Unquiet Ghosts

by Glenn Meade

  Wide-eyed with confusion, I stared as the intruder sat back on the table, his hands supporting him on either side. He looked down at me with a tilt of his chin.

  A weird chill shot though me. I recalled how Jack often used to sit on the table’s edge the same way and regard me with a tilt of his head. Was it a coincidence?

  Or was it Jack?

  I studied the intruder’s physique. He looked about Jack’s build, just stockier. That could have been with age. It hit me like a baseball bat—the scars, the surgery. Were they from the plane crash?

  I stared at the bloodshot eyes, going through my mental checklist. Jack had brown eyes, too. “Who . . . who are you?”

  “My name’s not important. But what I have to tell you is.”

  He leaned in close, so close that I could smell his body odor, an outdoorsy scent that seemed like a mix of woodlands and unwashed clothes. “I’m here to give you a warning. Heed it, and you’ll live. Don’t, and you’re going to die.”

  42

  * * *

  I felt an icy-cold hand reach in again and clutch my heart.

  Panic smothered me, my chest pounding so fiercely I could hardly breathe. I’m here to give you a warning. Heed it, and you’ll live. Don’t, and you’re going to die.

  I stared back at the intruder, could feel my body tremble, my voice hoarse with fear. “Who—who are you?”

  “I told you, just listen.”

  Was this Jack? The speaking valve made it impossible to tell exactly. My imagination was running riot, every instinct telling me it was him. But how could I be certain? Jack had a livid scar on his right wrist from a shrapnel blast he suffered in Iraq. He also had a small tattoo in red and black of the American eagle just above his left wrist. The intruder wore gloves, and I couldn’t see his wrists. I looked for scarring or the eagle tattoo, but the gloves covered all of his hands.

  Would you mind taking off your right glove?

  Sure, lady.

  It made me wonder, were the gloves deliberate to cover the scar or to leave no fingerprints or both? On a shelf by the window were several photographs of Jack, Amy, Sean, and me. Another of Julie Ann and me on Broadway, when we visited New York to see The Lion King. The intruder picked it up, studied it, and looked up.

  “Nice-looking kid.”

  I was so rigid with fear I couldn’t even nod.

  “You like her?”

  Was it my imagination, or was the intruder’s tone mocking? I was becoming convinced that this was Jack masquerading as a burglar. Was he trying to taunt me?

  “I asked, do you like her?”

  “What . . . what does it matter to you?”

  My fragile defiance earned me a steely look, before he put the photograph back. “You lost one family. That was a tragedy. You don’t want to lose someone else you care about. That would be pretty careless, don’t you think?”

  The intruder stared at me, then picked up the pistol from the table.

  “The TV news said that remains were found at the crash site. Whose?”

  “They . . . they think they found the pilot’s.”

  “They think?”

  “They have to do an autopsy. They’re not sure.”

  “What about the passengers?”

  “They don’t know if they perished or survived. They’re still searching for remains. They found blood traces . . . and things were missing from the aircraft.”

  “What things?”

  “A . . . a first-aid kit. A flashlight that they found a few hundred yards away . . .”

  “They’re suggesting somebody made it out alive?”

  I nodded.

  The intruder pursed his lips and sighed, as if considering my replies. When he spoke again, his electronic voice jarred the silence. “I’m here to give you a piece of advice.”

  He pointed to the snapshots on the shelf with the tip of his pistol’s barrel. “Forget about your old life. It’s over, done with. Accept that you’ve got a new one. Live it.”

  “My . . . my children.”

  “Are you listening? That part of your life is over. Bury it. Leave Jack that way, too. Because if you don’t, it’ll cost you your life.”

  He stood, pushing back the chair with a scraping sound as he stared down at me. “Ignore my advice and try to find your husband and kids, and you’ll be digging your own grave. Guaranteed.”

  The warning seared like a branding iron. My blood pounded in my veins. “They . . . they’re alive. All of them are alive, aren’t they?” I blurted.

  The intruder thrust his left hand into his pocket, he flicked out a big penknife, and the blade flashed. He brought the knife down and sliced through the duct tape binding me to the armrests.

  “Remember my warning. One other thing. This didn’t happen, understand? Tell anyone, including the cops, and I’ll come for you—and the girl.” He nodded to the photo of Julie Ann. “Got that? You’ll pay the price.”

  I nodded.

  He folded the knife and tucked it back into his pocket.

  “You’re Jack, aren’t you?”

  He moved toward the back door.

  “No! Wait, you have to tell me. Please, the children . . .”

  The bloodshot eyes bored into me. “Don’t try to follow me. It would be a big mistake, Kath.”

  Something about the way he said my name—his tone softer—suggested that he knew me. It was Jack. I knew it in my heart. He reached for the door handle. Amy’s sweater and Sean’s hoodie were still on the kitchen table.

  I was about to say, You left them for me, didn’t you? You left them as proof, but as his fingers touched the handle, the sound of the door buzzer echoed throughout the house.

  It was like an electric shock. I jerked my head toward the front door. A bulky dark figure appeared behind the frosted-glass panel. My heart panicked as the intruder’s pistol gave a soft click. He touched the cold barrel against my cheek.

  “One sound, you’re dead.”

  43

  * * *

  The buzzer rang again.

  A long, persistent, ten-second burst.

  Then silence.

  I sensed the intruder’s unease as he stared at the front door. The figure on the porch shifted behind the frosted glass. The buzzer rang a third time, for maybe another ten seconds, and then stopped.

  “Are you in, Ms. Kelly? It’s me, Tanner.”

  A sharp rapping pounded the door, then ceased.

  “Ms. Kelly?”

  I felt the gun press against my throat as the man said, “Who is it?”

  I could endanger Tanner’s life if I told the truth. “It . . . it’s a repairman,” I lied. “Come to fix the air-conditioning.”

  “Get rid of him.”

  “How?”

  “You’ve got his number in your phone, right? Call him.”

  But I didn’t have Tanner’s number stored in my cell phone. I had his card in my purse. If the intruder saw the card, it could give Tanner away. “What will I tell him?”

  “You’ve got a migraine. Tell him to come by again. Just get rid of him. Where’s your cell?”

  It lay next to my purse on the kitchen worktop. I nodded to it. The intruder tossed my phone across. “Be careful what you say, or you’ll both be sorry.”

  My hands shook as I fumbled with my cell phone. I made a pretense of scrolling through the contacts list. The doorbell sounded again, and then came more impatient knocking.

  “Ms. Kelly?”

  “Come on, hurry it up,” the intruder said.

  I sensed his panic. “I . . . I can’t find the number.”

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t see it here anywhere.”

  Tanner’s voice, louder. “Ms. Kelly? Can you hear me? I saw your car in the driveway. Are you OK?”

  A co
uple of seconds of stark silence, and then the phone was wrenched from my hands. “Find that number.”

  I realized Tanner’s number would be in my call log. But my phone suddenly rang, shrill and loud in the intruder’s hand, startling us both.

  He shoved the illuminated screen in my face. “Who is it?”

  I couldn’t recall Tanner’s number, but I figured it was him. My ringing phone echoed all over the house. “The repairman, I think.”

  “Answer it, and remember what I said.”

  He hit the speakerphone button and thrust the phone at me.

  “Ms. Kelly?”

  I recognized Tanner’s voice at once. “Y-yes.”

  “It’s me, Tanner. I’m outside your home. Where are you, ma’am?”

  “I-I’m inside.”

  “Inside? I’ve been ringing your doorbell, ma’am. Didn’t you hear? Is everything OK?”

  I was afraid Tanner would say something that would give him away. How could I stop him? I thought desperately. “Yes, yes, everything’s OK. I’m sorry, Mr. Tanner. I have a migraine. I know when we spoke earlier, you said you’d come by, but could you fix the air-conditioning another time?”

  A bloated silence.

  I guessed Tanner was stumped by my answer. But if he had any sense, he’d figure it out. “Another time, ma’am?”

  “Yes, please. If you don’t mind.”

  Pause.

  “And when exactly would suit?”

  “Would tomorrow be OK?”

  Another pause. “Yeah, I can do tomorrow. Same time?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “You sure you’re OK?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “All right, I’ll take care of the problem then. Hope you’re feeling better by tomorrow.”

  And then the line clicked, the shadow disappeared from the glass, and Tanner’s footsteps faded off the wooden porch.

  44

  * * *

  I heard the intruder let out a sigh.

  My own hands were shaking, my entire body in convulsions. Tanner was leaving but going where? And what would he do? Try to tackle the intruder alone? Or call for help? Outside, a car started up. The engine growled, the car drove off, and it faded to silence. I felt more worried by Tanner’s disappearance, not reassured.

  The intruder rubbed his left hand to his face. The movement revealed a small portion of his wrist. I tried again to see Jack’s eagle tattoo but couldn’t. “Don’t move, not an inch, got that?”

  His eyes stayed on me, and I nodded. Then he padded down the hall and peered through the curtain crack.

  I prayed Tanner wouldn’t go far. I had no idea what was going to happen next or what he might do, but right at that moment, I felt wracked by fear. And I sensed the absolute certainty of trouble.

  Tanner was armed, and so was Jack; I was now more certain it was Jack. Someone could get shot or killed. I didn’t want anyone to die. I was desperate to know where my children were, what had become of them. And why was Jack doing this? Why had he betrayed me and kept our children from me all these years?

  He took my cell phone from me and tossed it onto the table. “Get up.” He dragged me to my feet. “Move, toward the front room.” He shoved me down the hallway and then peered again through a crack in the hall curtains.

  I figured Tanner might park farther along the main road and walk back, his car hidden beyond the woods. I tried to squint through the curtain crack, but I could make out nothing but trees.

  “Get back into the kitchen.”

  We reached the table, and he had me sit in the same chair. He laid his pistol on the table once more, then unrolled about a foot of duct tape and began to wrap it around my arms, binding me to the chair again. Where in God’s name was Tanner? Had he driven a short distance away and doubled back or gone for help?

  And then I almost gasped.

  Across the kitchen, through the half-open wood blinds, I spotted Tanner. Alone, approaching the porch with his gun in his hand.

  He saw me through the crack in the blinds—the intruder was still taping my arms—and Tanner put a finger to his mouth, urging me to stay silent. I wanted to scream, to let him know about the creaky floorboard on the back patio, but Tanner was already moving toward it.

  No!

  Creak.

  The intruder spun around and spotted Tanner through the blinds as the agent’s bulky frame came rushing like a bull toward the kitchen’s back door, his pistol aimed.

  Before the intruder could shoot his own weapon, Tanner fired two rapid shots through the door, shattering the glass.

  The intruder ducked and wildly returned fire as he slammed me to the floor, my scream drowned by gunfire. “No, don’t hurt him, don’t kill him, Tanner!”

  And then a hail of bullets exploded, and rang around the kitchen walls.

  45

  * * *

  The gunfire died.

  The stench of gunpowder choked my lungs, and I coughed hard.

  I lay on the floor, and Jack lay beside me—I hadn’t changed my mind that it was him. He was breathing hard and coughing, his gun aimed toward the kitchen door. Then came silence.

  I couldn’t see Tanner. He could have been out on the porch somewhere, only yards away, behind the cover of a couple of old floral patio couches. Or else he had retreated into the back garden. What if he was wounded or dead? Jack shuffled to his knees, just as Tanner’s voice shouted, “Whoever you are, don’t harm her. Help’s on the way, you hear me? Ms. Kelly, are you there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No.”

  Jack coughed, his back hunched as if he was injured. “Shut up and move. That way.”

  Grunting, he gripped the neck of my sweater and propelled me toward the kitchen table. I saw a crimson streak on the floor and felt a stab of torment. He was wounded. How badly I couldn’t tell. He lurched toward the kitchen table and laid a hand on it for support. I noticed blood seeping from a wound in his chest.

  “Please, let me help.” I went to touch him, but he raised the gun to point at my head.

  “You lied. The guy’s a cop?”

  “FBI.”

  He spoke loudly, projecting his voice toward the back door. “Can you hear me, Tanner?”

  A few moments of silence. I figured Tanner was mulling over the situation, and then he said, “I hear you.”

  “I’m leaving and taking her with me. If you or anyone follows me, I kill her. We clear?”

  “Don’t hurt her, man. You do that, you’re in big trouble.”

  “You didn’t hear me.”

  “I heard you.”

  “Is there anyone out front?”

  “Not yet, but they’re coming. Minutes, maybe less.”

  “I’m leaving now. Put your gun on the ground in front of you, kick it away. Do it now. Remember what I said. Follow me or try anything, and I’ll kill her, Tanner, for sure.”

  We heard something heavy drop onto the wooden patio. Jack seemed reluctant to move forward and check for certain. Panic seemed to light his eyes. He had minutes, maybe less, to get away. He backed us toward the front door but kept looking over his shoulder, as if expecting Tanner to burst in.

  Jack peered through the blinds, then cautiously turned the handle and cracked open the door. The woods beyond the front driveway looked deserted. He pushed me out first, holding on to my sweater. But after a dozen steps, I saw Tanner’s car through the trees, blocking the road. I could feel the tension rise in Jack.

  “Is that Tanner’s car?”

  “Yes.”

  He seemed to think it better not to go out the front way and turned toward the barn, watchful in case Tanner appeared. The farm’s green Polaris Ranger was parked in the barn’s open doorway, the keys in the ignition. “Get in.”


  Jack pushed me into the Ranger’s passenger seat. He slid behind the wheel, brandishing his gun. His shirt was drenched with crimson, his face beaded with sweat.

  He turned the ignition, and the Ranger roared to life. He shifted into gear, and the engine snarled as we sped out of the barn.

  I looked back and saw Tanner running out of the cover of the woods like a man possessed, his gun raised, moving fast for a big guy.

  A shot rang out, then another, and the rounds zinged wide of Jack like crazed hornets. Then I lost sight of Tanner as Jack swung a hard left, accelerated hard, and we bumped onto a forest track that led toward the lake.

  46

  * * *

  I always remember my father telling me that from Loudon Lake you could reach the Gulf of Mexico.

  More than a thousand miles of waterway snaked its way down along the Tennessee River toward Mississippi and Louisiana. People traveled the waterway all the time on private boats, and there were masses of tributaries and canals you could get lost on.

  I didn’t know what Jack was planning, but Loudon Lake was where the track eventually led. Loudon’s dam was a massive structure built during the Roosevelt years, a gateway to the Mississippi and the Gulf. Jack kept his foot on the accelerator, the Ranger moving fast, cool air rushing past.

  The track was rough in places. Jack seemed to feel the pain whenever we hit a deep rut, but he kept glancing back to make sure Tanner wasn’t following us. He couldn’t have—there wasn’t another all-terrain vehicle on the farm, and a car’s suspension would never make it over the coarse track. I figured Jack would make a getaway unless Tanner got a chopper up.

  My heart jackhammered. Five minutes ago, Jack was about to leave me unharmed, but after the shootout everything seemed up in the air.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  No answer. Behind the mask, Jack grunted in pain as he leaned forward, resting both hands on the steering wheel. A little later, the track came out near the lakeside marina and the massive dam up ahead. Above the dam spanned a bridge, busy with traffic. Jack sped toward a metal stairway that led up to the dam’s walkway, braked to a stop, and stumbled out. We had reached a dead end. There was only rough ground ahead that led nowhere except a grassy riverbank.