Dead Spots

by Rhiannon Frater

  “Who is this freak anyway? Is he drugging you or something? Because you don’t look okay,” Tanner added.

  “I lost my Xanax,” Mackenzie said in a weak voice, her mind a clutter of confusing thoughts.

  “Are you having some sort of nervous breakdown?” Estelle stomped over, stopped short, and stared. “You look like shit. Who is this guy? Did he kidnap you?”

  “Mom,” Mackenzie whispered. Was she having a breakdown? Were the terrible things she had encountered just illusions? Was Grant just keeping her confused for his own diabolical reasons?

  “Stop talking to them. Ignore them,” Grant said, his hand clutching hers in an attempt to drag her away.

  “Fuck you!” Tanner shouted, parking his bike and climbing off. “You and me, right now. Let’s settle this like men!”

  “No!” Mackenzie darted at Tanner. “You leave him be!”

  Tanner loomed before her, angry and frustrated, reminding her of the only true fight they’d ever had. It had taken place the night Tanner had left her for good. The night he’d tried to pack up the nursery and she had fought him. “Mac, talk to me. Tell me what the hell is going on with you. Are you leaving me?”

  “How could you leave Joshua?” Estelle’s voice was pure ice. “What sort of mother are you?”

  “Joshua’s dead,” Mackenzie sobbed. “You know that!”

  Estelle’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about? He’s with Angie right now!”

  An evil form of hope swelled in Mackenzie’s heart. It was dark, dangerous, and sent her teetering at the edge of the abyss of madness. “Joshua’s alive?”

  Clutching her hair tightly, Mackenzie shrank away from them. She remembered vividly Tanner leaving the house, slamming the door behind him, the roar of his motorcycle when he rode away, leaving her alone in a house full of broken dreams. This couldn’t be real—this terrible, yet wonderful reality where Joshua was alive, Tanner was still her husband, and Mackenzie was losing her mind and wandering the back roads of Texas.

  “Just come home. We’ll get you to a doctor. Find out what’s wrong. You’re acting crazy, baby,” Tanner whispered, his voice sweet and wonderful in her ears.

  “No, I remember you leaving. I remember Joshua’s tiny body in my arms. His lips were black and his little heart was still. And I remember the coffin, that beautiful little coffin being lowered into that awful grave. You’re not real! You’re not my mom and you’re not Tanner!” She latched on to the truth in her words, and mentally pulled away from the toxic hope they had tried to use against her.

  “You’re fucking crazy!” Estelle screeched at her.

  Mackenzie shoved the woman, knocking her back a few feet. Then she struck her again, sending Estelle sprawling to the ground. Tanner snatched Mackenzie from behind, lifting her feet off the ground.

  “You’re coming home and taking care of our baby,” Tanner growled in her ear.

  “Fuck you!” Mackenzie yanked the knife out of her purse and stabbed Tanner in the thigh.

  With a gasp, he released her. “What the hell did you do that for?”

  Mackenzie yanked the blade out of his flesh. Holding up the bloodied blade, she backed away from him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Estelle climbing to her feet.

  “Grant?”

  “I’m here,” he answered from just behind her.

  “We need to keep going,” she said, thrusting the knife at Tanner.

  Tanner’s face creased into a sneer. “You’re fucking nuts, Mac. You’re not suited to be a mama of any baby. You’re fucking insane!”

  “This is why your baby died!” Estelle shouted.

  “I thought you said he was with Angie!” A wild smile of triumph spread on her face. “You’re fucking wraiths! Liars!” She planted her foot against the side of the bike and shoved. It fell over in a slow arc. “You hate each other. You can’t stand each other. And my real mother would never get on a motorcycle! She called them death traps!”

  The woman wearing her mother’s face screeched, the sound inhuman and painful. In a flash of movement, her mother’s form vanished into a writhing, twisting mass of darkness, then was gone.

  “You, too!” Mackenzie thrust the knife at the form of her ex-husband. “Go away! I know what you are!”

  The smirk on Tanner’s face was diabolical, but scarily familiar. The dangerous aspect of Tanner’s personality that he kept at bay was on prominent display on the face of his doppelganger. “I’ll be back for you, honey pie.” His body dissolved into darkness, then vanished.

  As she dropped to her knees, the adrenaline left her in a rush. Shaking, Mackenzie laid the knife on the ground and forced herself to breathe.

  Hesitantly, Grant squatted beside her, not speaking.

  “Why didn’t you do anything?” Mackenzie asked, fury in her voice.

  “You had to deal with that yourself,” Grant answered somberly. His blue eyes were compassionate, yet sorrowful. “It was time for you to stand up to them.”

  “I almost believed them. For a moment, I wanted it to be true.”

  “I know.”

  “I wanted to really believe that I was a fucking lunatic and that Joshua was safe with Angie.”

  “I know, Mackenzie.” Grant didn’t make any moves to console her. He just watched.

  The ridiculousness of it all elicited a crazed giggle and Mackenzie covered her mouth in embarrassment.

  Grant smiled slightly.

  Tears in her eyes, but laughter trying to wiggle its way out of her, Mackenzie slumped over onto the ground. Her eyes flicked toward the horizon where the tornado once more raged. She never thought she’d feel so relieved to see a deathly funnel. The bike was gone from the roadside, too.

  “It’s trying to convince me I’m crazy, isn’t it?” Mackenzie watched Grant stretch out next to her. He nodded and she sighed. “What if they had sucked me in?”

  “They would have kept the illusion alive long enough to push you over the edge.”

  “Like the coffin in the crib,” Mackenzie whispered.

  “Yes, like that.”

  “Would you have tried to save me then?”

  Grant bobbed his head once. “Yes. I would have stepped in if they had convinced you to believe in their lies. But I had faith that you would see what they really were.”

  “Did you? Why?”

  Grant hesitated, then rolled over so he could look into her eyes. “Because a pain as deep as yours may be your weakness in this world, but it can also be your strength. Your anchor to what is real.”

  “You’re so sad, Grant,” she whispered. She could see it etched into his features and his posture. His eyes were haunted and forlorn.

  “So are you,” he answered, shrugging.

  “Will they be back?” She stared at the knife. There was no blood on the blade now.

  “In time, but we should move on. That storm is heading our way.”

  Mackenzie clambered to her feet and shoved the knife into her purse. Casting a worried look at the storm clouds, she could see it was darkening considerably, turning a grayish green that warned of killer winds and possibly hail. “Yeah. It looks bad.”

  Together, they walked onto the road, Grant’s walking stick lightly tapping on the asphalt.

  “Grant,” Mackenzie said after a few minutes of silence.

  “Yes?”

  “Next time they attack, you better hit them with that damn stick.”

  He chuckled. “All right.”

  “I’m okay with you wanting me to stand up to them and recognize what was going on, but no more tough love, okay? Just beat them senseless.”

  “You got it.”

  Mackenzie smiled and nudged him lightly with her shoulder in a playful manner. To her surprise, the anxiety attack that had been threatening was gone now. She felt a lot more clearheaded than she had in a long while. Weirdly, standing up to the wraiths and stripping them of their disguises had helped her banish her growing terror. When she had the opportunity she would nee
d to add another line to her list.

  Don’t give in to the madness.

  She was feeling quite confident when she spotted the red balloon bouncing along the edge of the road. A sad clown face had been drawn on it, the yellow paint still wet in appearance. Swallowing hard, she felt her heart speed up at the sight of the merrily bouncing balloon. The wind caught it, spun it about, and it disappeared into the woods, but not before Mackenzie saw that a word had been written on the opposite side of the face.

  It read: SOON.

  CHAPTER 11

  The hail beat on the roof of the small house and clanked against the windows. The high winds tore at the trees surrounding the structure, breaking off brittle branches, stripping leaves, and sending them spinning into the air. The rain sounded like a waterfall, pouring off the roof and porch. It was one of the worst storms Mackenzie had ever experienced and the deafening claps of thunder unsettled her.

  The small house consisted of a living room, a kitchen, and a single bedroom with a bathroom added on in the back. From the design of the furniture and appliances, Mackenzie suspected it had been abandoned in the thirties or forties. Tucked into the small restored kitchen, Grant and Mackenzie sipped coffee and ate sandwiches made from ingredients in the revitalized refrigerator. This time she hadn’t experienced any pain like she had when she’d restored the other house. Mackenzie hoped it was a sign she was acclimating to her new ability and that the pain wouldn’t return.

  Lightning flashed and the echoing thunder shook the windowpanes. Mackenzie gasped and almost choked on the cheese sandwich.

  “Once the lightning passes, we should keep going,” Grant said after a long gulp from his glass of milk. “It’s a few more hours until nightfall and there should be a better place down the road.”

  “You’re afraid the house is going to tip over, aren’t you?” Mackenzie had wondered the same thing. Even though she had restored it, the house wasn’t in very good condition.

  “That and I think that we’re going to get hit harder next time.”

  With a sigh Mackenzie set aside the rest of her sandwich. It didn’t actually surprise her that her victory would be so short-lived. It was unnerving to admit it, but her surroundings felt like a living, breathing entity that was constantly watching and assessing her while it waited to strike again. Resting her elbow on the table, she set her chin in her hand and plaintively stared at him.

  “What is it?”

  “Are you sure I can’t restore a gun or something? Maybe a bazooka. You know, something with the firepower to blow them away?”

  Grant chuckled. “Though the thought is appealing, no we can’t.”

  “I don’t like feeling defenseless.” She pushed her half-eaten sandwich away. “I hate feeling like I have no options.”

  “If you trust me, Mackenzie, I can guide you. You can survive here. I’ve been doing it for years.”

  “But you’re—” She stopped herself.

  Grant’s blue eyes lifted to stare into hers. Within their depths, she saw his sorrow. In some ways it perfectly mirrored her own. Maybe that was why he seemed to understand her grief. “Yes, I’m a bit worn down. Battered. But I’m better now that you are here.” The smile that followed was heartfelt and kind.

  Mackenzie returned the gesture, her hand lightly touching his.

  The banging on the door in the rear of the small kitchen startled them.

  “Please!” a voice screamed. “Please open up!”

  Mackenzie fumbled with her purse, searching for her knife, while Grant seized his walking stick.

  “Please! I know you’re in there! Please! Open up!” It was a female voice, young and terrified.

  “Is it a wraith?”

  “Most likely.” Grant inched toward the door.

  “Please! Open the door! He’s coming for me! I can’t die again. Please! Please!” The frantic hammering shook the wooden door.

  “Is she real? She sounds real.” Again, Mackenzie was torn between her desire to help and her own fears. The voice of the child screaming still haunted her even though she knew it had been part of a trap.

  “Please,” the woman sobbed. “Please. I can’t take much more. I just can’t. I don’t want to die again.”

  The soul-crushing pain in the woman’s voice sounded too much like her own after she’d lost her son and abolished Mackenzie’s doubts. The emotional rawness of the woman’s cries echoed as truth within Mackenzie. She darted past Grant to let the weeping woman in to their haven.

  “Mackenzie, no!”

  “I have to help.”

  Mackenzie jerked open the door. On the stoop stood a young woman in a faded pink sundress, her blond hair darkened by the streams of rainwater running off from the tips. Her brown eyes were puffy from crying and her lips were blue from the cold.

  “Please, he’ll kill me again. I can’t go through that again!” she wailed. “I just can’t!”

  Mackenzie reached out, snagged her arm, and yanked her inside. With an irritated sound, Grant slammed the door shut and locked it. Violently trembling, the young woman sank into the chair Mackenzie scooted toward her as her wild eyes searched their faces. Grant laid his jacket gently over her shivering shoulders.

  “Thank you! Thank you!” she whispered gratefully. “Thank you for letting me in.”

  Mackenzie slid into the chair next to the woman who appeared genuinely terrified. It was difficult for Mackenzie to see the desperation in the stranger’s eyes and not be compelled to help. “I’m Mackenzie. That’s Grant. Who are you, hon?”

  “Tildy,” the young woman answered in a distinct East Texas accent.

  Grant busied himself making coffee while Mackenzie pushed the remaining half of her cheese sandwich toward Tildy.

  Waves of fear were rolling off the woman, pulling at Mackenzie’s own anxieties. “Who’s after you?”

  Tildy snatched up the sandwich and ate hungrily. Around large bites, she said, “The Clown. He’s why I got trapped in a dead spot. He follows me. Every time he kills me, he finds me so he can do it again.”

  “Oh, Lord.”

  “I sometimes get away for a few weeks, but then he finds me again.” Tildy rubbed her nose with her hand, wiping away snot and tears.

  Mackenzie grabbed a towel off the nearby counter and handed it to her. “That’s horrible. I’m so sorry.”

  Shoving her wet hair back over her shoulders, Tildy scrubbed her face with the towel and blew her nose again. After giving Grant a wary look while he prepared a pot of coffee, Tildy regarded Mackenzie with fearful eyes. “You’re real, right? I used to be able to tell, but I have trouble now. I get so riled up and nervous everything looks dark.”

  “We’re real,” Mackenzie assured her. “We’re not wraiths.”

  “Wraiths? You mean those black blobs that turn into monsters?” Tildy didn’t ask for permission, but drank the rest of Grant’s milk in one gulp.

  “Yeah. Grant calls them wraiths. What the Clown is,” Mackenzie answered.

  “Oh, no. The Clown ain’t no wraith, hon.” Tildy shook her head adamantly. “The Clown is a person. A real person. I know because he’s the asshole who kidnapped me when I was at the county fair in the real world. He knocked me out when I was walking to my car. When I came to he had me all tied up in the back of his van.”

  Grant set a cup of coffee in front of Tildy and another sandwich. Tildy tore into the meal, gobbling it hungrily.

  “So the Clown brought you into the dead spot?” Grant asked in a calm, soothing voice.

  “Yeah. He … he dragged me into this old abandoned barn. And then it went really bat shit crazy.” Tears welled in her eyes as she gulped down the food with some difficulty. “That’s when the dead spot got us.”

  “How do you know about the dead spots?” Grant watched the newcomer thoughtfully. Mackenzie had the impression he didn’t trust Tildy, but was at least willing to listen to her story.

  “Honey, I have been in here long enough to know about the dead spots. The
Clown killed me the night he trapped us here. I woke up in a field and took off running away from that damn barn. Along the way I ran into other people and a whole lot of monsters. I thought I was in hell at first, which made no sense because I’m a Baptist and was saved by Jesus. I learned about the dead spots from this old man in a truck. He set me straight after I asked him for a ride, but he said he couldn’t take me with him. I was too messed up already, he said. So I kept running, but the Clown found me. He always finds me.”

  “Did you just escape him?” Mackenzie asked, her heart rapidly beating in her chest. The story was too horrible not to be true and it frightened her. Grant refilled the woman’s coffee cup and got up to make her yet another sandwich.

  “You could say that,” Tildy said in a grim voice. “He killed me again today. I just woke up nearby. He’ll be looking for me.” Her reddened eyes were glossy with tears and Mackenzie reached out to take her dirty hand. “It doesn’t matter how far away I get. He always finds me. I know he kills others, but he has this special taste for me. He told me so.”

  “Grant, this guy is a shadow, isn’t he?” Mackenzie noted the stiffness in Grant’s shoulders and his very controlled movements. She suspected he was upset that she was giving shelter to someone who was only going to put them in more danger.

  “He’s a fuckin’ serial killer, that’s what he is,” Tildy spat out. “He loves it. He always makes it go so damn slow. He likes to take his time and enjoy it. The pain … the pain…”

  “You don’t have to say any more.” Grant’s voice was kind, but firm. “We believe your story.”

  Tildy sipped the hot coffee, rubbing her hands against the ceramic when she set it down on the table. “Thank you. Thank you for taking me in.”

  Mackenzie felt a little faint and she uneasily scrutinized the rainfall outside the windows. She thought of the two balloons she had seen since arriving and wondered if they were connected to the Clown. If so, the word “soon” may have been a warning, a threat, or a promise. Or all three.