I felt the presence of the restless dead. Every graveyard had a few, but they weren’t showing me any particular interest. Their incorporeal gazes would slide over me and then away. I glanced to my right and slowed to a stop. A small mausoleum stood there and, although less grand in scale, it bore the same Byzantine architectural influences of the high school. I turned and walked over to it. Where the dead had been showing minimal interest in me before, I felt dozens of ethereal presences cluster around me as I approached the mausoleum.
The name carved into the granite wall over the sealed doors was E. J. Cavanaugh III. Beneath that, carved in small, careful, but otherwise unremarkable script, were the dates 1870—1931. Beneath the dates an inscription read: “God grant him angel’s rest.” Well, that explained the cemetery’s name. I guessed that Cavanaugh must have been a big deal in his day. He probably built the odd church the town saw fit to use for educating its young.
I turned from the mausoleum and headed toward the back of the graveyard, where the more recently dead were laid to rest. The limestone and sandstone headstones gave way to more durable granite. My ghostly entourage lost interest the farther I got from Cavanaugh’s tomb and it was a relief when their creepy presence faded into the background. I started to get a sense of déjà vu and flashed back to my conversation with the younger, other-plane Paul. I knew where I was going. A minute or two later, I stood over the graves of Randall and Mary Simmons.
I knew they must have been fairly young when they died, but I wasn’t prepared for how young. Randall Simmons had been thirty-two. Mary Simmons had been twenty-nine. That was barely old enough to have lived at all. They’d had a little girl, maybe owned a house with twenty-five years of payments left to go on it. Then, in a blink, it was all gone. No more parenting, no more work or car payments, no more anything.
“The Lord taketh away,” I muttered.
I stared down at their graves, wondering why I had gone there. What did I expect to find there that I couldn’t find online or in some old newspapers? Mary and Randall Simmons were gone. They had nothing left to give to the world. Yet, I stayed, yielding to a subconscious certainty that there was insight to be found, if I was patient. A prickle at the base of my neck told me I was being watched. It wasn’t the dead that time, but something alive and behind me. I whirled. A few feet away, looking up at me with green eyes, was a small, gray cat missing part of an ear.
Something swirled up from my memory in Patty’s voice.
“That cat doesn’t like anyone.”
I remembered the cat now. It had perched on my legs and hissed at the paramedic. Something else had happened, but it was lost in the trenches of my brain. I walked toward the cat. It looked up at me without fear, craning its head back as I got closer. I reached down, slow and cautious, and the cat sniffed at my fingers. Then it rubbed its face and ears against my hand with the poised enthusiasm only cats can achieve.
“Nice to see you, too,” I said.
The cat stopped rubbing its head against my hand long enough to issue a little, “Mrew.” The cat went alert, eyes fixed on a point behind me. Its ears went back, and it hissed a sound that came out as both threat and warning. I looked back. The cat was fixated on Mary’s grave. There was nothing that I could see to account for the cat’s behavior. All that meant was that the cat, more divine spirit than animal at the best of times, was seeing into the hidden.
I could see what the cat was seeing. It wasn’t difficult, with the right tools. I even had the right tool in my pocket. I’d grabbed it out of the hard case that morning when I decided to visit the graveyard. Only, I didn’t reach into my pocket. I didn’t do anything. Knowing I could do it wasn’t the same as wanting to do it. The veil between the living and the dead, the seen and the unseen, existed for a reason. There were things on the other side of the veil not meant for us. Some of those things are beautiful beyond description. Some of them are horrifying enough to shatter sanity.
That idea of mad old witches cackling around a pot wasn’t just inventive description. Nor was the idea of vengeful wizards closeted away in remote towers. They were my ilk, spiritual kinfolk, and they had seen beyond. They had seen beyond and found it more than they could bear. The cat let loose with another hiss. That did nothing to make me want to look. The cat wouldn’t make those noises at something warm and friendly. Yet, I went to the graveyard looking for insight and knowledge. Those came with a price. I took a steadying breath and reached into my pocket.
What I pulled out of my pocket was small, made of copper, and inlaid with ivory and ebony. It was an Eye of Horus. I suspected it was lifted from a tomb or museum at some point. It had the weight of age that someone like me gets a sixth sense for detecting. I stared down at it. Where there would normally be an empty space denoting the eye, there was a semi-translucent crystal. I took a steadying breath and held the Eye of Horus in front of my own eye.
For a moment, all I saw was the hazy light coming through the crystal. Then the cloudiness cleared away and I saw what the cat had seen. Thick, black smoke billowed up from Mary’s grave. It was the kind of smoke that roils like visible hatred over burning oil rigs. I took an involuntary step back from the grave. I started to lower the Eye of Horus, convinced I’d discovered what I came to the cemetery to discover, when I saw something moving in the smoke. I tried to bring whatever it was into focus with sheer concentration.
A woman’s hand, and then arm, reached out of the smoke. A moment later a face emerged. I experienced a moment of pure terrified nausea when I thought the face was Abby’s. I dropped the Eye of Horus and lunged at the grave, determined to pull Abby from that smoke. The phantom smoke and the woman vanished. My hand closed around thin air.
“Idiot,” I muttered.
I scooped the Eye of Horus off the ground and slammed it back up to my own eye. The billowing smoke reappeared. I waited for what felt like forever before the woman’s face pressed out of the smoke. It wasn’t Abby’s face, but it was close enough to account for the mistake. Abby took after her mother, but Mary Simmons’ nose was less prominent and her chin rounder. She saw me, saw me seeing her, and she started screaming. I couldn’t hear her. It’s not called an eye for nothing. I could just see her mouth moving, but I understood well enough.
“Help her!” Mary screamed. “Help Abby!”
As if it had a will of its own, the smoke poured into Mary’s mouth, up her nostrils, and seemed to physically drag her back inside its opaque depths. The pain and fear in her eyes as that black nightmare swallowed her up made me want to scream, to help her, but there was nothing I knew to do. Whatever she endured was beyond my experience. I pulled the amulet away from my eye. I didn’t want to look at that smoke any longer than necessary. I was furious that, even in death, Mary Simmons couldn’t find peace. Was that what Abby had to look forward to when she died, an eternity trapped in a cloud of darkness?
I turned, stumbled away, even as I felt the massed attention of the restless dead on me. I’d seen enough, too much, and I just wanted to get out of the cemetery. I pushed through the gate and leaned against the hood of my car. Something told me that I was starting to hyperventilate and that my unhealed lungs wouldn’t stand for it. I forced myself to slow my breathing to something more controlled. A morbid idea lodged in my head. If I passed out in the parking lot, they’d just dump me in a grave and bury me.
Something brushed against my leg and I bit off a scream. I made myself look down and saw the cat rubbing its body against my calf. I reached down and ran my hand along its spine. The cat arched its back and purred at me.
“At least you’re shrugging it off better than I am,” I told the cat.
I looked down at the Eye of Horus still clutched in my other hand. I entertained the idea of hurling it with all my strength into the woods across the road. It had shown me nothing I wanted to see. I forced myself to push aside the anger thrashing in my chest. No, it had not shown me anything I wanted to see, but it might have shown me something I needed to see. Blami
ng the tool was pointless. I was the one who aimed it at Mary Simmons’ cursed grave. I pushed the copper amulet into my pocket and tried not think about that smoke.
I walked over and opened the door of my car. The cat, maybe seeing an opportunity, jumped up into the driver seat. It looked around and then jumped into the passenger seat, where it curled up into a little gray ball. I looked at the cat in surprise and then bemusement.
“Why not? It’s a long walk back to town. I’ll give you a ride.”
I climbed into the driver’s seat and fired up the Neon. If the cat’s presence bothered the car, it didn’t show.
Chapter 16
I debated stopping for something to eat, but the image of that black smoke pouring into Mary’s mouth made me feel ill. Instead, I went to the hospital to see how Helena was getting on with Paul and Abby. When the car stopped, the cat opened its eyes and looked around. I climbed out of the car and waited. The cat yawned and put its head back down. Not sure what else to do, short of picking the cat up and putting it on the pavement, I cracked a window and closed the door. I walked toward the hospital. As I approached the front entrance, I spotted Helena off to one side. She was talking on a smartphone and looked happy. She laughed. She spotted me about the time I got within earshot.
“Speak of the devil and he appears. One sec,” she said and held the phone out toward me. “Someone wants to say hello.”
I looked at the phone like it might explode. I doubted that I wanted to talk to anyone who actually asked to speak to me. I sighed and took the phone.
“Hello,” I said.
“Adrian, it’s Laurie.”
I recognized the voice. “How’s it going, Chicago?”
“Don’t call me that!”
“Sorry.”
“Yes, you are sorry. I just wanted to tell you what a world-class asshole you are for dragging Helena back into your bullshit.”
“Laurie,” I started to object, but she steamrolled over me.
“I also wanted to say that if she gets hurt, I’ll gut you like a fish.”
I counted backwards from five. “Always nice to catch up, Laurie.”
“I hope you die.”
I held the phone out to Helena, who looked exceedingly pleased with herself. She talked with Laurie, another founding member of my “fan club,” for another minute or two.
“Okay,” said Helena. “I love you too. I’ll be home soon.”
Helena hung up. She looked at me with defiance and a touch of fear in her eyes.
“So, you and Laurie?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I felt a twinge of jealousy, but it was reflexive jealousy, ghost jealousy from another life. It lacked either bark or bite. I nodded and smiled at her.
“Good for both of you.”
She looked relieved and, if I hadn’t known better, a touch disappointed. Maybe I had failed to fully embody my asshole reputation and deprived her of an excuse to open up with both barrels. With her fun over, Helena gave me a long look.
“Are you alright?”
“Not really. I learned something, but I don’t really know what it means.”
“Tell me.”
I looked around and spotted a bench that was away from casual foot traffic. I gestured to it and we walked over. I sat quietly for a minute and organized my thoughts. I walked Helena through the sequence of events. After I finished, it was her turn to sit quietly. The sun was out in full force that day and the temperature was already into the eighties. I felt sweat soaking through the back of my shirt. I’ll have to do laundry again before too long, I thought, and then wondered at how the prosaic asserts itself at the oddest times.
“Where did you get a functional Eye of Horus?” Helena asked, breaking the silence.
I eyed her. “Do you really want to know?”
“Probably not. I’m sure it’s a lurid tale filled with cheap, tawdry sex and violence.”
“Half right. There was violence. Cheap, tawdry sex would have at least made it a little fun, so obviously that couldn’t happen.”
“I don’t recall that you ever went without when you really wanted it.”
“I’m not as pretty as I used to be,” I said.
“You were never that pretty.”
“Wound my pride a little more, why don’t you?” I said, pressing my hand to my chest in faux-theatrical fashion.
Helena stood and I looked up at her. She reached out and patted my cheek. “It’s the danger that gets us, silly boy. And, if there is one thing you excel at, it’s being dangerous.”
She got a faraway look on her face that lasted five or maybe ten seconds and then she shook it off.
“Thank God I’m not single.”
I laughed. “Wouldn’t I have some say in the matter?”
“Did you ever?”
“Fair point.”
“Alright,” said Helena, “I think I’d like to meet this cat of yours, Adrian.”
I took a beat to process that one. “You want to meet the cat?”
“Yes, Adrian, the cat. You know, a small quadruped, goes meow, and looks like a tiny panther. The cat.”
I rolled my eyes. “I am vaguely aware of what a cat is. I meant, why do you want to meet the cat?”
“Call it curiosity and, so help me, crack one joke about cats and curiosity and I will hurt more than your pride.”
The joke died on my lips. “Noted. Let’s go see the cat.”
We walked over to my car. As predicted, I needed to jiggle the key in the lock to open the passenger door. Hot air whooshed out of the vehicle and I frowned. If the heat built up that fast, I couldn’t leave the cat shut inside it for any length of time. Helena nudged me out of the way and leaned in to see the cat, who sat up and watched Helena with knowing eyes. Something passed between the two of them. I suspected some form of feline telepathy was at work. Helena was always ninety-percent cat in my estimation. She smiled at the cat and gave me a sympathetic look.
“Well, I guess it was inevitable,” she said.
“What was inevitable?”
“Your friend there is now the proud owner of a slightly used human being.”
“Sorry?”
“Apparently she thinks the mileage gives you character.”
“What?”
“I told her you’re more trouble than you’re worth, but she won’t hear a word of it. She’s quite proud of her new biped.”
The absurdity of Helena’s words were spinning out of control and giving me nausea, a headache and a vague sense of lightheadedness. It reminded me of altitude sickness.
“Helena, what are you on about?”
“She claimed you,” said Helena, nodding down to the cat. “It’s not traditional. I mean, usually we pick our familiars, when we have them. Still, it’s not unprecedented. She says you can call her Lil.”
“Lil,” I repeated, with absolutely no meaning attached to the syllable. “Helena, I think one of us has been in the sun too long.”
Helena looked at the cat. “He’s slow on the uptake sometimes, too.”
“He’s standing next to you,” I grumbled.
“She’s hungry, by the way.”
“Mrowow,” offered Lil.
“You’re not messing with me, are you? I mean,” I paused and tried to wrap my head around it. “I own a cat now?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. No one owns a cat. That’d be like owning a thunderstorm. She owns you, though. I think this will be good for you, Adrian. There’s nothing like a cat to keep you grounded.”
Too many things I didn’t understand were happening all at once, so I latched onto the one part I had understood.
“Do I seem ungrounded to you?”
“Painfully.”
I shot Helena a look and she grinned at me in wicked glee.
“What am I supposed to do with a cat? I don’t even have an apartment, let alone a house. I have a storage unit and a P.O. box.”
“That certainly does sound like a problem,” said Helena wi
th all the sympathy of a dental pick.
“You’re enjoying this entirely too much.”
“You have to learn to take joy in the little things, Adrian.”
“Like my suffering?”
“See, now you’re catching on! One more thing you should probably know.”
“Do tell,” I said with unrepentant insincerity.
“I’m not sure she’s actually a cat.”
That got my attention. “She’s not a cat?”
“Well, she is, I think, but I don’t think she’s entirely a cat.”
“I don’t suppose there’s an explanation coming that I might understand?”
“I can’t think of a better way to put it,” said Helena.
She looked apologetic. Vague explanations were par for the course in the circles we ran in, but “not entirely a cat” was vague even by our standards. I looked from Helena to the cat, who observed the conversation with an opaque, kitty cat expression.
“So let me see if I’ve got this straight. I am now to be owned and operated by a not-cat cat, who has self-designated as my familiar, and goes by the name of Lil?”
The cat perked up at the sound of her name and gave off a soft purr.
“I guess you were paying attention,” said Helena. “It seemed like you lost focus there for a while, but way to rally.”
“Thanks.”
Helena gave the cat’s head a ferocious rubbing and Lil purred loudly. Apparently, Helena fell into the tiny category of people the cat did like. I rubbed a spot near the base of my skull and pretended I wasn’t about to develop a blistering headache. I wasn’t sure what to do about the cat-slash-familiar-slash-my-new-owner, so I changed the subject.
“How is it going with Abby and Paul?”
Helena gave Lil a little more petting and then turned her attention back to me. “Quite well, actually. Your little gamble is paying off in spades. Abby’s improvement is exponential. One doctor came within a breath of calling it miraculous. They’ll probably release Paul today or tomorrow. If Abby continues to improve at her present rate, they’ll release her a few days after that.”
The Midnight Ground Page 10