Dead Voices Page 11

  “Thanks,” Elizabeth said, as she turned and started toward the door. She was halfway there when the door opened and Jake Hardy, looking older, balder, and certainly much fatter than she remembered, strode out. He was holding his hand up to his mouth and licking something from his fingers.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t Betsy Payne,” he said, a smile splitting his face as he held out the hand he had just cleaned for her to shake.

  “You’re the only person who still calls me that, you know,” Elizabeth said, as she mock-scowled at Jake.

  “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you,” Jake said. “And I must say, you do look more like an Elizabeth than a Betsy. Where are those world-famous pigtails?”

  Elizabeth blushed when she remembered how lake had always teased her about her pigtails, threatening to tie them together whenever he saw her in the store or around town. “Gone,” she said. “And so is my last name. My married name is Myers.”

  For a little while longer, anyway, she added mentally.

  “I know that!” Jake said, chuckling as he rubbed his hands together. “I guess old habits die hard-’specially once you get to be my age. What can I get for you today? Your father need something out to the farm?”

  Elizabeth shook her head and hesitated, not quite sure if she really wanted to go through with this. “Well, not really. I was — you see, I’ve moved back home, and —”

  “That’s right,” Jake said, nodding. “I heard something about that from Betty Stevenson.”

  “Hasn’t everyone by now?” Elizabeth said. “Anyway, I was looking for work and — well, I happened to bump into Frank Melrose today, and he said you might be looking for a little extra help. I’d be —”

  “The job’s yours if you want it,” Jake said, cutting her off abruptly. “I can’t pay you more than minimum wage to start. This time of year, what with everyone planting gardens and fixing up around the house, Ester and me been working fifty ‘n’ sixty hours a week. I got a couple of high school kids working part-time, but — well, you know how kids are these days. Do you know how to run a cash register?”

  “I can learn,” Elizabeth said brightly. She couldn’t help but be surprised by how fast Jake had accepted her; it made her wonder what and how much about her current situation Jake had heard. The thought crossed her mind that quite possibly she had been set up by Frank, and that Jake was offering her this job simply out of some kind of misguided feeling of charity.

  “I’ll just bet you can,” Jake said. “You always were a little whippersnapper.”

  Elizabeth didn’t quite know how to take that, but clearing her throat, she said, “I’ve got to tell you, though, Mr. Hardy; I don’t know the first thing about hardware. If someone came up to me with a question, I’d have no idea what to —”

  “Don’t you worry about a thing,” Jake said. “Either Ester or me will be here whenever you are. Everything’s got a price tag — at least it should. All you gotta do is ring up sales and bag things. And I’m sure you’ll learn as you go along. There ain’t all that much to it. You can start tomorrow, if you’d like.”

  Jake stood looking at her, waiting for her to say she’d take the job.

  “Sure,” she said brightly, after a slight hesitation. “Sounds great.” She shook hands with Jake to confirm the deal. Just at that moment, she glanced toward the front of the store and was positive she saw the tail end of a police cruiser disappear around the corner of the store. She bristled, thinking instantly that it was Frank, checking up to see if she had taken his advice.

  “Sounds great to me, too,” Jake said. “We open at eight. Can you be here by a little before then? Say, seven-thirty?”

  Having to get up that early made Elizabeth wonder whether she had just been given one more reason to think this might all be a mistake, but she smiled and said, “I’ll be here.”

  “I’ll need your social security number and, believe it or not, your birth certificate or passport so I can fill out this new form for the Immigration and Naturalization Service, to prove you’re an American citizen.”

  “I’m pretty sure we can establish that,” Elizabeth said with a laugh. Oh, one more thing, could you try to remember to call me Elizabeth?”

  “Sure thing, Betsy,” Jake said. He roared with laughter over that one.

  Elizabeth considered stopping at the register to introduce herself to the woman who must be Ester, but she simply smiled as she passed by, figuring whatever Ester didn’t know about her, Jake or — more likely — Betty Stevenson would fill in for her before seven-thirty tomorrow morning.

  5.

  Barney Fraser drove slowly out of town, heading west. He turned left onto Brook Road, sped up just a bit to get past Oak Grove Cemetery, then slowed down again. After glancing up and down the road to make sure no other cars were around, he drove onto a long-unused fire trail that entered the woods less than a half mile past the cemetery. Once he was in far enough so he was positive his car couldn’t be seen from the road. He stopped, turned the engine off, and got out of the car. A deep, gnawing fear worked on his insides as he slipped his car keys into his pants pocket. Inhaling deeply and repressing a shiver, he started off into the night-shrouded woods.

  The half moon rode low in the sky, casting thin blue shadows on the ground. Black slashes of trees stood out like claw marks on the sky. A gentle breeze clattered the branches overhead, making the night air feel colder than it was. Goose bumps broke out on Barney’s bare arms when a voice suddenly came out of the surrounding darkness, booming like a distant peal of thunder.

  “Do you have what 1 want?”

  It sounded as if the man was standing less than a foot from him, and in darkness like this, Barney was sure he’d never know it even if they were nose to nose. He shivered wildly as his eyes darted back and forth, trying to pierce the inky blackness. All he could see were the dark lines of trees rising up against the starlit sky, and the darker black of the ground. Off to his left, he could hear a loud chorus of frogs in the wetlands behind the cemetery. He was just beginning to think he had imagined the voice when it came again, laced with menace.

  “Well ... do you have it?”

  “Uh — yeah, yes, I have it,” he said. His voice was wire tight; he was afraid it would crack. “I have it right here in this —”

  “Give it to me,” the voice said, low and demanding. Barney tried to chuckle, but the only sound he could make was a tight wheeze. He held the paper bag he was carrying out in front of him and said helplessly, “How the hell can 1 give it to you when I can’t even —”

  His voice cut off when a bright circle of light suddenly snapped on, hitting him squarely in the eyes. The light instantly shattered into hundreds of watery diamonds as Barney’s eyes reacted. Shielding his face with one arm, Barney took an involuntary step backward. He almost screamed when he bumped into something. His first thought was that he had hit against a tree, but then he realized it hadn’t been hard and unyielding like a tree. He tried to scream when strong arms encircled his chest and squeezed him tightly.

  “What the — ?” he managed to say, but then a thick hand that smelled of oil and dirt clamped over his mouth. The rest of his protestations were lost in a muffled squawk.

  “Take the bag from him,” said the voice from behind the glaring circle of light. Not for a second did the beam waver.

  Barney’s mind flooded with panic as he felt the bag tom roughly from his grasp. The paper crinkled loudly in the darkness, sounding like a raging fire with no light. The hand covering his mouth was also covering his nose, and Barney was suddenly fearful that he would suffocate. He began to struggle against the person holding him, but it did no good. Whoever it was, was much stronger than he.

  “If you promise to keep your mouth shut and speak only when you’re spoken to, I’ll tell my friend to let you go,” the voice from behind the light rasped.

  Barney nodded vigorously and was grateful when he felt the arms pinning him loosen up and release him. His legs almost ga
ve out once he was supporting his full weight, but he locked his knees and took a deep breath to brace himself. In spite of his efforts, sour, black fear rose like bile in his throat when he saw ~he light begin to move forward. Then, from out of the stinging glare, a dark hand reached out. The person standing behind him handed over the bag.

  “Who the hell are you, anyway?” Barney asked. “And what the hell do you want with this?” He was positive he would get no answer from the circle of light, but he had to ask ... if only to divert this person’s attention away from what was inside the bag.

  “It’s really none of your business,” the voice from behind the light said mildly. “You had access to something I needed, and I’m pleased that you were so willing to ... to cooperate with me.”

  The voice rumbled with low, mean laughter.

  “Right,” Barney said, feeling a wave of embarrassment when he considered how simply this unknown person had gained control over him and had made him do the horrible deed he had been asked to do — no, not asked to do ... told to do!

  “Well now,” the voice from behind the light said, “you certainly wouldn’t want me to show your wife those photographs?”

  “You promised to give me those pictures ... and the negatives,” Barney said. His voice was trembling with suppressed rage and fear, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to exchange packages with this man and get the hell out of there! His car was parked out on Old County Road, where he had left it the night he had dug up Jonathan Payne’s grave and cut off his left hand, and he sure as hell didn’t want the police happening by and getting a make on it. It wouldn’t take Sherlock-fucking Holmes to put two and two together.

  “But now that I’ve got what I want, I’m not so sure I want to give you those photographs,” the voice from behind the light said. “I think I like our relationship just the way it is, you see, and if I gave you those photographs now, you might be tempted to go to the police and tell them all about our little deal. “

  “I’m not about to go to the police,” Barney said, his voice cracking. “Why would I want —”

  “Even if you didn’t,” the voice said, “I don’t like the way the police are handling the whole case. I probably should have guessed that, in a small town like Bristol Mills, something like grave robbing would become the crime of the decade. There’s been something about it in the Portland papers two days in a row, now. I just wouldn’t feel comfortable, knowing there’s a loose cannon like you out there.”

  ‘‘I’m no ‘loose cannon,’ “ Barney said, almost wailing. “I’ve got my job, my family — my reputation to protect.”

  “You should have thought about all of that before you solicited that young man in Portland.”

  “I can’t help it if I —”

  But then Barney cut himself off because he had no idea how to finish his statement. So what if he had homosexual tendencies? Besides, he wasn’t exclusively homosexual; he had a wife and had fathered one child. It was just that, every now and then, he had these ... these urges to try something different and, at least until this whole business of AIDS started up, he had found that in some of the seedier sections of Portland.

  “I ... thought we ... had a deal,” Barney finally said.

  “We did,” the voice from behind the light replied. “And you used the correct verb tense — the past. I’m changing the deal, and I don’t think you’re in any position to argue.”

  The light shifted downward. Sweat broke out on Barney’s forehead when he heard paper crumple and realized the man was opening the paper bag. For several seconds, there were no sounds other than the springtime chorus of frogs and Barney’s stuttering heartbeat.

  The flashlight beam dipped down into the bag and held for a few seconds; then the man’s voice filled the night.

  “What the fuck is this shit!”

  “Wha-what do you mean?” Barney sputtered. He knew damned well what the man meant, but he knew he would have to run the lie as long as he could-hopefully long enough so he could get away from here.

  “I told you to get me the girl’s hand!” the voice shouted as the light swung back up and painfully stabbed Barney’s eyes.

  “That’s ... what you got,” Barney said. His impulse was to start backing away, but he knew, as soon as he took the first step, those hefty arms would stop him from going any further.

  “Are you trying to play me for a sucker?” the voice said, rumbling with hostile laughter. “I don’t take you for any ... “ Barney let his voice fade, unable to finish.

  “This is an old man’s hand!” the voice from behind the light growled. “How stupid do you think I am? You know, now that I think about it, the newspapers never did specify whose grave had been disturbed at the cemetery. I should have thought to check, but Barney ... Barney!” He clicked his tongue several times. “I thought I could count on you.”

  “That is it! That’s Caroline Myers’s hand,” Barney wailed, even though he knew he’d been caught in his lie.

  “Oh, really?” the voice said. The next sound Barney heard was almost too faint to detect, but he knew what it was; the man had snapped his fingers as a signal. Before he could make a sound or turn to defend himself, he was grabbed from behind again. His arms were pinned painfully to his sides as the man holding him squeezed hard. Pinpricks of light shot across Barney’s vision.

  “What do you make of this?” the voice asked. Suddenly the flashlight beam was blocked by something crooked and black. Leaves on the forest floor crinkled underfoot as the man holding the light moved closer. Barney strained his eyes to see who this was, but all he saw was a darker than night silhouette.

  “I don’t want to cause any trouble for our friend here,” the man holding Barney said, even as he gave Barney’s chest a tighter squeeze, “but I’d have to say that sure as shit looks like an old man’s hand to me.”

  “You don’t ... understand,” Barney said, gasping desperately to inhale as the arms clamped tighter. “She’s been ... dead over ... a year. Corpses shrivel up like that. Honest!”

  “Why, why, why would you do something like this to me?” the voice said, lowering with intensity. “I thought we had ourselves a deal!”

  “You’re the one ... wh-who changed it,” Barney stammered, barely able to talk above his burning panic.

  “Apparently not before you changed your end of it, though,” the voice said.

  “All right! All right!” Barney wailed. The arms holding him squeezed even tighter, compressing his lungs. Barney felt his feet lift up off the ground, and he began to kick futilely as he gasped, “Yeah ... I ... admit it ... but when you ... asked me to —”

  “I didn’t ask you, Barney. I told you to get me Caroline Myers’s left hand!”

  “I’m — sorry,” Barney said. Tears flooded his eyes and began to run down his cheeks. “I — truly — am!”

  He could hear his heartbeat growing steadily louder in his ears as the arms around him got tighter and tighter. The pressure built until his eyes felt as though they were going to explode out of his head.

  “Why couldn’t I count on you for something as simple as that?” the voice asked with a feigned tone of hurt feelings. “I figured, you being the cemetery caretaker, it wouldn’t be all that difficult.”

  “I — couldn’t — couldn’t — do — it,” Barney said. Glowing spirals of light were exploding on the insides of his eyes. A burning gulp of air wedged in his throat before each word. “Not — to — a — little — girl!”

  “I’m really sorry about this, Barney,” the voice said. The man’s arms reached toward him out of the ball of light, but it wasn’t his living fingers that brushed against Barney’s cheek, smearing his tears. Barney saw to his horror that it was the hoary fingernails and cold, dead flesh of a man who had been buried upwards of thirty years that was stroking up one side of his face and down the other.

  “And if I can ‘t count on you to do what I tell you,” the man purred as he probed at Barney’s mouth with the dead man’s fingers
, “I know I could never trust you to keep from going to the cops.”

  “I — wouldn’t,” Barney managed to say, but that was all. No matter how much he wanted to draw in a deep breath, he didn’t want to open his mouth with this rotting, dead hand pressing hard against his lips. Barney’s face was infused with blood, and the hammering sound in his ears got louder and louder until it was all he could hear. The dead fingers pushed past his lips, between his teeth, as they were forced down his throat. Barney’s chest hitched painfully as he gagged, trying to expel the rotten flesh, but it was being pushed down with a steady, unyielding pressure. A rank, sickening taste filled his mouth.

  When the man behind the light spoke again, his voice was no more than a distant whisper that seemed to come from the end of a long, long, infinitely long tunnel. His words made almost no sense as Barney’s mind rebelled at the thought of what was happening.

  “I promise I’ll bury you here in the woods,” the man said as he jammed the dead hand as far as he could into Barney’s mouth. “And from now on, I’ve learned my lesson; if I want something done right, I’m just going to have to do it myself.”

  Barney’s mind formed words, but there was no way they could make it out of his mouth. He wanted to cry out, to plead for his life, to beg for mercy, to promise that he’d do it again and do it right this time; he’d get Caroline Myers’s left hand — anything! anything! — if the man would just let him live!

  But the decayed flesh filled his mouth and throat. The darkness of the surrounding woods was gradually replaced by a deeper darkness, a darkness that reached in from all around him and wrapped around his mind like black velvet gloves as it squeezed and squeezed. His stomach revolted as the rotting taste filled his mouth. When the hot vomit tried to surge out, the dead hand pushed it back. The pressure squeezing Barney’s chest intensified until it was a blazing iron band, pressing tighter and tighter. The last thing Barney Fraser ever heard was a loud pop that crazily reminded him of when, as a boy, he had been climbing a tree and the branch he had been standing on had suddenly given way. It was different this time, though, because Barney never knew it when he hit the ground.