Deadworld

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Deadworld Page 8

by J N Duncan


  Thirty minutes later, Nick had his Jeep on the north side and was wishing he had driven the Porsche in to work. The feeling was definitely stronger, but without the spike of energy real blood would give, they would have to get damn close to home in on him. Drake was teasing them, and Nick clenched the steering wheel in frustration as he dodged through traffic, trying to get a better sense of where Drake was feeding. It had been an hour now, which gave them another half hour to forty minutes tops. If anything, Cornelius could be counted on to be consistent.

  Shelby called in again, and Nick could hear the distinctive squeal of tires and the blaring of horns in the background. The woman was hell on wheels, enough to scare the shit out of the best NASCAR had to offer. He tried to keep the image of her getting plowed by a CTA bus out of his head. Damn woman!

  “I’m east of the river, beginning to think he might be southwest of here.”

  “Okay. I just crossed the river at Chicago. I’ll head west from here and then south,” Nick said. “Head north of me a couple miles and then come over and head down. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “We need blood, not luck,” she snarled in his ear and clicked off.

  As the minutes ticked by, Nick knew she was right. The odds were slim, and someone was dying, but there would be no bloodshed to find him. It’s wrong, Nick told himself, like he had been telling himself for years, but the temptation was there, and just the thought made his mouth begin to salivate. Drake, on the other hand, was at that very moment quenching his thirst, draining the life of some poor soul, burning with the cold fire of the power of death. Nick had no clue how he would deal with Drake even if he did find him. Would bullets stop him? Enough of them might. Even the power of the other side can only heal so fast. With blood though…

  Shelby interrupted the tormenting thoughts with another call. “West!” she shouted. “He’s west of me. Your side of the river.” Her engine was loud in the background, revved up high.

  “Slow down, Shel. You will kill-” He stopped when the phone went dead again.

  She was a good two miles north of his location. West of her could mean anything up to three or four miles. Six to eight square miles of city. Twenty minutes. Nick dug a Rolaids out of his pocket and popped two. Frustration was simmering away in his gut like a rancid witch’s brew. They would not find him. Not yet. It was all just part of the game, but one Nick could not afford to stop playing, because somewhere out there, another person was almost dead, and if Drake stuck to his routine, a fifteen-year-old young man had just about succumbed to a decades-long plot of revenge.

  Nick veered east and headed for the freeway. The eerie call of death had started to fade. Reluctantly, he punched in Shelby’s number. “Go home, Shel. He’s done for now.”

  “I could have had blood in five minutes, Nick.” Her voice was choking up. Nick swore silently to himself. “I could’ve tracked him, goddamn you!”

  He didn’t bother saying good-bye and dropped the cell on the seat beside him. He knew she would not go home, not yet. She would ride around the rest of the evening, hoping to pick up the scent, something beyond that usual faint whiff of foulness one smelled when another one of them was within twenty-odd miles of you. She would yell more at him later, cursing his weakness, demanding he have the courage to drink, to be like Drake. But he could not. It was a promise he refused to break. It was the only one he had left, and God help him if he defiled Gwen’s memory for the sake of revenge.

  Pulling into his garage, Nick got out and watched the rain whip across the driveway until the door had closed. He felt tired, beyond even the thirst for blood. The synthetic would give him his energy back, but this tired went beyond bone deep and sapped at his soul. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.

  “I’m sorry, hon. I just can’t do it,” he whispered.

  Chapter 14

  For the first time in six months, Nick sat on his back deck watching the sun burn its way through the morning shroud of fog, a handrolled cigarette burning down between his fingers. He could no longer remember the number of times he had quit smoking. At this point, it really didn’t matter. He took a long drag off the sweet tobacco and flicked the remainder out into the wet grass.

  “Enjoy it while you can, Sheriff.”

  Down the gentle slope of his backyard, a whiter, more solid shape of fog shifted and danced across the still waters of a reed-encircled pond, taking on a more recognizable shape as it approached the house. Nick picked up the cold cup of blood-spiked coffee sitting on the small table next to the lounge chair and winced down the cold dregs. Hot or cold, it always tasted like shit. The familiar, overall-clad form walked up through the rail and stopped next to him on the deck.

  “Morning, Reg.”

  He grinned at Nick, an indifferent sort of twist of his mouth that Reggie had whether the news was good or bad. The dead had a slightly skewed sense of humor when it came to the living. “Mornin’, boss. Good a time as any to take up smokin’ again.”

  Nick gave him a hint of a smile. “I suppose. Things went as planned?”

  Reggie held out a fist so intensely white it looked nearly corporeal and dropped something into Nick’s hand. “I’m guessin’ so.”

  “Ah, thanks.” Nick turned the small square of clear plastic around in his hand a couple times before finally holding it up for a better look. “You know, I hadn’t even realized Drake had this. I thought it gone when I burned the cabin down.”

  He nodded slowly. “How would you’ve known, boss? We owe that bastard something big.”

  Nick studied the penny, the year 1862 standing out clear as the day he had bought it for his son those many decades ago. “The prick has had it all this time. Joshua never even had the chance to put it with his collection.”

  “Do you suppose Drake has other things?”

  Nick figured as much. He nodded at Reggie, rage bubbling up in his throat so acidic he was afraid he might spit fire if he spoke at that moment. He slid the coin into his pocket and closed his eyes, taking in a deep, cool draught of air. A poor kid was dead, unfortunate to have a passing resemblance to another boy dead for 144 years. Who else in Chicago resembled his dead family? Who was about to find themselves on the wrong end of a twisted vampire’s vengeance? The familiar game was afoot, and Nick did not feel ready to play. Where to begin? The chance for saving the next victim was already gone.

  “Did you find anything else?”

  The never-ending smile stretched a hair. “Little evidence that I saw other than the coin.”

  “Anything from the police?”

  “No. They seem to be washing their hands of it.” Reggie’s hands disappeared into the pockets of the overalls. “The blond woman is going to be trouble.”

  “The medium?”

  Reggie nodded.

  “Yeah, no doubt about that. She knows we’re not what we seem.”

  Laughter bubbled up out of Reggie-a soft, maniacal cackle. “Oh, I spooked her good this morning. She’s a keen one though. Had to get the penny from their evidence room. Her house is warded something fierce against spirits. I’d have set off alarms all over if I’d tried. She could tell when I picked it up though. Had to practically cross back over to avoid being seen.”

  Nick shrugged. “Doesn’t matter now. We’ll be hearing from them again soon, I expect. They’ll be gathering more intel on me, and after showing me the penny yesterday, that Agent Rutledge is going to be all over us. We’ll be lucky to avoid their involvement in this.”

  Reggie gave him a wry, sad smile. “That didn’t go too well the last time, boss.”

  “Agreed,” Nick said. “We may have little choice in the matter, however, if they try to pin anything on me or drag my ass in.”

  “They have no evidence yet.”

  “Circumstantial. I was at the scene. They know I’m connected somehow, and technology is going to be to our disadvantage now. They can find out things too fast these days.”

  “It’s a strange world. Some days it’s
good to be dead.”

  Nick almost laughed. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves just yet. I’ll call Shel and Cyn to let them know to expect another visit from the feds. Things are going to get complicated real quick, I’m afraid.”

  “I’ll be around if you need me, boss.”

  He motioned with the penny to his old friend. “Thanks, Reg. As always, it’s much appreciated.”

  “We’re going to take him down this time, Mr. Anderson. You’ll see.”

  Nick watched him dissipate into the air. “Yes, we certainly will, Reg.”

  It was going to be a lovely day. He got up from the chair, hands going into his pockets, and rubbed at the plastic case between his fingers. Unwanted memories stirred like the wisps of fog down on the pond, ghostly tendrils rising up from the murk below.

  Chapter 15

  It was still dark when the phone rang. Jackie startled awake, still propped against the pillows, and watched her laptop slide off the burgundy comforter to the floor. Bickerstaff, who was perched on the end of the bed below her feet, looked down at the computer and then back at her. He appeared to have been waiting for that precise moment all night and now had a very catlike smirk upon his face. She kicked at him from beneath the covers while reaching for the phone on the nightstand and then watched him indignantly jump to the floor. The number was Laurel’s.

  “Hey, it’s six thirty in the morning. Think I’m bringing you a custard doughnut now?” It was not much of a threat, but with sleep still fogging her brain, it was all she could come up with.

  “Get your tiny little butt down here, and I’ll take two of Annabelle’s custardy delights, thank you very much.”

  Jackie sat up, one hand rubbing at the sleep in her eyes. It was against the laws of nature to sound that functional before the sun came up. “Okay, I’m up, more or less. What’s going on?”

  Laurel’s voice rose in pitch, a clear sign she was excited by something. “We had a little visitor in the evidence room this morning.”

  Little visitor? “What, like a gremlin or something?”

  “Someone stole our little twenty-five-K penny.”

  That got Jackie to her feet. “You’re joking. How the hell did someone break into the evidence room?”

  “Because they weren’t really here,” she said. Jackie could hear the smirk in her voice.

  “Damnit, Laur. You telling me a ghost ran off with evidence?”

  Her voice snapped back. “Looks that way.”

  “Okay, okay. Sorry.” Jackie sighed and stared up at the ceiling. “I believe you. I just hate when supernatural shit gets involved. No standards for this kind of thing.”

  “Makes life interesting. Coming in now?”

  “Yeah. Let me throw clothes on. I’ll grab a bite on the way. Wait. My car is still downtown.”

  “I got Denny to take it back for you.”

  Jackie listened for but could find no hint of annoyance in Laurel’s voice. “Thanks.”

  “Which means Annabelle’s. Don’t forget.”

  A morning sheen of fog put a damper on an already shitty start to the day as Jackie drove into downtown, sipping on Annabelle’s Mississippi Mud coffee. How could someone break into the evidence room of the FBI building without getting busted? Security was tighter than Pernetti’s ass. A ghost could get in there, but, then, how did it get out with evidence in hand? Did they even have hands? How the hell did you deal with an evidence-stealing ghost?

  Jackie sipped and muttered all the way to the FBI offices, stewing in the elevator as she rode up to the third floor where the evidence room was located. Laurel greeted her at the elevator door, hand extended in anticipation at the white bag Jackie held.

  “Boy, someone’s excited this morning.”

  Laurel snatched the bag and snagged one of the chocolate-frosted, custard-filled doughnuts. “Mmmm. Oh, that’s so good. I’ve been jonesing for one of those all morning.”

  “How long have you been down here?” Jackie handed her the other coffee and tossed the carrier over to a nearby garbage can.

  “Five-thirty or so.” She shrugged and happily bit down on the doughnut, wiping at the custard that squirted out around her mouth and licking her finger clean.

  “Christ, Laur. What for? And can I have my chocolate croissant, please? You’re hogging the bag.” Laurel gave a sheepish grin and handed the bag back, and Jackie smirked. “Thanks.” She reached in and pulled out the croissant, crumpling up the bag. Her second shot at the waste can missed horribly. “So. What have you got, Sherlock?”

  Laurel walked over and placed the bag in the can before heading down the hall. “There’s not much to see, really. I was having a hard time sleeping last night.”

  “Archie?” Jackie guessed. The image of a bloodless child tended to stick in your brain, and Laurel had a harder time tuning out that kind of stuff. Sometimes Jackie would not even let her inspect the victim if it was too messed up.

  She nodded. “Among other things. Anyway I decided to come in and go over the evidence again, see if anything popped up for me before the morning meeting.”

  “I was hoping to dig into that murder case with Anderson’s dad some more.”

  “Okay, but first I want you to check this out.” She opened the door to the evidence room and led Jackie inside.

  There were two men inside snooping around. The closest, a middle-aged man with a thinning, brown buzz cut and soft pouting lips, stood up when they entered the room. He had on the uniform of building security.

  He looked up at them. “We got nothing, Laurel. Hey, there, Jack.”

  “Figured,” Laurel said.

  Jackie had to glance at his name tag before she recalled who he was. She had said hello to him how many times coming into the building? Sad, very sad. “Hi, Walt.”

  “Don’t know what to tell you guys. Video is blank. Nobody went in or out other than you, Laurel.”

  “No signs of tampering?” Jackie asked.

  Walt shook his head. “Not that I can tell, but we’ll give it to the geeks and see if they can find anything.”

  Laurel walked them over to the box containing evidence for the case. “I checked it back in when I came up this morning.”

  Jackie looked through the handful of plastic bags in the box. Nothing in the room looked disturbed. Whoever had intruded had known what they were looking for and gone directly to it. “Too fucking weird. What could be so important about a penny to warrant the risk of breaking into FBI headquarters? Walt, let us know if anything turns up on that surveillance video.”

  “Will do,” he said.

  “Thanks. Laurel, let’s go. I want to check out Anderson’s history some more.”

  She sighed with obvious annoyance, but Jackie ignored her and walked out. There had to be a more logical explanation than a ghost walking out with the penny. If the videotapes showed a plastic-covered penny floating off down the hall, she would reconsider.

  Back at their cubby holes that somehow were considered offices by the management, Laurel plopped down in her chair across the aisle from Jackie’s desk and picked up the cup of tea there. “You think someone snuck in there, don’t you?”

  “I just like real possibilities better, and I didn’t want to go all supernatural with Walt right there.”

  Laurel shook her head. “Yeah… well, fine.”

  “So how does a damn ghost pick up a penny and walk out of an office building? Wouldn’t someone have seen something?”

  “Hardly anyone was here, but you’re right that it doesn’t make a lot of sense. All I know is I felt the presence really strongly for about two minutes, but by the time I’d narrowed down where it was coming from, it had gone.”

  “Any ideas on how we deal with an evidence-stealing ghost?”

  “At the moment, no.” Laurel’s brow wrinkled. “I’m not sure what to make about a lot of things on this case.”

  “So, fine then. What do we do?”

  Together they said, “Stick with what you do know.”


  “Which means we focus on Anderson and see what we can find out about Fontaine and the rest of his business. Hauser needs to get here. He’d do this in half the time.”

  “He might have looked into it already. He likes weird cases like this.”

  “He just wants into my pants. He’d be interested in any case we have.”

  Laurel laughed. “You could do worse.”

  “Ew. No. Can you imagine the flack I’d get around here?”

  “I’d have to hide your gun.”

  Jackie grinned. “There would be much bloodshed.”

  “Hey, Jack.” Belgerman stopped between them, his tie already pulled loose from his shirt. “Can we talk for a minute?” He didn’t wait for an answer and kept walking.

  Jackie winced. “Fuck. Does he always come in this early?”

  “Sometimes,” Laurel replied, “but not very often.”

  “Great. This day has turned to shit, and it’s not even eight AM yet.”

  “Sorry,” Laurel whispered to her as Jackie got up and walked down the hallway toward Belgerman’s office.

  Jackie closed the door to the office. He said nothing, leaning against the edge of his desk, hands folded with quiet calm in his lap. She thrust her hands in her pockets to keep them from fidgeting and felt the saliva evaporate from her mouth. His walls at least were reasonably thick. Someone walking by at the right time, however, would hear. With her luck, it would be Pernetti.

  “You’re a fucking idiot sometimes, Jackie.”

  Yep. Not happy at all. The look he gave her said far more than the words. If she felt any smaller she would be able slink out under the door. Out the large picture window behind his balding head, a low bank of gray clouds slid by. A light rain was beginning to fall, beading on the glass. It offered little to distract Jackie from the stern, livid, and fatherly gaze Belgerman leveled at her.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t give me the ‘yes, sir’ bullshit. What the hell were you thinking? Punching a fellow agent?”

  “Yes, sir. I know, but, sir, he’s-”

 

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