Sacrifice, Part Five

When my mind came back, Eleanor Hallinan was looking over me.

            I was slumped in a chair at the table, too weak to move. She held onto the table with one hand, steadying her balance, as if her legs couldn’t hold her up very long.

            They were in the middle of a conversation. Or an argument. I heard Eleanor: “. . . understand—I’ve given my soul for the company, but only for the company. For its prosperity. I can only accept sacrifices. Not—”

            “But he’s endangering us!” That came from Brad. “I mean, no, no one’s going to believe it, but even as a rumor—I mean, if people think we’re crazy, that’s going to affect sales, right?”

            She shook her head. “It doesn’t work that way. You know that. I can’t just erase his memory.” She sank into a chair and fingered her necklace, rubbing the crystal. “My influence is limited to the company. The employees. Not outsiders. You have to handle that.”

            Brad groaned. “What do you want me to do? Murder him?”

            “Running the company is your job.” Eleanor’s voice was quiet and chilly. 

            The good news: They hadn’t tied me up with duct tape or anything. Maybe they’d depended on Brad’s incantation to keep me helpless while they argued about what to do with me. The bad news: Plunkett was standing between me and the door, and with my arms and legs feeling like overcooked noodles, I didn’t trust that I could fight my way past him, or even stay on my feet to get to the door.

            More bad news: I couldn’t feel my phone in my pocket, or the pepper spray.

            A little more bad news: Brad was looking over at me and realizing I was awake.

            I sat up, my head spinning. “So you can’t just give me a heart attack and dump me in the alley, huh?” My voice sounded raw and raspy to me.

            Eleanor Hallinan cast a cold glance toward me. “You are interfering with this company. We can’t allow that.”

            Up close, I could see her pale eyes, her almost translucent skin, high cheekbones, thin fingers—and the silver locket drooping down from her shiny necklace.

            “So what are your options?” I leaned forward, trying to get more feeling into my limbs. “Stab me? Shoot me? You don’t seem like gangsters. Lock me in a cabinet in the basement until I starve?”

            I stopped, afraid of giving them ideas. Eleanor curled her lip as she looked me over, still fingering her crystal. Brad’s face was grim, but I could see sweat on his forehead. At the door, Plunkett had his arms crossed, ready for anything.

            Except for the door opening behind him.

            “Hi, is anybody here?” Victor stuck his head in. “Is the meeting over? I thought you wanted me to clean up—”

            He froze, staring at Eleanor.

            I had one chance, so I took it. Lurching to my feet, I pushed Eleanor’s chair into Brad’s knees. She gasped in indignation, and Brad snarled, but I dodged around him. 

            Instead of the door to the hall, though, I headed for the other door—the one into the adjoining office. Plunkett couldn’t intercept me from his spot at the other side of the room.

            I pushed on the door. Not locked, thank God. Inside I slammed it with my shoulder and fumbled at the knob, hoping to find a lock. Yes! I snapped the clock with a loud click, then turned to look for other doors.

            In a moment I had the hallway door locked too. Of course, they probably had keys, so I looked around for something to block the doors with.

            The room was mostly empty, except for a few chairs, one file cabinet, and Eleanor Hallinan’s coffin in the center of the floor. 

            The coffin. The lid was heavy, especially with my body still feeling weak, but I managed to lift it up. The interior was lined with silk, no soil at the bottom like a traditional vampire would have. Smashing it probably wouldn’t destroy Eleanor, even if I had an axe or a hammer to break it into pieces. But I managed to shove it up to the door, and it was heavy enough to at least slow down any effort to get inside from the conference room.

            Then I pushed the file cabinet to the other door. It wasn’t as heavy as the coffin, so it wouldn’t stop them for long, but it was all I had. Once it was up against the door I paused for breath, trying to think.

            A wide window looked down on the parking lot. I could see my car. The window wouldn’t open, but I figured I could break it with a chair. Then I could kill myself jumping from a second-story window. 

            Something banged on the hallway door. The file cabinet jumped. I rushed to shove it back.

            “Jurgen!” It was Plunkett. “You can’t stay in there all day!”

            Could I hold out in here until Monday? No, that seemed unlikely. Although Rachel knew where I was. Eventually she’d come looking for me. But by then I’d probably be stuffed inside one of those coffins they were making downstairs.

            The conference room door bumped. “Jurgen!” This was Brad. “Come on. Let’s talk about this!”

            Talk? Did he really want to negotiate? “Make me an offer!” I shouted.

            Silence. Then:

            “Mr. Jurgen? This is Eleanor Hallinan.” Her voice carried through the blocked door without being loud. “Come out of there right now. There doesn’t have to be violence.”

            “How much do you want?” Brad demanded. “We have resources. Money. No one will believe you anyway. Why not come out ahead?”

            Plunkett pounded on the hallway door again, and the file cabinet teetered. I had to do something. I could agree to take their money, but I’d never be able to trust them. Plus, you know, it would be wrong. 

            I had one idea. And I didn’t have any time to think it through. If I was wrong—

            The file cabinet fell over. Plunkett had the door half open.

            I pulled on the casket. “Okay, let’s talk! Parley! Come in!”

            Between my pulling and Brad pushing, the coffin shifted enough for him to slide through the door, followed by Eleanor. They stood in front of me. Brad’s face was red, flushed. Eleanor’s was as pale as before. Her arms hung limp at her sides.

            Plunkett got the other door open. “Okay, what’s it going to be? I sent Victor downstairs. I don’t know, I think he was trying to—”

            While he was talking and they were looking at him, I darted forward. Reached out. And grabbed Eleanor’s necklace.

            She shrieked as the clasp broke behind her neck, not from pain but surprise. I yanked it off her shoulders, turned, and hurled it at the window with as much force as my fear could project.

             Crystals can collect supernatural power. Something was bringing Eleanor Hallinan back from the dead, and I was betting that Brad’s “sacrifices” were providing the energy needed to resurrect her. And I was hoping that without the crystal, Eleanor wouldn’t have the strength to maintain her hold on life, whatever kind of life or half-life it was. 

            The necklace hit the glass. The window didn’t break, but the crystal did, splitting into three shards. 

Then Eleanor Hallinan screamed. A short spike of fear or pain that stabbed our ears and seemed to make the floor sway under our feet.

            Brad, about to hit me, spun around as her scream died away. Plunkett was halfway across the room, one fist raised. He skidded to a halt, his eyes suddenly wide.

            Eleanor Hallinan, already pale, was shimmering. She looked like a cloud losing its shape in the sky. She opened her mouth, trying to speak, but no sound came out. She turned to Brad, raising her arms and reaching to him—but her hands had disappeared. 

            She stared down at her body, shoulders trembling, as the light from the window streamed through her. First her hands and arms were gone, then her legs, then her body, and in a moment nothing was left but her face, frozen in shock, and finally only her eyes were, gazing sightlessly into nowhere.

            Then Eleanor Hallinan was gone.

            For a moment I felt the urge to apologize. Whatever she was—ghost, zombie, revenant—I’d sent her away. I only wanted to get away myself. But I’d been desperate. The crystal seemed like the only weakness she might have had. If I’d been wrong . . .

            Brad waved a hand in the empty space. “Eleanor? Eleanor?”

            Plunkett growled, “You son of a bitch.”

            Brad’s eyes blazed. “What the hell did you do? Why the hell would you do that?”

            “For Cathy Linden.” I backed away from him. Plunkett was behind me, but he didn’t move to cut me off from the door. “And all the others.”

            “You killed her. You killed the company.” Brad seemed stunned. “It’s lived for 100 years.”

            “Maybe it’s time for new management.” I turned to the door.

Plunkett glared at me, but he didn’t try to fight me. He and Brad just watched me as I walked out the door.

            Victor was on the stairs. “What happened? Are they—what’s going on?”

            “You should maybe get out.” I pushed past him, eager to get out myself. “And find a new job.”

            We heard Plunkett upstairs, calling “Victor! Get up here!”

            “Just a minute!” But instead of heading upward, Victor followed me to the back door.

            We got in our cars. Victor turned in a different direction as we pulled out of the parking lot. I drove a few miles, letting my heart calm down, and eventually pulled into a gas station to call Rachel. 

Except I didn’t have my phone. Damn it. I went into the station to use the restroom, and bought a bottle of water and a sandwich because I hadn’t eaten anything or had a drink since breakfast. I gobbled down the sandwich, gulped half the water, and drove home slowly, trying not to let the memory of Eleanor Hallinan fading away cloud my concentration. 

            

My new phone buzzed on Monday at 10:32. I hadn’t heard anything from Hallinan Furniture all weekend. I’d collapsed at home on Saturday and spent Sunday cleaning the bathroom and getting a new phone. Fortunately I back up my phone every few days, so I recovered all my contacts and apps and games. Then I just watched movies with Rachel. 

Now all I wanted was a few days of quiet, boring P.I. work. Bring on the employee background checks!

            The phoned buzzed a second time. I picked it up. “Hello, Tom Jurgen speaking.”

“Mr. Jurgen?” The voice was female, quiet, and a little tense. “My name is Cynthia Towers. I’m, uh, Cathy Linden’s daughter. And Frank Towers. I was looking through my mother’s computer yesterday and I ran across some of her emails with you. I was wondering if we could talk.”

“Of course.” I tried to remember what I’d said to Linden over email. “How can I help you?”

“It’s not just the emails with you. Some of them from the company seem kind of—strange. What did she hire you to do?”

I chose my words carefully. “She was suspicious about her husband’s death. Even though there wasn’t any evidence of violence or poison or any kind of foul play.”

“What did you find out?”

We’d probably have to meet in person, but at least I could give her the general story and provide some closure. For both of us. “Let’s start with the company’s founder, Eleanor Hallinan . . .”

 

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