The Unearthed: Book One, The Eddie McCloskey Series (24 page)

“I’
m
going to fucking kill you!” Eddie screamed.

He picked himself up and scrambled down the steps. He was all adrenaline now. There was no conscious thought. Instinct had taken over.

Eddie hugged one wall, knife gripped tightly in one hand. He reached the threshold between the foyer and the living room.

He peered out of the bay window and could see Chefaun with her phone out, pacing across the front lawn. The police would be here any minute.

Which meant he didn’t have much time.

He wanted to find Eamon before the police arrived.

A loud crash came from the family room. Eddie jumped but regained his composure. He stepped through the living room carefully and made his way silently into the dining room. He peered through the entrance to the kitchen, trying to see into the family room.

He couldn’t make anything out.

Then into the kitchen. It was odd how similar this house was to the Rossellis’. Nearly the same layout.

He gripped the knife tightly, feeling how wet his palm was. His pulse echoed in his ears.

Nothing under the kitchen table. He stepped around it, slowing before he reached the entrance to the foyer.

The sliding glass door had been shattered. There was no blood on any of the glass still in place, so Eddie assumed that something other than a body had gone through it. Large pieces of glass dangled precariously from the top of the door. One broke away and shattered as it hit the bottom frame, and it scattered onto the carpet.

Eddie wondered if Eamon had fled, or if this were just a diversion.

No. Eamon wouldn’t leave without trying to kill him or Chefaun.

Chefaun.

Eddie ran to the front door. It was unlocked.

* * * *

Eamon was in tears and running out of the house toward her. His t-shirt was soaked with blood, both sides of his face were smeared with blood, and his legs were covered with blood. Chefaun had no idea what was going on, but Eamon looked scared to death.

“Mom,” he said, crying. He had never called her that before. He made it down the front steps and stretched out his arms as he ran toward her.

Chefaun brought her hand up to her mouth.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” she asked, shooting her arms out.

Police sirens wailed in the distance.

Eamon was almost in her arms, when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the front door open again. Eddie emerged, holding a knife in one hand.

“Chefaun!” he yelled.

Eamon didn’t turn around, but he kept coming toward her.

“He has a knife!” Eddie yelled.

Chefaun looked down at Eamon, whose hands were empty. If anything, he looked scared out of his mind and was running away from Eddie. Eddie was the one holding the knife. What the hell was going on? What sort of madness had taken them over?

“Mom,” Eamon said.

“He’s killed everyone!” Eddie yelled, hurling himself off the porch and breaking into a sprint.

Eamon had almost reached her, and she kneeled to hug him.

“Stay away!” she yelled.

Eddie looked like he wanted to kill Eamon.

* * * *

Eddie was five feet away from them when he saw Eamon reach under his shirt for the knife. Five feet too far to do anything useful. So he took another stride and jumped, throwing himself through the air.

Eamon pulled out the knife.

He slashed at Chefaun, but she had moved away.

Eamon turned and brought the knife around and up.

Eddie fell on top of him.

Eamon crashed to the ground.

The knife buried in Eddie’s abdomen. He didn’t feel it right away, but when the delayed reaction hit, he felt a hot, searing pain in his gut that radiated into his back and up his spine.

Eamon let go of the knife and scrambled to get away.

Eddie latched onto Eamon’s leg.

Through the pain, Eddie could hear the police sirens getting louder. He didn’t know how long he could hold Eamon, though. He hoped the cops were closer than they sounded. He wouldn’t be able to hold much longer.

Chefaun watched the two of them in horror, unsure of what to do.

Eddie said, “Don’t let him get away.”

Eamon kicked his other leg back. His foot connected with Eddie’s jaw, and Eddie felt a crack.

His fingers lost their grip for a second, and Eamon pulled his leg free.

Almost.

Eddie dug deep and gripped a bloody sneaker. Eamon’s feet flailed in his face.

“Chefaun—” Eddie said.

She didn’t move.

“He killed Tim,” Eddie said.

Chefaun jumped on top of Eamon and wrapped him up. He writhed, he wormed, he kicked, he screamed, he wailed, he clawed. He did everything he could to break free.

A squad car barreled up the street and stopped in front of the house. Eddie heard someone shouting. He started to lose focus, the pain unbearable.

But he held onto the sneaker.

Whe
n
Eddie woke up, he saw Michelle sitting next to his bed, his IV line running alongside her. Her head had lolled to one side and she was sleeping. He opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was raw. Had they put a respirator in?

“Mi … chelle …”

A scratchy whimper, but the noise woke her. She opened her eyes and looked over at him. She smiled wearily. Then she picked herself up out of the chair. He felt her hand on his forearm.

“Hey there,” she said. Her eyes were puffy. Not just from sleep.

And then it hit him that his brother was probably dead.

“Tim …”

Her smile changed into a thin line, and her head lowered. When she looked back up at him, he saw the tears in her eyes. She shook her head sadly.

He didn’t cry. He felt numb. It was like watching the news on TV, about people he’d never met. He must have been drugged up. It was he that should have been dead, not Tim.

“You try to sleep, Eddie,” she said through her tears. She put a hand on his forehead and wiped his brow.

“I … sor … ry …”

Her hand moved from his forehead to his cheek, and then Eddie fell back asleep.

* * * *

He came to again. This time, Michelle wasn’t there. Moira and Stan stood in the corner, their backs partially to him, speaking in hushed tones so as not to disturb him. Light filtered through the blinds. It felt like morning, but Eddie couldn’t be sure. He looked down, realizing he was in a hospital gown.

“Hey …” he said. His throat still hurt, but it wasn’t as bad. Now he felt the pain in his gut, going up into his chest. It felt like the knife was still in there.

They both turned. Moira rushed to his side, a big grin on her face.

“Eddie,” she said.

“Hey pal.” Stan grabbed his left hand and squeezed.

Eddie tried to sit up, but the pain exploded in his abdomen.

“Don’t do that,” Moira said.

“Wha—” Eddie started to ask, but the pain took over. He clenched his stomach.

“Just relax,” Stan said. “We’ll do the talking.”

Eddie took his advice, and the pain eased off a bit. He looked from Moira to Stan, all the questions starting to form in his mind. There were so many.

“Sean McKenna pulled through,” Stan said to him. It wouldn’t have been Eddie’s first question. That bastard could go to hell for all he cared. “You guys must have gotten into the house before Eamon could finish him off. You saved him.”

Eddie coughed weakly. “Other kid …”

Stan said, “He didn’t make it.”

Eddie felt bad about that.

“Eamon.”

“He was taken into custody. They’re saying he’ll be tried as a minor. Probably put into a psych ward somewhere for the rest of his life.”

Eddie shook his head. The bastard kid deserved to die. Then he thought about paying Eamon a visit. How could he sneak a gun or a blade in with him?

“Chefaun’s been here to see you, too,” Moira said. “Her husband’s still in the ICU.”

Eddie nodded once.

* * * *

Eddie watched from the sofa as Stan packed the last box. Stan had been good enough to call some movers for the heavy stuff, since Eddie still wasn’t allowed to lift anything. The knife had entered his stomach, above the belly button, and had nicked some major artery. He’d almost bled out apparently.

It had been two weeks, and the stitches were just starting to disintegrate. He’d been on a steady diet of painkillers.

“I’ll be out in the car, bud,” Stan said. “Give me a shout if you need anything.”

Eddie thanked him again before Stan walked out.

He wondered what he would do with himself. He realized just how much he’d looked to Tim for direction in life. But now Tim was gone.

It had been no surprise to learn that Tim had had a life insurance policy. After all, that was so like him to be mindful of the future and plan for the contingencies. He wondered if Michelle knew about the money, and whether she felt entitled to some of it.

Eddie found himself the recipient of $100,000. He didn’t know what he was supposed to feel about that, but he felt a mixture of shame, guilt, and—what he’d never admit to anyone—a perverse joy.

Eddie picked himself up off the couch. Getting up and down still hurt. He stood in the living room and looked around at the bare walls, bare floor, and bare room. Everything was gone. He was leaving the furniture.

The phone rang. Eddie made his way to the kitchen counter and picked it up.

“Hello.”

“Eddie?”

“Yes.”

“Hey, Ed. This is Talia.”

“Hi, Tal,” Eddie said. He’d seen them at the funeral last week. It had been nice of them to come, though he had barely spoken to them. Or anybody. It had seemed like the whole town was there. Charlie had provided the police escort. He hadn’t realized his brother had been so well-known and respected. It had made him feel proud.

“How are you?” Talia asked.

“You know.” He was tired of that question.

“I, um … just wanted to see how you were.”

“Thanks, Talia. I appreciate that.” She sounded like she had something to tell him but was afraid it wasn’t the right time.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

He said nothing at first. Then, finally, “Are you okay?”

She sniffled on the other end of the line. Eddie realized she was crying. “I’m so sorry to bother you, Ed. But … I didn’t know who else to call.”

“What is it?” Eddie asked.

“It’s Billy. I … He’s back. The spirit,” Talia said.

Eddie’s jaw dropped.

“We don’t know what to do,” she said.

Eddie was dumbfounded. He had no idea what to say. He tried to figure out what Tim would say at a time like this. But he didn’t know. He was not his brother. And now his brother was gone.

She said, “I know you can’t do anything. I wouldn’t ask you to do anything more. I just wanted you to know. We’re … we’re going to move.”

Eddie lowered his head, closed his eyes. Had it been for nothing?

He’d given up Tim’s side business altogether. Much as he liked ghost hunting, he didn’t want to turn his brother’s death into something he could profit off of, or into a case study for the other paranormal experts out there.

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

“I’m sorry, too.”

“Tal, it was nice meeting you and your family. I’m sure you’ll be okay. And take care of Billy. He’s a great kid.”

She was crying so hard, she barely got the words out. “Thank you.”

They hung up and Eddie stayed by the phone for a moment. He felt hollow.

“Was that Talia?”

He started. He hadn’t heard anyone come in, but Michelle was there, in the doorway.

“Yeah.”

“What did she say?”

Eddie didn’t want to tell her. “She just wanted to say hi, see how I was.”

Michelle eyed him strangely, as if she didn’t believe him. After an awkward pause, she asked, “How are you?”

“I miss the son of a bitch.”

Michelle laughed, despite herself. “I do too.”

Eddie said nothing. Just watched her gather herself. He realized this was just as hard for her as it was for him.

She hugged herself. “I loved him so much. He was such a decent man.”

The words stung Eddie. He wondered if she blamed him for Tim’s death. He wondered if everybody did.

Eddie stepped forward and held her hands.

“He was going to ask you to marry him,” Eddie said.

She wiped under her eyes. “I would have said yes.”

“I want you to have something.”

“What?”

Eddie smiled. He couldn’t believe he was about to do this. He and Michelle had never gotten along, but Tim’s death had made their differences seem petty.

Half was still a lot of money.

“I want you to take half of Tim’s life insurance policy.”

“NO—”

“Yes. No arguments.”

“Eddie, I can’t.”

“I’m giving it to you. If you don’t want it, donate it to charity. But it’s yours. He loved you.”

Michelle hugged him. He knew it wasn’t for the money. It was for the gesture. She clung to him, like she’d never let go. Like he was Tim.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. He felt numb.

“It’s not your fault.”

Eddie didn’t feel like arguing. It was his fault. If he had listened to Tim and followed Tim’s procedures, this might not have happened. But then again, maybe it would have, either way. He had been going crazy the last two weeks, playing out all the possibilities in his head.

“It’s not your fault,” she said again.

“Thank you,” Eddie said.

She released him and wiped under her eyes. “What are you going to do now?”

“I’m staying with Stan for a little bit. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“I hope you keep in touch.”

“Likewise. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I just can’t believe he’s gone.”

“While that kid sits in a fucking hospital somewhere.”

She said nothing.

Killing Eamon was all he’d thought about the last two weeks. He tried to quell his feelings of revenge by telling himself that Eamon had been abused, neglected, and mistreated by his family so much that he couldn’t function like a normal person. That it wasn’t his fault. But no amount of rational thought slaked his desire for revenge.

There was only one way to do that.

Michelle got on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Nobody knew him better than us.”

“Nobody ever will.”

* * * * * *