Echoes (Whisper Trilogy Book 2)

by Michael Bray

  “I’ll go talk to him today and let you know,” she said absently. She tried to convince herself it wasn’t bothering her, even though she could feel the awful penetrating gaze of Cody on her back as she averted her gaze and looked down Main Street.

  CHAPTER 13

  Henry Marshall stood naked in front of the full-length bathroom mirror, peering into the haunted eyes of his own reflection.

  “I don’t approve of this new look Henry. You can’t dress like that anymore. You’re too old.”

  He ignored the nagging voice of his wife in his head, and glanced at the grey sweats folded neatly over the edge of the bathtub. Wrinkling his nose at the noxious, sweet rot smell of decaying flesh filling the house, he slowly put them on. Joggers. Hooded top. Black gloves. It felt good. It felt natural.

  “Look at you, dressed like one of those dreadful teenagers who’ve polluted this town. You’re supposed to be cleaning it up Henry. You said you’d put it right.”

  “I will,” he said to the silent house. “I’m working on it.”

  “I hope so. Those kids are like a cancer. Spreading and killing the lifeblood of this town. It’s up to you to fix it Henry.”

  “I know!” he snapped, for the time being silencing the nagging voice in his brain.

  He turned to the sink, looked at the photograph taped on the wall above it. It was an old publicity photo of Donovan standing in front of his shop, beaming in a cheap blue pinstripe suit, blonde hair parted at the side and combed over in a slick fifties side style.

  “It’s a good look,” Henry muttered as he ran his fingers lightly over the dog eared glossy.

  He turned back to the mirror and inspected his own hair, a greasy, listless mop.

  “We can fix it all,” he muttered.

  He returned to the sink and picked up the bottle of Peroxide, then leaning over the basin, poured it onto his hair, ignoring the burning sensation as the chemical bleach assaulted his scalp. He rubbed it in, working it with his fingertips, eyes scrunched closed.

  “What are you trying to achieve, Henry?” Hillary said as he gritted his teeth against the stinging pain. “Are you trying to make yourself look younger? Appeal to the new generation?”

  “Shut up Hilary!” he gasped, pouring more of the bleach onto his hair. “I swear to god if you don’t shut up I’ll—”

  “You’ll what? Kill me again? I’m just trying to stop you making a fool of yourself. Why I bother I don’t know.”

  Henry grabbed a towel off the side of the bath and wrapped his upper head in it, encasing his hair and letting the peroxide do its job. The pain was good. It was his sacrifice, his burden. Super sensitive skin or not, he’d made a commitment and intended to see it through to the bitter end.

  An hour later, Henry walked into the sitting room, somehow managing to ignore the awful stench and busy drone of flies from within. He strode to the sofa and stood in front of his wife’s body. Her skin was bloated and ruptured, staining the seat where she slouched. An army of maggots were navigating the bulbous, vein-lined highways of her arms and face, while her open eyes had taken on a milky sheen.

  “Well, what do you think?” he said as he stood before the body.

  “I’m not sure what you’re trying to prove Henry. Whatever it is, I don’t like it one bit.”

  “Don’t you think it suits me? I look ten years younger.”

  “And that’s the problem. You’re forty five not thirty five. It’s stupid.”

  “Why do you have to be so negative all the time, Hilary? Why can’t you, just for once, be happy for me?”

  “Do what you want, you always do anyway,” his wife’s shrill voice said. “Nothing I say will make the slightest bit of difference.”

  Henry turned to the mirror above the fireplace, brushing away flies which had settled on its surface.

  His hair was now an electric blonde color and, although it had taken a ton of hair wax to do it, had been parted at the side and combed over in an identical style to the one Donovan had sported in the photograph. Henry grinned broadly at his reflection, attempting to emulate the sleazy salesman smile from the photograph. His efforts came out more as a horrific rictus, and he stared past his reflection to the body of his wife.

  “Well I like it,” he said. “It’s all a part of the new me.”

  “And what does this mean for the old you?”

  “He’s gone, and won’t be coming back.”

  “So what happens now?”

  “Now, we finish what we started.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  He hesitated.

  Did he mean by launching his hotel project, or was there another meaning. Something involving the Samsons? He wasn’t sure, and either way it didn’t matter. He’d come too far to turn back.

  “I have to go meet Dane,” he said, walking into the hall and grabbing his jacket. “I might be late, so don’t wait up if you’re tired.”

  He didn’t bother waiting for an answer and hurried out of the door, leaving his dead wife in the company of the flies.

  II

  Emma’s parents weren’t home, which Carrie thought a bonus as she walked down the driveway, their ancient Toyota conspicuous by its absence, a miniature puddle of oil the only evidence of its existence. Carrie walked purposely up to the door, fighting with the moral implications of what she was about to do. She pulled a miniature bottle of perfume out of her bag and squirted some on her wrists, then knocked on the door.

  She waited and watched as the figure approached, its form distorted by the frosted glass. Emma opened the door, her surprise lasting only a split second as Carrie held up the bottle of wine.

  “Guess what I brought?” she said with a grin.

  “If my parents saw you with that, they would freak out.”

  “They’re always out on a Tuesday night aren’t they?”

  “Yeah,” Emma said with a grin. “Tuesday is date night.”

  “Well, tonight, Tuesday is wine night.”

  “In that case, you better come in,” Emma said with a mischievous smile.

  Carrie obliged, closing the door behind her and following Emma to the sitting room. Emma pointed to the sofa.

  “Go ahead and take a seat, I’ll grab us a couple of glasses.”

  Carrie obliged, setting the bottle on the table.

  “What the hell are you watching?” she shouted, watching what appeared to be a Japanese game show of sorts where contestants were put through a series of painful-looking games which invariably saw them either getting wet or covered in mud after a painful fall.

  “Takeshi’s Castle,” Emma yelled from the kitchen. “Put something else on if you like.”

  Carrie turned to MTV2, preferring the shirtless tattooed singer wailing over guitars to the zany antics of the Japanese. Emma returned with two wine glasses and sat beside her friend.

  “What are we celebrating?”

  “Nothing, I just thought wine was a good idea.”

  “How did you get it?”

  “My sister bought it for me. I caught her smoking behind her husband’s back, so she owed me a favor.”

  “Nice.”

  Carrie opened the wine and poured them both a glass.

  “So,” she said, kicking off her shoes and tucking her feet up onto the sofa. “About this weekend.”

  “Come on, don’t push it, please,” Emma said, taking a sip of wine.

  “I’m not pushing anything, I just wanted to talk to you about it.”

  “Did the guys put you up to this?”

  “No, why would I listen to those idiots? I came here because I’m worried about you.”

  Old feelings stirred in Emma, and she felt the blood rush into her cheeks. “What do you mean?”

  “We’re friends aren’t we?”

  “Of course we are.”

  “So spill it. Why are you so reluctant to go back there?”

  “I don’t know, I think because of what happened when we last went up there be
tween us and the stuff Alex said…”

  She lowered her gaze and took another thoughtful sip of wine.

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that actually.”

  “About what?”

  “The talk we had in the tent when we camped. We never really discussed it.”

  “It’s fine,” Emma said, feeling a surge of warmth race all the way from her toes to her cheeks. “I shouldn’t have said it.”

  “I shouldn’t have laughed. It was wrong of me. I think it was just a natural reaction because I was shocked.”

  Carrie was watching her, eyes intense. Emma wanted to look away, and given the choice she would. Something deeper forced her to hold the gaze of the other girl. “And how do you feel about it all now?” she asked as the sickly surge of adrenaline raced around her body.

  “Well, the truth is, I don’t know. I mean, I’m pretty sure I don’t feel… that way. At the same time, I really do care about you more than you know.”

  “If it helps, I’m as confused as you are about this,” Emma muttered. “Believe me, I’ve been trying to figure out how to deal with these feelings for a while now.”

  “Look,” Carrie said, setting her glass on the table and turning to face Emma. “I care about you, I really do. You just seem distracted lately, like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

  The raving warnings of Alex popped up in her mind, and she suppressed a shudder.

  “I’m fine, really.”

  “I don’t buy that,” Carrie pushed. “Talk to me.”

  “There’s nothing to say.”

  “I really want you to come on Friday.”

  “Please, don’t push it, I really don’t want to.”

  “You were the first person I thought of when my dad gave me the tickets. You know how the guys are. They will get drunk and do their own thing, and I’ll be left like the third wheel and bored.”

  “Please, don’t make me feel guilty.”

  “I’m not trying to pull any kind of guilt trip. At the same time, I can’t help how upset I am about you not coming with me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Emma said with a sigh, draining her glass.

  “The thing is, I’d do it for you without a second thought. I care enough about you to put my own feelings aside.”

  “Why are you trying to make me feel worse about this?” Emma snapped. “It’s not fair.”

  “I’m not trying to do anything, just telling you how I feel, the same way you told me that night in the tent.”

  Emma looked away from Carrie and stared at the TV without really watching. Guilt and shame jostled for supremacy in her gut.

  “This really means a lot to you, doesn’t it?”

  “I won’t deny how much I want to go. Winning the tickets could be called luck, fate… whatever. As happy as I am to have them, I can’t get excited about it without you being there with me to experience it.”

  Emma looked at her friend, and was more confused than ever. As much as she tried to see through it or explain it away as something else, it was almost like Carrie was flirting a little.

  “It really means that much to you?”

  “Yeah, it does,” Carrie said with a nod. “I don’t want to have to tell you all about it afterwards. I want us to experience it together. I’d hate for you to regret not going along with it when it’s too late.”

  “Okay,” Emma said, giving up on trying to sort out the swarming emotions surging through her. “If it really means so much to you, I’ll do it. But not because I want to. I’ll do it for you.”

  Carrie leaned over and hugged Emma. She didn’t know how to react at first, then softened and hugged her friend back, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her perfume.

  “I can’t believe you would do this for me,” Carrie said, her breath hot in Emma’s ear. “It really means a lot.”

  Emma didn’t reply. Instead, she enjoyed the closeness of her friend, and tried as best she could to rid the horrified gnawing from her gut which said she had just made a terrible mistake. She also tried to figure out how to tell Alex that despite his warnings, she had decided to go back to the Hope House site.

  III

  The hotel looked majestic as Henry pulled into the gravel car park. Dane stood by the entrance watching Henry walk towards him.

  “What’s with the hair?”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “It’s not something I expected from you.”

  “That’s not why we’re here is it?” Henry snapped.

  “Relax, Henry. Jesus, why are you so uptight?”

  “Sorry, I’m just feeling the strain a little.”

  “Well, let me give you some good news. The journal you got for me really delivered the goods. We have some great things planned to scare the shit out of people. It should make for some amazing television.”

  “Good. Everything hinges on this, Dane. Everything.”

  “I know, although, I think this place might have made for an interesting investigation without all the stuff we plan to plant.”

  “I thought you were a skeptic?”

  “I am. You have to admit though, this place has something. An energy to it I’ve never felt before.”

  “A few people have said the same thing. Did I tell you what happened during the construction?”

  “No, I don’t think you did.”

  “When we were clearing the trees to build this place, some weird stuff started to happen. The foreman in charge called me up and said they were finding dead animals, mainly birds, littering the site.”

  “Nothing unusual there, it’s the forest. The balance of nature and all that shit,” Dane said as they entered the hotel and into the lobby.

  “That’s the thing. There was no sign of any attack. It looked like they just fell out of the sky and died. It got to the point where every day we were scooping up bagfuls of them, stiff as boards and looking like they’d fallen out of the air mid-flight.”

  “Any idea what caused it?”

  “Nope, not a clue,” Henry shrugged, taking a seat in one of the lobby chairs. “It’s still happening though. I had to hire a full time caretaker to patrol the grounds and be on permanent clean-up. I can’t see our guests taking too kindly to staying in a bird graveyard.”

  “Holy shit… anything else like this I should know about?”

  “No, nothing.”

  Apart from the bodies. The remains found during the deforesting and ignored. Nothing apart from those.

  “Good,” Dane said. “Actually, there was something I wanted to ask you about.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, I was looking over the plans and working out camera angles for the TV show, and I noticed this whole interior courtyard area isn’t marked down. Can I take a look at it? We might be able to shoot some B-roll stuff out there, maybe some interviews with the guests.”

  Henry smiled, prompting Dane to feel a small chill run down his spine.

  “I’m glad you mentioned it,” Henry said, standing and then heading to a steel door set into an interior wall. “As you know, this entire structure is rectangular by design. It was built deliberately in this way.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I knew this place needed a selling point, something to keep people coming when the investigation is done and out of people’s memories.”

  He put the key in the lock and pulled the door open.

  “This is what will keep people coming time and time again.”

  Dane looked into the space, at first not quite believing what his eyes were telling him. One thing he did know was that, for better or worse, his brother was either a genius or a raving lunatic.

  IV

  Emma’s first reaction standing at the foot of Alex’s bed was how much further he had withdrawn into himself. A fluffy, patchy stubble covered his cheeks, and his eyes were ringed and dark. She had just finished telling him about Carrie winning the tickets, and was now waiting for his reaction.

  “You
can’t go. Any of you.”

  “They won’t be talked out of it,” she replied. “They’re going up there no matter what I say.”

  “Not you though, tell me you said no.”

  She said nothing, and Alex sat up in his bed.

  “It’s important you don’t go. You know how bad that place is.”

  “You need to give me something, give me some kind of proof I can take to them.”

  “You know I don’t have any proof,” he hissed. “You just have to take my word for it. Don’t go there.”

  “You can’t put me in this kind of a position. You have to understand.”

  “You’ll all die if you go up there.”

  It was the kind of thing the Alex of old would have said in order to get a reaction, yet this was different. His eyes were honest, his manner serious.

  “You have to pick a side. Do what your heart tells you,” he added.

  And that was the problem. For as much as she wanted to believe him, and almost did, his past history of pranks made it difficult. He was like the boy who’d cried wolf, and as much as she could see he was struggling after the attack by Cody, she had half an idea the entire thing might still be a huge hoax, a prank designed to get one up on his rival. In addition, she had promised Carrie she would go. Alex would never understand her reasons. Even if he did, the fact she was falling in love with someone of the same sex wasn’t the kind of thing she was about to tell him or anyone else.

  “I’m going up there,” she said.

  “Please, don’t do it.”

  “They’re my friends. We’ll be fine as long as we stick together.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “You don’t sound like you’re trying so hard to talk me out of it anymore,” she said.

  “Is there any point? You’ve already made your decision.”

  “Please, Alex, try to understand why I’m doing this.”

  “Why? You won’t understand why I’m begging you not to.”

  She lowered her eyes, and walked to the bedroom door. “I’ll come and see you when we get back. I’ll show you this is all in your imagination.”