Unquiet Ghosts

by Glenn Meade

  “Get the wheelchair out in the hall. Move me into it, and we can take the van outside. It’s wheelchair-accessible.”

  “Can Sean drive?”

  “Yeah, he can drive.”

  “Sean, go start the van.”

  Sean went out, and I heard the van start up. Jack raised himself on one arm and grunted in pain.

  I maneuvered the wheelchair in from the kitchen and over to where Jack lay. Sean came back in.

  “Help me get your father into the chair.”

  Like a child, Sean looked again to Jack for approval.

  Jack nodded. “Do as you’re told, son.”

  “You think you can manage to move?” I asked Jack.

  “I’ll have to, won’t I? Just take it easy.”

  “How about putting the shotgun down? It’d be safer.”

  “That’s pretty rich, considering you could have killed me with it. I’m putting nothing down, least of all my guard.”

  He wheezed and coughed, put his sleeve to his mouth. I saw bloodstained mucus. “If I don’t see the doc soon, I’m in trouble, Kath.”

  “You’re in a bucket of that already. Pull your dad forward, Sean, and do it very gently.”

  Sean moved behind Jack. I slipped my left arm under him, and we raised him as carefully as we could, but he still gave a pained, tormented groan as we shifted him into the wheelchair.

  “Easy, for Pete’s sake, go easy.”

  “Check your wound pads. Are you bleeding again?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I checked them. They still looked OK.

  Jack’s agonized face was drenched. He wiped sweat from his brow. “You’ll need to be extra careful,” he said. “It can be a bumpy track.”

  “I’ll do my best. Help me push your father outside, Sean.”

  We rolled the wheelchair out of the kitchen and eased it down the ramp into the yard. The night was alive with the sound of crickets. In the black sky above, the Milky Way spattered across the night, like the remains of the celestial explosion that it was.

  I used the flashlight and opened the van’s rear door, where I found the switch to raise the wheelchair. Sean and I eased the chair onto the mechanical lift, and I pressed the button. The lift whirred, and in no time we shunted the wheelchair into the rear of the van, Jack sitting in the middle.

  I aimed the flashlight into his face, and he squinted. Cold sweat glistened on his brow. He didn’t look well. I slid the van door shut.

  “Sean, drive slowly, and try not to hit any bumps. Understand?”

  He nodded, climbing into the driver’s seat. I slipped into the passenger side next to him. I held the shotgun with the barrel pointed downward, my fingers making sure the safety was still on. I didn’t want to risk the weapon going off as we bumped along the track. I flicked on the interior light and left it on so I could see if Jack was up to anything.

  “Let’s go, Sean.”

  He gunned the engine but looked confused as he turned back toward his father’s pained face for approval. “Dad . . .”

  “Drive, Sean. We’re going to see Amy.”

  82

  * * *

  We would have been quicker walking. Sean snailed it like a teenager taking his first driving lesson, his eyes straining as they watched the grassy track, slashed by the silvery headlights.

  To make things worse, every few yards, he tapped the brakes, easing in and out of the ruts, sending the van shaking from side to side.

  Jack was subdued, chin slumped on his neck, teeth clenched in pain.

  I tried to engage him. “Why did you leave Amy at the neighbors’ house? Did you think she’d be safer?”

  No answer from Jack, except for a pained grunt as the van lurched. He looked weak as he wiped his brow again. “Sean . . . watch . . . watch the next bend.”

  The van rounded a clump of oaks. Fifty yards away, the headlights revealed neat rows of fruit trees. “Where are we? Or is that still a big secret?”

  “Monroe County, near the Alabama and Georgia state lines.”

  I saw lights appear through the trees. Were they were the ones I saw earlier? The neighboring farm Jack mentioned? A big oak tree loomed ahead. From the little I knew of it, Monroe County was mostly small farms and included part of the vast Cherokee National Forest.

  Jack sounded worried. “Kath . . . there’s a whole lot more to all this than I’ve told you. More than you can know. Sean, pull up next to the big tree.”

  I gripped the shotgun warily. “What’s going on?”

  Jack sounded almost comatose, his eyes drowsy. “The van won’t make it the rest of the way. We . . . we have to cross an old dried-up creek. It’s uneven, rutted.”

  “Then what?”

  “You’ll see a track to the right of the creek, just wide and level enough for the wheelchair to pass. You’ll need to wheel me the rest of the way.”

  “You’d better not be up to no good, Jack.”

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Pull in near the tree, son.”

  Sean eased on the brakes. I climbed out, slid open the side door, and hit the button. The chair whirred out, and Sean helped me maneuver it down off the van runners.

  “Kill the engine and the headlights.”

  Sean did as Jack told him. When the engine died, the silence was like a force, until the chatter of crickets erupted in the darkness. I scanned the flashlight over the rows of fruit trees. House lights loomed closer now. I still didn’t trust Jack. He looked anxious. What was he up to?

  I clenched the shotgun, leaned in close, and whispered so Sean wouldn’t hear. “Try anything, Jack Hayes, and I’ll blow your head off.”

  In the flashlight’s beam, I saw a fearful look in Jack’s eyes. He put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. Was he afraid I’d really kill him if he made another attempt? His anxiety made me even more wary, my nerves in overdrive.

  Jack answered quietly, “I’ll keep that in mind. Let’s . . . let’s go.”

  I clutched the shotgun hard and took a few steps forward. The grassy earth felt smooth, with hardly any ruts, but my flashlight picked out a hollow ten yards ahead—an old creek. To its right, I could make out a track about a yard wide, enough for the wheelchair to pass. A pair of narrow ruts cut into the earth, as if made by an ATV.

  “Push your father, Sean.”

  I stayed behind Jack, using one hand to help propel the chair. It wheeled along the track easily enough. “How far?”

  “Seventy yards, maybe more.”

  I was desperate to see Amy, my heart thudding so fast I felt a pain in my chest. The lights loomed closer. I was sure I could make out a white-painted ranch house up ahead, a barn next to it. A dog barked, then fell silent.

  My mind was overcome with excitement. I grunted and pushed harder.

  “Keep going, Sean, we’re almost there.”

  The moon burst from behind coal-black clouds.

  The dog started barking again, and this time it didn’t stop. I felt an intense fluttering in my chest that made it hard to breathe.

  What would I say to Amy? Would she recognize me? How would she react when she saw me? How much had she changed? Would she remember anything about me? My desperation to see my daughter was like a living thing. I felt the heat of tears run down my face.

  The barking dog grew louder. It was bound to wake the neighbors. I looked ahead, sure that I’d see more lights going on. I was so distracted I didn’t see the wide rut as the wheelchair hit it and jumped. I felt my right foot sink—as if I’d missed a stair—and my ankle knocked hard against a rock, my leg buckling. I pitched forward, hit the ground, and the shotgun flew from my hands.

  As the wheelchair righted itself, Jack grunted in pain and cried out, “Get the gun, Sean . . . get it!”

  I crawled toward the weapon, but Sean
beat me to it, snatching the shotgun’s butt.

  “Give it to me here, son.”

  Sean obeyed his father, handing over the shotgun. I struggled to my feet, and my shinbone felt as if it was on fire, as if it had been smacked with a hammer. Sean retrieved the flashlight.

  I stared at Jack. “What are you going to do now?”

  He racked the shotgun. I felt sure he was going to kill me. Instead, he aimed the weapon upright and ejected all the cartridges, one by one, into his lap. He stuffed them into his pocket, then wiped sweat from his face.

  “You didn’t answer me, Jack. What are you going to do?”

  “Keep my promise. Let’s go see Amy.”

  I limped on, helping Sean push the wheelchair.

  I felt a strange calm. Jack seemed resigned to me seeing Amy.

  But instead of heading straight along the track, Sean skewed left. “Where are we going?”

  “We’re almost there.” I heard a tremor in Jack’s voice. Was it my imagination, or did it seem he was avoiding the question? He sounded weaker. The dog’s barking grew persistent. I looked back as more lights came on in the house. I was sure I saw a door open. A figure appeared in the block of light, wielding a long firearm.

  But Jack and Sean paid no heed as we trundled along the track. It ended at a rocky bluff. It was hard to make out in the poor light, but it seemed as if the ground sloped away, and there was a sharp drop to a valley below. Probably stunning in daylight, but right now, it didn’t feel right. It felt dangerous. What was Jack up to?

  “Stop here,” he said, waving a hand.

  We halted.

  He looked up at me. “Kath . . . I . . . I couldn’t tell you the truth. I just couldn’t.”

  His voice trembled again. I looked at him and saw tears in his eyes.

  “What truth are you talking about?”

  “Amy . . . Amy’s dead. I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell you . . . I just couldn’t. I knew it would rip the life out of you.”

  And then it felt as if a giant, icy hand reached in and grabbed hold of my heart. I could just make out a clump of gray rocks ahead, overlooking the valley, as Sean waved the flashlight. It wasn’t a clump of rocks but a half dozen gravestones scattered around a private cemetery. The light beam settled on a simple marble stone. Gold lettering inscribed the pale marble: “Amy. We will love and miss you always, sweetest sister and daughter. Until we meet again.—Mommy, Daddy, and Sean.”

  In that millisecond of total shock, I felt as if steel claws shredded my heart. It stopped beating. I felt the lifeblood drain from me. I stared at the chiseled words in absolute horror and put a hand to my throat, unable to breathe.

  My stare shifted to Jack. He was so quiet now I couldn’t even tell if he was still alive, his features a shadowed blur in the wheelchair. “No, Jack! Please don’t do this to me . . . Please!”

  He just looked back at me, wet-eyed, sadness etched into his face as deep as a scar.

  I began to sob, burning tears that scalded my eyes. Pain blossomed in my chest, so intense that it could have been a stake driven into me. My legs buckled. I crumpled to my knees.

  When I opened my mouth, an agonized scream tore from my throat, a roar so intense that it echoed around the valley like a primitive, animal cry.

  “No!”

  And then all my senses seemed to fade, my body pitched forward, slammed into the cold earth, and a black curtain came down over my eyes.

  83

  * * *

  “So what have you got?”

  The Cracker Barrel was still filling up with a lunchtime crowd. A bunch of elderly ladies, two on walkers, brushed past Tanner as he asked the question. He winked at one. The old lady gave him a cautious look, as if he might be a potential mugger.

  “A list of guys Jack served with, whom he was close to and who live within a three-hundred-mile radius of Knoxville.” Courtney leafed through the notebook pages.

  “Why three hundred?”

  “The Dorsett boat has a twelve-gallon tank and a one-hundred-and-ten-horsepower engine. It gives it a range of about one hundred miles in smooth water. I trebled it because there was an extra fuel store of twenty-five gallons on board. I made three circles, each a hundred miles farther apart, extending from where he docked.”

  “How many guys are we looking at?”

  “Eleven I think may matter, but I narrowed it down to five guys he knew better than most, according to his former CO. One of them is Joe Feld. He lives in Asheville.”

  “What’s the connection?”

  “Feld was a young machine-gunner, and Jack took him under his wing. Feld was a buddy of Kyle’s, too.”

  “Who else is on your list?”

  “Two former sergeants, one living near Memphis and another in Cincinnati, Ohio. Then there’s a former corporal, Dan Riker, in Cooke County. The last one’s named Kevin Borovsky, in Marion County, more than eighty miles from here. By the way, all are registered as PTSD sufferers with the veterans organizations, except Kevin Borovsky, who’s a qualified surgeon who specialized in head wounds. The guy also has a PhD in psychology from Vanderbilt.”

  “Bright dude. What’s your gut telling you?”

  “Joe Feld’s worth trying. He and Jack were close, apparently. But Riker or Borovsky are up there, too.”

  “Why?”

  “Remember that smudge on the map?”

  “Yeah, what about it?”

  “Interesting thing is it’s about midway between those last two guys.”

  “Could still be just a smudge.”

  “Could be, but I figure it’s too much of a coincidence.”

  “Anything else I should know?”

  “Riker was a close pal of Jack’s from the day they deployed. They always hung together. Borovsky, too, but less so. In fact, he was later Jack’s shrink.”

  “Yeah?”

  “After three tours serving in Iraq, Borovsky resigned from the military and completed his PhD in psychology. He ended up a senior partner in a chain of private medical clinics and specialized in treating PTSD sufferers. The word is it was his passion, and he had an excellent reputation, until he had a run-in with the feds.”

  “How come?”

  “Prescribing pills, or should I say overprescribing. A medical council investigation cost him a suspended license. The feds prosecuted him, too, but the judge left it at a hefty fine, noting the suspension, which actually ends in six months.”

  “When did Jack become a patient of his?”

  “Six months after resigning from the Army.”

  “Did therapy help?”

  “Kath thought Jack’s bouts became less extreme, but then he’d go for a while without seeing Borovsky. That’s sometimes the problem, getting a PTSD sufferer to keep receiving treatment on an ongoing basis, even years afterward.”

  “Did Borovsky see Kyle, too?”

  Courtney snapped shut her notebook. “Yes, but Kyle didn’t respond too well.”

  “How come?”

  “You’ll have to ask Dr. Borovsky that question. But I reckon Kyle was too far gone to be reached.”

  “You loved Kyle, huh?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Don’t you think your role in this complicates things?”

  “Because Kath and Jack were my close friends?”

  “Yeah.”

  “My CO sees that fact more as a tactical advantage—like knowing your enemy. He also knows I’ll do my duty, even if that means prosecuting Jack.”

  “You still see Kyle much?”

  “Not as much as I’d like.”

  “You make the round-trip drive from Fort Campbell to Sevierville? That must be racking up more than five hundred miles every time.”

  “Five hundred and forty-eight.”

  Tanner gave a low whistle. “You never met
anyone else?”

  “What is this, Tanner? An audition for Take Me Out Tonight?”

  “Just curious. You must get offers. Attractive woman like you. I’ll bet you’ve been married or come close to it a few times.”

  “So?”

  “But you still love Kyle?”

  “You’re all questions, aren’t you, Mr. Investigator? You major in psychology?”

  “Nope, but like I said, I’m curious. It’s rare to keep a torch burning for someone when, you know, there’s not much, well, fuel to keep it burning, so to speak.”

  “What you really mean is when there’s no hope for me and him.”

  “You’d know the answer to that better than me.”

  He looked at her as she raised her coffee cup and spoke over it. “Kyle doesn’t really say much, just sits there. Now and then, he’ll talk a little or make a comment, like he’s come out of a coma, but then, sure enough, he goes right back into that coma again. I’ve heard one psychiatrist call it the shell syndrome. Ever hear of it?”

  “No.”

  “Like turtles, they stick their heads out, look around a little, and then retreat back into their shells.”

  Tanner gave her a studied look.

  “Don’t feel sorry for me, Tanner.”

  “I wasn’t. It’s more like admiration. Not many men are lucky enough to have a woman care for them like that. Am I allowed to say that, or does it sound like a come-on?”

  Courtney looked at him over the rim of her cup. Tanner held her stare. Their eye contact lasted just a few beats too long.

  Courtney said, “Bet you’re still wondering.”

  “’Bout what?”

  “Why I avoided your question about me and Kath’s dad.”

  “It ain’t important. Just me being nosy.”

  “But it is important.”

  Tanner didn’t speak, just listened.

  Courtney looked away a moment, then back again. “I loved Kyle like crazy. The day they moved him to Serenity Ridge was the day I lost any shred of hope I had. I guess to be honest, I lost it long before then, when he tried to kill himself. But it’s hard to let go of someone you love, someone you put your future hopes in, someone you believed was your soul mate.”