The Unearthed: Book One, The Eddie McCloskey Series (14 page)

“Eamon, I know I already asked you, but it’s important—” Tim ignored Sean’s glare. “Is there anywhere else you used to take trips to?”

“The cemetery one time.”

“The cemetery?”

“Billy said nobody would find me there.”

Maybe it was something. Tim felt some small measure of control coming back to him.

“Eamon, just one more thing, okay?”

Eamon actually broke a smile. Happy this was almost over.

“Did Billy talk to anybody else? Your brother or your parents?”

“I don’t think so.”

Tim stood. “Thank you so much for answering our questions. You’ve been a big help, Eamon.” Then, to Sean: “We have to make some calls. Would you excuse us for a moment?”

“Make your calls outside,” Sean said.

Chefaun gave Sean a look like he was being unreasonable.

Tim and Charlie stepped out front into the twilight. As soon as they were clear of the porch, they both got on their cell phones.

Charlie said, “Kelly, dig up Mr. Welles and get a couple of units over to Colestown. There’s a chance, a long shot, that Billy Rosselli could be there.”

Tim nodded at him, telling Moira, “I need you to back out of the police files and get into the house history. We just talked to Eamon. He had a friend named Billy also. Yeah—”

“I know it’s a big place,” Charlie was saying. “Have them go in unmarked. Have them check, Christ, have them check the Moriartys’ graves.”

“Look at the prior owners. The house isn’t that old, so we should be able to start ruling people out,” Tim said. “We need to figure out who Billy is and what his end game is.”

“I’ll be back at the station in the hour.” Charlie ended his call.

“Yeah, let me talk to Michelle for a minute,” Tim said. He looked over at Charlie.

Charlie shook his head. “Things are never simple, are they?”

Tim couldn’t have agreed more. “Hey, Michelle. Things are nuts. Can you stay with the police files for now? I’m headed back to the Rossellis’ shortly … Great, thanks. Take a break later and come to the Rossellis’. I’ll see you.”

“Let’s go make nice with Mr. McKenna,” Charlie said.

Tim grunted. He had no desire to do so, but it was probably a good idea. Just in case they needed to come back.

Sean stood in the foyer, with arms folded.

“Thank you, Mr. McKenna. We appreciate this.”

“It goes without saying that this isn’t up for public consumption,” Sean leveled stern eyes on them. “You have no idea how many reporters, writers and freaks keep trying to contact us. And if you ever run into that Evan Ronan, you make sure he knows he is not to bother us ever again.”

Tim nodded. “I’ll pass the message along, but I’m sure he already knows enough to respect your wishes.”

“Neither of you know what this has done to Eamon, and to us, too. We’ve considered moving to another state, where this won’t follow us everywhere.”

“We can’t even begin to imagine,” Charlie said. “You won’t be seeing us ever again.”

“That’ll be too soon.”

Charli
e
started the police cruiser. “Fucking prick. A fuckin’ kid is missing.”

“Thanks, Charlie. I know that wasn’t pleasant. I owe you a beer.”

“You owe me a beer, a lap dance, and a blow job. And more beer.”

Tim smiled. “I can help you with the beer, but you don’t want to see me in a g-string and I’m not putting that dirty dick of yours anywhere near my face.”

“Your girlfriend’s pretty hot.”

“Fuck you.”

Charlie laughed. “You know, the world’s crazy enough without the supernatural wreaking havoc on us too.” He put the car in reverse and started backing up. “And why is it the assholes always end up with the nice women?”

“Hold on.” Tim pointed to the house.

Charlie hit the brake. Chefaun was coming toward them. He rolled his window down.

Chefaun smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry about Sean, but you understand.”

“No need, ma’am,” Charlie said.

“I hope you find that boy. Will you call me if you do? I’d like to be able to tell Eamon he helped you out.”

“Sure thing.”

“How is Eamon doing?” Tim asked, leaning over.

The question threw her. She looked about to cry but then her face went steely again. “Straight As, and he’s a great artist.”

“That’s great,” Tim said.

She hovered by the car. “They think he’s repressed a lot of it. A lot of the bad things, not just that night. Everyone knows who he is. They treat him differently—no one wants to be his friend after they know … Some of those bastard kids have made fun of him, called him a killer. It’s awful.”

“I’m so sorry,” Tim said.

“So that’s why I want to be able to tell him he’s done some good, here. He needs to hear things like that.”

Charlie offered her his hand. “Not a problem.”

They watched her walk away and enter the house. “That’s one fine woman.”

“I’m amazed you ever get any police work done with that libido of yours.”

“Why do you think I joined the force in town? Because nothing ever happens.”

“Aside from the occasional triple murder, missing child and haunted house.”

* * * *

Sean went up to their bedroom to talk to Chefaun. Saturday night was date night for them, and in the last couple months, they’d started to leave Steven and Eamon home by themselves.

Chefaun was on her back on the floor, stretching out. She’d just done a half hour on the treadmill downstairs.

He didn’t want to argue with Chefaun right before dinner, but at the same time, he had to say something. “Hon, I’d like to talk.”

Chefaun let go of her right leg and brought her left one up to stretch the hamstring. “What’s up?”

“You have got to stop babying Eamon.”

“Babying?”

“He’s thirteen now.”

“You talking about when those men were here?”

“I am.”

“He was petrified, Sean. It was a cop and some guy he didn’t even know, coming to talk to him about the past.”

“He was doing fine.”

“He was not. And don’t you think your being that aggressive makes him be more submissive when something like that happens?” She dropped her legs to the floor and sat up.

“I kept them at bay while you coddled him.”

“Okay, you’re angry at them right now and taking it out on me. Like usual. I get it.” Chefaun got up and went into the bathroom.

“Chefaun.” He stepped into the doorway. He grabbed the doorjamb overhead, showing off. He knew how much she liked his arms. She caught sight of his biceps and smiled.

“Oh, you’re not going to get me like that. Those seventeen-inch arms of yours aren’t the same thing as an apology.”

“They’re eighteen inches cold. And I’m sorry.”

“There. That’s nice.” She bent over at the sink and splashed water on her face. “Now go talk to Eamon. And he’s going to try and get out of counseling tomorrow, so be ready.”

“Figured as much.” He got a little closer and grabbed her rear. “Damn, girl.”

“You’re a goof. Sometimes I think I married a brother. Play your cards right and my my ass is all yours later. Now go talk to your son.”

Sean got in another pinch and went down the hall. Steven was in his room, alt rock blaring from his speakers.

Sean put his head in the doorway. Steven was at his computer.

“You looking at porn?”

“No, Dad.”

“Just kidding. How was football?”

“Good.” Steven held up an arm and pointed the elbow at Sean. “Got a good scrape going in for a touchdown.”

“Did you get in?”

“I did,” Steven said proudly.

“Good for you, son. Where’s Eamon?”

“I don’t know.”

Sean closed the door and went to Eamon’s room. Eamon was lying on his bed over the Harry Potter comforter, his sketch pad open and propped on a knee.

“Hey, pal.”

“Who were those men?” Eamon asked.

“Nobody, pal. Don’t worry about them.” He sat at Eamon’s desk. “Did you play football tonight?”

Eamon kept his eyes on his sketch pad and shook his head.

“Why not?”

Eamon shrugged. “Do I have to go to counseling tomorrow?”

“Yes. It’s good for you to talk to someone.”

“Steven has been picking on me.”

“How so?”

“His friend called me a name today, and he laughed.”

“Sounds like it was one of Steven’s friends that was picking on you.”

“But Steven didn’t say anything.”

“Eamon, that’s not Steven’s job. That’s your job.”

Eamon said nothing. He thought good families were supposed to stick together, but maybe good families were myths.

“Next time, why don’t you get out there and play with those boys,” Sean said. Eamon needed to start hanging out with kids his age. He spent most of his free time alone, and most of his social time silent. If he kept along this path, he’d never meet a girl, never get a job, never be happy.

“They’re all bigger and stronger than me. I don’t want them to pick on me.”

“There’s only one way to get kids to stop picking on you. And that’s to call them out and stand up for yourself.”

“What do you care? It’s not like I’m your son.”

The words were like a dagger in his heart. Sean had done so much for the boy, shown him all the love in the world.

“How can you say that? I love you very much. You are my son now.”

Eamon kept his eyes on his sketch pad and said nothing while Sean watched him make a few broad strokes with his charcoal, watching the way he squinted and angled the sketch pad to examine his work.

“Have you tried drawing with the other hand? You do everything else righty.”

Eamon didn’t respond. He stuck the tip of his tongue out the side of his mouth, keeping his eyes glued to the sketch pad.

“All right, pal. I’ll leave you alone.” Sean got up. He stopped at the door. “And next time, Eamon, don’t let those kids talk to you like that. You stand up for yourself. Watch Steven if you don’t know how. He doesn’t take shit from anyone. Maybe you should try to be more like him that way.”

Nigh
t
had fallen.

Eddie and Stan were smoking outside. Eddie figured it wouldn’t be long till they went dark. They needed to go dark soon. Billy was still missing, and Tim wasn’t turning anything up offsite. Maybe going dark would get them some much-needed answers.

Dinner had been quiet. Talia had eaten half a slice then gone out to look for Billy in the car. She’d gotten back a little bit ago.

Jackie came out onto the porch. He seemed not to know what to do with himself. “So tell me again about … residuals.”

“Leftover energy,” Stan replied. “Most hauntings are residuals.”

“Why is that?”

To Eddie, it seemed patently clear that Jackie was just making conversation and not really interested in the answers.

Eddie said, “Some tie it back to the first law of thermodynamics. The idea that energy can’t be created or destroyed. Only transformed.”

Jackie mulled that over. “It’s gotta go somewhere, in other words. Sometimes it just stays put.”

“That’s right.” Eddie finished his cigarette. “The good news is, residuals are always harmless. There’s no intelligence behind them, no ill-will.”

Jackie grew thoughtful. “My wife and I are going to stay while you work tonight. In case Billy comes home.”

Eddie’s cellphone buzzed. “Hey, Tim.”

“How are you guys making out?”

“We’re all set.”

“Billy?”

“Not here.”

“Damn … Listen, I’ll be there in an hour. Charlie and I are going to Colestown. I’ll have to fill you in later.”

“What’s going on?”

“We’re almost there—no time to talk now.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. Typical Tim. Too busy to share any news. While he and Stan stayed put, waiting for him.

“When are we going dark?” Eddie said.

“We might have to reassess when I get there. I have Moira looking into the house history. We just got the rug pulled out from under us at the McKennas’.”

“What’s going on?” Eddie stepped off the front porch and walked down the path toward the driveway. Surely Tim wouldn’t say something like that and then not explain what was going on.

“I’ll call once I’m on my way. Don’t say anything to Jackie.” The line went dead.

Flipping his phone shut and stuffing his hands into his pockets, he shook his head. Tim always kept him in the dark and, even worse, never let him run with a situation.

“Tim should be here soon,” Eddie told Jackie.

* * * *

“I don’t fucking believe it,” Charlie said.

Tim didn’t fucking believe it, either.

They each directed a flashlight at the grave of William Moriarty. The very recently disinterred grave of William Moriarty.

Tim stared into the gaping hole of earth where William’s coffin had been forced open with something, probably a crowbar.

Tim said, “Moving this much earth takes some time, especially for a small thirteen year old.”

“You’re assuming it was him,” Charlie said.

“Too much of a coincidence.” Tim kept his eyes on the grave.

“Maybe it wasn’t, though. What’re you always saying—never rule out anything until you’re absolutely certain?”

Charlie was right, of course. Never assume anything that can lead you down a blind alley and get you nowhere, he’d always told his team. And now what was he doing?

“Someone should have seen him doing this.”

Footsteps behind them. They turned to find Mr. Welles, the caretaker, approaching. His keys jingled with every other step, and he was silver-haired and weathered.

“There’s equipment missing. Somebody busted into the shed,” Welles said, his voice deep with age. “Why would they open up a grave like this?”

Tim looked back down into the hole. “Maybe somebody spotted him, so he took off fast.”

“They would have called it in,” Charlie said. “We didn’t get any calls.”

“Kids nowadays.” Welles shook his head. “Who goes around digging up graves?”

Tim said, “People have done this sort of thing throughout history, Mr. Welles.”

“Doesn’t make it any less obscene, does it?”

Tim wanted to explain to Welles that Billy had been going through a lot recently, that Welles didn’t have a clue what the Rossellis were going through, and that Welles didn’t know what he was talking about. And then he realized there was no point.

Welles looked to Charlie. “Let me know if you need anything else from me.”

“Thanks, my forensic team will be here soon.”

Charlie waited till Welles was out of earshot. “So tell me what I don’t want to hear.”

“Charlie, I have no idea what this means.”

“Do you think Billy told him to do this?”

“Yes. But why? This is getting out of control.”

“What are you going to do?”

Tim couldn’t help but think about the Lowenstein case, when he’d been working on another team under someone else. Things had gotten out of control then, too. The team leader, a fifty-year-old named Diggs with too much swagger and not enough common sense, had led them into an alleged haunted pasture to spend an evening.

Their equipment hadn’t been properly checked out beforehand and was later found to be malfunctioning. A couple flashlights failed, communications were garbled, and everyone panicked. There had been several—much too many—close calls, because the investigators were hearing each other in the woods, and getting scared out of their minds, not realizing that communications were down. Add to the mix an NRA nut, who always had a gun on his person, and things got downright dangerous.

Tim shook his head. “Here’s worst case. Billy, the spirit, was in some way responsible for the Moriarty Massacre. He was able to influence the family in subtle or overt ways, and they all lost their minds. Now he’s got a hold of our Billy, Billy Rosselli. He has a lot of influence over him. He’s gotten Billy to dig up this grave as a show of his power. Maybe he’s the one causing all the other things around the house to happen. I’m playing with fire if I go in tonight.”

“But you’re going in?”

Tim wasn’t sure. “Billy’s missing. Maybe we can get answers.”

Charlie pursed his lips. “What’s your gut feeling on this?”

“It’s telling me to back off.”

“So why don’t you?”

“Believe me, I want to.”

“There’s gotta be a way for you to do your thing without upsetting this spirit.”

“It’ll be dangerous.” Tim looked out the window. “You know the first rule of being a doctor? Do no harm.”

“You’re not a doctor.”

“But it’s a pretty good fucking rule.”

Charlie nodded. “It’s dangerous for this kid to go missing much longer, too.”

“Normally spirits aren’t dangerous. But if history is any indication …” Tim let that hang.

“I’m coming with you tonight,” Charlie said.

Tim looked into the distance. Though he couldn’t see it in the darkness, his parents’ tombstone wasn’t far away. It started to drizzle, the rain coming down as mist and sweeping across the cemetery.

“We might need you.”

* * * *

Michelle had been neck deep in paperwork for two hours. Her eyes were straining to read the small print, poor handwriting, and copies of copies. She’d never thought that Tim and his team put this kind of effort into their work—she’d really just wanted to see them at work in the house. At first, it had been novel and exciting, looking through police files on a triple murder. But now she was starting to get a little bored.

Michelle went back to the incident report, the first thing she’d looked at.

The date of the incident was written on the top of the report. October tenth.

Eamon had been brought in for interrogation three years ago, on October tenth. Why did that sound funny to her?

Because tomorrow was October tenth.

Just another coincidence, right? The problem was, the coincidences were stacking up. First, the ages of the Rosselli and Moriarty families sort of matching up. Second, the name Billy, present in both families: Billy and William. Third, the drawings of houses. And now the date, October tenth.

She’d tell Tim when she saw him later. No need to bother him with something that was probably nothing.

Michelle went back to the videotape of Eamon’s questioning. She hit PLAY on the remote control.

“So you were saying that William was your Mom’s favorite,” Barnes said.

“Yeah. She was always telling me to be like William. Be like William. William draws better than you. She told me to try and draw lefty like William because that’s how he drew. But then all my pictures looked weird, so that didn’t work.”

“How did that make you feel, when your Mom told you to be like William?”

Eamon shrugged. “It made me try to be like him.”

“But how did it make you feel?”

“Like he was better than me.”

“Did your Mom ever say something like that in front of William?”

“Yes.” Eamon’s voice cracked.

“How did that make you feel?”

“Barnes—” Sean said.

“Remember what we talked about, Mr. McKenna.” Barnes leaned back and cracked his knuckles. Then he asked the boy, “Did your Mom ever leave you and William alone during the day?”

Eamon nodded.

“Where did she go?”

“Dunno.”

“Where did she say she went?”

“Different places. The phone would ring, and then sometimes she’d leave.”

“The phone would ring? Do you mean she’d talk to someone on the phone, and then she’d leave?”

Eamon shook his head.

Michelle sat forward in her seat, her eyes refusing to leave the screen.

“So tell me what happened. She’d just let the phone ring for a while and not answer it?”

“It’d ring once or twice and stop. And then sometimes she’d leave. People were always crank-calling.”

“Is that what she told you?”

Eamon nodded. “That’s what William said, too.”

Michelle hit PAUSE and pulled out her cell phone. Instead of calling, she texted Tim: Possible that Siobhan’s lover called house, using 1 or 2 ring code.

She beamed. She’d found something useful. Now Tim would have to let her help out.

* * * *

Talia sat on the living room couch and leaned against Jackie. He had his arm around her. The TV was on, but she wasn’t paying much attention.

“I should be out there,” Talia said.

“I’ll go out in a little bit, after Tim gets here.”

The front door opened, and Talia shot off the couch. Maybe it was Billy—

Tim walked into the kitchen with a police officer in tow.

“What’s happened?” Instantly panicked, she put her hand over her mouth. Why were the police here?

“Nothing to be alarmed about,” Charlie said. “Ma’am, I’m Charlie Waite. I’m here to help Tim with the investigation and to help you find your son.”

Talia lowered her hand. “Oh, sorry. I just … Thank you, Officer.”

“Please call me Charlie.” He smiled.

“Nice to meet you,” Jackie said, appearing beside her and shaking Charlie’s hand. “So what bad news do you have for us?”

Charlie removed his hat. “There was a disturbance in Colestown Cemetery this evening. Someone vandalized William Moriarty’s grave. I have my people doing a forensic sweep to see if we can find anything.”

“What happened?”             

“Someone dug up the grave.”

Talia’s eyes went wide. “My God.” 

“And you think it’s related, Tim?”

“It’s possible.”

“Is it likely?”

“I don’t know. There have been some other developments in the case as well. Why don’t we sit down and discuss our options.”

Jackie and Talia sat at the kitchen table, across from one another. Tim and Charlie took the other two available seats. Charlie sat back and put his hat on one knee. Tim leaned forward and folded his hands. He looked very tired to Talia. Something had changed with him.

“I interviewed Eamon Moriarty today,” Tim said. “Eamon was the one that survived.”

Talia shivered. She could only imagine what that boy was like.

“Eamon also had an invisible friend named Billy. This Billy told Eamon to act out a lot, to do things. Eamon frequently ran away from home, prompted by Billy. One of the places that Eamon ran away to was Colestown.”

Talia didn’t believe what she was hearing. Was it even possible that Billy was copying Eamon’s behavior? Was it possible his friend, Billy, was real too? She didn’t know what to make of it. She’d spent forty-seven years on earth believing that such things were make-believe, the province of fantasy novels or horror movies. There was no way it could be happening to her family.

“At this point,” Tim was saying, “I don’t know how big an influence Billy was on Eamon. Or if Billy influenced any of the other Moriartys. Maybe he had a hand in what transpired.”