuade the sheriff to give us access?”
“I just might have an in,” Tammy said with a wink. “They’re public access, but not always quick to find, so I’ll give the office a call and get someone to find them for you.” She pulled a sheet of paper from a notepad and scribbled down a phone number.
“You also need to talk to Liz Bowers. She’s been a nurse at St. Benedict’s Hospital for twenty years, and she’s seen a lot of the weirdest stuff. She’s my bowling buddy, and she runs the Tuesday night bunco game. We go way back. I’ll give her a heads-up that you’re looking for information, and have her meet you at Fisher’s when her shift’s over. She’ll know where to look for the stuff people want to hide.”
Tammy slid the sheet over to Brent, who pocketed it and wrote their numbers on another paper for her.
“I’ll text you when I’ve got news,” she told them. “Why don’t you head over to the sheriff’s office? I’ll let Tony know you’re on your way.”
The rain hadn’t let up when they headed back to their car, and the parking lot seemed even more full than before. “The library here is a happening place,” Brent observed.
“That’s a good thing. They’ve obviously tried hard to make it a sanctuary and be welcoming. But then again, I’m always a pushover for libraries,” Travis admitted.
“Even secret occult ones?” Brent teased, knowing that Travis had access to the hidden Vatican library in Pittsburgh.
Travis made a face as if he’d sucked on a lemon. “In that case, it’s the books—definitely not the company they keep.” Travis disliked the Sinistram nearly as much as Brent loathed CHARON.
“I had a thought about how to shave some time off the records search,” Brent said as they drove the short distance to the sheriff’s office. “If we search on the deed history for the three locations we know about, then we’d at least have three data points to look for bizarre deaths at those sites. There are probably a lot more, but that might confirm our theory and give us something to work with.”
“I like that. How about I do the deed search while you start in on the police records. I hope they have coffee. No matter how we approach it, we’re going to be slogging through a lot of files,” Travis replied.
Brent had given up all hope of getting completely dry as they hurried into the sheriff’s office. To their surprise, Calabrese was not only expecting them; he looked ready to leave.
“Good. You’re here. Tammy called me. I think you’ve got a good idea, but it’ll have to wait,” Calabrese said. “You can come with me—we need to go. We’ve got another weird one.” Brent thought the sheriff looked tired and worn.
“To the hospital?” Brent feared he already knew the answer.
Tony shook his head. “Not this time. But we’ve got witnesses. C’mon. You’ll get a first-hand look. It’s—bad. Good thing you’ve got a strong stomach.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Ambulance lights reflected in the windows of the split-level house. The neighborhood looked like it would have been quiet any other evening, but few people would be getting a good night’s sleep tonight.
“Sorry about the circumstances,” Calabrese said when a blonde woman in her forties met them on the sidewalk. “Give us a few minutes with the ambulance crew, and we’ll be inside to talk with you.” She nodded and went back into the house next door.
“Must be nice to work in a big city where you don’t know the people you pull out of a car wreck or arrest on a domestic call,” Calabrese said with a sigh. “Unfortunately, every single fucking call-out is someone I know—someone I grew up with. It sucks.”
Travis and Brent followed the sheriff to the ambulance. The crew’s lack of urgency gave Travis the answer to the victim’s condition.
Even with the rain, blood soaked the patio. A crimson-stained claw hammer lay on the pavers next to the body of a woman whose throat looked as if it had been torn out by wild animals.
“Talk to me, Cliff. What happened here?” Calabrese said to the older of the two EMTs, a balding man in his early forties.
“I can give you the what but not the why,” Cliff replied, and although he retained his professional composure, Travis could see the man was badly shaken.
“Shelly’s left hand is pulverized from being hit with that hammer,” Cliff said. “Looks like it was used to tear out her throat too.”
“Did anyone get a look at who attacked her?” Calabrese asked.
Travis had the awful feeling he already knew the answer.
“Witnesses say she did it herself.” Cliff glanced toward his partner, who silently nodded.
“Holy fuck,” Calabrese muttered.
“She was dead when we arrived,” Cliff said. “Liz called us—she and some friends saw everything out the window.”
A second SUV emblazoned with the sheriff’s insignia pulled up and killed the siren and lights. The red-headed man who got out—whom Travis assumed was Calabrese’s deputy—looked shell-shocked.
“Jesus,” he swore as he joined them. “If this keeps up, there’s not going to be anyone left.”
“Let’s take the photos, go through the drill,” Calabrese ordered. “I don’t think we’re likely to find any evidence besides the hammer, but we need to look.”
He made short introductions for Travis and Brent to Bobby, his deputy. “How about you two hold the floodlights and make it easier for us to get the formalities taken care of so Cliff can take the body away.”
Travis and Brent spent the next hour cold and wet, hoping none of the lighting equipment had faulty wiring so they didn’t end up electrocuted on the wet lawn. Despite the rain and the growing darkness, Calabrese and his deputy gave Shelley the dignity her death deserved, doing their investigation by the book.
When Calabrese finally stood, he couldn’t hide how shaken he was. Bobby put the lights away, and Calabrese walked over to Travis and Brent, looking equally bedraggled and miserable.
“Shelly and I went to kindergarten together. Hell, we were in every grade all the way up—South Fork only has one school. Shelly left for a while, got a job in Harrisburg, married a guy there. Then they got a divorce, she lost her job, and ended up here, working data entry at the hospital.”
Calabrese shook his head. “I always thought Shelly would be one of the ones who got out. But she got dragged back, like the rest of us.”
The ambulance pulled out, carrying Shelly’s corpse to the morgue. Bobby followed to handle the paperwork. Calabrese turned and led them toward the house next door to the people who had presumably seen what happened.
“You okay?” Travis asked Brent in a tone just above a whisper. He didn’t mention that he could see his partner shivering or that Brent’s lips were nearly blue with cold.
“Yeah. Got colder in Iraq than this at night, but at least we didn’t have the fucking rain.” Brent looked chilled and miserable.
The door opened before Calabrese even had a chance to knock. “Come in, leave your wet coats and shoes by the door.” A woman Travis assumed was Tammy’s friend Liz ordered. She had short brown hair and bright blue eyes that seemed much older than her mid-thirties. “I’ve got towels for you to dry off, and we turned up the heat. You’ve got a choice of coffee or hot chocolate, and no one here will breathe a word if you want a little Irish with that.”
They all opted for coffee, but Travis picked up a whiff of whiskey that suggested that Liz and her friends had already spiked their drinks. If they’d actually seen Shelly’s death, he didn’t begrudge them.
Travis guessed Liz’s friends looked to be near her own age, one with shoulder-length blonde hair, and the other with a long, dark braid.
“This is Angie,” Liz said with a nod toward the blonde, introducing her friends for Travis and Brent’s sakes. “And this is Jamie. It’s our weekly bunco night—that’s a dice game that’s mostly an excuse to drink wine. Tuesdays are our bowling night—our team, the Sure Shots—has been together since we were in high school. Shel was on our team,” she added, fighting back tears. Jamie put a hand on Liz’s shoulder, and Angie took her hand.
