by Tim McGregor
She sipped her wine. “How was your day?”
“Long,” he said. “And weird.”
“Weird, huh?” Christina looked at him. “Wanna talk about it?”
The question took him aback, unused to it for so long. Over the last year, Christina’s depression had been so deep that some days she could barely speak at all. It would take him forever to coax a scrap of conversation out of her. To hear the concern in her voice over himself was still relatively new. Not that it mattered much now. “Not really,” he said.
They watched the leaves flutter down from the elm tree that shaded the yard, twinkling and turning in the yellow haze from the street.
“I don’t think I have it in me to do anymore packing tonight,” she said.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“But there’s still so much to do. And I don’t want to get stuck doing it all if you get called away.”
“You won’t,” he said. “I’ll make the time. We still have the weekend too.”
“God, I hate packing.” Christina gave out a long sigh that drooped her shoulders. “How did we accumulate so much stuff?”
He looked back at the house. “Maybe you were right about this place. It was too big for us. Too much space to fill up.”
It had been a bone of contention when they had bought the place three years ago; why the two of them would need a four bedroom house. The idea of having kids hadn’t even been raised.
Recalling that long ago discussion, Christina’s eyes dimmed and some of the brightness fell away. She shook her head, as if trying to ward off what was coming next. She got to her feet. “Okay. I’m going to bed.”
“You all right?” he asked.
“Yeah. All things considered.” She opened the door but stopped before going back inside. “I tried to call you earlier but I couldn’t get through.”
“Oh?” He slid his phone out from his pocket. “Anything important?”
“Nah.”
Mockler thumbed on his phone but it remained dark. “Ah. It’s dead.”
“That explains why I couldn’t get through.” Christina crossed into the house. “Don’t stay up too late.”
He watched the leafs tumble for another minute before following her inside. Plugging his phone in, he scrolled through the call list but Christina’s call wasn’t logged there. Nothing had been for over an hour.
Easing down onto the couch, he clicked on the news but the dead phone kept nagging at him. He couldn’t help wonder if something urgent had come up while he was stuck in blackout mode.
16
“THIS IS FUCKED up,” Tammy blurted out, barging her way past Billie and marching straight for the kitchen.
Billie rubbed the bridge of her nose and regretted answering the knock at the door. Good news never arrives pounding on doors after sunset. “Fucked up how?”
“In the worst possible way,” Tammy spat. She yanked the fridge open, bending down to inspect the contents. “I need a drink.”
The refrigerator was next to bare. Billie scrounged up two glasses and opened a cupboard. A bottle of Glenfiddich came down, half full, as the optimists say. “Grab some ice,” she said. “Then sit down. Explain the fucked-up part slowly.”
Tammy dropped into a chair and splayed her arms across the small kitchen table. It tilted under the weight, lopsided from a faulty leg. “We never should have gone to that creepy house,” Tammy said.
No kidding, Billie thought. Having just gotten home from her second trip to the Murder House, she concurred that it was nothing but trouble.
After Mockler brought her home, Billie had clattered into her apartment feeling drained and spent. Brushing her teeth twice to scour off the lingering tang of vomit, she couldn’t stop her mind from analyzing every detail of her conversation with Mockler. Sure, she had seen horrific ghosts and been attacked by some dark entity but the focus of her thoughts were fixated on the homicide detective. They had almost kissed. Was it possible Mockler was attracted to her too? She already knew the answer but her brain refused to accept it, dismissing it as ludicrous and delusional. This time, her brain couldn’t deny what had almost happened. Still, it spun into overdrive trying.
Ice cubes clattered over the floor as Tammy scooped ice into the glasses. Her hands were shaking badly and she finally gave up.
“Easy,” Billie said. “What happened?”
“Something is in my apartment,” Tammy stammered. Even her voice was shaky. “I think it followed me home from that awful house.”
Billie poured a drink and slid it across the table to her friend. “Did you see it?”
“No. But I can feel it. Watching me.” Tammy took a strong gulp. “I felt something touch me. It was awful.”
Billie squeezed Tammy’s hand to reassure her. Tammy had always been the sceptic. If she felt something haunting her, then there was a good chance it was real. “We can deal with it.”
“How?”
“I’ll talk to it. Whatever it is, I’ll make it go away.”
The scotch in Tammy’s glass sloshed around. “What if it doesn’t want to go?”
“Leave that to me.”
Tammy set the glass down on the table. “I think Kaitlin is in danger.”
“Have you heard from her?”
“No.” Tammy dug her phone from her back pocket. “Remember the photos I took at the murder house? I was going through them earlier. Here, look at Kaitlin.”
Billie took the phone from her and looked at the photograph displayed there. A shot of herself and Kaitlin standing in the ruins of the house but Kaitlin’s face was blurred, almost crossed-out by a white smudge. Billie shrugged. “It’s just a bad snapshot.”
“Look at the rest.”
Billie spun through the rest of the shots, some of Kaitlin alone or with Billie. Kaitlin’s features were distorted in every photograph. “How many pictures are like this?”
“All of them. And not just the ones from that night. Every photo I have of Kaitlin is like that.” Tammy took the phone back. “Did you take any pictures that night?”
She had but in the mayhem of the past two days, Billie hadn’t even looked at them. Turning her phone on, she thumbed through the gallery. A handful of snaps from that night. Of the four friends, Kaitlin was the most photogenic, never failing to flash a big, bright smile but here too, in the pictures Billie had taken, Kaitlin’s face was distorted and unclear. She turned the screen for Tammy to see.
“What does it mean?”
“It means you’re right. She is in danger.”
Tammy turned her phone dark, not wanting to see the images anymore. “But why just her? Our faces aren’t like that.”
“Kaitlin’s always had a weird interest in this stuff.” Billie hesitated, unsure if her friend really wanted to know but there was no point in being coy about it now. “Something must have latched onto her when we walked into that place. Maybe even before that.”
“You make it sound like it’s her own fault,” Tammy said.
“That’s not what I meant,” Billie shot back. She didn’t like her friend’s tone. “She might have been vulnerable to it, that’s all.”
The air seemed to turn sour. Tammy finished the last of her drink and fell silent.
Billie felt her back get up. “You blame me for this, don’t you?”
“I didn’t say that,” Tammy replied, without looking up.
“You didn’t have to.”
Tammy took the bottle and splashed more into her glass. “It’s all she talks about now. Ever since that day you told us about seeing dead people. She’s obsessed with it.”
“You can’t blame me for that.” She watched Tammy pour the tumbler halfway. “Go easy on that.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
The sour air lingered. Tammy slugged her drink back. “Maybe we should call Jen.”
“Why? She doesn’t believe in any of this.” That part rankled Billie. Jen rejected any notion of the world that Billie now inhabited. It
stung, and that’s all there was to it.
From out of the window came the barking of a dog. Incessant and mindless, its racket filled the dead air between them.
Tammy broke the silence first. “What are we going to do?”
Billie said nothing. She got up, took the bottle and returned it to its place atop the fridge. She felt useless and guilty, an awful mix that left her gut feeling queasy.
Her phone went off, buzzing across the kitchen table. She scooped it up. “Hello?”
“She’s here.” A man’s voice, hoarse and brittle.
“Kyle?” Billie snapped her fingers to get Tammy’s attention. “What’s wrong?”
“She’s back,” Kyle’s voice stammered out. “Kaitlin. But she’s not right.”
“Is she hurt? Where has she been?”
“There’s something wrong with her, Billie. All kinds of wrong.”
Tammy jumped out of her chair and leaned into her friend. Billie tilted the phone for her to hear. “Kyle, put Kaitlin on the phone.”
“Shhh,” he hissed. “She’ll hear. She said she’s not alone.”
“What? Who’s with her?”
“I don’t know. There’s nobody but Kaitlin insists there’s a woman with her. One that only she can see.” His voice cracked over the line. A sharp sniffle, as if he was crying. “She says others are coming.”
“Kyle, listen to me,” Billie ordered. “Keep her there. Don’t let Kaitlin leave. We’re on our way.”
A racket of noise poured out of the phone. Kyle’s voice gasped and the racket carried on. A pounding noise, as if someone was breaking down the door.
“Shit!” Kyle gulped. “Someone’s here.”
“Who?”
A crash sounded down the line. A scream and more racket, like a struggle was underway. Billie heard Kyle plead for someone to stop and then his voice cut out. The racket dissipated and silence hissed from the phone.
“Kyle!”
Billie called his name into the phone again but the hiss continued. She felt Tammy’s grip tighten on her arm.
A muffled scrape sounded on the other end, followed by the sound of someone breathing into the voice piece.
The hair on Billie’s neck bristled. “Kyle?”
No answer. More breathing.
Billie looked up at Tammy, unsure of what to do. She hesitated, then asked “Who is this?”
“…hello…” said a voice. Neither Kyle nor Kaitlin.
“Where’s Kyle?” Billie stammered. “What have you done with Kaitlin?”
“…you must be Billie…”
“Where is Kaitlin?”
“…she has been a good little girl…”
Whatever was hissing into Kyle’s phone was not human. That much, Billie could tell. Not anymore anyway. Billie swallowed hard and croaked out one more question. “Who is this?”
“…good girls get what’s coming to them…”
“Who is this!”
“…me? …my name is Evelyn…”
17
THEIR FOOTFALLS ECHOED through the stairwell as they pounded down to the street. Billie didn’t even bother to lock her door behind her but she didn’t really need to. Something far more effective than a bolt lock kept her flat safe from intruders. Tammy’s car was parked around the corner from Billie’s building and they sprinted for it.
“We need to call the police,” Tammy said, unlocking the door.
Billie disagreed. “Let’s just get there.”
Kaitlin’s building wasn’t far. An old school on Stinson that had been renovated into loft spaces. Tammy floored the pedal, bullying and honking her way through traffic until she skidded into the loading zone before the front door of their friend’s building. The front entrance was propped open with a brick, allowing them to barge through and rush the stairs to the second floor.
“Kaitlin!” Tammy hollered as they rushed the apartment. The door was unlocked and they barrelled inside.
Kaitlin’s apartment was normally pristine and tastefully decorated. Seeing the wreckage of overturned furniture and broken glass on the floor was a shock. It looked like a windstorm had turned the place upside down.
They found Kyle in the kitchen, splayed and still on the tile floor.
Billie knelt over him and touched his neck. He was alive but not conscious. His lip was bloodied and swelling up fast.
“Is he okay?” Tammy said.
“He’s out cold. Find Kaitlin.”
Tammy ran out of the room to search the rest of the apartment but they both knew that their friend wasn’t here. She returned a moment later and knelt beside Billie.
“She’s gone,” Tammy panted. “How bad is he?”
“I don’t know. He won’t wake up.” Cradling the young man’s head on her knees, she handed Kyle off to Tammy. “Here. You try.”
Chasing back into the living room, Billie took a deep breath and opened herself up to what lay on the other side of the thin veil of death. No spirit lingered in the apartment but the dead had been here. And whatever it was, it was not benign. Was it really the ghost of the woman from the Murder House? Evelyn. The fact that it had revealed its name to her was unusual. That this entity had enough power to speak through a phone line was downright frightening. Why would it come after Kaitlin?
Something else snagged her radar. A residual echo of violence but not from the dead. Someone else had been here. There were tiny flashes of pain and the sense of hands pushing her down. Billie was experiencing snippets of whatever happened to Kaitlin. She had been taken.
The signs of struggle were everywhere in the apartment. Among the debris knocked across the floor were tiny droplets of blood. The sight of the blood triggered a memory, flashing hard and sharp before Billie’s eyes. Another home overturned, another wreckage left from a struggle. She had been a child then, in her own home and there had been blood on the floor then too. The last time she had seen her mother alive.
“Billie!” Tammy’s voice called from the other room.
Kyle was sitting up when Billie returned to the kitchen. He was leaning against Tammy with his face in his hands. Billie couldn’t tell if he was crying or just in pain.
“Kyle,” she said, kneeling down before him. “What happened?”
No response. Billie gently pulled Kyle’s hands from his face. The young man’s eyes were bloodshot and glassy, darting around the room like a frightened mouse. His voice was brittle. “Something was here.”
“What was it?” Billie took hold of his hands to stop them from shaking. “What did you see?”
He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. It was all dark. Like a shadow. It felt cold.”
Tammy snapped her fingers, trying to get his eyes to focus on her. “Kyle, where is Kaitlin?”
“They took her.”
The room went cold. Billie squeezed his hands. “Who took her?”
“I don’t know,” Kyle hushed. “I heard the door bust in. People rushing inside.”
“But you didn’t see who it was?”
“No.” He winced. His hand raised up, touching the back of his head. “I don’t know what happened after that.”
Tammy ran her fingers over the back of his skull. “There’s a lump here.” Her fingertips came away dark with blood.
Billie ripped a dishtowel from the counter and tossed it to Tammy to apply to the man’s wound, then she sought out Kyle’s eyes again. “Kyle, what did Kaitlin say? Was she hurt?”
“She wasn’t herself. At all.”
“Why did she come back?”
“She wanted her Ouija board. She said she had a new friend.” He rubbed his eyes, trying to concentrate. “A woman. Evelyn.”
That name again. It sent a shudder down Billie’s spine. She took Kyle by the arm and nodded for Tammy to do the same. “Let’s get him on his feet.”
“What? Shouldn’t he lie down or something?”
“No. Get him walking,” Billie said. “Then go next door, get someone to stay with him.”
“We’re not staying.”
“Are you crazy?” Tammy spat. “We need to call the cops. He needs to go to a hospital.”
“The neighbour can do that. We’re not waiting for the police.”
“What is wrong with you?”
Billie lashed out like a rattlesnake. “The police will keep us here for hours. Do you want that? We need to find Kaitlin. Now.”
“How?”
“I know where she is.”
18
THE TENANT NEXT door wasn’t happy about being disturbed but he agreed to stay with Kyle until the police arrived. They booked it back to the car.
“So?” Tammy said as she unlocked the door. “Where is she?”
“You might not want to go.” Billie dialled a number on her phone. “Hang on.”
Billie paced the concrete for a moment before ending the call. She looked at the phone like it was broken. “Why can’t I get through?”
“To who?”
“Mockler,” Billie replied. She tried the number again. “He’ll help us.”
“But you said no police.”
“He’s different. Ugh, it’s still not connecting.”
“Maybe he turned his phone off,” Tammy suggested.
“He’s not that far away.” Billie opened the passenger door. “Let’s see if he’s home.”
As the car pulled away from the curb, Billie texted a message to Mockler and kept the phone in hand. She tried to think of what else to do. Was there any way to prepare for what was to come? Bringing a police detective along was the only plan she had. And she wasn’t all that sure that he would go along.
Tammy took a sharp turn and accelerated onto Sanford. “Time to spill. Where is Kaitlin?”
“At the Murder House.”
Tammy spun a sharp look at her friend. “How do you know that?”
“You sure you wanna know?”