by J. S. Bailey
“Do you promise?”
“Cross my heart and hope to live.”
His shoulders slumped. “Very well. But I only knew a couple of them. As to the other ones, your guess is as good as mine.”
She waited. “Well?”
“Two were named Rich and Joanna Zimmerman. They were neighbors of mine.”
The names meant nothing to her.
“See?” he said, reading her thoughts. “I knew you wouldn’t know them. They seemed like a nice enough couple. I had no idea what they were until…well, never mind about that. It’s amazing what people can hide.”
“What did you do to them?”
He smiled. “Absolutely nothing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Then don’t.”
“Do you want to kill them, too?”
He didn’t answer. He suddenly looked distracted. “I’ve got to find Abigail. And then I’ve got to find…but I can’t! For the love of God, why can’t you leave me alone?” His voice rose to an angry shout, and Jessica hoped that she was the only one who could hear him. He covered his face with his hands. “I’m slipping away. Don’t let it take me!”
“Nobody’s taking you anywhere.” Not that she could see, at least. Was something else here with them that she didn’t know about?
He uncovered his face and began to fade. “I can’t make it stop…”
He disappeared.
For the first time, she noticed that the night was alive with sound. The hum of distant motors, the rustle of leaves, the metallic pinging of a rope banging against a flag pole… These things were real. Far less dreamlike than the last several minutes seemed now that Jerry was gone.
It crossed her mind that she, too, might be slipping away. Nobody could ever be wholly certain as to what was real and what was not. She could be totally wrong about Jerry. Maybe he existed only in her head. She could have imagined that Sidney saw him so she wouldn’t feel as alone in her delusions.
Heck, she could be wrong about everything. God. Life in general. Herself. Who was she to say that Sidney was wrong in her beliefs? Everyone with a differing opinion had to be wrong somehow; otherwise, everyone would have the same opinion. The fact that every human held different beliefs meant that every human was wrong.
What a sobering thought.
She yawned. Despite the pain, she really did need to get some sleep so she wouldn’t feel more miserable at the family reunion than she already expected to be.
She waited for another minute to see if Jerry would reappear. He didn’t.
She tried to be as quiet as possible when she went back into the house and latched the door. She poured herself a glass of water in the kitchen. Who was she kidding? Jerry had to be real. That nonsense about him being a figment of her imagination was just a tired brain talking.
She returned to the bedroom.
“What’re you doing?” Sidney mumbled.
Jessica kicked off the slippers and lay on top of her blankets. “I just went outside to get some fresh air. Everything’s fine.”
But everything wasn’t fine, was it? She had just lied. Again. Sometimes it’s best to bend the truth for one’s own gain, murmured a voice inside her head. And sometimes it’s best to get even.
SOMETHING MURKY slithered into Jessica’s dreams once again. The pathetic child was too stupid to even realize what was going on. This amused the Presence, whose name was Vindictam, to no end. Her ignorance and spite would be her downfall, much as Jerry’s weaknesses had led to his—but at least he’d been intelligent enough to realize what was happening, even if that realization hadn’t come until it was too late.
The Presence spoke to Jessica’s mind in tones sweeter than honey. Kill them, it said. Kill them…
And in the silence of the night, it could hear Jerry repeat the words like echoes in a void.
The young woman giggled softly in her sleep. Her friend in the other bed sat up and stared their direction with wide eyes. This also amused Vindictam. Sidney Miller was the most emotionally volatile person it had ever encountered other than Jerry Madison. An easy mark.
It picked up the same tiny pebble it had been using the other night and sent it careening into the wall beside Sidney’s head. Tap.
We don’t want you, it said to her as it had before.
Tap. Tap.
But this time Sidney did not flee to the ground floor. She muttered something—a prayer?—and suddenly Vindictam felt a fraction of its strength leave. The little witch. Her attempt the other night had done nothing. What had changed?
It couldn’t keep wasting its time on the redhead. It devoted all of its attention to Jessica because it needed her the most. Remember what they did to you. Remember how they made you hurt.
Her lips moved to form words. “I remember…”
The high today is only going to be fifty-five,” Wayne said, switching off the television in the living room. “I hope your relatives were smart enough to rent a place that has heat.”
“There’s a lodge at Campbell Community Park,” Jessica said.
She was still wearing her pajamas and stood at the kitchen counter peeling potatoes. Her hands were already tired, and more bits of peel were landing on the floor than on the plate she had intended to pile them on. “I’m sure we’ll all be inside. They have a rec room with skee ball and some arcades with Pac Man and Space Invaders. At least they did the last time we were all there.”
He joined her in the kitchen. “Whose idea was it to have a family reunion in October?”
“My guess is Uncle Esteban, since he’s the one who organizes the thing. El Día de los Muertos is in a couple of weeks, though. It probably had something to do with that.” The Mexican holiday coincided with the Catholic feasts of All Saints and All Souls and involved the gathering of family to remember and honor their deceased loved ones. Even though almost all of her living relatives had been born in the United States and hadn’t so much as placed a toe on Mexican soil, various members of the Reyes family sought to keep some of the old traditions alive so they wouldn’t lose sight of their non-European roots.
Wayne plucked a piece of potato peel off of the counter and flicked it onto the plate. “Do you think they’ll be serving candy skulls?”
“I’d say there’s a strong possibility of that.”
“Neat. I’ve never had one before.”
“They’re more for decoration than anything else. You can eat them if you want, but they’re pure sugar, so you might get diabetes or something if you eat too many of them.” She set aside a peeled potato and picked up another. “Hey, I’ve got some news for you. I learned something else about Jerry last night.”
“Oh yeah?”
She nodded. “It’s kind of sad, actually. His wife had an abortion, and he didn’t want her to, and he says he wants to kill her to get back at her for it.”
Wayne’s eyebrows rose. “This many years later? Seems kind of obsessive. You’d think if he wanted to kill her that badly, he’d have done it when he was still alive.” He got a giant pot out of the cabinet next to the oven, filled it with water, and placed it on the stove. He did the same with a saucepan and placed a few eggs in it to boil.
“Yeah,” Jessica continued, nearly peeling her finger instead of the potato, “it’s not like he could hurt her now, anyway. I just hope he doesn’t try to find her and do something stupid like levitate a table and chuck it at her head.”
He picked up the handful of potatoes that were already peeled and set them on a cutting board. “Did he say who the lucky lady is?”
She paused to think. Sarah? No, he had never told her who Sarah was or why he’d even asked if she knew her. His wife’s name had started with an A. “I think he said her name is Abigail. I thought about looking her up in the phone book, but I was afraid Jerry would see what I was doing and figure out where to find her.”
“What’s going to stop him from looking in the phone book himself?”
“Hopefully a little self-contr
ol.” She bent down to grab another stray peel she’d dropped on the floor. “Or I could just burn the phone book we’ve got so he doesn’t start flipping through it when we have our backs turned.”
Wayne began slicing the potatoes into cubes. “Nah, don’t do that. Did I ever tell you that I used to study name meanings as a sort of pointless hobby?”
Now that was a change of subject if she’d ever seen one. “I don’t think so. Why?”
“I was just going to say that if I remember right, Abigail comes from ancient Hebrew and means source of joy.”
Jessica flexed her tired fingers and picked up the next potato. “What’s your point?”
“It sounds like Mrs. Madison is the anti-Abigail.”
“Based on what he told me, I’d have called her something a little less friendly than that. Do you know what my name means?”
“It means God is watching. I think that one is Hebrew, too.”
That had a nice ring to it. “And what about Wayne?”
“You’re going to laugh at that one. It means wagon maker in old English.”
She smiled. “I think you’ve got to be wrong about the meaning of my name. Jessica has to mean ‘woman who cannot stand to cook and wants the wagon maker to do it instead.’”
“You’ll make a terrible housewife.”
“And you’ll make a terrible husband, because you still act like a woman half the time, hence the cooking.”
He pretended to look insulted. “There’s nothing wrong with being in touch with one’s feminine side.”
“Just don’t start wearing dresses. Okay?”
“Not even for Halloween?”
“I could make that exception.”
“We could dress as each other and pass out candy to the kids.”
“Too bad I don’t wear dresses then, huh?” She finished peeling the final potato, rinsed it, and handed it over for him to cut. “Now what do you want me to do?”
“Find a bowl that we can put this all in when it’s done.”
“Sure.” She carried one of the chairs over to the counter and stood on it so she could reach the top shelf of the cabinet where Wayne kept all of his Tupperware containers. A green bowl with a matching lid looked like it would be about the right size, so she grabbed it down and set it on the counter. “Is this good?”
“Perfect. You might make a good housewife yet.”
“That sounds so old-fashioned. Can’t I just be a regular wife?”
“Only if you don’t make me cook all the time.”
“That sounds like a marriage proposal.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” He gave her a sidelong look.
“You just don’t want me to leave here if I get another job.”
“I’d be all alone.”
“You’d have Sidney.”
“She’s family. That doesn’t count.”
“She’d kill you if she heard you talking like that.”
“I know.” He scooped up all of the little potato cubes and dumped them into the pot. He turned the temperature on the burner up all the way. “But she isn’t here right now, so what does it matter? Besides, it’s not her house.”
“You mean to say that if we got married in some hypothetical universe, you’d send her packing?”
“What, would you want her to stay here? She’d have to either move back to Drew’s house or find her own place. I told her when she first moved in not to expect to live here forever.”
It was apparent that Wayne had thought this scenario through at some point prior to this conversation. That thought made Jessica’s heart flutter. “What other things might there be in this hypothetical universe?”
He placed his forefinger on his chin. “Kids. Lots of little brown-haired brats who like to shop at Macy’s.”
“How many is lots?”
“Seventeen.”
She gave him a dubious look.
“Okay,” he said, “more than one.”
“My hair is going to turn gray awfully fast in this hypothetical universe.”
“It can’t be that bad. Just give them a box of crayons and some paper, and we wouldn’t hear another peep out of them.”
“Why do I get the feeling that the Wagon Maker doesn’t want this to be hypothetical at all?”
“I shouldn’t have told you what my name meant.”
“Stop dodging the question.”
“Never.”
She brandished the potato peeler at him. “I can force it out of you.”
He picked up the knife and waved it slowly back and forth. “I can protect myself.”
“You wouldn’t stab me, would you?”
“Only if you started peeling me first.”
Suddenly, something heavy fell over in another part of the house with a loud thump. They both lowered their culinary weapons and stared at the open doorway between the entryway and living room. “I’ll check it out,” Jessica said, setting the peeler on the counter. Hopefully nothing out there had been broken.
The source of the noise became apparent as soon as she entered the living room. Several books had fallen out of the shelf and now lay in a haphazard pile on the floor. No sooner had she stooped to pick them up when a bunch of Wayne’s Dean Koontz novels flew off a shelf right in front of her, narrowly missing her feet as they hit the carpet.
No need to wonder who the culprit was.
“Stop it!” she shouted. “What’s gotten into you?”
Books fell from a third shelf and lay still. She waited. Nothing more happened.
“Is it something we said?” Wayne shuffled up behind her. He was still holding the paring knife in one hand.
She began shoving books back onto the shelves, not particularly caring what order they went in. “It’s always something we said.”
“Well,” Wayne said, “either we start censoring everything we say, or we force you-know-who out of here before he starts causing some serious damage. My homeowner’s insurance doesn’t cover angry ghosts.”
Jessica nodded and returned to the kitchen. As much as Jerry’s plight aroused her pity, she couldn’t have agreed more.
AT ELEVEN thirty they departed for Campbell Community Park in Cold Spring, Kentucky. Jessica balanced the bowl of potato salad on her lap and buckled her seatbelt.
“We got everything?”
“I think so,” she said.
“Good.” Wayne climbed behind the wheel and slammed the door shut. “Hang on one second.” He pulled a white plastic bottle emblazoned with a gold cross out of his pocket and stuffed it into the cup holder. Holy water.
“Expecting trouble?” she asked.
“No. I’m expecting the unexpected.” He backed the truck out of the driveway.
“My mother isn’t a demon, you know. Holy water isn’t going to have any effect on her.”
“Sorry, I was all out of sharpened stakes.”
Jessica started to laugh, but the emotion suddenly died within her. She would see her mother and father within the hour. She should just ignore them. They never had anything good to say. They would disapprove of her living arrangements even though she and Wayne weren’t doing anything objectionable. They would call her a failure for having lost her job.
Then again, they might not speak a single word to her. Somehow, that would be the most hurtful thing of all.
“What do you look so glum about?” he asked when they turned onto U.S. 52 and headed toward the interstate.
“Nothing.” Now that she’d had some practice, lying wasn’t so hard. Sometimes it was best to bend the truth a little, especially if the lie wasn’t going to hurt anyone.
“Do you care if I turn on some music?”
“It’s your truck. Do whatever you want.”
He prodded the power button on the radio and tuned it to a pop station that Jessica had never cared to listen to. Lady Gaga was singing “Bad Romance,” which had a catchy tune that always got stuck in her head and drove her half mad. “I retract my statement.”
; “Too late now. It’s my truck, remember?”
“If you weren’t driving, I’d punch you.”
“Lucky for me, then.”
Jessica closed her eyes. At least their trip would be short.
They arrived in Cold Spring less than thirty minutes after they left the house. Traffic on U.S. 27 was already backed up, Justin Bieber was singing his little heart out, and Jessica could have sworn that her ears were about to start bleeding.
“You’re going to have to direct me now,” Wayne said.
“Get into this lane and turn at the next light.” She pointed at the lane to their right, where a long string of vehicles idled bumper to bumper as they waited for the light to change.
Wayne stopped and flipped on the turn signal. “You could have told me that while there was still room to get over.”
“Sorry, your music is killing off my brain cells.”
He smiled and bumped up the volume. She punched him lightly on the arm.
Fortunately, a kind soul in a Buick allowed them to merge in front of them, saving them from having to miss their street and turn around. They made a right at the traffic light.
“Now it’s just ahead on the left.”
“I see it.”
Wayne slowed the truck and waited for a line of cars to pass by before making the turn into the park entrance.
Campbell Community Park consisted of a ball field, a large play area for children, two picnic pavilions, and the three-story Kemper House, which had formerly been a home but was now rented out for family gatherings like the one today. Jessica had often wondered if the place was haunted since it was so old, though nothing odd had ever happened to her during the various reunions she’d attended there. She’d have to call the park office sometime and see if she could get permission to investigate there anyway.
Wayne pulled into a parking space next to a familiar gold Lexus that bore dark-blue Indiana license plates.
She gulped. Her parents were already here.
Remember what they did to you. Remember how they made you hurt.