Adelaide Confused (37 page)

“
Go look around,” I told
the ghost. “Warn me if it’s here.” I waited until Anastas drifted
off before moving. I meant to climb the hill, to walk around the
cemetery. But I couldn’t make it past the iron arch, my feet
refusing to move.

Though it was now
summertime, it felt cold out, and I shivered from a bone-deep
chill. Eventually Anastas returned, a spectral mist gliding swiftly
over the grass and tombstones. He had nothing to say, which pretty
much said it all.

I waited for hours. I
waited, hoping the demon would show, and felt grateful when it did
not. Besides wait, I had no idea what else to do, no clue where to
look. There were numerous places a demon could hide a dead body on
the island, swampy places no one would see. But I didn’t want to go
trudging through the marshland, so I waited and waited.

I used the time wisely,
whispering to the ghost, telling him anything and everything just
to make him souly. He was a little sad. I wasn’t sure if it was
because he missed Agata’s company, or because he was dead in
general. After a few hours I was so hungry I started rooting around
my satchel even though I knew there was no food inside. It made me
feel better to look, but only until I didn’t find anything, then I
just got cranky. And still I waited. I waited until the island
seemed to stir, finally dragging myself home by the dawn’s early
light.

Fucking unreliable demons.

“
Good morning,” I said to
Francesca, sliding a sprinkled donut across the front desk. Having
managed one reasonably agreeable phone conversation already, I
thought it was safe to approach her. And after that terrifying
night of demon hunting, I hadn’t been able to sleep this morning so
I thought I might as well check up on Tim Beckett. The donut was
not only a peace offering, but a bribe.

Francesca eyed it, noticing
the smear of glaze on the counter. “You’re up early,” she said,
quick to wipe up the mess and remove the donut from sight. It went
behind the desk, set aside for later on a piece of copy paper.
Turning back, she studied me more closely. “You look like
shit.”

I nodded in understanding,
having already glimpsed myself in the mirror. “I didn’t sleep last
night.”

“Oh?” she asked, conveying a whole message in
one breathy tone.

“
No, I wasn’t having sex,”
I corrected. The elderly gentleman who’d been browsing the
brochures chuffed in disapproval and moved away. “Is Tim Beckett
staying here?” I asked, changing the subject before she could start
spouting out more advice.

“
Let me check,” Francesca
answered, shifting over to the computer. “The name sounds
familiar,” she said absently while typing. She stopped. “Is he
about our age, real twitchy, wears rumpled clothes all the
time?”

“Yeah,” I said, “that’s the guy.”

“
I only remember because he
got into an argument with Reed yesterday right here in the
lobby.”

I thought I could guess
why. “Can I search his room?”

She shrugged. “Sure. He
just left. But I’m not sure how long he’ll be gone,” she warned,
reaching for the spare key. “What are you looking for
anyway?”

“
A diary,” I admitted,
seeing no reason to lie.

“
Does it look all old and
leathery like a Bible?”

“
I don’t know,” I shrugged.
“Why?”

“
Because he just took it
with him,” she said, sliding me the key. “342. Don’t get
caught.”

I ignored it, asking, “Where did he go?”

“
Shh
,” Francesca scolded, glancing
around to make sure my raised voice hadn’t attracted
attention.

The Crowne’s foyer was
large, done up to have an elegant island feel. Butter toned marble
made the floor appear glossy and warm, with potted palm trees
dotted here and there. One man sat reading the newspaper on a large
claw foot couch in a windowed alcove. But he was ignoring
us.

Francesca flashed a jaunty
smile. “I know where he’s going because he asked me for
directions.”

“
Where?” I impatiently
asked.

“
That park in Brunswick,
the one where we fed geese last year. It’s closed for construction
though. I tried to warn him, but he didn’t seem to
care.”

I barely had time to call
my thanks, promising I owed her big as I ran for the
door.

The parking lot had seen
better days. Trucks and equipment were left out haphazardly, parked
crooked more often than not. One overzealous driver had popped the
curb, leaving his tire to rest in the median planter, shrubs
squished flat. A sign had been put up proclaiming the park
temporarily closed. I ignored it, coasting around until I found a
spot to squeeze into. Mine was not the only car, though I wasn’t
sure if Tim drove a Kia. But judging from his personality I would
guess yes.

“
Wait here,” I told
Anastas. He sat in the backseat, following me around obediently.
He’d proven more patient and loyal than even my pet ghost. As
reward, he was growing more substantial, his form now a transparent
body and not a milky mass.

I opened the door slowly,
trying to minimize the screech. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to be a
little covert. With that in mind I didn’t go dashing off across the
park. I hovered behind an empty dumpster, scanning the
area.

It was much the same as
when I’d been here last, level grounds complete with manicured
grass. Most of the trees had been cleared away over time with only
the largest surviving, those lucky few that were so old the
community agreed it would be a shame to destroy them. Tucked away
in one corner was a playground with swings, the area beset by
benches for the less active parents. A two lane track ringed the
property, weaving through the tree line. It had passed behind the
bleachers that sat on the far side of the park. I squinted, finding
that the bleachers were gone. What had once been a baseball diamond
was now an utter wreck. More equipment was parked over there, much
more. It looked as though they were putting in a public pool, if
the giant gaping pit was anything to go by.

But where was Tim? Having
not seen him I almost gave up, thinking he hadn’t come after all.
But then the wind blew to reveal him, setting the branches of a
large weeping willow to swing. For just that moment I could see him
sitting under the drooping tree. He was propped against the trunk,
a book held in his hands.

Tim Beckett didn’t frighten
me and I couldn’t think of a better time to confront him than now.
I was striding forward when the view hit me, the closer angle
giving me a different perspective.

A few shrubs had grown up
around the tree’s base. There was a large oval shaped bush which I
could easily imagine as the head, and two smaller circular ones
where the feet would be. It was a big green turtle, just like the
seer had said. A useless bit of prophesy for all the good it did
me, fucking seers and their cryptic bullshit.

I pushed the branches aside
as if they were a curtain. Tim was stressed out and anxious before
he even looked up, but when he saw me he jerked the book shut and
pulled it to his chest in a protective sort of way, stress levels
nearly doubling.

“
Is that the diary?” I
asked, not bothering to mince words. It was just like Francesca
said, old and leathery, the edges frayed from wear.

“
What?” he asked slowly.
“I— I came here to read. I thought I would be alone.” He looked
pathetic, his sagging khakis rolled up to reveal a truly disgusting
pair of sandals. His toes poked out, hairy and pale.

I didn’t want to be
condescending, so I did my best not to sneer down at him. But I
couldn’t help it. He was just such a weasel. “What were you
planning to do with it?” I asked, still standing a few yards
back.

He was staring past, unable
to meet my eye. “I don’t know what you mean.”

I took a few steps closer,
shortening the distance between us. “Did Theodore give it to you,
all trusting like? Or did you have to pry it from his cold dead
fingers?”

Upset, he started to shake
his head in denial. I lunged forward, stumbling to my knees in
order to grab the journal. He tried to twist away, but I smashed
his foot with my knee and elbowed him in the ribs. Tim doubled over
as I wrenched the thing from his slack fingers.

I stood, the journal tucked
under one arm while I swatted the dirt from my pants. “You’re a
real shit you know,” I said, not bothering to look at him. He
didn’t say anything back, and I left him there, heading for my
car.

The sun seemed brighter
when I stepped out from under the weeping willow’s cover. I felt
marginally better with the book in my hands, though I wasn’t sure
what to do next. Drive to Reed’s and drop it off?

Tim jogged up behind me; I
could hear him coming. He kept time with my fast pace, holding his
ribs and panting from the effort. “You don’t understand,” he
whined. “Just give it back and everything will be okay.”

“Go away.”

He wasn’t even looking at
me. He kept darting glances over my shoulder to the parking lot.
“Please,” he begged, “there isn’t much time.”

“Fuck off!” I snarled.

He whimpered, but not from
my harsh treatment. I followed the line of his eyes, discovering
what had frightened him. It was Raina Thompson strolling through
the parking lot, and what was worse, Beagban was behind
her.

“You were going to give it to them!” I
shrieked, rounding on Tim in anger. It didn’t make sense. Why wait
all this time to give it away? Perhaps he’d been holding out for
more money.

Tim did the most unexpected
thing, jumping at me to grab the book back. I jabbed my elbow at
him threateningly and he subsided to a sullen
standstill.

“
You aren’t going to be
easy, are you?” Raina called while coming closer, covering the
distance with Beagban at her heel.

“
Well, I’m not just going
to give it to you,” I said, throwing Tim a contemptuous
look.

She only smiled, hands on
hip.

I edged a few steps away
from them all, cradling the journal behind two crossed
arms.

“
Beagban, get the book. But
remember what Lars said,” she reminded. “Do whatever you want, but
clean up your own mess after.”

He was filled with
anticipation, pleasure even. To feel the satisfaction he would
derive from killing me was utterly revolting. I watched with dread
as he grunted his assent at Raina, pacing forward with slow and
measured steps.

I turned and ran, causing
Tim to stumble back as I brushed past. I heard him shout at me, one
last plea to give him the book. But I didn’t stop, not even when my
flip-flops clacked in protest. I kicked them off without missing a
step. With Beagban between me and my car there was only one place
to go—the construction site. It was the only thing around that
offered cover.

I hurdled over the yellow
caution tape, zipping between machinery. Only a few seconds later I
heard the plastic snap as Beagban broke through, not bothering to
go around. But I was already hunched between two giant tires,
watching his boots as he wandered through the maze of yellow-orange
construction equipment.

I drew in a long, shaky
breath, trying to be as quiet as possible. My heart beat wildly,
and I was afraid of having a panic attack. They always left me
feeling doomed and useless, unable to move. That wasn’t an option
now. I had to stay focused and find a new place to hide or Beagban
would find me. Ducking my head out from under the dump truck, I
craned my neck to see how high up it was. Too high, I could never
climb inside. And if I did manage, I’d just be trapped
there.

Anxiously I glanced around,
my eyes coming to rest on a small bulldozer. It was parked on the
precipice, its blade outstretched over the pit, angled upward as if
reaching toward the sky. It was as good a spot as any I would find.
The scoop shaped blade was big enough to hold me, short enough to
climb, and taller than Beagban, so I wouldn’t be seen.

I shoved the journal up my
shirt, tucking the hem into my pants to ensure it stayed in place.
With my hands now free I waited until Beagban’s toes were turned
away before crawling out from between the tires on all fours. The
soil was soft and loose, my bare feet patting silently as I skirted
the drop-off.

The blade was held up by
cylinder arms, which I braced my feet against to climb up the side.
Grabbing the scoop’s dull short edge in both hands, I hauled myself
inside headfirst. The stale dirt caked itself into my clothes as I
slid into place with a dull thunk. I went still, a deer caught in
headlights with my legs still hanging out, waiting, panicking that
Beagban had heard. After the longest minute of my life I began to
pull my feet in slowly. I’d just gotten both over the lip and out
of view, seemingly safe, when he grabbed me.

Beagban’s thick hand thrust
over the bright colored metal, striking out to encircle my ankle. I
screamed as he jerked me, pulling my limb at unnatural angle. The
blade cut into my shin, digging painfully. Scrabbling forward on my
stomach, I tried to twist away, but couldn’t break his ruthless
hold. He gave another sharp jerk, and desperate to keep my leg from
snapping, I rolled out of the blade, breaking his grip as I
went.