by J N Duncan
“Shit. Holy shit. Laur? Now would be a good time to wake up. Something really bad is after us.” Jackie sprinted down the street, watching the gauzy fingers of fog make their sluggish turns in the other direction toward the gathering storm that had to be named Death.
Jackie ran until the wind shifted back to its usual direction. Then she ran some more, praying that she was not somehow running in a circle back to that dark, swirling storm. She wanted to get to Nick’s. If she was going to be safe anywhere in this chill world, it was Nick’s house, but she couldn’t leave Laurel, and Jackie had no idea if she could pull both of them along. Maybe it would work, but she could not risk failure and leave Laurel within the clutches of that black thing.
She reached a park, a smooth open field of stone, likely soccer fields in the real world, and decided to stop. She could not hide here, but nor could the thing sneak up on her. The first hint of changing wind and she would be off again. Jackie laid Laurel on the ground and cupped her face in her hands.
“Laur? I know you’re in there. Can you hear me? If I can help you somehow, you need to let me know.”
She came back to Deadworld to recharge. Laurel had told her that much, but how? Did it happen naturally or did she have to do something? More importantly, maybe she could do it for her? Jackie closed her eyes and tried to relax, hard to do when green eyes were somewhere behind them and swirling in their direction. It was all a matter of relaxing and focusing, like with her piano. The piano was her meditation or so Laurel had proclaimed.
Jackie tried to let her mind drift to those memories, blocking out the edgy panic that gripped her and the unknown danger that closed in. Imagined sitting at her piano, Bickerstaff parked on top, eyes halfclosed while she played, churning through clues or just playing out frustration or depression. If she could get to that place then maybe she could bring Laurel what she needed. Jackie had no idea how it was supposed to work. She was not a psychic, but she could play those notes in her head, feel herself seated at the bench, her fingers stretching, pressing, lifting, and floating over the keys, filling her with lush sounds that dulled and pushed away all the things that threatened her being.
Something began to pull at her, like the suction from a straw, drawing upon her insides.
“Hon? What? What are you doing here?”
Jackie opened her eyes and found Laurel blinking rapidly up at her, trying to focus her gaze. A wave of dizzy exhaustion swept through Jackie and she let go of Laurel’s face, bracing a hand on the ground. “Damn, it worked.” She laughed, unbelieving. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you.”
Laurel looked around and sat up, still shaking the cobwebs out. “Where are we? Rosa was beating the crap out of me . . .” Her hand came up to cover her mouth. “Oh, Sweet Mother, Jackie. Why are you here? How? Oh, please, no!”
“Oh! I’m not dead. At least I don’t think I am.” She reached out and hugged Laurel, whose arms enfolded her, the first embrace she had received from her best friend since before she had died. Jackie began to cry. “God, Laur. You don’t know how good that feels. I’ve missed you so much.”
Laurel held her for a moment longer and then pulled back, taking Jackie’s face in her hands. She leaned forward and gave her a brief kiss. “Why are you here?”
“I think Rosa took my body while I was sleeping and booted me over here.”
“But . . . when, Jackie? I don’t understand. It doesn’t work like that.”
Jackie shrugged. “I don’t have a fucking clue either, but we don’t have time to discuss this now. There’s some . . . thing out there following us.”
“A thing?” Laurel’s forehead wrinkled up with confusion. “What sort of thing?”
“I don’t know! It was black and had these big, freaky green eyes,” Jackie said. “Everyone was running as fast as they could in the opposite direction, so I figured it would be good to stay away. Maybe it was the Grim Reaper or something.”
Laurel got to her feet, turning slowly in a full circle. “How do you know it’s following us?”
“Because it saw me, and gave me this cockeyed who the fuck are you ? look and started walking our way.”
“It came after you, particularly?” Laurel said, still gazing out into the dense fog. “But why?”
“Eating ghosts for breakfast? I really don’t want to hang around and find out. I was going to try that teleport thing you tried to teach me before, but I was worried I’d leave you behind.”
Following her cue, the wind abruptly switched from the left side of her face to the right. Laurel perked up and turned around. She had noticed it, too.
“Teleport or run?” Jackie whispered in a rush. “It can’t be far.”
“Let’s go to Nick’s,” she whispered back. “Don’t feel like running.”
“Just focus on his place?”
She nodded. “Imagine it and you will arrive.” Laurel took Jackie’s hands in hers. “Close your eyes, hon. Easier that way.”
Jackie did and imagined Nick’s living room with its enormous, comforting, river-stone fireplace. The perfect place to curl up on a cold Chicago night. There was a pull on her, like wind pulling sand off a dune, digging deeper and deeper into her, until they were drawn away, fired across the gray like an arrow. A moment later, stillness enveloped them and Jackie opened her eyes. She was greeted by the familiar expanse of stone and heaved a sigh of relief.
Laurel, on the other hand, stared in shock, her mouth agape. “Sweet Mother, that thing was definitely not human.”
“I know,” Jackie replied. “Now then, how do we cross over? Because the broken girl here wants her body back before Rosa gets it filled full of holes.”
Chapter 31
McManus could not believe his ears. A hundred, or so it seemed, gang members and not a peep or clue, and then this random old man walking down the sidewalk from the liquor store to his house, which happened to be across the street from the bar he had been visiting.
“You speak decent Spanish for a fed,” he said to McManus. “Suppose you’re looking for who killed that Rosa Sanchez girl. Or who’s left of them.”
“I am, sir,” McManus said, “and thank you. Eight years of Gang Enforcement in San Francisco. Moved here to be near my daughter.” He looked up and down the sidewalk and then back over to the bar. “Nobody’s going to mind you talking to a fed?”
“Ha!” He waved his cane toward McManus. “Nobody round here is going to fuck with me. Gangbanging little shits know better, unless they want to end up minus a few body parts.”
“I see. I suppose I should know who you are then.”
“And I’m supposing you don’t,” the old man replied. “You’re looking for Rennie Vasquez and whomever is left of his crack-smoking little posse.”
“That I am, sir.” McManus got the feeling the man had to be related to a gang member, likely a leader of some sort if he had no fear of retaliation. “You know he killed Rosa Sanchez?”
The man looked taken aback. “Boy, you know that saying, ‘Not a jealous bone in his body?’”
“I do.”
“Rennie Vasquez is the goddamn opposite of that,” he said, emphasizing his words with taps of his cane on the cement. “Rosa got pregnant with some rich boy’s kid, left Rennie after he tried to kill her. She got even by ruining his bid to become leader of this part of town, cost Rennie a lot of drug money and made him look weak. One thing you don’t want to do to a crazy little shit like that is make him look weak. He gathered up some boys and took her down. Sad,” he said with a shake of his head. “Rosa was no saint, mind you, but killing a pregnant girl ain’t right for any reason. And now looks like he stirred up someone’s righteous fury from what I seen on the news. Hope he gets his.”
“Would prefer if we could put him behind bars for the rest of his life and let him rot away a little bit at a time,” McManus said. “I can’t let a vigilante keep running around killing people, sir.”
“From what I saw, you all got the boy who was doing that.
Cop wasn’t it?”
“It was. You happen to know where Rennie is hiding out, sir? That would go a long way toward helping us if you did. Think there might be a reward out for information leading to his arrest.”
“You don’t say?” The man smiled. “Guess I could use a new TV. I like them new flat ones you hang on the wall. It’s like looking through a window.”
McManus dug out his pen and pad. He loved when grinding things out paid off. You talk and talk and talk until someone you didn’t see wants to talk to you. “You tip us off to Rennie, and I’ll take you shopping for it myself, sir.”
He laughed. “I’ll hold you to that—Agent . . . ?”
“McManus. Ryan. And I’m certainly pleased to meet you today. The gang boys are a silent bunch.”
He shrugged. “Sticking together is what they do well, even if one of their own is gone bad.”
“Mind if I ask how you are privy to all of this information?”
“I helped run the damn thing, back when it was more about Latino pride than what they’ve turned it into.” He shook his head in disgust. “Enough said, boy. You let me know if I’m shopping for a new TV. I live right up there on the left, in the blue bungalow.”
McManus took down the address the old man figured Rennie might be staying at. It wasn’t an address that had been on their search list. “You take care, sir. I’m much obliged for your help,” McManus said, and he truly meant it. Hard to find anyone these days that didn’t either fear or loathe the FBI.
The sound of screeching tires turned him around toward the bar. A familiar, black Durango had just lurched to a stop at the curb. At the wheel, he could see the tousled mess of auburn hair that immediately identified Agent Rutledge. “Jack?” McManus rocked back on his heels for a moment in disbelief before crossing the street. What in God’s name was she doing out here?
Jackie slammed the door shut and hopped down to the sidewalk as McManus trotted up to her. “Jack! What are you doing here?” She ignored him, marching toward the door to the bar. He hurried up to her and reached out to touch her arm. “Hey, Jack. Shouldn’t you—”
She wheeled around, eyes wild and bright. “Hands off, asshole!”
McManus noticed the clenched fists and took a quick step backward. “Shit, Jack. Calm . . . down,” he began, but then stopped. The wild-eyed look remained. She didn’t recognize him. “I thought you were home sleeping off that concussion?”
The tension dissipated. Her fists unclenched. “Oh, yes. I was, but the painkillers started working so, I wanted to come out and see if I could track down Rennie.”
She looked like hell, her eyes sunken and dark. The bandage on her head was gone, and the pink, stitched welt marking the side of her shaved head made her look like someone escaped from the psych ward. “You should be resting, Jack. You look beat to hell.”
“I’m fine!” she snapped. “Don’t you have something better to do than stand around and harass me?”
Man! She was in a fine mood. “Sorry. Christ. You don’t need to be out here though. I think we finally got a good lead.”
“What?” Her hand shot out and grabbed a handful of his shirt, thumping his chest with painful force. “You found Rennie?”
McManus stared down at the fist clenched in his shirt, so tight the knuckles were turning white. She really was starting to lose it. “You mind letting go?”
“Where is he? Where’s Rennie?” Her hand shook against him, refusing to release.
“I’m not going to tell you shit if you’re going to go ballistic on me,” McManus said. “So why don’t you let go and maybe we can discuss what we’re going to do next?”
For a moment, McManus didn’t think she was. Her mouth drew into a tight, bloodless line, as if the subject was actually something to debate, but then finally let go. “There. Happy? So, where is he?”
McManus reached into his jacket and pulled out his notepad. He was going to have to call Pernetti in on this first. No way was he taking Jack out there like this. She was in no state to be confronting a murderer. “You know, Jack. You’re probably not in the best state to be going—”
The rest of his sentence rushed out with the air from his lungs as Jackie’s fist buried itself into his solar plexus. He dropped to a knee, a swirling wave of nausea overwhelming him. “Jack!” he managed to gasp out. Her face was twisted into smiling, wicked sneer, but it was in the eyes that McManus saw the truth. Jackie no longer stared down at him. “Rosa.”
She reached down and snatched the notepad from his hand while he sucked air like a beached fish. What was she doing?
“Huh,” she said from somewhere above him. “I’d have never guessed, the little shit.”
McManus turned and looked up. “You have to . . . stop, Rosa.”
She bent over until her face was only inches from his. “Thanks, Agent Whoever-you-are, but I need your gun now.”
“Rosa . . . no.” He clamped his hand down on his holster, a feeble effort at best without any breath to fuel his defense.
McManus turned just in time to see her steel-toed hiker come sweeping through the damp air, and he kissed it goodnight.
Chapter 32
Nick thrust his keys into the ignition of his Porsche outside Jackie’s apartment and then froze. The whisper of Deadworld blew through him, tingling his blood. The scent of it was all too familiar, as her blood still coursed through his body.
He glanced up, looking around at the street. “Jackie?” But no, she was not close. Nick closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath, focusing on the feeling of her spirit touching him. He turned until the sensation, faint and subtle though it was, became strongest. Home. What had happened? How could he be feeling this?
Nick’s heart leaped up into his throat. Dear God, could something dreadful have happened to her?
The ring of his cell startled him back to reality. It was Shelby. “Nick! Laurel’s back! I can—”
“The house,” he replied, and swallowed hard. “I think they’re back at the house.”
“What? But . . . how? Jackie? Shit, Nick. What the fuck’s going on?”
“Rosa. God damnit! Rosa got to her.” Nick gunned the engine, his hand suddenly clammy with sweat fumbled at the shifter before he launched the Porsche out into traffic. “Meet me there.”
The normal thirty-minute drive took nineteen minutes. A million panicked thoughts raced through his brain during that time—what had happened to Jackie? Could Rosa have possessed her, taken her out somewhere, looking for Vasquez and been killed? If Rosa still had her, then how could her spirit be roaming around freely? She should have been locked away, forced into submission by Rosa’s dominant force. He had feared it might happen, suspected Rosa has done something to her when Morgan was killed, but there had been no way to know. Jackie was certainly in no state of mind to be dealing with Rosa. Her will had been battered and beaten down to nothing. He should have never let her stay in her apartment alone.
Whipping through the curves up to his house, hands clenched around the steering wheel slick with sweat, Nick knew for sure Jackie was there. He could even feel Laurel, much weaker, but definitely present. A single light flashed behind him as Shelby’s BMW flew up behind him, hugging the curves with physics-bending force. They slid to stop in his driveway together, running to the door side by side.
Once inside, Nick crossed the foyer and came to a stop in the archway leading to the living room, his breath locking up inside his lungs. He knew what he was going to find, but it still stunned him. There on the hearth of stone stood Jackie’s gray, translucent figure. Laurel, far less visible, reclined on the sofa beside her.
Jackie gave him a feeble wave and her voice cracked. “Hey. Got a small problem here.”
Shelby rushed over to the couch and knelt down beside Laurel. “Baby! Thank-fucking-God. I thought you were dead. I mean, really dead.”
“I’m OK now,” she said, “but we need to help Jackie before it’s too late.”
Nick staggered into the livi
ng room toward Jackie, his legs loose and rubbery. “Too late for what?”
“Rosa said I wouldn’t get my body back.” Jackie shrugged and sat down on the slate apron of the fireplace. “Think she plans on wasting my body once she’s done with me.” Her voice quavered. “How does this even happen? It’s because I’m fucking broken, isn’t it? Goddamn Deadworld bullshit.” Her voice rose an octave. “What the hell is wrong with me?”
Relief flooded through him. Rosa still had her body. She was alive and yet somehow her spirit roamed freely. A choked laugh escaped his lips. “You’re not dead.” Her fists were clenched together in her lap. Nick walked over and sat down beside her. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Jackie.” He rubbed his hands over his head. “And thank God you’re not dead.”
She cocked her head and looked up at him. The fear and anger in her face melted away. “You thought . . . oh. No, Nick. I’m not dead, not yet anyway. I’m just, um, I’m missing my body.” She tried to smile but failed. “So, how do I get my body back?”
He heaved a sigh of relief, regaining his composure. A monumental failure had been averted, at least for now. “We need to get Rosa out first,” Nick said. “Then you can go back, just like crossing over. That part should be easy. I just don’t get why you’re here and not trapped in your body.”
“Me either,” she said.
“The bonds are broken,” Laurel replied.
“What?” All three of them said in unison.
Laurel sat up straight. “The bond between her body and spirit has been broken. Rosa didn’t trap her because she didn’t have to. She just shoved Jackie over to Deadworld.”
Jackie’s fists clenched in her lap. “She came while I was sleeping. The bitch invaded me while I slept.”
“Ah,” Nick said, nodding. It made some sense now. That was why she could open the door to Deadworld so easily. “Well, we need to encourage her to come back home then.”