Retribution of Soul: Book 3 of the In-Between

by Senese, Rebecca M.

  She released his arm and pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around him. He brought his hands up to her back but hesitated to touch her. It still felt wrong, like he didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve her, not when he’d screwed everything up.

  Everything.

  “Stop being an idiot.” Charlie’s voice sounded from behind him. “Hug the girl back.”

  He wanted to. His hands moved of their own volition, pressing against the muscles of her back, familiar contours smoothed and curved under his fingers.

  He missed this more than he wanted to admit.

  She pulled back, keeping her hands on his shoulders. “We’ll find him, Sebastian. I promise.”

  “Go on, kiss her,” Charlie said. He stood just over Jessica’s shoulder, making shooing motions with his hands. His blond hair looked thin and anemic in the sun.

  “Shut up,” Sebastian said.

  “What?” Jessica said.

  “Not you,” he said. “Ah.” He glanced back over her shoulder. Jessica turned her head, following his gaze.

  “What?” she said.

  “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

  She turned back to him. “It’s not nothing. It’s something and that something is Charlie, right?”

  She let go of his shoulders. She got that challenging look in her eye, the one that said he’d better tell her the truth if he knew what was good for him.

  He’d ignored that look before. He wouldn’t do that again.

  He didn’t want to.

  Truth.

  “Yeah, it’s Charlie,” he said.

  Her brows grew together in uncertainty. She glanced back over her shoulder again. “What did he say?”

  Charlie grinned. “Tell her. I dare ya.”

  “Will you shut up?” Sebastian said. “It’s not important.”

  “Not important? You have a ghost talking to you. I’d say that’s important,” she said.

  “See?” Charlie said. “She thinks I’m important.”

  Sebastian pursed his lips. That’s because she doesn’t know you that well.

  “What is he saying?” Jessica said.

  “It really isn’t that important,” Sebastian said.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “Let me be the judge of that. Now spill it.”

  “Spill it,” Charlie said. He nodded enthusiastically. A grin spread across his face.

  Sebastian sighed. “Fine. He said I should kiss you.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “I told you it wasn’t important.”

  “You don’t think I’m important?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Sebastian said. Over her shoulder, he saw Charlie start shaking his head, one hand to his forehead.

  “I just didn’t think you would want me to,” Sebastian said.

  “Oh? Maybe because you don’t talk to me? You don’t tell me when a ghost appears or when something starts going wrong? Maybe if I was all that important you’d actually talk to me,” she said.

  One of her feet moved back, angling her body toward the store.

  Away from him.

  Dammit. He’d screwed up again. Or was in the process of it. He had to stop it.

  “You’ve been through so much,” he said. “I didn’t want to drag you through more.”

  “So you didn’t even ask?”

  “It seemed crazy,” he said. “And there was no time. I had to get home.” His head turned toward the road, back the way they’d driven to get here. “But I was too late. I’m always too late.”

  “Maybe if you didn’t try to do everything yourself,” she said. “And Charlie was right about one thing. You should have kissed me.”

  Approaching voices made her turn her head. Gareth and the other man, Brian, were returning, carrying plastic bags. Gareth held a cell phone to his ear.

  “Right, give me the address,” he said into the phone. “We’ll be there right away.”

  He lowered the phone and slipped it into his pocket.

  “Joan,” he said to Jessica. “She’s at the morgue.”

  Sebastian felt all his breath leave his body. His stomach concaved inward. He hunched over.

  “Your brother’s not there,” Gareth said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply he was. But Joan got records of the attack. I thought we should check it out. Might be some clues there.”

  Jessica nodded. “Good idea. Let’s go.” She turned to him. “Sebastian?”

  “Yeah, let’s go.”

  He straightened, aware that even though her hand had reached out to him, she hadn’t in fact touched him again.

  “Man, you are hopeless,” Charlie said. “It’s a wonder you ever got laid.”

  Shut up!

  Brian steered the van down the narrow alley to the back of the morgue. A squat two story red brick building, it hunched over a narrow sidewalk in front with the alley leading around to the back parking lot.

  Shadows thickened as the afternoon waned. Sebastian noticed them overlap each other, like thin slices of darkness, gradually building up to full dark. His parents had always told him there was nothing in the dark that wasn’t there in the light.

  They’d been wrong on so many levels.

  Brian pulled into a parking spot a ways from the door. As the engine ticked off, the back door opened and Joan appeared. She wore a grey business suit, slim pencil skirt falling just below her knees. Black pumps on her feet. Her single button jacket buttoned over a white shirt.

  She looked like someone who might work there.

  Was that how they did it? Certainly Joan would be better at Influencing than the others, maybe even better than him.

  But then again, thinking of Thomas the vampire, maybe not.

  Of course, she probably hadn’t killed anyone with her Influencing.

  She gave a sharp wave of her hand. They opened the doors and piled out. They all wore some variation of dark pants and black shirt, just different enough that they didn’t look completely in uniform but close enough. As he followed Brian up the stairs to the door, Sebastian noticed the man wore cowboy boots.

  Like Brent.

  God.

  Another ghost, this one haunting him in his head.

  He followed them into the building.

  Joan faced them in a beige corridor. Black and white tiles trailed off in both directions. Dingy industrial paint covered the walls. In the distance, Sebastian heard people moving, talking, not loud enough to understand but loud enough for him to realize they were quite some distance away.

  His weird In-Between senses again.

  Would he ever get used to it?

  “I found your parents,” Joan said to him. “They’re still in the main autopsy room but are scheduled to be released to the funeral home tomorrow. I am so sorry, Sebastian. It isn’t fair.”

  None of it was fair. Nothing would ever be fair again.

  He nodded at her. “Thanks.”

  “I thought you would like a chance to say goodbye.”

  “But, what about the funeral?” he said.

  He could feel something ripple through them. Quick glances flittered back and forth. Joan took a breath.

  “It probably isn’t a good idea for you to go to the funeral,” she said. “There’s still an investigation going on. The police will want to question you, delay you. Any delay could be critical for your brother.”

  He nodded. Of course. He didn’t have time to grieve for the dead. He had to worry about the living, about Callum. His grief wouldn’t do anything for his parents anyway. It was useless, worse than useless. He could feel himself wanting to cave in, curl up into a ball on the floor.

  Useless.

  Think of Callum.

  His parents would want him to take care of his little brother. The thought steadied him, slowed the pounding of his heart. He took a breath in, felt it rush down his throat.

  “Right, okay,” he said. “I’ll say goodbye now.”

  Maybe later he could visit their graves.


  Later.

  Another lifetime.

  Joan stepped back and turned to lead him down the hall. Her black pumps made clicking noises on the tile as she walked. He followed, feeling the others fall into place behind him. Jessica, Gareth, Brian. They moved like shadows down the hall. He could hear the soft hiss of their shoes on the floor, but no scent. Not like the other people in the building.

  Not the subtle scent of decay that grew as they approached the morgue.

  Joan led them into a windowless office with beige walls and pale grey carpeting. A desk faced the door, a computer screen angled toward the empty chair. Papers spread across the desk blotter. A half finished cup of coffee sat on a warmer to the left of the screen. The chair turned just to the right, as if someone had just turned it to get up and walk out of the office.

  Sebastian looked at Joan. She smiled.

  Impressive. He’d only been able to Influence anyone within eye line. Joan was obviously even better than him at it.

  She stepped across the room to the closed door at the other end. She beckoned Sebastian forward. He moved, feeling the thin carpet under his feet. As he passed the desk, he caught a faint hint of perfume and the warmth still emanating from the chair. He could imagine the woman sitting at the desk just a few moments ago, bent over her papers, over her keyboard, maybe taking a sip of coffee before something compelled her to get up from behind her chair and leave the office. Good thing. He didn’t know what he would do if someone with warm, fresh blood stood in front of him.

  Joan touched his arm as he drew up beside her. Her other hand closed on the door knob.

  “You’ll only have a couple of minutes,” she said, her voice pitched low for his ears only. “I’m sorry it couldn’t be longer but I can’t hold them all away for long.”

  He nodded, not trusting his voice. There didn’t seem to be anything to say anyway. She gave him a brief smile and opened the door.

  He stepped into the main autopsy room. Steel seemed to gleam at him from every surface, the doors lining one wall in three rows, the three gurneys that sat in a line down the center of the room, the metal trays filled with instruments. Everything steel and shining. The glare pounding at his head almost as bad as sunlight.

  But it wasn’t the pain of sunlight that made his head ache.

  He closed the door behind him and moved into the room. The sour scent of decay hung like a fog in the room. He could feel it cling to his clothes and his skin, coating the insides of his nostrils. His stomach clenched. He pressed his nostrils shut but that forced him to breathe through his mouth.

  Did he really want that taste in his mouth?

  Out. He wanted out of this room of death. But… his parents were here. David and Sarah Lockhart, parents of Sebastian and Callum. When had he last seen them?

  Christmas break, just a few short months before it happened, before he went from being a normal college student to being an In-Between. He remembered his mother fussing over his old winter coat, complaining it was losing its down and wouldn’t keep him warm. His father sitting in the armchair in the family room, snapping his paper the way he did whenever his mother was annoying, before reminding her about the stuffing, which sent her careening into the kitchen.

  Other memories: his father sitting at the kitchen table with Callum, helping him with his math homework. His mother standing in the front hall, sorting the mail. She wore heels even in the house. Had always looked polished and lovely. His father would sometimes steal up behind her and kiss the back of her neck when she wasn’t looking. It always made her jump, then her laughter would trickle out. He remembered hearing that all over the house.

  The shining steel blurred in front of him. He blinked back tears.

  Goodbye. He had to say goodbye.

  He didn’t even know which drawer they were in. The thought of opening them all up and having to look horrified him. He couldn’t do it.

  His feet carried him forward across the tile to the first set of doors. Then he noticed small cards tucked into the front with names written on in pen. Oh thank god. He wouldn’t have to guess.

  He found them four sets over, side by side in the middle row. It seemed fitting they should be beside each other. His hand tightened on the handle of his father’s drawer but he didn’t pull. Did he really want to see him? Did he really want this image of his father to be the last thing he remembered? But to not look felt almost like a betrayal. He hadn’t even warned them. He’d been too worried of how to tell them, of what to say. He thought he’d make it in time. His own stupid arrogance.

  The least he could do was say a proper goodbye.

  He yanked on the drawer.

  It resisted a moment then slid forward, gaining momentum until it was almost halfway out before it slowed to a stop. The body lay on the metal base, a plain white sheet draped over him. Eyes closed as if asleep. A slight stubble of beard dotting his cheeks. Black hair, liberally laced with grey, lay across his forehead. For a moment, Sebastian held his breath, waiting to see the rise and fall of the sheet across his father’s chest.

  But there was nothing.

  Of course there wasn’t. He was dead.

  Standing on his father’s right, Sebastian saw the way his father’s neck bulged to one side. She’d done this, snapped his neck. Had she stopped for a taste?

  He pushed the thought out of his mind. No, he couldn’t face that. Wouldn’t let it take root and fester in him.

  Just say goodbye.

  He laid a hand on his father’s forehead. The skin felt cool, almost waxy. The hint of decay teased at his nostrils. Not even a hint of his father’s aftershave, mingled with the scent of his father’s skin. It was as if death had seeped away all vestiges of his life, leaving a fake dummy behind. A husk in the shape of his father but the spark, the life, the energy that was him was gone.

  “I’m so sorry, dad.” Sebastian’s voice even in a whisper seemed to boom through the room. He leaned closer to only speak to his father.

  “I should have warned you. I should have told you what was going on but I didn’t want it to touch you. I didn’t want you to worry. I didn’t want you to know about this horror show. This is my fault but I promise I’ll find Callum and take care of him. He’ll be okay. I promise.”

  His father’s image blurred. He didn’t bother to swipe at the tears. They dribbled down his face and fell, soaking into his father’s sheet.

  “I love you, dad. I’m sorry.”

  He leaned over and kissed his father on the cheek.

  The drawer rumbled as he pushed it back into place. The door clicked shut.

  Now his mother.

  God.

  His shoulders hitched up toward his ears as he turned to the next drawer. “Lockhart, Sarah” read the tag on the door. His hand shook a little as he reached for the handle.

  Fast. Just do it fast. Get it over with and get the hell out.

  They would have understood.

  He still had to find Callum.

  So get it done.

  He took a deep breath and pulled on the drawer.

  It slid out like the first one, the metal wheels grinding loud in the silence of the room. It stopped with a shudder that shifted her body on the drawer. Sebastian shivered.

  His mother lay on the slab, another plain white sheet covering her body. Did they get them at a volume discount here? Cut to a certain size to fit in the drawers? He felt a crazed giggle try to rise in his throat. He pushed it down.

  He wasn’t going to go there.

  He’d never stop and that laughter would turn to screaming.

  Say goodbye.

  Her skin looked a little less sallow than his father’s, more pale than grey. Her chocolate brown hair, coming more from a bottle these days, tumbled around her shoulders. She normally wore it pulled back from her face, clipped up on her head or at the back of her neck. He’d only ever seen it loose like this in the mornings, after she first got up to make them breakfast. She’d wear her worn pink flannel bathrobe, matchi
ng slippers on her feet making a shushing sound as she shuffled around the kitchen. Her loose brown hair would flop across her forehead and bob around her shoulders.

  And every time she put something down in front of them, a plate, a napkin, a glass of juice, she’d plant a kiss on top of their heads, and Sebastian always felt the soft brush of her hair against his cheek as she turned away.

  Seeing her hair loose like this made it seem even more like she was asleep. Even more so than his father. Any minute now she’d open her eyes and yawn.

  If only.

  But she wasn’t asleep. She was dead. She’d never open her eyes again. She’d never smile at him again or nag him to wash his face or finish his dinner. This was just a husk, like his father. Nothing alive here. Nothing...

  But the movement of the sheet, up and down.

  No, it was just a trick of the light. Just his imagination. He shook his head. He hadn’t seen it move. She was dead. He could smell the decay. That sour, fetid odor.

  Sour...

  No, it wasn’t.

  He reached up to touch her face. His right hand was shaking. Why was it shaking? Why would it do that? He stared at it, trying to reason with it, tell it to stop shaking. There was nothing to shake about. Just touch her face, cup her chin and turn her head.

  Turn her head so he could see…

  His hand still shook even as he touched the cool smoothness of her chin, moving her head toward him. He bent over to peer around her head. Her hair, loose and tumbling, shifted, created shadows.

  He would have to push it aside.

  Even his left hand trembled as he lifted it.

  Why?

  A sudden burst of sourness made him gag. He coughed, hunching over. Noticed her face. Her eyes.

  Her open eyes.

  He jumped back as his mother snapped at him, lunging half off the slab. His feet slipped on the smooth tile, sending him crashing to the floor. Pain erupted from his palms where his hands slapped the hard surface. His feet dug for purchase, trying to push him backwards as on the slab, his mother sat up.

  The white sheet pooled in her lap, leaving her bare-chested. She shifted her body toward him and he caught sight of the puckered Y incision that cut across her chest and down to her abdomen. Her thin lips pulled back, revealing the over-developed incisors of a vampire.