Reaping Havoc

by AJ Rose

Luckily, it happened in the hospital doctor/family meeting room and not when her husband and two teenage daughters were taken to see her body. Marianne never got close enough to be pulled by her echo, and after sitting for a long time with her family, who cried and huddled together protectively, she was able to say goodbye. Mitch hovered in the hallway, keeping an eye on his charge through a gap in the blinds over the floor to ceiling windows, while Marianne petted her daughters’ hair and brushed her knuckles along her husband’s arms and face.

  The doctor appeared to take them to see her, and Mitch blocked the doorway when Marianne moved to go after them. She pointed at them, clearly wanting to follow, but he shook his head. Her anguish was plain. He was afraid she’d make a run for it and sighed in relief when her shoulders slumped and her family disappeared around a corner without her. She did flip him the bird with both hands, but all he could do was mouth, “I’m sorry,” and take a seat in the now-empty room to wait.

  While they were gone, her door appeared. As angry as she was, she clung to him as best she could, fear as bright in her eyes as the light through the door. It was always the same: a light so intense it obscured what lay beyond. A familiar vibration rattled his bones, and he could only speculate on its source. It always relaxed, or sometimes elated, the soul he accompanied, so he thought it might be the voice of a passed-on loved one, or maybe that of their deity, if they had one. He figured it was on a frequency only the soul could hear, so he only felt when it was time to pass on the tether.

  He relinquished his hold on Marianne and she disappeared through the door, which flared white hot, then darkened and shrank until only its afterimage burned in his vision. He took a moment while his sight returned, and then drove home to his quiet dinner and Netflix plans with his patient dog, who never cared if he was strange.

  He’d forgotten all about the handsome stranger from the store, so he couldn’t really be Mitch’s dream guy. After all, Mitch decided long ago never to fall for someone.

  Chapter 2

  Miracles and Curses

  A blast of warm air hit Nate Koehn in the face as he stepped into The Widow’s Peak Bar & Grill and found a seat at a booth near the back so he could face the room. Caperville had many restaurants, lots of them on the pricey side to cater to wealthy tourists on skiing vacations who expected a certain level of pampering. While Nate would have been comfortable in any of the fancier places, he had to make his money stretch until a permanent job came through. This place had been recommended to him by his one friend in town, Wes Cooley, who was supposed to meet Nate for drinks.

  Wes was the police officer who’d pulled him over on suspicion of drunk driving his first night in town. Nate had been driving erratically because he’d arrived after dark and his phone had died, taking with it the GPS directions to his hotel room. It had taken a bit of convincing that he was simply lost, slowing down and swerving at every cross street to paint the street signs with his headlights while he tried to find a name he recognized. He’d had to blow into a breathalyzer before Wes believed him, earning an escort to his hotel instead of the police station. Figuring he could simply get more information for apartment rental companies from the front desk clerk, Nate had thanked Wes for the help and waited for the elevator to swallow him and his embarrassment.

  The next day, Wes had pulled him over again, this time for the burned out taillight on his Jeep Wrangler. He talked his way out of the ticket by getting directions to an auto parts store and promising Wes wouldn’t see him again. The day after that, Wes got him for not using his indicator during a lane change, and Nate, resigned to getting a damn ticket already, had simply made a joke about them playing their own personal Where’s Waldo game. To his surprise, Wes came back with a written warning instead of a ticket, and as thanks, he’d offered to buy the officer a beer after his shift. When Wes gave him a lead on an apartment in his complex, which was run by a landlord who didn’t gouge for rent simply because he could in a resort town, they’d become neighbors and friends. Nate had also managed not to get pulled over again, but Wes kept joking it was only a matter of time. After all, Nate had lived here almost three whole weeks now.

  The earlier thunderstorm had moved on, but the rain seemed locked in, bouncing around the peaks and keeping things wet and shiny in beams from headlights. The roads glistened in the light from the streetlamps, giving the world a cleansed feel. Temps overnight in mid-October fell into the low thirties, which could lead to a slippery morning. Nate didn’t think about that now as Wes came in and took off his hat, protected by a neon yellow rain cover. Nate waved and Wes unbuttoned his slicker and hung his gear on the hook pegged to the divider between booths.

  “What a day,” Wes sighed as he fell into the seat across from Nate and closed his eyes.

  “Rough one?” Nate asked, signaling the waitress. She came over and they each ordered a burger and a beer, Nate sticking with a garden burger and sweet potato fries while Wes went all out with bacon, cheese, and a double order of onion rings.

  “How do you stay fit with the way you eat?” Nate wondered incredulously. Being only twenty-two, Nate had age on his side to burn through what he ate, and still he watched his diet, knowing a fatty meal full of greasy meat and heavy starch would make him sluggish on the slopes. Wes had a good six years on him, and as far as Nate knew, didn’t play recreational sports to help keep him in shape.

  “Good genes.” Wes grinned and snagged a few peanuts from the silver bucket on the heavy wood table.

  “So why was today so rough?” Nate persisted. He learned more about his new home than he’d get from any newspaper or realty office simply by listening to Wes talk about the day-to-day cop stuff he was allowed to discuss. Nate never pushed for case info, and given Wes was a patrol cop anyway, he didn’t get to follow the bigger cases to the end, like a detective would.

  “Not a lot, just fighting with the rain. I’ve written up more fender benders and tickets for driving too fast for conditions than I’ve seen in a month. These people think they’re invincible.”

  “Well, I saw something you’d find interesting, I think,” Nate said, rolling a peanut between his fingers but not cracking its shell.

  “Oh yeah? Was it that little bastard vandal who keeps spray-painting male anatomy on the Planned Parenthood building?”

  Nate laughed. “Too wet for paint, so you caught a break. Maybe he kept his penises in art class today. Glad I could remind you how your day is better, though.”

  “Yeah, that just means he’ll be back somewhere else tomorrow.”

  Their food arrived and they tucked in, forgetting the conversation for a moment while hunger took priority.

  Dipping an onion ring in mustard, Wes crunched it, then pointed one bitten end at Nate. “You were saying?”

  “Oh, yeah. I didn’t know what it was at the time, but I was at Whole Foods when someone in the parking lot got struck by lightning.”

  Wes’s chewing slowed and he swallowed with difficulty. “You saw Marianne Carelli get hit?”

  “No,” Nate said, swirling a fry in ketchup. “It happened while I was inside, but when I came out, the ambulance had just gotten there. I thought maybe someone hit her when their car hydroplaned, but no. Found out later it was lightning. How freaky is that, huh?”

  Wes shrugged. “It happens, I guess. Was it just her? And it struck her, not her car or something?”

  Nate stared for a minute. “You mean you haven’t heard about this?”

  Wes rolled his eyes. “Of course I did, or I wouldn’t have known who you meant. But there’s nothing criminal about it, and I was on the other side of town by the highway, keeping people from racing their cars through puddles. I heard gossip, nothing official.”

  Nate shrugged. “I didn’t see it happen, just them trying to revive her where she lay on the ground.”

  “Hell of a way to go,” Wes mused, taking another enormous bite of his burger. “Fast. And probably painful, but it would only be for a second.”

  “How do
you do that?” Nate asked, genuinely curious. “Compartmentalize someone dying so it becomes just another story? I couldn’t drive home for several minutes after seeing it. Too freaked.”

  “Nature of the job. It’s not a bad thing to be upset by seeing someone hurt or dying. Don’t wish it away.”

  Nate closed his eyes, flashing on the image of a casket, and without looking at Wes, went back to his burger and ate in silence until it was gone. The restaurant was filling up, and when the dinner crowd became mostly the drinking crowd, they’d fire up the karaoke, and Nate and Wes would call it a night. Nate couldn’t sing, and Wes said the first time they’d come to Widow’s he felt obligated to see all the drunkards home safely if he stayed to watch the show.

  “Hey, you have any luck with the dispatcher you were going to ask out? What’s her name?”

  “Clarissa. Naw,” Wes said, picking at the label on his beer. “I haven’t gotten up the nerve yet. Still only bringing her coffee when I see her. I think she thinks I’m a secret barista or something.”

  Nate smiled. “What does she like to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, is she a vegetarian or would the offer of a steak dinner be too hard for her to resist?”

  Wes smiled, still picking at his beer. “I don’t know.”

  Nate gaped. “Well, that right there is your problem. You don’t know anything about her.”

  “But how do I find out more without sounding creepy?” Wes asked, then chuckled. “How would you do it if she were a he?”

  Nate hadn’t exactly come out to Wes, but the story of an ex-boyfriend from college had crept into conversation early on and it hadn’t been a big deal. It was only after the casual reference that Nate realized perhaps he should have been more careful. Then again, assuming Wes would be a homophobe because he was a cop would be like assuming Nate was a snob because he came from money. That shit didn’t fly in Nate’s world.

  “I’d bring her the coffee I know she likes,” Nate said with a wink. “Then I’d say something along the lines of, ‘Have you heard anything about Barb’s BBQ Pit?’ Or whatever restaurant you want to take her to. Tell her you looked at reviews on Yelp, but they were all over the place and you want her opinion. Then let’s say she says yeah, she’s been there. Get her to talk about her experience. Make it clear her opinion is a bigger deal than some random stranger’s on the internet. Or ask her if she’s seen a movie you like so you can get her talking about what kinds of movies she likes. Just be interested in her and she’ll notice.”

  Wes looked uncomfortable. “Ugh, I hate this. Sometimes it makes me wish I hadn’t split up with Brenda. At least I could relax around her.”

  “Yeah, until she cheated on you.” Nate eyed him sideways. “It’s not that hard. You’re a good-looking guy—and I say that in a very platonic, you’re-my-friend way—and people aren’t that hard to figure out. Most of us like being noticed and like it when someone thinks our opinions are interesting. I guarantee you, you get that first question out of your mouth, the rest of the conversation will just happen.”

  “Should I ask her out during the first conversation?”

  Nate shrugged. “If you think it’s going well. C’mon. Where’s the confident guy who pulled me over three days in a row? You didn’t flip out talking to a complete stranger.”

  “That’s because drunk drivers are easy to overpower when they’re not behind the wheel.”

  “But I wasn’t drunk.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  They laughed and talked for several more minutes before Nate remembered something. “Hey, do you know a guy with dark hair, sort of long and kind of that accidental-on-purpose shaggy cut thing, gray eyes, a bit on the short side?” Wes looked blank, so Nate finished, “Talks to himself a little in public?”

  Realization dawned on Wes’s face and he scrunched his nose. “Sounds like Mitch Seeker. Where’d you see him?”

  “Whole Foods.”

  Wes froze. “Today?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Was he anywhere near the lady hit by lightning?”

  That’s a weird question. “No,” Nate said, confused. “He parked next to me and I thought he said something about getting lost, like maybe he knew I was new here, but he said he was talking to himself.”

  “Was he arriving or leaving?”

  “Uh, leaving, I think. Yeah, he said he bought ice cream and couldn’t stay and talk. Why?” Nate’s curiosity was off the charts.

  “So he was already there. Did he have a lot of groceries, like he’d been there a while? Or did it look like he’d just run in?”

  Nate narrowed his eyes. “Why are you asking me all this? I guess he had a couple bags and a twelve-pack of soda.”

  “So in and out with enough time for the ambulance to get there,” Wes said, more to himself.

  “What are you talking about?” Nate finally asked.

  “Why are you asking about Mitch Seeker?” Wes ignored his question.

  It was Nate’s turn to nervously pick at his bottle label. “I don’t know. He’s one of three people I’ve talked to since moving here, not counting waitresses and store clerks. I thought I’d find out more about him.” After Wes’s strange reaction, Nate wouldn’t ask if Mitch swung his way or admit to being attracted to the guy without figuring out what was going on. But those eyes! Piercing and somehow kind while still being aloof.

  Wes pointed the mouth of his bottle at Nate. “Stay away from him. In fact, stay away from the whole Seeker family.”

  Laughing, Nate sat back and dropped his hands in his lap. “What the hell? Care to explain why, or are you just going to give me the stink-eye and pretend to be my dad, telling me what to do?” Because that didn’t end well.

  Wes leaned forward and dropped his voice like he was afraid of being overheard, though no one paid them any attention. Nate mirrored him, putting his elbows on the table and getting closer to hear better.

  “There’s something wrong with that family. They’ve been here my whole life, but they don’t look it. I mean, I joke about eating cheeseburgers not bothering me because I have good genes and don’t mention the crunches I do every night or the jogging before my shift. The Seekers have good genes. They look thirty years younger than they really are.”

  “What, Mitch is in his 50s? Because he only looked mid-twenties to me.” Nate didn’t bother to hide his skepticism.

  “Okay, so not every one of them. Mitch and his brother Morgan look their ages, and so does Sylvia Seeker, their mom. But my father says when he was a kid, Charles Seeker looked twenty-something for almost thirty years.”

  “So he has a good plastic surgeon. Big deal. That’s reason to stay away from them?” Nate didn’t buy it. One person in a family aging well was not unheard of. Look at half of Hollywood.

  Wes shook his head. “No, they’re just… creepy. They have a knack for being around people who die.”

  Nate blinked and echoed, “A knack for being around people who die.”

  Wes blew out a breath. “There’s no good way to say this without sounding crazy, so I’ll just say it. There’s nothing incredibly suspicious about them, but there are too many stories for it to be coincidence. They’re just always nearby when someone dies. A car accident, a woman struck by lightning, a sudden heart attack. There’s a Seeker somewhere in the vicinity. It’s almost like they know or can see the future or something.”

  “Like they’re psychic?” Nate asked, his disbelief plain.

  “I have no clue,” Wes said, leaning back and resuming a normal tone. “Maybe they’re cursed. Or they curse the people they have contact with. Some dude shakes a Seeker’s hand, and five minutes later he’s on his back with a brain aneurism or some shit. It’s best if you just avoid them.”

  “In case they cause medical catastrophes or natural phenomena that take people out. Do you hear how nuts you sound?”

  “You didn’t grow up here and see how often and weird it is that people die around that family
all the time. Not suspicious deaths really, but sudden for sure. Hell, Mitch’s uncle works at the nursing home over on Brightman Way, and I have to wonder if he has… influence over when the patients kick off.”

  Nate drained his beer, pondering the information. “But they’re not killers.”

  “Nope. Every death scene I’ve worked where a Seeker was involved, the autopsy showed either accidental death or natural causes.”

  “What about murders?” Nate wanted to know.

  “What murders?”

  “I don’t know, the ones that happen in Caperville?”

  Wes side-eyed him. “We have a murder here maybe once every year or two, and they’re usually domestic. Or a bar fight that got out of hand. No proof the Seekers are involved.”

  “Well, there you go. I’m sorry, but I don’t believe a whole family is cursed.”

  Pursing his lips, Wes studied the table, flipping his cardboard coaster around and smearing the condensation from his beer bottle on the lacquered wood. “Don’t take my word for it, buddy. Ask around if you’re so convinced they’re fine. Everyone else in this town will tell you the same thing I just did.”

  To test the theory, Nate signaled the waitress, whose nametag read Jenna. “I think we’re ready for our bill, but before you get it, I have a question.”

  “Sure,” she said, flicking sandy blond bangs out of her eyes and resting her empty drink tray on her hip.

  “What do you know about the Seeker family?”

  Jenna flinched. “Bad juju around those people. Why, you shake one of their hands or something? Because if you did, I suggest you go home and don’t get out of bed for a week.”

  “But why?”

  She shrugged and moved her tray, busying herself clearing their plates. It gave her the excuse not to look at him, it seemed. “I dunno. It sounds funny to an out-of-towner. They’re like… the bringers of death or something. We don’t talk to them if we can help it.”

  Sadness bloomed in Nate’s chest. What a lonely way to live.