Deadworld

by J N Duncan

  Deciding it was enough effort for the moment, Jackie collapsed back on the couch. She had the day off. Tillie’s orders, backed up by Belgerman. Maybe she just wouldn’t go back. Thinking of facing Laurel’s empty desk at the office brought fresh tears to her eyes. Jackie let them run-all those little things they did at work, the coffees, poking fun at each other’s idiosyncrasies, and half the time knowing what the other was going to do or say before they did it.

  In the middle of it, Tillie called back again. Jackie knew she would call every fifteen minutes until she got through or decided to come over, which would be far worse. Still, she did little to hide her annoyance at the interruption. “What, Dr. Erikson? I’m fine. I’m still here.”

  “No, you aren’t, but good. I’m glad you’re still here.” Her voice had that insane parental calmness to it, where no matter how irate you got or how many fits you threw, the tone never changed.

  “If I say I’m fine, I’m fine, goddamnit. Don’t be telling me how to fucking feel, Tillie. You don’t get paid enough for that.” The vitriol flew out of her mouth before she even realized it was coming. “Christ. Sorry. My head hurts, and, no, I’m not doing fine. It’s a shitty day.”

  “Would you like to come in later this afternoon, Jackie? Or I could come by this evening if you pre-”

  “No.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m in no mood for talking about anything right now. I’ve got the day off. I’m going up to the local pub and getting shit faced, drowning my sorrows, and all that kind of bullshit. I’ll see you back in the office, I’m sure. Bye, Dr. Erikson.” Jackie clicked off and turned off the power on the phone. No more calls. No more anything right now.

  Jackie got up, found her wallet and keys, put on her sandals, grabbed her jacket and headed down the street to her local pub. Fortunately, Tarnigan’s lay four blocks east of her apartment, because Jackie realized halfway there that she was still pretty drunk. The couple strange looks she got confirmed the fact that she at least looked that way.

  Sam-the fat, balding, fiftyish bartender-gave her a wide-eyed look when she sat down at the bar. Sam was reliable. He wouldn’t chat unless you wanted to chat, and he didn’t care how drunk you got, as long as you didn’t drive away from his pub.

  “Christ, Jack. You look like you got run over.”

  She nodded and tapped the counter with three fingers. Having made it in and down on a stool, Jackie found what little courage she had mustered to get out the door and down there melted away with Sam’s worried look. The tears lay like some fathomless lake behind her puffy, bloodshot eyes, and she knew if she spoke then, the dam would crumble, and that would be that. But, true to form, he said nothing else and poured Jackie three shots.

  In quick succession, Jackie downed the fiery shots, propped her cheek on her hand, and stared up at the Cubs game on the television. The alcohol warmed her gut but did little to touch the chill around her heart. She began to play out scenarios from the day before, running through them in her head over and over, but Nick’s words always came out at the end. He would have killed her anyway.

  Jackie wiped at her eyes. “Sam! Three more. Please.” The last came out a bit choked, and she pressed her lips together, forcing the surging tide behind her burning eyeballs at bay.

  He poured one shot and set the bottle down. “You let me know when you need a ride home.”

  She nodded. “Thanks.” Oh, by the way, Sam, some vampire killed Laurel last night. Can you believe it? She couldn’t, did not want to, but had woken up to Laurel’s absence. It had been no freakish nightmare. How am I going to do it, Laur? How will I do this without you? It seemed such an inane and yet impossible question. The hollow sensation on her right side, where Laurel had always walked when they went anywhere together, felt like a vacuous hole where she had been torn away from her flesh. Part of her was missing now, taken away along with Laurel.

  How did people do this? Jackie wondered with despair. How did they move on when half their soul had been ripped away? Her impulse was to just lay her head down on the bar and weep, but Jackie refused to make a spectacle of herself. A little more alcohol, and she would not remember any of tonight regardless, at which point she knew she could just let everything out. Sam would call her a cab. He could just pitch her into the river, for all it mattered.

  “Rough day?”

  Jackie’s blurred vision sharpened on the man who sat down on the stool next to her. Navy suit, red tie, little hint of shadow across his cheeks, and a handsome wave of reddish brown hair kept just longer than business norm. “And you care because?”

  He shrugged and smiled, blue eyes glancing down at the array of shot glasses and near-empty tequila bottle. “I didn’t say I cared. I just asked if you were having a rough day.”

  Jackie eyed him, far too gone to judge if he was as good-looking as the dozen shots made him appear, but he hit the right note regardless. Oblivion. The guy could fuck her right into oblivion. Just the cure for a soul suffering too much awareness. “Someone died.”

  Sam put a beer in front of the man, giving her a quizzical look, but she ignored him. The man put down a five, which Sam quickly swiped up, and the man’s mouth quirked up in one corner. “People die every day. You’d be dead of alcohol poisoning if that was your modus operandi.”

  Hmmm, not a bad thought, really. Worse ways to go. “Sometimes it’s just the wrong one.”

  He nodded, a sage expression on his face, and sipped his beer. “Yeah, always wrong for someone, and for them…” He raised his beer. “To better days. My name’s Scott, by the way.”

  Better days. Jackie could not see how that might be possible any longer. “Jack. Most folks just call me Jack.” She downed another shot, hardly even feeling its warmth anymore.

  “Nice to meet you, Jack. Are you in mourning? I’m sorry to intrude, if that’s the case.”

  She thought about it for a moment, her sloggy brain taking longer than it should to formulate opinions on much of anything. “Nope. Just lamenting life in general. I needed cheering up, so I walked down here to bother Sam.”

  “Ah, I see. Well, Sam here does look like the cheerful type.”

  “Be careful with her,” Sam quipped. “She bites.”

  “Most encouraging news I’ve had all day.” Scott smiled and turned back to Jackie. “Do you bite, Jack?”

  “Only if provoked.” The words came out slightly slurred. That last shot had been the tipping point. She poured another, knowing from habit how this downward slide would progress.

  “And what, may I ask, provokes a woman like yourself?”

  “Smart-ass guys in suits, for one.”

  Scott laughed. “Your lucky day. Fortunately, my ass is quite intelligent, and the suit’s Armani, for what it’s worth.”

  She snorted. “Nothing. You always take advantage of drunken women, Scott?”

  He eyed her for a moment, and Jackie knew he was thinking for just a second if she was being serious or flip, but the tequila should have given that one away without any thought at all. “Every chance I can get. Twice on Sundays.”

  Yeah, he would do just fine. Jackie smiled at his lame humor and downed one more shot before getting off the stool. “Guess it’s your lucky day-” she started and then tripped over the leg of the stool before Mr. Suit could catch her. “Well. Shit. Pay the man, Scottie, and walk me home. I need something cute to lean on.”

  He put a fifty on the bar and took Jackie’s arm. “Mom always said my MBA would come in handy.”

  “Oh, a funny man! My mother was too stupid to even spell MBA.” She leaned against him and managed something halfway between laughter and tears. She just wanted him to hurry and up and get her home-fill that empty pit that had swallowed a dozen shots of tequila and still left her feeling hollow. The mortar that kept her bricks in place had liquefied, drained away on a steel table in an abandoned warehouse, and one by one the bricks were tumbling down into the hole.

  Walking home on the arm of another handso
me, unknown man, Jackie smiled grimly at the thought of one more broken promise.

  Chapter 34

  “Here,” Shelby said, handing Nick one of his handrolled cigarettes. “Take it, damnit. I know you want one.”

  He let out a huff and took it from her, plucking a match from the container sitting on the counter. With a quick pop of his thumbnail, it crackled to life, and Nick took a long drag on the harsh, sweet tobacco. He watched Shelby light one for herself, something he had not seen her do in years, and then take a long draught off her third beer. She rarely had more than two drinks, but it had little apparent effect on her as she paced around the kitchen and out to the living room to stare through the huge panes of glass at the steady rain that buried Illinois in a sea of gloom.

  “And fucking eat something, would you?” She pointed at the burger he had made but had not touched. Hers had been gone in two minutes. “This ‘woe is me’ thing is pissing me off.”

  Nick picked up the burger and took a bite, and admittedly it tasted damn good. His stomach had been rumbling since the previous night but he had not had the inclination to eat. Not to mention, Shelby was probably right. Maybe there was a little punishment going on. “Sorry. This thing has me in a poor mood.”

  She took another deep drag on the cigarette and then put it out, blowing a long stream of blue smoke out toward Nick’s face. “Yeah, it has me worried, too, but I was out there all night trying to find the prick while you moped around out here and brooded on the possibilities. You know, Nick,” she began with a shake of her head and paced off toward the windows again, “there was a time when the little people got stepped on, you stepped up and made it your business to mete out a little justice. I loved that about you. You stood up for what was right, even if it meant risking your life.”

  Her words stung. “I still do, Shel. You know that.”

  “Then what are you doing, babe?” She spun around, sloshing beer out onto the floor. “Drake is out there killing people, and you’re acting like you can’t really do anything about it.”

  “Can I? Can you?” he added, pointing a finger. “Even with blood, do you honestly think you have a chance against him now?” Frustration, anger, impotence-all began roiling over inside Nick. “If we both had blood, would it make any difference at all? You saw the same thing I did, Shel. Drake opened a doorway and just stepped right through to the other side. We can’t defend against that. If he’s got that much control over it, he could probably just open a door here and take us out while we slept.”

  “Why hasn’t he then? Huh? Why?” She stomped across the room at him and stabbed a finger hard into his chest. “You just want an excuse not to fail yet again, knowing that if you blow it this time, you die. You’re taking the coward’s way out, Nicholas.”

  He reached up to slap her but caught himself at the last moment. His heart pounded against the tip of her finger, angry and embarrassed. Shelby looked at him, her face flushed with indignation, her mouth as petulant as ever.

  She stared at him and then finally drew back, smiling. “Had your chance there, hon. For a second there, you could have had me.”

  “I could never hit you, Shel, even if I wanted to.”

  “You know, sometimes control is the last thing you need to exercise.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?

  She rolled her eyes. “Christ, you’re such a guy sometimes. It means go with your gut and your heart. Fly in the face of the odds. Do it because it’s far more glorious to go out with your guns blazing, even if you know you’re dead. You let Drake beat the life out of you, Nick. You let him grind you down, and now you’re letting him gloat over it.”

  She had been walking in a slow circle around the dining room table, clenching and unclenching her fists. Now she stopped and looked hard at him, with something of sympathy perhaps in her eyes. Nick was wincing before the words even came out of her mouth.

  “You think Gwen would be happy if you just gave up and crossed over? Because, really, that’s what you’re doing. You gave up back in ’70. I just didn’t realize until now.”

  The words sat Nick back down on the bar stool. Shelby could just as easily have sucker punched him in the gut. “That’s not a fair thing to say.”

  She shrugged. “Truth is still the truth. Don’t dishonor her memory by just walking off into the fucking sunset.”

  Nick gritted his teeth. Now he really did want to hit her. “You know what?”

  “Hit me if you want to. I can certainly take it. Maybe it’ll even make you feel better. Hell, hit me hard enough, maybe I’ll be inspired to give back a little.” She gave him one of her mock, impish grins. “But, really, you blew your chance the last time. We could have been fucking like bunnies for old time’s sake right here on the table if you’d followed through the first time.”

  “That’s not what I want,” he said, the anger dissipating. Painful as it was to hear, she was right. He could never face Gwen on the other side, if she still lingered there for him. Maybe she had made peace with it after all these years and moved on, but he doubted it. No, she would be there, and the notion of greeting her as a failure terrified him beyond measure.

  Shelby laughed. “Liar. You’d just feel too guilty over it anyway. Better you direct that energy at someone who really needs it.”

  “What, Agent Rutledge again? You need to get over yourself with that, Shel. I feel bad for her. She took everything… hard.”

  Shelby patted him on the cheek. “The fact that you even think that is what I meant confirms it. And I know she took it hard. I sent Reg to keep an eye on her.”

  “You did?”

  “Did you see her?”

  “Well, yeah, but nobody takes the death of a partner very well.” He had lost his share, but in light of his family going down before his eyes, the impact got diffused a bit.

  “You know, for being one hundred and eighty years old, and fairly enlightened by most standards, you can be denser than rock sometimes.” Shelby chuckled and went to the fridge for another beer. “She didn’t just take it hard. It crushed her, Nick. I saw the look in her eyes, or lack thereof, I should say. The poor girl’s life force just snuffed out like a candle in the wind.”

  It was a feeling he could relate to far too well. There had been some pretty rough low spots in his life. “You think she could be suicidal?”

  Shelby wrapped her finger around the bottle cap and pulled it off, taking another long draught of beer. “Maybe. Doesn’t hurt to be safe. Besides, I’m thinking Laurel may try to contact her.”

  “Why so soon?”

  “Because she’s strong, Nick, and she has seen the other side. She’s not afraid of it, or at least she’s not so overwhelmed by the Deadworld to need much time to get used to things there.”

  “You don’t think she’ll move on?”

  Her bark of laughter was sharp and held a hint of jealousy. “As long as Jackie is alive, Laurel is one of the lingering dead, and she’s familiar with things, Nick. She’ll figure out how to get around soon enough, and before long, Jackie will get contacted. I just hope she’s stable when it happens, because… well, it might be bad.”

  “Were the two of them intimate?”

  “Hardly. Agent Rutledge is more afraid of intimacy than she is of goddamned Drake.”

  “Oh.” The statement baffled Nick. “You don’t even know her.”

  “You could see it easily enough if you knew how to look,” Shelby said. “Regardless, Jackie had more than love for Laurel. I think they were more married than most married couples, if you know what I mean.”

  Nick nodded. He did. “Jackie feels like half a person now.”

  Shelby shook her head. “No, she feels like a nonperson now because she’s afraid to look at the half that’s left and find there’s nothing there.”

  Nick finished off his beer and shook his head. “So weren’t you a little worried about how she might take you and Laurel?”

  Shelby put the beer down on the counter and crossed her arm
s over her chest. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Means Reggie told me you two were having a moment before Drake kidnapped her, that’s all. I don’t mind, really, but what were you thinking, getting involved with her in the middle of this case?”

  “Reggie!” Shelby stomped her foot. “The little shit. I’ll wring his neck.”

  “You couldn’t wait?” The point was moot now, but the chance to poke back at her even just a little was too hard to pass up.

  “Unlike you, cowboy,” Shelby replied, her hands bracing against the counter as she leaned toward him, “I like being with someone more than every few decades. And don’t give me the ‘no one could understand’ bullshit either. You could have had Cynthia any time you wanted. The woman utterly adores you and sure as hell knows you aren’t quite there in the reality department.”

  “She’s my secretary-”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Nick! You wouldn’t be the first guy to bang his secretary.”

  Nick’s eyes widened. The thought that Shelby actually felt bad for his lack of relationships had never really occurred to him. “That’s not the point.”

  “Okay, sorry.” She ran her fingers through her hair and heaved a sigh. “I’m frustrated and pissed off and sad.”

  “Yep, me, too, Shel. Me, too.”

  “Bad time?” Reggie’s form seeped up out of the floor and stopped in the center of the table.

  “You!” Shelby pointed an accusatory finger. “You need to quit spying on me.”

  Reggie chuckled. “You’re far more fun than the boss here, Miss Shelby.”

  She dropped the finger. “Why are you here?”

  “That FBI girl you wanted me to, you know, spy on, might be in a spot of trouble.”