by Anne Frasier
She came to him easily.
Too easily.
He should have been suspicious, but infatuation clouded his judgment and reason.
He comforted her in her loss. She clung to him, sobbing, distraught, beside herself with sorrow. But not so distraught that she was unable to plot and plan. Not so distraught that she was unable to bring about the downfall of him and his kingdom. His beautiful Tuonela.
Bitch.
Making love to him. Whispering sweet words in his ear. Speaking of tomorrows together. Oh, his memories were thick with dark nights of sweet, sweating flesh and tangled bedsheets. Of candles burned to the quick and penetration so deep his soul left his body.
Never turn your back to a woman.
Never close your eyes and smile with her name on your lips. Because when you do, she’ll stab you. She’ll pierce your heart with your own blade.
He’d made but one gasp. His eyes had opened and he’d looked at her with bafflement and disbelief and hurt. He tried to question her, but blood clotted his throat and filled his mouth.
She was smiling.
The witch was smiling.
Standing there naked, draped in dark hair, a dripping blade in her hand.
Oh, the actress! Never had he seen such acting in all of his life. He’d been convinced that she’d loved him above all others. That she’d worshiped him and would die for him.
“That’s for my sister,” she’d said. “And my niece.” She’d stared at him unblinking, as if unwilling to miss a single second of his pain and death. “And for all the other sweet innocents you’ve killed.”
Then it was his turn to smile.
Because her sister and niece had still been alive, chained to the cellar wall, out of earshot. If he’d been able to speak, he wouldn’t have spoken a word.
Her cockiness faded. “Why are you smiling? What do you know?”
He’d taken his last breath knowing she had not only killed him, but her sister and niece as well. Sweet revenge, but in no way complete.
Now, in the depths of the cellar, he picked up the sword and tested its weight.
Chapter Forty
Alastair leaned over the workstation and peered at the screen. “So, what do you think?”
Eric Fontaine rewound the tape and pushed play.
Alastair had driven two hours to get the footage to Eric. He hadn’t wanted to risk the mail, and he hadn’t wanted to send it over the Internet. They were in the basement of Eric’s suburban home located outside Madison. Alastair could hear the television upstairs, and occasionally the wheels of some plastic riding toy directly above his head. He could smell dinner being cooked. Something Italian. Maybe spaghetti.
Eric hit the pause button. “It looks real.”
They both stared at the monitor and the image of a young girl standing at the edge of Aspen Grove. Alastair knew when and where the video had been taken, because he’d been there. He’d even spotted himself in some of the footage.
“But it isn’t real,” Alastair said with conviction while still managing a question. “I was there that day. There was no little girl roaming around.”
“Oh, yeah.” Eric leaned back in his swivel chair so far Alastair thought he might tumble over backward. “I said it looked real. I didn’t say it was real. It’s relatively easy to do this kind of thing. Probably done in Final Cut or something like that. Good job, though.”
The chair squeaked and he leaned forward. “Notice the girl’s skirt? You can see through it. I mean, you can see the trees on the other side. Pretty cool, but not that hard to do.”
“So it’s fake.” Again the question combined with a statement of fact.
Eric looked up, and Alastair could tell he was trying to figure out if he was serious. Or crazy. Of course it was fake. Cops didn’t ask if a ghost was real. You didn’t do that kind of thing.
“I’m only asking because of the seriousness of the case,” Alastair explained. “A person is missing, and I need a statement from a specialist so we can move the investigation forward.”
“I get it.” Eric relaxed. “I’m guessing an old still was put over the top of the original footage. How about I send this to a buddy of mine? Get his opinion?”
“No.” Alastair had specifically brought the footage because he didn’t want any copies getting out. “This is evidence. I came to you because I knew you were one of the best, and I hope you can be discreet. I don’t want anybody knowing about this.”
“Okay.” Eric popped out the minicassette and handed it to Alastair.
Eric’s evaluation was what Alastair had hoped for. He thanked the younger man, pocketed the cassette, and left the basement through a side door. Outside he pulled out his cell phone, called the mayor, and gave him the report.
“That’s good news,” the mayor said. “I’ll call a press conference.”
“That seems a bit premature.”
“Have you found any evidence of foul play?”
“No.”
“It’s a scam. I think that’s fairly obvious by now. Kristin Blackmoore wanted someone to find the camera and the footage. She wanted it to make local and national news.”
Maybe. Very possible.
In his mind’s eye, Alastair saw the image of the little girl in the transparent nightgown. He felt sick and confused. He thought about the skin in his freezer. He thought about Evan. More than anything, he thought about Evan.
In the basement, Eric Fontaine opened the door to his dubbing room, ejected the fresh DV copy, returned to his chair, and popped the tape into his workstation deck. He played it through, rewound, paused. Then he captured a screen image of the girl and made a JPEG.
Yes, he was discreet. But a guy had to share something like this with his best buddy and fellow media tech. He dragged the image into the body of an e-mail, wrote a short note, and pressed send. · · · James took a long swallow of beer, then lowered the bottle to glance at the computer screen. An e-mail was trying to come through. Something fairly big, because it was taking a while to download. The program chirped and he opened the mail.
From Eric Fontaine.
James scanned the attached text, picking out a few words, enough to know Eric wanted his opinion. Of course the image was fake, but what did he think of it?
He leaned closer and peered at the screen. He could see through the girl’s dress. Not only through her dress, but also through her.
Pretty cheesy.
Oh, Eric, Eric, Eric.
The kid was always sending him shit. It was nice to be looked up to, but James was getting tired of pretending he was impressed.
Had Eric made this himself?
Probably. He’d done that a couple of times before. Sent him something and pretended someone else had done it, hoping to get a truthful response from him. Why not just come out and ask?
James scanned the text again.
Aspen Grove. Outside Tuonela.
Oh, yeah. Tuonela.
Eric lived in Wisconsin. James was from California and had a hard time visualizing the Midwest. In a lot of ways it didn’t exist and didn’t matter to him. He couldn’t help it. That was just the way it was.
He put the image in a new e-mail and titled the e-mail Aspen Grove Ghost. He went through his address book, clicked on the group file of over a thousand names, and sent the image to everybody on his list. Once James accidentally sent a nude photo of his ex-girlfriend to three hundred people. These things happened.
Maybe if he hadn’t had so many beers he would have exercised some restraint, but he got his kicks tormenting amateurs like Eric Fontaine. James was looking forward to sitting back and watching the furor and speculation once the image made its way around the globe.
Chapter Forty-one
Graham heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. He shut off the television, tossed down the remote, and jumped to his feet as Alastair stepped inside the house.
“I just saw the mayor on the news,” Graham told him. “He’s saying there’s no evid
ence of foul play and that people suspect Kristin staged her disappearance.”
Alastair sighed and tossed his hat on the couch. “I’d hoped the mayor wouldn’t go public with that statement yet. It’s a little premature.”
“No shit!”
“Watch your mouth.”
Graham didn’t care. “Does this mean nobody’s looking for her anymore?”
“People are still looking.”
His grandfather sounded calm. Too calm, which stirred Graham up even more. “Who? How many?”
“We don’t want men endangering their lives to find someone who isn’t even lost or missing. Some- one who’s trying to pull something over on us and the media.”
“That’s bullshit. Are they afraid to go out there? That’s what I think.”
“Of course they’re afraid. Two people have died in the area. We don’t have the perpetrator—whether it’s animal or human. This isn’t just a missing-persons case. We can’t allow innocent people with no police or tracking experience to wander around in the kill zone. That would be irresponsible.”
“But Kristin could be out there. She is out there.”
“You don’t know that.”
“You don’t know she isn’t.”
Where was the logic in his grandfather’s thinking?
Graham looked at him closely, trying to read his expression. “Are you afraid?”
Yes. Something like queasiness—and even guilt— flickered across Alastair’s face. “You are, aren’t you?”
“Everybody’s afraid,” Alastair said. “I wouldn’t let that keep me from trying to find someone if they were lost and needed help. I hope you don’t think that poorly of me.”
“She’s been gone for two days.”
“Graham, I don’t think she’s out there. We’re going to keep looking until we have proof otherwise, but we don’t want the whole community traipsing around in those woods. Come morning we’ll start looking again. We can’t search for her at night.”
Maybe they couldn’t, but Graham knew some- body who could. He grabbed his car keys and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Nowhere. Just out for a while.”
“I don’t want you to miss any more school. This is an important year.”
How could he even think about that? College had been a pipe dream anyway. He wasn’t getting out of here. He was going to be stuck in Tuonela forever, like everybody else.
It was getting cold; he grabbed his jacket.
How long could a person survive when temperatures were close to freezing? Had she worn any winter clothing? Probably not. She hadn’t struck him as the type to think ahead. She was spontaneous, with no caution in her.
“I’ll be back in a little while.”
He hated lying to his grandfather, but lying had been a big part of his life back when his mother was still alive. It came naturally. You did what you had to do.
For a moment he thought Alastair was going to physically restrain him. He took a step toward him; Graham flinched and raised his arm.
He’d had quite a few years of practicing that move too.
Alastair didn’t hit him or grab him. He suddenly looked sad and old.
Graham didn’t feel connected to his grandfather the way he felt connected to Evan. Even taking into consideration Evan’s weirdness and his new and strange persona. Maybe Graham would eventu- ally connect with Alastair. Of course, if he kept lying to him that would never happen.
“Ten o’clock,” Alastair said. “Be back by ten.”
Graham could see Alastair was just playing along. Pretending life was normal, like everybody else. That back-by-ten kind of stuff didn’t belong in this world. The world of skinned bodies and crazy moms and dads. Tuonela just couldn’t get away from the past. That’s what it was. The whole town was trying to pretend bad things hadn’t really happened, that it was really just a silly, zany carnival ride. Would people ever admit otherwise?
“I’ll be back by ten.”
He left and got in his dad’s returned car.
Low on gas. And he was broke because he’d spent a large chunk of his check on videotape for Kristin.
Would she do that? Fake her own disappearance to create a media buzz? He had to admit the idea was kinda cool.
Fifteen minutes later he pulled up in front of the Manchester house.
He slipped from the car, then paused at the narrow path that led to Old Tuonela.
Was his dad out there excavating like a crazy man? Graham decided to check the house first, circling around back to the kitchen.
He hadn’t seen Evan since the whole baby coffin incident. The impact of that memory brought along a giant wave of doubt. This was probably a bad idea. He had a lot of those.
Inside the house he flipped the wall switch, dowsing the room in a faint red light. “Evan?”
He shouted into the depths of the house: “Evan!”
He heard a crash—like the sound of someone stumbling and blundering around, then heavy footfalls coming from the bowels of the building.
Graham had never been in the basement. He’d opened the door and looked once, but it smelled like mildew and age. Nothing he wanted anything to do with.
Evan appeared at the top of the steps. In his hands he held a dirt-encrusted sword that he leaned in the corner, near the basement door. He paused and blinked owlishly against the dim light, then surged forward to grab Graham by both arms. “Hey, I’m glad to see you.”
Graham was shocked by his father’s appearance.
He shouldn’t have left him out here by himself.
“You’ve lost more weight,” Graham said. “Haven’t you been eating?”
Evan let him go and waved his words away with a weak hand.
He was dirty. His hair looked as if it hadn’t been washed in weeks. He needed to shave, and his eyes were bloodshot.
“What are you doing here?” Evan asked. “I thought you were staying with your grandfather.”
Should he even mention Kristin? Evan wasn’t in any shape to help look for her; that was for damn sure.
“What’s wrong?” Evan prodded.
Graham could see his father’s mind jump ahead, see the panic set in. “Rachel? Is Rachel okay?”
“She’s fine. Or at least, I think she’s fine.”
“Your grandfather?”
“He’s okay.”
“But something isn’t right. I can tell.”
“Yeah, well . . . A friend of mine is in trouble.”
‘What kind of trouble?”
“She disappeared. Vanished into thin air, if you listen to the cops.”
Evan was immediately alert. More like the old Evan. “Where?”
“Aspen Grove.”
“She was a friend of yours?” Evan frowned. “I thought she was from Minneapolis. Some officers were here asking if I’d seen anything. Of course, I’m going to be the first person they suspect.” Just stating a fact.
“I met her at the museum.”
Evan nodded as if to say, These things happen. Girls happened in a guy’s life.
There had been a very brief period of time when Graham thought Evan and Rachel would happen. But apparently he’d been wrong about that, and now Rachel was going to have a kid.
“There were no signs of foul play,” Graham said.
“But her camera was found, isn’t that right?”
“Yeah. Some people think it’s a scam. A publicity stunt.”
“You don’t?”
Graham shook his head. “I don’t know her very well, but I don’t think she’d do that.” He thought about how she’d almost stolen the videotapes. He hadn’t thought she’d do that either. “I don’t think anybody’s trying very hard to find her. It’s really cold out. And people have been killed. Skinned . . .”
Evan was already moving. Opening drawers, grabbing things like flashlights, a backpack, blankets. He seemed taller and stronger.
The old Evan.
And n
ot.
Because the old Evan had sometimes seemed like two people: one, a quiet and reclusive writer; the other . . . someone forceful and dynamic and fright-eningly intense.
Graham experienced mixed emotions. He was glad somebody was doing something, but he wondered if Evan was the right guy for the job. Evan Stroud in any form didn’t exactly instill confidence.
Graham moved toward the door.
“Stay here,” Evan commanded.
What? Now he decided to play dad?
“We could be gone for hours.” He gave Graham a level look. “There’s no telling what we’ll find.”
A skinned body.
That’s what he meant. “I don’t care. I want to come. If you find her, if she’s still alive . . .” His words trailed off.
Evan smiled.
When had Graham last seen him smile? “It wouldn’t be good for her to see a vampire looming over her?”
“Yeah. That’s right. And a familiar face might not hurt either.”
“You’ll need warmer clothes.”
Graham spun around and darted upstairs.
“Gloves! A hat!” Evan shouted from below.
Underneath his concern for Kristin, Graham felt a strange thrum of excitement put in motion by his father’s sudden clarity and the fact that they were doing something massively important together. Father and son.
He forced those selfish emotions down, but they wouldn’t stay.
Was he an adrenaline junkie? He’d heard of people who, after making it through some traumatic event, were unable to live a normal life. They started doing risky things so they could experience that high again.
Downstairs Evan was waiting.
“Aren’t you wearing a hat and gloves?” Graham asked, annoyed that he’d told Graham to dress warmly when he wasn’t doing the same.
“I don’t get cold easily.”
They left the house.
Other than running around the track at school, Graham wasn’t used to doing anything physical. But Evan, for all his weight loss and the dark circles under his eyes, seemed powered by something unknown. They took a straight path to the grove of trees where the first murder had occurred. They made a circle, then stopped in the center of the grove.