The Returned

by Seth Patrick

  “Radio them, if you can. Drive out and find them if you have to. Then get them to follow me. Armed response. Everything we have.”

  “Where are you going, sir?”

  “To get my family, before Delaître does.”

  • • •

  The door of Thomas’s house was open. He ran inside, calling her name, hurrying and ignoring every rule, every procedure. There was no time.

  He saw the blood in the kitchen, on the floor, and then saw the cellar door, bloody handprints across it. He froze. If that bastard has hurt them… He called again, desperation in his voice.

  “Adèle!”

  A noise from the cellar.

  “Adèle!”

  A slow dragging sound. His hand went to his gun, but he refused to draw it here, inside his own house.

  A key turned. The door opened, and Adèle fell through the doorway, grasping at the handle to keep herself upright.

  “Thomas…” she said, blood on her face, on her hands.

  He ran to her, supported her while he checked her over for injuries. “Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head. “The blood’s not mine,” she said. “It’s Simon’s.” She looked at him with terror in her eyes, terror that was contagious. “They took her,” she said. Thomas felt his gut clench. “They took Chloé with them.”

  • • •

  By the time his officers arrived, Thomas had cleaned much of the blood from her and she’d told him everything. He knew where they should look first—at the man who’d offered Simon a refuge right at the beginning.

  Pierre Tissier, at the Helping Hand.

  88

  “Where is he?” Thomas said.

  Five vehicles in the convoy. Twelve officers in all, including himself. Thomas was satisfied with the response, but now he had to find Delaître. Adèle was standing next to him; he didn’t plan to let her out of his sight again.

  He took a step toward Pierre Tissier, who was standing in the doorway of the Helping Hand as though it was his own personal kingdom. He repeated the question. “Where is he?”

  The Helping Hand was busy, Thomas saw. People were already rushing toward them, intrigued, supportive of their leader.

  “If you mean Simon,” said Pierre, “he isn’t here.”

  “And the others?” said Thomas. The man acted ignorant. “You know who I mean. The other dead.”

  “The Helping Hand is open to all,” said Pierre sanctimoniously.

  Answer enough for Thomas. He moved closer, his voice furious. “Do you have any idea of the risk you’re taking? All these people are in your care, and you allow this kind of danger to be among you?”

  Maddeningly, Pierre looked unfazed. “If anything, we’re the ones who are safe. Everyone would have left if they thought there was somewhere better, don’t you think?”

  Another patrol car arrived, and they all turned. It was Alcide, and he looked fearful.

  “Sir,” he called, running across. “I was at the back of the convoy. I stopped because I saw something, and—”

  “Spit it out,” interrupted Thomas. “For God’s sake, tell me.”

  “I saw them.”

  “Them?”

  “A hundred, maybe more.” He held up a pair of binoculars as explanation. “I saw them, sir. Like the one in the Lake Pub.”

  Thomas felt the air leave his lungs. “All of them were like him?”

  Alcide nodded.

  “Where were they heading?”

  “Here, sir. They were coming this way. Heading for the Helping Hand.”

  89

  Toni was dying. Julie could see it.

  Laure had come down to offer her assistance, but Julie sent her out of the room, not wanting her here for this—an inevitable failure to save a life.

  The medical room was astonishingly well stocked, but there was very little she could do. The bullet had gone right through him, leaving havoc in its wake. She’d dressed the entry and exit wounds, getting her helpers to apply pressure to minimize the blood loss, but she could see he was going into severe shock. He was just losing too much blood, and serious internal bleeding seemed a certainty.

  She went through every cabinet and gave Toni a rapid drip of saline and glucose to attempt to get some fluid volume back, but everything she did, everything she tried, she knew…

  She knew it wouldn’t be enough.

  Toni’s breathing was rapid and he’d remained unconscious since their arrival. The man was slipping away. She left her assistants keeping pressure on the wounds as she prepared an injection of adrenaline, but it was pure desperation. She reconsidered and set it down again. Dignity was what was needed, not panic and self-deception.

  She found that she couldn’t speak, only shake her head and direct the two helpers to the door. The keys were still in the lock; she shut the door again behind them and locked it. It was a time for privacy, but she didn’t want Toni to be alone.

  She stood, holding his hand.

  Suddenly she became aware of someone standing behind her.

  She turned. From the shadows stepped a hooded man. A man in tears, looking at Toni’s body. It was the man who’d attacked her seven years ago. She stared at him, thinking she was imagining it, just as she had when Victor had stopped her from stabbing herself with those scissors.

  “What happened to him?” the man asked, coming to stand right with her at Toni’s side.

  Julie couldn’t move. The terror she felt turned her insides to ice. “You’re not here,” she said.

  Serge turned to her, angry. “What the fuck happened?”

  “You’re in my head,” Julie said desperately. She looked at the door, the door that was still locked. But she knew the man was really there.

  Then she felt Toni’s hand move, leaving hers, and saw it reach out to her attacker. Reach out and take hold of his arm. Toni’s eyes had opened, and there was a smile on his face. “Serge…” he said, weak and fading, and Julie looked from Toni’s face to her attacker’s, and it made a terrible sense.

  She stepped back. Toni’s life was ebbing away. His hand fell from his brother’s arm as he died.

  “Help him,” said Serge, pushing her toward Toni’s body. “Help him.”

  “He’s gone.”

  “Help him.”

  She locked eyes with the man, then moved to Toni and started chest compressions. After a dozen she stepped back again. There was no point.

  “Why have you stopped?” said Serge. “Don’t stop. Keep going.”

  “He’s gone,” she told him. “He’s gone.”

  Serge pushed her aside and started to mimic what she’d been doing, getting more and more desperate with each thrust until Julie could take no more.

  She reached out, took Serge’s shoulder, and pulled hard. “There’s nothing we can do,” she said. “It’s over. It’s over.”

  The man sobbed, and his head fell onto Julie’s shoulder. He pulled her close, arms around her, holding on as the grief trembled through him.

  Julie felt the bile rising in her throat, the rage rising too. She pushed him away and went to the door, looking back at the two brothers. The man who tried to kill her and the man who tried to save her.

  Both had failed, she thought.

  She wouldn’t look back again. She left the medical room, taking the keys. Locking the door behind her, she went out of the corridor to the base of the stairs, locking the door there too before going up into the open air. She found the medical room key again and removed it from the key ring, then threw it as far as she could into the scrubland behind her. Then she turned to the main building, desperate to find the one person who could comfort her now.

  Victor.

  She saw him through the windows, looking at her with his hand on the glass. The man who ran the Helping Hand was standing at the door. He looked at
her questioningly; she shook her head and handed him the remaining keys as she passed.

  She hurried inside to Victor and they held each other. Only then did she notice that the police had come; only then did she notice that something had changed up here too.

  The people around them were muted, fearful, watching the police outside.

  “What’s happening?” she said to Victor.

  Victor looked at her, afraid. “They’re coming,” he said. “The dead are coming for me.”

  90

  Thomas gave his orders.

  The Helping Hand was surrounded by low fencing. He posted officers around the perimeter and three on the roof. All were armed and had orders to shoot only on his command.

  The dead were visible behind the line of trees at the bottom of the field adjoining the Helping Hand’s courtyard.

  Thomas watched them from the front of the main building. Pierre stood beside him.

  “What are they waiting for?” asked Pierre.

  Thomas looked at him. The man seemed to have nothing but hope for the encounter: a beneficent smile, a relaxed air. It was hard, Thomas thought, to imagine how someone could be any more wrong.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” he replied. “They’re waiting for the dark.” Around them, Thomas felt the unease grow.

  Pierre must have felt it too. He turned to the others. “Don’t worry,” he said. “They must be more afraid than we are.”

  Thomas looked at the frightened expressions on the faces around him and doubted it very much.

  The unease grew as day became evening and evening turned to night. The people inside the building were sitting, waiting, praying. He saw Laure in there but ignored her. She had abandoned her post.

  He also saw Adèle and made sure to smile at her, wanting to give her some kind of reassurance. Whatever happened, Thomas had a single priority. Chloé. He had to get Chloé back, and safe.

  Then the dead were moving again, the floodlights in the courtyard bright enough for the people inside the building to see what was coming for them. They rose as one and went to the windows, then filed out of the door to stand and watch.

  Thomas looked to the men on the roof and signaled to ask if they were surrounded. The nod came back.

  The dead halted again, but now their numbers were clear. More than the hundred they’d first guessed. Beyond the main gate, one of them stepped forward into the full force of the lights.

  Lucy Clarsen, Thomas saw.

  He started to move toward her.

  “Wait,” said Pierre. “Let me talk to her first.”

  Thomas wasn’t willing to let this imbecile take charge. He kept moving, Pierre beside him. He stopped five yards away from the woman.

  “Where’s Chloé?” he asked.

  “She’s with her father,” said Lucy. She was smiling placidly.

  “We were expecting you,” said Pierre. “You’re very welcome here.”

  “Thanks,” she said. Her eyes were as cold as her voice. “But we don’t need welcoming.”

  Thomas looked from her to Pierre and could see that Pierre’s smile suddenly had an edge of desperation to it. Lucy’s had only certainty. “What do you want?” he asked.

  “There are others here who are trying to stay with you,” she said. “They must join us. You’ll know them. Let them go.”

  “And what if they don’t want to go?” said Thomas.

  Her smile widened. “It only matters that we want them to come.”

  Pierre’s smile had fallen completely. “Why?” he said. “I don’t understand. You can all stay. We’ll—” Lucy shot him a dismissive glare that silenced him at once.

  “If we do as you ask, you’ll let Chloé go?” said Thomas.

  “Of course,” said Lucy.

  Pierre was shaking his head. “But you have nothing to fear from us. I can help you!”

  “We don’t need your help,” she said, the disdain clear.

  Thomas turned and walked all the way back to the watching people. He took a flashlight from Alcide and went through the crowd, searching.

  He stopped at Viviane Costa. “Please come with me,” he said.

  She looked to the people around her, then back at him with a sneer. Her reluctance surprised him, but he steeled himself. He pointed to the gate. “Stand there,” he said. She shrugged and moved off.

  Then he walked over to Julie Meyer, who was holding the boy close to her, both watching Thomas with trepidation.

  “Let him go,” said Thomas.

  “Don’t touch him,” said Julie fiercely. The boy looked up at him with fear in his eyes, and Thomas paused. The thought of Chloé hardened his heart, and he nodded to two nearby officers. They came over and took Julie’s arms, pulling to restrain her and free the boy.

  “Don’t touch him!” she screamed. “No!”

  “Let him go,” said Thomas again.

  “Get off me!”

  Thomas saw someone move. Laure. He glared at her, and at the others. He sensed the building of resistance here, the discomfort with what had to be done, sensed it even in the faces of his own officers. It was time to make things clear. “Listen to me,” he said to them all. “If you think the dead aren’t dangerous, then there can be nothing wrong with handing them over to their own kind. And if you think they are dangerous? Would you have the rest of us trapped here, with them among you, while their kin try to break down the doors?”

  He looked to Laure to see the effect of what he’d said, and he was satisfied. She was looking away, tears in her eyes. She agreed with him, however hard it was.

  “Now,” said Thomas to Julie. “Let him go.”

  Julie looked around desperately, but there was no support in the faces surrounding her. Nobody to help. The officers moved toward her again. “Don’t,” she said, holding her hands up. “I’ll go with him.”

  Thomas nodded. If that was what she wanted, then who was he to stand in her way? “If you like.”

  It was too much for Laure. She stepped forward to Julie. “What are you doing?”

  “I told you,” said Julie sadly. “I can’t leave him.”

  Thomas nodded to the officers to escort Julie and the boy.

  “Wait,” said Laure. “I love you, Julie. Stay with me. Please. I beg you.”

  Julie embraced her and kissed Laure’s cheek. “If things had been different, Laure,” she said. “But it wasn’t to be. He needs me, and I can’t let him go alone. They won’t hurt me; I know they won’t.”

  The two women parted, Laure watching in tears as Julie and the boy were led away.

  Thomas raised his eyes again. There was one more.

  He looked for the Séguret family. The eyes of the other people had already turned to them, betraying their location at the back. The father stood barring the way.

  “Move aside,” said Thomas.

  “Not a chance.”

  Three officers moved in and took hold, wrestling Jérôme to the ground as he struggled, overwhelmed. All he could do was watch as others stepped toward Camille.

  “No!” shouted Léna, lashing out at them, trying to get between them and her sister. An officer took hold of Léna’s arm and dragged her away. “Let me go!” she shouted. “Let me go! Let me go with her!”

  Camille and her mother stood there alone, arms around each other, holding on desperately, both in tears.

  “Do something!” Claire cried at the bystanders. Pierre, who had come back from the gate, was simply standing there watching powerlessly. “For God’s sake, do something!” Even Frédéric just stood where he was, distraught but frozen.

  “There’s nothing to do,” said a voice. It was Sandrine. She spoke without triumph, only exhaustion. “She’s one of them. If she stays, we’ll pay for it.”

  Claire hung her head. “I’ll go with her,” she said, meeting J�
�rôme’s eyes as he and Léna were strong-armed into the building. She took Camille’s hand.

  “Take everyone inside,” said Thomas. He locked eyes with Pierre, who looked bereft. Things hadn’t remotely gone the way he’d expected. You’ve finally understood, Thomas thought.

  Once indoors, Jérôme and Léna ran to the window. Léna started banging on the glass, crying out to her sister and mother as her father held her. Claire and Camille looked back at them.

  91

  Thomas made the group halt a little way from the gate before he opened it. He walked up to Lucy. “Where is she?” he said. “Where’s Chloé?”

  Lucy turned. Into the light stepped Simon, Chloé holding his hand, terrified. The sight of her, unharmed yet vulnerable, made Thomas’s throat tighten. He nodded to her and saw the hope in her frightened eyes.

  Simon looked at Thomas with a malicious smile, then bent down and whispered into Chloé’s ear. He let her go.

  Chloé ran to Thomas. He knelt and held his arms out to her, then picked her up as she clung to him, trembling.

  “I have you,” he told her, holding the tears back. “You’re safe now.” Glaring at Simon, he gripped Chloé tightly to him. Then he gestured for the others to come.

  Viviane Costa passed him with only a look, a shake of the head: Shame on you. Thomas felt it, but holding Chloé, he knew there were more important things than principles.

  Claire Séguret and her daughter Camille came next, hand in hand. They didn’t even look at Thomas. He was glad. He didn’t think he would have been able to meet their eyes, a mother and daughter he was sacrificing for the sake of his own family.

  Finally, Julie Meyer and the boy.

  “Come on, Victor,” said Julie. She was trying to put on a smile.

  The boy tugged at her sleeve. She knelt, and he looked at her with adoration. “Louis,” said the boy. “My real name is Louis.” Julie hugged him hard. They took each other by the hand and walked out past the reach of the lights, toward the waiting dead.

  Thomas turned to walk away.

  “There’s one more,” said Lucy Clarsen. “One more who must be made to come.”