Grim Reaper's Dance, The

by Judy Clemens

  “Guys, stop.” Sheryl pushed past them both and hunkered down beside Johnny. Her expression was surprisingly gentle. “Johnny, what happened? It’s okay. You can tell us.”

  Johnny raised his head and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I didn’t mean to…I just wanted…”

  Sheryl put a hand on his knee. “It’s okay, honey. Tell us.”

  Bailey had come back to the circle, but stood apart from the others, her arms crossed tightly over her stomach. She stared at the ground, but Casey knew she was listening to every word.

  “My dad,” Johnny said. “He was talking about this lady that ran away from the hospital. I mean, the other doctor was talking about her. About you.” He glanced up at Casey, and then quickly away. “He said this other doc was checking you out and you took off. The doctor was worried about you—that you were hurt—and then he thought he saw you back at the hospital, but you didn’t stop. I told Dad he didn’t have to worry, because you were fine.”

  Casey closed her eyes and gave a small, humorless laugh. Poor Johnny. He just wasn’t too bright.

  “Johnny, you idiot!” Terry said. “Can you not keep a secret for two seconds?”

  “Terry!” Sheryl’s voice was sharp. “He didn’t do it on purpose. It slipped out.”

  “Maybe. But what did you do next?”

  Johnny sniffed. “I didn’t do anything. My dad about jumped down my throat asking what I meant and where I’d seen you, and…and he threatened to ground me for two months if I didn’t tell him. Two months!” He looked up at his friends. “I wouldn’t be able to see you guys forever! All I would be able to do would be go to school and football.” He shuddered. “Can’t you see? I had to tell him! Because what if…” He glanced at Casey. “What if it was true, what Sheryl said that first night? That she’s bad?”

  Bailey growled. “What did you tell him, Johnny?”

  He swallowed. “That I’d seen her. That she was hiding out in your shed and we were helping her.”

  Bailey’s nostrils flared, but it was Martin who said bleakly, “You gave up our place, John. We can never go there again.”

  “Of course you can,” Sheryl snapped. “It’s not like this is going to go on forever. She’ll leave, and we’ll go back to doing what we always do. Or, you guys will, since I’ll be in freaking Timbuktu.”

  “But they know,” Terry said. “They know about the shed.”

  “Just my dad,” Johnny said. “He’s the only one.”

  Casey clicked her tongue. “Really, Johnny? Is he really the only one?”

  Silence hung in the air.

  “Who else, Johnny?” Bailey’s voice was flat.

  “Well…” He looked at his hands. “Dad made me tell Dr. Shinnob, who wanted to know all about how you were looking. He said he wasn’t going to come after you, because it was your choice and all whether you came in. But then…” He stopped.

  “Johnny,” Bailey said.

  “Dad made me go to the cops.”

  “The cops?” Casey said, her voice louder than she’d intended.

  “Yeah. He said you were wanted for questioning, so I needed to tell them what I knew.”

  “When was this?”

  “Yesterday morning.”

  “After I got those reports,” Martin said.

  “And you told them what, exactly?” Casey asked. “It’s important.”

  He chewed his lip. “Well, where you were staying, like I said. That’s really all I knew.”

  It could’ve been worse. But how had Dixon and Westing found out about the phone?

  “Oh,” Johnny said. “I forgot. A cop came up to me at school, said you weren’t at the shed. He wondered where else you could be. I said I didn’t know, but he should just try—” he looked at Bailey, fear in his eyes “—that he should just try calling you, because you were…you were using Terry’s phone.”

  “Ahhh!” Bailey threw her hands up and grabbed at her hair. “Johnny, you are such a—” She stopped herself and stood still, her eyes squeezed shut.

  “It was a cop, Bailey! What was I supposed to do?”

  “You were supposed to keep your trap shut to begin with!”

  “Bailey.” Casey shut the girl up with a look. “Johnny, I need you to think hard now, okay? What did that cop look like? The one who came to your school?”

  “I don’t know. Shorter than me. Blond hair. Old.”

  “Old?”

  “I mean, like your age. He had super green eyes.”

  Owen Dixon. How had he tracked down Johnny and known about the shed? Probably the same way Casey herself had found out what the police were thinking—they’d gotten police reports. Or someone in the police had talked to them. Could Yonkers have that pull? Absolutely. He was on the town council in Sedgwick, and would have access to the police there. They would tell him whatever they could. He might have expressed interest in what was happening, and when this news came down the wire they contacted him. Or else he’d just asked.

  Casey looked at the haggard group of kids. They were angry, sad, disappointed…and in danger.

  “Okay, guys, listen,” she said. “You can’t go out to the shed again—”

  “Never?” Terry wailed.

  “—until this is taken care of. Until I am gone and the men are, too.”

  “What men?” Bailey frowned.

  “The ones who are after me. One of whom talked to Johnny at school yesterday.”

  “One of—” Johnny paled. “You mean he wasn’t a cop?”

  “No, Johnny, he wasn’t.”

  Johnny moaned. “He wasn’t wearing a uniform. He said he was undercover, trying to help you without scaring you off.”

  “I’m sure he was very convincing.”

  “I’m sorry.” He sniffed again, and Sheryl patted his arm.

  “I don’t blame you,” Casey said. “I’m the one who got you all involved. I just want to get you uninvolved until it’s over.”

  “Oh,” said a voice from behind her. “I think it’s already over.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  “Run!” Death said.

  Randy Westing stood smiling in the middle of the alley. Flanking him were Owen Dixon and Craig Mifflin, the man she’d knocked out first at Davey’s. Neither of them looked quite so pleasant. Behind them, expressions neutral, were the other two large men Casey had seen behind the grocery store.

  Casey swiveled, shoving Bailey behind her, along with the other teenagers.

  “You think you can save them all?” Westing asked pleasantly.

  “You don’t want them. You want me.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Westing said. “They probably know enough to help us. Especially the one.”

  “Hey, there, Johnny,” Dixon sneered.

  Johnny moaned. “The cop.”

  Dixon jerked his chin up. “Thanks for the tip about the phone. Led us right to her when she turned it on here a few minutes ago.”

  Casey carefully didn’t look at Terry.

  “Run!” Death said again.

  But Casey wasn’t about to leave the kids in the hands of the men. Not that she had much of a chance of escaping, anyway. Behind her were two cars, a Dumpster, and a U of brick walls. The five men were spread across the alley, and even if she should get past one, the other four would be close behind. The only chance she really had would be the door to the pizza place.

  “Bailey,” she said. “Take everybody into the restaurant.”

  “But—”

  “Go.”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  Casey ground her teeth. “Martin?”

  “Right. Come on, everybody.” He gently pushed Sheryl and Terry toward the building.

  Johnny stood, stepping up beside Casey, his body tensed. “It’s my fault. I’m staying.”

  He was a large presence, which was nice, but he’d only be a liability in a fight. Casey would have to spend all of her time either protecting him or worrying about him.

  “Johnny.” Casey spoke
without taking her eyes off of Westing. “The best thing you can do for me is to take Bailey and go inside. Please.”

  “I told you,” Bailey said. “I’m not—”

  Johnny picked Bailey up and swung her over his shoulder, trying to avoid her flailing arms and legs.

  “Johnny! Put me down! I’m staying! She needs us.”

  Westing laughed out loud. “She doesn’t need you, sweetheart. She needs something else. Like an army.”

  Casey did have something else. Death leapt from the Dumpster. “I’ll do what I can.”

  The back door of the restaurant slapped shut, and Casey was relieved to know the kids were inside, out of danger. “You realize they’ll call the cops.”

  “Probably already have. That’s why we’ll make this quick.”

  Death moved between Westing and Dixon, arms outspread to go through their chests. Both men shuddered, but kept their eyes on Casey. Death couldn’t take someone before his time, and Casey couldn’t depend on mere distractions to get her through this. She took a deep breath through her nose and readied herself for what was to come.

  “So where’s Evan’s stuff?” Dixon growled.

  “Easy now.” Westing’s voice was silky smooth. “She’ll tell us.”

  And sign her death warrant. “It’s in a safe place.”

  “I’m sure it is. Not on you, I’m afraid?”

  “Not even close.”

  “You had it with you when you went to see Bruce at the hospital.”

  “I wanted his reaction. How is he, by the way? Will he ever walk again?”

  Westing nodded. “Modern medicine, you know. But thanks for caring. It’s not like it’s the first knee injury he’s ever had. He’ll be fine. I suppose someone else knows where Evan’s information is?” He kept smiling, his pose casual. The other men, however, were ready, even with Death running fingers up and down their spines.

  “The kids don’t know. They’ve never even seen it.”

  Dixon frowned. “Of course she’d say that.”

  “I think it’s the truth,” Westing said, amused. “The Cross kid didn’t know anything when he thought you were a cop. You did ask him about it, didn’t you?”

  “Of course I did.”

  Casey went cold, thinking how easily Dixon could have harmed Johnny.

  Death stood beside Dixon, an arm around his shoulders. Dixon shivered, glancing around him.

  “Boys,” Westing said. “I think we need to persuade this lady here to help us.”

  Mifflin didn’t wait for the others, but came for Casey quickly and ferociously, head down, fists up. Casey dropped onto her right leg and lifted her left, flexing her foot. Mifflin ran right into it, expelling all the air from his diaphragm in a gush and bending over, hands on his gut. Casey planted her left leg and brought her right leg up around and down, axe-kicking him with her heel between the shoulder blades. Mifflin went slack, doing a face plant on the ground. He was out.

  Casey turned to run for the restaurant door, but Dixon had already gone around to the back of her, cutting her off. She darted behind the second car, which gave her about four feet to move between the brick wall and the little Focus. Dixon grabbed for her neck with both hands. Casey grabbed his right hand, bent his elbow down into an arm lock, and smacked his face against the trunk of the car.

  One of the other men climbed onto the trunk and kicked at her head. She ducked and grabbed his planted leg, pulling it toward her. He fell backward onto the car, half on, half off the trunk, his elbow cracking against the back window.

  Dixon, blood running from his nose, reached over the guy’s leg and grabbed Casey around the shoulders, spinning her and knocking her face against the brick wall, bear hugging her from the back, trapping her arms. Dizzily, she kicked back at his shin, but her foot glanced off his leg. Dixon spun her around, kneeing her in the stomach. When she bent over, he pummeled her in the face with both fists.

  Other hands were grabbing for her now, yanking her from behind the car. Dixon continued to hit her.

  “Dix, stop it. You’re done.” Casey thought it was Westing’s voice, but everything had gone fuzzy, and her vision doubled as she looked at the faces.

  She stumbled, but was yanked upright, Dixon’s fist connecting once more, an uppercut to her stomach.

  “Dixon! Bring her to the car.”

  Someone grabbed under her arms while another picked up her feet. They carried her down the alley and tossed her into the back seat of a waiting car.

  “Have a nice ride,” Dixon said, and punched her in the face.

  Her lights went out.

  Chapter Thirty

  Casey hurt all over. Her head pounded, and her ribs throbbed, maybe not broken, but bruised, for sure. Her eyes, when she opened them, didn’t open far, and even when they did she couldn’t see anything in the dark. She tried to raise a hand to feel her face, and to remove the gag from her mouth, but her arms were tied behind her, roped in with her feet. Her cheek lay against a dirt floor, and her nostrils were filled with the tangy scent of peat moss and vegetation.

  She closed her eyes, trying to remember what had happened. The last she could picture was the sight of Death’s anxious eyes in the unfamiliar back seat, just before she blacked out. She didn’t want to think about what had caused her to do that.

  Voices mumbled in the background. Angry, low. Men. She had no idea what time it was, or whether anyone even knew she was gone. The kids. She took a sharp breath, gasping at the shot of pain it sent through her body. Were the kids all right? Where had they…the pizza place. They’d gone inside. Had they stayed inside? God, please let them have stayed inside.

  “The kids are fine. Freaked out, but otherwise okay.” Death sat against a bag of fertilizer, hands clasped tightly at bended knees. “You, on the other hand…I thought you looked bad yesterday.”

  Casey groaned.

  “Martin called the cops as soon as he and the first two got inside. Told them there was a bad fight out back of the restaurant, and men with guns. He probably should have just told them to get there fast, because with his warning they weren’t about to come without back-up, and they took forever getting there. By the time they arrived you were long gone. The teenagers were a mess, all trying to talk at the same time, and the cops weren’t sure who or what to believe.”

  Death leaned over and placed both hands on Casey’s ribs. For once it felt good—like an ice pack. Casey moaned, and Death shushed her gently. “It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. Although I had to say I wasn’t sure if you were about to get your wish and go with me to the other side.”

  Casey’s eyes blinked open. Had she really been that close? That close, only to come back here, to this pain, and this place?

  “Sorry, hon,” Death said. “You have to hold on a little longer.”

  Casey looked past Death’s face toward the ceiling. Her eyes were adjusting enough she could see foliage above Death’s head. Unfamiliar foliage. She let her eyes close again. Yonkers’ greenhouse. That’s where she was.

  “Drove right here,” Death said. “Like Yonkers was expecting you to be delivered. Haven’t seen the man yet, but from the sound of their conversation he’s coming soon, and they’re not happy. You still haven’t given them what they want.”

  A surprise, since Casey couldn’t remember what she’d given them. As long as she hadn’t given them the kids. The kids…her eyes opened. Were the kids okay?

  “The kids are fine.” Death smoothed her hair with a chilly hand. “I told you that a minute ago. They’re all with their parents. Safe and sound.”

  Casey relaxed, wincing as her ribs moved.

  “Uh-oh,” Death said. “Here he comes.”

  An overhead door opened and a vehicle drove into the building, its headlights illuminating the jungle standing over Casey. She was surrounded by plants and trees—hidden from the sight of anyone who might stumble in unawares. The overhead door slid shut, and the car turned off. “Where is she?” The voice was loud, echoing in Ca
sey’s head.

  “Over here.”

  Casey looked up at Death, who crouched over her protectively. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t leave you.”

  Casey tried to take comfort in the cold cushion at her back.

  “So. This is our troublemaker.” The man squatted, studying her face. “Looks like she ran into a little trouble herself.”

  Casey blinked up at him. Yonkers. She recognized him from the photo in the paper. He was clean-shaven, with a receding hairline, and seemed to be wearing a suit. This was the man everyone was talking about? The guy they were so loyal to? He looked like…like a dentist.

  “Seems you know a little bit more than is good for you, don’t you?” Yonkers studied her, as if confused. “But I don’t know you. Should I? I usually know people who come around, or I’ve at least seen them before.” He looked at her some more. “Of course, it’s hard to tell with your face being all…” He wrinkled his nose. “Dix!” He stood and Dixon appeared at his elbow, also looking down at Casey. His nose was swollen, and already the skin around his eyes was turning black and blue. “Bring her into my office. We’re expecting a delivery tonight and I don’t think it’s necessary to show off our little problem here.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Yonkers patted his hands together, as if shedding them of dirt, and walked back the way he’d come.

  “Miff!” Dixon said. “Help me move this.”

  Mifflin was chewing gum when he got there, his mouth open, like an ugly horse. Casey closed her eyes and braced herself, turning her face toward Death’s chill.

  “Hang in there,” Death whispered. “It’s going to be—”

  “Aaah.” Casey groaned beneath the gag as the men gripped her, one under each arm.

  Dixon laughed. “Little bit of your own there, girl. Can’t say any of us feel too bad about it.”

  Mifflin grunted. “Not sorry at all.”

  Casey’s head hung as they dragged her, bound feet scraping the ground, toward the far end of the room. They took her through a doorway, banging her against the doorjamb, and held her up.

  “Put her there.”

  They dumped her onto a reclining lawn chair and she fell off, smashing her nose on the floor.