Carson grabbed at the hand, desperately trying to peel it away, but Robert’s grip was impossibly strong.
Robert sat up and stared him directly in the face. His eyes were dark, bordering on black.
“On the contrary, Paul, I’ve never felt so alive.”
Paul? What the fuck is he talking about?
Carson’s eyes darted to Michael, who was still just standing there, gaping like a buffoon. His gaze went to Bella next, but she too seemed frozen in fear, or confusion, or something.
His airway was being crushed, and no matter how much he clawed at Robert’s hand, it didn’t seem to faze him.
“Bella,” he tried to say, but the word barely came out more like a croak or a death rattle than an actual word.
Robert started to stand, rising first to a knee, then to his feet. And then he lifted Carson clear off the ground with one hand, his eyes turning completely black. Feet kicking now, Carson could feel his life being squeezed out of him.
And then, just when he felt his consciousness fading, Robert’s eyes suddenly went clear, and his hand released Carson.
Coughing, he fell to the ground in a heap, trying to draw a deep breath while massaging his throat.
“Bella,” he gasped. “Bella, get him.”
That was all he could managed before being overcome by a coughing fit that ended in him spitting a wad of blood onto the floor.
When he looked up, Bella finally animated. She went right to Robert, who was just standing there, a confused expression his face.
What the fuck just happened?
Robert looked like he hadn’t slept in days, and he had several injuries that appeared to predate the beating inflicted by Michael. The wrist that he had held him up by seemed purple, either badly sprained or maybe even broken.
How did he do that? What did he do?
Bella kicked Robert in the back of the knee, and he fell hard on his ass and back. He offered no resistance to her even when she pounced on him like a lithe cougar, and started to bind his hands in front of him.
“Robert!” Shelly hollered from Carson’s left. In all of the action, he had forgotten that they were even there. Still on his hands and knees, Carson turned his head toward her voice.
The dead, the ones that he was supposed to be in control of, were standing still directly between Shelly’s and Cal’s cameras.
“Grab them,” he croaked, gesturing with his hand to the quiddity. “Grab them. Take them to the Marrow,” he repeated in a voice he didn’t recognize. But the quiddity didn’t move, didn’t even fucking twitch.
He had no idea what the hell this camera trick was all about, but whatever it was, it superseded even his orders.
The only quiddity that wasn’t standing was the woman with half a face, the one who had sent Allan to the Marrow. But it wasn’t just that she lay in a heap on the ground that made her different. For some reason, she just seemed more real.
And then, inexplicably, the pile flesh and bone started to move. Just a small twitch at first, but then her entire leg, which had previously been twisted beneath her at an odd angle, started to straighten.
Like a newborn calf, the dead woman started to rise, her one good eye unblinking and aimed directly at Carson.
He swallowed hard.
“Go,” he instructed. “Grab the cameras.”
But the standing, teetering dead failed to respond to his instructions. Instead, the dead eye flicked over to Robert, who was on his back, hands and feet bound.
“What now, Carson?” Bella asked, her eyes whipping back and forth.
Carson didn’t answer right away. He was trying to think, to understand what had happened to Robert, but then shook these thoughts away.
It didn’t matter.
What mattered was that they had him now, and he was a Guardian. He could be—he would be—used to open the rift.
Leland could deal with all this shit when he came over to this side.
All they needed to do was to bind him between the living and the dead. Problem was, the dead were suddenly camera shy.
Carson looked back at the woman with the hole in her face. She was just standing there, her posture suggesting that she was awaiting instruction.
An instruction that Carson had already delivered.
“Move, goddammit!” he shouted, finally managing to pull himself to his feet.
Again, the woman failed to respond, and Carson threw his arms up in frustration.
When he had envisioned trapping Robert here, in the Harlop Estate where it all began for him, he had pictured things going differently.
Very differently.
But then someone gave an order, and the dead woman finally started to move. Only it wasn’t Carson who issued it, but Robert.
Chapter 34
The woman named Helen was inside his head. When Robert let go, truly let go, she bubbled to the surface. And only then did the pressure inside his head abate.
In a moment of confusion, he allowed her to take over, to unleash her pent-up fury that was born from her husband’s abuse and her murder. Taking a back seat to his own body, Robert watched as Helen grabbed Carson by throat.
And he almost let her kill him.
But like at Seaforth Prison, it wasn’t something that he could bring himself to do—even if he wasn’t exactly the orchestrator of his actions.
One kill, as warranted as it was, was enough for Robert.
Like a drowning man clawing at the surface, Robert forced himself to the fore, in the process driving Helen back down into the deep recesses of his mind. For the moment, he was at peace, alone in his own head. But he was also spent, physically and mentally, and was helpless to fight off Bella, who tied him up. When Carson issued the order to the quiddity, however, he felt compelled to act.
With his hands bound, he couldn’t control the quiddity as he had before, and in the process allow Cal and Shelly to lower the cameras and get the fuck out of here.
But he could still speak, and for some reason, he thought that he might be able to command the empty sack with the quiddity of Helen now inside him, and that he might exert control over her body.
And if not him, then perhaps Helen would be able to help.
“Grab him,” was all he had to say.
The creature strode forward, but the steps were awkward, ratchety, all knees and elbows.
Carson made his way to his feet, and was looking toward Michael and Bella for help.
“What the fuck are you doing? Leland put you in my control!” he shouted at Helen’s corpse.
Cal, who seemed to have lost his tongue until now, was looking at Robert with a mixture of terror and confusion on his face.
“Robbo, what the fuck is going on? Robbo!”
“Grab Carson,” Robert demanded again, ignoring his friend. Helen’s body took another awkward step.
With every order, he felt resistance, which was strange, given that the contents of her head had been scooped out, and were now inside of his.
As the shirtless, tattooed Michael stepped in front of Carson protectively, Robert turned his thoughts inward.
Helen? Are you there?
Silence.
Helen?
This time, his query was met by a tiny voice.
Where am I?
There was desperation in that small voice. Desperation and fear.
What happened to me?
Robert didn’t have the heart to recap her death, or the time to try to explain things that just wouldn’t make any sense to her.
“Don’t let it come near me,” Carson said, a hint of fear on his tongue.
Michael, mouth still dripping blood from where he had bitten off Robert’s finger, looked around for something to use as a weapon. He settled on the nearly empty bottle of scotch on the mantle.
Helen, you’re safe now. I can explain later, but right now I need your help.
Who are you?
The dead body took another jaunty, lurching step.
“Robbo
? What’s going on?”
My name is Robert Watts—please, Helen, can you help me?
“Robert?” Shelly asked again.
But Robert closed his eyes and tried to focus.
Helen, I need your help—please, you need to let me move you.
Move me?
Robert took a deep breath. When he had given the commands to the shell, the pressure had returned inside his head. If only he could get Helen to let go, as he had, then he thought might be able to get her body moving again.
Robert was about to open his mouth to say something, to command the creature again, when he felt the pressure in his head subside.
Helen had given him control.
“Get Carson!” he bellowed, and the creature immediately obeyed.
It lunged at Carson, the nails on its hands longer now that the cuticles had been peeled back, a snarl on its rotting mouth.
Michael intercepted her before she got to Carson. He swung the bottle at her, and it cracked against the open hole in her face.
Helen’s body staggered, but didn’t go down. As Michael tried to retrieve the bottle, which was lodged in the hole that had grown larger upon impact, one of her dirty hands reached up and grabbed his wrist.
“No!” Carson yelled, instinctively pulling back from Michael and Helen, who were but a few paces in front of him.
Robert cringed as well, expecting Michael’s eyes to turn black, for both his and Helen’s bodies to start to fade.
But that didn’t happen. Instead, Helen twisted Michael’s arm, using the man’s shock and surprise to her advantage. Spinning him around, she drove his wrist up his back until an audible crack filled the room. Michael howled, and Helen gave him a shove and released him.
Robert wasn’t completely sure if he had mentally told her to do that, or if Helen had, or if it was acting on its own accord now.
And he wasn’t completely sure why Michael hadn’t been banished to the Marrow, either.
“Carson? What the hell?” Bella demanded.
“I don’t know,” Carson replied, taking another cautious step backward. Bella, on the other hand, slipped a blade from somewhere under her black vest and was moving forward.
Carson grabbed her arm, but she shrugged him off. For a second, Robert felt as if he was staring at Shelly’s evil doppelganger: determined, stubborn, and tough as nails.
Helen’s body didn’t bother removing the scotch bottle sticking out of her face. Instead, it strode toward Bella.
Unlike Carson, Bella was undeterred.
They met in the center of the room, Bella’s knife whipping through the air with amazing speed.
The first slash cut right through Helen’s soot-stained nightgown, making a long, and deep vertical line just above her belly button. Helen’s arm reached out, trying to grab either the blade or Bella’s wrist, but it was too slow. The second slice cut one of her breasts clean off.
It was an incredibly bizarre scene, not only because of the bottle sticking out of one of the combatants’ faces, but that there was no blood at all coming from any of the corpse’s wounds.
And yet her mouth was still twisted in a snarl.
Michael made his way to his feet, his right arm hanging limply at his side.
“What the fuck should we do, Carson?”
Bella slashed again and again, effectively flaying the corpse’s arms and chest and stomach. But nothing she did seemed to affect Helen’s resolve.
She just kept coming.
Eventually, Bella’s luck ran out, and one of the corpse’s hands entangled in her straight black hair.
There was a tearing sound, and Bella screamed. She was hoisted in the air, but before she could be launched across the room, she reached up and used the knife to slice at her hair.
A huge patch of hair gave way, and Bella dropped to the floor.
Still screaming, she crawled back to Carson and Michael’s side.
The dead body stood with its nightgown completely cut away, the pale, nude flesh beneath torn to ribbons, her posture such that she was clearly protecting what was behind her.
And behind her stood Cal and Shelly, their cameras held high, between them the other ten quiddity, still frozen in place.
Robert was on the floor on his back, his feet and hands bound, Jonah’s body still steaming just a few feet from where he lay.
And then there was Carson, his face pale, the stupid Cheshire smile for once not plastered on his lips. Michael, blood dripping from his mouth, was breathing heavily, his right arm hanging limply at his side. Bella, her face red, a huge hunk of hair missing on the front of her head, was on his other side.
“Carson?” Bella asked.
They were at a stalemate.
The pressure was increasing inside Robert’s head again, and he could sense that her confusion, and her willingness to help, was waning. Without her, he wasn’t certain he would be able to control her body, and there was no saying what would happen if he lost her.
Carson looked over at Robert and sneered.
“This ain’t over, brother. I’ll be back.” He started moving toward the door, taking his two accomplices with him. “I’ll be back and the rift will be opened, Robert. It was in the prophecy—it will be opened, and Dad will return home.”
He pointed a long finger at Robert.
“You fucking better believe it.”
And then the three of them turned and fled the estate.
Chapter 35
“Fucking Christ, Robert! What the fuck just happened?” Shelly demanded, her voice hoarse.
Robert didn’t answer right away. The truth was, he was just as confused as Shelly; he had no idea how Helen had ended up in his head, or how he’d managed to order her empty shell of a corpse to do his bidding.
“Robert!” she shouted at him, and he shook his head. He tested the ropes on his hands, and he knew that there was no way he would be able to break free.
Cal spoke up next.
“Robert! A little help here!”
Despite his efforts to get back into shape, Cal had been holding the camera up for the better part of an hour. His entire arm, from the shoulder to his fingertips, was shaking.
Instead of answering, Robert turned his attention inward.
Helen, I need one more thing from you.
And then he thought of the solution to their problem.
The woman’s displeasure and discomfort manifested in his mind as a dull throb.
How can I go back, then? How will I ever be able to go back?
Robert thought about this for a moment.
Allan was in the Marrow, as was Amy.
He would get them both back, of that he had no doubt. And when he did, he would take Helen with him.
I’ll get you there. I promise. Please, just this one last thing.
There was a pause, and then Robert opened his eyes.
Helen’s corpse started to animate again, moving slowly toward Shelly.
“Robert? What’s going on, Robert?” Her voice kicked up a notch. “Robert?”
Robert said nothing.
As the corpse approached, it took a lateral step to avoid Shelly.
“Robert?” she nearly whispered.
The corpse moved between the ten other quiddity, taking up residence in the center of their mass, careful not to touch them.
Thank you, Helen. Thank you.
“Put down the camera, Shelly,” Robert said softly. “Put down the camera and come to me. You too, Cal.”
Shelly’s eyes bulged.
“You sure?” she asked.
Robert nodded.
Shelly let out a sigh and she lowered the camera, clearly relieved by the tension release in her arm and shoulder. Cal did the same, and then both of them rushed to him, their eyes fixed on the dead.
The quiddity that had been under Carson’s control seemed to hesitate, their eyes lifting slowly, their arms flexing much the way Cal and Shelly had done moments before.
They were confused, the a
bility to move on their own a surprising turn of events.
One by one, they began to realize that something wasn’t right, that there was someone—something—different among them.
A man with a scar that ran across the front of his forehead turned toward Helen’s corpse. There was a moment when Helen tensed, but Robert wasn’t sure if it was something he saw, or something he felt in his mind. Either way, it only lasted a second. The man snarled, and then reached over and grabbed Helen by the arm.
The corpse did nothing.
Even when each of the ten other quiddity reached over and grabbed her by the arms, the flaps of skin across her belly, the bottle of whiskey sticking out of her head, she didn’t react.
They tore at her with the ferocity of a pack of starving wolves. As they ripped her dead flesh, increasing the magnitude of damage that Bella had dealt by a factor of ten, their eyes started to go black. Their snarls degenerated into one collective wail, and then they all threw their heads back in unison, light spraying from their mouths as if their innards had been replaced by an unimaginable brightness.
Robert shielded his eyes, and he felt Shelly curl up next to him and bury her head in his chest, sobbing.
Somewhere close, Cal was also weeping.
The light grew and grew until it was nearly unbearable to look at. But unlike his friends, Robert persisted.
Just a moment before the massive glowing orb blinked out, Robert saw the silhouette of a young girl, dark amongst the impossibly bright background.
She didn’t say anything, didn’t even wave. But he knew who it was.
It was Amy.
“I’m coming for you, Amy,” he whispered. “I’ll do anything to get you back.”
Chapter 36
The cloaked one hesitated before taking another step. A shudder passed through his entire being. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes.
Screams.
Everyone was screaming.
At least ten, maybe more, quiddity crossing over at the same time.
“Did you feel that?”
Sean looked up at the hooded face, and instinctively fingered the cover of Inter vivos et mortuos that lay on the table between them.
Scarsdale Crematorium (The Haunted Book 4) Page 14