Waking the Dead (17 page)

“That doesn’t mean you can’t try. Anything’s better than nothing.” John watched as Fred lurched backward, through two of the ghosts, then turned and began to run away as best he could, stumbling. “God, there he goes.”

“He won’t go far,” Nick said suddenly, his voice hoarse like he’d been screaming.

He was right -- the ghosts surrounded Fred again almost immediately.

Blayne and Toran lashed out at them, shouting. “Get away! Murderers! First, you condemned us to death, then you shut us up in that cave for all those years! You’re the ones who should suffer!”

“They can’t hear them,” Josh said, a little bit desperate. “Blayne and Toran, I mean. They can’t hear the ghosts, so they don’t know they’re trying to say anything at all. But Nick can -- he can hear what they’re saying. He thinks they should use him.”

“What does that mean?” John demanded. Nick was gone again, standing there but might as well have been a million miles away, unresponsive to John’s fingers when he snapped them in front of Nick’s face.

“For power.” Josh didn’t seem able to explain it very well. “They can use his power. I don’t know, his energy, or something. He doesn’t think it will hurt him.”

John glared at Josh for lack of anyone else to glare at. “It better not!”

“He thinks if they don’t fix this soon, the ghosts -- the other ghosts -- won’t be able to stay at all, and then Blayne and Toran will be free to do whatever they want again. We’re running out of time.”

“Shit.” John rubbed his hand over his face, trying to scrub away the panic that must be showing on it. “So tell them that. Pick one of them and concentrate on that one.” Josh opened his mouth as if to protest, but John was past listening to what couldn’t be done, not with Nick’s sanity at stake.

He scanned the ghosts and saw one standing at the edge of the crowd, a woman, her arms folded over her chest, a shawl draped across her face. She was weeping. “That one,” he said. “She’s by herself; see?”

Josh chewed at his lip and then nodded and moved over to her with John close behind him. Josh came to a halt a few yards away and simply stared at the woman without speaking, though John supposed he was still communicating. This skill of Josh’s was so new that he didn’t hold out much hope of it working but it was all they had, so by some twisted logic, it had to.

The woman’s head turned slowly, her tears still flowing silently. Josh’s head tilted as if he was trying to listen to a faraway sound and then he spun around, his face pale, and met John’s puzzled look.

“What is it? Did it work?”

“Oh, it worked,” Josh said. “I told her and she’s going to try, but John --”

“Aye?” John said, impatience thick in his voice. They just didn’t have time for this. “What?”

“Do you know who she is?” Josh breathed.

“How in the name of God would I --” John began and then he paused, because there was only one person it could be and looked at one way, it was the best choice of all.

Or the worst.

He spared Nick a quick glance, noting his pallor -- God, Nick looked like a corpse himself with that gray tinge to his skin and those wide, unblinking eyes -- and then gestured at the woman. “Tell her to hurry, lad,” he said. “Before her sons are past listening even to their mother.”

Chapter Fourteen

The ghost woman was already moving, as if Josh hadn’t wasted any time in urging her to act. The other ghosts paused, then backed off, making room for her to come closer to her sons, who seemed unaware of her presence at first.

Then Blayne and Toran looked up and saw her, and the fury on Fred’s face melted away into something more like confusion. “Mam?”

Elspeth Lennox flickered -- it was like the power had been cut, just for a second or two -- and beside John, Nick swayed on his feet. Alarmed, John grabbed onto him and kept him upright.

The ghost’s image steadied again; it might even have been a bit more solid. She spoke. “So long I’ve waited to see ye again, and this is my reward?”

“It’s not our fault!” Blayne and Toran chorused immediately.

“Aye, I should have expected as much.” She shook her head sadly. Her voice wasn’t strong, but John was close enough that he could hear her clearly. “Not taking responsibility. Is that why ye didn’t come home to me for so long?”

“We couldn’t!” one of them -- John thought it sounded like Toran -- protested. “We wanted to return as rich men, not beggars. And then after, when they’d murdered us -- we kept trying to get to you, and then they trapped us.”

“No,” she corrected him. “You came from your grave with hatred in your hearts and killed my neighbors and friends. Never once did ye visit where they’d put me to rest, never once. I would have known. I would have risen to greet you as I always did.”

“Not always, Mam,” Toran said, his voice choked with grief. “Ah, God, to see you lying there --”

Her face softened. “I know, lad, I know. It was a terrible homecoming for you both. It’s not how I would have wanted it, but ye canna blame them. Not entirely.” A fond, mildly reproving indulgence crept into her voice. “Ye were always such wild boys…but good at heart, I’d never let anyone say different.”

Typical mother; blind to their faults. John bit back a remonstrance that really wouldn’t have been useful, and waited. She had to hurry; Nick was close to being a dead weight in his arms.

“Mam --” Toran’s voice cracked and Blayne began to speak. “This is a second chance for us, don’t you see? We can live out our lives, the years that were stolen from us.”

Their mother reached up, her hand, insubstantial, wavering, and stroked Blayne’s face. “I know it’s you because I see true, but it doesnae mean I canna see that this isn’t your body. He’s done ye no harm and yet you’ve stolen his life, as was done to you.”

John wasn’t sure if that was confirmation that Fred was lost or not. Only one way to find out and that was to get the brothers where they belonged.

“We had to, don’t you see?” Their voices were linked again, a plaintive duet, but she simply shook her head, her tears flowing again.

“You didnae sin, my bairns. Ye died unshriven, but innocent. What you did after that--”

“Has doomed us.” Their joint voice was harsh now, her influence seemingly fading. “So why not add one more drop of pitch to our blackened souls?”

“Not doomed!” Elspeth’s voice rose, enriched with a power John doubted it had held in life.

Nick’s strength of will was speaking, not hers, Nick, who was clinging to John with a grip that was slowly weakening. John eased them both to the ground and cradled Nick to him, smoothing the dark hair back from Nick’s ashen face. “I’m here, love,” he murmured. “Take whatever you need from me, body or spirit; it’s yours; all of me is, you know that.”

He felt the jolt as Nick reached out to him with his mind a moment later, a stab of agony piercing him. Swallowing a moan of pain, he tried to relax; difficult because fighting came easier to him by far. But letting Nick do what he wanted wasn’t new to him, after all, and it wasn’t so bad now; he just felt drowsy, really, like he was sitting in his boat, with the waves rocking it slowly side to side to --

“John!” Josh’s hand struck his face and John opened his eyes and gave him an indignant glare. “Sorry. You -- you looked like you were -- were --”

“I’m not,” John said, the words shaped by lips that had gone as rubbery as they did after drinking too much. “‘M helping your brother.”

“He looks worse than you,” Josh said bluntly, his arm around John’s shoulders. Nick was slumped, lying partially in John’s arms, mostly on the ground.

“Never mind us, what about them?” John turned his head with an effort and blinked through the gathering dusk at the ghosts. They were clustered around Mrs. Lennox now and she was --

“Richard! Kenny! Donal!” Her voice rang out. “All who left my boys to die and paid the price, stand with me.”

The figures around her pressed closer, and the brothers stumbled back until the wall of the pub was against their back.

“Do you forgive?” she demanded. “Do you?”

This was Nick speaking, John knew. Their dead mother’s mouth, yes, but Nick’s words, Nick’s plea for absolution.

“If --” The brothers faltered, Fred’s throat working for a moment. “If we forgive --”

“Then we’d all be free of this,” their mother told them. “All these years will be washed away like words scratched into the sand by the waves. None of us will be trapped anymore. But if you can’t…if you aren’t men enough to set aside the past, no matter how painful…”

That seemed to push them over the edge. “We are! We can.” Still it seemed to take an enormous amount of effort, and there was a pause so long that John was on the verge of shouting at them to get on with it, then, before they shuddered and said, “We forgive.”

Nothing happened. John wondered if the magic, or whatever it was involved, could tell the difference between genuine forgiveness and the sort born of desperation, and had enough time in which to worry what would happen if it could.

“Please, Mam,” Blayne and Toran whispered, bringing tears to Fred’s eyes as they reached toward their mother. “We’re sorry.” And their mother stepped forward and enfolded them in her arms, stroking their hair as they began to weep.

Beside John, Nick made a strangled sound as he tried to draw air into his lungs and mostly failed. His lips were close to blue. At a loss for what to do to help him, John gave him a little shake and shouted at the ghosts. “Enough!”

Elspeth turned her head and looked at him, her face etched in sorrow and pride and a thousand other things too difficult to name, and nodded. “Time to go, boys,” she said, not at all loudly, and they all began to fade, going even more ghostly until they were nearly invisible, like spirits caught in photographs, white wisps of smoke. Still clutching each other, the ghosts of Blayne and Toran entwined with their mother, three becoming one.

And then they were gone, and Fred dropped to the ground as if the strings holding him had been cut.

Josh scrambled to his feet and went to him immediately, turning him onto his back and pressing fingers to his throat. “I can’t feel anything,” he said. “I think -- I think he’s dead.” The boy swallowed heavily, no doubt imagining the other man’s fate as his own, but John was already turning all of his attention to Nick, who was at least breathing evenly again, a bit more color in his face.

“Nick? Come on, love, it’s over.”

Slowly -- too slowly for John’s comfort -- Nick’s eyes blinked. His tongue came out and wet his lips. “I think…” His voice was so weak that John could barely hear it. “Maybe…I got in over my head.”

John couldn’t help the incredulous squeak in his voice as he went to his knees and helped Nick to sit up. “Maybe? There’s no maybe about it! You have me scared half out of my wits there --” His words trailed off, silenced by the overwhelming relief and love he felt. “We’ll talk about it later,” he said, comforted by the knowledge that there was going to be a later for them, no matter how much he was grieving over past and present deaths. “Just -- just rest now.”

Around them, there was a rising tumult of voices. Jack and Todd were being tended to and John had no doubt that the limited emergency services on the island would be arriving soon in the shape of the local doctor and constable. There would be questions; there would be arguments. Those who left would doubt what those who’d stayed had seen; those who’d missed all of it would never believe. And the story would get out to the press; no keeping it quiet.

John bent his head and pressed a kiss against Nick’s hair. He stayed like that, his eyes closed, with the evening breeze blowing clean and sweet over them, until the doctor came.

Chapter Fifteen

“Nick, love. Wake up.”

It was John’s voice coaxing him from the lassitude that seemed to have seeped into every cell in Nick’s body. He realized that the car had stopped moving; he’d forgotten what it was like to be this exhausted, if he ever had been. He didn’t think he had, though, not even after the accident that had killed Matthew and left him broken and desolate.

He forced his eyes open. He was in the passenger seat of his own car -- John’s had been so damaged in the accident that it wouldn’t be drivable until it had undergone significant repairs -- and John was to his left, leaning in from outside and touching his face gently with work-roughened fingers. Through the windshield, Nick could see Josh and Caitrin opening the door to the house; a moment later, the kitchen light turned on, warm yellow light washing its way out over the steps.

“There you are.” John smiled encouragingly. “Not far now, and you can sleep as long as you like.”

Moving seemed impossible. “What time is it?”

“No idea. My watch stopped, remember?” Now that he’d been reminded, Nick did. They weren’t sure why it had -- well, it had probably had something to do with the power transfer that had happened when John had offered up his own energy to Nick, but honestly, Nick had very vague memories of that. He’d been in so deep, caught up in the maelstrom of voices, that he’d barely been aware of anything that had been going on around him. If John hadn’t stepped in when he had, it was entirely possible Nick would have just slipped away, everything in him drained in the process of feeding the ghosts he’d raised.

“Nick.”

Oh. His eyes had closed again. “Sorry. Right.” Opening his eyes, Nick undid the seatbelt he was certain he hadn’t fastened in the first place and swung his legs out so that his feet were touching the ground. “This is a lot more work than I remember.”

“Aye, well, you’re not usually this tired.” John got an arm around him and kicked the car door shut as they started slowly toward the house.

“You guys okay?” Josh called from the house. He looked like he was considering coming out to help, which was ridiculous, because surely Nick could walk that far, couldn’t he?

It didn’t matter if he couldn’t, though; John was bearing his weight easily enough. John had never set foot in a gym and probably never would, but he had a wiry, reliable strength developed the old-fashioned way. Nick supposed he weighed less than a net full of wriggling, silver mackerel and was a little easier to maneuver than a wheelbarrow full of bricks.