Chapter ten: Taking some for the Team
Tarboro, North Carolina In the woody swampy area near the Tar River. August 21 almost 22, 2003 Delaney: 22
"A ghost?"
"Yes, Bobby. A ghost. And the damn bitch took William. That little…" Delaney trailed off, the sound beneath her feet changing from the cracking of twigs to the sickening slurp of mud whatever else that was on the ground, coming off on her boots.
It was so hard to see that late and Delaney was getting really pissed off that she couldn't even see where her feet were landing. She'd almost tripped twice, the ground beneath her feet having the habit of turning from hard rocky soil to sticky gooey mess that seemed like it could swallow her ant moment. And occasionally, the puddle of water that scared the hell out of her because she expected to sink into a lake.
Everywhere she turned it look the same and partly because she couldn't see much. The moon peeked over a tree every once in a while but not enough. The sounds of critters seemed like a constant thing and she was really hoping she didn't feel anything crawling up her pant leg.
"You sure?'
"I don't know, Bobby! She only flinged me away from her like… what's that thing that's left after a person dies and decides not to move on? Oh yeah! A ghost!"
"No need to get your panties in a knot."
"Oh, screw you!"
"What, and you want me to figure out where she's buried?"
"Yes! And a hell of a lot quickly before she kills William! God, this was never a damn banshee, Bobby! What is wrong with this bitch!" Delaney muttered all of this quietly, but the force and anger in her voice was still prominent. "She couldn't just act like a fuckin' ghost?"
"We don't know who she is, though."
Delaney stopped in her tracks, her angry muttering falling silent.
"Delaney? You there?'
"Remember I told you about that girl Patricia's uncle was supposed to have raped and murdered?"
"You think that's her?"
"It better be or I'm gonna murder ever- ahhh!"
Delaney's foot hit what felt like a rock in the middle of the muddy ground and she didn't have enough time to reach out for the nearest tree. She fell face forward into a pile of mushy gooeyness and groaned as her gun was knocked out of her hand. All too suddenly, a dull ache began in her right shoulder, her best arm.
In her left hand, her phone had remained intact and she could hear Bobby's voice by her ear. She moaned when she slightly moved her right shoulder. She instinctively tried to stretch her arm out but immediately realized it was a bad idea when pain shot through her whole arm and shoulder. She placed it down slowly, whimpering as pulses of pain blinded her. Either it was broken or she'd dislocated it.
She raised the phone to her ear with her other hand and muttered,"I still hate the woods."
…
"William!"
Her voice was echoed back at her, the sound of it slowly fading away into the darkness was enough to, she thought, drive anyone insane.
She knew she wasn't alone and for once, that was a frightening idea. She could just imagine the small yellow peeping eyes keeping a watch, following her every move and measuring the agility in her legs and arms.
One arm was crippled but that didn't mean she still couldn't kick ass. She was so angry at that point she was hoping the ghost would come at her.
Bobby hadn't made it any better. When she'd explained to him what had happened, he hadn't laughed, oh no. But she could hear the damn smile in his voice. And she knew he'd be chuckling as he searched for the ghost's identity.
"I just had to trip and fall, huh? I couldn't have brought a damn flashlight! Oh, I hope that damn bitch does come at me! I could finally wring her crazy little neck in between my…"
Delaney fell silent, her feet slowing to a stop. The soft gurgling of the river that she knew she was going to approach at some point caught her ears. The trees were thinning and she noticed the ground went into a slant, downward, to the very edge of the river. She could see the water twinkling in between the trees and she had to admit to herself that it looked kind of beautiful. Once you could get past the creepy air it gave you.
She held her breath and carefully stepped forward, gripping her shot gun in her left hand. She wasn't as good a shot with her left hand but it would do. It had to.
The fresh crisp smell the river emanated made her feel slightly more relaxed in a way she didn't understand. She broke through the trees, carefully walking down the edge of the higher level of forest land and groaned when the movement jostled her right arm.
"You would fall, Delaney," She muttered to herself and straightened up.
The river wasn't a strong one; the current was passing slowly and serenely. It was longer than the streams she'd encountered and wider. The other side of the river was covered with the same trees. The whole length of it was clear and well-maintained. The areas close to the very edge of the river had been cleared of any long weeds or rocks. She assumed it was so nobody could trip and fall in.
Delaney stood as far away from the edge of the river as she could get without heading back into the trees and looked around closely. No one was in sight. Not even a psycho ghost.
"Uhh… I'm here. And I know what you're doing and you better stop your shit. I'm tired, I'm hungry, and God help me, I'm not pissing my pants 'cause of you. I don't know what the hell anyone did to you but I'm sick of it, and I bet it gets boring too. I'll send you packing the nice way if you let me or I'll just get rid of you like I've had to get rid of all the damn ghosts I've faced in my life."
She felt stupid talking aloud but most of all, she felt like cussing the damn thing out. She walked farther down the river, her gun slack in her hand. She wouldn't say she wasn't scared because she'd been scared every since she could remember. Fear was good. It kept you on the balls of your feet. She'd just learned how to keep the fear somewhat in check.
Delaney went silent, listening closely for the ghost. The soft gurgling of the river and the rustle of leaves was all she could hear.
"Come on! You want payback against the innocent family? Because nobody did anything for you back then? Not on my watch. Not as long as I live."
The sound of strangled pained sobs reached her and Delaney spun around, her gun aimed straight in front of her. Her right foot slid on mud framing the river but she managed to remain upright. Her eyes were firmly caught on the thin pale figure kneeling beside the river, a few meters from her.
The ghost from earlier was gripping something blue in her mangled bloody hands. She was rocking back and forth, tears pouring down her face; some of her hair was stuck to her cheeks and seeping into her mouth.
Delaney held her breath, her eyes emotionless and careful. She stepped forward slowly but didn't shoot. She took a quick second to look for William but he was nowhere.
Delaney listened quietly to the cries and shrieks it was giving and when the ghost moved, Delaney cocked the gun. It didn't come at her but gently splayed out the thing in its trembling hands onto the surface of the river water.
Delaney knew she should have shot the ghost already but she was curious. It hadn't come at her and that was beginning to confuse her. It was crying like a… like a Banshee.
Then, when the blue fabric was splayed out so it floated on the water Delaney understood. It was the summer dress she had been wearing the day before.
Then confusingly, before her eyes, instead of the water being absorbed into the thin dress it slowly turned red. Delaney didn't have trouble figuring out what that meant.
The ghost stopped sobbing and looked up at her with a lifeless dead gaze. Delaney stepped back.
"Well, hell."
The loud shot of the shot gun drowned out the shriek the Banshee made. Delaney didn't have time to celebrate her great shot before she was running back to the trees. She scrambled up the dipping land area, and memories of scrambling up a slide at Bobby's flashed in her memory.
She passed her shot gun to her right hand, ignoring the pain that shot through it and with her left hand, grabbed a low hanging branch. She pulled herself up, her feet scrambling to find a steady piece of land, all the movement she was making was jostling her hurt arm and it took her a while to realize she was whimpering and gasping like a wounded dog. When she pulled herself up she began to run, eyes watering from pain, muttering to herself, "Just a little bruise, just a little bruise." But there was no fucking way it was just a bruise.
She passed the shot gun back to her left hand and carefully folded her right arm so it lay against her stomach, her fist under her left arm.
She had more than enough breath to call out to William but her attempts were never answered. She wasn't sure if the thing had managed to hurt William in the little time Delaney had been able to get it angry but her only bet right now was to head back to the house and figure out things from there.
She jumped over a fallen branch and continued running, the leaves crunching under her feet. She could feel the mud from earlier when she'd fallen and hurt her shoulder, drying on her cheeks and the dirt in her hair was beginning to make her scalp itchy. There was a burning sensation bothering her knees and she could only guess it was from trying to climb up the river ledge.
She was surprised the ghost hadn't come at her yet and she was hoping it wouldn't until she could kill it for sure.
She could distinctly see the edge of the trees coming on and the light that was let off from the O'Malley house. But before she had reached the edge, something caught her square in the back and she fell forward with a grunt.
Her hurt arm was squashed under her and the uncomfortable position, in which her arm was folded in, made her jerk to get it out. Her left hand felt empty and she grabbed at the forest ground around her for her gun.
Something turned her over and she released a pained breath, when her head fell back with a thump. She opened her eyes and wasn't surprised to see a pale hungry face above hers.
Delaney brought her hand up in a quick motion but not to punch the thing. Salt flashed into the ghost's face and it hissed, retreating. Delaney turned over, using her good arm to get on her feet and in one quick motion picked her gun off of the ground and shot the thing again.
She stumbled towards the edge again, the ache on her back shooting pulses of pain that made her face screw up in pain.
She broke out, not pausing to look back or even call out for William. She hoped she'd be able to save him.
Something crashed into her and she tumbled to the side, swinging her gun upwards and almost shooting.
"Stop! It's me! It's me!" William shouted frantically, his hands held up, palms outward. He had more than one cut framing his face and his shirt was torn in several places, revealing the tan flesh underneath. Delaney had thought he was older than what he looked at the moment. The fear made him look younger, not even in his early thirties.
Delaney released a hurried breath and grabbed William by the arm. She pushed him in front of her but kept a firm grip on his forearm. "In the house! Quick!"
Delaney ran alongside him, her hair whipping around her face, smacking her as she ran. Sweat was beading on her forehead and at the back of her neck. They reached the porch and Delaney passed William, not being able to stop the speed she had been running at and crashing into the front door with the left side of her body. She didn't pause, pounding on the front door.
She turned to check on William who was catching his breath. A dirty hand grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around. Delaney aimed her gun but knew she couldn't shoot with William in the way.
William was trying to scream but it seemed like something was stopping him from it. He was gasping and coughing for air like if something was holding him by the neck.
Delaney shoved William out of the way, and he fell to the side. Delaney aimed and shot, making the ghost disappear in a cloud of gun smoke and rock salt.
"It's us! I have William!"
She was so physically exhausted by that point she didn't struggle to pick William up off of the porch but just hissed at him urgently, "Get up! Come on!"
No one was answering the door and she knew she couldn't afford to wait for the ghost to come back so she stepped back and grunted as her foot connected with the door. It didn't budge and just left her leg aching. But she could hear the terrified cries of a little girl.
"Emily!" She neared the door and pressed her face up against it. "Emily! It's me! Open the door! Please! Before it comes back!"
There was the sound of footsteps and a click of the door. Delaney stepped back, finally helping William up who wasn't even speaking or gasping for air anymore. He was as quiet as could be and Delaney figured it was the shock and terror of being grabbed two times by the same annoying ghost.
A tall man opened the door and Delaney was momentarily shocked by how red his hair was. He looked at her with suspicion and fear but behind him a woman stood up and pushed past him. "Oh my God William!"
Patricia pulled the man in, not even stopping to ask how Delaney was. Delaney didn't wait for them to invite her in but just stepped over the line of salt they'd made.
The red-headed man closed the door behind her and locked it with a loud click. He spun to Delaney who was looking around frantically for anything that looked old and that could be connected to the girl. Now that William was okay she had more time to figure things out.
"She has a gun." The man's faced transformed into a furious scowl and walked towards Delaney.
Delaney stepped back, realizing what the man was trying to do. "Whoa, whoa! I'm not the bad one here! And this gun doesn't have normal bullets! These are rock-salt cartridges!"
"Greg, she's good. She won't hurt us." Patricia spoke from her place in the sofa, next to William who she was already attending to, having run to the kitchen for the first aid kit in one of her cabinets.
Greg looked from Patricia to Delaney, with a calculating stare. Delaney didn't move. The man was huge and she was pretty sure it wouldn't be a good thing to take him on.
"Yeah, Greg. She saved me from that… thing," William groaned, wincing as Patricia applied alcohol on his scrapes.
Greg continued to stare at Delaney closely and as much as she was trying to rein her anger and frustration in, the pissed-off glare the man was giving her wasn't helping. "We don't have time for this, buddy. It's nice to meet you and all. It sucks we have to meet during something like this, but all things considered, this is usually the only time I tend to. I'm sure it'll make a lasting friendship between us."
Greg didn't answer and just before she could begin asking Patricia questions her phone vibrated in her back pocket. She took it out, making a pained face when the movement hurt her arm.
"Fiona Turner. Died nineteen-sixty-five. Murdered and raped. Slashed across the neck. You were right, this isn't a Banshee." Bobby muttered.
"Any idea where it's buried?"
"Cremated. But if you can find a-"
"Yeah, got it. Thanks."
Delaney turned to Patricia, slipping the phone back into her back pocket. Patricia looked at her, confused. "When you moved into the house, did you find anything that had been left? Anything with some DNA? Like a hairbrush or a glove? Clothes?"
"Uhh… N-No. Nothing."
"Shit!" Delaney ran a hand through her hair. She'd hoped Patricia's crazy uncle had kept something of the girl he'd murdered so this would be easier.
"W-Well… there is this jewelry box I found. It had a… a comb and a necklace."
"Where?"
Before Patricia could answer to Delaney's urgent demand the front door burst open, eliciting a scream from Emily who had been clinging closely to her mother.
Delaney stepped forward already aiming. The telekinetic force the ghost used knocked her backwards, flinging the gun from her hand. She crashed into the shelf beside the chimney, letting out a yelp as something clawed into her back.
She heard the scramble of heavy feet and then a loud thud of something being knocked over. She tried to move but the pain in her lower back was increasing. She rolled over; the things that had fallen off of the shelf fell off of her. She carefully felt along the smooth fabric of her leather jacket until her fingers bumped into a long metal object. She pulled it out easily, hissing as it came out. She brought it to her face and groaned when she saw what it was. A letter opener.
The deep grunts and high pitched screams were still sounding and then she heard two sets of lighter footsteps passing by her and headed to the stairs.
Delaney got to her knees and crawled to the chimney. She looked over to where the struggling was coming from. William was pinned behind the farthest sofa, his arms pushing at it as it dug into his waist.
She looked over by the door to find the ghost named Fiona pressed up against Greg, who was chocking for air against the wall. She had her hands tightly around his neck, the nails digging into his skin.
Delaney had no idea why she wasn't slitting the victim's throats but she wasn't going to say anything about it. She got shakily to her feet and reached for the iron ash picker next to the chimney. She leapt forward, swinging hard with it but making sure it couldn't possibly touch Greg.
The ghost dissipated and Greg gasped for air, grabbing onto his neck, genuinely relieved that nothing was squeezing it.
"Re-salt the doors and windows! Now! I'll go check on the girls! Here," Delaney handed the long iron rod to William. She bent down, quickly picking up her gun and ran up the steps.
She raced down the hall, skidding to a halt in front of Emily's room. "It's me! Open up!"
The door pulled open and Patricia's frightened face appeared, "I need you to tell me where the jewelry box is. Now!"
"U-uh… i-in my the door. I-I think it's on the top shelf in the closet."
Delaney turned, not speaking another word. But before she could get down the hallway she stopped and turned back. Patricia looked at her with horrified eyes.
"Here. These aren't real bullets. They're just cartridges filled with Rock salt. If it shows up, just aim and shoot, okay?"
Patricia took the gun shakily and nodded, lips white. She closed the door, leaving Delaney to burst through the door of the master bedroom.
It was dark but she could distinctly see another door on the opposite side of the bed in front of her and another door to her right. She went for the one on her right, kicking aside the shoes on the floor. She pushed the door open and her hand felt for the light.
A toilet, a shower, a sink.
She didn't bother to turn the light off or close the door. She raced for the other door, stumbling over what felt like a doll.
The closet was small, fabrics hanging off of hangers and as she reached for the shelf above it all, they tickled her face. She reached, standing on her tiptoes. Her fingertips just brushed the edge of the jewelry box.
She grunted, reaching farther. Her left arm wasn't doing much good for her. She fell back onto her feet and took a deep breath. She could feel the heat on her face, making it all so much more uncomfortable.
She reached up with her right arm, whimpering softly when her arm ached. She pressed up against the coats and shirts, her eyes beginning to water from the pain it was causing her.
"Come on! Come on!" She muttered. She gave a little jump and her hand knocked into the box, tipping it forward. She moved aside as it fell.
She opened the box just as she heard a scream from down the hall followed by a loud gunshot. The scream continued, alerting Delaney that Patricia had missed.
She stuck her hand in it quickly, feeling. There was a metal chain and Delaney picked it up, tracing the pendant hanging from it. A Sparrow.
Delaney finally remembered. When she had seen Patricia for the first time, she'd had the necklace around her neck. She stuck her hand in again, the bristles of a comb poking her fingers. She dropped the things back in, and dug deep into her front pockets for her lighter.
She took it out and flipped it open but realized it wasn't going to burn as quick without some sort of flammable. The screams coming from down the hall were making her heart beat uncontrollably fast so before she could drop the lighter in, she reached up at the small bedside table that had been poking into her back. Things clattered to the floor, barely missing her head by inches. Her hand closed around a glass bottle and she pulled it down, immediately opening it.
She brought it up to her nose and nodded when it smelled floral and slightly spicy. Perfume.
She opened the bottle and dunked the liquid into the box, having no time to look for something else just as flammable. She flicked her light on and carefully neared the flame by the brush. A small burst of fire exploded upward and Delaney fell back, landing on her butt.
A guttural pained shriek filled the house, originating from down the hall and made Delaney flinch. She waited quietly, her hard breathing making the only noise in the hall for a while.
Delaney stumbled to her feet, grabbing onto the bed beside her. When she realized it was all over she smiled widely and shouted uncontrollably, "Yeah, bitch! Now you have a damn reason to scream!"
Well, I'm pretty sure this hasn't been the best chapter and I've had this one in my document manager for so long but since I was advised it wasn't... well, it wasn't our Delaney, the one we know, I was kind of avoiding it.
As always, and my most used excuse, I've been incredibly busy with school, music, writing (Poetry, not this,) I've had no time to work on my story. And when I've had a free day or two( no more than that *sigh*) I spent the afternoon listening to some Bon Iver or some Fleet foxes, reading a chapter or two.
I don't deserve any reviews for this chapter so I will not ask for any. It was dreadful and I hope the next one is a buttload more satisfying, to me and to you.:)
Thank you all,
Mar98