Текст книги "Within These Walls"

Автор книги: Ania Ahlborn

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Текущая страница: 25 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

INCIDENT/INVESTIGATION REPORT

AGENCY: Pier Pointe Police Department

CASE NO: 83-138

REPORTING OFFICER: Barrett, Albert J.

INCIDENT INFORMATION

DATE/TIME REPORTED: 03/14/83, 09:45

DATE/TIME OCCURRED: 03/14/83, 09:20

INCIDENT LOCATION: Pier Pointe Public Health Center

REPORTING PARTY: Alana Seawell

VICTIMS

NAME: Audra Snow

DATE OF BIRTH: 02/09/63

AGE: 20

OFFICER’S REPORT

Dispatchers received a concerned phone call from Alana Seawell of Pier Pointe Public Health concerning a patient in suspected trouble. Ms. Seawell, a nurse at PPPHC, states that Audra Snow entered the facility at a little after 9 AM with a man and two women. [Man: dark hair, late-20’s to early-30’s, approx. 6 ft. tall, leather jacket. Woman #1: blond, early-20’s, thin, patchwork skirt. Woman #2: brunette, long hair, mid-20’s, patchwork skirt.] Ms. Snow proceeded to explain to Ms. Seawell that she was there to pick up a prescription. When Ms. Seawell checked her files, she noted that Ms. Snow had not renewed her prescription with her physician, Doctor Cornish of Pier Pointe. Ms. Seawell also noted that Ms. Snow was with child. The medication the patient was requesting is not approved for pregnant women. Ms. Seawell discreetly voiced these concerns to the patient. Ms. Snow became anxious. Ms. Seawell assured the patient that they would sort it out, but Ms. Snow continued to grow increasingly agitated. Ms. Seawell reports that the patient looked over her shoulder multiple times at the three individuals who had accompanied her to the clinic [see above]. At one point, the two women described above stepped outside while the man remained. Ms. Seawell sensed that the man was about to pull Ms. Snow away from the counter due to her growing agitation. Ms. Seawell slid a scrap piece of paper across the counter to Ms. Snow, where Ms. Seawell had jotted Do you need help? Ms. Seawell states that Ms. Snow did not confirm in the affirmative, but that her expression convinced her that Ms. Snow was, in fact, in some sort of trouble. The man then led Ms. Snow out of the clinic after she told Ms. Seawell they would come back later. After their exit, Ms. Seawell called the police to report possible child endangerment and suspected domestic abuse. I radioed in a 150 to dispatch at approximately 10:20 AM. Dispatch stated they’d send someone to check on Ms. Snow later that afternoon. The call was tagged as low priority.

54

VIVI CLUTCHED TO her chest the cross she’d found in her father’s study, and for a moment that felt like forever, she didn’t know what to do.

Every corner of the room was frightening in its foreignness. The yard sale paintings that hung against a backdrop of yellow wallpaper brought a sour, almost fruity taste to the back of her throat. She felt that if she touched the wrong thing in this house that shouldn’t have been, she’d set off a chain reaction. She’d never be allowed back into the real world again.

She decided to focus her attention on the door that had shut behind her. It should have led out into the upstairs hall and to her dad’s ground-floor study. Some promise of the familiar. But all it did was give her the sense of being trapped in some impossible dream. She didn’t make a move for it. Escape wasn’t the point. She was here to meet her new family—one free of anger and yelling and negligence. A family that would finally make her feel part of something better, who knew what being forgotten felt like. Jeff will fix everything, she reminded herself, trying to keep her nerves in check. Jeff will make it better. You just have to have faith.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t scared. The cross bit into her fingers while she held it against the front of her shirt, as if to fend off the devil himself. The rectangle of black paper beckoned her from the foot of the bed.

YES. NO. GOODBYE.

The coin she had been using as a makeshift planchette was missing, but she didn’t need it. The cross would work better than any coin could.

The thudding of her heart assured her that now, finally, all the pieces were in place. This was exactly what they wanted, exactly the way it was supposed to happen.

The cross is the answer.

She had no idea how it had gotten in her father’s desk drawer, didn’t know how he had gotten such an artifact. Had Echo brought it to him with the photographs? Had it been in the house all along? It didn’t matter. A trigger object, she thought, and with a sense of fearful conviction, she kneeled in front of her closet altar and slowly moved the cross away from her chest.

Being overtaken by such fear earlier had been confusing. Running away from the strange woman in the kitchen and into her father’s study had been reflexive, an instinct, a reaction that she knew was counterproductive, but she hadn’t been able to help herself. She wanted to meet the family, so why had she run? But the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. The woman in the kitchen had scared her on purpose. She’d done it so that Vivi would find that strange silver relic in her dad’s study. And then, in some inexplicable way, Jeffrey’s faithful had ushered her up the stairs and back into her room. Everything was happening for a reason. Every move was calculated. She was a puppet, and Jeff Halcomb was tugging her strings.

The Ouija board. The cross. This was what would truly bring Jeffrey back from the dead.

“Jeff . . .” She whispered the name into the silence of the room, into the stillness of the closet. “Are you here?” She laid the cross onto the black paper, her fingers just barely grazing its silver surface.

As she knelt there, the familiar sense of not being alone began to crawl across her skin. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She squeezed her eyes shut as the sensation grew. There was a whooping outside, like kids on a playground, reminding her of how she and her best friends had gallivanted around the neighborhood only weeks before. She opened her eyes, abandoned the makeshift board, crossed the room, and paused at the window.

A group of men and women ran together across the yard.

It took her a moment to realize that they were in pursuit of something. Someone. It took her even longer to realize that night had turned into day. But she lost those details when her gaze stopped on a man standing to the side of the stampede. Vivi’s heart skittered like a needle on an old record.

“Dad?” It came out as a whisper of disbelief. Was it really daytime? Had she been stuck inside her room all night? What was her dad doing out there? He wasn’t supposed to be there, not when she was so close to bringing Jeff back.

He’ll ruin everything.

She was ready to smack the palms of her hands against the glass in frustration—to yell at him to go back inside, to mind his own business—when that sensation of not being alone returned. Except this time, whoever was watching her wasn’t doing it from a distance. Someone was standing directly behind her, as though peering over her shoulder. She could hear breathing. The small barrier of electricity buzzed between them, like the sensation of just barely being grazed by a passing hand.

Her father’s attention didn’t return to the window. Whatever was happening amid the trees was far too interesting for him to break away. Because of course it was. A fresh pang of anger seized her heart. She knew her dad had seen her in the window. Their eyes had met. And yet, there was always something more pressing, someone more interesting, something more deserving of his attention.

But she didn’t move, her own trepidation cementing her in place. Afraid to confront whoever was standing behind her, she watched the group drag a captive out from the cherry grove. A blond pregnant girl thrashed madly as two guys and two girls carried her across the grass. She was choking on her sobs, her hair flying around her face.

Vivi recognized her from the photos she’d seen online. It was the girl that used to live here, the daughter of the dead congressman, Audra Snow.

The intake of air behind her was steady, unyielding. Something about its enduring rhythm convinced her that she could stand at that window for days, weeks, years, but the person behind her could stand there even longer.

She had to turn around, face her fear.

“Jeffrey?”

She whispered the name, hoping that it would illicit some sort of response. Or maybe she was dreaming, like she’d read about in her dad’s book.

One, two, three, four, five.

She counted out the fingers of her right hand, one by one.

One, two, three, four, five.

Still the same.

In dreams, you weren’t supposed to be able to perform the finger-counting trick more than once. Failure meant that you were asleep. But even on the third try, there were five digits on her right hand.

She was wide awake.

The breathing continued.

Jeff killed people. Distant logic buzzed at the back of her brain. He’s dangerous. If he doesn’t like you, he might just kill you, too.

The sudden onset of doubt made her feel sick. Perhaps she had been wrong. Maybe, rather than loving her the way she had hoped, the way Echo had suggested, the person standing behind her would reach out and grab her by the neck. Perhaps she’d be knifed in the back, garroted with piano wire so fiercely that her head would pop right off her neck.

But, no. No, that was wrong.

You’re just like them, you know, Echo reminded her. Kids like you, that’s who Jeffrey loved the most.

Jeff wanted to meet her. He’d said so himself on the back of that photograph. He’d written it out—Dearest Vivi—before he had died. Why would he hurt her? What reason would he have to lie?

She sucked in a breath, slowly turned, kept her gaze focused on the ground and gritted her teeth against her own unease. She half expected to see a couple of snarled Gollum feet, but it was a pair of scuffed-up combat boots instead—boots that made her mind flip to the ones her father kept at the back of his closet and refused to sell. The faded black denim reminded her of Tim, the boy she had once secretly adored, who she had so badly wanted to impress with her knowledge of the strange and unusual. The kid she’d completely forgotten when she had found Jeffrey Halcomb’s smiling face online. Because Jeffrey was better than Tim could ever be. Vivi didn’t need to prove herself to Jeff, or find a way to make him pay attention. He would love her for who she was, just as he’d loved Chloe and Georgia and everyone else. She was just like them.

Kids like you . . .

Her gaze drifted upward until it settled on a weatherworn logo printed on a black T-shirt. It was a triangle with a rainbow shooting through it, something she couldn’t place but knew she had seen before. That shirt was half-hidden beneath a beat-up leather jacket. Taking a half step back toward the window, she blinked at the man before her, her anxiety obliterated by sheer distraction. If this guy was an ax murderer, Vivi would never suspect it past his pretty face and disarming smile.

“Vivi.” Her new nickname rolled off his tongue like spun sugar, those two syllables palpitating her heart. He smelled like patchouli and red currants. Nearly pinned against the window, she could hardly move when he reached out to touch her hair. The man who had looked at least twenty-five or thirty years old ten seconds before was now toeing the edge of seventeen.

“Vivi. Almost like viva. Do you know what that means?” He canted his head to the side, as if inspecting her, a sly smile clinging to his lips.

She shook her head, too stunned to speak. It’s him. It’s him! Except Jeffrey Halcomb was even more beautiful than any visage captured on grainy old film.

“Viva mi familia,” he said. “Long live my family. Viva mi amor. Long live my love. And that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but there was no sound.

“Love,” he said. “Your parents.” Those two words hit her like a double-fisted punch. “I know all about them, I know how cruel they can be. It’s not easy being forgotten. I know that.”

“You do?” She managed to form the question in a faint whisper. The boy nodded, his eyelids dipping low, his face solemn.

“I’ve been watching you, rooting for you, but sometimes even our best intentions go unnoticed. Adults are so wrapped up in their own lives . . .” He paused, as if holding himself back. His brown eyes sparked with a quiet rage that Vivi understood all too well. The neglect. Being shrugged off because she was just a kid. The muffled yelling behind closed doors, only for her parents to act like everything was fine the next day. Like she didn’t know that they were fighting. Like she was too stupid to figure out that, because of their hardheadedness, her life was about to fall apart. “I had a father once,” he said. “He pretended to love me until it became an inconvenience. I was his son until he no longer wanted me. I know that pain, Vivi. I know how much it hurts, how much it makes you hate. But we can’t let the hate consume us. We have to take all the goodness we have left in our hearts,” he said, “and direct it somewhere else. Just how you’ve directed your love, your faith, toward me and my friends.” He reached out and gently brushed the pad of his thumb against the swell of her lower lip. “You’re so brave,” he murmured. “And I love you for that, Vivi. For that, I swear you’ll never be lonely again.”

She stared at him, unable to believe what she was hearing. She knew it was insane, but she kept repeating it to herself: he loved her. This beautiful boy, this creature loved her. Her chest felt full, as though her ribs could crack and her heart could burst. Her bottom lip began to quiver.

“Hey. Don’t cry.” He leaned into her, his lips brushing featherlight against her cheek. “None of that matters now, anyway. Forget the past. It’s toxic. Poison.”

She fought to swallow her sorrow, struggled to push down the sadness. The tips of his dark hair tickled her collarbone. His fingers swept across the length of her right arm.

“They don’t deserve you, Vivi. We’ll run away together, just you and me and my friends. You’ll have a new family, and we’ll be happy. Forget the fighting, the anger. Forget they ever existed.”

His fingers slid around her arms. Her pulse quickened by a half-dozen beats.

He was real.

Tactile.

He pulled her close, and she inhaled the scent of worn leather. His hands tangled in the waves of her hair. She closed her eyes, wondering what it would be like to start a new life, to forget the frustration and hurt. To just run away, and never come back. She had considered it when the arguments had gotten bad, shoving a few T-shirts and a change of underwear into her school backpack in the middle of the night. She had counted out her money, making sure she had enough for train fare.

Just head to the F train, she had thought. If you can get out of Queens, you can go anywhere in the whole world. But you gotta get out of here first.

Having snuck down the stairs while her mother slept, she found her dad working on his laptop, his back to the living room. Vee hovered around the doormat that read “HOME SWEET HOME” just inside the front door. She was ready to go, ready to run, ready to never see either one of them again. That would give them something worth fighting over . . . or getting back together over. It didn’t matter what happened to them—all she cared about was that she wouldn’t be there to listen to their screaming through the walls.

But as she stared at her father’s back, she took in the way he hunched over his work. The way he grabbed for his coffee mug every minute or two, as though what he was drinking was some sort of creative life source. It all gave rise to a cancerous lump in the center of her heart, a dormant tumor waiting to become malignant with guilt and regret. Standing on the doormat her mother had picked out with the best intentions for the happiness of their family, Vee had known that abandoning her parents wouldn’t just kill them—it would also be the end of her. It would twist her up, slowly strangle her. And if by chance she survived, there’d be nothing but a shell of what her parents hoped she’d one day become.

Having been dragged to Pier Pointe, she had tried to convince herself that perhaps now, with her mother out of the picture, things would be better. But they weren’t. If anything, they had become worse.

But her dad. She still loved him. She couldn’t leave him, not after what her mother had done to them both.

Vivi drew away from Jeff. I can’t just leave. She struggled for words, a way to explain. If I do, it’ll make me just like my mom. Jeffrey’s offer was tempting, but she simply couldn’t abandon her father, not until she was sure he’d be okay on his own. But before the words could leave her throat, Jeff’s image shifted like steam beneath the sheen of her tears. He warped the way the street did beneath the burn of a summer sun. Suddenly Vivi wasn’t quite sure why she was so unafraid. How could she possibly have forgotten that the room she was standing in wasn’t hers? That the boy standing before her wasn’t . . . alive?

She jerked back.

He’s supposed to be dead.

But Jeff hadn’t just gone wavy beneath the weight of her emotion. For half a second, seeing the world through the lenses of her own tears, the seventeen-year-old had grown older than her dad, maybe even older than her grandfather. In that moment, she saw the truth. The teenage boy with the beautiful face looked about seventy years old. The youthful serenity was nothing but a mask. Beneath it was an old man’s hard stare. Angry, impatient, a look that told her she was thinking too much, hesitating for far too long. A moment later, he looked young again, his true form wiped from view. Handsome, alluring.

Except that now she was truly afraid.

This isn’t right. Fear coiled around her insides, choking the bravery it had taken her weeks to summon.

“I . . .” She tried to think of something to say, but the thudding of her pulse derailed her train of thought. If Jeffrey Halcomb was dead, how could he be here and touch her? If he wasn’t really there, how could she smell the musky scent of oiled leather and exotic smoke that seemed to waft off his skin? He was more than a ghost. More than an apparition.

“You . . .” Jeff murmured at her, refusing to give her any extra space.

“I have to go,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, I just . . .”

“You’re just scared.” He finished the sentence for her. “There are different types of people in this world, Vivi. You’re a helper.”

No, she thought. He’s putting words in my mouth. He’s telling me what to think.

Her attention veered left.

“And you’re the one who’s going to help us all.”

She choked out a quiet yelp when she saw a girl standing in the corner. Vivi recognized her as Chloe Sears.

“I have faith in you, Vivi. I still believe you have the strength it takes to do the right thing.”

Over his shoulder, here now was Georgia Jansen, flanked by three younger girls. Shelly. Her mind paired a name with a face. Laura. Roxanna. And the boys were there, too. They stood motionless, filling the already cramped space of the small room. Their eyes were fixed on her, unblinking, waiting for her to make the right decision. They were waiting for her to do whatever “helping” entailed.

“You wanted this,” Jeff reminded her.

No, I’m not sure anymore . . .

“You’re tired of being overlooked. But being overlooked is all you know.”

I am, but my dad loves me. I’m sure he still loves me . . .

“You’re afraid, I understand that. But you have to have faith.”

“Have faith,” the others whispered in unison.

“Everything we do, we do for each other,” Jeff said. “Do you understand?”

“I’m just scared.” She echoed his words to herself, trying to convince herself of that very point. “I’m just so scared.”

“You want this,” Jeff said. “You need this. It’s not you, Vivi, it’s them.”

Her gaze drifted back to Jeffrey, the comfort of his beauty suddenly overwhelming. He reached out to her again, brushed a strand of blond behind her ear. But the moment his fingers drifted across her cheek, she saw the entire group downstairs: eight bodies lying on the rug. And in the center was the beautiful boy with a blond-haired girl, with her hair, her face, exhaling a final breath as blood geysered out of her abdomen.

Understanding crashed over her. That was what they wanted. For her to become like them. Trapped in some in-between world. She was just a stand-in. That was all.

“Don’t be afraid, Vivi,” Jeffrey said.

She pulled away from him.

“Don’t you see? You’re the answer to our prayers.”

“We’ve been waiting a long time,” said one of the girls.

“Waiting for you,” said another.

No.

Being part of something bigger than herself was one thing, but dying to be loved . . . ?

No, this isn’t me. I’m not that girl. I’m Vee, not Vivi. I’m Vee. Virginia Graham!

Vee shoved herself away from the window and ran for the bedroom door. She had to get out, she had to find her dad and run. She managed to fling the door open, and it swung wide and banged against the wall, trembling in its frame. And there was her father, as if sensing her desperation.

Dad!

She wanted to run to him, but something pulled Vee back. An invisible hand lifted her off the ground and threw her across the room. She briefly saw her father being flung in the opposite direction. Like two magnets with the same polarization, they were cast apart, having gotten too close.

Her back hit the far wall of the room. She crashed onto the bed. Scrambling away, Vee ran into her closet, snatched up the silver cross she’d left there, desperate to have some form of defense. That need for self-defense was back. She had no idea what would happen if she tried to stab Jeffrey, only that she had to protect herself somehow.

“Stay away,” she whispered, holding up the cross like a naive girl in an old vampire movie.

Except, instead of hissing in pain and shielding his eyes, Jeffrey smiled, then shook his head with a tsk. “Vivi,” he said.

That’s not my name! she wanted to scream.

“Don’t you understand? God is on my side. He’s the one that put me here, to lead you to salvation.”

The group chuckled among themselves, enjoying the joke.

Vee blinked at him, her back pressed hard against the wall. She tried to put as much distance between herself and the grinning ghosts as she possibly could.

“No. My father told me you tricked everyone,” she said, still holding the cross at arm’s length. “You said you were going to make everyone live forever, but they died.” She shot a look at Chloe Sears, at Georgia Jansen and Shelly Riordan. “Don’t you get it?” she said to them. “He’s a phony! If he was real, you’d all still be alive!”

It was a long shot. Perhaps she could bring them to her side, turn Jeff’s little following against him and save herself at the same time. For a second, she swore she could see their hideous grins waver like a desert mirage.

But Jeffrey moved toward her, leaned in, and placed his hands square against the wall just above her shoulder. His lingering smile vacillated between tolerant and annoyed.

“Vivi,” he said, his words slower than before. “You’re confused. You believe the words of a man who doesn’t even know you’re alive. Your father is a liar.”

“No,” she whispered. “You aren’t even real. I want to see my dad. Right now.”

“Fine.” He shrugged as though Vee’s request was of no consequence to him, then gave his group a look. “Let’s go see Dad,” he told them. “After all, a proper introduction is long overdue.” With that, the eight figures that stood around the room murmured as if in some sort of approval. Before Vee could comprehend what was happening, they had vanished, as though never having been there at all.