Graveminder

Chapter 45

AFTER THEY LEFT THE MAYOR’S OFFICE, THEY DROVE IN SILENCE FOR SEVeral minutes before Rebekkah smacked her hand on the dash. “Pull over.”

“Here?”

“Now. Please.” She glanced his way. Her eyes weren’t quite silvered, but a ring of unearthly color surrounded her irises.

Byron parked the car, grabbed a gun and other supplies from the glove box, and then got out to join Rebekkah. He shoved the derringer in one pocket and a syringe in the other.

She walked with a purposeful stride; her gaze darted around. They walked for several blocks—toward her house—when Rebekkah stopped and drew a deep breath.

“She’s come to me,” she whispered in that hollowed-out voice.

Byron wanted to look at her, to see her as she became something not of this world, but keeping her safe was his first priority. Keeping alert for any signs of Daisha’s presence, he slipped his hand inside his open jacket and unfastened the catch on his holster. His other hand was in his pocket holding a derringer.

They stopped at the edge of Rebekkah’s yard. Daisha stood on the porch.

Byron didn’t draw the gun in his shoulder holster, but his hand tensed on the derringer in his jacket pocket.

Could I kill her? What are the rules here?

“You’re dead.” Rebekkah extended her hand as if she’d call Daisha to her. “You came back ... and ...”

Daisha tensed, but she didn’t flee. “I know I’m dead, but I’m not the only one.”

“Daisha? That’s your name, right?”

The dead girl nodded warily.

“I need you to listen to me.” Rebekkah eased closer, not yet at the steps to the porch, but no longer at the edge of the yard. “You need to let me—”

“No, I don’t. Whatever it is, I don’t.” Daisha held out her hand as if to ward off Rebekkah.

Byron couldn’t decide whether it was better to pull out his weapons or wait. If he drew the gun, it would probably spook Daisha, but he wasn’t sure how fast the dead girl was—or if he was quick enough to get to the gun before she was able to attack.

“I wanted to warn you,” the girl murmured.

“Warn me?” Rebekkah asked in gentle voice. “About you?”

“No. Not me.”

“You killed my grandmother.” Rebekkah’s voice didn’t waver. “Here. You killed her here in my home.”

“It wasn’t on purpose. When we wake, we come to the Graveminder. I don’t know why. Maybe you do ... but you shine .” Daisha walked to the edge of the porch. “You’re filled with brightness, glowing inside, and I ...” Daisha shook her head. “I had to go to her.”

“And now?” Rebekkah stepped onto the first step.

Daisha smiled. “Now I don’t have to see you. I don’t need to come to your door, not ever again. I can leave.”

Byron was near enough to help, but every instinct he wanted to ignore told him that Rebekkah had to touch the dead girl. “Then why are you here?” he asked, drawing Daisha’s attention to him. “If you don’t need to come, why did you?”

It took visible effort for Daisha to look away from Rebekkah and focus on him. She did, though, and then she said, “I’m not sure who he is, but someone else ... like me. He’s going to find you.”

Rebekkah didn’t back away. “You can’t stay in this world. It’s not where you belong.”

“I didn’t ask to be dead.” Daisha frowned like she was trying to remember something. She bit down on her lip. Her hand tightened atop the porch railing.

“Daisha?” Rebekkah drew the girl’s attention back to her. “Can I offer you a meal? Drink? That’s what you need, isn’t it?”

At that, Daisha laughed. “No, not from you. I won’t drink or eat of you ... no.”

Rebekkah put a hand on Daisha’s hand. “I meant regular food, not—”

“Only one chance for that,” Daisha whispered. “I came. I ate. I drank. I listened. She wanted me to ... but I couldn’t get here. Before . Before here I couldn’t get here. I felt it, though. I felt her calling me home.”

“Maylene?”

Daisha nodded. “Like needing air, but I couldn’t ... Someone stopped me.”

Byron felt cold chills come over him. “When you ... woke up, someone stopped you from coming here?”

“I wanted to. I wanted to find her.” Daisha sounded like a lost child. “I couldn’t come.”

“But you did,” Byron reminded. “Who stopped you?”

“I did come,” Daisha agreed. “But I was too hungry then. It was too late.”

“Who stopped you?” Byron repeated.

A woman screamed somewhere nearby, and at the sound, Daisha jerked her hand away from Rebekkah.

“He’s here.” Daisha’s eyes grew wide. She took several steps backward.

“Who?” Hand outstretched, Rebekkah stepped toward the dead girl. “Daisha, please!”

But Daisha’s form wavered, and then she was gone as if she’d never been there.

As soon as Daisha had vanished, Byron and Rebekkah started toward the area from where the scream had seemed to come. They were already on their way when they heard a second scream, shriller than the first, and Byron grabbed Rebekkah’s hand, and they began to run faster.

Whatever Rebekkah had expected to see, this wasn’t it. In a narrow alley behind the local thrift shop, there was a clear presence of the Hungry Dead in the street—hanging in the air around a bleeding Amity Blue.

“Amity?” Byron pulled her into his arms. “What happened?”

She held her right arm crossways against her chest so that her hand was against her collarbone. Her black T-shirt was wet and clinging to her. Blood.

Amity shook almost violently. “In my bag.”

“Got it.” Rebekkah tore open Amity’s bag and upended it. Tiny bottles of alcohol, a water gun, several small plastic bottles of water, a stun gun, and a notebook went clattering onto the sidewalk.

“Holy Water,” Amity gasped. “I don’t want to become like that.”

“You won’t. It’s not conta—”

“Please?” Amity interrupted.

Byron was already twisting a cap off one of the plastic bottles. “Got it.”

He poured the water over the wound. It ran off onto the sidewalk, pinkish tinged, catching a cigarette butt and a leaf.

“Hurry.” Rebekkah glanced at Byron, and then at the crowd of people coming out to watch them. She couldn’t focus on them. Her body felt like it was being pulled to move.

A woman whose name Rebekkah couldn’t remember pushed past the five or six people who were trying to see what had happened. “We called for help. I heard a scream, but Roger thought it was the TV. What do you need me to do?”

“Can you keep everyone back?” When the woman nodded, Byron turned his attention back to Amity. “Did you see ... anything?”

“Troy.” Amity gave them a wry smile. “He wasn’t right. I know that. I saw him before ... and I wrote notes to myself. Sometimes notes help me remember things. Usually.”

With a frown, Amity reached into her jacket pocket. In her hand she clutched a small black notebook. “Here. This is what I know.”

Byron flipped it open. The pages were filled with a scrawl that looked alternately frantic and calm. Words arched across pages as if they’d been slashed onto the paper, and around them tight script was woven into the empty spaces. Some of the writing appeared to be in some sort of code.

“The end. I saw him earlier, and I wrote it down.” Amity stared at Byron as he turned the pages. When he reached the very last page, he turned the notebook toward Amity and Rebekkah.

Silently Rebekkah read the words Amity had written in heavy block print: “TROY. IS. DEAD. TELL BEK.” The words were underlined several times.

The night I saw him. Rebekkah felt chilled. He was trying to bite me.

“Amity?” Byron said. “Talk to me.”

Amity still had her head tucked between her upraised knees. Her voice was muffled. “He bit me. Earlier I saw him, and I ran. Maylene said to tell you if anything weird ever happened and she’s gone.” Amity turned her head to the side and looked directly at Rebekkah. “What does it mean? Is he a vampire?”

“No. It just means I need to stop him from hurting anyone,” Rebekkah said. “I will, Amity. I promise.”

“And me? Will I get ... sick?” Amity didn’t look away. “I feel queasy just trying to force myself to keep it in my head ... or maybe because I’m missing a chunk of skin.”

“Or both.” Rebekkah put her hand on the side of Amity’s head and smoothed back the bartender’s hair. “Some things are easier to let yourself forget.”

“I don’t like forgetting. It’s why I keep the journal.” Amity laughed, but it sounded more like a sob.

Byron tucked Amity’s journal in his pocket. “Here comes Chris.”

The sheriff pulled up, a team of EMTs right behind him. Christopher got out of his car and stepped onto the sidewalk.

“What happened?”

Byron didn’t hesitate. “A dog or something got her. We heard her scream, and we found her like this.”

“Joe?” the sheriff yelled. “Another damn dog bite.”

A young EMT took over, and Christopher leveled a glare at Rebekkah and Byron. “I’m hoping this will end soon.”

“Me, too,” Rebekkah told him.

Byron slipped his arm around her. “It will. I’m sure of it.”

The comfort of his assurance was undercut by the way Amity watched them. She didn’t call out, didn’t ask Byron to go with her, but Rebekkah could see that she wanted to do just that.

“Why don’t you go with Amity,” Rebekkah suggested.

Byron gave her a look that conveyed exactly how foolish he thought that idea was. “Chris has it under control.”

The sheriff nodded, and Byron went over to Amity and murmured something Rebekkah couldn’t hear—and wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear.

She rubbed her eyes and looked into the street. She could see a smoky trail winding out in front of her. She took a step toward it.

Byron came up behind her.

“I need to follow,” she whispered.