No Less Days

by Amanda G. Stevens

  “Listen to me.” Her voice was shaking.

  David faced her, and his breath caught. Her body quivered like a sapling in a storm. She was wide-eyed, as she’d been yesterday when he first guessed the truth.

  Zac stepped close to her. “Moira?”

  She rushed from the room. Zac pursued, and David trailed him down the hallway, stopping outside the bathroom. Moira fell to her knees in front of the toilet and threw up.

  Zac crouched beside her, brushed back her hair with his hands, and held it. When she was finished, she stayed there, on her knees on the floor.

  David grabbed the hand towel from its wall fixture, dampened it under the faucet, and offered it to her. She gripped it in both hands and began to twist it.

  Zac eased her fingers from around the cloth and cleaned her face. Then he pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear.

  “We can’t kill him,” she said.

  “Why not?”

  She cringed away from him until her back pressed against the wall. Her knees folded into her chest. “He’s one of us.”

  The words she’d hammered at them before held no conviction now. David knelt outside the doorway, not wanting to crowd her, and she jolted as if he’d materialized from the air.

  He tried to speak gently. “Moira, tell us.”

  “No.” The word shrilled. “You—you want to take his life when there’s another way.”

  David could have shaken her to get the truth if she weren’t balled up in front of him, unblinking and heaving every breath. “Ach, please, Moira.”

  “He’s one of us.”

  He stood and left the room. Zac could deal with her. David could not.

  Simon was in the kitchen. Pacing. He looked up, concern lining around his eyes. “She’s made herself sick?”

  “You heard.” David sank into a chair and watched the man’s restless motion. One thing Simon and Zac had in common.

  “Grief can do that to a body. And dread.”

  “And there could be something else.”

  The lines in his face deepened. “Go on.”

  “I think she fears him. Possibly has for a long time.”

  “We would have seen.”

  “I think she hid it deep.”

  The man’s jaw hardened. He gazed past David, toward the bathroom, which was silent now. In a minute both of them emerged, Moira’s small frame tucked into Zac’s arm. He set her in a chair at the table, and she curled forward with one arm around her middle.

  “Moira,” Simon said, utterly gentle.

  She turned her face away. “He’s one of us.”

  She was silent while Zac, Simon, and David worked out a plan.

  It was the kind of planning that ought to take place after midnight, with hushed darkness pressing at the windows. Reality, though, was barely five o’clock. In Michigan this time of year, the sun wouldn’t set for another hour. The village park would close then, but the maintenance crew would shut the parking lot gate and leave. Anyone who lived in Harbor Vale knew the park had no fences; the sign on the gate that said TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED existed to deter tourists, and the one that said SECURITY SYSTEM was an outright lie. They could get to park property from the back lot of David’s store, walking a more or less straight line for about a tenth of a mile. The woods would be ideal.

  As they talked logistics that left David’s stomach sour, his phone vibrated. He reached for it. Tiana. She’d have closed the store a few minutes ago.

  DINNER? OR SOMETHING, WHEN YOU’RE FREE? YOU DON’T HAVE TO TELL ME DETAILS.

  He wouldn’t try to convey his thoughts in a text message. He walked out onto the deck and shut the door as he called her.

  “David,” she said on a breath. “I’ve been worrying for the last seven hours.”

  Only seven hours since he’d seen her? He closed his eyes and leaned his arm on the deck railing. “Tiana, I … I can’t get dinner.”

  A pause, but not a long one. “It’s not over yet.”

  “No.”

  She’d put it together, what he had to do. She said nothing, probably because there was nothing to say. His stomach tensed. Two years of knowing her didn’t mean she trusted him this far. This kind of trust went beyond what most people earned in a lifetime.

  “Will you call the police?” He hoped she’d at least tell him. Let him get ahead of them.

  “Whoever killed that man should be tried and sentenced. Prison, or legal execution.”

  “He can’t be imprisoned or legally executed. Not humanely. Not safely. And he will kill again.”

  Silence.

  “Do you believe me?”

  “I …” Tiana’s voice shook. “Yeah, I do.”

  “Thank you.” For everything. She might believe him, but that didn’t mean she’d want anything to do with him after this.

  “David, this … this is …”

  He closed his eyes and tried to picture her expression. Her voice had gone soft, cautious.

  “There aren’t words for this.”

  “No,” he said quietly. “There aren’t words.”

  “Call me when … when you can.” She hung up.

  When he returned to the house, the others were in the back room with Colm, who held a glass of water in one hand and three Ambien in the other. They’d cut the zip tie on his hands but left his ankles tethered.

  He looked up at David’s entrance. “They tell me this is it.” He lifted the glass in a toast.

  “Aye.”

  “I’m surprised you got this far.” He spoke to all of them this time. “Impressed, even. Strong traditional morality.”

  “Shut up.” Simon’s words came with a growl.

  “I might be worried if I thought you’d go through with it. Just don’t let Simon overrule you when the rest of you come to your senses.”

  “You said …” Zac shook his head.

  “An experiment.” Colm’s hand closed around the pills. “Reverse psychology.”

  “It’s still a game to you.”

  “Maybe.” As if to prove a point, he put all three pills in his mouth and downed the water and set it on the floor.

  Moira looked away.

  “Why don’t you tell them, pet? About the game I’ve played on you for five decades and change. Tell them you believed it and see what they say.”

  She shut her eyes then opened them and stepped out of the corner, closer to him. “Tell them … I … believed it?”

  “Without proof. Slinking along, my dog on a leash. Tell her it’s a shock collar and she never tests it.”

  She pressed her hands to her stomach, and her voice was a husk of itself. “Colm?”

  “Check your email again, pet. There’s nothing there.”

  Her legs buckled. David surged forward, planted himself between her and Colm. Not physical protection. Something else. Colm was watching her with a lustful fascination that turned David’s stomach. Zac’s instincts had propelled him to a position beside David, but he didn’t stop there. He charged Colm and fisted the man’s shirt and yanked him forward.

  “What did you do to her?” The words gritted between Zac’s teeth.

  Colm’s composure didn’t flicker. “Lied to her. That’s all. I didn’t have to do anything else.”

  Behind David, a gagging sound broke into a cry. He turned. Moira was still on her knees, curled forward now into the fetal position, arms drawn in, hair fanned on the floor around her. Simon crossed the room and hunkered beside her. When he touched her back, she gave another retching sob.

  Simon fit his arms around and under her. Drew her close and scooped her up as he stood. Moira wrapped her arms around his neck, sharp breaths coming with whimpers. Simon didn’t look at David before he carried her out of the room.

  Thunk. Fist against flesh. David swiveled. Zac had knocked Colm senseless with a single punch. Tears and fury shone in his eyes.

  “He never wakes up again,” Zac said and left the room.

  David re-bound Colm’s arms to the
chair. Stared a moment, hackles standing up on his neck, at Colm’s face smooth and harmless in sleep. David shuddered. His place was with the others, not here.

  He went to them.

  Moira wouldn’t release her hold around Simon’s neck. Her trembling earlier was like a quick chill compared to the now bone-deep, uncontrollable quake of her body. She tried to speak, but nothing was intelligible. Her fingers were locked around handfuls of the back of Simon’s shirt.

  “How do we help her?” Simon asked. He cupped his hand around the back of her neck and tipped his mouth closer to her ear. “Moira, honey, it’s over. Whatever it was, it’s over.”

  “Can’t be.” The words came past her sharp breaths.

  “He was lying, Moira. You heard him say it.”

  “Lying about lying,” she said.

  “No.” Zac crouched behind Simon, made Moira look at him. “No, he wasn’t. Your email is going to prove it to you.” He held up her phone.

  She didn’t answer, didn’t move to take it. He woke it and typed in her passcode, and in a few seconds, he held up the email screen.

  “No new messages,” he said. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  She gave a small nod.

  “So now you need to breathe easy. We know this drill. Remember? Slow, deep, three, four, five. Slow, deep, three, four, five. You’ve done it for me; now I do it for you. Slow, deep, three, four, five.”

  While Simon cradled her and Zac thumbed her tears and breathed with her, David stood apart and watched. Listened. For Colm’s final escape attempt, he told himself first, but no. He watched and listened to these people care for one of theirs. His own people.

  Whom Colm had hurt. For pleasure.

  Calming Moira took a long time. Once she seemed to gain control then began to shake and gasp again when Zac asked her a question. David abandoned his sentry position, came near to them as she found composure and was this time able to keep it.

  At last her arms loosened around Simon’s neck, and he set her, limp as a sleeping baby, in a corner of the couch. She picked up a pillow in a feeble grip and hugged it to her stomach.

  “Okay?” Zac said, and she nodded. “Can you talk to us?” Another nod.

  “Then you need to tell us how he silenced you, Moira. Why you don’t want him dead.”

  She lifted her head, and in her eyes blazed a wild loathing. “I do want him dead. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”

  “What—?” Simon’s voice broke. “What has he done to you?”

  Tears fell in the tracks of those that had fallen minutes ago, but this time her breathing remained easy and her words remained clear. She looked from Zac to Simon. She bent over the pillow, arms tightening.

  “He said he had set Zac up for the murders. All of them. Meticulously. He said it was a dead-man switch. Once every twenty-four hours, he postponed it. If I ever crossed him—if I told you, if I told police, if I tried in any way to bring him to justice—I would get an email confirming the evidence had been sent. Zac would—would go to prison—a tiny cell without a window. Simon would—would find out. Would always believe Zac had done it.”

  She swiped at her tears, uncurled enough to look them in the eyes again.

  “But he never … he never hurt you?” Zac said.

  “Zachary, he said he’d hurt you.” A sob broke her open again. “He said he’d hurt my boys.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  They left the house at half past six, the four of them seated in the Jeep, Colm asleep on the floor behind the front seats. The silence tonight was like crashing surf on a beach. David had the impulse to hold his ears against it.

  Everything needed for an execution was stowed in the hatchback.

  When they reached the bookstore lot, Zac hoisted Colm over his shoulders. The others gathered shovels and tarps from the back. David took a shovel and the saber.

  He led the trek to the park. They trailed him single file—Zac with Colm, Moira, Simon. Around them night seeped into the cracks between tree branches, between blades of grass, between each of the people who trudged over uneven ground, through uncut grass and weeds that grew taller as they approached the village property line. Cold wrapped around their shoulders. A wind kicked up, slapped their hands and sent Moira’s hair into her mouth. None of it caused Colm to stir.

  Five hundred yards into the woods, David stopped. No clearing here, only more trees—a grave in a clearing would be stupid—but they thinned a bit here. He turned to the others, gestured around him, and they nodded. Zac lowered Colm to the ground, in the shelter of an old log.

  They dug six feet down and were finished more quickly than David expected.

  They laid the tarp beside the trench in the ground. Simon set Colm on it then slid the second tarp under his head and shoulders. He pushed to his feet and nodded at David.

  Ready.

  Moira bowed her head. Her shoulders shook.

  “You don’t have to stay, honey,” Simon said.

  “Yes, I do.”

  While they each wielded a shovel, David had laid the saber on a broken tree trunk. He turned to retrieve it, but Zac stood beside the fallen tree, the saber in his right hand. He drew it from its sheath, and the metallic ring echoed off the trees.

  “Zac,” David said.

  “It has to be me.”

  “It doesn’t have to be,” Simon said, a growl beneath the words.

  “He was my—” Zac’s voice broke. “He was a brother to me. Not to you.”

  Zac knelt beside Colm and lifted the saber. He stayed motionless until his arms began to tremble. David waited, but there was no question what he had to do. What all of them needed him to do. He stepped over the soft grass and knelt at Zac’s side. He set his hand on Zac’s arm and with the other cupped Zac’s clenching hands and the saber’s hilt and pried his fingers away.

  Zac held on tighter. “It has to be me.”

  “No, my friend,” David said. This was a burden he could carry.

  After a moment Zac released his grip. His shoulders sagged. He moved aside but remained on his knees.

  David wrapped both hands around the hilt and looked up, met first Simon’s eyes and then Moira’s. “It’s time.”

  Simon nodded. After a moment Moira did too. David looked to Zac, and he gave the third nod.

  “The Lord, my rock, who trains my hands for war.”

  David raised the blade and brought it down.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  They buried Colm together. Even Moira took up her shovel again. In the glaring beams of the flashlights, Zac was gray-faced. Simon’s cheeks were wet with tears, but his mouth was a firm line.

  None of them spoke as Zac turned over the final shovelful of soil. As David took up the saber and looked around at them. He would let them decide how long to remain here. What words to say over the grave.

  Simon nodded to him, an acknowledgment, and wrapped an arm around Moira’s shoulders. “Colm O’Carroll will become dust. He’ll bring no more harm to us. He’ll bring no more death and pain to the mortals. What was done here was rightly done.”

  Moira turned her face into his arm.

  David waited for her or Zac to speak, but the silence stretched on. At last Simon wiped his face and motioned to David. “Lead us back.”

  Back. To the Jeep, aye, not a problem. To yesterday, when Colm had yet been alive, when all his memories had still been remembered, here in the world. To a week ago, before that idiot Paul Tait had stabbed Zac. But if David could lead them back in time, he would only be causing a different harm, a greater evil. Colm still murdering, Moira still mute in her terror, Zac and Simon still unaware he had to be stopped.

  The three of them got into the back seat this time, leaving the passenger seat empty. They were nearly back at the house when Moira said quietly, “Zac?”

  He gave no response.

  Moira sniffed back tears. “Zachary. I need you to talk to me, please.”

  Nothing.

  Simon huffed. “Zac, you
thin-skinned, senseless, egotistical—” His voice broke. “Come on, Zac. Come on, you bighearted braggart. Talk to us.”

  “He’ll be all right, Simon,” Moira whispered. “He just needs a little time.”

  “I know.”

  “He needs patience, okay?”

  “Don’t I know that too.”

  She gave a soft, broken laugh. “David?”

  “Aye, you can stay at my place. As long as he needs.”

  “Oh. P–perhaps one more day?”

  “Of course.”

  She quietly broke into tears.

  “Thank you,” Simon said.

  “You’re welcome to stay as well.” David pulled into the driveway and shut off the Jeep and swiveled toward his passengers in the back.

  Zac was staring straight ahead. The glaze David had seen come over his eyes before was nothing in comparison. Zac had shut down. He’d seen it through, the worst of everything, as he’d promised he would do. Now it was over. If David had anyone left who knew him so well, any friendship that had lasted so long and then been so betrayed, his own devastation would show in different ways. But inside him it wouldn’t measure any less.

  Simon and David lifted Zac between them and took him inside. He was aware enough to keep his arms around their shoulders, but his legs were limp. He blinked once when Simon set him in the living room chair.

  “Upright?” David said.

  “It’s strange.” Simon tucked a needless pillow next to Zac. “He can keep his balance and such. He’ll hold a cup of water if you give it to him, but if you want him to drink it, you have to put it to his lips yourself.”

  “Can he hear us?”

  “He’s never told me anything about what it’s like. If he even remembers it.” Simon patted Zac’s shoulder the way one would pat a dog’s head, then walked away, defensiveness in his posture. He didn’t want David staring at Zac. “You’d think by now I could predict these things, but they still catch me off guard every time.”

  “He’s gotten no relief all these years?”

  Simon looked back at Zac sitting motionless and blank. “It’s his story, not mine.”

  “He told me Moira was with him through the worst of it. After the First War.”