Spookshow V: Half-Boys and Gypsy Girls, page 3
~
They commandeered a table near the back, everyone squeezing in as people arrived. Jen and Tammy were already there, along with Jen’s boyfriend Adam. Kaitlin and Kyle showed up just after Billie did. Hugs and well-wishes all around, everyone a little cautious around Billie as if she was made of glass. It wore off by the second round and the ladies shifted back into their usual demeanour. While Jen remained chatty and spirited, Tammy seemed subdued and distracted. Not her usual boisterous self, her conversation reduced to responses clipped and bored. Adam, aloof as always, barely spoke a word to Billie. She could only guess that he still blamed Billie for the damage done to Jen’s shop. He had been hurt in the attack, she reminded herself, so, perhaps, he had good reason to be rude. So be it.
Kaitlin was happy to see her. Like Tammy, she seemed a bit muted. Her smile was still bright but the wattage in her eyes was dimmed, a certain lethargy to her movements. As the evening wore on and people circulated around the table, Kaitlin scooted to the empty chair beside Billie and slid her arm around hers.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Kaitlin said, leaning close to be heard above the noise of the bar. “Our little circle isn’t quite the same when you’re not here.”
Billie looked at her. “Flatterer.”
“Three just seems like an odd number. Jen acts like nothing happened and Tammy doesn’t want to talk much.”
Billie nodded. Kaitlin was referring to recent events. The fire at the old house. It was no surprise that Jen had rationalized it away and Tammy wanted to forget about it. Who could blame them? She herself didn’t want to talk about it. “How are you healing up?”
“Better.” Kaitlin’s hand automatically covered the spot on her abdomen where she had been injured. “It’ll be a while before I can hit the gym again, but it’s almost back to normal.”
“You hate the gym.”
“Then, I’m not missing much, am I?” Kaitlin gave Billie’s wrist a squeeze. “I thought you’d bring a date tonight.”
“So did I,” she said, trying to mask her disappointment. “He’s busy.”
“Have you seen him since you got back?”
“Not yet,” Billie said.
“He couldn’t spare a minute at least? That seems odd.”
Billie smiled weakly. Kaitlin had articulated her own thoughts on the matter. Mockler had called earlier only to say that he couldn’t get away. She offered to go to him, even if it was only a minute or two, but he had nixed the idea. Concealing her disappointment, she told him where she was meeting the ladies should he get away early. Mockler said he would drop by if he could, but didn’t sound hopeful. Doubt crept in the moment she got off the phone, questioning the whole thing. Maybe it had just been a fluke, she and Mockler, both of them caught up in the chaos of the moment. Self-doubt, she reminded herself, was her Achilles’ heel and Billie took a page from Jen’s playbook to rationalize it out. This is what it is like dating a cop. A homicide detective no less. He was busy, that’s all. Get used to it.
Changing subjects, Billie nodded to Kyle across the table. “What about you two? How are the wedding plans?”
“Kyle’s being a dick,” Kaitlin replied with a dismissive flourish.
“Did anything happen while I was gone?”
“No. It’s not all him. My nerves are shot. No patience these days. So, we fight.”
“You two always bicker.” Billie looked at Kyle again. Like his girlfriend, he too seemed changed. Smaller somehow, as if he had lost a few inches of height. For as long as Billie had known Kaitlin, she and Kyle had been together. It was hard to imagine one without the other.
“I’m still not sleeping.”
“The nightmares?”
Kaitlin nodded her head slowly. She shrugged, but her eyes were glassy. “I still dream about her.”
There was no need to ask to whom she referred. Billie didn’t want to speak her name or ever think about it again. She wanted it behind her. “It will go away,” she comforted her friend. “It’ll take time, but it will go away.”
“There’s still so much of it I don’t understand.” When Kaitlin looked up, there was pleading in her eyes. “I need to figure it out. Maybe we can sort it out together. You know? What happened to us.”
“I can’t,” Billie said. “Not right now.”
“Of course,” Kaitlin hushed, remembering the funeral they all attended. “But later. I want to talk about it when you’re ready.”
Something shifted in the room, as subtle as a drop in the air pressure. Billie sat up straight and her eyes shot to the door. The fine hair on her arms was tingling and that could only mean one thing. One of the dead had found her, tracking her down like a bloodhound despite the fact that she kept herself closed to the other side. Some of the stronger ones still found her out. This one, she knew, would appear at the front entrance.
The door swung open and a man appeared, looking through the crowd of patrons for a familiar face. It was not a ghost.
Billie shot up, nearly knocking Kaitlin’s drink over, and waved Mockler down. Her heart swelled when his face brightened upon seeing her.
The embrace was tight, but quick. Mockler leaned back to get a look at her. “Hi,” he said.
“You made it!” she beamed back. “I didn’t think I’d see you tonight.”
“I double-timed it to wrap things up. How did everything go at your aunt’s?”
“Kiss me.”
He glanced around, wary of public displays, but Billie’s eyes were closed and her lips were puckered comically. A peck but her lips were soft. She took his arm and led the way. “Come sit.”
~
Tammy was the first to bail, claiming an early morning. Billie wondered if she felt like the odd man out, being the only person at the table not paired up. The mood wound down after that. Kaitlin and Kyle continued to snip at one another and Adam started yawning. Saying goodnight, Billie held onto Mockler’s arm as they hit the chilly night air and walked to his car.
“I hope that wasn’t too boring for you,” Billie said. “Hanging out with my friends.”
“Why would it be boring?”
“I dunno. I guess I was just worried you wouldn’t get along with them.”
“It was nice to see them under normal circumstances.” He dug his keys out of a pocket. “They’re nice. Except, what was up with Kaitlin and her boyfriend? Karl?”
“Kyle,” Billie corrected. “They’re hitting a rough patch, I guess. It happens.”
“It does.”
His tone was stone cold as he said it and she wondered what he was reflecting on. “You seem tired. Rough day?”
“Just busy. We’re trying to tie off a couple files before they go to court. Lot of details to iron out.”
The wind picked up and blew her hair over her eyes. “Any word on Gantry?”
“Nothing. And I mean zip,” he sighed. “I did want to talk to you about that.”
“What about?”
“Most cases, there are friends and family to talk to, but with Gantry, I have nothing. The only friend he had was you.”
“I know as much about him as you do,” she said. “What about that rock musician guy? The one with the face paint?”
“He’s dead. And his manager and crew have disappeared.” He raised the keys in his hand to unlock the car. “Is there anyone else who knew Gantry?”
Billie stopped. “Marta.”
“Who?”
“Marta Ostensky. She’s a psychic. She has a place on Roberts, near John.”
“I’ve seen the sign,” he said. “She knew Gantry?”
“I think they used to be lovers, actually.” She pursed her lips, recalling the details. “There’s that weirdo church too. The one with the blacked-out windows. Did you try there?”
“I did. The doors are padlocked. It looks abandoned.” He stepped around to the driver’s side. “Hop in.”
Billie opened the door to find the passenger seat cluttered with paperwork. “Can I put this stuff in the back?”
“Damn. I forgot about that stuff. Let me put it in the trunk.” He came around, scooped it up and unlatched the trunk. “I’ve been living out of the car for the past two days and I was in a rush to get here before you left.” Dumping the files into an empty box, he shifted around a few items to make sure nothing would roll loose and then closed the trunk. He heard Billie say something, but her voice was low.
“What was that?” he asked.
Billie wasn’t there. The passenger door stood open, the interior light casting down onto the sidewalk.
“Billie?”
She was to his right, standing at the entry to an alley. Her back to the street, she was speaking to someone in the darkened breezeway. He stepped up onto the sidewalk to see who it was, but the alley was empty.
“Billie? Who are you talking to?”
She didn’t turn or react to his presence. Her voice was a whisper. “I can’t help you,” she said.
“Help me with what?” He came about to see her face and then stopped. Her eyes were glazed over, oblivious to his presence, and fixed on something before her. The trash strewn alleyway remained empty.
He felt useless, unsure of what to do. Shake her out of it, this spell she was in? Or was that dangerous, the way one wasn’t supposed to wake a sleepwalker? When he moved closer, he saw a single tear glide down her cheek. He took her elbow gently and spoke her name.
She flinched, her eyes instantly alert and wheeling about as she got her bearings. Then, she leaned into him as her balance went sideways.
“What just happened?” he asked.
“Nothing. I’m sorry.” Her hand locked around his arm until the dizziness faded.
The question was rhetorical. They both knew what had just happened. He led her back to the car. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.
Billie’s movements were slow, as if unsure of her footing. She wiped her cheek and seemed surprised to find dampness there. “Was I crying?”
“Probably just the wind,” he said and closed the car door after her.
Chapter 5
THERE WASN’T ANY question of them spending the night together. The question was where. Each party angled for home turf.
“We can go to my place,” Mockler suggested as he pulled the car into traffic, the lights of King Street refracting off the windshield.
Billie settled into the passenger seat, dreading that very question. “Have you done anything with the house?”
“No,” he said, somewhat confused by the question. “Haven’t had the time. Why?”
“So it’s still half empty?” She winced as soon as the words tumbled out. That had sounded bitchy.
“I like to think of it as uncluttered.”
Billie reached out and took hold of his free hand. “Would you mind if we went back to my place? I know it’s small and everything but, well…”
He squeezed her fingers together. “We can camp out in the park, if you want.”
A wash of relief eased any misgivings she had. The last place she wanted to spend the night was his house. It was too haunted by the spectre of what had come before her. “Camper,” she said.
“What?”
“Happy camper.”
“That too,” he agreed.
They rode on in silence for a time, Billie content as he steered the car past Gore Park and onto Hughson Street. No hurry, no crisis to race to. The sense of normalcy was comforting. “Do you ever get lonely out here?”
“Lonely?”
“In that house. All by yourself. It’s a big place for one person.”
“It is. Especially with it empty.” He fell silent for a moment before speaking again. “The thought of refurnishing it makes me kind of ill.”
She let slip a soft laugh. “You don’t strike me as someone who likes to decorate much. I’m crap at that, too.”
“You? Come on. I’ve seen Casa Culpepper. Eclectic. Is that the term I’m groping for?”
She rabbit-punched his shoulder. “Don’t tease. I try. It just never turns out well.”
A stray dog trotted across the road before them, heedless to the oncoming headlights. Mockler slowed and shot past her building before turning onto the side street where he parked behind a battered pickup truck.
“Wait,” Billie said, squinting at the faded sign further down the block. “You need a permit to park here overnight.”
“Don’t sweat it,” he said. Climbing out, he reached under the sun visor for a placard and threw it on the dashboard. The words POLICE VEHICLE in bold letters. “Let’s go,” he said.
Up two flights of worn stairwell, Billie hesitated before opening her door. “Don’t mind the mess,” she said. “The maid had the day off.”
She led him inside, hit the light switch and realized how much of a hypocrite she was. Her flat still looked like an unkempt war zone.
“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Mockler said, his eyes dropping to the stuffing bleeding from the rip in the sofa.
She had half expected Half-Boy to appear, ready to ruin her night or otherwise harass her date, but the legless ghost still wasn’t home. Small mercies, she supposed. Billie turned on the old stand-up lamp that she adored and crossed back to the door where she killed the overhead light. The greenish light from the vintage lamp bathed the flat in a warm sargasso glow, concealing its flaws. Snatching up the collar of his jacket, she turned him round to face her. His face was lit up with a sly grin.
“Want to know something?” she asked. Lifting up onto her toes, she sought out his mouth. “I missed you.”
He smiled back. “That’s what I was gonna say.”
~
The running man was back among the trees, but, this time, it was not of his own volition. They had dragged him out here. His heart was rabbiting inside his chest, afraid of what they were going to do.
It was dark and it was cold. The trunks of the trees flared up in the light from the torches held aloft by his captors. His head dipped and lolled around on his neck, as if too heavy to keep upright. The meds were wearing off, the sedatives administered to dull the pain, while they prepped him. Alongside the pain came some small clarity to his thoughts. They had drilled something into his head, screws driven down right into his skull. The torment was awful and, had it not been for the drugs, he would have passed out. Something heavy had been attached directly to his skull and, each time he moved, he felt the weight of it lolling his head unnaturally.
He tried to beg, but his mouth didn’t work properly, the words garbling into little more than animal grunts. His captors in their dark masks marched on without speaking at all, tramping down the underbrush as they dragged the injured man further into the dark woods.
They came to a stop and the man dropped to his knees on a bed of dry pine needles. They were in a clearing in the woods, an open expanse surrounded by a wall of forest on all sides. There was a lone tree in the centre, tall and old with spindly branches overhead. The torches they carried were fixed upright into the ground, the flames rippling up into the night sky. His captors moved around the small beacons of fire and he tried to count their number, but lost track as they passed in and out of the light. They pulled off their dark masks and began to disrobe, dropping their clothes to the ground. They were easier to see now, these men in their pale, naked flesh.
The running man was clad in only a tattered blanket, with a hole cut out for his head like a poncho. This was stripped from him, leaving him exposed to the elements. Thick callused hands snatched him up and leather twines were cinched over each wrist. Propelled forward, he was pushed against the tree and his arms wrapped around its trunk in an embrace. His wrists were lashed together to keep him upright. The things attached to his skull dragged their weight backward, forcing his gaze up, where he saw the thorny crown of the tree spread against the night sky.
In his peripheral vision were snatches of the others, moving around him in the night. Some were making noises, low animal grunts in the dark. All were beating time with their feet, stomping a slow rhythm on the cold ground. They were calling something, entreating it to come near, and the running man knew that he was the bait. An image of a spring lamb tied to a post in the wilderness came to him, bleating in terror as the wolf circled it from the dark.
He wished they had given him more painkillers.
~
Her sleep was deep, fathoms down and content. Fulfilled even, with Mockler’s warm body stretched out beside her, her head tucked against his shoulder. Knees crooked together. Afterwards she would wonder if the depth of her sleep was the reason she was awoken. Something about her contentment irked the thing that shared the cramped apartment with her.
Opening her eyes, she felt him in the room with her. With them, she corrected. Mockler remained asleep, his broad back to her, and she listened to his breathing for a moment before easing up onto one elbow. Her eye caught a trace of movement as the thing on the ceiling crawled over the lintel into the other room.
Padding into the living room, Billie cinched her robe tight and squinted into the dark. The room was cold, the window propped open from where she guessed he had crawled inside. Why he needed to physically open the window, she didn’t know. With no corporeal boundaries, couldn’t he slip through the tiniest crack in the brick? This habit of leaving the window open was going to be a problem with winter almost here.
She turned on the lamp. “Where are you?”
A scratching noise overhead. Half-Boy crouched in a corner of the ceiling, his dark eyes watching her.
“I thought you were gone for good.” Shivering, she crossed the room and eased the window down. “Where have you been?”
The small ghost clambered down the wall like an enormous spider, propelling himself along on his hands. The bloodied stumps of his amputated legs left dark smear trails behind him. It was ghastly to see, but, then again, no one but herself could see him. The walls and ceiling of her small flat were covered in these phantom slime trails of black blood.
