by Tim McGregor
Mockler lowered his head in shame.
“See? He’s not so bad, is he?”
“He’s lucky I didn’t murder him,” he said. “So don’t think I’m going to change my mind about him. But I took him along. For you.”
If asked about her nature, Billie would probably answer ‘jinx’. A rolling tide of bad luck and bad news her whole life. This wasn’t morose or glum or depressive. It was simply fact, something that she had accepted long ago. Not now, not this moment. Words failed, as they so often did, so she simply fell into him and wrapped her arms round his back and held on. She buried her ear against his chest and heard his heartbeat and she told herself to remember this moment. Carve it into stone like some new covenant and keep it tabernacled in her bruised heart. Keep it there for the times to come when she would need it.
She felt his fingers trace through her hair. Then his voice. “Billie, I think it paid off.”
She came up for air and tilted her head up. “What do you mean?”
“I think we found it. The place where your mom is.”
Chapter 21
SITTING IN THE PASSENGER seat of the car, Billie couldn’t get over the strange company she travelled with. Mockler behind the wheel and John Gantry in the backseat. They had been at each other’s throats for two years now but here they all were, driving out of town like they did this all the time. On a quest to locate her dead mother’s remains. How had the world gotten so turned around?
The trees of the countryside rolled past in the window, red and gold and bare. She felt Mockler touch her arm.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” she said.
“You’re awfully quiet.”
“Just thinking,” she said. “How weird this has turned out. The three of us here. Where we’re going.” She looked out the window again. “Makes me wonder about fate.”
“You think this was meant to happen?”
Billie shrugged. “Yeah. What if it was supposed to be this way?”
“What’s the purpose behind it?” he said. “If this was meant to happen, then that suggests someone has planned it out beforehand.”
“You mean like a higher power?”
“Sort of. Fate suggests there’s a plan at work here but I don’t see any sense to it.” He draped his arm over the wheel and drummed his fingers along the dashboard. “The way this has all played out, it seems arbitrary and meaningless. Cruel even.”
“I used to think it was meaningless too. Now I’m not so sure. There just seems to be too many coincidences.” Billie glanced over her shoulder. “Gantry, what do you think?”
“Don’t ask him,” Mockler chided. “Unless you want an earful of nonsense.”
There was no response from the backseat. Billie turned around. “Gantry?”
The expatriate lay sprawled in the backseat. Eyes closed and out cold.
“He’s asleep,” she said.
Mockler adjusted the rearview mirror. “Who would take a nap at a time like this? Wake him up.”
“Why? Let him sleep.”
“Because we’re here,” he said.
“This is it,” said Mockler as they stepped through the brick doorway of what was once a place of worship. He carried a spade in his hand.
Billie took in the ruins of the church, the bare expanse of exposed earth squared in by the four crumbling walls. Her heart was already thumping. “What was this place called?”
“Saint Lucia,” Mockler replied.
Gantry came up behind them, holding another shovel and a lantern. “Saint Lucia of the Holy Unseen.”
“Unseen?”
“Aye,” Gantry said. “She gouged out her eyes because some bloke fancied them.”
“You’re making that up,” the detective sneered.
Gantry flashed a wide grin. “God’s truth. She gave them to him on a plate.”
“Saint of the unseen,” Billie repeated. She looked at Mockler. “More coincidence?”
Mockler looked up at the sky. “We’re losing daylight.”
Gantry stood the shovel against the sooty brick and turned to Billie. “You ready?”
“I need a minute.” Billie took a breath and closed her eyes. Opening herself up to the other side took little effort. When she opened her eyes, the dead were there.
Gantry watched her. “What do you see?”
“There’s a man by the far wall. He’s not happy about us being here.”
“Who is he?” asked Mockler.
“Judging by his clothes, I’d say he was a priest.” She scanned the walls reaching up to the open sky. “There was a fire here.”
“Back in the fifties,” Mocker confirmed. “Burnt to the ground.”
“He died in the fire,” Billie said. “I think he started it too.”
Gantry almost laughed. “Why do you say that?”
“Because the guilt rolling off of him is almost toxic. He’s denying it all, of course.”
“Did he have anything to do with Riddel or your mother?”
“No. The fire happened before that. He’s just tied to this place, because of what he did.”
“Maybe he saw what Riddel did,” Gantry suggested. “Ask him.”
“He won’t talk to me now,” she said.
“To hell with him then.” Mockler held his hand out to her. “Are you ready?”
She took his hand and stepped down from the stone threshold. Her feet sunk into the soft earth and she gripped Mockler’s hand tighter until she gained her footing.
Gantry came alongside. “Are you picking up on anything?”
“Don’t talk.” Billie took a step out. “Stay here.”
The two men did what was asked, watching the woman tread carefully over the uneven ground to the centre of what was once the church floor. She stood still for a long time, then her head cocked to one side as if listening for something. Billie pivoted on her heel, tramped nine paces east and then four strides north and stopped again. She looked back at the two men. “Here.”
Fetching the tools and the lantern, the two men looked down at the spot where Billie’s feet were planted.
“Are you sure?”
“Something is here.”
Gantry rolled up his sleeves. “But is it your mum?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I can’t sense her but something is pulling me to this spot.”
“Let’s take a look,” Mockler said. Billie stepped back and he sunk the spade into the dark earth, driving it down with his boot.
The sense of anticipation was electric as Billie watched the men dig. She brought the lantern closer as the spades dug deeper and a pile of earth and broken wood timbers piled up beside the hole in the ground. Then the minutes ticked on and the hole became deeper and the hot flush of expectation cooled to the same cold feel of the stones in the walls about them. The men dampened with sweat and their hands were blackened with soil and they alternated the task, one excavating while the other caught his breath.
Kneeling beside the yawning pit, Billie felt hope wither inside her heart and blow away like chaff in the wind. Gantry’s arms slowed as he flung another spadeful of soil out of the grave. Stabbing the shovel into the dirt, he leaned back and left dirt stains on his shirt as he scrounged up his cigarettes.
“Five feet,” he said, coughing as he lit up. “So far, nothing.”
“Six feet,” Mockler said. “That’s the standard for burial. We keep digging.”
Gantry shook his head. “I dunno, mate. You think Riddel took the time to dig that far down? After what he just did?”
Both men glanced up at Billie, as if looking to her to cast the deciding vote. “Let me dig for a while,” she said.
“No.” Mockler snatched up his tool, ready to jump back into the hole. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.” She clambered into the pit and took the shovel from Gantry. “Go on.”
Gantry shrugged and climbed out. Mockler handed across the only bottle of water they had between them and the t
wo men watched the woman dig.
She grunted and strained, heaving spadefuls of earth out of the pit until she was as sweaty and dirty as the men above. Mockler knelt down and urged her to take a breather but she refused and redoubled her efforts until the spade cracked into something solid. Droplets of sweat fell from from the tip of her nose. She gently scraped a layer of dirt away and then set the shovel aside. Dropping to her knees, Billie sunk her fingers into the earth and dug with her hands.
The men leaned over the edge. “What is it?” Mockler asked.
“I need the light,” she said without stopping or looking up at them.
They slid down into the pit and knelt beside Billie as she scooped more of the raw soil away, her hands black to the elbow. Mockler angled the lantern over them.
The bones were there. Damp and stained, the brittle slat of a ribcage poked through the earth. Billie’s grimy hands began to tremble. Mockler set the lantern aside and all three dug in and clawed the earth back, flinging it feverishly like it was a race, until the entire skeleton was exposed to the night air.
She lay on her side with her knees tucked up to her chin in a touchingly fetal position. Mary Agnes Culpepper; survived by a daughter, Sybil Margaret, and a sister, Margaret Anne.
No one in the grave said a word. Billie reached out a quaking hand and placed it on the ribcage, over the spot where her mother’s heart used to beat. Her hand withdrew and she curled into a ball, her shoulders wracking from the sobs. Mockler put his arms around her and held on.
Gantry leaned back against the wall of exposed earth and said, “I’m sorry for your loss, Billie.”
The wind blowing in off the field was brisk as it scattered a few remaining leaves from the trees, sending them hither and yon over the broken church walls. Billie sat on the ledge of the foundation feeling neither the chill nor the damp or anything at all. Her expression was void, her eyes lifeless.
The men stood apart, sensing the woman’s need for privacy. Gantry cupped his hands to light the cigarette against the wind. “Will she be all right, you reckon?”
“She’s tougher than she looks,” Mockler said, pulling his jacket back on.
“No argument there. Still, that’s a hell of a reunion.” Both men glanced over to the woman sitting alone, each gauging how much time she would need. Gantry leaned against the fender of the car. “So what now, chief?”
“I need to make a few calls. Get the forensic truck out here.”
“Is that necessary?”
Mockler looked at the Englishman like he was drooling from a lobotomy. “We just uncovered a body. A murder victim no less. It’s a police matter now.”
“Does it have to be? What’s the point? We know who did it.”
“What are you suggesting, we just pack her up and drive home?”
“Why not?” Gantry said. “Mucking it up with all the police to-do won’t help Billie.”
“It will help her put a proper end to it.”
Gantry flicked the ash from his cigarette away. “I doubt that.”
They approached the young woman seated on the foundation. Mockler knelt down and touched Billie’s arm. “Time to go.”
Billie flinched, as if woken from a dream. “Go where?”
“Home,” he said softly. “I need to call in some people so we can bring her out properly. But you and Gantry shouldn’t be here when they arrive.”
Billie looked over her shoulder at the open grave inside the ruins. “And leave her all alone?”
“She’ll be looked after properly. I promise you.”
“Will you stay with her?” she asked.
“Every step of the way.”
Billie nodded and looked up at the dark sky. There were no stars now. “I thought I’d see her tonight.”
Mockler paused, unsure what she meant. “You did. We all saw her.”
“Her spirit,” Billie said. “I thought that she would come if I found her. That there would be some connection to her. Like she was waiting for me all this time. But there was nothing. Nothing at all.”
Her head lowered. Mockler looked to the other man. Gantry knelt down, scrounging for some way to console her. “Maybe she’s not here because she’s moved on. To a better place.”
“I hope that’s true. But it doesn’t feel that way. She’s just gone.” Rising to her feet, she wiped her eyes dry and looked at the detective. “Maybe you’re right after all.”
“About what?”
“Fate, purpose.” She shrugged and started for the car. “Maybe it is all meaningless.”
~
Kaitlin stared up at the same patch of ceiling that she had looked at for days. The same squares of tiles, the same brown spot of water damage in the corner. She hated looking at it and she hated being in the hospital. Between the medication and being bedridden for so long, she hadn’t slept properly since regaining consciousness. Never fully awake nor properly asleep, she drifted along in a fog that muted everything around her.
More than once she had thought about simply leaving this awful place. If she could only step outside this overly bright, antiseptic building, she could clear the fog from her head and feel normal again. It was a fantasy, no more. Just sitting up was torture, pain rippling its way through her body from the wound in her stomach to the tips of her toes.
There was also danger that lurked outside of this room. After Billie’s friend had left, she had studied the odd symbol John Gantry had drawn in the dust on the window. She had no idea what it meant but when the custodian had attempted to clean the window, she had asked him to leave it. The same held for the mark he had drawn on her skin just below the ear. She forbade the nurse from washing it off. Opening the mirror in her compact, she checked the mark in its reflection. The mark was smudged a little from her own carelessness. Was it still effective? Her nightmares had, if not ceased altogether, lessened significantly since Gantry was here. She still had the odd dream of the dark-eyed woman in the flapper dress coming for her. She whispered terrible things to her while she laid there, helpless and unable to move. The woman’s words weren’t threats or curses but rather secrets. Awful secrets and obscene notions. These secrets never stayed with Kaitlin. Upon waking, she could never remember what Evelyn Bourdain had whispered to her. All that lingered was this sickening feeling that she had heard things no one was ever meant to know.
Staring up at the hated ceiling tile, Kaitlin wondered if she was dreaming now. A powerful sense of dread was creeping up her spine. Then she heard the door click open.
Two figures entered the darkened room and closed the door behind them. Neither of them reached for the light switch.
“Yes?” she said, lifting her head from the pillow.
“Shit,” said a man’s voice. “She’s awake.”
“Doesn’t change anything,” said the other.
Their voices were familiar but she couldn’t pull their names from her hazy memory banks. “What do you want?” she said, her hand bashing at the bedside lamp.
The two men appeared in the light. One big and bulky, the other thin. Neither looked friendly.
“Hello Kaitlin.”
Justin. Their names returned the instant she saw their faces. Justin and Owen. The ghost-hunters she had gotten involved with a month ago. They had wanted her to be their medium on their investigations. They had wanted Billie, she recalled, but had settled for her. She was with these two when she got her first look at the Murder House.
“What are you doing here?” She sat up, gritting through the pain.
“We came to see how you’re doing,” Justin said. The smile on his face looked contrived. “You look much better.”
She looked at the time on the clock. “Isn’t it past visiting hours?”
“We snuck in.” Justin took a step closer. Owen remained at the door.
Panic was bristling up her nerve endings but she tried not to show it. Helpless didn’t begin to describe how vulnerable she felt. She glanced at the nurse-call depressor, hanging from a
cord beside the bed. She reached for it but Justin snatched her wrist.
“No need to narc on us, Kaitlin.” He moved the cord out of her reach. “We just wanted to pass on some well wishes from a friend.”
His eyes were intense, the glare hard, like he was tripping on something. Owen, on the other hand, avoided all eye contact with her. He looked ready to run. He was the one to reach.
“How are you, Owen?” she said, hoping he would look at her.
“Fine,” he mumbled.
Think fast. She tried to remember something about him. “How’s your mom doing? Is she still on you to get her garage back?”
Owen’s eyes flashed at her then away. “Always,” he said. He looked over to his friend. “Dude, maybe we should let her rest.”
Justin fired the nastiest of glares at his companion, then he shook his head in disgust. “Grow a pair. Or leave the room.”
Chastised, Owen lowered his head and spoke no more. Kaitlin knew there would be no help from him now.
Justin swivelled his gaze back to her. “It’s a shame this didn’t work out, Kaitlin. We really hoped you’d be part of the team.”
“I don’t think I was cut out for the Paranormal Trackers.” She tried to sound friendly. She needed to keep him talking so she could think.
“Oh, I didn’t mean the trackers,” he said. “That’s old news. Owen and me, we found something much better.”
“Yeah? What’s that? A new outfit?”
“Don’t you remember? You were a part of it for a short time. You had your place on one of the cardinal points of the pentacle, just like me and Owen.”
An image flashed hot and bright through her mind. Five chanting figures, a painted circle at their feet. Her face, like the others in the ring, was shadowed under the hood of the robe she wore.
“But you betrayed the covenant,” Justin sneered. “Didn’t you?”
There was a blade in Justin’s hand. She hadn’t seen him draw it. His hand was empty one moment and then it wasn’t. The lamp light reflected off the sharp metal.
“Don’t do this, Justin.” She looked at the other one. “Owen, please. You don’t have to do this.”