by Eddie Jones
At last I tore my gaze away and went splashing across the creek and up the other side. Behind me, I heard gnarling and snapping and a terrible sound out of the stag’s wheezing cries for help. Running became the only thing that mattered. I darted around trees and up the sloping forest floor with small plants slapping at my legs. In the moonlight I saw a clearing hollowed out in the woods. As I drew closer I realized it was a stone crypt, one built into the side of the hill. Vines choked its rusty bars. Gargoyle sculptures looked down from atop two massive columns supporting the overhang covering a short stoop. A half-opened gate anchored the center of an iron fence running around the stoop.
The wolf dog’s victory howl echoed through the forest and was followed instantly by the thunder of paws approaching. I chanced a single backward glance — just one — and saw the beast charging after me, its fur sodden by the stag’s blood, eyes yellow and glowing in the moon’s light. I hit the metal bars with my shoulder and knocked the gate open, fell inside, and slammed the gate shut with my foot.
Before I could sit up and slide the latch into place, the wolf dog erupted from the forest, charged across the small meadow of damp grass, and lunged at the gate. Its front paws hit with such force that the impact sent me skidding backward across slate tiles. I thrust my feet forward, closing the gate on the animal’s head. With bloody fangs inches from my face, I kicked the bars a final time and forced the wolf dog back, then reached up and shoved the latch into place. The beast responded by slamming into the gate again, but the latch held.
I scooted all the way across the tiles until my back rested against the front door’s heavy wood paneling. Terrified by the wolf dog’s rabid snapping and growling and hyped up on adrenaline, I could not make my hands stop shaking. Finally I reached over my head, turned the door’s knob, and fell back inside. Still on my back, I wormed my way in and slammed the door shut. I lay on the cold slate tiles in the darkness and listened, my heart hammering in my chest.
The crypt smelled like mildew, a tangy odor of rodents, and damp rot. A needle of moonlight came through the crack in the door and provided some light, but not enough to get a good idea of the size of the room. The rustle of cloth approached from somewhere behind me. I sensed a heavy shadow standing over me. A voice, no, a whisper, blew into my ear.
“So good of you to join me, Nicholas. I know you are dying to close this case, so let’s begin.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE SLEEP OF DEATH
A match raked against the slate flooring. Its flame lit a slender white candle. For a half second I could almost make out the face of the individual holding the wrought-iron candleholder, the silhouette of chin, cheek, and forehead. It might have been male, but I couldn’t be sure.
I pushed myself onto my elbows. “Where is Meg?” I asked, trying to sound braver than I felt.
“At the hospital, I would imagine. I put her in the ambulance with the driver and told them we would be right behind them in your aunt’s car.”
I sat up and watched a bone-white hand place the candleholder atop a stone casket. Before I could get a clear look at the face, the silky black cape slipped back into shadows. There were two rows of caskets, each one elevated above dusty flagstone tiles by stone blocks. Outside at the gate the wolf dog’s snarling ceased, leaving only the moaning of limbs creaking as a breeze pushed through the forest.
“Did you know Elizabeth Bathory is probably the most prolific female serial killer of all time?”
I could not be sure if the voice was Raintree’s or not. Not that it mattered; whoever it was had me trapped.
“While her husband was on the front lines, she murdered six hundred people, maybe more. Many of them young women. Bathory believed that by bathing in the blood of young girls she could obtain immortality. How about you? Do you believe a person can gain eternal life through the blood of another?”
“I, ah … haven’t really thought about it.”
“You lie.” The phantom figure strolled about the room as though taking inventory of the caskets, always remaining just beyond the edge of light.
“The question of life after death through the consumption of blood has consumed you since you arrived. Why else would you be here? Was this not why you jumped at the chance to investigate Forester’s death? Because you secretly wondered if the rumors were true: that there are such things as vampires and, if there are, there might also be the chance for immortal life?”
“Hadn’t really thought about any of it.” I stood and looked for an opportunity to bolt. “Was just looking to write a story. That’s what I do. As long as my readers like my article, it doesn’t much matter to me if there’s life after death.”
“Please step away from the door. I would so hate for Moses to tear out your throat before we finished our chat.”
A bitter taste filled my mouth. It was the same dry-mouth sensation I feel every time one of my teachers announces a pop quiz. It’s the rush of adrenaline followed by a sense of failure.
I released my grip on the brass knob and stepped away from the door. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“Did you know if the body remains faceup after the heart stops pumping, the vessels in the back of the legs become clogged with blood? Without oxygen, anaerobic fermentation sets in. This produces lactic acid, which in turn causes rigor mortis. Should the body remain undiscovered and untouched for several hours, insects begin arriving. Flies lay eggs in the nose, mouth, and ears. Maggots hatch and begin eating the decomposing flesh.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I thought these sorts of things fascinated you. Is that not why you watch all those murder investigation shows? To study about death and killing?”
In the flame’s faint glow I saw the shadowy figure rub a pale hand over a casket. The voice was male, that I knew. But not Raintree’s. Or Barlow’s.
“The digestion of the body’s cells releases gases, giving the corpse that putrid smell. After four days, the skin begins to look like cottage cheese. Fluids leak out, attracting more insects. But of course you know all this, or should. Is that not why you insisted on seeing Forester’s body? To satisfy your curiosity?”
Instantly I identified the voice. “Dr. Edwards?” I watched the shadowy shape turn toward me. “But I thought you were …”
“Dead? Hardly.” Edwards strolled between the rows of caskets and stopped next to the candle. “I admit when you arrived this morning asking to see Forester’s body, it caught me off guard. It hadn’t occurred to me an outsider might be interested in the case. I suppose Raintree is to thank for that miscalculation. I should have guessed he might try to use Forester’s death as a media event for his obtuse vampire slayer game. Is he the one who tipped you off to Forester’s death?”
“I … we traced the IP address of the person who posted the tip. It came from Transylvania.”
“Idiot man, always the media hound.”
“So I was right about you. You did kill Forester.”
“Why, but of course. Just as I will kill you. Please do not keep edging toward the door.”
“But why? If you really are in love with his wife, why not wait for the divorce to go through?”
“Do you really think a woman of Lucy’s tastes finds me interesting? To her I am a friendly neighbor, the fix-it buddy who stops by to help her when she cannot remember how to open a Web browser. Forester knew of my interest in his wife. He warned me to stop pursuing her. Fool. Who does he think he is telling me who I can and cannot love?”
“But you’re dating Meg’s mom.”
“Merely a convenient diversion until I can win Lucy’s heart. And I will. In time she will find me the stable, caring man Forester never could be.”
I had to keep him talking, keep him engaged. Last thing I could do was let him see my disappointment at being tricked.
As calmly as I could I said, “Whatever you’re planning, it won’t work. As soon as Meg figures out I’m not behind her in Aunt Vivian’s car, she’ll cal
l me.”
“I doubt that very much. I doubt anyone will find you for a very long time. And when they do, this business with Forester will be of no consequence to anyone. As soon as I am able, I plan to suggest to Lucy that she move. This dreary place is really too small for a woman of her talents. But that is none of your concern. Now, walk slowly toward that coffin. Yes, that one there. Good.”
“You’re more talkative than you were this morning.”
“Let’s say I’m chatty because I know there is nothing I say that will … come back to haunt me. That one right there. Yes, that’s it. Open it.”
I eyed the coffin by my elbow. It was diamond-shaped like those pine boxes you see in old westerns, the kind with more room at the head and shoulders than legs and feet.
“What now?”
“Isn’t it obvious? You become the lead character of a Cool Ghoul article: a truly dead lead that gets buried at the bottom of the page.”
I couldn’t let him see how scared I was, though honestly I wasn’t sure how I could hide it. My legs shook with the force of an earthquake.
“Did you send Forester’s body to the medical examiner, or was that a hoax too?”
“What do you think? You are the expert.”
Keep him talking, Caden, keep him talking. “I think you buried the body someplace and everything you wrote on Meg’s laptop, you made up.”
“You are correct. Right outside as a matter of fact. You probably did not notice the fresh grave because Moses was chasing you. No one will think to look behind the hedge of rhododendrons. Vultures, perhaps, but that is all.”
I looked at him with disbelief. “You dug a grave?”
I could not imagine Edwards with his limp, sweaty hands and flabby paunch could do something that strenuous.
“With a backhoe on an ATV. What, you thought I walked here?”
“Won’t someone wonder when Forester’s body doesn’t come back from the medical examiner?”
“I have an urn full of ashes. It was Forester’s wish to be cremated. Lucy will not question it. The lieutenant is satisfied with the autopsy report. Raintree will use news of the death of the ‘Dark Coven Master’ as a way to boost book sales in his store, I’m sure of it. Barlow gets quoted in your latest and final article. His reputation may take a hit once the press learns he has been charged with mutilating a body, but perhaps even that will help. Who is to say? Right now Lucy is in shock, though she doesn’t know it. Her pending divorce and Forester’s death have left her emotionally confused. Once I prove myself to be the steady rock she can count on, the shoulder to cry on, she will see me in a new light.”
“Seriously? You killed Forester just to steal his wife?”
“Oh, please. You think I’m the first? This tale is as old as David and Bathsheba.”
“David and Bath what?”
“What are they teaching kids in Sunday school these days?”
“We don’t go to church. Mom and Dad don’t believe in it.”
“Pity. A solid moral foundation is the backbone of civilized people.”
I wanted to reply, “Yeah, well, it didn’t do much good for you,” but I didn’t. Instead I said, “Walk it back for me, the timeline of the murder.”
“I do not see where that can hurt. You will not be alive to tell anyone. Let’s see, I snuck into the manor the evening before. I came by way of the catacombs. I think we both know what I mean by that. I found Forester asleep in that dreadful casket. I had made it a point over the past few months to befriend Moses, so we are almost best friends now. I gave him a tough rib eye, one I purchased on sale. While he ate I anesthetized Forester, first with chloroform, and followed that with a second cocktail of drugs. Once he was unconscious I drained his blood. This took the better part of an hour.”
“How did you carry it out?”
“The blood? Three half-gallon jugs. To keep Moses happy I gave him a second piece of beef. Removing the body proved more difficult. Medical stretchers do not roll well through catacombs, but I managed. I had parked Lucy’s car on the carriage road that runs between the manor and guesthouse. I drove to the resort, carefully placed Forester on the putting green, and returned to the dealership. I picked up my car and snuck back into Meg’s house and began preparing breakfast.”
“Why go to all that trouble of making Forester look like a vampire?”
“People were bound to wonder what became of the man. He dressed the part, anyway. All I had to do was add the fangs and drive that stake through his heart. Eventually I would become a suspect, maybe even the main suspect. Hamilton’s niece and others would see to that. By making his death a freakish event, I created confusion. I knew if anyone looked hard enough, they would learn Raintree and Barlow were running a vampire game out of the manor. Most likely the focus of the investigation would turn to the list of recent players, the idea being maybe one of them killed Forester by mistake.”
“So Raintree wasn’t involved?”
“Not in the least. Nor was Barlow. All were mere props in my charade. Keeping Forester’s blood was a mistake, but I wanted to run some tests to see if he had any diseases he might have passed on to Lucy. Then you arrived asking questions and I had to dispose of it.
“So you’re the one who made the morgue look as if it had been vandalized?”
“Needed a diversion to keep you and Meg from suspecting me. Now that the lieutenant has the autopsy report proving Forester died of a heart attack, I can go back to leading my normal, boring life.”
“Which is not so boring after all,” I said.
“No, it is not.”
“If you were worried about me finding out that you killed Forester, why not kill me in the alley? Why go to all this trouble?” I said, motioning toward the caskets.
“Alley? I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“This afternoon when you mugged me.”
“I assure you I have no idea what you are talking about. I planted the remote access software on Meg’s computer so I could track you two and keep informed of your progress. I consider that a stroke of pure genius. But I am not a violent man, at least not in that way.”
Well, if it wasn’t you, then who … I shelved that question for later. He’d fooled me once; maybe he was doing it again. “What about Meg? She knows I suspected you.”
His gaze drifted toward the coffin beside me. “Enough talking.” He stepped closer, lifted the candle, and nodded at the coffin. “Open it.”
I studied the simple black coffin with its rope handles and pine box smell.
“Please, I have another pressing engagement I need to keep.” He saw me hesitating and added, “Do not force me to bring Moses in here. He would leave things in such a bloody mess.”
I could not believe I’d been right about Edwards. If only Aunt Vivian hadn’t … I forced my fingers under the edge of the lid. They felt like eight stubby lead crowbars prying under a slab of cement. I lifted a quarter inch, then a foot, then all the way.
Meg lay with hands folded across her chest and wrists bound with Aunt Vivian’s knitting yarn. Her eyes were closed, silver tape across her mouth. In the candlelight her cheeks appeared porcelain smooth and drained of color. Her dark hair rested on her shoulders like the tail of a sleeping snake.
I felt a sudden sense of shock and horror. I pivoted quickly and hissed, “You told me she was on her way to the hospital.”
“I lied.”
“But why?”
“Loose ends. You never should have involved my assistant. Now I have no choice but to dispose of her too.”
I turned back toward her. I wanted to touch her one last time, so I eased closer and squeezed her hand. To my surprise, it felt warm. I leaned over and pressed my lips to her ear and said softly, “Meg? Hey, Meg, it’s me, Nick.”
Eyelids lifted like a creaky garage door and stopped halfway up. Unfocused brown eyes rolled my direction and found my face. Soft dimpled cheeks crinkled under the tape as she forced a weak smile of recognition.
> “Sorry I got you into this,” I said, my voice breaking. “You were right. It’s all my fault.”
Her eyes softened just enough to let me know she got the joke. Then, just as suddenly, they grew wide with alarm. I hadn’t noticed the candlelight moving closer, or Edwards’s shadow falling over us. He clamped his hand over my mouth and pressed a rag firmly against my nose. With my sudden gasp, I breathed in the vapors wafting from the cloth. The room became a whirling fun ride at an amusement park, spinning and dipping and causing a roaring noise in my ears. I made a fumbling grab for Edwards’s cloak and fell heavily, landing on the slate floor. In the half second before my world went dark, I heard Meg’s muffled shriek.
Then I heard nothing at all.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SIX FEET UNDER
Claustrophobia is the fear of being confined in a small space without any hope of escape. A coffin qualifies. So does a grave. I came to the terrifying conclusion I’d been buried alive. In Meg’s coffin. The smell of her lingered.
Six feet underground there is no light, none at all. Had the coffin rested on the ground or even on the sturdy stone casket supports inside the crypt, I would have detected a hint of moonlight. The sour smell of damp earth and the solid thump of my knuckles rapping the board above me led me to believe I’d been firmly planted.
I opened my eyes fully and yawned. Chloroform is a colorless, sweet-smelling, dense liquid commonly used as a solvent in labs. It’s old school and cliché, but effective. And too much inhaled too quickly will kill someone. But I guessed Edwards knew the right amount to administer.
The vapors left me groggy and with a screaming headache. I wanted to go back to sleep, dream, and worry about escaping the coffin tomorrow. Or the next day. Or never.
At the most, a person can live four hours in a sealed casket — and that’s if you work really hard to slow your breathing. I wasn’t hyperventilating, not yet. But the longer I lay on my back thinking about where I was, how I got there, and what was probably happening to Meg, the more panic seemed to be the right option. I struggled to keep calm. I told myself I would get out, that help would come. I reminded myself that Dad and Mom were on their way, that they would find Aunt Vivian at the hospital but not me, and call the police. Maybe they were already searching for me.