Grave Intent

by Deborah LeBlanc

  The woman groaned and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Michael nearly dropped back in alarm. Her eyes were no longer green, but the darkest shade of brown, nearly black. They seemed larger now, rounder, and clearly focused. She licked the blood from her lips.

  “You cannot stay here, Michael Savoy,” she said, her words strong and accented. The voice belonged to Anna Stevenson. Shocked into silence, Michael began to shiver uncontrollably as she continued, “The time allowed for restitution is nearly over. Their vengeance grows stronger. Your daughter is an innocent, but there is little more I can do to protect her. It must be returned. You must hurry.”

  A gurgling sound rose from the woman’s throat, and she blinked, swallowed, blinked again. Her eyes began to change. They faded from dark brown to copper to the color of wheat to their original green. She gave Michael a long, sorrowful look, then released one final gasp. Her eyes opened wide in surprise, then locked onto nothing, and Michael felt the weight of death in his hand, and most of all—in his heart.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Hell was not a place of fire and brimstone and long-horned, red-faced monsters that sucked on human souls. It was a place made up of fog so thick you could stretch out your arm and not see your hand. It was blindness and a missing daughter and a profound sense of utter uselessness. The kicker for Janet was the realization that she didn’t have to die to get there. She already stood in its innermost sanctuary. Its silent sanctuary. The whirring noises had stopped.

  “Ellie!” she cried. She gripped the back of Heather’s shirt with one hand and groped blindly around with the other. How could her daughter possibly be gone? Only moments before she’d had her hand solidly locked around Ellie’s wrist. So tight in fact, the child would’ve had to yank herself free, and there’s no way she would have missed that.

  Janet strained to hear movement, anything that would give her direction to Ellie. All she heard was her own voice echoing back and her niece’s sobs.

  “Ellie, answer me!”

  Heather howled. “I want my mama!” Her body shook hard under Janet’s grasp. “I wanna go home!”

  Janet knelt and pulled Heather close. The child’s hands felt like ice. “Shh,” she whispered into Heather’s hair. It took everything she had to hold her own tears in check. “Just listen. Help me listen.” They huddled together for a moment, and Janet prayed for any sound other than their breathing. Her injured knee throbbed against the floor.

  “I didn’t let go,” Heather whimpered. “I promise, I didn’t let go.”

  “Shh, honey. We’ll find her.” Janet breathed in sharply and caught Heather’s soft, innocent scent. Her tears surrendered to the smell and spilled over her face. She kissed the top of Heather’s head, then wiped her cheeks with a forearm.

  Heather clutched her aunt’s arm. Her dark eyes seemed to consume over half her face. “Please,” she begged, her voice soft, “don’t lose me, too.”

  Janet squeezed her hand. “No way, kiddo. No way.” She looked around for a break in the white mass. It was like looking through the window of an airplane suspended in the belly of a cloud. Bright white surrounded them, impenetrable to the eye, intangible to the touch. She waved a hand through it, but instead of parting with the movement, the fog simply swallowed her limb. She snatched her hand back. “Ellie!”

  When there was still no answer, Janet examined her clothing for something to tether Heather to her. Her pants were linen pull-ups with no belt, her blouse square cut and not long enough to tie around the both of them. She stooped down and inspected Heather. The first thing to catch her eye was the child’s high-top sneakers. The extra height of the sneakers meant longer laces, which would serve as a perfect tether. Janet quickly untied the right sneaker and pulled the lace out of the eyelets.

  “You—you wanna wear my shoes?” Heather asked, sniveling.

  “No, honey.” Janet tied one end of the shoelace around Heather’s right wrist. “I just want to make sure you’re next to me all the time.” Tying the other end of the lace to her own left wrist, Janet yanked against the tether. “See?”

  Heather nodded, her face awash with worry. “But what if it undoes?”

  “It won’t.” Janet tucked the girl’s hand into hers. “Besides, you’ll be holding my hand. This is just in case you let go by accident.”

  Squeezing her hand, Heather shook her head rapidly. “I’m—I’m not gonna let go.”

  Janet gave her a weak smile, then stood and took a moment to collect her bearings. She knew the master bedroom was straight ahead and to her left, Ellie’s room. The hall lay behind her, and somewhere down that hall on the right was the bathroom. Ellie could be in any of those places or in none of them. Janet gritted her teeth, wishing more than anything that she could divide her body into ten so she could search everywhere at once.

  Anxious over the time she’d already spent debating about where to search first, Janet tugged Heather to her side, stretched out her free hand, then limped forward. Barely ten feet ahead, Janet felt the door of her bedroom. Her fingers traced the smooth surface until she felt the doorknob. She twisted it, then cautiously pushed open the door.

  As Janet entered the room, the air surrounding her went from stark white to gray. Before her eyes could adjust enough to distinguish the shadows of the bed and dresser, the white veil whirled about her and wiped everything from sight.

  “Oh, Jesus,” Janet whispered. She held out her hand again and took a tentative step. “Ellie? Answer me, please, baby. If you’re in here, make some kind of noise so I can find you.”

  Heather wrapped an arm around her aunt’s leg and whimpered.

  Slowly, cautiously, Janet moved forward. If Ellie was lost in this stuff, she’d be scared and probably hiding. Under the bed possibly, or in the closet.

  Suddenly, something dark and weighty scurried over the top of Janet’s foot. She clamped a hand over her mouth to smother a shriek as she caught sight of a long, thin tail slipping off into the mist. Heather, evidently seeing the same, screamed and dug her fingers into Janet’s leg.

  Terror drove icicles through Janet’s body, and she trembled, still feeling the weight of whatever had crawled over her.She stomped her foot to chase the feeling away, and pain jabbed through her knee. Ignoring it, she plunged ahead.

  “Ellie Marie Savoy! Answer me!”

  A snicker sounded to her left, paralyzing Janet. She listened until it pressed through the mist again, this time harsh and sarcastic. The voice sounded old and croupy, and Janet couldn’t make out if it was male or female.

  “Ellie?”

  No one answered, and nothing moved except for Heather, who buried her face against Janet’s leg.

  Janet leaned over to untangle herself from her niece.

  “No!” Heather cried.

  “Just hold on,” Janet demanded, and clutched Heather’s hand tighter. She swung her free hand wildly out in front of her and stumbled in the direction she thought the snickers came from.

  Soon, Janet touched a wall, and if her calculations were right, the closet was only a few feet away. She kept one eye on the top of Heather’s head as she felt her way along.

  When Janet’s fingers tripped over a doorframe, she walked them around it, expecting the closet door. Her hand plunged into empty space, however, and she sucked in a breath. She was sure she hadn’t left the closet door open.

  Forcing her hand inside, Janet felt cloth flutter across her fingertips and heard the scratch of hangers against the metal rod stretched across the closet. She knelt and bit her lip against the sharp pain in her knee. Her hand darted into the white air but touched nothing, so she crawled forward a few inches, inadvertently pulling Heather along.

  “I don’t wanna go,” Heather whimpered, and sat. She sawed her legs up and down fiercely, working herself back until half her body disappeared into the fog.

  Janet jerked on the tether, and the end tied to her wrist came free. “Stop!” She cried out in pain as she spun about on her knees and do
ve for Heather. By now the only thing visible of the child was her feet, and both were sneakerless and disappearing fast. Janet latched onto Heather’s ankles, and the girl kicked frantically. Her niece’s screams vibrated through the mist.

  “Let me go!”

  “It’s me!” Janet shouted. She held tighter to the flailing feet. “I’ve got you. Stop fighting or I’ll lose you, Heather. Do you hear me? I’ll lose you!”

  The struggle stopped immediately, and Janet quickly pulled. Heather’s legs came into view, then her body. The tear-stained face that followed was silent and shrouded by a mass of tangled black hair.

  “Don’t—don’t do that again!” Janet sobbed. “How could I look for you both? How?”

  Heather blinked back at her, and Janet lowered her head and cried harder. Feelings of helplessness and unmitigated loss threatened to crush her. How would she ever find her child this way? She couldn’t see a foot ahead of her, and Heather fighting every step only slowed her progress more. What if Ellie wasn’t even up here? What if she’d managed to get downstairs? At this pace, and under these conditions, it would take hours to search the house. And sweet mother of God, anything could happen to Ellie by then.

  With quiet resolve, Janet wiped her nose and eyes with the bottom of her blouse. She would find Ellie, no matter how long it took. Just please, she begged silently, don’t let it be too late.

  Janet sat Heather up, pushed the hair from her face, then reattached the shoelace to her wrist. This time she made a double knot and triple checked the end connected to the child. Confident the knot was secure; she clutched her niece’s arms. “Stay right next to me, okay?”

  Heather, mute and pale, stared back.

  Coaxing Heather down with her, Janet positioned herself back on her knees. Her left knee protested so painfully, Janet had to lift it from the floor and drag herself along on her hands and right knee. Frustrated with the slower pace, she struggled to her feet and pulled Heather up with her. With a wide sweep of her hand, Janet hobbled back into the closet. Her fingers made contact with the clothes again, but instead of hearing hangers scraping against metal, she heard a child weeping.

  She leaned over and looked Heather, but the girl only stared straight ahead, her eyes dry. A prick of intuition made Janet bolt upright and look left, and she saw a gray oval shape forming in the mist. The air soon took on an acrid scent, like that of burning hair, and the smell intensified as the shape broadened in length. By the time Janet shoved Heather behind her, it was bathtub-size and closer. She crept two steps back, and without warning, a huge, snarling, black muzzle burst through the oval. With a gasp, Janet stumbled backwards, sandwiching Heather between her and the wall.

  Pointy, brown teeth, the length of twelvepenny nails, gnashed and snapped, and the muzzle lurched and twisted as though trying to break free of a restraint. Suddenly, the bristly mouth sprang open wide, and an image emerged from the center of the cavernous, black cavity. It was Ellie, only in miniature. She stood naked and gaunt with bone-thin arms hanging limp at her sides. Her tiny face was emaciated and sallow, and the sockets that once held her bright blue eyes were hollow.

  Alarm, fear, and horror fused inside Janet, forming a monstrous rage that sent her lunging forward. “No!” she screamed, and threw a punch with her free hand. She struck air, and the muzzle vanished with the sound of raucous laughter.

  “Mommmmy.”

  Janet froze at the sound of her daughter’s voice. It seemed to resonate from nearby and at the same time far away.

  “Mommmmy.”

  “Ellie!” Janet shouted and whipped about. She felt Heather flop against her. “Where are you? Where?”

  Forcing herself to stand motionless, Janet listened intently. She heard Heather breathing through a stuffy nose.

  “Oh, God, Ellie, where are you?”

  From what sounded like only a few feet away, Ellie’s voice beckoned. “Come, Mommy. Here.”

  Janet struggled not to leap headlong into the fog after her daughter. She moved slow and steady, holding an arm out, flexing her fingers into the white mass. “Where, baby? Where?”

  An icy gust swirled through the mist, and fear warned Janet to pull her hand back. Instead, she stretched her fingers out farther. Something viscid suddenly slithered over her hand, then clamped down in a vise grip. Crying out, Janet tried to pull her hand back, but the grip only tightened.

  “Poor Mommy. Poor, poor, Mommy,” Ellie’s voice singsonged in her ear.

  Whatever had hold of Janet gave one hard yank, and she found herself instantly propelled through the fog. Faster and farther she ran, pulled through the blinding mass, her brain barely registering that Heather was still attached to her by the shoelace. Unable to slow the momentum, Janet squeezed her eyes shut, lowered her head, and waited to collide with a wall. At least her body would soften the impact for her niece.

  In the time it took Janet to anticipate an impact, her body came to an abrupt halt, and her arm was released. Wobbly and stunned, Janet opened her eyes. They still stood in fog. She quickly dropped to her haunches to check on her niece and spotted pale green bathroom tile beneath her feet. Heather teetered at Janet’s side, apparently in shock. Her eyes were sunken and blank, and her mouth hung slack.

  “It’s gonna eat you up, Mama,” Ellie’s voice suddenly warned. Janet bit her lip to stay silent and stood, listening. “Heather, too,” Ellie said. “Poor Mommy. Poor Heather.”

  Janet gasped as a green and tan shower curtain entered her tight circle of vision. It flapped harmlessly at her.

  “You’re getting warm, Mama.”

  With a trembling hand, Janet pushed the shower curtain away and watched it disappear into the fog.

  “Hotter.” Ellie’s voice clipped up an octave. “You’re getting hotter!”

  Janet leaned forward, and the tub appeared a few inches ahead. She bowed lower, straining to see any kind of movement. Then, just ahead and to her right, a narrow panel of heavier mist appeared to shift. Janet squinted, studying it closely. The panel lifted gradually, like a veil from a virgin bride. Beneath it, Ellie’s weary face appeared.

  With a loud sob, Janet reached for her daughter. Her fingers wrapped around cloth, which she had to assume was the front of Ellie’s blouse since she couldn’t see it, and she pulled.

  Ellie didn’t budge. Her expression remained somber, unchanged.

  Crying, Janet clenched her teeth, braced a heel against the floor, and tugged harder. Instead of her child moving closer, however, Janet felt the cloth slip from her fingers.

  “Too late, Mama,” Ellie said. Her eyes clouded with defeat, and she shook her head sadly. “Too late.”

  Before the sorrowful cadence of Ellie’s voice faded completely, a pair of withered hands thrust through the fog and clamped down on the child’s shoulders. Above her head, appeared the gray, fluid face of an old man with large ears.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Thirty-five.

  Another glimpse at the odometer drove four fingernails into Michael’s palm. The pain kept his tears in check. He wanted to cry because the Cadillac didn’t have wings, and he couldn’t fly to his only daughter’s rescue. Because he didn’t know for sure if his wife was dead or alive. Because he’d left a dead woman alone in the wet, dark night. He’d stayed with her as long as he could, pacing through the mud, counting the seconds, waiting for the ambulance. Although he struggled long and hard with his conscience, he didn’t last long. Not with Anna Stevenson’s voice still ringing in his ear, telling him to hurry. So he left, convincing himself help was indeed on the way. Only after he’d passed an ambulance ten miles down the road, did his conscience finally quit clawing at his mind and heart. Every one of the emergency vehicle’s lights flashed, its siren blared, and tagging close behind it was the white Acura. Michael had little doubt as to where they were headed. What he doubted was his sanity. What else would explain his hearing Anna’s voice from a dying woman’s lips?

  Forty-two.

  Dark, clapboard h
ouses flew past his window, then a bank, a lighted billboard toting Arceneaux’s Insurance, a post office, a speed limit sign that read, 30 MPH, and just beyond that a large, bullet-pocked plaque mounted to a sycamore. Written across the plaque in reflective letters was: NOW LEAVING SUNTON CORP LIMITS-YA’LL COME BACK SOON!

  Michael’s eyes locked on the word SUNTON. It took a millisecond for it to pass the windshield—SUN—pass the front passenger window—SUN—twisting in his seat, foot jammed against the accelerator—eyes following—following—quickly, too quickly SUN disappeared. Only night remained. Only darkness.

  Feeling like he’d just witnessed some sort of prophetic canticle, Michael whipped back around in his seat, more determined than ever to change it. He would win this race against the sun even if it cost him his life.

  Forty-six. Over halfway there—forty-four miles left to go.

  Michael didn’t look up from the odometer soon enough to avoid the lake of water pooled across the road. The Cadillac hit it doing eighty, and the steering wheel wrenched free of his hands. Water exploded into giant plumes on either side of the sedan, causing it to jerk hard to the right. Michael’s head slammed into the driver’s side window, his teeth clamping down on his tongue. Bright sparkles shot across his line of sight, and the taste of copper filled his mouth. He groped blindly for the steering wheel, found it, but found it useless. The car dictated its own direction, spinning, spinning, like a merry-go-round gone mad.

  Nausea struck him. Bile raced up his throat. Michael gulped, then gulped again, trying to hold it back.

  The sound of crashing, crumpling metal and shattering glass surprised him. His head snapped back. His body pitched forward.

  Then, all grew still.

  Disoriented, Michael fumbled for the door handle. His hand slid over it three times before his brain registered the find. He opened the door and got out on wobbly legs.

  The front end of the sedan was wrapped around a wide brick column, and a dented mailbox sat on the hood. Steam hissed from a demolished radiator. Only one headlight had survived the collision, and it pointed up, revealing a pasture and a long, graveled driveway that led to a farmhouse.