Touch of Madness (31 page)

The floor was covered in scarred red linoleum that was probably loaded with asbestos. It had been waxed until it practically glowed. And on the wall, hanging above the stove was a white metal sign with bright red letters that read

“The kitchen is the heart of any home.”

There was pancake mix in the pantry, unspoiled eggs and milk in the refrigerator. In no time we were eating scrambled eggs and pancakes, while I answered Bryan’s questions and caught him up on what had been happening in the big, wide world.

No surprise that he was most interested in the advancements in…video games.

23

« ^ »

Bryan and I spent a quiet few days in the house. I got to reread the old Nancy Drew novels I’d loved as a girl, lose at backgammon to Bryan in front of the fireplace, and generally rest up until I felt like myself again. I missed Tom dreadfully. I hadn’t realized how much a part of my life he’d become. But it was wonderful spending time with Bryan. It felt like a part of my life had clicked back on, like a speaker you hadn’t realized was shorting out. We spent some time walking around the neighborhood, just to stretch our legs. It was a quiet, middle-class neighborhood with a fair ethnic mix. People mostly kept to themselves, although they were friendly enough when you ran into them at the grocery store or saw them walking their dogs. I guess Brooks had stopped in to tell people some quiet lie.

There was a little, neighborhood pizza place, a liquor store, and a privately owned grocery that had a meat shop where they’d cut your meat to order. At one point during the week Bryan called Joe. The two of them went out to a movie, then to Bernardo’s afterward to shoot pool and drink beer. Bryan hadn’t given up on getting Joe and me to make up. He’d back away for a little while, before trying again. He worked on each of us in turn, hoping that one of us would have the good grace to be the first to apologize.

After a week the worst of the media frenzy had died down. The hot superstar couple had given birth to their twins. The president had made a major announcement. There were other things to report. Oh, there was still interest, but we weren’t being treated like hunted animals any more. Brian, Melinda, and I had agreed to do a Barbara Walters special on condition that the network make a major donation to the church’s zombie care program. There would be mention of the program and Michael, broadcast at the beginning and end of the show. That should win him some points at the Vatican.

Since there was no more need to hide, Bryan and I would be going home tomorrow. Before we could leave, though, we had a promise to keep. Brooks hadn’t been kidding. The garage was a disaster, packed floor to ceiling so that you couldn’t even take two steps inside.

Thursday morning Bryan decided to try Joe yet again. He used the work cleaning out the garage as an opportunity to bridge the gap in our family. He asked him to come help. Joe refused, saying he “wasn’t ready” to forgive me. I wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be forgiving me for. Since I didn’t think I’d done anything wrong, I refused to apologize. It hurt Bryan. He hated being caught in the middle. He loved us both so very much. A big part of me thought I should just say whatever it took to get Joe to back off, that the whole situation was childish and stupid. After all, Bryan was back, when we’d thought him lost to us forever. But another, stronger part sincerely believed that if I didn’t make a stand Joe would be bullying me and harassing Tom for the rest of our natural lives. I didn’t want to live like that. So I kept my mouth shut and enjoyed my time with Bryan away from Joe. Brooks drove Tom to the house when he got off shift on Thursday afternoon at one. As agreed, we waited for John and Tom to arrive before getting started. First, because we were enjoying the quiet rhythm that we’d fallen into while staying here. But also, because neither Bryan nor I wanted to throw anything in the garage in the trash without checking with Brooks first. He might say “it’s all junk,” but we didn’t want to accidentally dispose of some priceless family heirloom.

At one-thirty we opened the door and started digging in.

It was hard, physical labor, but it was a little like a treasure hunt as well. There were boxes of clothes, kid’s toys, and board games piled next to boxes of old newspapers, some of them from before I’d been born. She’d only saved the special ones, and I was amazed to find yellowed copies of the Denver Post and Rocky Mountain News, one proclaiming the assassination of JFK and the other of Martin Luther King. Those had to be worth some money. I set them aside in a special pile.

There was a box of beautiful crystal, pale blue etched with a pattern of flowers. It was exquisite. I’d never seen anything like it. Brooks added it to the save pile. He’d let Camille decide whether she wanted it, or if they should donate it to the Salvation Army.

Three Bronco loads of books, children’s games, and old clothes did get donated. There were probably more such things further back behind the mower and gardening tools, but we hadn’t reached them yet. I checked my watch as Brooks and Bryan each took an end of a battered old box spring and started shuffling their way around the house to the alley. We were making progress, but it was getting late and there was still an awful lot to do. I stared at the remaining mess, feeling tired and more than a little discouraged. A few minutes later, when Tom stepped through the garage door carrying cold beers from the fridge I was more than happy to take one in exchange for a quick kiss. He handed one each to Bryan and Brooks when they got back and said, “This is the last of the beer.”

Bryan wiped the sweat from his forehead with one hand, smearing dirt in a long line. “There’s a liquor store a couple blocks from here. I’ll go buy some more and maybe pick us all up some sandwiches. Gotta tell you, I really missed beer.”

I raised my brows in mock disapproval and crossed my arms—being the good big sister. He hadn’t been of legal drinking age when he’d become a zombie. Brooks and Tom each reached into their pocket to retrieve a wallet while Bryan winked at me and grinned.

“I’ve got it,” Brooks announced. “It’s the least I can do considering how much work the three of you are putting in.”

Tom started to argue, but Brooks cut him off with a wave of his hand. “I said I’ve got it.”

Bryan took the money from Brooks’s hand and went inside to grab the keys to the Oldsmobile. I watched him go with something akin to amazement. He remembered how to drive. I mean, yeah, his license was still technically valid from when he’d gotten it at sixteen. But he actually remembered how to drive. I hadn’t believed it was possible, but he’d proven it to me in an empty church parking lot the previous afternoon. It was so cool, and so…weird. I flipped open the can and took a long drink. I’m not much of a fan of beer, but it felt good going down. I was hot, sweaty, sticky, and no doubt stunk to high heaven. Of course, so did they. Every one of us had set aside our jackets hours ago to work in our shirt sleeves. The temperature outside was cold, but we were doing heavy physical labor that had us sweating like pigs.

I set my beer on the floor just outside the door, then gathered up the last bundles of old magazines that had been tied together with string. I crossed the lawn, carrying my burden into the alley and toward the third dumpster down from the house. We’d filled the first two to overflowing, but the neighbors had been more than happy to donate their space to the house cleaning and save their trash for the next week. Brooks’s mother had been a lifer in the neighborhood. It was their way of showing respect. The first two were already full to overflowing with odds and ends of lumber and other miscellaneous crap.

The street lights were spaced far enough apart that sections of alley were in deep shadow. One of the neighborhood dogs barked, leaping against the chain-link fence as I passed. His lips curled back, exposing a set of fangs Tom or Rob would be proud of. I hoped the fence would hold and moved away quickly.

I had to set down the magazines so that I could flip open the dumpster’s hinged lid. Grunting with effort, I lifted the first bundle and flung it over the lip of the container. I was tired. My shoulder was starting to hurt. I’d been careful, tried not to do too much, but the old injury was letting me know that it wasn’t going to put up with much more. I hated it, but pushing harder would just reinjure it, and put me through more months of expensive, painful physical therapy.

I was bending down to get the next bundle when I heard the roar of an engine and the crunch of gravel. A pair of headlights pierced the shadows as an SUV barreled toward me.

There was no time to think. Instinct took over. I dived to the side, rolling as I did. I took most of the impact on my shoulder with bruising force, driving dirt and broken glass through the fabric of my shirt and into my skin. There was a squeal of tires as the driver slammed on the brakes, but the SUV’s momentum was too much to overcome. The vehicle slammed into the Dumpster right where I’d been standing, the impact sending the heavy metal canister back six feet, through a tall wire and picket fence with a deafening scream of metal on metal and the crunch of splintering wood.

It took a few seconds for me to pick myself up off the ground, staring at the crushed front end of the vehicle. Distantly I heard Tom and the others approaching, but my attention was all on the SUV. I limped forward, planning to check on the driver. The airbag had deployed, and I couldn’t see inside in the uncertain light.

“Kate, are you all right?” Tom called.

“I’m fine. But you’d better call the cops and an ambulance.”

“Right.”

I heard his running footsteps retreating toward the house. I had rounded the rear corner of the vehicle, intending to check on the driver when I saw the door was open. In that same instant, out of the corner of my eye I saw movement reflected in the paint.

I spun, and the scrap of two-by-four sped by me in a blur of speed before slamming into the fender. The metal bent and tore with a heavy sound. Almost before I could react the board was pulled back again.

“Amanda!” I gasped out the name.

She looked like the villain from a slasher movie. Her face was contorted with rage. The entire front of her body was soaked with blood so that her clothes clung wetly to her. She smelled of blood, and meat. I screamed, loud and long. She cursed, swinging the two-by-four with the same deadly ferocity she’d used to swing the bat at me up in the mountains. I opened my senses, using my psychic talent. It was the only way I could stay ahead of her deadly swings.

“Drop the board.” Brooks’s voice rang out through the night. He stood beneath the street light, gun aimed steadily at the center of her chest.

She hissed, spinning in his direction. I tried to shout a warning, but it was too late. The board flew at him like a missile. Brooks dived out of the way, firing as he did. The board clipped him, and I heard the gun clatter to the ground. I didn’t dare look to see if he was hurt. Even as I watched blood blossom from the exit wounds, her body jerking like a badly handled puppet, she tried to lunge at me.

I could see her heart beat through one of the holes in her chest, but as I watched in horrified fascination the hole was shrinking. Her body was actually healing the damage while I watched. That was even faster than Tom’s wounds had healed.

Time seemed to slow, everything seemed preternaturally clear. I backed away, trying to get ready for what she was about to do. Tom was coming. I could see the large furred shape of him running toward her unprotected back. Amanda reached down, grabbing another scrap of lumber to use against me. Her voice when she spoke was…eerie, high-pitched and breathy, yet weirdly calm.

“I went to the church looking for you.” She swung, the board hitting the SUV. The tail light shattered with a crash, causing a rain of shards of yellow, white, and red plastic. “I knew Mike would know where you were hiding.”

The board missed me, by the merest fraction. She’d put enough force behind the blow that it threw off her balance for a second, giving me time to move further out of the way. “I had to kill the wolf to get to him.” She looked annoyed. “He almost got away. I caught him in the church basement. I used to like him, you know. I would have been easier on him, but he fought me. He wouldn’t tell me, no matter what I did to him.”

Caught who? Rob? Or Mike? I didn’t dare reach out with my mind. I needed every spare brain cell for the here and now. But shouldn’t I have known? Why hadn’t my senses warned me while she was at the church?

She faked to the right with lightning speed, but the move threw her off balance. She stumbled, and Tom leaped, the momentum of his body against her back taking her to the pavement with a wet thud as his teeth sank into the back of her neck. Growling, he jerked his head sharply back and forth. I heard her spine snap; saw her head tearing away from her body. I remembered then, what Carlton had told me, what Tom had overheard. To kill Amanda we had to stake her, and take off her head. Tom could take her head, but he couldn’t stake her, not in his present form.

Brooks was bent over, picking up his gun. The sirens were getting close. There wasn’t much time. I reached behind me, grabbing a broken picket in my right hand. With one final jerk of Tom’s jaws, Amanda’s head rolled free of her body. Her blue eyes blinked, her lips pulling back from her teeth in a snarl, even as the head rolled across the pavement, leaving a bloody trail behind it.

I grabbed her shoulder with my left hand, rolling her headless body onto its back. Blood was spurting from her neck, but the gunshot wounds were almost completely healed. As if distantly, I heard Brooks gasp in shock. Her chest was still rising and falling with labored breaths that made whistling noises from her open windpipe. I raised my

“stake” above her chest. Using all my strength I drove it home. Amanda’s body gave one last shudder and stilled.

24

« ^ »

The rest of the night passed in a blur. I have no real memories of what happened, just scattered images. I recalled being curled up in the worn metal chair on the front porch of the house, my body wrapped in a heavy quilt Brooks had pulled off his mother’s bed. The police had separated Tom, Brooks, and me to take our statements. I was waiting for my attorney to arrive before I said anything.