Graveminder

  Then Rebekkah went outside while Byron and Christopher sealed the two dead people into the body bags. These wouldn’t walk. At their wake, she would say the words, and then she would visit their graves over the next few months. Byron would handle the details of the living world, the wake and the burial, and when the bodies were in the earth, she would make sure that they stayed there.

  Like Maylene should’ve done for Daisha.

  If Daisha had been buried and tended to, she wouldn’t have woken up. Which means she wasn’t minded. Was there an accident? Why hadn’t someone reported it? Was she killed? There was a reason the dead girl awoke, a reason she wasn’t still resting where she should’ve been, and Rebekkah needed to figure that out.

  After I take care of Daisha. Or maybe as part of taking care of her.

  Rebekkah’s first duty was to the dead, and as she stood in the brown grass outside the trailer, she understood that the dead girl who’d killed and partially eaten the couple inside needed something she hadn’t been given: Rebekkah’s job was to give her the peace she’d been denied.

  Chapter 41

  A LICIA DIDN’T TAKE ANY OF THE BOYS WITH HER. BOYD BITCHED, BUT most days he acted like the older brother she’d never had, so his objections had stopped bothering her a few decades ago.

  The guards the Undertaker had shot were still lying on either side of the door, but a new pair stood on the next step down. She leveled a sawed-off shotgun at the first one. “Do we need to discuss my invitation?”

  Charlie’s personal guard, Ward, opened the door. “Don’t you get tired of shooting people, Alicia?”

  She tilted her head. “Not really. You?”

  “Depends on the day, I suppose.” Ward motioned her inside. “He’s expecting you.”

  “Figured he would be. Though I’d rather shoot my way in than pretend civility toward him.”

  Ward, wisely, said nothing.

  Alicia slung her shotgun over her shoulder and into the holster she’d rigged for it. After a wicked grin at Ward, she yelled, “I’m looking for the miserable bastard who thinks he runs this place.”

  “Must you do that?”

  “I could just start shooting things,” she suggested. “That always seems to get his attention. Actually ...” She reached back for the shotgun, but Charlie came to the top of the stairs and looked down at her.

  “My dear, what a lovely surprise.”

  She snorted and aimed her gun at him. “Why did you let the girl get shot?”

  “I did not ‘let’ her get shot, Alicia.” He sighed. “Why would I allow her to be injured?”

  “Why did you allow them to shoot at her in the first damn place?” She shifted the barrel a touch and fired.

  Charlie didn’t flinch as splinters from the carved wooden handrail flew through the air beside him. “It was meant to be a deterrent; she was not to get injured, just encouraged to stay in protective care. I don’t need her running all over the place asking questions, having her head filled with the wrong things.”

  “The truth, you mean?”

  “Not all truths are equal, Alicia.” Charlie’s gaze didn’t waver. “Shall I tell her your secrets?”

  Alicia lowered her gun. “No, but don’t think I’m waiting around.”

  “I saw.” He scowled. “You couldn’t let them get oriented before you tried to get him under your thumb?”

  “Why should I? You weren’t wasting any time, were you? The poor girl is barely here a minute, and you have yourself set up like some knight. Wine her and dine her—after a conveniently planned rescue scenario that chases her into your arms. You’re predictable.” Alicia shook her head.

  “If I were predictable, my dear, you would’ve outmaneuvered me decades ago ... unless”—Charlie started down the stairs toward her—“perhaps you like trying to outwit me. Is that it, Alicia? Do you—”

  The rest of his words were lost in the blast of her next shot. She didn’t hit him, of course, but she aimed close enough that splinters from the banister cut him.

  Bloodless bastard. Not human. Not right.

  He continued down the stairs as if the splinters didn’t hurt. He might not bleed, but he felt pain. They both knew that. They both also knew that he’d allow her to hurt him repeatedly if it would ease the anger that festered inside her.

  She couldn’t look at the placid expression on his face any more than she could forgive him. Although they both knew she could reload with her eyes closed, she looked steadfastly at her shotgun as she broke open the barrel, removed the cases, and slid in two new shells. When she closed the breech and lifted her gaze, he was standing in front of her, waiting.

  “Whatever’s happening over there isn’t business as normal,” she said. “You and I both know it. Dead walking is one thing, but killing the dead so as to make them walk is altogether different. You ought to step in this time.”

  For a moment, Charlie stared at her, and Alicia saw the person she’d thought he was when she was still alive. Back then, he’d seemed almost human. Back then, he’d seemed like a powerful man who ruled an unruly empire.

  A man I could trust.

  He shook his head. “I won’t break the rules. I wouldn’t do it for you, and I won’t do it for them either.”

  “You’re a fool.” She swung her shotgun up and shot the god-awful chandelier. Crystal shards rained down on him as she turned to leave.

  Chapter 42

  A SHORT WHILE LATER, AS BYRON DROVE TO MONTGOMERY AND SONS, Rebekkah felt the weight of the living world begin to settle back into her body. She could still feel a lingering connection to the dead, and it somehow made the air feel different; everything smelled richer.

  When Byron stopped the hearse, Rebekkah went into the funeral parlor. Somewhere in her town, Daisha was waiting. She was starving. The whole time she’d been dead, no one had seen to her needs. She’d been alone. She’d been hidden from Maylene somehow.

  “Your weekly update.” Elaine held out a thick manila envelope.

  “My ... right. My update. I need the records of the deaths for the last six months.” Rebekkah forced her tongue and lips to make words.

  Byron stepped in behind her, and Elaine called, “Mr. Montgomery? The mayor’s office called. There was another animal attack, a fatal one this time. He’d like to schedule an appointment with you.”

  Byron stopped, and he and Rebekkah exchanged a look.

  “Did you get ahold of Allan?” he asked.

  “He’s on his way to the pickup now.” Elaine softened for a moment. “After I get Rebekkah updated, I thought I might run over to Cherry’s Pies and grab a few sandwiches.”

  “And coffee?”

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be in the prep room.” Byron nodded and walked away. A moment later, the door to the basement opened and closed.

  Elaine took up her key ring, motioned at Rebekkah, and led her to another office. She opened the door and pointed at a tall gray cabinet. “Every week the backup copy is filed. There is a cross-reference that lists the family name of the deceased.”

  As Rebekkah looked on silently, Elaine pulled out a file and opened it.

  “Each decedent has a separate entry within their family. In it, you will find the date, cause, and any peculiar details.” As she spoke, she stabbed a finger at examples of the various details she recited. “Of course, the decedent’s surname is the primary file category, but subreferences are listed in the appropriate box on the fact sheet.” She snapped the file shut.

  Rebekkah stared at her. “You are amazing.”

  “The electronic version is easier,” Elaine added, “but the late Mrs. Barrow preferred her hard copies.”

  “She liked things the way they were,” Rebekkah murmured.

  Elaine’s stern expression softened. “She was a good woman. I hoped—no disrespect to Ann—that she and William would wed after Ann passed, but they scoffed at the suggestion. She loved him, though, and he loved her.”

  “I know,??
? Rebekkah murmured.

  “But they were stubborn.” Elaine shook her head, but her smile was a yearning one. “Love like that is a rarity, and to think they both found it twice.”

  Rebekkah clutched the file in her hand. “I’m not sure that love means having to marry. She loved him, but that didn’t mean—”

  “It’s not my place. If it were, I’d nag the younger Mr. Montgomery to marry you already. The two of you have been pretending not to be in love for years. Sheer foolishness, if you ask me, but”—Elaine gave Rebekkah a look that would make most people flinch—“no one’s asking me, are they?”

  “No,” Rebekkah said. “I don’t think anyone’s asking.”

  Elaine sighed. “Well, sooner or later, one of you will be bright enough to ask my opinion.”

  For a moment, Rebekkah wasn’t sure whether to laugh or tell Elaine to back off. Laughter won. “I’m sure if we ever reach that point, we’ll be able to find you.”

  “Good.” Elaine smiled as she pointed at the barren desk. “This is your workspace. I don’t suppose you’d like it outfitted for this decade?”

  Rebekkah bit her cheek to keep herself from laughing again. “Electronic files would probably be easier to search.”

  “They’re all backed up on the server. I took a course last summer, you know.” Elaine’s excitement became obvious. Her eyes glimmered, and her smile widened. “I’ll get you set up this week. In the meantime, if you need help with the filing system, I’ll be in my office.”

  “I’m sure I’ll have no trouble. Something tells me your system is foolproof.” Rebekkah opened the envelope in her hands and sat down at her new desk.

  BYRON STOOD SILENTLY IN THE PREPARATION ROOM. HE HATED TO ADMIT that he was disconcerted by Rebekkah’s reaction to the murder scene. She was still his Rebekkah, but seeing her become something other had left him unnerved.

  He went about his job, grateful for the habitual steps. The body of the man on the table was relatively fit. His appearance spoke of years of physical labor and of hard living: he was thin with well-defined musculature and had a knife scar on his left biceps and a puckered scar where a bullet had entered his right thigh. Daisha’s attack on the man had obviously been more brutal than her attack on Maylene. One forearm was bitten to the bone, and the throat and neck were bared to the collarbone on both sides. The right biceps was also ravaged.

  She looked so harmless.

  The murderer, the dead murderer, was too small to seem capable of such savagery. This body would not be made available for an open-casket viewing.

  She’s a monster, not a girl. His father had reminded him of that, reminded him that the dead weren’t to be treated mercifully, and as Byron looked at the proof of her strength and violence, he understood why.

  Are they this much stronger in the land of the dead, too? He felt a wave of exhaustion at the thought. He wasn’t ready for this. Will I ever be? Resentment that he didn’t want to feel for his father welled up in him. William had been a good man and a good father, but his choosing to keep such life-altering secrets threatened to negate everything else.

  Byron looked up as Elaine walked into the room.

  “Allan is here,” she said. “He’ll be down in a moment. You go on upstairs. The body ... It’s Bonnie Jean.”

  “Amity’s sister?”

  Elaine nodded. “Allan will handle things here.”

  Byron turned his back and stripped off his disposable coveralls. “I ought to—”

  “No. You ought to go to Maylene’s old office and see Rebekkah,” Elaine said firmly. “Amity will be with family. I’ll take care of the funeral arrangements.”

  Byron glanced at Elaine as he walked over to the biohazard bin and shoved the barely used protective garment into it. “Right, and I ought to do this because ... ?”

  “Because ... because the Barrow woman’s office is where the decedent files are kept. It’ll makes things easier if ...” Elaine’s words trailed off.

  “What things?” he asked.

  Elaine frowned. Her usual peremptory and bossy manner was absent. Instead, she rubbed her temples before saying, “Work things. The Barrows ... do things. Help.”

  “Right. Those things.” Byron felt guilty as he saw Elaine rub her head. “I’m sorry.”

  She waved him off. “I don’t expect you to be at her side as she gets settled in the office, but I think she needs assistance. William assisted Maylene, and”—Elaine winced—“Rebekkah requires you. Upstairs. Allan can do this, and you can’t help Amity, but Rebekkah needs ... I’m sorry. I think the light down here is aggravating my eyes again.”

  She turned away, and Byron swallowed back the guilt he was starting to feel. He hadn’t known that he’d said anything that would hurt her . “Elaine?” he called after her. “My father thought a good day-spa visit helped with your headaches, didn’t he?”

  She paused. “A simple headache doesn’t need pamper—”

  “I’d be lost here without you. I know that, and you know that.” He came to stand beside her. “You’re right. Allan will handle the preparation down here, and I’ll see what Rebekkah needs. You will go relax so you don’t get ill and leave me floundering here.”

  Allan stepped into the preparation room as Byron took Elaine upstairs. As they walked past a spare office, Byron heard Rebekkah call for Elaine. At the doorway, he and Elaine both paused.

  Rebekkah looked up from a stack of files on the desk. “Do you know of anyone born in town with the first name Daisha?”

  Elaine motioned toward the bottom of the file cabinet. “Birth records are listed in there, but William had left a note on that same name. I’d only begun searching when you arrived today. Things were backed up, but ... hold on.”

  She walked away, returning a minute later with a stack of papers. “I don’t have all of the files sorted, but I do have two Daishas so far. One is five years old—mother, Chelsea; father, Robert.”

  “And the other?” Byron prompted.

  “Seventeen—mother, Gail; father wasn’t a Claysville native. She’s been gone for a while. According to the note in her school file, her mother reported that she went to live with her father. I tried to call the mother yesterday several times, but there’s been no answer.” Elaine shook her head. “The address ... it’s ...” She flipped the page.

  “Sunny Glades Trailer Park,” Rebekkah filled in. “That’s her.”

  Chapter 43

  D AISHA RETURNED TO HER FORMER HOME. THE BODIES WERE GONE. She’d considered keeping them there, but the more she’d eaten, the more she’d remembered—and she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to remember much more. The people she’d met in town had helped her remember, so by the time she’d come to the trailer, she’d remembered so much more than she wished she had.

  Leaves in her mouth.

  Hands on her throat.

  She knew that she had been killed.

  She knew that when she woke up, she was stopped from coming home.

  To find the shining woman. The Graveminder.

  To hear the words, to find nourishment.

  Someone had made it impossible for her to come back even though she’d felt the thread that grew from the center of her being, pulling her back to here, to home, to her . When she’d awakened, she had known where she was supposed to go.

  Breath, drink, and food.

  If she’d kept Gail and Paul here, they would’ve woken up in time: that’s why she’d called the tip line to have their bodies removed. I don’t want them to wake up. The Graveminder would stop that from happening. Daisha understood that now. She understood most everything: the longer she’d been re-alive, the more she re-knew. The better she was fed, the more she remembered.

  She remembered the Cold Man. He was there, too.

  And Daisha remembered her , the woman.

  “Then let them go,” the woman had said. “They’ll fix everything, and when they’re done, we’ll kill them again.”

  Daisha remembered the voice, the woman
. She was why Daisha killed the last Graveminder: she had been sent to do just that.

  It was why the woman made me dead.

  Chapter 44

  N ICOLAS HAD BECOME MAYOR AFTER THE LAST GRAVEMINDER AND UNdertaker were already in place, so the protocol for dealing with the new ones was somewhat unclear to him. He’d never had to answer questions, fill in blanks, or explain anything.

  “Sir?”

  “Show them in,” he said.

  The words were barely out of his mouth when they came into his office. Menace all but radiated from the new Undertaker, but the Graveminder—like her predecessor—was far more sedate. Rebekkah Barrow hadn’t been born in Claysville, nor had she spent her life here. Some unexamined part of him wondered about the life she could have known, about the possibilities among which anyone born outside of town could choose, but he pushed those thoughts away. He was Claysville born and bred, like the generations of men before him. Whittaker men left town only for the acquisition of an education or a spouse.

  Nicolas came around the desk and gestured to the sofa and chairs. “Please.”

  “We have questions,” the Undertaker said.

  His partner put a hand on his wrist. “You know who we are?”

  “I do.” Nicolas walked over to the bar in his office. “Drink?”

  The Undertaker frowned. “It’s a bit early in the day for that.”

  “Alcoholism is a disease; ergo, as with every other disease, Claysville natives are safe from it until we are eighty years old. After that, all protection expires. So ...” Nicolas poured a generous measure in a glass. “Miss Barrow?”

  “No, thank you.” She sat on the sofa, and her Undertaker followed her lead.

  Nicolas carried his drink over and sat in one of the chairs. “You know about the contract?” he asked. “The ... situation here?”

  “Some,” the Graveminder said. “We know there is one.”

  “And we know that the thing killing people isn’t an animal,” the Undertaker added.