by J N Duncan
“Bullshit.” Jackie threw up her hands and turned away, walking out toward the bedroom to find her shoes. “And you don’t count. You ... um ... you just don’t count.”
She followed Jackie, moving until she stood directly through Jackie as she leaned down into the closet. “Why, because I’m a girl?”
Jackie yanked her shoes up through Laurel’s legs, stepped over to the bed and sat down. “No! Of course not.” She shoved one foot into the low-heeled, black-and blue-trimmed leather pumps. Jackie could not even recall when she had worn them last. “You’ve been with me practically every day for over eight years, Laur. You know what a pain in the fucking ass I can be. Let’s face it, I’m not the easiest person to be around.”
“But I fell in love with you anyway,” Laurel said, voice softening.
“And couldn’t tell me because you knew I’d totally freak out.” Jackie slipped on the other shoe and stomped back out to the living room. She could not handle looking at Laurel while talking about this.
Laurel followed on her heels. “That’s not the only reason. Look.” Jackie was picking up her jacket off the top of her piano when she felt the icy chill of Laurel’s hand dragging through her shoulder. “Look at me, Jackie.”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before turning around. “What, Laur? Let’s face it. I’m pretty much a walking fuck-up, and—”
“No!” The ghostly finger poked through Jackie’s ribs. “You’ve had fucked-up things happen to you. That doesn’t make you a fuck-up. So stop that, right now. Sweet Mother of us all, you’re frustrating.”
Jackie nodded. “See? Point proven. And let’s face it. Nick isn’t going to last eight years trying to find the soft, pretty spot on the inside.”
“Not if you don’t drop your prickly little walls for more than two seconds.”
She shrugged into her jacket, pulling it snug with a huff. “Won’t matter. You know he’ll take one deep look with those weird, glowy eyes, and see nothing that he wants.”
“Oh, bullshit,” Laurel said. “He’s already seen you at your worst, and what do you know! He’s still around.”
There was a chime on Jackie’s doorbell. “Damn it. Shel’s early.” She walked over to the door and buzzed Shelby in before turning back to Laurel. “Seeing it and experiencing it are totally different things.”
Laurel was silent for a moment. The sound of Shelby’s muffled voice could be heard singing outside the door. “This is all about sleeping with him, isn’t it? You’re afraid you’ll flip out on him.”
The door swung open and Shelby bounced into the living room. “Happy Thanksgiving, girls! We ready to ... OK, now what?”
Jackie gave Laurel a stern look. “Nothing. Let’s go.” She grabbed her keys off of the entry table and made for the door. The last thing she wanted to get into was a discussion about sex with Nick or the breakdown after Laurel had died or, God forbid, both. Because, truth be told, Laurel had hit it square on the head. Any pleasurable thoughts about sliding beneath the sheets with Nick morphed into a bloody, freak-out disaster, and once that happened, he would be long gone.
Out on the stairs leading down to the street, Laurel quietly stepped into her body. “You’re worrying too much, hon. That won’t ever happen again.”
“Not discussing it, Laur,” she whispered. “And keep Shel out of it.”
“What was that, babe?” Shelby chimed in from directly behind.
Jackie’s heart skipped a beat. The woman walked on air. Jackie forced a smile onto her face. “Nothing. Just looking forward to good food and good beer.”
Shelby brushed by and opened the door leading out, giving Jackie a fleeting kiss on the cheek as she passed. “You’ll have to come over one of these days so I can teach you how to properly lie. You really are terrible at it.”
Jackie made sure to bump her going out, but refused to look into those smiling, bottomless eyes. “Up yours.”
Chapter 3
Charlie opened the door to the Thatcher’s Mill Police Department and wrinkled her nose. Why did the place always smell like a cat had pissed in the corner somewhere? The open entry room of the small brick building two blocks off of Main Street held several wooden chairs and a long, narrow bench, upon which sat the gray, dim form of Rebecca. Charlie stepped over to her, a wistful smile forming on her lips and reached out to brush her hand over the girl’s hair. The wide, staring eyes closed for a moment when she did. The price one paid when asking the law for help.
“Ms. Thatcher!” Elinore, the tawny-haired receptionist, said. “What a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t expecting you.” Crumbs from the holiday cornbread leftovers in her hand crusted the corners of her mouth.
“Are you ever, Eli?” Charlie said, rolling her eyes. “I need a word with Elton. See that nobody disturbs us.”
“Of course, Ms. Thatcher.”
Charlie marched through the reception area, or rather around the reception desk, and stepped into Elton Carson’s office. She waved at the cigarette smoke that hung like fog in the air. “Damn it, Elton. I thought I said to keep the fucking cigarettes out of your office. I hate that shit.”
He hastily brought his feet down off of his desk and stubbed out the butt in the already full ashtray. “Sorry, Ms. Thatcher. Old habits.” He smiled, wiping his hand across the strands of hair still left on his head. “What brings you to the office today? I wasn’t expecting you until our usual meet.”
“I’ve heard by more than one person that Rachel Crenshaw is moving up to Dubuque to live with her boyfriend.” Charlie stepped forward and placed her hands on the edge of his desk. “Can you substantiate that rumor?”
Carson shrugged. “Could be, I guess. That college boyfriend of hers has been down here more than a few times to visit, if you know what I’m saying.”
“So, she’s fucking a visitor,” Charlie said. That always produced problems, without fail.
The police chief licked his upper lip, dragging the tip of his tongue across the pencil thin smear of mustache. “It would appear so, Ms.—”
Charlie’s hand flicked out with hummingbird speed, her delicate hand flicking the disgusting tongue before it could be pulled back into his mouth.
“Ow!” He dabbed at his tongue with the back of his hand, checking for blood. “Christ, Charlie. What was that for?”
“For being a lecherous shit,” she said. The man was far more foul than his father. At least he had given due respect for the law and was tolerable to look at. His son was a snake, living in the dank, dark world of rocks better left unturned. Carson’s son was thirteen now, and looked to be far more like his grandfather.
“But I wasn’t ...” He sighed and averted his gaze from hers. “Sorry, Ms. Thatcher. It won’t happen again.”
She laughed at that. “Of course it will, Elton. God, at least have the balls to admit your lust for me. Your embarrassment only pisses me off.”
“Sorry. Really. I don’t mean—”
Charlie jumped over the desk, a deft gymnastic maneuver, vaulting and landing beside him. The switchblade was in her hand before her feet had hit the ground. She pressed it to his throat, grabbing his chin with the other hand to force him to face her. “Can you deal with the college boy? I don’t want him around here anymore.”
He nodded. “Of course.”
She pushed away from him, the blade scoring the soft flesh of his neck enough to draw blood. Several red tears of blood welled up from the split in the skin. “Show me you’re an adequate lawman, Elton. Perhaps I’ll include a bonus in your paycheck.”
Carson gulped and managed a feeble laugh. “Don’t really want your money, Charlie.”
Charlie grinned back. “See? Nice and direct and honest.” She reached down and wiped the blood up with a finger, bringing it up to her lips and sucking it clean with deliberate slowness. “Take care of that boy.”
“Consider it done,” he said and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket.
Charlie stopped him and traced her finger bac
k across his neck once again, sealing the wound up as she went. She smiled at Carson as his eyes fluttered shut and then slapped him hard once across the face. “Next time I come in here and you’re smoking, you’re going to be eating those fucking things. Got it?”
He rubbed gingerly at his cheek. “Yeah, damn it. I got it.”
“Good.” Charlie spun on her heel and walked out, annoyance gradually turning to excitement. It was time to give Becca the present she had had made for her.
Up the hill at her house, Charlie clomped down the stairs into the basement, where Becca was helping Ma-ma wash the week’s clothes. The stench of soap and bleach was strong in the air. Ma-ma was pinning clothes up on the lines back by the trap doors, which were open, letting the cold November air clear the room. Becca ran a dark, sudsy piece of cloth over the washboard and dunked it into the tub of soapy water.
“Sis! I thought you were going to be gone until afternoon.” She smiled and waved her fingers at her.
Charlie returned the smile. The charm was finally starting to hold. The girl was more resilient than most, which boded well for when the time came to try. She had to be tough, but more importantly, she had to believe and she had to love. Charlie walked over to Becca and kissed her on the cheek.
“You guys are almost done. I didn’t think you’d finish before lunch time.”
Ma-ma walked over and squeezed Becca’s shoulder. “Your sister knows how to work up a storm. Make sure you get some lotion on those hands, sweetie. That bleach will do the devil’s work on your skin.”
Charlie looked up at her mother. “Turkey leftover sandwiches for lunch, Ma-ma. Twenty minutes.”
“Of course, dear. Just the way you like them.”
Rebecca fed the garment through the roller to squeeze out the water and then handed it over. “Here, Ma-ma.”
When she reached to grab the next article of clothing from the basket, Charlie grabbed her hand. It was still wet, but she could feel the dry skin forming on the knuckles. “Ma-ma’s right. That bleach is trashing your hands.” She brought it up to her mouth, pressing her lips to the base knuckle of the index finger. When she pulled it away, the skin was smooth and untarnished. Becca stared up at her with wide eyes. “Come on,” she said. “You can finish up after lunch. I have something for you.”
Rebecca beamed. “Really? What is it?
Charlie took her hand and pulled Rebecca to her feet. “Come on. I just know you’ll love it.”
They hurried up the stairs, hand in hand, through the kitchen filled with the smell of freshly baked bread where Charlie grabbed her travel satchel, and then up the stairs again to their bedroom. They sat down on the impeccably made bed, with its Victorian lace pillows and hand-crocheted blankets, where Rebecca fidgeted with excitement.
She folded her legs up cross-legged on the bed, bouncing with anticipation. “What is it, Charlie?
From out of the satchel, Charlie withdrew a paper-wrapped package, tied in a bow with a piece of twine. She slapped at Rebecca’s crossed legs. “Put your legs down. Ladies do not sit like that.”
She immediately unfolded them and let her feet dangle toward the floor. “Oh, of course. Sorry.” Rebecca stared at the package in Charlie’s lap. “Open it, already!” She giggled. “This is so exciting.”
Charlie smiled. It was just like it had been, that sunny fall day in 1896, when her father had brought home a similar package, wrapped in paper and twine, and both of them had sat in nervous anticipation on the living room sofa, watching him undo the twine and pull the secret surprise from the paper. Only it had not been much of a surprise at that point, having become something of an annual, family tradition.
The twine sprang loose from its tightly wound bow and Charlie pulled it off, carefully unfolding the paper to reveal the tissue-wrapped contents. It was a polished wooden box, about half the size of an ordinary shoebox, delicately inlaid and hand-painted on top with a scene of two young girls running through a meadow, carefree and hand in hand.
“Oh, Charlie! It’s so pretty. What is it?”
She lifted the lid, the hinges inside bringing up the painted porcelain figurine of the two girls from the painting, posed together in a dance. Charlie reached down and turned the delicate, golden key on the side, winding up the music box to play.
“It’s us,” she said. “Old Man Wilkens makes them. He’s a woodworker, and quite good actually. His papa taught him all he knows, and he was the best in the world.” Classical music chimed away as the two figures turned in unison, and Charlie handed it to Rebecca. “Here. You can add it to our collection.”
Rebecca gingerly took the box into her lap. “Our collection?” She stared lovingly at the gift, uncomprehending for a moment, but then her eyes widened with realization and she looked across the room at the mahogany curios cabinet in the corner, the glass shelves inside filled with similar boxes. “Oh! We collect them.” She nodded as if in complete understanding. “Of course. How wonderful. Charlie, it’s beautiful. Thank you.” Her arms reached out and embraced Charlie, squeezing her tightly. “I love you so much.”
Charlie closed her eyes and breathed in the sweet scent of her hair. Yes, things were all coming together so well. It was all so perfect, like it had once been and would be again. “I love you, too, Becca.” She pulled back and kissed Rebecca, taking the blade from her pocket and grasping her hand. “Sisters forever and always?”
Rebecca stared lovingly at Charlie. Her smile could not get any bigger. “Forever and always, Sis.” She turned her palm over in Charlie’s hand, offering it to her without thought.
The blade delicately scored Rebecca’s palm and Charlie brought it to her mouth, sucking at the blood that welled forth. She could taste the love in that energy that filled her, and a part of her wanted to keep drinking until the last of that feeling filled every part of her and every last drop of blood was gone.
Then the cold touch of the dead brushed across her. Charlie traced her tongue over the wound, sealing the skin, and dropped Rebecca’s hand. Someone was approaching. Someone strong with the energy of the dead, a feeling she had not felt in over a hundred years.
“Charlie?” Rebecca’s smile faded. “What’s the matter?”
Her stomach knotted in panic, and Charlie leaped to her feet. “I just remembered something. I need to go.”
She groaned. “Oh, but why?”
“Stay here!” She took Rebecca’s face in her hands, eyes aglow with power. “Do not leave the house or even open the door until I get back.”
She nodded. “OK. What’s wrong, Charlie?”
“Nothing. Just stay in the house and do not answer the door if anyone comes.”
Charlie bolted out the door and down the stairs. “Pa-pa! Ma-ma! Come here now.”
A vampire was coming and she needed to leave.
Chapter 4
Feeling good. I’m feeling good. This is going OK, I think. And while a part of her truly was enjoying the moment, savoring Nick’s arm draped across the back of the couch, her head cradled into the crook of his elbow, the butterflies in Jackie’s stomach danced to a different tune, ignoring the Falcons–Colts game on the television, and the casual banter that went with it. They wanted to know what was going to happen when everyone decided to leave. Are you staying or going? You going to spend the night with Nick or be a coward chicken-shit again and bail?
Jackie’s brain could not let go of the doubt or steer itself clear of all the paranoid pathways the evening might take. Every thought of his hands roaming her body or her legs wrapped around his waist came plagued with visions of drunken breakdowns or worse, just being plain lousy in bed.
At thirty-two, she had been with more than her fair share of men, but she could remember almost none of them or, more importantly, what she had done. Her sex life consisted of a sixteen-year-long string of drunken, one-night stands. Jackie had no clear idea of what sober, clear-headed sex might be like, and the thought terrified her. And then there was Nick.
What would he
expect? What would he want from her? He had witnessed the end of her meltdown and probably had a pretty good idea of what had been going on there. Was he into that kind of thing? Was she? Jackie could not remember if and what she had liked. Would Nick want a taste of her blood? Was sex tied up in all of that with him?
The questions turned and squirmed in Jackie’s gut, refusing to let her be. This not knowing, not being able to grasp onto anything solid was surely going to kill her. Of course, she could just ask him, but ... yeah. No.
“Coffee, babe?”
Shelby’s hand brushed across her shoulder and Jackie startled against Nick. “I don’t know! Wait. What?”
Shelby laughed. “Coffee. Do you want another coffee? I’ll make you one before Cyn and I head out if you want.”
Head out? “You guys are leaving already?” She glanced over at the television, which was now showing the postgame show. It’s over? How’d that happen so fast? It was halftime just a minute ago.
“Babe, it’s after eleven,” Shelby said, patting Jackie’s shoulder. “I’ve got Black Friday sales to hit up in the morning, and Cyn is going with me, isn’t that right, hon?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” she replied over her shoulder as she headed toward the kitchen. “You can come with, if you want, Jackie.” Her smile was flip. “We’re hitting up Kohl’s at four AM. ”
“That sounds ...”
Nick casually watched her out of the corner of his eye. Laurel stared at her from the other couch, eyebrows raised. The butterflies in her stomach chanted in unison. Get out now! Run, girl! Run! “That sounds like a nightmare. Think I’ll pass.”
Shelby’s grin widened. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”
Yeah, well I sure didn’t. Guess I’m staying with you tonight, Nick. How’s that sound? Nick gave her one of his faint half-smiles, stretching the scar along his jaw line, and she looked away. I wasn’t implying anything. Another part of her, swimming furiously against the onrushing current of paranoia and fear, wholeheartedly disagreed. At the moment, it was not faring so well, and Laurel’s reassuring smile provided no extra boost of confidence.