Dead and Gone

by Tina Glasneck

  Turning on her heels, she ran into the forest, hoping to put distance between them. Sooner than she had anticipated, she heard him cry out.

  “I’ll find you, you know that?” he screamed, his words echoing through the forest all around her. “There isn’t anything for miles. I’ll find you. Do you know what I will do then?”

  She ran faster, cursing herself for her pumps.

  “You won’t get far,” he shouted after her.

  She ran for her life. She ran faster than she ever had.

  But ultimately, the man was right.

  Mary Kilgore did not get far.

  5

  Friday, Oct. 6

  The only thing that Quinn could remember was that he had been running for his life. Somewhere the Horseman had been behind him, laughing at him and swinging his almighty sword. Quinn knew it was only a matter of time before he caught up.

  He woke drenched in sweat and immediately jumped out of bed. The urgency in his dream was still with him and he fought down the urge to run. Where would he run to?

  He paced through his apartment and then got in the shower. As the water poured over him, he attempted to sort through what he felt but it was impossible. He kept hearing noises outside his door and despite telling himself it was nothing, he could not bring himself to believe it.

  He’s here. The Horseman is here. And he’s waiting for you.

  He felt the bile in his throat rise up and Quinn closed his eyes and leaned into the water stream. The Horseman is not out there. The Horseman is not real. He is not even a myth or a legend. He is a fictional creation of Washington Irving. That is all he ever was or is.

  No, a voice in his head said. He’s real and he’s waiting for you.

  Quinn looked down at his hands, which were shaking. He clenched his eyes closed as he washed his hair, willing himself not to see the nightmares in his head.

  Wasn’t there the sound of someone pacing outside his door? Was that the sound of the door opening? He was sure he could hear it.

  But when he opened his eyes and pushed aside the shower curtain, there was nothing.

  There is nothing here, Quinn told himself. But why didn’t he believe it?

  He sat down on the porcelain edge of the tub and let the water continue to hit him. What is wrong with me? How long am I going to feel the effects of this childish nightmare?

  He had to think of something else, but found it hard to do. Every time his mind latched on to something, he could hear the hoof beats again in his ears. He could feel the blade approaching his neck, the branches tearing through his flesh.

  “Enough,” he cried, and said it out loud for good measure.

  It was then that he thought of her, and from the moment he did, the sound of the chasing horse seemed to recede. Kate. He thought of how she looked the first time he saw her. He remembered the sound of her voice. The memories calmed him, and for the first time since he woke up, the feelings of his dream receded.

  He should call her, ask her out. But as soon as that thought appeared in his head, the ridiculousness of it came right after. He didn’t know her number or where she lived. And how dumb would he look asking her out after knowing her for exactly two days?

  He stood up and finished soaping himself. As he did, he processed the past two days. He had barely seen Kate on Thursday, since Laurence had her out tracking a story in the far northern part of the county.

  Quinn knew he had been single too long. He stepped out of the bathtub and dried himself. Maybe that was all it meant. That she was the first potential girlfriend he had met in a long time. He could just be lonely.

  All he knew was that she seemed like the only good, tangible thing in his life. And he didn’t even know if she was aware of his existence. Did it matter? Sometimes the hope for something was better than the real thing. It was something to focus on, something to distract you.

  He sighed as he threw on clothes. Nightmares and dreams. Those were the only things that felt real.

  Across town at the Leesburg Inn, Kate was awake, lost in thought. She felt unsettled. She had felt that way from the moment she crossed the border from Maryland.

  But her dreams the night before had been worse than normal. She was back at her childhood home, of course—it was too much to hope for some variety there. But it had seemed different, more intense.

  She went onto her balcony as she had two days before. There was a reason she was here, she felt sure of it. She placed her hands on the railing and stared at the treetops.

  But she couldn’t just wait around. Today she had to start taking some kind of action. Starting with Mom, she thought. It was time to go see her mother.

  Quinn practically jumped out of his chair when Buzz said hello behind him. He didn’t think anyone else was in the office yet.

  “Sorry to startle you,” Buzz said, although he didn’t look very apologetic. Quinn thought he looked smug. The old man enjoyed sneaking up on people. He felt it gave him an “edge.”

  “Yeah, Buzz,” Quinn said, dismissively.

  Quinn leaned back in his chair to look at Buzz again. The guy looked haggard and unshaven. Quinn thought it odd that he somehow always looked this way. He never had a full beard, but constantly seemed like someone who had stayed at a party too long, perhaps having a little too much to drink. Buzz’s clothes were loose fitting over his wiry frame. You could almost say he looked homeless, except Quinn thought he looked more like the proto-typical reporter—the kind of guy that shows up with a fedora hat and a pencil over his ear. Those guys never looked neat. They always looked rumpled.

  Buzz had first become a reporter in Vietnam. Maybe in those days it didn’t matter what you looked like because you were just as likely to end up dead.

  “You need to listen more carefully, Quinn,” Buzz said. “It could save your life.”

  Jesus, I’m surrounded by psychos, Quinn thought.

  “I’ll remember that,” he said.

  “I’m serious, my boy,” Buzz said again. “In the jungle, you had to listen at all times.”

  “We’re not in the jungle, Buzz,” he replied.

  “We’re always in the jungle, Quinn. Don’t forget that.”

  “Yeah, I get it,” Quinn said, and felt frustrated. He had come here for peace and quiet, not one of Buzz’s exceedingly bizarre lectures.

  “No, you don’t,” Buzz said, and looked at him strangely. “But you might, real soon.”

  “I don’t follow you,” Quinn said.

  “The Lord is back in his manor,” Buzz said, looking around him carefully. He said it in a whisper even though there was no one to be seen in the office.

  “The who is back where?” Quinn asked, hardly believing he was having this conversation.

  “The Lord is back,” Buzz said.

  “What are you talking about? And why are we whispering?” Quinn asked.

  “Lord Halloween has returned,” Buzz said.

  “Oh,” he replied, relieved. He had thought it was something serious. Instead, he fought off a chuckle. “Gotcha. Back in the manor. Right-o.”

  “You don’t believe me?” Buzz asked, notching his eyebrows together in an expression of repressed anger.

  “Buzz, it isn’t like this is the first time you’ve warned me,” Quinn said, only to receive a blank look. “Last year? You warned me not to cover the ‘Harvest Celebration’ protest down in Sterling. You told me he would be there.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he was, my boy,” Buzz said, looking intently at Quinn. “Just like I’m sure he is around now.”

  “Then why hasn’t he done anything?” Quinn asked. “I mean, I know he was a big deal back in the day, but if he was here, why not make his presence known? They caught him, Buzz. Remember?”

  “Pah,” Buzz replied, and waved his hand in disgust. “Holober was a patsy.”

  “Just like Oswald, right?”

  “Don’t get me started on Oswald,” Buzz said.

  Quinn tried to contain his laugh, but let it out anyway.<
br />
  “I know, I know,” Quinn said. “It was the CIA in it with the Mob…”

  “You listen to me,” Buzz said, and jabbed his finger in Quinn’s chest. “You should pay attention when I say Lord Halloween has returned. He’s here. I can feel it.”

  “Then where are the dead bodies, Buzz?” Quinn replied, and pushed Buzz’s hand out of his way. “We should have seen at least one by now, right?”

  “You wait,” Buzz said. “You wait.”

  Quinn knew there was no use arguing with Buzz. There was no point in even trying to reason with a man so buried in his own conspiracy theories.

  “Okay,” Quinn said.

  It appeared to suffice.

  “He’s out there,” Buzz said again, almost to himself. “In the jungle, you have a sense for these things.”

  Quinn felt an urge to ask if that was where Buzz left his sanity—back in the jungle. He put his hand to his head.

  “Sorry to doubt you, Buzz,” he said. “But it’s been a long morning.”

  Buzz leaned back and eyed him for a minute.

  “I only tell you because the rest of these guys would think I’m crazy,” he said.

  Now why would they think that? Quinn thought.

  “Laurence only wants an excuse to fire me,” Buzz said. “He’d say I was trying to panic the staff.”

  “Laurence does not want to fire you,” Quinn said.

  Buzz snorted in patent disbelief.

  “You wait,” he said. “He’s just biding his time.”

  “He just wants you to come to staff meetings again.”

  “Right,” Buzz said. “So they can mock me to my face? So they can tell me how to do my job better? So Rebecca can start complaining again?”

  “It isn’t like that,” Quinn said.

  “Maybe not to you,” Buzz said, pointing again, this time thankfully away from Quinn’s personal space. “But you don’t remember. No, I won’t go to them. He can fire me for not attending staff meetings if he wants. But I won’t go.”

  Quinn looked at Buzz and it was hard not to be taken in with his earnestness. There was no doubt he believed it all. Why he trusted Quinn was beyond his understanding.

  “That girl is here to replace me, did you know that?” Buzz asked.

  “Why do you say that?” Quinn asked, glad at least to be thinking of Kate again.

  “She told me yesterday she wrote some business stories,” he said.

  “She’s written a lot of things, Buzz,” Quinn replied. “Including business. I think that was her way of volunteering, that’s all.”

  Buzz paused to consider this.

  “Well, she doesn’t have my experience, that’s true,” he said, obviously carrying on some type of internal conversation as well.

  “Relax,” Quinn said, as calmly as he could. “They are not trying to take your job.”

  “You wait,” Buzz said again, but he didn’t continue. Instead, there was a significant pause. “Can you do another business profile for me?” he finally asked.

  “But I’m already doing the coin-sorting place,” Quinn said. “I was just working on that.”

  “I know, I know,” Buzz said. “I wouldn’t ask, my boy, but I…”

  He turned up his hands in a shrug.

  “I won’t ask you for one next week. I promise.”

  “I’ve heard that before,” Quinn said.

  “This time I mean it.”

  “I’ve heard that too,” he said.

  “I know, I know,” Buzz said.

  “Why not ask Kate?” Quinn asked, and when Buzz gave him a blank stare added, “The new girl?”

  “Laurence told me he had her working on other things,” Buzz said.

  “How about Alexis?” he asked. “Or Helen?”

  “They both refused,” he said. “I need it for my pages. I swear this is the last time I’ll have you do double duty. Please. They’ll fire me if I don’t get in enough stories. They are just waiting…”

  “Okay, okay, okay,” Quinn said. “What’s the story?”

  And that was how Quinn found himself two hours later driving out to Middleburg.

  Kate stood before her mother’s grave, reading the inscription for the hundredth time.

  “Sarah Blakely,” it said simply. “Beloved wife and mother.”

  That was it. Somehow she thought there should be more. Something that made this grave stand out from the hundreds of others.

  Carefully, she leaned down and put the pot of flowers by the memorial. This at least gave the impression that someone cared about her mom. When she arrived, it had looked deserted. She looked at the grave and felt guilty.

  “I’m sorry I haven’t come in a while, Mom,” she offered. “It’s just…”

  Her dad made the trip at least once a year. Even after he remarried, he still came down. He invited Kate, of course. But she never wanted to come and he wasn’t the type to force an issue.

  “Dad’s doing well,” she said. “He likes Anne well enough but I don’t think he ever got over you. I guess you are just that great.”

  She smiled. She thought that she should feel more, but instead she just felt numb. She tried to picture her mom and couldn’t call up an image.

  “I’m sorry,” she offered. “I don’t know what else to say.”

  She stood there staring at the inscription. She felt like there was something more she was supposed to do, but she couldn’t think of what. She had spent so long feeling the anger from the day her mother died, she was unsure she wanted to think too much about it anymore. But unfortunately, that had meant not thinking much about her mother anymore either. Not a day went by when she didn’t think about it at some time or another. It had hung over her life like a dark cloud and she didn’t think it would ever go away.

  Since she had arrived in town, she had been forced to think about it. The memories and the dreams made it feel like it had occurred just a few days ago, not more than a decade before.

  “Wherever I go, some part of me will always be here, Mom,” she said. “I can never leave it.”

  She hadn’t visited the grave in years, but it was easy to remember where it was. It was always there in the dreams. She shouldn’t have come back. She had thought it might make it better, but now that seemed laughable. Instead, she was either waking up screaming or seeing things near the printing press. That vision had seemed so real…

  She fought it off. Some part of her felt like pulling her hair out. She could never talk about this. Her mother’s death was an untreated wound she kept hidden from the world. It kept her weak and bleeding, but she would never let anyone see it. Sometimes she wished she had died too. She flexed her hand and stared at her mother’s grave. This was it. This was the way it would be. She would move on, but… this will always be here.

  She jumped as she heard the gate swing open behind her. Reacting on instinct, she moved herself behind a tree for cover.

  She saw a man walking down the path. It took a minute as he came closer to realize she knew him—it was Quinn from the paper. She watched him walk around the bend and made a move to follow. She wondered just what the hell he was doing here.

  Kate watched as he walked down the hill and through the inner gate at the back. He paused, looking out at the pond below the cemetery. Then he walked forward and sat on a bench on the hillside.

  Kate moved slowly and with great uncertainty. She felt like she was intruding somehow and forgot that it was he who had disturbed her moment at her mom’s grave. But he appeared to be merely sitting on the bench and made no move to do anything else.

  Part of her thought she should leave. She should turn around and leave him in peace. But another side wanted desperately to know what he was doing. She also felt some kind of pull towards him, as if she couldn’t quite walk away even if she had wanted to.

  Instead, she moved carefully. As she came closer, she could tell the bench was made out of marble. It appeared to be a memorial to someone, but obviously placed there so people
could sit on it. She paused and wondered how to approach him.

  Lacking a better idea, she moved so that she was in his peripheral vision and called out, “Hello Quinn.”

  He jumped up, whirling around. For a moment, he looked ready to run away.

  “It’s Kate,” she said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “I know,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “It’s just, well, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “What were you expecting?” she asked, and smiled at him.

  “Well, I wasn’t expecting anyone to jump out at me,” Quinn said. “And certainly not someone who isn’t in a hockey mask or something.”

  “Sorry about that,” she said, as she walked towards him. “Do you mind if I join you?”

  “Not at all,” he said and gestured for her to sit down. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was working out this way,” she lied. “I saw you walk in and I was curious.”

  “Wow,” he said, and smiled at her. “You must be a good reporter.”

  “I tend to follow my instincts,” she said.

  “I can see that,” he said.

  “I just wanted to see what you were doing,” she admitted.

  “Honestly,” he said, “I’m just here to think. I feel very calm here.”

  “So you come here often?” she asked.

  “Only when I have had a rough day,” he said and laughed.

  “Well, now we are talking,” she said and smiled. “What caused your rough day?”

  She swung her legs around so she straddled the bench, then lifted one leg up and wrapped her arms around it.

  “I don’t want to bore you to death,” he said.

  “No, no,” she said. “Look, I haven’t had much conversation lately that isn’t about watches, or Bill’s treatise on the bologna sandwich. I could use a decent one.”

  “All right,” he said, and grinned. “I’m game.”

  “So what’s the problem?” she asked.

  “Where do I start?” he laughed. “Buzz has got me running around God’s green acre working on business stories. Helen keeps bringing up a story about dog shit, and Laurence’s idea of a raise is about 500 bucks a year.”