Deep Down (Hallie Michaels)

by Deborah Coates

  I want to talk to you.

  She looked around. The words had been so clear that she thought someone had spoken them right here, right in the truck with her. Then she realized they were the words she’d almost but not quite heard when the reaper touched her. Black words written on a black sky. Words from when she’d died.

  She sat in the truck with the motor running for several minutes, absently rubbing her chest.

  She called Laddie again as soon as she reached the highway.

  He didn’t even bother with a greeting. “This might be getting into territory you’re not prepared for,” he said by way of greeting.

  “Everything is in territory I’m not prepared for,” Hallie said. “You’re in territory I’m not prepared for.”

  “Yeah,” Laddie said. “Everyone’s been talkative lately. More than usual. It’s weird. But no one wants to talk about reapers.”

  “Do you have, like, regulars you talk to?” Hallie asked. “Or just random visitors?”

  “Actually, both,” Laddie said. “I did learn one thing. Reapers have power, right?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Hallie said, remembering the accidents at the intersection and at Uku-Weber.

  “And that power comes from death.”

  “That’s not really all that helpful.” Because wasn’t that obvious?

  “That’s what they’re willing to tell me.”

  He paused, like he was thinking about what he wanted to say next. “But there’s something else. Something that comes from death or is created in death or … something. Two of them started to tell me. They said something about the moment of death. But then they just wandered off.”

  “Wandered off?”

  “Well, stopped talking to me.”

  “In the moment of death?”

  “I asked them what would stop a reaper. And that’s what they said—in the moment of death. Then they wandered off. Or stopped talking.”

  “Well, what the hell does it mean?”

  “Damned if I know.”

  “Well, shit.”

  Laddie didn’t say anything. Hallie pulled onto the main road and said, “Have you heard anything about people disappearing?”

  “Forest Buehl?” Laddie asked. “Yeah, I heard about that. I don’t think Forest has missed a day of work since he was fifteen.”

  “It’s not just Forest. Jake Javinovich might be missing too. And,” she thought back, “a couple of waitresses over in Prairie City.”

  “It could be a coincidence.”

  “Yeah,” Hallie said. The way things were going, it probably wasn’t. “Can you ask?”

  Laddie sighed. “If anyone will talk to me,” he said.

  Hallie pulled into the long drive up to the ranch and stopped. She rubbed her hand across her forehead. “Look, I know what you’re telling me is helpful,” she said. It had to be helpful, right? “And I appreciate it, I do. But there has to be a better way. I can’t just wait until the right dead person decides to talk to you.”

  “There’s…” Laddie paused. Hallie could hear him clear his throat. “I wouldn’t trust this person. I mean it, Hallie, don’t trust her. But you might … you could talk to Prue Stalking Horse.”

  * * *

  Half an hour later, Hallie pulled into the parking lot at Cleary’s Downhome Diner and Lounge. She’d known Prue Stalking Horse pretty much all her life. Prue had always worked at Cleary’s, always tended bar, always been there. Hallie’s father said she knew everyone’s business, which Hallie figured was pretty normal—she was a bartender, people told her things. But since September, Hallie had suspected Prue knew more, knew about things like blood magic and what Martin Weber had been doing. Hallie tried to talk to her once or twice, but Prue had been cryptic, half-amused, and unhelpful.

  But if she had answers that could help Boyd and maybe even Pabby, then Hallie intended to get them. She turned off the engine, got out of the truck, and crossed the parking lot. Cleary’s was both a restaurant and a bar. The restaurant side only served lunch until two, but Hallie knew a person could get a burger and fries or a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich anytime on the bar side. She hadn’t had anything to eat since an early breakfast and she was starving, figured she could accomplish two things at once: lunch and answers.

  Prue set a steaming cup of coffee down on the bar before Hallie even had a chance to sit.

  “Thanks,” Hallie said. Without looking at a menu, she ordered a cheeseburger and fries. As she sat on the barstool waiting for her food, the black dog walked through the closed front door. It leaped onto the empty stool next to Hallie and sat.

  Prue, who had been wiping down the bar, paused, looked at the spot where the dog was sitting, then looked at Hallie.

  Yeah, that was interesting.

  “See something?” Hallie asked.

  Prue looked at her. Though her hair and skin were pale, her eyes were a dark blue, almost but not quite violet. Her lips curved up slightly. “See what?” she said.

  “You tell me.”

  A customer came over to the cash register at the other end of the bar and Prue left to wait on him, when she returned she brought Hallie’s cheeseburger with her. Hallie put ketchup on her burger and salt on her fries and waited. The dog sniffed the edge of the bar.

  “I see black,” Prue finally said. “Not black like a hole. Not quite. But empty, misty around the edges, as if the black bleeds off.”

  The black dog grinned at Hallie.

  “Not a dog?”

  “No.” Prue frowned.

  “Have you ever seen a black dog?” Hallie asked.

  Prue’s eyes widened, just a fraction, not even noticeable if Hallie hadn’t been watching carefully.

  “That’s … interesting,” Prue said. She moved several steps up the bar, so that Hallie was directly between her and the dog.

  “But you know what one is,” Hallie said.

  Prue looked around the bar. At three o’clock in the afternoon the entire crowd at Cleary’s consisted of Hallie, two men at a table by the kitchen door, and a party of women across the room playing cards and laughing. Prue pulled a black purse out from underneath the bar. She opened it and removed a mirrored case the size of a compact. She opened it so that Hallie could see herself reflected in the lid. After a moment, Prue closed the compact, put it back in her purse, and put the purse back under the bar.

  Only then did she say, “You have the mark of death on you.”

  “Because you’re past,” the black dog said quietly.

  Sometimes Hallie wanted to leave West Prairie City and the ranch and even her father behind with a sudden desire that felt like a knife in her chest. Really, seriously wanted to leave. Wanted to go someplace where people didn’t know her, didn’t think they knew her, didn’t think they knew better than her. She was twenty-three years old. She had never been to college. Absolutely, there were things she didn’t know. But she had the mark of death on her. She could see black dogs. She could talk to them.

  She couldn’t go back to where she’d been. There was no way back from here.

  “That’s right,” Hallie said. “I do.”

  “I don’t mess with…” Prue paused. “I don’t mess with that sort of thing.”

  “Sure you do,” Hallie said. “You know about black dogs. You can see—what—marks of death? Laddie Kennedy said you might be able to answer some questions for me.”

  Prue had seemed almost agitated, but when Hallie mentioned Laddie’s name, she smiled. “Laddie Kennedy? Over in Templeton? I hope you haven’t been getting your information from him.”

  “He’s been real helpful,” Hallie said. She pushed her cheeseburger and fries away. “He told me I should talk to you.”

  Prue blinked slowly, examining Hallie’s face as if there would be a test later. Her gaze moved to the black dog. “I stay out of these situations,” she said. “I don’t get involved.”

  She started to move back down the bar, but Hallie reached out and grabbed her wrist. Prue looked at H
allie’s hand on her wrist, looked up at Hallie’s face. “Remove your hand,” she said. Her voice was brittle and cold.

  Hallie eased her grip.

  Prue’s face was tight, but still almost perfectly controlled. “Why are you asking me?”

  “Because I think you know.”

  “You’re very young, aren’t you?” Prue said.

  Hallie leaned toward her across the bar. “You mean I’m naïve? I was in Afghanistan. I shot people. People threw bombs at me.”

  “You think you can change the world.”

  “I stopped Martin,” Hallie told her. “Look, I’m not asking you to get involved,” she said. “I just have a question. Or two.”

  There was something different about Prue in that moment. Her skin had taken on a yellowish cast, her eyes sank deeper, and her cheekbones hollowed out. “You can ask a question,” Prue said. “I may not answer it.”

  “Let’s say, hypothetically, that a reaper came after you. How would you stop it?”

  A woman dressed in a denim shirt with apples embroidered across the front, a denim skirt, and blazing white sneakers came to the bar and ordered a boilermaker, a shot of bourbon, and a vodka collins. Prue mixed the drinks and poured the shots, put them all on a small tray, and handed them to the woman, who took them back to a round table near a window where she and two other women were playing what looked like gin rummy, but was probably poker.

  After the woman had returned to her table, Prue came back to Hallie. “I’m going to actually give you a straight answer,” Prue said. “Not that it will do you any good. There are three things that can keep the supernatural at bay. Iron. Salt. And blood. Maybe blood,” she said after a moment’s reflection, “because it also provides power. Well”—she raised an eyebrow—“you saw Martin.”

  “Yeah,” Hallie said. “You were a big help there too.”

  Prue almost smiled. She looked calm and collected once more. “I told you, I’m neutral in all things … esoteric,” she said. “It’s something you should think about.”

  “What? Being neutral?” Hallie laughed. “I’m never neutral.”

  “This is big stuff you’re messing with,” Prue said. “You plunge in like a bull in a china shop and you have no idea.”

  “I get the job done,” Hallie said. “What are you doing? How does being ‘neutral’ help anyone?”

  “I gave you information,” Prue said. “In the end.”

  “And you can give me some more information now,” Hallie countered. “I mean, I appreciate the information about the iron and salt. I do. But, Laddie told me something that I don’t understand and he thought you might know more.”

  “It wouldn’t be hard to know more than Laddie Kennedy,” Prue agreed, which was the first time Hallie’d ever heard her say anything not, well, neutral about anyone.

  “He said … well, he said something about a reaper and the moment of death, but he didn’t know what it meant. What happens then—in the moment of death? Are they vulnerable? More powerful? What?”

  Prue looked at her with a level gaze. “I have no idea,” she said.

  “I don’t believe you,” Hallie said.

  Prue glanced toward the door. She started wiping down the counter again. “Some things should be left alone.”

  “I’m not leaving this alone,” Hallie said.

  “Well, I’m sorry. I can’t help you any more than I already have.”

  “Because you’re neutral,” Hallie said.

  Prue looked at her then. “Yes,” she said evenly. “You can scoff if you want. It’s how I survive.”

  “Maybe there’s no room for anyone to be neutral anymore. Maybe things are changing.”

  “No,” Prue said. “I don’t think so. Things don’t change.” And she smiled that half smile, that seemed to say, Really, I know far more about this than you do. “You need to be careful. These are cosmic forces you’re messing with,” she said. “Things can go wrong—horribly wrong.” She nodded toward the black dog. “You’ve already attracted attention.”

  “Yeah,” Hallie said, because it was too late for warnings. “Thanks.”

  “She cheats,” the black dog said as they walked out of the bar.

  Hallie looked at it. “Who, Prue?”

  “She pushes death away. A month, a week, a day. Little cheats. That’s all she can do. But we notice.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Hallie said. After all Prue’s talk about messing with cosmic forces and being careful. She thought about going back inside, but figured she’d found out as much as she was going to right now.

  “Why are you here?” Hallie asked.

  “Told you,” the black dog said. “You’re interesting.”

  “Yeah, I don’t believe that,” Hallie said.

  She had to step back quickly as a woman on a cell phone walked rapidly back and forth in the front lane of the parking lot. One hand waved like conducting an invisible orchestra and she paid no attention to where she was walking or that Hallie had just been talking to empty air.

  “No, I told you,” the woman said, loud enough for anyone in the parking lot to hear every word, “she hasn’t been to work. They haven’t seen her. No, she didn’t try to call, there are no messages, no missed phone calls. We were supposed to meet here, right here. It’s been since, I don’t know, almost one thirty. She’s two hours late. I haven’t heard anything.”

  Hallie looked back at the woman after she crossed the parking lot. She was young, maybe younger than Hallie, with dark hair in a high ponytail, a bright purple fleece vest, and denim shirt. As Hallie watched, she pulled her cell phone away from her ear, looked at it with dissatisfaction, then shoved it in her pocket and trotted up the steps into Cleary’s.

  Hallie opened the door of her pickup truck. The dog sniffed once, then disappeared. Hallie got in the truck, shifted the iron poker on the seat so it wouldn’t hit the gearshift, and headed out of the parking lot.

  15

  Iron, Hallie thought. Maybe steel, though she still hadn’t completely figured out how. Salt. Those were her defenses. And none of them would stop a reaper permanently. Just keep them away. Which, granted, was an important step. But not enough. Not nearly enough.

  And then there were the people who were disappearing. Were they dead? Were Hollowell and the other reaper killing them? Like some giant revenge plot? But if it was reapers, where were the bodies?

  Hallie’s phone rang and she answered it while she was idling at the parking lot exit. She’d hoped it might be Boyd, but it was Pabby. She coughed into the phone for almost a full minute after Hallie answered. “Are you okay?” Hallie asked.

  “Fine,” Pabby said, like mind your own business, which Hallie tried to do, she did, but it always turned out harder than anyone would think. “Sorry to ask,” she continued. “But if you’re going to town, can you pick up a prescription for me?”

  “I’m in West PC,” Hallie said. There wasn’t a pharmacy in West Prairie City. There was one in Templeton. And a lot of people drove over to the Walmart in Rapid City.

  “It’s a pickup at the clinic,” Pabby said. “The one on the south side of Templeton.”

  “Sure,” Hallie said.

  Pabby coughed again. “Thanks,” she said, her voice raspy. There was a brief pause and Hallie thought she might have disconnected, but then she said, “I appreciate what you’re doing, with the dogs and all. If you can’t solve it, well, I won’t be able to tell you. After. But if you can’t solve it—”

  “I’ll solve it,” Hallie said. Because not only had she said she would, she was pissed about it now, about black dogs that stayed and reapers who wanted to take people before their time and Hollowell, even though he wasn’t Pabby’s problem. It all came from the same place, from death, and Hallie didn’t like that reapers could just stop doing what they were supposed to be doing and freelance with other people’s lives.

  “If you can’t,” Pabby persisted. “I’ve done all right. And I appreciate the effort.” She disconnected w
ithout waiting for Hallie to reply.

  It was just past four when Hallie pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward Templeton. She thought the clinic was open until five, but considered that it might close at four thirty. It was a flat straight county road between the two towns and she thought she’d make it either way, if she didn’t get stuck behind an old cattle truck or a school bus or something.

  There was a low rise coming up out of West PC, so gradual, it seemed like it was just another stretch of flat highway until you reached the top and realized you hadn’t actually seen what was basically right in front of you. Hallie was trying to figure out if there were some way to find Hollowell or to lure him out, to find iron chains and bind him and then—

  One blink and the next—

  Hallie stood on the brakes, twisted the wheel so hard to the left that she was pretty sure the two passenger-side tires actually left the ground. The rear of her pickup thumped into the mangled back end of an army utility truck that was sitting crosswise to the road. Then she was across the intersection and straight into the shallow roadside ditch which the truck went through and three yards into the field on the other side, hit a mass of old barbed wire, and stopped to the narrow sound of steel against steel, barbed wire tines scraping across paint.

  The engine of the truck whined, then died as it stalled. Hallie threw it into neutral, set the brake, grabbed the fireplace poker, and was out of the truck so fast that it all seemed like one motion. She heard another vehicle on the other side of the intersection, the squeal of brakes, then the loud slam as it hit the wreckage—the military utility truck and a Humvee.

  Hallie jumped over a bumper that had come off one of the two wrecked vehicles. She noted a young hawk dead on the edge of the ditch, all the grass dead, of course, and a slender evergreen of some kind on the edge of the adjacent field, dropping needles like rain. As Hallie rounded the big desert camo utility truck, she saw Brett Fowker getting out of a gray dual-rear-wheel pickup. Brett didn’t see Hallie immediately, just stood with the door open, looking at the mangled wreckage in front of her, the Humvee crumpled in all along one side and slanted up against the utility truck like it had tried to climb straight over the hood, both of them dusty as if they’d been caught in the middle of a sandstorm.