Queen of Swords and Silence Read online

  Queen of Swords &

  Silence

  The Ghost Walker Chronicles

  Carrow Brown

  3 Fates Press * London

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWLEVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINTEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  EPILOGUE

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Copyright

  The right of Carrow Brown to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1976.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real people, alive or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Carrow Brown

  All rights reserved. Published 3 Fate Press.

  ISBN: 978-1-9161252-1-6

  www.3fatespress.com

  Cover illustration: Pricilla Kim

  Cover by Najla Qamber Designs

  Dedication

  This is the part of the book where you read how the book is dedicated to someone you don’t know and will never meet. So, I want to shake it up a bit and dedicate this book to you.

  Yes, you.

  Because without you, dear reader, where would us authors be? Thank you for being there and thank you for being the awesome person that you are.

  FYI, that thing you do is really cool. Please keep doing it.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Abandonment Center

  When a home had a sign on the front door that said, “If you have a fever, are vomiting, or feel nauseated, do not enter,” most called them hospice group homes. I called them abandonment centers.

  My watch read just past midnight, and the streets behind my stolen car were deserted. Even in the middle of winter the place was warmer than I cared for, but I wasn’t a fan of desert biomes. Anything over thirty Celsius was unreasonable to me, which Arizona often was.

  My hand rapped on the door, and I waited until it creaked partway open. A middle-aged Hispanic woman in blue scrubs narrowed her dark eyes at me through the crack.

  “You called for a pick-up,” I said, holding up the bamboo plant I’d purchased from the twenty-four-hour store. It wasn’t much as secret signs go, but it worked.

  Her eyes widened and the sour aroma of fear filled my nose.

  Must be her first time, I thought. When she didn’t open the door farther, I smiled and did my best to be unintimidating. Granted, being a six-foot-something, pale, Amazon-looking woman looming outside a door in the middle of the night never helped. So, I nudged the door with my foot.

  She got the hint and stepped back to allow me in. “The first door on the left,” she said, gesturing toward a hallway.

  I grunted. “I need the kettle or something to heat water first.”

  The woman nodded, her eyes lowered. “This way.” She led me through the living room of the house and into the modest kitchen before pausing.

  I spotted the kettle in the corner and went for it. “Give me an hour,” I told the nurse over my shoulder.

  She bobbed her head once before turning away. I listened to her footsteps as she walked down another hallway and heard the faint click of a door closing. Hiding, probably. Like all the others did when I came to visit.

  I snooped about the kitchen as the water heated up and found the hospice files in a kitchen cabinet. Low-budget places never bothered to lock up the files. They could barely get family members to show up, so why worry about a little thing like patient privacy? I browsed through them. Heart disease here. Alzheimer’s there. Sighing, I found the binder I needed and gave it a quick look through. Satisfied with my findings, I went about making tea with leaves tucked into a baggy. The mellow aroma tickled my nose and I added a sweetener to mask the bitter taste the drink would have.

  My phone buzzed. I fumbled it out to see a text from my operator. You have a job pending.

  Grumbling, I texted back. Busy now. I’ll call later.

  Returning my phone to my jacket, I made my way to the... patient? Victim? I’d never been sure what to call them. Harder still when they started as one and became the other.

  Finding the room, a lone lamp rested atop a table between the two occupied beds. In one, an aged woman sat, her hands clutching at the blanket about her with eyes gazing off at some distant thing not visible to me. The second person on the opposite side of the room, much older, faced a wall filled with butterfly decals. Her mouth opened and closed in a slow movement. I walked over to the “goldfish” woman and wrinkled my nose as I noted the lack of presence from her. She breathed and her eyes shifted, but nothing more. Her body, so frail and weak, had no hope of sustaining itself without assistance. I waved my hand before her face and, even with eyes wide open, got no reaction other than her mouth’s continued opening and closing. Probably a symptom of Parkinson’s or something else affecting her decaying nervous system.

  Leaning over, I placed my hand atop her bunched-up fists to seek anything left of her essence, but I found the soul long gone. She was only a vacant husk kept alive by modern technology and pureed food. The soulless husk and combination of the antiseptic, urine, and old-people stench of the building made my stomach cramp.

  I stepped away from the goldfish woman and placed the bamboo plant on the table next to the other patient in the room and pulled up a stool to sit close to the edge of her bed. She said nothing to me as I settled in. This other woman was not an empty goldfish. Her worried features were interrupted by the oxygen tube about her face. Her snow-white hair was cut close to her skull, making her pale face appear tanned in comparison. The veins in her neck, arms, and hands stood out in definition and color. Despite her stiff posture, her upper body swayed subtly. Soft and easy like a ship bobbing at sea.

  Kathy Jasmine Summer was a hospice patient with few visits in the last two years. The binder in the kitchen confirmed that those who’d seen her with any regularity were the nurses, doctor, and a chaplain. I’d also noted the once-a-month visit from her case manager. Not because I cared, but because it gave me some breathing room. Case managers who rarely visited didn’t invest much in their charges. If something happened, it wouldn’t be a priority—the main reason for her selection. Part of me felt bad for Kathy.

  The elderly woman’s attention fixed on me as I finished my inspection of her. I saw confusion in her gaze, and she clutched the blanket higher as if it would shield her from me. She swallowed before asking, “Do I know you?”

  “You do,” I said, while s
etting the cup of tea on the table and gave my most gentle smile. It didn’t put her at ease and I couldn’t fault her. According to her file, her doctor diagnosed her with Alzheimer’s. Not being able to remember anything was something I related to.

  “I don’t know you,” she said, giving her head a shake. “Where’s Tammy?”

  “I am Tammy.”

  Kathy frowned at the words. She leaned in close to study me with watery eyes, taking in my face once more. After a few seconds, she leaned back into her bed, looking defeated. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Tammy.”

  “It’s okay.” I reached over and took one of her hands in mine. They felt cold, the skin loose and delicate, giving me the impression it would tear with ease. The sight of such weakness made my heart race and I forced myself to breathe normally despite the thundering in my ears.

  “I never know what is going on anymore,” she said in a near sobbing voice. “I don’t know any of these people.” Her eyes traveled over her modest bedroom. “They come and go all the time. I never know what they want.” Kathy’s eyes darted about the room before she whispered, “They won’t let me leave.”

  I looked at her legs covered by the thin blanket and then to the folded wheelchair by the bed. She couldn’t move on her own even if she’d wanted to. “Would you like to leave now?”

  Her face brightened at the suggestion, but fear replaced it in an eyeblink. “No, we can’t go. It’s not safe outside.” She pulled the blanket around her again, and I patted her knee. Kathy looked around the room with wide eyes and then stared at me. “Do I know you?”

  Giving her knee another pat, I picked up the tea and cradled the cup in my palm to make sure it wasn’t too hot for her. “It’s Tammy.” I held the cup to her. “I brought you some tea. I thought you might enjoy it.”

  Kathy’s eyes shifted over my face, and after several moments, she reached over to take the cup from me. Her face relaxed. “How are the children, Tammy?”

  “They’re good,” I said with a smile. “Making any trouble they can, as kids do.”

  She smiled and sipped the tea. “I know. My own were always a handful.” Her expression shifted, and tears filled her eyes. “I can’t remember the last time I saw them.”

  “I can bring them tomorrow,” I offered, watching as she took another sip of tea.

  Her expression darkened as she shook her head. “No... Billy was always the bad one. Alice so ungrateful!” She pushed the cup back at me. “I don’t want this.”

  Nodding, I took the tea and leaned back on the stool as I cradled the cup in my hands.

  Kathy’s voice shook as she said, “He killed the dog. Poor thing did nothing. He was a good dog.”

  I kept my voice soft and soothing. “Who killed the dog?”

  “My husband.” She looked at me, wide eyes welling up with tears. “He’d only nibbled on a slipper. Nothing more than a puppy. But Andrew wanted none of it. He took the dog out back and shot him.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “It is... He was such a nice puppy. Yellow and fluffy. Like one of those… those…”

  I tilted my head to the side. “A retriever?”

  “Yes, one of those! I’ve had more dogs since then after my husband left, but I always feel horrible about the puppy.”

  Leaning forward, I placed the teacup into her hands. “Tell me about one of your other dogs.”

  She took it and sipped. “They don’t feed me here.” She huffed, head turning as she took in her surroundings again before continuing in a whisper. “They don’t feed me. They don’t let me leave. I keep trying to call someone, but no one comes.” Her eyes met mine in a silent plea. “I want to go home.”

  “I don’t think they will let you leave, Kathy.”

  “Well, I want to go home.”

  “I’d be happy to take you home, Kathy.” I reached over to rest my hand on her arm. “Tell me about your home.”

  Her eyes shifted, looking at and through me all at once.

  I remained still and non-threatening in her presence. I’d found if a creature became too frightened, the taste went bitter.

  My eyes traveled to the picture frame resting on the dressing table at the foot of the bed. I saw a much younger and more animated version of Kathy. Two teenage boys, a young girl, and a man who looked her age grouped around her. They all smiled into the camera with genuine happiness. Two years and no visitors. Unless some horrific accident had occurred, the children should still be alive. Yet, besides residential staff the woman was alone. There was the goldfish woman, but someone who only stared at a wall and didn’t speak wasn’t much company. I knew from personal experience.

  “Where is Billy?” Kathy said, snapping me out of my observation. “And Alex?”

  “Out,” I said, sparing a glance at the teenagers in the picture once more.

  “When will they be back? It’s getting late.” She looked outside to the darkness on the street and sipped her tea. Her eyes returned to me once more with a frown creasing her brow. “Who are you?”

  I pulled out my phone and fiddled with it. “It’s Tammy.” Turning the screen toward Kathy, I played a video of frolicking puppies on YouTube.

  Her lips pulled back into a smile and leaned in to watch as puppies did their little puppy run. She handed me the cup and I took it.

  Her smile shredded a few years off her face. “Oh, look at them! They’re so adorable.”

  I smiled and found another video with kittens, and she cooed over them, trying to pet them with a finger. It went on, back and forth, a few more times with Kathy talking to me and then forgetting who I was. The teacup made its way back into her hands several more times until she finished the tea.

  Just as she seemed about to fall into the embrace of sleep, she sat upright and looked at the room with alert eyes. When her attention settled on me, there was a sharpness to her gaze absent before. I wasn’t with the faded version of the woman anymore.

  Kathy spoke, lucid eyes shifting over my face. “Who are you?”

  It never failed they would have a moment of lucidity just before the end. I hated it every time. Sighing, I said, “My name is Ghost, Mrs. Summer.” I gave my best reassuring smile.

  She didn’t seem reassured at all. “Where am I?”

  I gestured a hand to the room and the sparse medical equipment in it. “You’re in hospice. A little group home in Mesa, Arizona.”

  She pulled in a slow breath through her nose. “What? But... How long have I been here?”

  “Two years, give or take.” My fingers tapped the side of my head. “You have Alzheimer’s.”

  Her breath left her in a puff, and she gripped the blanket again. This time, it wasn’t to shield herself but bundled up about her waist with white knuckles. “Where’s my family?”

  I shrugged. “No idea.”

  Her eyes took me in once more, her forehead creased. “Why are you here?”

  A good question, but one I wouldn’t give the full answer to. Instead, I said, “You’re going to die.”

  Kathy pulled in a breath as terror touched her eyes, her chest rising and falling. The seconds ticked by before she licked her lips. “Is it going to hurt?”

  “No,” I said. My second lie of the evening, but she didn’t need to know. I crossed one leg over the other. “You won’t feel a thing.”

  She pulled in a breath to steady herself. “Can I ask why? Is it my time?”

  To be pragmatic or not. In the past, I had made up some bullshit story to make them feel better, but something in Kathy’s eyes stopped me. A world war, maybe two, had toughened her up; she could take the truth. “No. There’s a waiting list for your bed, and your family isn’t actively involved with your care here. If something happened, it would take several days for anyone to notice.”

  She lowered her eyes down to her hands, and I noted the tears sliding down her cheeks. Kathy didn’t sniffle, sob, nor start pleading. It made her a tough cookie in my book. When she looked up at me once more, her wide eye
s stared through me. “Who are you?”

  I smiled. “It’s Tammy.”

  Her expression brightened. “Oh, Tammy! How are the children?”

  The drugged tea took effect moments later, lulling the elderly woman into a peaceful slumber. I sat and watched her in the quiet room. My eyes took in the wrinkles on her face, some caused by smiles and others by worries. I studied her and enjoyed the peaceful expression far better than the fear of wakefulness. I caressed a knuckle over the soft flesh of her cheek.

  “I’m sorry, Kathy,” I said to the sleeping woman. “You got the short stick.”

  With a sigh, I stood and adjusted the bed to make it easier to lift her. Disconnecting Kathy from the equipment took time, as I didn’t wish to damage her unnecessarily. With Kathy cradled in my arms, I paused on my way out as I saw the back of the goldfish woman. How long would she have before her body gave out? Not a question I would have an answer to. I’d come for Kathy, not her.

  Adjusting Kathy in my arms, I carried her out of the room and down the dark hallway. Other patients slept in their respective rooms in the house, some with the TV blaring. The nurse who allowed me in held the door open with eyes downcast as I carried my charge out. Not a soul saw as I placed Kathy in the back of the car and drove off.

  In the morning, as always, the nurse would call the authorities to say Kathy wasn’t in bed when she went to check on her for the morning rounds. She’d say Kathy must have gotten up somehow and walked out when the nurse “nodded off” in the office. Seniors always did weird things near death, so no one would blink an eye. There would be a call to Missing Persons and a Silver Alert would be out by the afternoon.

  Not that it would do Kathy any good. I’d finished eating her by then.

  Later, with Kathy’s blood on my hands and her soul in my belly, I wept. I mourned her snuffed-out existence along with my predicament. Most think a creature who ate forgotten grandmothers wouldn’t hate themselves for it.