Always Dead (Welcome To Dead House Book 2) Page 4

  “Joey? Is that you? Don’t be a jerk.”

  I was only a few inches from the shower curtain now. How many horror movies had I watched that started like this? But I was a paranormal investigator. It’s my job to look, to debunk, to search out the answer. I had to see for myself who was in here.

  My fingers shook as I cautiously reached for the fabric. Holding my breath, I slung the curtain back.

  There was no one there. The shower was empty, but the faucet dripped and the steam rolled around me as if to testify to the truth. I wasn’t alone here. I quickly screwed the faucets off completely. The spirit had left the water dripping. I drew back and away from the shower. As my brain attempted to ponder the possibilities, the bathroom door behind me slammed shut with a vengeance.

  A string of expletives flew out of my mouth as I clutched my heart and I immediately opened the door. I was pissed off now. Running into the hallway, I spun around looking for who had been in that shower.

  “Joey? Are you here?”

  The doorbell rang, and as there was no response, I jetted to the front door, hoping my unexpected visitor wasn’t my neighbor. Or a drenched spirit with very long black hair. It sure wouldn’t be Chloe unless she lost her key, which wouldn’t be the first time. With one quick glance over my shoulder, I opened the door.

  I was surprised to find Kevin on my porch.

  “Kevin? What are you doing here? Did Linda call you again?”

  Talk about a déjà vu moment.

  The deputy smiled politely and cleared his throat. “No. May I come inside? Before Linda does show up? I’d like to talk to you privately if you have a few minutes.” Since he had a folder in his hand, I assumed whatever was in it was what he wanted to talk about. Call me curious. Who was I to close the door on a mystery? Or Deputy Kevin Patrick.

  “Sure,” I said as I opened the door and welcomed him inside. He thoughtfully wiped his shoes on my doormat, and I invited him to join me in the kitchen. He’d been here before, but his last visit had been a while. “Want something to drink? Coffee maybe? I’ve got tea if you prefer that.”

  “No, thanks. I’m good.” Kevin sat at the kitchen table and put the folder in front of him. I took the seat across from him. It had been a while since we chatted, and I suddenly realized I was happy to see him. Probably too happy.

  “What do you have there? Another cold case?” It was a guess but apparently a good one. Kevin’s sulky bedroom eyes met mine, but his voice was deep and serious. He casually opened the folder and spun it around to show me the photo on top.

  “Yes, it’s another cold case, and I’m hoping you’ll help me with it. Meet Aaron Knight.” He slid the photo out of the folder and pushed it across the table. A sad feeling came over me as I stared at the young face that looked back at me from the faded black and white photo. I carefully touched the edge of the picture with my fingers. It made me feel sorrowful. That was the word.

  I had so many questions, and I wasn’t sure which one to ask first.

  “He’s so young,” I whispered as I picked up the picture and studied it. “How did he die?”

  Kevin studied the form in the folder. “Asphyxiation. He was twenty-five when he died and a student at a community college in the next county. He died in 1997.”

  That was heartbreaking to hear. I didn’t know why Kevin was showing me this. He didn’t believe in psychics and such, not really. Did he think I pulled Annie’s killer’s name out of the air?

  “That’s tragic. Did he die here? Is that why you’re here?” I bit my lip as I stared at the young man’s face. He had an angular jawline, and his eyes were dark and a bit large for his narrow face. His tousled hair was carefully styled with too much gel, but then again, that had been the style in the late 90s. Poor Aaron Knight. To die so young.

  “Aaron died on the road behind this house. He was found in his car with a scarf around his neck, murdered and left for dead. I need to find his killer. My boss, Sheriff Jarvis, he’s counting on me to find the truth. I’d like you to help me.”

  I slid the picture back to Kevin and swallowed the lump in my throat. I knew this face. I’d seen it in my dream. More than once too. “You’re welcome to search the premises if you think you’ll find anything. I’ll help however I can and I’m sure Chloe wouldn’t mind either.”

  He put his hat on the table. “I’d like your help. Your unique help.”

  “My unique help? What exactly are you asking me?"

  To my surprise, Deputy Kevin reached across the table and briefly tapped my hand. It wasn't quite a squeeze and not anything that would technically be described as flirtatious, but it surprised me.

  “I know all about you, Tamara Garvey.”

  “You do?” I asked breathlessly.

  “Probably more than you want me to know. I'm here to ask you to use your skills as a paranormal investigator to help me find Aaron’s killer. You were a paranormal investigator, correct?”

  "Yes. That's correct.” I couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by saying he knew all about me. Was he saying he knew I used to be a burlesque dancer? If he thought I was going to be ashamed or embarrassed, he had another think coming. He closed the folder and leaned back in the chair, studying me as if I were a suspect and this was an interrogation.

  Just hear him out, and don't be so judgmental, I told myself. Maybe he was telling the truth and he just wants your help. I decided to take my own advice for once.

  "What exactly did you have in mind?"

  "I want you to try to make contact with Aaron. Of course, I can't ask you to do that on an official level because...well...you know why. But as a friend, I'm asking you to do this for Aaron. For this young man."

  "Of course, I'll help Aaron. Of course, I want to know who killed him. That's the kind of person I am. But I am not a psychic. I am an investigator, and there is a huge difference between the two. Sometimes I get lucky and I can talk to the dead through my equipment. Tell you what, I'll try to reach out to this guy, and if I hear anything, I'll let you know. But it's my turn to ask you a question."

  The handsome deputy leaned forward and propped his chin on his folded hands. "Ask away. I'm an open book, Tamara."

  "Why? Why is this case so important to your sheriff? The guy’s been dead for over fifteen years. I'm just curious as to why."

  "Because Sheriff Jarvis is dying. The treatments aren’t helping at all. He asked me to do this for him, and he doesn’t have long. These cases mean a lot to him, and he doesn't want to leave this world knowing he has no answers for the families. That's why in a nutshell.” The deputy rose from his table. “I’ll leave you this folder. That’s your copy.”

  "Oh, sorry. I hate to hear that about anyone. I'm really...I'll do what I can, Kevin."

  "I know you will. You're a good person. I believe that. God knows we’ve exhausted all our leads. I’ve been through that folder backward and forward. I don’t want to give too much away, but let’s just say Aaron was no choir boy. Still, he deserves justice.”

  I wondered if I should tell him I was working on another book, and this felt similar to the story I was writing, and to my dreams. I might as well come clean. I’d rather do it now than later. All I needed was for a murder case to come back and bite me in the ass.

  "I feel like I need to tell you this. I've been writing about Aaron already. Yes, it’s true. I didn’t know his name, but I think this is the guy I've been dreaming about. He was choking and had such bad pain in his neck. I don’t think he was alone. He was looking for someone. That’s what I felt in the dream. I just wanted you to know."

  Kevin shook his head and rubbed his temples before letting out a deep sigh. "I can't stop you from writing about Aaron, but I would ask you to protect his name and identity. If you are tuning into that other world, it has to be a good thing. Maybe Aaron knows we're trying to figure it out, and he's trying to help us." He smiled as we walked to the door. "Now I sound like a crazy person. I’m not sure Sheriff Jarvis would approve of me bringing
you in on the conversation, but it is what it is. Keep me posted, please. I'll continue to work the leads I have, which are, sadly, very few. Thanks, Tamara." The deputy stepped out on the porch, and I walked out with him.

  "You're welcome. I hope I can help. When this is over, you owe me a beer."

  He paused at his vehicle and opened the door. He smiled sadly at me. "When this is over, I'll probably owe you more than that. Later."

  With a weird mixture of sadness and excitement, I watched him drive away.

  5

  Mrs. Loper

  The rain continued to fall as it had for days. I lost track of how many. The monotony of life saddened me. That was not accurate. Sad was not strong enough of a word to describe my emotions as I continued to study the rain. Sheets of water slid down the windows whereas before fat droplets pelted the glass.

  How much rain could the heavens hold? Was that all one could expect to find in heaven, endless buckets of water? No matter, I would never walk through those pearly gates. I would spend my eternal existence somewhere else. I was sure of it. That did not frighten me. I felt no fear anymore.

  Only this gray sadness.

  From my vantage point on the second floor of the plantation, I could see a great deal of the property, but the rain obscured the view. I could not observe the road at all.

  Mr. Loper would return soon or so he had promised before he left yesterday. Every time he left, I always felt as if he would never return.

  Maybe for our daughters, he would return. He loved Betsy and Annabel with all his might. He would come back with medicines, a cure of some sort, or maybe even the doctor. It had been silly to leave. It was only a fever. Children recovered from fevers all the time and we had strong girls.

  Strong like me.

  Strong like my sister too. And our mother. I chewed my fingernail as I continued to stare into the wall of water. One of the girls was crying, but I did not comfort her. I was never very good at comforting. That had been my sister’s talent. She comforted, and I did other things. Like squeezed birds until they died. I did not trust myself to handle my children, for Mr. Loper loved them very much, and above all else, I wanted and desired my husband’s love.

  I had killed for it, hadn’t I? No, I would not handle the children.

  That was Anita’s job, not mine. Besides, what if they made me sick too? I could not risk such a thing for that would further separate me from Mr. Loper. I pondered it daily. How would I do it? To take one’s life with poison was easy. If I were to die by my own hand, I would do so much more dramatically. My sin demanded it.

  Maybe I should die while he was gone. His harsh words rang in my ears. It had suddenly blown up between us. He made his raw confession and I could barely believe what he said.

  “I know what you’ve done, Alice. Or should I call you Lavinia? I have always known, since almost the beginning, but for your sister’s sake, I kept you as my wife. Now shut up and do not speak of it again.”

  Andrew had stabbed the table with a dinner fork, and I said nothing else. He continued to call me Mrs. Loper, as everyone knew me, and even in private, he called me Mrs. Loper. No more Alice.

  Betsy cried and called for me, but I did not go to the nursery.

  Most fevers were harmless, but I had heard that occasionally, sudden fevers snuffed out entire families. Sickness could strike an entire community, even those that did not live close together. The invisible could kill, and the invisible had no mercy.

  Our large and lovely mansion was quite separated from the smaller homes surrounding it, but there was always the risk of contamination. Which was why I insisted Anita stay with me and not leave. If she were to return home to her family and her little shack in the slave’s quarters, she would surely return with the plague.

  As I chewed my fingernail down to the quick, I imagined in my mind how I should die again. No, I wanted to live to see Andrew, didn’t I? I glanced over my shoulder and stared into the dingy mirror beside me. I saw not my own face but my sister, the true Alice. My own twin, dead, by my hand. Dead so I could steal her destiny. Had it been five years? Six?

  I should pay for my crimes!

  My hands began to shake as I recalled those heinous memories. I turned away from the rain-drenched landscape and covered my mouth with my hand for fear I would scream to the heavens and confess my heavy soul to whoever may hear it. Perhaps then I could beg for mercy, but to do so, to speak those things out loud would admit the thing I wanted most to keep secret. And I must do that. Even if it cost me my soul.

  Andrew knew. He had known a long time. He was lost to me. He no longer called me by my sister’s name. I was no longer his sweet Alice.

  We all have our secrets, don’t we, sister?

  Go away, Alice. You are not alive. I am Alice now!

  I kept my eyes closed, but I waved at the space beside me as if the dead woman were truly there.

  As quietly as any mouse, Anita had stepped into the room. She was a thin, nervous woman with skin as dark as any I had ever seen. She had a feminine voice and a kind way about her that made me want to trust her even though I found it very difficult to do.

  Trusting people was a weakness, and one I could not afford even as my heart yearned for understanding.

  “Mrs. Loper, are you feeling all right, ma’am? Why don’t you come eat a bite or two? Just a bite of something to keep your strength up. Please, Mrs. Loper. If you get sick, it will do no one any good. Those babies need you. Don’t you worry. Mr. Loper will return soon.”

  Anita always brought me comfort. Ever since my arrival here, she had taken me under her wing as if I were her own daughter. What a foolish thing to believe a slave would think of me as a daughter, but what did I know of mothers and daughters? Although I didn’t deserve such affection, I did not reject it either. It did not seem strange to me that she was black, and I was white or that I felt she loved me. It did not seem strange to me that she knew more about my husband than I did.

  I was a lost little angel, she told me quite often in the beginning, but the truth was quite different, and I think she knew that now. More like a lost little devil. Despite her error, I appreciated her cautious love and concern.

  “No, thank you. I must keep watch for Mr. Loper. He could return anytime. He should’ve already returned, Anita. I can’t understand why he’s been gone so long. Our daughters are very sick — they will make us all sick. I thought it was just a fever, but it is the plague, isn’t it? It is the plague! What shall we do?” My hands continued to shake, but then the sensation was no longer restricted to my hands and fingers. My entire body began to shake. My teeth began to chatter, and I was freezing. Freezing as if I had been standing inside the icehouse with the door shut. Only moments ago, I was warm, and now I was freezing.

  Had Death touched me and marked me for his own? Was I doomed to follow my youngest child into the grave? Many of the slave children had died this past winter, and I heard whispers that Anita’s children were sick too. For that I was sorry, but I could not allow her to leave me here. I needed her to comfort me and to watch my children. I needed someone to take care of us. I always needed that.

  I was a lost little angel, she said so herself.

  Yes, you always need someone, don’t you?

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her still—my sister Alice—and her voice was in my ears. How was it that she was here? I had left her far away in Boston. Far away from my new life, but here she was. I felt her before and imagined her aroma, but this...she grew strong in her anger.

  This was different. Somehow Alice had found a way to manifest in the midst of this plague. Oh, she would like me to die, wouldn’t she?

  “Are you coming down with the fever?” Anita’s cool hand touched my forehead and she immediately drew back. “Oh, my goodness, Mrs. Loper. We must get you to bed now. Come on, ma’am. Let’s get you into your bed. Don’t you worry about your babies. I will take care of them, and I will take care of all of you. You can trust Anita. You can always tr
ust Anita.” Her hand gently rubbed my back and I did indeed feel comforted, knowing I was not alone here in this empty palace with the vengeful ghost of my sister. The grand plantation had seemed like a palace when I first arrived with its many rooms and large windows. Now it was my prison.

  I missed the crowded streets of Boston. I missed home even though it had not been a loving place. I had never been lonely there.

  I never wanted children. I never wanted to be a mother, but as a wife, I had no choice in the matter. Bearing children was my responsibility. Bearing children was part of being a woman; that’s what Mr. Loper told me.

  I knew I should love my children, but I did not. Not as other mothers loved theirs. No doubt in my own way, I would come to love Betsy and Annabel. I did like that they appeared to be tiny representations of me. They both looked very much like me. Everyone who saw them commented on the likeness. I suppose in some ways, it was very sad for them as I was not a pretty woman. I came from a line of plain women. That’s how everyone described Alice and Lavinia.

  My daughters were only three and four years old. Our third child, another daughter, had died not long after her birth a few months ago. The baby only lived a few weeks. Her death had been harder on Mr. Loper than me. I felt a strange sense of relief. Of course, I was wise enough not to share that truth with anyone. Not even with Anita, although I suspected she knew my true feelings.

  I hoped I would never have more children, but such things appeared to be out of my control. Mr. Loper enjoyed his conjugal rights, and I understood the connection between childbirth and intimacy. Although, since his confession to me about knowing my true identity, he no longer shared a bed with me.

  That is it then. I have lost his love forever. Perhaps when the girls were older, I would love them more. If they lived that long. Maybe when they could help me sew new dresses and curl my hair, I would love them but they were a long way from that.