Headlong

by Shannon McKenna

  “He sent the exact same message for Anton and Mace,” Eric told her. “Then he hid this camera in the clock. Maybe he fell while he was going for his gun.”

  Demi made a noncommittal sound. “He just had a stroke, Eric.”

  Eric made a doubtful sound in his throat. “Maybe. Let’s see the pictures he took.”

  The display screen on the camera was large enough to see the pictures clearly, but the images themselves were baffling. The camera’s memory was full of generic pictures of parked cars, trucks, heavy equipment. There were some shots of a mass of deeply rutted tracks in the mud. Other shots of large piles of building materials. Big heaps of dirt.

  “What the fuck is all this?” he murmured. “Come on, Otis. A little help, here.”

  Demi peered over his shoulder as he scrolled through more and more. Dozens of them. All more of the same. Muddy vehicles, parked outdoors.

  Then one of the pictures blindsided him. The distinctive shape of the tall chimney in the distance, looming up behind a back-hoe. The chimney of the Great Hall at GodsAcre.

  The hall was a heap of ashes and blackened bricks on a block of cement, but that chimney still stuck up into the sky like a burned bone.

  It was like a kick to the gut. His hand jerked. He suddenly felt waves of blazing heat billowing in his face, saw showers of sparks in the dark. Heard the screaming, echoing in his head against the sound of his own thudding heart—

  “Eric? You okay?”

  Demi’s worried voice came from far away. She clutched his arm, squeezing it.

  The fog of darkness receded. He found himself collapsed over the dining room table on his elbows, gasping for breath. His forehead was chilly and wet.

  Demi held Otis’s camera. She held it out to him. “You, ah…dropped this,” she said, her voice wary. “I caught it. Just in time.”

  “Thanks,” he forced out. “Sorry.”

  “You looked like you were having a seizure.”

  “Just a bad moment,” he said.

  “Bad how? Was it the picture? I saw it, too. But I didn’t see anything but a big dirty backhoe in the mud.”

  Classic Demi. She wouldn’t let it go. He exhaled, very slowly, and held up the camera, showing her the image again. “These pictures were taken at GodsAcre,” he said. “I recognized the chimney of the Great Hall. That’s where they all died. Someone had bolted it shut from the inside, and padlocked the bolt. They found the padlocks afterward. Still intact. They never managed to get them open before…before the smoke got them.”

  “Oh, God, Eric,” she whispered.

  “The three of us sneaked out that night, to take care of some stuff. By the time we got back and figured out what was going on the door was red hot. We couldn’t get it open. The flames were so high.” He showed her the burn scars on the heels of his hands. “I passed out. Anton dragged me away. Mace has burn scars all the way up his arms. Some on his chest.”

  She pressed her face against his back. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know.”

  “I didn’t want you to know. I wish I didn’t know myself. I don’t like to talk about it. Or think about it.” He shook himself, like he was trying to fling something off. “I didn’t want that in your head. I wish it wasn’t in mine.”

  She pressed her lips against the back of his neck.

  “Anyway,” he said. “I saw the chimney. It got to me. Sorry I scared you.”

  Her arms slid around his waist, her face pressed against his neck. He stiffened, but after a moment, the contact with her somehow let air inside. His clenched fists relaxed.

  He turned around, grabbed her and held her breathlessly tight.

  After a couple minutes of that, Demi made a low noise in the back of her throat and gave his back an encouraging pat-pat-pat. He was squeezing her too hard, arms shaking. A thank-God-you-weren’t-killed-in-the-earthquake hug. So much for the no-guilt, no-strings scenario. He couldn’t keep up the act for any length of time.

  For once, she was letting it slide. The stress flashback had earned him a pity pass.

  He let go and turned away. “It’s starting to make sense, if these pictures were taken at GodsAcre. Something’s happening up there. Otis tried to document it. And he was stopped.”

  “Is that all of the photos?”

  He scrolled through them again, hoping the chimney wouldn’t set him off if he was braced for it. “Couple more shots. Gotta get these onto my laptop and blow them up.”

  “The police could run the plates on those cars,” she said. “Otis was careful to get the license plates. I bet that’s the purpose of these pictures. Recording license plates.”

  “Could be, but I don’t want to involve the cops yet.”

  Demi looked startled. “The hell? Of course you have to involve them!”

  “Not yet,” he repeated. “I don’t want anyone else near the place until I know what’s up there.”

  “And you think you can figure that out better than the local law enforcement, with all their resources? Alone and unassisted? Jesus, Eric! That’s insane!”

  “Maybe,” he admitted. “But I still have to check it out first.”

  “Okay, fine. Let’s go take a look right now. Just you and me.”

  “Fuck, no!”

  Demi crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh? So it’s dangerous, you think?”

  He was irritated to have been trapped in his own reasoning. “Yes, it is fucking dangerous,” he said. “Otis went up there, and died that next day. I sent Terry up and he never even made it back down.”

  “That could just be a—”

  “It’s not a coincidence. Not in context, with all the other weird shit that’s happening. Plus the ancient history. You’re not getting anywhere near GodsAcre, Demi.”

  She gave him a long, level look. “I don’t do stupid or dangerous things as a rule, Eric. And I won’t do them just to spite you. But I do hope that you understand the futility of laying down the law with me. That shit will never fly.”

  Aw fuck. “Demi. Please.”

  “I get your reasoning,” she went on. “I shouldn’t go near it. The cops shouldn’t go near it. It’s mysteriously toxic. By that token, you shouldn’t go near it either.”

  “I own it,” he said through his teeth.

  “So? What does that change?”

  “No, I mean…not just in the sense of holding the title to the land. I mean, in terms of final responsibility. Me and Mace and Anton—we’re bound to that place. By blood. Whatever’s going on up there, we’re the ones who should take care of it.”

  Demi’s eyes were thoughtful. “I’m hearing echoes of the hardcore survivalist doctrine of your youth, Eric. That line of thinking is arrogant and dangerous. And pretty fucking stupid, too, if we’re being brutally honest.”

  Eric looked down at the photo still up on the camera’s display screen. That blackened spike, sticking up out of the tumbled ruins like a horrible monument.

  “I still have to do this,” he said. “Please, keep this to yourself. At least for now. Let me talk to Anton and Mace, and check out the scene up there—”

  “You can’t take this on alone! The cops have weapons, training—”

  “I have weapons and training, Demi,” he said grimly. “A lifetime of it.”

  “The cops have access to a huge national database to identify those vehicles parked up there,” she continued stubbornly. “That you do not have.”

  “Otis was a tough son of a bitch. He drove up there to take his pictures, and within hours, he was dead. Same with Terry. I don’t want to go to Bristol’s funeral, Demi. Or any of the other officers. I’ve got too much on my conscience already.”

  Demi gave him a thoughtful frown. “You blame yourself for what happened at GodsAcre? You were a child, Eric!”

  “A teenager,” he said. “I should have come back sooner. Found a way to get those doors open. I should have gotten them all out somehow.”

  “Eric—”

  “No one else die
s from whatever took Otis and Terry. The tally stops here.”

  “You really think these deaths aren’t natural? You’re back in Prophet’s Curse territory again, Eric. That’s where you lose me.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Just let me deal with it my own way first. Nobody gets near GodsAcre until I have a look. Then I call Mace and Anton, and we come up with a plan.”

  “So because it’s so deadly dangerous, you’re going to run straight into its jaws alone? Because you’re Eric Trask, the only man tough enough take the risk. You macho jerk. You infuriate me.”

  “No one will see me,” he said stubbornly. “I’m a Marine, Demi. I was trained by the Prophet. I’ll wear Otis’s bird-watching forest camo and hike up the draw so I can come down over the ridge from behind GodsAcre. I’ll bring a long-range camera lens. Whatever’s going on out there, I’ll take pictures of it from a distance. That’s all I mean to do. I swear. I’m not going in there with guns blazing all by myself. I’m not stupid.”

  Demi shook her head furiously. “I hate it.”

  “I can’t let anyone else get hurt,” he said. “Especially not you.” He caught the look that flashed over her face. “Yeah, I know, that boat has sailed, I already hurt you and I can never fix it, yada yada. Be that as it may, I don’t want to go to your funeral, Demi. I prefer you alive and mortally pissed off at me.”

  She looked like she was trying not to smile. “Actually, I wasn’t going there,” she said. “The you-already-hurt-me routine, I mean. I think we’ve, ah, moved past that. I’m kind of bored with it, to be honest.”

  His breathing just about stopped, but he didn’t dare let himself float up off the ground on the basis of such a guarded, careful, cagey statement. “Well, good. Progress.”

  “I suppose. I’m still pissed as hell, though.”

  The silence was so charged with terror and hope, he had to break it or he’d snap.

  “How pissed?” he asked. “I want to touch you. Are you going to smack me?”

  Demi’s shoulders lifted. “I can’t tell you how I’m going to feel until I get there,” she said airily. “Risk it if you have the balls.”

  Ahhh, nice. Fucking with his head again. An excellent sign. Eric slid his arms around her waist, and pulled her close.

  Her arms went around his neck and squeezed, aggressively. “You make me angrier than anyone in the world, Eric Trask.”

  He squeezed her back and kissed her fiercely. “I know,” he said. “Get your coat. I’ll drive you home.”

  18

  The drive back to town was deathly quiet. Demi didn’t break the silence. She had plenty to think about already. When they reached the Narrows Bridge, Eric finally spoke.

  “I’ll take you to your Granddad’s house. You can’t be alone right now.”

  “No,” she said. “Take me to Dad’s house.”

  He glanced at her, startled. “Why?”

  “I want to check on him. I have a couple of hard questions for him. And I need to look him in the eyes while he answers them.”

  “He’s not there,” Eric said. “He told the chief he was leaving town. He’s not answering the phone.”

  “Maybe he lied. He often does. If he’s not there, I can see if his passport is in the file, and if his suitcase is in the closet. That would tell me a whole lot.”

  Eric looked pained. “It’s been a hell of a night. You want to pile it on right now?”

  “Why drag it out?”

  Eric shook his head, but he took the turn that led them up to Osborn Grade. The pickup climbed up to the Heights. He stopped right in front of the Vaughan family home, on Cedar Crest Drive.

  “Well, well,” she said flatly. “Dad’s car’s still there. Fancy that.”

  “I don’t like this,” Eric muttered.

  Too bad. She liked it a hell of a lot less than he did. Demi got out of the car and started up the driveway.

  Eric loped after her. “Does he have any other cars?”

  “Mom’s BMW is inside the garage, but he mostly drives the Volvo.”

  The front door was locked, but Demi had a key in her purse. Eric followed close on her heels as she went inside.

  It had been a long time since she’d been inside the family home, and the change in it was a jolt to her sensibilities. The house had been her mother’s pride, and she’d kept it sparkling. Dad must have let the housekeeping service go. The shelves, furniture and knickknacks were fuzzed with a heavy coat of dust. There were cobwebs on the closed curtains and the air was stale and heavy.

  “Dad?” she called.

  No response. They walked slowly through the house where she had spent her childhood. Down the corridor along the staircase that led back into the huge kitchen, which was a mess of smelly, festering take-out containers. Dishes were piled up high, in the sink and on the counters.

  “Dad?” she called.

  Dread kept deepening inside her. A sense that she was missing something crucial.

  She turned around and forced herself to move. One foot after the other. “Upstairs.”

  The printer was blinking in Dad’s office. She went to the file cabinet by the desk and looked inside one of the files. “His passport is gone,” she said.

  “Maybe he left it in a different place,” Eric said.

  “Maybe.” She headed back out into the hall and toward the master bedroom.

  It had been turned upside down. The closet hung open, the drawers pulled out. Clothes were piled on the unmade bed and scattered all over the floor.

  She looked into the closet. “His travel case is gone. And he packed really fast.” Demi shivered, wrapping her arms across her chest. “But why the hell is the car still here? Could he have taken a taxi?”

  “Demi,” Eric said. “Let’s get the fuck out of here. Please.”

  “I’ll take a look out back first. The lawn. The garage. To make sure Mom’s car is in there and see if he took one of the bigger suitcases.”

  Eric shadowed her down the stairs and back into the kitchen, but she was the first to see Dad’s hand stretched out on the floor as she went around the bar. The high barrier of the bar had hidden it the first time they came into the kitchen.

  “Dad!” She dropped down to the floor next to him. He lay on the floor, sprawled on his side, clutching his chest. His mouth was open, his eyes wide and empty.

  She shook him, calling to him and feeling for a pulse with hands that trembled.

  Eric kneeled beside her and touched her father’s throat. He shook his head. “He’s cold,” he said gently. “He’s been gone for hours by now. Babe, I’m so sorry.”

  She thudded onto the floor on her butt, vaguely surprised to realize that she was crying.

  Eric made the necessary phone calls. When he was finished with that, he got down on the floor, wrapped his arms around her shoulders and just held her.

  She finally pulled away, wiping her eyes, and noticed the suitcase by the door. She stared at it for a moment, and then reached around her dad’s body, sliding her hand carefully into his deep coat pocket.

  She found his passport and boarding passes and wiped at her eyes until she could read them. “He was going to Australia,” she said. “A layover in Hawaii. Then Sydney.”

  The ambulance arrived, along with Chief Bristol and the ambulance crew. Once her father’s body had been loaded up and the ambulance had pulled away, Chief Bristol lingered on the side porch, patting her shoulder.

  “I am so sorry, honey,” he said sadly. “Also that you had to be the one to find him.”

  “He was terrified,” Demi said. “Running away from something. Or someone.”

  “Maybe those guys I saw,” Eric said.

  “What guys are those?” Chief Bristol asked sharply.

  “At Otis’s funeral,” Demi told him. “Remember those two guys that nobody knew? They were associated with my dad. I’m not sure exactly how, but it was in a way that was not healthy for him. Eric overheard them threatening him.”

  Chief
Bristol scowled. “And I’m just hearing about this now?”

  “Sorry, Chief,” Demi said wearily. “We had no idea how bad it was.”

  “But there’s no sign of breaking and entering,” Eric said. “He was inside a locked door the whole time. All of the doors in the house were still locked. I checked.”

  Demi and Eric looked at each other. She saw in his eyes that he was thinking exactly what she was thinking.

  “The security cameras,” he said. “Are they still running?”

  “Can’t imagine why they wouldn’t be,” she said. “Chief Bristol, what time did you call Dad this morning?”

  “About six,” he said. “Maybe a little after.”

  She went back inside, the two men following close after. The security monitors were set up in the breakfast nook, which had annoyed Mom no end when she was alive. Mom had thought that breakfast nooks were for breakfast, but that time around, Dad had prevailed.

  She sat in front of the computer, squeezing her memory for the password. Dad had been comically lazy about passwords, a fact that she’d taken advantage of more than once back in her teenage years. It used to be Demetra1234. Now it was Demetra4321.

  She ran the footage back to 5:45 AM and fast forwarded from there. Chief Bristol hunched forward, peering at the screen. Eric watched from over her other shoulder.

  At 7:21 there was a flurry of activity. Demi ran it back and they watched the two funeral crashers march up to the side porch and pound on the door. They pounded for over a minute, then stopped while the smaller man talked to someone behind the door. The camera angle showed only the side of his face. They couldn’t tell what he was saying.

  The greasy-haired guy gave his larger companion a smug smile and pulled something from his pocket that they could not see, the big guy being in the way.

  They held their breath, but nothing happened. The men just stood there, motionless, looking at the closed door.

  The bigger guy finally went over to the window of the mudroom and peered inside. He turned back to the other man, grinning. The two men high-fived and walked away, having never even gone inside the house. The door remained unopened.