Speak the Dead

by Grant McKenzie

  But it wasn’t her throat, Sally reminded herself. It felt like hers, but the pain was reflected. The knife had been used to butcher two innocent people while she stood by. She felt what they felt, saw what they saw, traveled beyond pain… toward death… to…

  Sally lowered herself onto her back and sunk under the water. Behind closed eyes, red sparks danced across her eyelids like a miniature cosmos. What had she seen? Could she describe it in words? Her lungs started to ache, and she sat up to take in a deep cleansing breath.

  When she opened her eyes, April had moved to the side of the tub and was watching her.

  “I can wash… hair,” she said with a bright smile. “I wash… baby brother’s and… M… M… Mom says I am… help… f… f… ful.”

  “Thank you, April.” Sally tried to compose herself, to push the memory behind a concrete dam, to stay strong. “That would be lovely.”

  Sally grabbed the shampoo bottle and squeezed a green blob into April’s outstretched palm. April grinned and mixed the sticky-smooth balm with her short fingers before placing her hands on Sally’s head. As Sally closed her eyes, April spread the shampoo across Sally’s wet hair and began to work it into a thick lather. Her blunt fingernails worked away at the matted patches of dried blood until they dissolved, and soon her fingers began to knead at Sally’s skull. The massage was so gentle and so soothing Sally actually began to relax.

  The reprieve was short-lived.

  The bathroom door opened and a male voice barked, “Leave us.”

  Sally tried to open her eyes, but the shampoo had flowed across her face in a foaming curtain.

  “I… I… I am washing… Sal—”

  “Get out!” the voice growled. “Now!”

  Sally splashed her face with water and swept away the blinding shampoo. When she could finally see, April was being forcibly shoved out of the bathroom, her voice rising in a hysterical scream. Helen appeared in the hallway, her chest heaving as though she had rushed up the stairs, to comfort the girl just as the door slammed shut and the latch was thrown.

  With his back to the door, Aedan’s face was a burst blister of rage.

  “You have no right!” Sally yelled and angrily covered her bare breasts with crossed arms.

  Aedan rushed forward, dropped to his knees, and grabbed Sally’s hair in a firm grip. Sally squealed as pain shot deep into her scalp.

  “What did you see?” Aedan demanded. “You made a fool of us. The whole congregation watching, and you wouldn’t speak the truth.”

  “You murdered those people. They needed care—”

  “They were travelers.” Hot spit flew from Aedan’s mouth to land on Sally’s face. “You were their guide.”

  Aedan pulled on Sally’s hair until the back of her neck felt near the breaking point. He ran a finger of his free hand across her tight throat and the coldness of it made her shudder.

  “You’ll tell me what you saw.”

  As Sally struggled to shake her head, Aedan grabbed a washcloth from the side of the tub, dunked it into the bath water, and then jammed it into her mouth.

  Sally tried to fight, but she couldn’t close her mouth, and her tongue wasn’t strong enough to dislodge the gag. As her eyes grew wide with fear, Aedan slammed his open hand against her forehead and shoved her under water.

  Sally flailed her arms, any thoughts of modesty lost to survival as she clawed and scratched at the arm holding her down. Her lungs quickly started to burn from the exertion and stars exploded in her eyes.

  Then, suddenly, she was yanked out of the water. She tried to breathe, to inflate her lungs, but with the gagging wet cloth still in her mouth she could only manage to inhale a small amount of air through her nose.

  Aedan plunged her under the water again and the agony that coursed through her body was unbearable. Every muscle and organ screamed for oxygen.

  She endured two more dunkings before blacking out.

  50

  Sister Mary Theresa finished reading the printed attachment for the third time before turning to Sister Gillian who was inhaling a hand-rolled cigarette beside the open window overlooking the garden.

  “I fear I misjudged our Sister Fleur,” she said with sadness in her voice. “She was such a broken angel when she came through our doors, I never saw her true strength.”

  Sister Gillian sucked the burning tobacco down beyond her fingertips before flicking the nicotine-soaked nub out the window.

  “She needed time to meditate and heal,” said Sister Gillian, exhaling a lungful of smoke. “It wasn’t until her recent involvement in our sermons that she truly began to climb out of her shell. She has a rare gift for reaching people and you could feel that fire reigniting within her.”

  Sister Mary Theresa tilted her head in contemplation. “I should have embraced her more fully. I believe she would have found great comfort in our mission, and the strength she shows in this report would have made her a natural. She did so much on her own, imagine what—”

  “She’s not dead yet,” said Sister Gillian.

  Sister Mary Theresa sighed heavily. “I mistakenly believed this attack on our sisters was made by a random beast. Another feral animal ripped from the womb to destroy Creation’s true sex.” She inhaled. “His disappearance troubled me… the trail growing so cold, so quickly… I’ve been blind—”

  “But now we see,” Sister Gillian finished solemnly.

  Sister Mary Theresa smiled grimly. “Set up a guard rotor. I want one of us by Sister Fleur’s bedside 24/7. I need to know the moment she’s awake.”

  51

  Kameelah glanced over as Jersey flipped through Sister Fleur’s report for the umpteenth time.

  Neither of them had the resources to book a private plane, and Jersey couldn’t face the possibility of sitting still while they waited for a standby seat on one of the few mule-train flights to Fargo.

  Instead, they were traveling east on the I-90, which would lead them eight hundred miles through Spokane, Coeur D’Alene, Missoula, and Butte until they hit Billings, Montana, a popular tourist spot for those who wanted to watch a reenactment of Battle of the Little Big Horn.

  From there, the I-94 snaked northeast for two hundred miles. Once they crossed into North Dakota, it was a further one-hundred-fifty miles on crappy back roads before they reached New Town.

  With over seventeen hours of driving in front of them, Kameelah allowed her speed gauge to creep above the posted limit. The Jaguar purred its appreciation. It wasn’t good to keep a thoroughbred cooped up in the stables too long.

  “Anything?” Kameelah asked.

  Jersey placed the report on his lap.

  “The nun and Sally have a long history,” he said. “The report is pretty cryptic, but it seems Sister Fleur discovered Sally when she was six years old after a violent incident in her home that claimed both parents. She doesn’t go into specifics, but Fleur took Sally out of the state.”

  “Kidnapped?”

  Jersey shrugged. “Sister Fleur calls it protection. They had a falling out when Sally became an adult, but the Sister still kept track of her from a distance.”

  “She mention anything about the eyeless dead girls?”

  Jersey nodded. “When the woman’s body was found in Spokane, Fleur started to worry, and I’ll quote here…” Jersey picked up the report and flipped through. “…‘the church has awakened from its long slumber to go in search of the Seer.’”

  “The Seer?” Kameelah asked. “Is she talking about Sally’s visions?”

  “That’d be my guess,” Jersey agreed. “The second dead woman rattled her even further. She wrote…” Jersey glanced down at the report again, “… ‘perhaps I was wrong to hide the secret of her inheritance from her, to downplay the danger of her gift and the people who wanted to use her.’”

  “So Sally didn’t know she was being hunted?” Kameelah said.

  “And Sister Fleur didn’t know about the third victim in Calgary, which shows whoever was looking for her
had been hunting far longer than she suspected.”

  “Why didn’t she warn Sally?” Kameelah asked. “If she cared that much about her, why did—”

  “Maybe she was planning to,” injected Jersey. “But the hunter got here first.”

  Jersey’s cellphone rang before Kameelah could respond.

  52

  Sally coughed awake on the bathroom floor. She was naked, wet, and shivering, but relieved to be alive.

  She drew in a deep breath and instantly regretted it as her lungs went into spasm and another staccato burst of coughing wracked her chest. She spat up water as she struggled to control her breathing.

  When the coughing stopped, the tears began. Each drop burned like acid against her bloodshot eyes.

  She cursed her own weakness and brought her emotions under control, wiping eyes and runny nose on her bare arm.

  The lock turned in the bathroom door.

  Sally pulled herself into a crouch, preparing for the worst. The only weapons at her disposal were teeth and nails, but if she had the strength, she was prepared to use them.

  The door swung open.

  April stood in the doorway with Helen glowering behind her. In April’s arms was a neat bundle of white cloth. Upon seeing Sally alive, Helen gave April a gentle push to move her inside and closed the door again.

  “Are you… okay?” April asked. “That man pushed me away. I did… did… didn’t want to go.”

  Sally unfurled her lips over bared teeth and uncurled from her crouch. As she stood up, April placed her bundle on top of the hamper and grabbed a large white towel.

  She handed it to Sally with a smile.

  “Iamglad… you’re okay. That man was scary angry.”

  Sally wrapped the towel around herself and fought off another wave of tears.

  “I’m glad you’re okay, too,” she said, and meant it.

  53

  “It’s Amarela,” Jersey told Kameelah as he answered the phone.

  “Jesus, Jersey,” Amarela began before Jersey could say hello. “You’ve landed me right in it.”

  “I told you to tell the lieutenant—”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re taking personal time, but he’s not buying it and he’s dumping the shit on me.”

  “What shit?”

  “The Peter Higgins shit.”

  “Is he still complaining? What have we done now?”

  “No, he’s not complaining, and that’s the problem.”

  “What do you mean?” Jersey was confused.

  “He’s gone missing.” Amarela sighed. “His wife says he hasn’t been home in twenty-four hours.”

  “So? Maybe he went on a bender to grieve for his folks. Twenty-four hours isn’t a—”

  “With his daughter?” Amarela snapped.

  “You’re not making sense.”

  “Exactly! Morrell is all up in my ass, telling me to make this top priority, but—”

  “Start at the beginning.” Jersey recalled the family photos on the mantle at the Higgins’ residence in Maywood Park. Peter had a teenage daughter and a newborn son. “What’s this about the daughter?”

  “Okay.” Amarela took a deep breath. “The lieutenant sent me to talk to Harriet, Peter’s wife. It seems that Peter disappeared shortly after we talked to him at his house. Maybe he didn’t appreciate the joke about me wanting to shoot him, I don’t know. But when he disappeared, he took his daughter with him. He didn’t leave a note, he isn’t answering his cell, and he hasn’t called home. Harriet is positive something bad has happened.”

  “Why would he take his daughter?” Jersey asked.

  “Well that’s the question, isn’t it? I asked the wife and she tried to hide it, but I got the distinct impression that he didn’t have much affection for her.”

  “The daughter?”

  “Yes. You know she has Down Syndrome, right? Well, she was their first child, but the two of them were barely out of their teens at the time.” Amarela paused. “Reading between the lines, I would say Peter held some resentment that the unplanned pregnancy forced him to leave college and get married much sooner than he planned. Harriet didn’t come right out and say it, but I gather fatherhood—especially the challenges of fatherhood to a Down’s child—wasn’t something Peter embraced.”

  “How are their finances?” Jersey asked.

  “The money from his parents’ estate will definitely help, but they don’t appear to be in crisis.”

  Jersey scratched his nose, thinking. “We’re back to the beginning,” he said. “I believed this was all about Sally, but if Peter was involved in the deaths of his parents, maybe he went to pay off the hitman. He took his daughter along to show… what? That he’s a family man with a lot to lose if he doesn’t keep his mouth shut about the sordid arrangement.”

  “But the hitman,” added Amarela, “didn’t give a damn and killed them both?”

  “It’s one possibility.”

  “Shit! You have to get back here. I can’t do all this on my own. Where the hell are you anyway?”

  “Kameelah and I are following a lead.”

  “To Sally?”

  “Yes.”

  “And where is this lead taking you?”

  “North Dakota.”

  “Oh, fuck me!” Amarela exploded. “How long is that going to take?”

  “I don’t know. As long as it does.”

  Amarela’s voice grew taut. “This case is breaking open down here, partner, not in fuck-knows-where North Dakota. I need you back.”

  “I understand,” Jersey soothed. “But Sally is part of this, too, and her trail leads east.” Jersey allowed a silence to fill the airwaves before he added, “Did you ask Peter’s wife about a connection with Sally?”

  “No!” Amarela sulked. “Why?”

  “Because the message was left on his father’s body. If Peter’s involved in his death, then they have to be connected.”

  “Maybe they ran away together?” Amarela sounded pleased by the possibility.

  Jersey was taken aback. He hadn’t considered that.

  Amarela’s tone verged on gloating. “Peter could have called her after we left his house and told her to leave the apartment and run away with him.”

  “Along with his daughter?” Jersey retaliated. “The one who you just said he didn’t like very much.”

  “Maybe I got that part wrong.”

  “If that was the case,” Jersey said brusquely, “why did Sally call me in a panic from a phone box in bloody Spokane?”

  “I don’t know,” Amarela admitted in a small voice, “but that’s why we work better as a team, right?”

  Jersey exhaled, allowing his sudden balloon of anger to deflate. “We are a team, Amarela, and we’re working this together. Peter and Sally are connected, somehow. I need you to go back to the wife and try to find that connection. You should also post an all-points on his car and track his credit cards. Meanwhile, I need to pursue this lead on Sally. We’ll compare notes later, okay?”

  Sally grudgingly agreed.

  After hanging up, Jersey turned to Kameelah and suggested she pull into the next gas station. He needed coffee; strong, black, fully-caffeinated coffee.

  54

  Sally unfolded the bundle of clothes and slipped into a fresh white dress and a laundered pair of sensible underwear. When she turned to the mirror, April handed her a wood-handled brush.

  Sally pulled the flat brush through her damp hair, any chance of rebellion among the follicles abolished by the unyielding bristles. In the mirror, she had difficulty recognizing her own reflection. In a matter of one day, her face had become hollow, almost skeletal, and her skin had lost what little radiance it ever possessed.

  Despite being an expert in its application, Sally had never been one for wearing makeup—a reflection she thought now of her childhood guardian’s disdain for what she called ‘the war paint of troublesome youth.’ And, if Sally was being honest, she had been trouble, but makeup was not the source. If she
had a date, of which there were few, she endured the penciling of eyeliner and smudge of lipstick in an understated shade. But as she studied her face now, she understood the value of cosmetic disguise. Her skin was that of a battered wife, a bruised canvas of abuse.

  “You look sad,” said April in her quiet voice.

  Sally placed the brush on the side of the sink and turned to face the girl.

  “I am sad,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want to be here. I want to go home.”

  “Me, too,” said April, her eyes widening. “I miss… miss my mom. We should go.”

  Sally tried to smile, but her heart wasn’t in it. “The people who brought me here won’t let me.”

  “Why?”

  Sally thought about the ceremony. “They want me to do something at their church. Something… ” Sally hesitated. “Something I don’t have the power to do.”

  “Oh?”

  April picked up the brush and attempted to pull it through her own hair, but the bristles hurt, and she quickly put it back. “I… I saw the church. It’s in the garden.”

  “Yes, it is.” Sally hesitated again. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear the answer even as she asked, “Did you see me in the church?”

  Before April could answer, the door opened. Helen stood in the hallway and beckoned them forth.

  April bounded ahead of Sally and when she reached Helen, the woman bent and whispered in her ear. April glanced back at Sally. She looked upset.

  “What’s going on?” Sally asked.

  “Nothing,” assured Helen. “Father wants to see you downstairs. Alone.”

  55

  The phone on Sister Mary Theresa’s desk rang.

  When she picked it up, the voice on the other end said just two words.

  Sister Mary Theresa thanked the caller and disconnected the call. She punched a button for an internal line that connected to Sister Gillian’s office.

  “Sister Fleur is awake,” she said when the phone was answered. “Tell the Angels to prepare.”

  56