Graveminder

Chapter 47

THE WALK TO THE FUNERAL HOME WAS AT A SLOWER PACE THAN THEIR race to find Troy, but not by much. The pressure to get Troy to the land of the dead drove Rebekkah. She wasn’t sure what it was that was holding Troy to her, how it was that he moved so carefully a few inches above the ground, but she was certain that it wouldn’t last forever.

Rebekkah sped up. “We need to hurry, Byron.”

Byron muttered something she couldn’t hear. They walked through the town, people ignoring them on their return much as they had ignored them during their search. At the door of the funeral home, Byron went in first, making sure that no one was waiting to obstruct their progress.

Troy glided into the building and down the stairs with Rebekkah.

“Almost,” she whispered. “Close.”

The words were spoken as much for herself as for Byron; she felt a trickle of fear that they wouldn’t reach their destination, that Troy’s cooperation would end, that the gate would be too far. Byron was there, though; he opened the door to the storage room and then he slid open the cabinet that hid the tunnel.

The expression on his face was strained as he took Rebekkah’s other hand. “Don’t let go. No matter what.”

“I know.” She felt the breath of the dead against her face, heard their whispering voices welcoming her home, and wished that it didn’t feel so true.

“Bek?” Byron stepped in front of her. “Do not let go of my hand this time.”

She nodded and whispered, “Or his.”

“Honestly? I’d rather you let go of his than mine. He’s here now, but you ...” Byron’s words were swept away in a scream of wind.

“He won’t be trapped in the tunnel,” Rebekkah told the whispering dead. “I won’t let go of him.” She looked at Byron. “If I let go of Troy, he’ll be trapped like the others in the tunnel.”

Byron winced. “Don’t let go of either of us then.”

Rebecca nodded. She held tightly to both Troy and Byron as she walked through the tunnel. The dead man didn’t speak, didn’t seem to react to anything around them. Byron led them forward, and the tunnel breathed around them.

“Are you okay?” Byron asked.

She wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or to Troy. It didn’t matter: in that tunnel, in that moment, she was the only one who could answer. “We are.”

The sense of rightness filled her to bursting as they walked. This was what she was meant to do; it was what she needed to do in order to fill her place in the order of things. After years of feeling like every city, every man, every job was wrong, she knew that this was absolutely right. It wasn’t that San Diego or the ad agency or Lexington or the tech writing job had been wrong. They just weren’t the fit she was looking for. Here, with Byron, in Claysville, escorting the dead to Charles: that was right. Absently, she wondered if finding one’s place in the world always felt like this, as if an audible click could be heard.

As they approached the tunnel’s end, she stopped and took a deep breath. So far she’d been trusting instinct, but instinct began to war with desire as they neared the land of the dead. It felt like she was answering a siren’s song, trying to still her feet as she was urged forward.

Would it still be so tempting if I were dead?

Rebekkah pushed those thoughts away and looked at Troy. “Come on.”

For the first time since she’d seen Troy in the street, the person she remembered was looking back at her. He didn’t speak, but he wasn’t trying to attack her either. Instead, he looked hopeful.

“It’ll be okay now,” she assured him.

She felt Byron’s hand squeeze hers tighter as they stepped into the land of the dead, together this time, and bringing the Hungry Dead with them.

“We’re here,” Byron said. “Now—”

Troy wrapped his arms around Rebekkah in a sudden hug. He seemed to be shaking as he held on to her. Byron reached out, but Rebekkah shook her head. It wasn’t frightening.

“Thank you.” Troy’s voice was rough, but she wasn’t sure if it was from disuse or tears.

“It’s what I do: I bring the dead home.”

“I wasn’t sure where I was. I died , Bek.” His eyes were wide as he realized what he’d said. He looked from her to Byron and back at her. “I’m dead.”

“You are,” she said gently. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know why.” His brow furrowed. “I wasn’t, and then I was, and then I wasn’t either . I needed to find”—he sank to his knees—“you, but I couldn’t.”

“You did, though,” Rebekkah told him. “You found me, and I brought you here. It’s okay.”

“But before ...” Troy’s eyes widened. “There was a girl. She’s small. I tried to hurt her. After. Not before. She’s not alive either. The girl I tried to hurt ... I think I hurt her. Am I dreaming? Tell me I’m asleep. Is Amity okay?”

“She’ll be fine.” Rebekkah brushed his curls back. “You’re not asleep.”

“I’m dead.” Troy backed away from Rebekkah, but she still held tight to his hand.

“I killed her,” he said. “I think I killed a girl. I didn’t want to, but I was so hungry. They wouldn’t let me leave. They had me trapped ... Poison all around the ground. It burned to touch. I wanted to disappear. Like smoke ... drift away. I could do that, but they wouldn’t let me.”

“ Who wouldn’t let you?” Rebekkah squeezed his hand.

Troy furrowed his brow. “She hates you ... the you that you were ... or are. Are you two people? She wanted what you had, and wanted you not-alive so she could take it, but you aren’t dead.”

He reached out to cover Rebekkah’s mouth, so her breath was against his palm. “You aren’t dead, but she killed you.” Troy looked increasingly horrified as he spoke, as if speaking brought him clarity, and clarity brought him horror. “Ms. Barrow wanted me to kill the grave woman. You . That’s why she let me out. Not first ... she let the girl out first to kill ... the first grave woman. Her mother.”

Beside her, Byron put a hand on Rebekkah’s lower back, steadying her. She shook her head. The thoughts, the words Troy spoke, made an ugly sort of sense, but they couldn’t be true. Cissy? Cissy did this ? The thought made Rebekkah feel sick in a way that she couldn’t quite verbalize. Cissy killed him. Made him kill Daisha ... who killed...

Rebekkah grabbed Troy’s other hand, so she was now holding both of his hands. “Are you sure? My aunt? Cecilia Barrow did this? Are you positive?”

Sadly, Troy nodded. “She kept me there. I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t think, but I knew where I needed to go. I needed to go home ... find you ... but not-you. The woman who could make it better. There was a different you. You aren’t two yous, though, are you? You’re real?” He pulled one hand from her grasp and stroked her face. “You are, and you saved me, but you aren’t the one I was to find—except you are. I don’t understand.”

“I do.” Rebekkah released his other hand. “You were looking for my grandmother, but she’s gone and I’m ... just like her.”

He looked stricken. “Did I—”

“No.” Rebekkah grabbed his arm as he started to step away from her. “Not you.”

“I killed a girl, Bek.” He looked heartsick. “I ... I didn’t think I could ever ... what kind of man am I?”

“One who was used.” Byron’s expression held the anger that Rebekkah couldn’t let herself feel yet.

Cissy caused Maylene’s death.

“Troy.” Rebekkah pulled his attention to her and then asked, “Can you tell me anything else about Cissy?”

“She ... they ... Twins ...” Troy’s eyes widened. He shook his head and pulled away. “I need to go.”

“Wait.” Rebekkah grabbed for his wrist, but he dodged away.

The moment she wasn’t touching him, he vanished. She was left standing outside the tunnel with Byron.

“What happened?” she asked.

“We cannot see our own dead.” Byron looked at her. “I’m guessing that means more than just those we call family.”

“So everyone I bring here will vanish?” Rebekkah frowned. The city loomed just steps away, but she wasn’t sure whether to walk toward it or go back home. Staying here meant that she could lose herself in the sensory excess that the land of the dead offered. Hiding. Going back meant she needed to find Daisha—and Cissy.

Cissy killed him.

Rebekkah opened her mouth to ask Byron what he thought, but as she did so, he said, “Alicia.”

“Where?” Rebekkah looked around. Two men approached, but neither looked like an Alicia. One was in ripped jeans and a faded black concert tee. Rebekkah looked behind her. There was no one there either.

“That would be good,” Byron said. “He needs a hand ... He’s a bartender by trade, though, not a ...”

“Byron?” Rebekkah whispered. “Who are you talking to?”

“Sorry, this is—what do you mean? Of course she can ...” Byron’s expression was suddenly stricken. “Bek? Who do you see near me?”

“Two men I don’t know. They aren’t speaking, though. You’re talking, and ...”

“You don’t see a woman?” Byron pointed to an empty spot and asked, “You can’t see her?”

Rebekkah shook her head slowly. “No.”

BYRON LOOKED AT ALICIA.

“No,” Alicia echoed. She stood, hip cocked and chin tilted.

“Neither of you can see each other.” He looked at each of the two women again and then he gestured at the men who’d come with Alicia. “Can you see them?”

Both Rebekkah and Alicia said, “Yes.”

“And they see you?” he clarified.

“Boys?” Alicia asked.

“She’s over there, Lish. Pretty thing,” one of them said.

The other man nodded. “No weapons on her, though. Foolish.”

Byron paused. “So ... neither of you sees the other. They”—he pointed at Alicia’s companions—“see both of you. You’re not known to her, so you’re ...” He looked from one woman to the other. He thought about the list of names. Was there an Alicia?

“You were a Graveminder,” Byron said.

Alicia’s shoulders arched back. “I am a Graveminder. I’m dead, but I still am what I am.”

“She’s ... why is she still here, Byron?” Rebekkah grabbed his arm. “Ask her. Does that mean that Maylene—”

“Why are you here?” he asked.

A flicker of pain crossed Alicia’s face. “No reason to move on, and plenty to stay. It’s a choice, Undertaker. I made this one. Tell her Maylene’s moved on. Your dad has, too.” She stepped up until she was uncomfortably close, but she didn’t touch him. “If you want to spend a quiet evening sometime, I’ll tell you all about it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“What?” Rebekkah prompted. “Keep what in mind?”

“Alicia was explaining that she’s here by choice. Maylene and Dad have moved on, but Alicia chose to stay,” Byron said.

“Not telling her about my offer?” Alicia’s smile was wicked. “Tsk. Tsk.”

“I’m not in the mood for games,” Byron cautioned her. “Is Troy, the one who came here with us, safe?”

“Safe as any are here.” The man in ripped jeans looked behind him. “The man you brought says to tell you he’s sorry he killed that girl, and that you need to go do something about Cissy.” He paused. “Who’s Cissy?”

Rebekkah let out a shaky breath. “Please tell him we’ll fix it.”

The second of Alicia’s companions looked over his shoulder. “She says to tell you they’ll fix it.”

Alicia laid her hand against Byron’s chest. “I’ll look after the bartender.”

“I don’t have anything for you,” Byron said. “The whole Hungry Dead business—”

“Next time. Your credit’s good for a little while. Get your friend here set up with a few weapons, too, okay?” Alicia curled her hand so that her fingernails pressed into his shirt. “Don’t linger here today.”

“Why?”

Alicia ignored his question and said, “Boys?”

The men both turned to follow her. Byron suspected that Troy did, too, but he couldn’t see the dead bartender. They walked away, and Byron was left deciding how much he trusted Alicia after all. She had taken Troy away, but he couldn’t think of any good reason for a Graveminder to be lingering in this place if she could move on. Alicia had an agenda, and she seemed to be the source for weapons in the land of the dead.

Was she behind Bek’s getting shot?

He stared after Alicia as she walked down the gray street. She might be a member of Rebekkah’s family, but being family didn’t mean that she was trustworthy. Alicia Barrow had secrets.

“B?” Rebekkah prompted.

“She said we need to go back now.”

Rebekkah laced her fingers with his. “Do you trust her?”

“For now.” He nodded, and together he and Rebekkah stepped back into the tunnel.

The walk back through the tunnel was a blink this time. They’d no more than stepped inside when they were back at Montgomery and Sons. Byron replaced the torch on the wall, and together they stepped back into the land of the living.

“Are you okay?” Byron asked.

“I think I’d really like for us to be able to stop asking that of each other.” Rebekkah watched him close the cabinet.

“After we get things set back to normal, I promise to stop asking.” He glanced at her before he walked to the door.

“Deal.” She followed him out into the hall and pulled the door closed behind her. Being the Graveminder would become less exhausting—and bizarre. It had to. Maylene had lived a fairly calm life; at least it had seemed that way. When Rebekkah had lived in her house, her grandmother’s restrictions were unusually stringent, but most of the time life was pretty calm. Maylene usually didn’t fuss too much about curfew, but when she did, she was inflexible.

“Once they are put to rest, the Graveminder keeps the dead from waking, but with Daisha and Troy, Maylene couldn’t because ...”

“Because Cissy hid their bodies,” Byron finished.

It all made a horrible sort of sense now: if they’d been buried, Maylene would’ve tended their graves, and they’d have rested. If they’d been able to come to the Graveminder when they awakened, they wouldn’t have become feral. Someone stopped me : that’s what Daisha had said. She stopped me , Troy had echoed. Cissy had stopped them. She’d intended for them to become more dangerous before they came to seek out the Graveminder.

She used the dead to murder Maylene.

They were partway up the stairs when Rebekkah announced, “I want to see if we can talk to Daisha. Troy couldn’t tell us much, and I need to know how many people Cissy’s killed, and where they are, and who all knows, and I want to know why. ”

Byron was silent as they went upstairs and exited the building. As they stood at the side of the Triumph, he said, “ Daisha murdered Maylene.”

“No,” she corrected. “Cissy used the dead as weapons. They were no more than tools to her. My dead, mine to protect, and my grandmother ... Cissy killed them.”

His expression revealed nothing. “So you’re excusing Daisha?”

Rebekkah paused. Am I? Daisha and Troy had both killed people; they’d injured people; they’d done so in ways that were both painful and grotesque. Do I forgive that? She wanted to. In some ways, she had: she’d hugged Troy and consoled him. Her reaction wasn’t what she would’ve expected a week ago. My dead. The words she’d said were the truth of it, though; these were her dead. They were her responsibility. Being the Graveminder had tempered her— normal —responses; it hadn’t negated them, merely blunted them.

“No.” She reached out for Byron’s hand. “I took Troy where he needed to go. I stopped him. I’ll stop Daisha and as many of them as Cissy has made. I’m going to stop her, too. No matter what it takes. If that’s too cruel or—”

“It’s not,” he interrupted with more than a little edge to his voice. “Let’s be clear, though: are you telling me you’re willing to kill Cissy?”

“Just hand me a gun.” She picked up her helmet, put it on, and waited for him to climb onto the bike.

“Shooting someone over here isn’t like it is in Charlie’s world, Bek. They don’t get back up.” Byron slung his leg over the bike and put his helmet on. “If you do this—”

“If I don’t, Cissy is going to keep hurting people. She murdered Maylene.” Rebekkah felt a rage like she’d never known before. “She used the dead—my dead , Maylene’s dead—to kill. If we need to, we’ll take Cissy to Charles’ world. If there’s another answer, we try that, but we stop this.”

Silently, she straddled the bike and wrapped her arms around him.

The bike roared to life, and Byron said nothing more. It wasn’t like the last ride where he started out slow; this time he went through the gears, accelerating from stop to blur in what felt like a couple of heartbeats.