The Dead Ones (Death Herself Book 3) Read online

  To my horror, I see that it's part of the Flesh Weaver's face.

  “With my bare hands,” Dyson says with a grin. “Do you finally see the hopelessness of your struggle? If a mighty beast couldn't hold me back, what chance could you possibly have?”

  Turning, I see him standing nearby. A rush of pure anger builds in my chest.

  “I've taken thirty-eight new souls in the past two minutes alone,” he continues, “but still I'm not satisfied, and do you know why? Because I haven't taken the soul I want the most. The others were just appetizers, but your soul has been promised to me for several years now. Give it to me, surrender yourself, and I will leave the rest of this town alone, but I must warn you... If you continue to resist, I will destroy every living creature within one hundred miles of this dirty little place, and then I will take you anyway.”

  “No more,” I stammer, climbing out through the broken window until I'm face-to-face with him. “If you want me, you've got me. Just leave everyone else alone.” Looking around, I realize that there's no sign of Hannah, so I guess the brief vision of her was just an illusion, maybe part of my mind struggling to cope with everything that's happening. I can't expect her to rush in and rescue me every time I'm in danger. “No more death,” I gasp, wincing as I feel fresh pain in my chest. “No more destruction. Let everyone go.”

  “Almost everyone,” he replies with a smile.

  A moment later I hear a cry of pain from inside the store, and I turn to see Josh writhing on the floor, clutching his chest in pure agony.

  “Stop!” I shout, turning back to Dyson. “Leave him alone or I'll -”

  “Or you'll what?” he sneers. “We've already established that you can't do anything to me. You can't even hide very well.”

  “Stop hurting him!” I say firmly, stepping closer. “It's me you want!”

  “An angry soul is a far greater meal than one that simply submits,” he continues, as his smile grows. “I intend to ensure that you, Ms. Bromley, are the most succulent meal of all. After all, I've waited long enough. You owe me this!”

  As the sirens get closer, I turn and look across the town square.

  “Don't expect anyone to come and help you,” Dyson adds. “I've sown the seeds of confusion in their petty mortal minds. They're just driving round and round, never quite finding their way to the town square. Not until I decide to let them come, anyway. Humans are so pathetically easy to manipulate.”

  Suddenly Josh's cries cut out, and I look back through into the store.

  “What did you do to him?” I whisper, before starting to climb back inside. “Josh, I -”

  Before I can get through, however, I'm dragged back through the air and slammed to the ground. Landing on my right arm, I feel a sharp pain, and when I roll onto my back I realize I've got more broken bones. I try to get to my feet, but the pain is too strong and I fall back, gasping for air. A moment later, Dyson appears in the corner of my eye, staring down at me with a smile.

  “This will be very painful for you,” he explains. “It needn't be, but after everything you've put me through, I think I've rather earned the right to make you suffer.”

  I try to reply, to tell him to go to hell, but I can barely breathe. A moment later, I realize that there's something in his right hand, and finally I turn to see that he's holding Josh's severed head, with blood dripping from the ragged loose skin around his neck. Staring into his dead eyes, I swear I feel a sense of pure sorrow bursting through my chest, as if something at the back of my mind has snapped. Lunging forward, I try to grab Dyson by the collar, only for him to grin as he pushes me away. I hit the ground hard but immediately scramble to my feet, once again throwing myself at him with a cry. This time he grabs my throat, squeezes tight, and then slams me into the wall.

  Slumping down, I feel as if my skull is vibrating. The police sirens are still ringing out, but I can tell now that they're not getting any closer. It's as if they're constantly driving around the streets at the edge of the square, never managing to actually reach us.

  “Even as he died,” Dyson continues, “your boyfriend's soul was crying out for you, begging me to let you live. I found his determination amusing, to say the least.”

  I struggle to get up, but the impact with the wall has left me dazed.

  “Enough theatrics,” Dyson mutters, dropping Josh's head and then stepping toward me. “Until this moment, I never appreciated the value of delayed gratification. How long has it been since I first set eyes on you? You were just a child back then, terrified and cowering under a desk while your brother and his friend opened fire. It has certainly been long enough for me to anticipate the richness of your soul. Long enough for me to crave this meal with every fiber in my being.”

  Reaching out, he grabs my head and tilts my face up so that I have no choice other than to look into his eyes. I want to lash out and strike him for what he did to Josh, but my body is too weak and frail.

  “Can you feel it?” he asks with a smile, as the sky darkens above. “I'm slowly, very slowly, peeling the first strands of your soul away. Usually I'd kill you first, but I think in this instance I would like my meal to squirm.”

  I let out a gasp as I realize I can feel my mind starting to separate, as if individual thoughts are being disconnected from one another and lifted up. Concentrating, I try to hold back, to force this monster out of my head, but he seems to find my efforts amusing and he quickly pushes harder, making me gasp as he drags strands from deeper and deeper down. I can hear him laughing in my mind as he picks at each memory in turn, and I'm powerless to fight back. I'm coming apart.

  At the same time, above the town is darkening with alarming pace, and an ice-cold wind is starting to blow across the square.

  “Did you really think,” Hannah's voice says suddenly, “that I'd just walk away and forget about this place?”

  It's not her.

  It can't be her.

  My mind is just firing in every direction, filling my ears with what I want to hear.

  “I knew you'd be back,” she says firmly, and this time she sounds a little more real. “Addicts are so predictable.”

  I see the hint of fear in Dyson's eyes as soon as he hears those words. The strands of my thoughts are loosening, and I feel them drifting slowly back down into my mind. I tell myself that Hannah can't really be here, that she's long gone, but at the same time Dyson's reaction is enough to give me hope.

  “You need to turn and face me,” Hannah continues. “What's wrong? Scared?”

  Letting go of my collar, Dyson turns and looks back across the town square. I slump down, grasping at my throat for a moment before seeing Hannah over at the square's center. I blink a couple of times, convinced that she's not really here, but if anything she becomes more distinct with each passing second. There's a new seriousness in her expression, too, a sense of dark fury that wasn't there before.

  “You can't do this!” Dyson says with fear in his voice. “I know you! I know the limits of your power, and you can't summon these forces! I did everything right! I kept you away!”

  “I called in a favor,” she says calmly, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on him. “I'm going to pay for this at some point, but someone very big and very powerful owed me some help. Of course, I couldn't call that favor in without letting him know where I am, so that's going to be complicated and painful when he catches up to me, but right now I figure nothing's off the table.” She takes a step toward him. “Congratulations. You've done something that no-one has ever really managed before, or at least for not a long time. You've pissed me off.”

  Behind her, the sky is darkening more and more, with huge, vicious clouds swarming as far as the eye can see. There are hints of lightning behind those clouds, but only brief, faint flashes, as if a violent storm is brewing, and the heart of that storm seems to be directly above Hannah.

  “You can't be here!” Dyson sneers. “I blocked you!”

  “And I got through anyway,” she replies.

>   “No-one has the power to do that!” he shouts. “There's only one person in all of -”

  He stops suddenly, with a flash of fear in his eyes.

  “Bingo,” Hannah says with a smile.

  “That's not possible!” he stammers, taking a step back. “You'd never go to him, you wouldn't dare! Everyone knows that you're terrified of him!”

  “I never thought I'd turn to him for help either,” she replies, making her way toward Dyson. “I thought I'd just keep on running forever, always glancing over my shoulder in case a certain person caught up with me. Then again, maybe deep down I knew that one day I'd have no choice, and now finally that day has arrived. The day when nothing I do is enough to fix the mess I'm in. The day when the people I'm trying to help matter more to me than my own safety. I tried everything within my power to stop you, and you just kept slipping through. So what other option do I have? I called for help from an old friend.”

  “He's not your friend!” Dyson shouts, clearly filled with panic. “Listen to me, there's still time! If we work together, I can take you to people who'll offer you sanctuary! It'll be a little difficult to persuade them, but they'll listen to me and they can help you to hide!”

  “I'm done hiding,” Hannah tells him, her tone filled with derision. “Once I've dealt with you, I'm going to face something I should have faced a long time ago. I'm going to stop running, and I'm going to take responsibility for the mistake I made when I was just starting out.”

  “You're insane!” he screams. “He'll destroy you! He'll throw you to the depths of misery and he'll leave you to rot forever! After what you did, he'll never let you see the light of day again!”

  “Everything's going to be okay,” Hannah says, turning to me as thunder rumbles above the town square. “You trust me, don't you?”

  I want to answer, but instead I look across the ravaged town square and see all the dead bodies littered about. After a moment, I spot Josh's severed head and I realize I have to go and hold him. Kneeling on the blood-stained cobbles, I take his head in my hands and stare into his eyes, and I feel another part of my soul starting to break deep in my chest. There are no words, no thoughts, that can possibly do justice to the grief in my heart. Josh is dead, and it's all because he was here with me. If only I'd sent him away, for his own good, he'd still be alive. He sat next to my comatose body for so long, and now he's dead.

  Suddenly there's a loud scream from nearby, accompanied by a crack of thunder from above. I turn to see that Hannah has placed her hands on Dyson's shoulders. She's forcing him down onto his knees, and a brilliant white light is emerging from his eyes and mouth. His whole body is trembling and he's letting out a series of tight, gurgled cries, while Hannah stares down at him with calm detachment. The light flashes and flares in Dyson's eyes for a moment, and then suddenly both he and Hannah are gone. I look around, but all I see is utter devastation. As the constantly-circling sirens finally come closer and police cars race into the town square, I look down at Josh's head and feel tears rolling down my cheeks. The cold wind is picking up, ruffling against my clothes, but none of that matters anymore. Josh stood by me when I was in the coma, and I repaid him by leading him to his death.

  This is my fault. He died because he loved me.

  “I'm sorry,” I whimper, squeezing my eyes tight shut. “I'm so sorry.”

  “M'am?” asks a voice nearby, probably a police officer.

  “I'm so sorry,” I sob.

  “M'am?” The voice sounds distorted now, as if it's both near and far at the same time, echoing through the air.

  Leaning forward, I start weeping with rage. After everything that happened, I lost the one person who means the most to me. I've spent my whole life trying to hold my mind together and keep from falling into madness, but that fight is finally over. I hold Josh tight and let out a long, uncontrolled wail of sorrow.

  “M'am?”

  Suddenly I open my eyes and see the girl from the jewelry store smiling at me. She's standing behind the counter, and the entire store seems to have been put back to how it was before Dyson showed up. The ceiling, the walls, the display cases... Instead of being damaged beyond repair, they'll all firmly in place. Even the air-conditioning unit, which a moment ago was hanging down in disarray, is now tucked back up with the ceiling tiles. I take a step away, shocked, before feeling a kiss on my neck. When I turn, I see Josh standing behind me.

  I blink a couple of times, convinced that he'll fade away, but instead he smiles.

  “Have you seen anything you like yet?” he asks.

  All I can do is stare. I can't believe that he's real, not yet. What if my mind is broken? What if this is some kind of fantasy world?

  “Honey?” He frowns. “Why do you look so shocked? Did you find a ring you like? Am I going to look equally shocked when I see the price tag?”

  Spotting movement nearby, I turn and see that everything truly seems to be back to normal outside. Saturday shoppers are milling about in the town square, and every scrap of damage has been undone. There are no dead bodies on the sidewalk, there's no blood running between the cobbles, and the sky is clear and blue. People who were dead a moment ago are now wandering past, seemingly without a care in the world. It's as if time itself has been rolled back.

  Josh puts a hand on my shoulder. “Bonnie?”

  “Are you okay?” I ask, reaching up and touching his neck, checking to see that his head is properly connected. All I can think about is the horrific sight of his dead eyes a moment ago, and I can't shake the fear that maybe I've retreated into an illusion, that my mind has been completely shattered.

  “I'm a little freaked out,” he tells me, “but... Seriously, Bonnie, is something wrong?”

  Still staring at him, I can't help wondering if everything that just happened with Hannah and Dyson was all in my mind. I guess it's possible that I had some kind of brief mental hiccup that filled my head with scenes of carnage and pain, all of which took place in the space of just a few seconds. It felt so real, but at the same time there's no way it could have suddenly been undone, which means it must have all happened in my head. There's no other possible explanation. Unless I'm willing to accept that a crazy girl appeared from nowhere, twice in my life, and saved this whole town from some kind of monster.

  “I'm fine,” I whisper, before turning to see that the girl behind the counter has taken out a tray of rings, ready for me to take a look. “I think I just... I think... I don't know what I think. It's almost as if...”

  And then I faint, slumping down and hitting my head on the side of the counter. Not that I remember that part, but Josh tells me all about it later at the hospital once I wake up.

  Eighteen

  Twenty years later

  “Keep it together,” I whisper as I sit on the edge of the bath, wiping my eyes with tissue paper. “Just keep it together.”

  I can hear Josh and the kids outside, setting up the barbecue. I should go and join them, but another panic attack struck me while I was in the kitchen and I just need a few minutes to get my head straight.

  “Come on,” I mutter, frustrated by my own weakness. “Just get the hell over it!”

  ***

  “So Uncle Malcolm was, like, a serial killer?” Janey asks, her eyes as big as plates.

  “Not a serial killer,” I reply, passing the salad bowl to her. “It's complicated, I'll tell you all about it later.”

  “But why didn't you mention it before now? Why did I have to hear about it from someone at school?”

  “It's really not something I like talking about,” I tell her, taking a deep breath in an attempt to hold off another panic attack. My hands are trembling, and I feel certain I'm going to drop something soon. “It was a long time ago, too. Everything was different back then.”

  “How many people did he kill?”

  Sighing, I realize that there's no way she'll let go of this. Sometimes, my daughter is like a terrier with a bone.

  “There were eighteen
victims,” I tell her, “plus -”

  “Eighteen! Jesus Christ, Mom, and you never mentioned this before? Like, seriously?”

  “Your grandmother was one of them,” I explain, “and I almost -” Before I can get those words out, however, I start blinking furiously. Ever since the incident at the jewelry store several years ago, I've developed a nervous twitch that comes out any time I have to talk or even think about Malcolm. “Not now,” I mutter. “Please, Janey, go and help the others.”

  “But how -”

  “Janey...”

  “I need details,” she continues excitedly. “Like, did he -”

  “Enough!” I shout, momentarily losing my temper as I step toward her. For a brief second, I actually come close to slapping my own daughter, but fortunately I'm able to hold back.

  “I'm sorry,” she stammers, stepping away as if she sensed what almost happened.

  “We'll talk about it another time,” I reply, taking deep breaths as I try to calm my nerves. “I'm sorry, honey, I just find it a little difficult sometimes. You know that's not your fault, right?”

  “Sure. I shouldn't have pushed. I just -”

  “Now get moving,” I add, interrupting her. I know I should be more open, but her sudden barrage of questions has come up so suddenly, and I need time to work out what to say. “Your father's getting the barbecue started and people will be arriving soon. We'll talk about your uncle tonight.”

  “I guess our family's name is mud, then,” she replies, heading out to the garden. “No wonder you moved halfway across the country.”

  “No wonder,” I say with a sigh, watching as my oldest daughter goes to join the others. I guess I always knew that one day she'd start asking about my family history, but at the back of my mind I was somehow hoping that there'd be a miracle and I'd never have to even think about Malcolm again. Ever since Josh and I came to live in California after our wedding, I've tried to focus on the future and forget as much of the past as possible. Not just the shooting, but also the events that came after it. Sometimes I worry that if I re-open old wounds, I might have another relapse and start seeing or hearing things.