Текст книги "Best new zombie tales, vol. 3"

Автор книги: James Daley

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Jason shrugged again. Robbins looked over to Beth for help.

The doctor walked to the desk and pulled out a little chair, sitting down opposite. "Hi Jason, my name's Beth. It's very important that we talk to the man who gave you this. Do you know where he went?"

Jason shook his head. "He didn't say, but I'm going to see him again. He told me that."

Robbins gave Beth a worried look.

"Let me through. Where's my son!" A commotion at the door to the 'quiet' room drew their attention and they turned to see a woman with short black hair pushing her way in, past the headmaster.

"Mrs. Hill, you got the call–" he began, but she ran to Jason and hugged him tightly, checking every inch of him over with her eyes. It was only then that she seemed aware of the other people there. "Who are you two? What were you doing with my son?"

"Please calm down, madam," said Robbins.

"No, youcalm down. I'll calm down when I find out just what in God's name is going on."

"That might take a bit of explaining," said Beth. "We're not really sure we understand it ourselves."

"I saw Dad today," said Jason before anyone else could speak.

This took the woman aback. "Your Dad? Sweetheart, your Dad's at work. You know that."

"No, he said he was my real dad. What did he mean?"

All the color drained from the woman's face. She brushed a hair out of her son's eyes. "Sweetheart, that's... that's just not possible. Remember, we talked about this before. Your real father... he's not with us anymore."

"But I saw him," Jason insisted.

The woman looked up at Robbins and then Beth, confusion in her eyes.

"I think we need to have a little chat," said Robbins. "Alone."

~

The dead man had watched from a distance. Watched as Robbins and the doctor arrived, accompanied by two uniforms–one of them the black man who'd come for him at the house.

Then he'd seen her arrive on foot. Caroline. Her hair was much shorter than he remembered, but still that raven black, still framing the pretty face he could recall cupping in his hands–so vividly they hadto be his memories. He couldn't stop the recollections then; they came with a vengeance and he closed his eyes to savor them. The first time they'd met at that café one Saturday afternoon, and he'd looked up from his drink to see her walk in with one of her old girlfriends. They'd exchanged quick glances the whole way through their coffees–he'd actually made his last much longer than usual–until eventually the friend, Sally, noticed and came over to him because it looked like neither of them were going to do a thing about it.

"So, you single?" she'd said getting to the point right away.

"Er... yes."

"So is she. What are you waiting for? She's free tonight."

The inevitable first date complete with nerves, the 'getting to know you' conversations, the first time he'd walked her to her flat, and kissed her lips.

The first time they'd shared a bed, after a party when they'd drunk more than they should have, but not so much they couldn't do anything about it when they got back to her place.

He could feel the movement of her beneath him even now, her hips arching, legs hooking around him as she often did, urging him on with her moans.

Their wedding day, her standing there in that white dress, looking almost... almost like an angel. And when he'd danced with her and looked into those deep blue eyes, he'd known he would love her forever.

Then suddenly he saw the other images again, felt the pain this time–heard the scream, cracking of bone, the blood... saw the light, saw the tunnel...

Snapping his eyes open he noticed Caroline emerge from the school, holding Jason's hand. He almost went to her then, just as he'd been compelled to do before. But for one thing she was crying, and for another she was getting into the back of the squad car, the police about to escort her home.

It wasn't the right time yet. He knew that.

But soon, as he'd told Jason, he'd see them again.

~

"So where do we go from here?" asked Beth as they stood by the car and watched Valentine drive off.

"My superiors will want to try and contain this," Robbins said, not really answering her question.

"That's going to be a bit difficult." Beth leaned on the top of the car. "For starters, we don't know where he is. We don't really know whathe is."

"He's a problem," said Robbins. "They'll bring in... outsiders. I've seen it happen before."

Beth raised an eyebrow. "You've seen thishappen before?"

"Not this exactly, but other situations just as serious. I once saw a whole crime squad get muscled out when there was all that terrorism stuff."

"With the best will in the world, Steve, this is not a terrorist threat situation."

"You're right. It's much, much worse. There isn't a handbook about what to do when a dead man comes back and wants to talk to his family."

"So you're accepting the possibility that this could be Matthew Daley now?"

Robbins rubbed his face with his hands. "Oh, I don't know what to think anymore. But I do know we need to find him." He thought for a few moments, then said. "When we get back to the station, I think the best thing you can do is head to the hospital. Do those DNA tests before they bring in a bunch of government scientists I don't know. Get me some answers."

"And what are you going to do?"

"My job," he told her. "I'm the detective, remember?"

Chapter Nine

Caroline Hills poured herself a brandy.

Jason was upstairs in his bedroom, TV blaring. Today hadn't really fazed him at all, but that was kids for you. He spent half his time in a fantasyland anyway. She, however, was still trying to get her head around what she'd been told. It wasn't everyday you found out someone was impersonating your dead husband. Although, hadn't there been something in the Chief Inspector's voice, something in the looks that doctor kept giving him? Like they were holding things back from her. Then she'd pushed for it; pushed for answers which they'd given, eventually. Told her what they knew, told her what had happened over the last couple of days. And it was then that she wished they'd simply kept lying to her. It was then that she felt as if she was losing her mind.

It was like that scene from Dallaswhen Bobby Ewing had turned up in the shower and the previous season had been a dream. Had her life for the last seven years been a dream too? Had the tears she'd cried for months been just a nightmare, had facing life as a single parent just been a hallucination? Had finding someone else, when she thought she'd never love again, been just–

Jesus, what was she going to say to Rob? What could she say when she didn't even understand herself? The words they'd spoken, she'd thought they were a joke at first–kept expecting them all to start laughing at any moment, for a presenter to come out and tell her where the hidden cameras were. In poor taste, but a joke all the same. Yet when she put it together with what Jason had said, that's when it really hit home.

"Why wasn't I told about this before?" she screamed through the tears (though would she have believed it–did she even now?). "I'm still his widow, aren't I?"

But was she? Was she still his widow now that he might be out there somewhere, back from the grave? Caroline gulped the brandy, the fiery liquid scorching her throat, and poured herself another.

She carried it to the window and looked out through the net curtains. The police car was still out front, down the street, in case the man should try to make contact with Jason again. Caroline's hand shook at the very thought of it. If he should come here, if she was to see him...

Forget the fact that he was meant to be at rest–how wouldshe feel seeing someone she never thought she'd see again... at least not here on Earth? But even that, what faith she'd boasted had gone, along with her husband, while his mother had been exactly the opposite: her belief was strengthened by the loss of her boy. While Irene had taken comfort in the fact that Matthew would be with God now, Caroline had railed against a deity that would snatch away the man she loved (still loved?) so casually, so cruelly. She would have rung the woman, save for the fact that they'd parted on such bad terms. And as for the fact that Caroline had remarried...

Now, somehow, there was a chance that the man they'd both loved so much was back. (How? How was that possible?) She dropped into a chair and drank more of the alcohol.

And waited for her husband to return from work.

~

Robbins spread out the files on his desk, running his hands through his short hair.

He looked at the notes DCI Croft had left behind him, all leading to dead ends. There had been an investigation into Matthew's death, of course there had–the media had demanded it–but it had turned up precisely nothing. In fact, reading this, Robbins couldn't help wondering if it was the pressure he'd been under that had led to Croft's retirement and his eventual heart attack, paving the way for Robbins' transfer and promotion.

But there had to be something here. Some clue, some pattern, some explanation as to what this was all about. As to why Matthew Daley was back.

He shook his head, and not for the first time. No, it couldn't be Daley– how couldit be Daley?

He let out a tuneless whistle, picking up the photos again. Something Croft had missed and which he must find. Something that would be the key to this whole thing.

Something... something...

Robbins leaned back in his chair and tried not to think about how badly he needed a drink. He reached down and opened the drawer on his right, then took a bottle out.

~

It was growing dark by the time Beth returned to the hospital. There were a few messages waiting for her when she got back, some about the shifts she'd traded to take the day off, some about patients she was keeping tabs on, and one from an anesthetist she'd been out for a drink with the previous week and wouldn't leave her alone. Why she'd done it was beyond her now, the guy was a total sleazebag. But he'd asked, and she'd agreed, then spent the whole damned evening wishing she was somewhere else.

As she made her way down the corridor to her office, she said hello to the doctors and nurses she knew–and the porter, Gary. He was wheeling a patient back to his ward after going for a scan.

The lights were off in her office, so when she opened the door she reached around for the switch inside. Beth flicked it, but nothing happened.

"Blast," she said, considering going back out to look for Gary. Then she felt it. There was someone in the room with her. Beth scanned the dark office, the shapes of her filing cabinet, the desk, even the fish tank she kept on the side–the fish helped her to relax–but she could see nothing out of the ordinary. Yet...

She heard breathing, slow and shallow.

"Hello?" she ventured.

The lights came on suddenly and she jumped.

"Dr. Preston... Beth, you have to help me," said the man she'd examined yesterday. He was standing only inches away.

This wasn't like the first time. Now she knew what he was–or thought she did. Not just some oddball prisoner in a cell, but someone whose grave she'd been standing by that very morning. She tried to speak but couldn't get the words out.

"Please," he said. It was the one word she couldn't resist, and somehow he knew it.

"Matthew."

He clapped his hands together and smiled, albeit briefly. "Thank you, thank you."

"For what?"

"For calling me by my name," he said.

She slid sideways along the wall. "It's who you said you were."

"I stillam," he replied. "That's what I keep trying to tell you people. You know, don't you? You've known from the start."

Beth found herself almost in the corner of her room, and remembered how Wilson had been found. She stopped. "How did you get away this morning, what did you say to PC Wilson?"

"Nothing he wasn't meant to hear." His voice poured ice water over her. "Same as you. Sarah ishappy, you know. She doesn't blame you."

"Stop it," said Beth, shaking her head. "I don't–"

"It wasn't your fault."

She rounded on him now. "I've heard that from the best counselors around, I don't need to hear it from you!"

"Hear it from someone, hear it from her maybe?"

Beth remembered what Wilson had said about his aunty and uncle. She'd heard enough. "Stop it, stop talking about this right now!"

"I'm sorry," he said.

"How dare you!" Beth's eyes were starting to well up. "How bloody well dare you? You come back here and expect people to just take it in their stride–your mother, you son, your widow–to deal with it like it's something that happens every day of the week. And now we're meant to think you're in touch with..." She couldn't finish her sentence. "I hate to break it to you, but that's not normal. None of this is normal."

"You're upset, I–"

"What do you expect?" She was having trouble staying on her feet now, and he made to help her. "Stay back where you are."

"I should go," he said, half turning.

"No, wait," she replied instinctively. "Let me call Robbins."

"And be locked away again?" He stared at her. "Or worse? I just thought you could help, that's all. I was wrong."

Was it her imagination or was there genuine hurt in his voice? She blinked away another tear, tasting the salt water as it trickled into her mouth. "What is it that you want?"

He hesitated before speaking, then examined a spot on the floor. "I'm seeing things. Things from when I died, I think. But it's all so muddled. I can feel the pain. I can remember bits and pieces and a tunnel of bright light."

She couldn't help laughing at that. "Pretty standard for NDE."

"For what?"

"Near death experience."

He nodded his understanding.

"White light, figures beckoning, then something stops the person from going any further and they come back. Not exactly what happened to you..."

"No," he agreed.

"If you're really who you say you are, then you've been where nobody has before."

"I don't know what to tell you. All of that, all the important stuff is a blank."

"But the fact is you've come back, Matthew. You've come back. The question remains why? And how exactly do we all deal with it?"

"Will you help me to remember?" he asked her.

She chewed on her lip a moment before answering him. "On one condition. You let me take you to Robbins, so he can call off the search."

"I'm not going back to that cell."

"He's not as bad as he seems, you know. And he might be able to help you get to the bottom of this too."

"All right, I believe you," he said finally. "So, where do we begin?"

"Tell me everything you can remember about the night you died," said Beth.

Chapter Ten

The dead man talked for the better part of an hour.

He told Beth what he could remember of the images, the sights, smells and sounds. She listened intently as she'd learned to do in her particular trade, pushing all thoughts about who or what he was to the back of her mind. For a little while at least he was simply another patient, one she wanted to find out more about. One she wanted to help if she possibly could. The talking was as much for her benefit as his, really. But it would take time for him to remember fully, she told him. Things would come back to him in small chunks, when they were good and ready. It was hardly surprising he'd blotted out so much of what was possibly the most traumatic thing that could ever happen to a person. Visual stimuli might help too, perhaps visiting familiar surroundings from that night. But for right now she wanted to get him back to the station, back to Robbins.

Beth led him out of the office and down the corridor. Past the doctors and nurses she'd seen on the way in–his bare feet drawing odd looks and whispers–past the wards of people in bed. The man she called Matthew glanced at them, with a certain amount of sadness. Especially at the ones with eyes closed, heads back on the pillow as if they had already given up the fight.

"You see it every day here, don't you?" he said.

"I'm sorry?"

"Death. People die all the time here."

Beth nodded. "Unfortunately, yes."

They took the stairs rather than the lift, bringing them out onto the floor of the Accident and Emergency department. There was a smattering of people waiting, seated on plastic chairs and looking up at a digital display that repeatedly informed them they would be there for some time.

Beth's charge held back as they entered. "I... something about this place. I remember something," he told her. Then he pointed. "I was here, but not here. I-I was sort of looking down on this."

"Like you were hovering over the scene?"

He nodded sharply. "I was here. This is where they brought me, isn't it?"

Before she could answer, the set of double doors at the far end of A&E burst open and two figures in green wheeled in a stretcher. All eyes turned in this direction, the most excitement they'd had all evening.

"Motorcyclist, got hit by someone pulling out of a junction," they heard the first paramedic state. "He's in a really bad way."

A doctor in a set of blue scrubs came to attend to the patient, then the gurney was wheeled out of sight, away from the people in the waiting room. The man who claimed he was the late Matthew Daley followed, breaking into a run.

"Matthew, no!" Beth wasn't far behind him, reaching out to grab his arm but missing by a mile. The crash team were working on the motorcyclist in a side room and hadn't had time to close the door–they were too preoccupied with trying to save his life. The nurses had cut away the leather of his jacket, and there was blood everywhere. The man's eyes were rolling over white into his head. Matthew was at the doorway looking inside when Beth caught up with him. She tugged at his arm to pull him away, but he didn't see her at all. He was in a trance.

"We're losing him," said the doctor, now holding the paddles of a defibrillator in his hands. The whining sound of the patient flatlining cut through the air. He told everyone to stand back and shocked the motorcyclist. His body jerked, and there was a weak pulse, then he crashed again. The doctor repeated this process three times but it was the same result. "I'm calling it at seven fifty. All in agreement? He'd suffered massive trauma; there was nothing any of us could have done. Have his family been contacted?"

"Come on, we shouldn't be back here," Beth told Matthew.

He shook his head. "No."

Pushing her to one side, he walked into the room. The doctor was so shocked he stood back. One of the male nurses came around the bed, in an effort to stop Matthew's approach, but it was too late. He was next to the motorcyclist and his hands were on the man's chest.

"Someone call security," shouted a female nurse.

The male nurse tried to pull Matthew away, but he shrugged him off. "No, I won't let this happen." He closed his eyes.

"Matthew!" shouted Beth, and the doctor recognized her.

"Dr. Preston? Who is that? What's the meaning of all this?"

There was confusion in the room, lots of voices and shouting. Then a sudden beep sent everyone quiet. It was followed by another... then another. The nurses all looked at each other, then the doctor looked at Beth. "Dr. Preston?"

The noise had drawn a crowd of people from the other rooms and cubicles in A&E, mostly relatives who were sitting with their sick loved ones, but a handful of patients too–their gowns flapping as they tried to get a better look.

"Did you see that?" said one person behind Beth. "He just brought that man back to life."

"You what?" said a late arrival.

"I swear to God. Just laid his hands on him. Doctors had given up."

"Bloody hell."

The beep of the heart monitor was strong and sure. The doctor who'd pronounced the motorcyclist walked slack-jawed towards Matthew and the bed. "What... what did you just do?" The nurse who'd called for security was crossing herself.

"Vitals are stable," said the male nurse, blinking at the monitor.

Matthew stepped back from the bed, retreating to the door. Someone out in the corridor held up a mobile phone and snapped a blurry picture with a mechanical whir. Matthew pushed past them all, pushed past a speechless Beth, and began to stagger back off up the corridor. There was a second's lapse, then she followed him again, back out of the department. He was running at a trot, but this time she did catch up with him, grabbing his arm and twisting him around.

"You can't just walk away like that. Hey!"

He faced her. "I-I think I know what happened to me," he told her. "I think I remember."

"Look, we can't stay here now. You're attracting too much attention." Beth looked over her shoulder at the group of people following them: relatives, doctors, patients.

"You're right. I have to go." He pulled away from her and ran out through the double doors into the ambulance bay. The doors flapped back on her as she tried to follow. Beth Preston pushed on them and stumbled out into the night air.

She looked left and right.

But Matthew was gone.

Chapter Eleven

Detective Chief Inspector Steven Robbins yawned.

It had been a long day, a long week, and he hadn't seen much of his bed. The statements, reports and notes on his desk were all merging into one. The photographs, though still disturbing, had now lost much of their power to shock since the first time he'd seen them. The Matthew Daley case would never really be solved until they found the man who claimed to behim. Robbins couldn't help smirking at that one; it wasn't every day that the deceased ended up helping the police to solve the mystery of their own murder.

He closed his aching eyes, then rubbed them.

The door to his office opened, the hinges squeaking just like they always did. "Never hear of knocking?" he said, attempting to open his eyes again. The figure before him was out of focus, like the letters on an optician's board when they put in the wrong lens. He screwed up his eyes, and the figure started to take shape. The man was older than Robbins, older than Wilson even. He took a seat opposite and smiled, the lines on his face stretching to accommodate it.

"Make yourself at home," said Robbins.

"Thanks," said the man, "don't mind if I do." He looked around the office, nodding contentedly. "It's changed a bit in here."

Robbins let out a tired breath. "Look, I don't know how you got in, but I'm a bit pushed right–"

The man reached out and picked up one of the reports from the desk. He flipped through it casually. "You're looking for connections where there aren't any," he said. "Frustrating, isn't it?"

"If I wanted the advice of a total stranger then I'd ring one of my ex-wives."

The older man laughed. "But I'm not a totalstranger, Robbins. You know me."

Robbins studied his face, but couldn't place him. "If we've met before then I can't remember it."

"Ah, well, we haven't exactly met as such. But you know me all the same."

"It's getting late, and I haven't got time for riddles tonight," Robbins said impatiently.

"I've come to give you that one piece of information you're looking for."

A look of enlightenment suddenly dawned on Robbins' face. "You're here to take over, is that it? I'm being replaced? I wondered how long it would be. You're welcome to it, the whole fucking thing. I'm in over my head anyway."

The man chuckled again. "I've done my share and it was enough for me."

"I... I don't understand."

"I'm here to tell you how to solve the case. And to tell you where Matthew Daley is."

"Who are you?" asked Robbins.

The man stretched. "Nice to be able to do that again without the pains in my chest."

"Without the..." Robbins sat up straight in his chair. He shouldn't have been too shocked, though. It wasn't the first dead man he'd encountered this week. "Croft?"

"Bingo. How are you finding my old job? It's a killer, isn't it?" This last line was said in all seriousness.

"You... you're not really here."

"Then where am I? Feels like I'm here." He put his feet up on the desk, pulled a cigarette case out of his pocket, removed one and tapped it on the silver metal. "You got a light?"

"I don't smoke."

"Wise man," said Croft. He held up the cigarette between thumb and forefinger. "I smoked forty of these a day from being a kid. And I used to keep a bottle of scotch in that bottom drawer just there." Croft gestured towards Robbins' side of the desk. "Told myself it was for medicinal purposes. What a load of crap. You were just thinking you could use a belt yourself though, weren't you? Don't suppose there's any still in there?" He flapped his hand. "Naw, what am I thinking. I've been gone too long for that."

Robbins didn't know how to answer him, so he didn't bother; he just reached down and opened the drawer. Robbins produced the bottle of Milk of Magnesia he kept hidden away. Croft let out another long laugh as Robbins took a swig.

"Wasn't quite what I had in mind," said the erstwhile DCI finally. "You know, you should get that stomach sorted out. I left things till the last minute and look what happened."

"It's fine," stated Robbins.

"Ignorance is bliss, eh? We're not that dissimilar, you and I. You're a man after my own heart."

"With the greatest respect," Robbins told him, "I certainly hope not."

Croft took a drag on his cigarette. "I'd imagine it was quite a thing when you realized about Matthew."

"That's one way of putting it. Now, you said you had some information about the case."

Croft smiled again. "Getting straight to it, I like that in a DCI. Very good. Life's too short, if you'll pardon the expression."

"The information," Robbins pressed.

"It doesn't become clear you see... until afterwards. Then you know everything. There are no secrets."

"I'm not following you."

"Not yet, no. Matthew's returned to find his peace, Robbins. His was such a sudden passing."

"I know. I saw the pictures."

"I saw the body," Croft reminded him.

"You're telling me he's after revenge on the person who did this?" Robbins pointed to the files.

"He's being tested."

"And you know who that person is."

Croft smiled one last time and blew out a stream of smoke. "Things aren't always clear cut, you know. Good and evil are rarely as easy to spot as we think. It's all a matter of judgment."

"Get on with it," snapped Robbins.

"Something's coming, Steven. The world's not going to be the same soon."

"It isn't now," said Robbins. "Tell me."

The phone rang loudly in his ear. Robbins woke with a start on the desk. He looked over at the empty chair opposite.

The ringing persisted and he picked up the receiver. "Robbins."

"Steve, I need to talk to you. I've seen Matthew."

"What?"

"He gave me the slip again, but listen... I think I know where we can find him. I think he's going to return to the place where this all began. The place where he died."

"No, Beth," said Robbins, his nose twitching at the smell of smoke which lingered in the air. "He's going after the person who killed him."

Chapter Twelve

They sat in silence.

Robert Hills was tracing the pattern on the carpet with his eyes. Caroline was nursing her third brandy of the evening. She'd done her best to explain, but it was so difficult.

"There's a police car outside," he'd said as he returned from the bank, then he'd seen her red and puffy eyes. "What's happened? Are you all right?"

Are you all right?It was a good question. Would she ever be all right again after today? "Something happened at school."

"Jason?"

"He's in his room."

Rob began towards the stairs, but she stopped him. "What's happened?" he asked again, his voice cracking. So she took him into the living room and she told him. Just like that. As if she was telling him they'd had a burst water pipe or the microwave was on the fritz. He'd looked at her that same way she'd looked at the detective and the doctor, like she was mad.

"Caroline, Matthew is dead."

"Tell that to Jason," she'd replied, a little too harshly. "Tell that to my son."

" Ourson," he corrected.

Caroline didn't miss a beat. "He saw him."

"Saw someone who said he was Matthew, you mean."

"He saw... The police have... Rob, they dug up his grave."

"What?" He walked over to the fireplace and leaned a hand on the mantle. "This is ridiculous."

"I know... I know."

"How many of those have you had?" he asked, pointing to the drink.

"What, you think I'm making this up? You think I'm drunk?"

Rob rubbed his eyes. "No, it's just... How can it possibly be your dead husband? It can't be him. People don't just–"

"Come back from the dead?" she finished for him. "No, they don't, do they."

He couldn't say anything to that; they both knew it was impossible. Only here was his wife, the woman he trusted more than anyone in the world, telling him these things. "There has to be some kind of terrible mistake."

"I don't know. I just don't know."

"What did they tell you exactly?"

So she went through what the policeman and doctor had said. How they'd exhumed the body gaining authority because the case was still open on Matthew. How they'd been called to the school after he'd made contact with Jason. Everything. She'd laid it all out for him, and as she spoke it felt like she was explaining the wild plot of some sci-fi film. Caroline wasn't sure how much of it Robert had taken in, or how much she had herself, but when she'd finished he said: "So why are the police still here?"

"In case he comes back," she explained.

"To see Jason, or to see you?"

Caroline's eyes dropped to the floor. He'd slumped down in the chair then, and not said a word since. Now someone needed to speak. If they didn't do it soon Caroline feared they might never speak again. That they might just go about their normal (and what was normal anymore anyway?) lives in total silence from that moment on. "Say something, Rob," she pleaded.

He looked up at her. "What do you want me to say?" His tone was hollow and weird.

She felt the tears welling again and couldn't stop them coming this time. "Say that you love me, and that everything's going to be okay."

Robert said nothing at first, and then her whole body began to shake with sobs. He got up and went to her. She dropped the brandy on the floor as she got up and fell into his embrace. He held her tightly and she continued to cry, both of them with wasted expressions on their faces.