Speak the Dead

by Grant McKenzie

  With the dim light disguising the bruising on her face, she actually looked quite beautiful. Her lips trembled in sleep as though struggling to speak, but the only noise that escaped was the undecipherable whine.

  Aedan slipped one hand over her mouth as he climbed onto the bed and sat on her buttocks. She instantly arched her body in protest and began to struggle, but Aedan simply leaned forward until his full weight was pressed along her bare back. His stubbled cheek brushed against her smooth skin and her lungs wheezed, his dead weight making it difficult for her to breathe.

  He pressed his lips against her ear. “Killing you is not difficult. We could simply lie here in this embrace, not moving, and before the sun rose in the morning, your body would be cold.”

  Sally tried to move her arms, but Aedan had them pinned to her sides with his knees.

  He continued, “I could sodomize you and then slit your throat, or do any number of unspeakable things to your flesh both before and after death.”

  Sally tried to bite his fingers, but his hand was clamped too tightly across her mouth.

  “The pain I can inflict is great,” he said. “But I fear you don’t believe me.” Aedan lifted his head and sucked in a deep, cleansing breath. He released it in a hiss as he returned his mouth to Sally’s ear. “It’s time to believe.”

  Aedan yanked his hand away from Sally’s mouth and sat up, releasing the pressure in her chest. She only had time to gulp a quick lungful of air before Aedan snatched up her left arm and pulled it tight.

  Gripping it above the wrist and below the elbow, Aedan dug in his thumbs and bent her arm to the breaking point.

  Sally groaned in pain and begged him to release her.

  Her whine hit notes of glass-shattering proportions as Aedan bent the arm over his knee, and then—

  Sally screamed as the large bone snapped.

  Mother rushed into the unlocked bedroom to find Sally sobbing on the bed, her face white with shock, her left arm cradled against her chest.

  There was no one else in the room.

  Aedan returned to his cabin and headed straight to the bathroom. His eyes were spinning in his head as he struggled to control the rate of his breathing.

  Everything was moving too fast. He could see air molecules flying around him, too large to enter his lungs.

  He pulled open the medicine cabinet and flattened a square of foil. He wished he had a needle; something faster, more efficient.

  His head was going to explode.

  The heroin melted and bubbled and began to smoke. He inhaled deeply, greedily, wanting to turn his lungs inside out so he could wrap them around the smoke and swallow it in thick, white chunks.

  Had the bitch learned her lesson? He didn’t know. There was too much pressure. The church, his father, his obsession… the weight of it was becoming unbearable. He had been searching for Sally for most of his life and now, after all his effort, she was refusing to help.

  The bitch deserved to feel pain; mountains of it.

  His eyes rolled in his head until he could see the back of his skull. There was something back there, hiding behind his brain. It had mustard yellow eyes and tiny, sharp teeth… Aedan’s thoughts drifted as though commanded by the creature. It didn’t want to be seen. Aedan staggered out of the bathroom, his limbs rubbery and ethereal, and down the short hallway to his bedroom.

  He found his bed and crawled on top of the covers, clutching the corners of the mattress so it wouldn’t fly away without him.

  In his dreams, he would build four mountains, and upon each peak he would build a house, and within each house he would raise a family, and everyone would worship him as Father.

  71

  Jersey opened his eyes to a red dawn.

  The car wasn’t moving. Kameelah had parked in a wooded rest area beside the road and reclined her seat as far as it would go. The awkward position of her neck caused her to snore, and the nasally rumble was so grating that Jersey wondered how he had possibly managed to sleep through it.

  Jersey opened his door and stepped out to take a leak in a copse of scraggly pine. The air was crisp and his breath rolled from his mouth in ghostly, near-transparent puffs. Winter was approaching fast; the threat of snow ominous. When he was done, he zipped up and returned to the car.

  Kameelah blinked open her eyes at the sound of his door closing. She wiped drool from her lips and wrinkled her nose as if she was about to sneeze.

  “Sorry.” She rubbed her eyes. “I couldn’t stay awake.”

  “Better to pull over than end up in a ditch.”

  Kameelah grinned. “That was my thinking.” She started the engine. “New Town isn’t far. We can get coffee, directions, and splash some water on our faces before heading to the church.” She hesitated, then asked, “Do you have a plan?”

  Jersey shrugged. “We knock on the front door and ask if Sally’s there.”

  “And if they say ‘No’?”

  “We’ll insist they look again.”

  Kameelah pulled onto the highway and brought the car up to cruising speed. “Not much of a plan.”

  “No,” said Jersey, “but since we don’t have any jurisdiction, the harder we insist, the more pissed off they might become.”

  “And if they become violent?”

  Jersey grinned. “Then that gives us enough probable cause to get the local cops to kick the door down and see what they’re hiding.”

  “And what if Sally isn’t there?”

  Jersey’s grin faded. “Then I better hope The Rotten Johnnys get more gigs, because my cop career will be in the toilet.”

  72

  Sally sat in the bathtub with her back to the taps and washed herself one-handed. Her left arm hung over the side, the broken bone set in fresh plaster.

  The doctor who arrived in the middle of the night had been a short man with sickly, jaundiced eyes beneath thick-rimmed glasses. Despite the lateness of the hour, he wore a western-cut suit adorned with a ridiculously colorful bowtie. The garish tie gave Sally hope that he wasn’t a church member and that she could use him to get a message to Jersey.

  Her hopes were dashed the moment he examined her arm and told her how privileged he was to be of service to the Seer. When he moved her arm, Sally’s face drained of all color and she struggled not to either faint or vomit.

  “It’s definitely broken,” the doctor murmured. “But I suspect it’s a clean break.” He smiled at her. “No sharp bones sticking out of the skin, so that’s a good thing.”

  Sally opened her mouth to spit back a reply, but the menacing look on Father Black’s face, as he loomed in the doorway, made her reconsider.

  Without an X-Ray, the doctor said he had no option other than to wrap her arm in wet plaster and hand over two Tylenol #3s for the pain. When he finished setting the plaster, he told her to keep the limb elevated to bring down the swelling and that he would check on her later in the day to make sure the cast wasn’t too loose. The fast-drying plaster hardened into a smooth white shell by the time the doctor had washed his hands and been escorted out of the house.

  The pills had helped Sally gain a few more hours of sleep, but as she sat in the bathtub and clumsily splashed warm water on herself, she felt a raw weariness deep in the marrow of her bones.

  Her escape plan had done nothing but cause her more pain, and she worried for April. She had asked to have the girl visit this morning, but Mother had refused.

  “You’ll see her in church,” Mother said as she filled the bath. “You both have a big day ahead of you.”

  Sally pulled the plug and listened to the water gurgling down the drain. She wished she could join it; hold her breath and slide into the sewers; float to the river and away.

  She climbed out of the bath and toweled herself dry, then slipped into fresh underwear and a new white dress. She wondered if the church bought the dresses in bulk, since all three had been identical, or if each time she wrecked one, Mother had to go begging to another church family for one in the ri
ght size. She hoped it was the latter; maybe someone would question why.

  When she finished dressing, Sally crossed to the bathroom door, knocked and waited.

  73

  There was a knock on the front door as Sally dipped her fingers of buttered toast into the bright orange yolk of a soft-boiled egg.

  Father Black crossed the room and stopped in front of the door. He casually flicked aside a small disc of metal that covered a glass peephole and peered out.

  There was a second knock as he turned to face the kitchen. His eyes were flat and cold; rocks in a glacier runoff.

  “Take her upstairs,” he ordered. “Now!”

  Mother instantly grabbed Sally’s arm and pulled her from the table. Sally yelped, but before she could protest further, Father Black stormed across the room and clamped his hand over her mouth. He squeezed, hard, fingernails digging into her cheeks.

  “No noise,” he hissed. Then, to his wife, “Keep her quiet.”

  Mother’s hand replaced Father’s across Sally’s mouth as she pulled Sally to the stairs and up to the second floor.

  There was a third knock before Father Black removed a brass key from his pocket and unlocked the formidable front door.

  Jersey squared his shoulders and subconsciously sucked in his stomach as the blue door opened. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but the broad-shouldered man with a shaved head and clerical collar, wasn’t it.

  Jersey flashed his credentials, trying to make the movement quick yet perfectly innocent.

  The man’s eyes glistened amber in the morning light. “Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t catch that. You’re police?”

  The man held his palm out flat, forcing Jersey to hand over his I.D. The man read it carefully before looking down at Kameelah. “Do you have a card, too?”

  Kameelah handed over her credentials.

  “Interesting,” said the man, “you work in different cities.” He studied Jersey’s face. “You’re Portland Homicide and… “ he turned to Kameelah, “you’re Seattle Sex Crimes.”

  Jersey bristled. “We know who we are.”

  “And now so do I.” The man smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “What can I do for you, detectives?”

  “We’re looking for a missing woman. Her name is Sally Wilson.”

  “I’m afraid I’ve never heard of her.”

  “You might know her as Salvation Blue,” said Kameelah.

  The man’s eyes narrowed, crow’s feet deepening into troughs as though he spent a lot of time outdoors squinting at the sun.

  “Salvation Blue was my niece,” he said. “She disappeared almost twenty-five years ago. Surely you can’t be looking into her disappearance after all this time?”

  “Your niece was living in Portland until two days ago,” said Jersey. “We think she may have been brought here.”

  A full smile lit up the man’s face. “That would be wonderful. I never dreamed I would ever see her again. I… we all assumed the worst, but to hear she’s alive.”

  “Is she here?” asked Jersey.

  The man shook his head. “No, no, I wish she was. I haven’t seen Salvation since she was six years old. She vanished the same night my brother, Salvation’s father, died in a tragic accident.”

  “Her mother, too,” said Jersey.

  The man’s face twitched. “Yes, yes, it was a terrible blow.” He shook his head, the movement much slower than before as though his skull had suddenly grown heavy. “I fear we’ll never know exactly what that poor girl witnessed that night. I’m sure that’s why she ran away.”

  “Could we come inside?” Kameelah interjected. “We’ve been driving a lot of hours.”

  The man seemed to consider it for a moment, but then he fastened a friendly smile on his face and stepped aside to grant them access.

  “I’m Father Black,” he said as Jersey crossed the threshold. “The spiritual leader of the federally-recognized Church of a Sabbath Day’s Journey. Would you care for coffee?”

  The two detectives followed Father Black into the large kitchen. When Father Black moved ahead of them to fetch the coffee, Jersey turned to Kameelah and whispered, “Federally-recognized?”

  “He’s letting us know that he’s got a whole army of religious-rights lawyers ready to stomp all over us if we get out of line.”

  “And why tell us that?” Jersey asked.

  “Pre-emptive strike,” whispered Kameelah. “He’s got something to hide.”

  74

  Sally could hear voices drifting up through the floorboards, but they were so distant they might as well have been echoes of long-forgotten conversations.

  Helen sat beside her on the bed, one hand clamped on her plastered arm, the other sealed across her mouth. Sally strained to listen, hoping for anything that might identify the unexpected guests. She didn’t want to risk more pain unless it was a viable bid for escape.

  Jersey took a gulp of strong coffee and felt the blood vessels open in his brain.

  “Good coffee,” he said.

  Father Black accepted the compliment with a nod. “It’s one of the few things we can’t grow ourselves, but we make do.”

  “How did Sally’s parents die?” Kameelah asked. She hadn’t touched her coffee.

  Father Black moved to the far end of the kitchen table and sat down. “As I said before, it was a tragedy. We don’t like to talk about it.”

  “But Sally witnessed it,” Kameelah pressed.

  “Yes, she was in the house when it happened.”

  “And then she disappeared?”

  “That’s correct.” Father Black lifted his mug to his lips but didn’t drink. “I’m sure she was frightened, but I’m also sure she didn’t mean to become lost and disappear. We searched for her but came up empty. The police, I might add, were not helpful.”

  “And she’s never come back? Never visited?”

  Father Black blew across the top of his cup and took a sip. “Not to my knowledge.”

  “Could she have visited without your knowledge?” Jersey asked.

  Father Black’s lips creased into a thin smile. “No.”

  “Have any members of your church been to Seattle or Portland lately?”

  “No.”

  “You sound awfully sure,” said Jersey.

  “I am. We are a close-knit community. We don’t keep secrets from one another.”

  “And why would a trip to Seattle be a secret?” Kameelah asked.

  “It wouldn’t,” said Father Black. “But unlike your world, we look out for one another here. If a member of our church were planning a trip to a major city, he would make sure everyone knew in case something was needed that couldn’t be acquired locally. No one has planned any such trips in recent memory.”

  “Did you ever stop looking?” Jersey asked. “For Sally, that is?”

  Father Black placed his mug on the table and rubbed his face in a blatant display of weariness. “Yes. We gave up and moved on with our lives. Is that a crime?”

  “Not at all, I was just—” Jersey stopped as the back door opened and a younger man walked into the kitchen. Like Father Black, he was dressed in black pants and a collarless black shirt. The only thing missing was the white collar.

  The man didn’t lift his head until he had fully entered the room. When he did look up, he was startled by the sight of the two strangers sitting at the table.

  Jersey stared at his face. Beneath a mop of wavy, jet-black hair, the right side of the man’s face was blistered and raw.

  “Uh, sorry,” the man stammered, “I didn’t know you had company.”

  Father Black pushed back from the table and stood. “That’s okay, son. The detectives were just leaving.”

  Jersey took another swallow of coffee, making no show of getting up from the table.

  “Tell me,” he said to the newcomer, “you been to Spokane lately?”

  75

  The younger man glanced at his father, then quickly shook his head. “I haven’t left
home in months.”

  “You sure?” Jersey asked.

  “Yes. Positive.”

  “Only, we received a report of a man with facial scars matching yours from a gas station in Spokane. He had a woman with him. A very frightened woman.”

  “My son,” Father Black interrupted, “burned his face only yesterday. It was an accident with a cup of coffee. You can ask our doctor.”

  “Strange accident,” said Kameelah.

  “Indeed, but there you are. These things happen.”

  “And what happened to your lip?” asked Jersey. “It looks like—”

  “Being clumsy is not a crime, detective,” Father Black boomed. “I would like you to leave now.”

  “I still have questions.”

  “But no jurisdiction, am I correct?”

  Jersey shrugged. “It’s a gray area.”

  “I think not.”

  Father Black moved forward until he loomed over the sitting detective. On the other side of the table, Kameelah got to her feet, her body language tense. Growing uncomfortable beneath the man’s unflinching glare, Jersey finally pushed back his chair and rose to his full height. Without giving any ground, he stared into the minister’s flat eyes.

  “I’ll be phoning our lawyer,” Father Black said. “We have a special church ceremony happening today, and your presence will be disturbing to our congregation.”

  “Why?” Jersey tilted his head forward, closing the gap until their noses almost touched. “You got something to hide?”

  Father Black took a step back, the muscles in his face pulsating as if something underneath the skin was struggling to break out. His words had to squeeze through clenched teeth. “We have nothing to hide, but our rituals can be misunderstood by non-believers.”

  “You quoting Jim Jones now?” Jersey quipped.

  “How dare you!” The son rushed forward and stood shoulder to shoulder with his father. Despite their similar attire, they actually looked nothing alike except, Jersey thought, for the eyes. Their eyes were soulless. “I suggest you leave before my father is forced to take this matter to a higher authority.”