Maybe that was the wrong thing to hope for, she thought, considering the graffiti.
She started to walk. By the time she was across Pretoria Bridge, a few blocks north of her apartment building, and walking by the police station on Elgin, she decided to go to Janice’s apartment. Janice had the bottom floor of a two-story redbrick on Gilmour Street, just a block and a half east of Elgin. When she reached the building, she stood and stared at it for long moments. The porch was sagging. All the windows were smashed out. Someone had cut down the big oak tree on the front lawn—the grass all dead there now—and it had fallen lengthwise in front of the house. Half on the street, half on the lawn.
Janice wasn’t going to be in there. So what was she doing here? The house—the entire street—looked as though it hadn’t had a person on it in years. But she circled around the fallen oak all the same, and walked up onto the porch. Her heel caught in a loose board but thankfully didn’t snap. She was careful where she put her feet then. Pushing open the sagging front door, she walked into Janice’s apartment.
It wasn’t as bad as her own place had been. In fact, it looked as though someone had been straightening it up. The floors were fairly free of refuse. A table and two chairs had been set by the window, a vase with plastic roses in it on the table. The graffiti on the walls had a faded look about them—as though someone had been trying to scrub them off.
She heard a faint noise and turned from the living room to look down the hallway that led to the kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom.
“Janice?” she called softly.
The sound had been close—probably in the bathroom. A scraping kind of a sound. She took a step down the hall.
“Is that you, Janice?”
There was no reply. No repetition of the sound. The silence was a little unnerving. Just the house settling, Cathy thought. Maybe . . . maybe a rat?
That thought made her shiver, but she moved toward the bathroom all the same. When she reached the door, she called out softly again, then gave the door a push. It opened on an empty bathroom. Fairly clean—like the rest of the apartment had been. The shower curtain, which Janice had added to the old-fashioned claw-footed bathtub, was drawn closed.
No way I’m looking behind that, Cathy told herself.
But she took a step closer. Reached out a hand to draw aside the heavy plastic with its flowered pattern. Tugged it open.
The scream that came up her throat got lost in her frantic attempt to back out of the bathroom. She hit the wall behind her, lost her balance on her high heels, and slid down to the floor. By then she was shaking so badly that she couldn’t get up. All she could do was stare.
At the corpse.
A nude corpse, the flesh white as alabaster, hanging from the opposite curtain rod by a rope made from a jean jacket torn into strips.
The belly cut open, entrails spilling out of the ghastly slit.
The dried blood pooled in the bottom of the tub.
The swollen features puffed almost beyond recognition.
But not enough.
She could still see Janice in those bloated features. The dead eyes staring down at her. The blue-black tongue thrusting out from between the swollen lips.
It was when the arm twitched that Cathy moved. The arm rose to point at her. A noise came from between those horrible lips.
“. . . ah . . . thee . . .”
Her name. It was calling her name.
She found the strength to stumble to her feet and flee the apartment. She lost one shoe in the living room, the other on the porch. It didn’t matter. She ran in her stockings down the street, oblivious to the bruising that her feet were taking on the uneven asphalt.
The sound seemed to chase her—
(. . . ah . . . thee . . . )
—filling her head—
( . . . wahn . . . yhou . . .)
—with its ghastly slurring syllables. Until another sound overrode it. Music. Synthesized music. But it had voices in it too. Cries of pain and fear. An aching, painful sound. Mixed in with it were sharp popping retorts—like the backfiring of a car.
Please God, she prayed as she ran. I won’t ever be bad again. I’ll—
Suddenly she was on Elgin Street. There was a man in the middle of the street—
(Jack!)
—aiming a gun down toward . . . When she saw the monstrous creature bearing down on Jack, she skidded to a halt, only to fall headlong in the rubble, a scream like a siren ripping her throat raw. Jack turned toward her.
And so did the creature.
12
NED LEANED ON the doorbell twice before Anna answered it. He was shocked at her haggard appearance when she opened the door to the limit of its security chain. She seemed smaller than usual—a bundle of tightly wound nerves. Worry had etched unfamiliar lines in her face and underscored her eyes with dark circles. She gave him a weak smile, then closed the door to unlatch the security chain. When it opened again, she stepped into his arms, pushing her face against his shoulder. Ned enfolded her in an embrace.
“You must think I’m a real shit,” she said, her voice slightly muffled by his sport jacket.
That it took a bad time like this to put her in his arms? Ned thought. Maybe. But not likely. The press of her body against his, breasts soft against his chest, felt too right.
“You know how I feel,” he said.
She nodded against his shoulder. “But that’s just it,” she said as she stepped back. Taking his hand, she drew him into the house, then closed and locked the door. “I do know how you feel. And that’s why I feel so rotten. We haven’t seen each other for months. It has to take me feeling so lost to call you. It’s not fair.”
“I wouldn’t have wanted you to call anybody else.”
“You’re too nice, Ned.”
She led the way into the living room and had him sit on the couch, keeping his hand in her own.
“Yeah,” Ned said, keeping his tone light. “I hear that all the time when I’m busting some jerk. ‘Officer, you’re so nice.’ “ His pulse started doing a time-and-a-half rhythm as she leaned closer to him. “Nobody tells me they feel harassed. They know I hate to hear talk like that—I lie awake nights just thinking about it.”
That tugged a small smile from her lips. “It must be so hard,” she said as the smile faded, “having everybody hate you.”
“It’s not fun,” Ned replied seriously. “The only people who seem to care about the law are those who’ve got something to lose. Everybody else just. . . You know Andy Coe?”
Anna nodded. Coe had been both Ned and Jack’s staff sergeant when Jack was still on the force.
“Some days I think he’s dead-on with his little bit of cop philosophy. He says there’s only three kinds of people in the world: cops, civilians, and assholes. And that’s the thing I don’t like about the job. Everybody’s got to be on one side or another. When you’re wearing the uniform, everybody’s walking tippy-toe around you. When you’re in plainclothes and somebody finds out you’re a cop, right away everything tenses up. It’s no wonder we stick to ourselves. But when that gets in the way of. . . well, you and me, for instance . . .”
“It’s just not fair.”
Ned nodded.
“I’ve not been fair,” Anna added.
“It’s not just you. I haven’t exactly warmed to your friends, either.”
“But that’s mostly because of the way they treat you—once they find out you’re a policeman.”
“Nothing’s that simple,” Ned said. “They just bugged me— I’ve got to admit it. It’s like, they’ve got all these real strong feelings about causes—saving whales, helping starving people in Africa, raising money for AIDS research—but they don’t do anything about it. It’s just talk. Most of them wouldn’t help a bum lying on the sidewalk in front of their own apartment building.”
“Most people are a little mixed up about their priorities, Ned—not like you. But at least most of them mean well. At least they’ve got some
concerns.”
It was going all wrong, Ned thought. He didn’t want to get into just another rehash of all the shit that kept them apart.
“Listen,” he said. “Maybe we should just forget—”
Anna laid a finger against his lips. “Just a sec, Ned. I need to tell you this. When I first started worrying this afternoon, I called Jack right away. I think of Jack first, because ever since I can remember, he’s been there to help me out. You know what it’s like between us. It’s not just brother and sister—we’re real friends.”
Ned nodded.
“But when I couldn’t get hold of him, the next person I thought of calling was you. That doesn’t mean I care about you less than Jack—it’s just different. I felt bad about it, though, because with the way things are going for us, I didn’t want to phone you just when I needed something.”
“Anna, you know I’d never—”
“But when you answered the phone, I got a real lump in my throat. I know it sounds corny, but I realized right then that we’re both being stupid. Sure, we’ve got problems—but it’s not like we can’t work them out. Not if we both really care—about the relationship, about how the other one feels. I’m not saying you should give up being a cop or that I should stop what I’m doing. I just think we should make room in there—we have to make room in there—for the relationship as well.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
Anna put her hand behind his head and drew his mouth down to hers. When they finally came up for air, they both drew back for a moment. Her eyes were shiny as her gaze met his. There was a thickness in Ned’s throat, a tightness in his chest, a foolish grin on his face.
“God, I love you,” he said. “Always have.”
“I know.” She put her arms around him and laid her head against his chest. “I love you too.”
Ned didn’t want the moment ever to end—he’d been waiting for it too long. Okay, there were going to be tough spots, but he knew as sure as he was sitting there holding her that if they could make the commitment, they could work them all out. Trouble was, there were some immediate concerns that needed to be seen to first.
He gave her a squeeze, then took her lightly by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length.
“We’ve got to talk about Jack,” he said. “And Beth.”
Anna nodded. Worry took hold of her again, washing the softness from her features.
“I’ve got such a bad feeling, Ned,” she said. “That’s why I had to tell you this before . . . before something happens to us too”
“We don’t know that anything’s happened to either of them.”
Anna pressed a hand against her chest. “I know. But it doesn’t stop me from feeling this way.”
Ned took her hand to maintain contact with what they’d just shared, but he put on his cop face and led her through a quick rundown of what was bothering her. The dream that the three women had shared. The odd phone call with Jack this morning and his subsequent unavailability. Beth’s disappearance.
He knew some of Beth’s history—but not the things Anna was telling him now. About how Beth had been a victim since her early childhood—her father abusing her, the foster homes, the bad marriage. About the basement that her ex had kept her jailed in for weeks. About his threats to find her and take her back.
“You got this guy’s address?” he asked.
Anna nodded.
“Well, we’ll go check him out—as soon as Ernie gets here.”
“You’re taking it seriously, then?”
“With the background you’ve given me, what else can I do? Christ, that poor woman.”
“What about Jack?”
“We can take a turn by his place on the way to this Hawkins guy’s house. Knowing Jack, he might’ve just unplugged the phone. Last night. . . he just saw that as a personal failure. He was taking it pretty hard.”
“He always does.”
Anna rubbed at her face, making Ned smile. Just like Jack.
“When I called you earlier,” Anna said suddenly, “you were asking me about dreams. You told me not to go to sleep. What was all that about, Ned?”
He shifted uncomfortably on the couch. The whole idea of that dream world being real—never mind his own experiences in it—was something he couldn’t talk about easily. He was a nuts-and-bolts type of man. Spacey things like this were for nut cases. Except when he remembered the dream that Anna’s call had woken him from—
Flicker.
For one moment the orderly present was gone, and Ned was back in that world. Anna’s apartment trashed. Graffiti sprayed on the walls. Artwork vandalized. Front window broken, the glass shards sprayed around his feet. And beside him, on the rotting couch, a heap of bones where Anna had been sitting, her skull lying on its side. . . .
Flicker.
He shuddered as the room returned to what it was supposed to be. Anna there beside him. Alive.
“Ned?”
He gave her a sickly look. “Did . . . did anything happen to you just now?”
“Happen? What do you mean?”
Maybe you only went there when you dreamed, he thought. Maybe these flashes were just like looking in through a window. You weren’t real there—yet. But you would be. . . .
“Ned?”
The concern in her voice, in her eyes, gave him the strength to lay it all out for her. What had happened in Baker’s basement. The things he and Jack had seen. Coffey’s unexplained appearance in the middle of the gun range. Jack’s theories. His own experience just before she’d phoned him.
Her eyes grew wide—more with horror than with disbelief. “It. . . it’s real?” she said in a strained voice.
“It’s impossible,” Ned replied. “But I’ve been there. And nothing else ties it all together.”
“But. . .”
“Like I said, it’s impossible.”
She sat back in the couch, staring out at the lengthening shadows in the living room, trying to digest it all.
“It’s horrible,” she said softly. “God . . .” She turned suddenly to Ned. “You don’t think . . . Jack and Beth . . .”
“Christ, I never stopped to think that maybe—”
The doorbell rang, interrupting them.
“That’ll be Ernie,” Ned said, standing up to get the door.
“The shit’s really hitting the fan,” his partner said when he opened the door. Grier looked from Ned to Anna, who had come up behind Ned.
“What’re you talking about?” When Grier gave Anna a glance, Ned added, “It’s okay—she knows about it.”
“Knows about what? That we’re all losing our minds?”
Ned laid a hand on his partner’s arm. Grier looked really shook up. “What’s happening, Ernie?”
“What isn’t? Benny Dwyer’s wife found him dead in his bed this afternoon—same MO as Baker and Coffey. Petrin from the ID unit’s in intensive care at the Civic. He’s in some kind of coma. Inspector Fournier was found butchered in his office. And then, while I’m driving down here, I hear Dispatch saying on the radio that there’re stiffs popping up on Elgin Street. This is getting way out of hand, Ned. The body count just keeps rising. When I think . . . Christ, I don’t know. It’s like some frigging nightmare, except it’s . . . Christ. . .”
“Take it easy, Ernie.”
“Take it easy? We’re on the list, Ned! Everybody who’s bought it so far was there—you understand what I’m saying?”
Anna was standing close to Ned now, clutching his arm. Grier’s panic was infectious. Ned could feel Anna trembling against him. There was a sick feeling in the pit of his own stomach.
“Okay,” he said, taking charge. “We’ll go to Elgin Street. Have they already called in some backup?”
Ernie nodded.
Ned turned to Anna. “I’ve got to go. But I’ll put in a call to Dispatch and have them send a couple of uniforms around to where Beth’s ex lives en route. Can you get me the address?” As she went to ge
t it, Ned added to Grier: “You go on ahead, Ernie. I’ll be right behind you.”
“Sure. But, Ned, what the hell can we do?”
“Our job. That’s all. Stop in at the station and pick up some riot gear. I want a shotgun with lots of spare rounds.”
“They’ve already called in the Tactical Squad. The place is in an uproar.”
“Just get going,” Ned said. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“Here’s the address,” Anna said as Grier went down the walk to his car.
She was wearing a jean jacket over the black T-shirt and blue tie-dyed skirt she’d had on when Ned had arrived. Hightops on her feet. Shoulder bag in hand.
“Where are you going?”
“I can’t stay here,” she said. “Not alone. If Jack or Beth are there . . .”
“This is craziness, Anna.”
“Ned, please.”
Craziness? he thought. Well, why the hell not? Nothing was making sense right now. And at least this way he could keep an eye on her. If anything happened to her now . . .
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”
He set off at a quick jog for his own car. In her sneakers and loose skirt, Anna had no trouble keeping up with him. Once inside, he set the cherry on the dashboard. The light spun, throwing red patterns in the growing dusk. He floored the Buick, leaving rubber behind as he pulled away. The sound of his siren preceded them as they sped downtown.
Beside him, Anna braced her hands against the dashboard. He tried to give her a quick smile, but it came out like a grimace. Grabbing the radio mike, he called in their position, remembering to ask that a car be sent out to Hawkins’s house.
13
OUT ON THE street, Hardass leaned against the wall of Julie’s building for a long moment, trying to stop the world from spinning around on him. Being with her hadn’t helped. Maybe nothing was going to help him now.
That dream . . .
Julie making out like he’d disappeared from her bedroom— like he’d really been there, for chrissake. . . .
But that was what it had felt like, hadn’t it? Like he’d really gone someplace else. To a dead city. To the place where all his old ghosts were waiting for him.
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