Unquiet Ghosts

by Glenn Meade

  “Yes, he is. I’ve tried to stop him from bleeding again. We’ll get him to a hospital soon. First, we’ll go see the doctor.”

  I had to give Sean hope. I truly didn’t know if Jack would make it. He looked lean and fit, but he’d lost a lot of blood and needed medical help. I couldn’t tell Sean the truth, that we needed to leave his father in order to get to the neighbors’ faster. I could see by the tormented look on my son’s face that he would lose it if we left Jack here alone. Sean wasn’t going anywhere. His entire world revolved around his father.

  I could understand why. If Sean had been physically and mentally traumatized by the crash and lived such a remote life, then Jack and Amy would be the only ones he relied on.

  “He’ll be fine, Sean. Don’t worry.”

  But Sean’s exhausted red eyes became teary again. He took a deep breath, let it out. For moment, I thought he’d be OK, but then his fragile emotions cracked him wide open, and he started to sob like a child, his body shuddering.

  I took him by the hand, hugged him, and sat beside him on the couch. The burgundy cushions smelled as if a dog had slept on them. “My poor Sean. It’s OK, honey. It’s OK.”

  I cradled his head in the crook of my shoulder and stroked his hair. He didn’t stop sobbing, but he didn’t pull away. This time, he buried his head in my shoulder like a hurt child.

  For eight years, I thought I’d never feel Sean next to me again. I was overwhelmed. How long had it been since anyone comforted Sean like this? My eyes became teary. I couldn’t focus. I wiped my face with my sleeve. I didn’t want him to see me upset.

  It took a few minutes until his crying ebbed away to a few sniffles and sobs. The next thing I knew, he snuggled into me and the comfort I offered. I stroked his hair.

  He still looked like the child I remembered. I bet he still slept with his mouth open, a hand under his cheek. My eyes filled again. My tears dripped onto Sean’s neck. I wiped them away and planted a kiss on his cheek. His warm skin no longer felt soft like a boy’s but was uneven with adolescent bristles.

  Feeling Sean’s closeness, I desperately longed to see Amy and hold her. What would she look like now? Would she remember me? How would she react when she saw me?

  I shuddered, wondering if she had been injured like Sean. Or worse. Jack had merely said she was with the neighbors. He said she’d needed a wheelchair for a while. My mind was haunted by uncertainty. What if her injuries were worse than Jack had said?

  I had looked around but saw no landline phone.

  I knew I had to venture out to find her, find the doctor, and call 911. I also knew it was dangerous approaching the neighbors’ house alone, but I couldn’t wait. I had waited eight long years to see my daughter. My anticipation raged, making me giddy with excitement, even if my exhausted limbs felt as heavy as stone.

  After the stress of the last thirty-six hours without sleep, I felt as if I’d hit a brick wall. My eyelids began to flicker. But I was desperate to make my way to the neighbors’.

  And finally see my darling Amy.

  I grasped Sean’s arm. “We’ll get your daddy help, Sean. And I need to see Amy. We need to leave now.”

  I decided that once we reached the house where Amy was staying, I’d call the police and ask for medical help for Jack.

  “Will you take me to where she is?” I gripped Sean’s hand and felt his fingers, so big and adult, callused from work, not the soft, small, childish ones I remembered. He looked drowsy and lost.

  I felt desperate to hug him again. It was almost impossible to hold back my affection, like trying to stem a dam that had already burst inside me, but I was afraid I’d overpower him and he’d react badly. I struggled to control my emotions.

  “Sean, are the keys in the four-wheeler?”

  He nodded. “Daddy left them there.”

  At least he was talking to me a little more. We checked on Jack, still lying unconscious on the living-room couch. His eyes remained closed, but he stirred and then settled again. Sean knelt and softly touched his father’s face. He looked back up at me, fretful. “Is Daddy going to be OK?”

  “He’ll be OK once we get the medical help he needs.”

  Sean heard my words, but I wasn’t sure he was convinced.

  “We need to leave—fast, Sean.”

  I grabbed the flashlight from the table, and we moved out through the kitchen door and into the night, Sean walking behind me. This wasn’t one of those Southern nights when the clammy air felt like you were walking through a film of gauze. It was darn cold. I saw the path leading across the meadow, and I guessed—hoped—it led to the neighbors’ house.

  I shone the flashlight on the path. But I could barely make out a distant glimmer now, the house lights masked by the woods. “Are you sure this track leads toward Amy?”

  Sean nodded.

  What would I tell the neighbors when I knocked on their door so late? Assuming I wasn’t savaged by any guard dogs on the property or shot as an intruder. In remote parts of the South, that was a distinct possibility.

  What would I do? Try to keep it calm and normal, just smile and say, “Hey, folks, I’m here to see Amy. I’m her mom. My kids have been missing for eight years. I thought they were dead, but they’re not, and I’ve come to rescue them. I thought my husband was dead, too, but it turns out he was just hiding out. The fact is, I shot him, and he may be bleeding to death. Can I please call 911?”

  They’d probably think I was some crazy woman who’d just escaped over the walls of a psychiatric facility. I’d have to pick my words carefully, but Sean was my insurance. I assumed they’d know him.

  I felt a desperate flurry of excitement, mixed with apprehension and disbelief. After eight lost years, I was about to see Amy.

  “Hurry, Sean.”

  * * *

  I crossed the barn to the four-wheeler and clambered on.

  The key was in the ignition. I went through the startup drill, shifted the gears into neutral, and hit the start switch. The engine gave a harsh cough and died.

  I hit the switch again. Same thing. Another cough, and then the engine died. Three more tries produced the same result.

  I panicked, and my hope sank.

  I flicked on the choke in despair and tried once more. This time, the engine gave a noisy snarl. I revved some more, and the engine’s growl exploded in the darkness.

  “Climb on, Sean.”

  He jumped onto the back and clung to my waist. My son’s embrace felt so good. I squeezed the accelerator handle, and the four-wheeler jerked about a foot, then sputtered and died again.

  I swore aloud.

  I checked the fuel gauge. The red pointer was below empty. “We need gas, Sean. Where’s the gas?”

  We climbed off, and he pointed to a couple of red plastic containers in a corner across the barn. We refilled the tank. I climbed on and tried the engine. It roared. My heart rose. I opened the throttle to keep it going.

  “Come on, Sean.”

  Out of nowhere, a hand reached over, grasped the ignition key, and turned it off. I spun around in my seat.

  “Get off.”

  Jack stood there, holding the shotgun, a pair of handcuffs dangling from one of the fingers of the same hand. His other palm was resting against his wound. He looked in agony, his face white. “I said get the heck off.”

  Crimson drenched his bandages, and he seemed delirious, his brow drenched in silver beads of perspiration.

  “Jack, you . . . you shouldn’t move. You’ll open your wound.”

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To get you help . . . and to see Amy.”

  “Get off. Now.” He raised the shotgun.

  “Jack, I have to see her. I have to see Amy. I know she’s with the neighbors, Sean told me. You can’t keep her from me like this, not anymore.”


  “Step off.”

  “No! You need a doctor, and I need to see my daughter.”

  He racked the pump action on the shotgun. I remember my father saying that the sound of a shotgun being racked was enough to scare the living daylights out of anyone. It scared me, even if at that moment I didn’t seem to care whether I lived or died. But Sean looked petrified. I stepped off the four-wheeler.

  Jack wrenched the keys from the ignition, and the engine sputtered and died. “Get back inside the house.”

  80

  * * *

  Park Drive, Knoxville, Tennessee

  11:00 a.m.

  Cracker Barrel was busy with an early lunch crowd, most of them shrewd seniors there for the daily specials.

  Tanner eased himself into the chunky wooden seat opposite Courtney. A bunch of white rocking chairs lined the patio outside. Hanging on the walls were the usual decorations—the rusted old farm implements, black-and-white photographs, and ancient tools you saw in every Cracker Barrel location across the country.

  Tanner quipped, “Last time I was in a Cracker Barrel, I got a seat under a horse castrator. Had to ask to move.”

  “Scary.”

  “You’ve no idea.” He studied the menu. “Grits and more grits. Don’t you love it?”

  “Don’t mock, the food’s OK.” Courtney ordered pancakes and decaf.

  “Wasn’t mocking. Actually, I love ’em.” Tanner ordered bacon, scrambled eggs, turkey sausage, and a double portion of cheese grits.

  “But you’ve got kind of a New York accent.”

  “I lived in Louisiana until I was twelve, before my mom moved us up north. Where’s Bamm-Bamm?”

  “Bamm-Bamm?”

  “Your partner. Reminds me of the kid in The Flintstones. Little Bamm-Bamm Rubble, friend of Pebbles, remember? I’d want to see an ID if he asked me to buy him a beer.”

  Courtney broke into a smile. “Sergeant Stone’s at Fort Campbell, sifting through some files from eight years ago, seeing if he can come up with anything that might help us. And your guy?”

  “Agent Breedon? I call him the Shadow.”

  “Why?”

  “Just sticks by you and hardly says a word.”

  “Where is he?”

  The waitress came with their coffee and left. “Adding to his air miles, being a busy boy, doing all the gofer work. First, he’s interviewing the pilot Hernandez’s brother down in Florida and getting a blood sample from him for a DNA comparison. After that, he’s got to check to see the prints results from the aluminum case, see if we’ve got anything there.”

  Tanner tore open two blue sweetener packets and sprinkled them in his coffee. “Then he’s going to see Dexter at the NTSB.”

  “Important?”

  “Honest? I’m straw clutching. I’ll let you know if my Powerballs come up.”

  Courtney sipped from her cup. “Anything you’d care to talk about in private now that we’re alone?”

  Tanner smiled. “That isn’t a come-on line, is it?”

  “No, Tanner, I meant about the case.”

  “Funny, I was probably imagining it, but on one or two occasions, I thought I was getting a vibe.”

  “Vibe?”

  Tanner shrugged.

  Courtney gave him a look that was indeterminate.

  Tanner said, “Remember, it’s only sexual harassment if you’re not attracted to the guy you may think is hot for you.” Tanner’s smile vanished but still glinted in his eyes.

  She gave him another look. Tanner spread his hands, gave a soft shrug, and said amiably, “I’m just saying.”

  “Lose a few more pounds, and hey, you just could be a heartbreaker.”

  “Couldn’t we all? Straight from the hip, ain’t you?”

  “I’m a base brat, what do you expect?”

  A spark glinted in Tanner’s eyes. “Hey, I like that. Maybe if I found the right woman to motivate me . . .”

  Courtney said it before she could stop herself. “Dexter told me about your wife’s death, the arson.”

  Tanner’s face tightened visibly. “He’s quite the gossip, Dexter. I should have known better.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A little man with wiry wild hair who looks like an old woman. I told him it was confidential.”

  “Look, I just wanted to say I’m really sorry. It must have been tough on you.”

  “It was. But it’s all water under the bridge.”

  “I don’t believe that. Sounds to me like it’s still hurting.”

  “Yeah, I guess it is.”

  “Can we talk about it? The arson is relevant to the case.”

  “Yeah, but not right now. Now is not a good time.”

  Courtney slid her hand across, let it rest on top of his big, meaty paw, and squeezed. “OK. And I mean that, I’m really sorry.”

  He nodded and squeezed her hand in return. “I appreciate it.”

  She took her hand away and smiled a little. “But let’s stay safe for now and stick to work.”

  “I’m with you there. Tell me more about you and Kath.”

  “We’re best friends since elementary school.”

  “So how do you feel about having to put her ex-husband away for a long time?”

  “You sound pretty confident that’s a given.”

  “We’ll find him, all right, dead or alive. He’s out there, and he’s already left clues. And he made the mistake of showing his face.”

  Courtney toyed with her cup. “How do you think I feel? I’m not exactly doing cartwheels, Tanner. But I’ll do my duty.”

  “How about Kath? How do you think she’s feeling right now?”

  “Her head must be so screwed up. This whole thing’s a blizzard of the bizarre.”

  “I like that. You’ve got a way with words.”

  “You being facetious, Tanner?”

  “Don’t even know the meaning of the word.”

  “Sure you do, smarty pants.”

  Tanner’s cell phone rang. He answered. “Tanner.” He listened, said “Got it” a couple of times, then finished with “OK, call me back if you’ve got anything.” He flicked off his phone.

  Courtney said, “News?”

  “My man in Florida. He got the blood sample. Hernandez’s brother was no help. Said they never really talked about his brother’s pilot work, they weren’t that close, and they didn’t often keep in touch. A phone call at Christmas and Thanksgiving was about it. A typical dysfunctional American family.”

  “All families are.”

  “What?”

  “Dysfunctional. Just some are more dysfunctional than others. So what next?”

  “My guy’s going to check on the aluminum case, see if they found any prints other than Jack’s and Hernandez’s. If anything turns up, he’ll call. So we’ve got nothing so far. I’m starting to feel desperate.”

  Tanner considered, then looked over at her. “When I asked you about Kath’s father, it seemed like a sensitive subject for you. Care to tell me why, or is that still off limits?”

  “You don’t know when to drop something, do you, Tanner?”

  “I’m just curious, that’s all. I sensed something wasn’t right about your reaction. I wondered why.”

  “Not the time. Just drop it.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do.”

  The waitress brought their breakfast. Courtney drizzled maple syrup on her pancakes. She sucked a wayward sugary dribble from her thumb, then pulled a notebook out of her courier bag and spread it open.

  Tanner forked a mouthful of scrambled egg and swallowed. “What have you got there?”

  “Some ideas about how maybe we can find Jack.”

  81

  * * *

  Jack appeared to be in serio
us pain. Perspiration drenched his face, and his skin was clammy. We moved back into the kitchen.

  Jack lifted his shirt, examined his bloodstained wound. “What did you do?”

  “You bled pretty badly. I used the trauma wound kit.”

  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You’ll need to get me to Doc Borovsky. Or else I’m going to be nailed into a box.”

  “Sean said your neighbor’s a doctor.”

  “That’s him. He’s three hundred yards down the track. He’ll take care of it.”

  Jack looked so desperately ill, unsteady on his feet. His hand fell away, and I saw his bloodied bandages were stained even darker. “Jack, let me help.”

  He staggered forward, the shotgun falling from his hands. I grabbed hold of it. Jack clutched the barrel at the same time. We struggled, Jack grunting like a wild animal in pain.

  Sean saw our struggle and joined in, helping Jack, pulling at the barrel. It was crazy—the shotgun safety could get knocked off, and we could all get killed.

  “Jack, please, it’ll go off and kill us, for God’s sake! Think of Sean!”

  I saw gritty determination in Jack’s face. He wasn’t giving in easily, but the mention of Sean did it. He gave up the struggle, and the shotgun slipped from his grasp.

  “Let the gun go, son. Do as I say. Leave it be.”

  Sean’s hands slid off the barrel. For a kid who didn’t like guns, he sure held on to that one hard. I shifted the shotgun to my side, my fingers fumbling for the safety. It was still on. The last thing I needed was for the shotgun to go off inside the house and kill us all. Sean looked upset as he stood by his father.

  Jack squeezed his hand. “It’s all right, Sean. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  He looked at me and grimaced in agony. “The doc, Kath. Get me to him. I’ve changed my mind. The pain’s getting worse.”

  “That’s where Amy is?”

  He hesitated before nodding. “Give me back the gun. Please, Kath.”

  “No way. I don’t fully trust you, Jack. The first chance you get, you’re going to try to dupe me again. From now on, I don’t let you out of my sight. How do we get to Amy and the doctor?”