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Authors: Tamara Thorne

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The Forgotten (31 page)

BOOK: The Forgotten
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When Maggie, who always answered her phone if she was home, didn't answer her phone, Will felt unreasonable worry. Silly, probably. He knew it was most likely born of excitement and anger at what he learned during the night, but it didn't matter. He almost tried the phone again, but decided to just go on over.
He pulled on his clothes and put food down for the cats, then drove toward Maggie's, pausing only to drive through CharPalace for a couple of Sunny Sandwiches and coffees. As he drove, he imagined how annoyed she'd be at his showing up, relatively unannounced. They planned on getting together, but they hadn't set an exact time, though it definitely involved some kind of morning meal.
He turned onto her street, too pleased about seeing her to think about Pete, but as he approached and saw the Caledonia Cable van out front, his gut tightened.
Pete.
But Pete didn't drive this old van. He had a nice new one. And he rarely used that—at least Will always saw him driving his own vehicle. No, this had to be Mickey or some other employee.
But why here? She doesn't have cable. Why so early? Shit.
He didn't knock on her door. Instead, he found his key to her house and unlocked the door, stepping quietly inside. It was quiet, empty. Then Anteater's muzzle and button black eyes came around the corner. The dog smiled and took a step forward. Will made a quiet signal and then one to stay. Thank heaven Maggie was so into communicating with animals. He was glad it rubbed off.
He tiptoed across the room to the little spare bedroom the dog was in. The dog trembled. “Hide,” Will said softly. After the briefest hesitation, Anteater got down on his belly and crawled under the bed. Will saw the cats' eyes watching him as the spread raised. “Stay,” he told the animals. “Hide.”
He left the room, looked around the living room again. Behind the door, a big crowbar lay on the floor. He picked it up and started up the stairs, hoping to avoid the creaks.
Barely started, he could hear a voice above him. Pete. He was talking in that low nasty voice he used when he didn't think anybody who mattered could hear him. It was a steady stream of talk. Not a peep out of Maggie, but she was up there. He had no doubt.
Keep talking, you sonofabitch. Keep talking.
Will took the stairs as quickly as he dared. He paused at the top, listening.
“There we go, Maggie, you didn't need that robe anyway, did you? Goodness, I'm going to have to sharpen my knife after cutting through all that terry cloth. Now, let's have a look at you. Pajamas with little dog drawings all over them. Isn't that cute. Is that what the well-dressed virgin vet wears these days? Okay, now you just stay real still and we'll have those buttons off in a jif. Are you one of those women who wears a bra to bed?
“Didn't think so. You don't have much up there, do you? But what you have, it's damned nice. Now, if you promise not to struggle while I cut off your bottoms and your panties—do you wear panties to bed, Maggie?—I'll let you keep your top on, just open so I can bite your titties. If you struggle, I'll take it off you and not worry about hurting your arm. It's already broken, anyway, right?”
His laugh filled Will with fury. He had crossed to the doorway while Pete tormented Maggie. Now, hefting the crowbar, he peered in. Pete, naked, stood over Maggie, a knife flashing in his hand. Hunks of cloth lay on the floor around his feet. As he began pulling down her pajama bottoms, Will sprung, the iron aimed at the back of his brother's head.
Pete heard him and moved like a snake—the blow got him across the back and upper arm. Barely wavering, he grinned at Will as he ran at him. Will whipped up the iron, but Pete was trained in martial arts and he deflected it easily. It slid under the bed.
Pete grinned, bouncing back and forth on his feet like a fighter getting warmed up. Like a gorilla getting ready to kill.
“What's the matter, Willy? Don't know how to fight?”
“You killed Michael. You told me I killed him. How can you live with yourself, you son of a bitch?”
“You're the shrink. You tell me.”
“Let Maggie go. The police are on the way.”
“The police are on the way,” Pete repeated, singsong. “The police are on the way. Bullshit. You wouldn't have known to call them. Now, I think we'd better get you all tied up. Then you can watch me do your girly friend.”
“Get away from her.”
“Hands behind your head, baby brother. Do that or I cut her. Like this.”
Quick as a flash, he slashed Maggie's leg. She uttered a strangled cry. Will responded instantly, tackling Pete.
They rolled on the floor, Pete still holding the knife, trying to stab Will. Will fought through sheer willpower, but Pete was getting the upper hand. Somewhere in the background, Will heard Maggie yell, “Up here!”
Pete jabbed him in the neck and Will nearly blacked out, but he heard footsteps and so did Pete because the iron fingers backed off for an instant. Will got both his hands up to Pete's face and went for his eyes, then Pete was yanked up and off him. He saw Pete's wife untying Maggie and another woman holding a gun on him.
“Will?” said the strange woman.
“Yeah.”
“Move your ass.”
He crawled to the other side of the bed, dragged himself up as Felicia helped Maggie sit up and cover herself. She looked at him, agony in her eyes. “You're bleeding.”
He glanced down, saw a few slashes on his arms. “I'm fine.”
“Pete Banning, you're a dead man walking,” said the other woman. “Drop the knife.”
“Blow me, you fucking bitch!”
“Okay, if you say so.”
She fired. Pete's back straightened then he bent, hands to his groin. “You fucking bitch. You goddamned fucking bitch!”
“Sorry, Petey,” said the woman. “I was going to make it a head shot until you told me to blow you. That was just one time too many.”
Pete dropped to the floor.
“Call the police,” said Maggie.
“No,” said the woman. She flashed credentials. “Military's after him. We'll take care of it.” She looked at Felicia. “He probably won't die from that wound, but he's not going to be raping any more women, either.”
Maggie stood up, steadied on Will's arm. “What the hell?”
“Don't worry,” said the government woman. “Will, you take her to the doctor. When you come back, you won't know anyone's been here. People are waiting to come in and help. They'll get him out of here and clean up like it never happened. You stay quiet. Got it?”
Will looked at Maggie. “I can live without all the legal hassles. Can you?”
“Yes. My animals will be locked in a room downstairs. Make sure no one bothers them.”
“Will do.”
“Do you want me to help you dress?” Felicia asked.
Maggie gazed at Will, almost looking pain-free. “He can help me.”
Epilogue
Fall flirted with the late-summer sun as Will and Maggie stood over Michael's grave. Maggie bent and laid a bunch of yellow daisies before the stone. “I'm so glad you found out the truth,” she murmured.
Will hugged her, careful to avoid the arm in a sling. “He hasn't been back since,” he said, looking at the old baseball cradled in his hand. “In a strange way, I miss him.”
“Gabe and Kevin sure won't miss the Cockburns.”
He chuckled. “No, they won't.” Two weeks after Pete disappeared, leaving his wife and her gun-toting friend to run the cable company with Mickey as the manager, all of the new cable boxes had disappeared. Strange behaviors, like Mickey's tin foil hat paranoia dissipated quickly, but many of the ghosts remained, though the ones Will knew of were weakening fast. Or, more likely, people's brains were restoring their wiring. Kevin was a quick healer; he barely saw the ghosts now, but Gabe was still unnerved once or twice a day. It would pass, much to David Masters's sorrow. The writer was spending most of his time in town visiting haunts, still the kid in the candy store.
“I wonder what happened to Pete.”
“Maggie, he's gone. That's all that matters. I don't want to know what happened to him—I've seen too many
X-Files
reruns.”
She laughed. “You're right.” Studying the grave, she said, “I'm sorry Michael died so young.”
“Me, too.” He looked at the baseball, his throat tight. “It's time to say good-bye. He doesn't need to hang around here anymore now that I know the truth.”
“Bye, Michael,” Maggie said. She stepped back, into the shade of the old live oak.
Will knelt. “Thanks, big brother. Thanks for everything.” He placed the old baseball over the flower cup, like he had so many times before, but those were all fake good-byes. This was the real ball. This was the real thing. Sorrow welled up and hot tears fell silently onto the grave.
I love you, little brother.
The words floated around him, through him. Never even wondering how real they were, he smiled. “I love you, too. Good-bye, Michael.”
See you later, Will.
Will swiped his hand under his eyes then rose and turned to see Maggie smiling as if her heart would break. “I heard him,” she said as he bent to kiss her. “He said ‘See you later,' and it was his voice. It was his voice.” She looked at him. “I mean, I saw Gabe and Kevin's ghosts, but this was different. This was
real.
Do you know what I mean?”
“Yes. The Cockburns were residuals.”
“Old cat crap.” She grinned. “But Michael. . .”
“The real deal,” Will said, taking her hand. “The real deal.”
Author's Note
It's true. E.L.F. waves have been used covertly (and overtly) since the mid-twentieth century. With slight variations of degree, these microwaves can cook your dinner, transmit a phone call, subliminally suggest that you refrain from shoplifting, or fry your brain. Hauntings, particularly poltergeist activity, occur at a higher than normal rate near electrical currents.
The Navy recently showed off a microwave gun that cooks the enemy. They have H.A.A.R.P. and other big projects. Mind-altering microwaves have been used in riot control for years. Technology exists that allows a satellite to send suggestions or feelings of unease or illness to a mass of people or zero in on just one. The mention within this book of the Cold War antics between the U.S. and the Soviet Union is based solidly in fact. You can look it up.
Ever read a conspiracy-oriented book about mind control? I found them highly amusing and imaginative until I delved into books geared toward consumer awareness and the nuts and bolts of electromagnetics. For good basic information, I suggest
Electromagnetic Fields
by B. Blake Levitt. After you have the facts, try one of Jim Keith's books on conspiracies, and see what you think.
For more reading suggestions, visit my website,
www.tamarathorne.com
.
Dear Readers,
Ivy-covered halls. Tweedy professors. Homecoming. Football. Quarterbacks. Cheerleaders. Fraternities. Animal House and Skull and Bones. Keggers and cramming. These are the things we associate with college life.
But don't forget the sororities, especially Gamma Eta Pi, a very special one at expensive, isolated Greenbriar University, just a stone's throw from Caledonia. Only very special young women are considered for this elite group, and only a few of those are invited into the inner circle, a secret society known as Fata Morgana, where pledge initiations are taken to new highs, problems are solved with magic and murder, and mysteries are waiting to be solved by the right initiates.
Sorority sisters are sisters for life . . . and for death in Fata Morgana. These girls don't just have school spirit, they have school spirits!
Watch for THE SORORITY trilogy, coming to bookstores everywhere in June, July, and August, 2003. And if you or a loved one is thinking of joining a college sisterhood, you might want to think twice before even attending a rush party at Gamma. They can be murder. Watch for updates and background goodies on THE SORORITY, THE FORGOTTEN, and my other books at
www.tamarathorne.com
.
As always, thanks for inviting me into your home. If you do again, I promise not to steal any silverware. . . .
 
Tamara
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
 
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
 
Copyright © 2002 Tamara Thorne
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
 
All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotions, premiums, fund-raising, educational, or institutional use. Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington special sales manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018, attn: Special Sales Department; phone 1-800-221-2647.
 
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
 
KENSINGTON BOOKS and the k logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
 
ISBN-13: 978-1-60183-029-6
ISBN-10: 1-60183-029-7
 
First electronic edition: September 2012
BOOK: The Forgotten
7.14Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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