Lost Souls

  Lost Souls

  AJ Lange

  Wish House Publishing Co.

  Copyright © 2020 by AJ Lange

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademarked owners of the any trademarks mentioned in this work of fiction.

  for my girls

  you’re naughty and I love you

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Also by AJ Lange

  Chapter 1

  Matthew Laurel left the highway and entered his neighborhood, rolling down the window as he drove and inhaling deep. There was a faint citrus tang wafting through the car as he neared his drive; Mr. Grady's lemon tree must have dropped its last fruit of the season. He parked next to his wife's small grey sedan, and reached across the seat for a brown paper bag of groceries. It had been his turn to pick up milk and coffee. As a writer and consultant, he mostly worked from home, but he had been doing research all week at the local university library.

  The air was crisp, the sky a clear blue, and the leaves on the maple tree in the front yard were tipped in brilliant orange. It was a perfect fall day. Over the weekend, Leanne had carved pumpkins with a kit from a discount hobby store, and the fat, smiling globes were now perched on the porch front steps. Looking down at his wife's handiwork, Matt stumbled over the top step, dropping his keys.

  He bent to retrieve them, pausing at a noise from inside the house. He cocked his head, listening, but there were only familiar neighborhood sounds: a car passing on the street, the squeaking of a child's swingset. The days were growing colder, daylight hours shortening, and he shivered at a sudden chill, pulling his overcoat snug around him.

  He plucked the keys from the step and unlocked the front door. "Lee?" he called, and pushed the door shut with his foot, crossing the polished hardwood floors to the kitchen. He was met with the silence of an empty house.

  Setting the grocery bag on the countertop, he scanned the room. An empty coffee cup sat next to the sink, the day's mail lying beside it in an orderly pile. He often teased Leanne about her compulsive neatness, even when it secretly made him crazy.

  Sometimes he teased because it was the only thing that kept him from shouting in frustration, Leave it alone! Those were the days he wasn't sure how his life had turned out like this; who was this man who came home to a charming mid-century house tucked into a sweet, family-oriented neighborhood? Whose wife carved pumpkins and made bread from scratch?

  It felt false.

  Matt sighed, shaking himself free of his melancholy. The kitchen was otherwise empty; no dinner on the stove or in the oven, dining table bare. He picked up the stack of mail, flipping through the letters, pausing at a handwritten envelope with his name on it. It was postmarked Cedar Falls, Tennessee. No return address.

  Cedar Falls. He frowned, brow furrowing. He had just turned the envelope over to open it when a crash from upstairs startled him.

  "Lee?" he called again, stepping into the foyer. "Lee, is that you?" The house was still. He tucked the letter absently into his jacket pocket and started up the staircase. The air tightened around him and he felt the hairs lift on the back of his neck. Wiping damp palms on his pants, he jogged up the remaining steps, a new urgency in his movements.

  Licking suddenly dry lips, he tried to call out again, but found he'd lost his voice. At the top of the landing, he stopped, heart pumping, breathing in short gasps. He had a sickening premonition of what he would find, mingling with a heavy sense of déjà vu.

  The silence was oppressive, hot, and he felt too warm whereas moments before he had been chilled by the autumn day.

  He forced himself to enter the bedroom. The windows were open and a breeze blew long strips of white lace across the bed. The curtains held his attention, his thoughts random and jumbled, as he fought to remember if the windows had been open that morning. It had been cool the night before; the first night they had used the central heat. A low moan from the other side of the room startled him and he raced around the bed, pulling up in dismay at the scene on the floor.

  Leanne lay on her back between the bed and the wall, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, arms thrown out. The scarred brown handle of a large knife protruded from the center of her chest, a dark red circle of blood expanding even as he watched in horror. Matt dropped to his knees and grabbed at her limp hand.

  "Leanne, oh my God, can you hear me?" His movements jerky, he tried to gauge the damage to her chest without touching the knife. His palms came away sticky, covered in blood, and he held them out in front of him. He started to shake. Leanne moaned again, and her eyelids fluttered. Matt leaned over her head, his lips close to her ear.

  "Oh God, Lee, hold on, okay? Just for a few more seconds, you're going to be okay." But she didn't respond, and Matt no longer tell whether she was breathing. He stumbled to the bathroom and grabbed a thick white towel off the bar. Back at her side, he kneeled and tried to find a way to staunch the bleeding around the hilt of the knife, but it was impossible. He didn't have time to decide if he would cause more damage by removing it, first aid training frightfully dim after so many years, but he could see that she was losing blood too fast, her milky paleness making the decision for him.

  He willed himself to pull the knife out of her chest. Hands trembling violently, he closed his eyes, clasped the wooden hilt with both hands and tugged gently. It didn't move and he opened his eyes. Leanne's form was lifeless now, the pallor of her skin a dingy grey. The room was silent save for Matt's ragged breathing, and the lace curtains billowed softly around them as if this were any other October day.

  He gritted his teeth and pulled the knife as hard as he dared, feeling it give under his hands, slicing through Leanne's chest in reverse. He shuddered, dropping the knife beside him and pressing the towel over the oozing hole in her chest. A faint gurgle from her throat drew his eyes to her face and he bent down. "Lee, can you hear me?" His voice was thick with fear. "Hang on, just hang on!"

  Another faint gurgle, and her eyes seemed to focus on him, clearing for an instant. Matt dared to lift one hand from the stained terry cloth. He brushed a strand of dark hair off her forehead. Her lips moved slightly.

  "Love you," she whispered before her eyes closed.

  Matt looked frantically around him for the phone; the nightstand lay at an awkward angle against the bed, where it must have been knocked over in a struggle. Then he saw it, the cordless receiver laying on the floor under the bed where she had dropped it, maybe tried to call for help. He reached for it with one hand and dialed 911, keeping pressure on the wound. He raised the phone to his ear but was met with empty silence on the other end.

  Fighting panic, he tried again, pushing the buttons, leaving red fingerprints behind before accepting the line was dead. His eye
s fell to the phone line, following it out from under the bed, along the baseboards. Beside him, under the window, it had been slashed in two, the cut vicious enough to slice through the layers of paint and into the sheetrock underneath.

  Leanne's eyes were closed now, and he leaned over her, pressing his lips to her forehead. "Lee, I'll be back, hang on, I'll be right back."

  He ran down the stairs and across the foyer, skidding in his haste. He pulled at the door handle, the blood making his hands slick and useless. Desperate, he clawed at the door until he was able to pull it open and raced down the steps and across the lawn, nearly crashing into the astonished arms of his next door neighbor, Mack Grady. He managed to tell him that Leanne had been stabbed before he sank to the ground.

  The alarm clock's piercing buzz took more than a few moments to penetrate the fog of Gavin's sleeping brain. He slapped at the snooze button, then scrubbed his face with his hands. He eyed the red digital numbers.

  Four p.m.

  That was a late start, even for him. He stared up at the crack that snaked across the bedroom ceiling plaster, wondering just how much snow would have to fall before the weight finally proved to be too much for the sagging roofline.

  He made quick work of his shower, dressing in faded blue jeans and a wrinkled blue button down that had seen better days. He scratched the day-old growth on his cheeks, but couldn't seem to find the energy to shave. Hell, the day was more than half over anyway. He pondered his reflection in the mirror. He looked like hell. Digging around in the medicine cabinet, he found a bottle of Visine and squirted a few drops into each eye. Maybe without the bloodshot whites, he wouldn't look like just any other drunk that stumbled into the precinct tonight.

  Badge, gun, keys, phone. He walked through the kitchen and out the adjacent garage door, scowling at the basket of towels on top of the washing machine beside the stoop. He would be out of towels tonight when he got home, because he had forgotten to load the washer again. His partner Dom was right; he should just pay for a damn maid. It always seemed like such a stupid waste of money, until he ran out of socks.

  He climbed into his Jeep, the worn leather seat curving perfectly to his backside. Nevermind that the motor had had to be completely replaced last winter. Or that there wasn't an original piece of hardware left under the hood. Gavin had been driving the Jeep since he was seventeen and it "fit". It was an old friend he could always count on: predictable and comfortable. And yeah, it was getting old and worn in some places. Who wasn't?

  Matt had been the first person to ride in it. When they were kids they used to go up to the lake to camp on the weekends, sleeping out under the stars, and, on one stormy summer night, in the backseat. He scowled again. It may be late afternoon, but it was still too early for that particular memory lane.

  Pulling out onto the quiet street, he could see Mrs. Mahoney walking her pug, Snickers. He waved as he drove past, and she lifted her white-gloved hand in response. Mrs. Mahoney still wore a hat and gloves whenever she left the house. Today it was a blue pillbox with tiny netting pulled down over her forehead. Gavin found himself smiling for the first time since waking.

  Gavin paced impatiently outside the examining room that held the remains of Leanne Laurel. His ex-best friend's wife. Even in his wrinkled shirt and jeans, his appearance must have given away his profession; there had been a few lowlifes in the waiting room earlier that had judiciously refused to meet his gaze.

  He raked his hands through his hair. He had already been here for over an hour, waiting for word that Mr. Laurel could be seen. Matt had apparently been nearly catatonic when the EMTs brought him into the emergency room, covered in his wife's blood. At present, he was a mere two doors down from where Gavin stood. It was the closest in proximity they had been in five years, since the day Matt had walked out of the apartment they shared and swore he would never return.

  Gavin had barely been in the precinct ten minutes this afternoon before the call came in about a possible homicide on Deer Creek Lane. He had just swallowed a sip of MaryBeth's lethal, polluted coffee, and was staunchly ignoring the good-natured ribbing about his rough appearance from Dom. And from Bud, the chief, who grumbled that Gavin was going to drink himself into an early grave if he wasn't careful. Gavin's heart had stopped when dispatch had repeated the address.

  Matt.

  Dom drove. Gavin didn't remember much about the ride to the tidy house in the quaint, older neighborhood, except for the scent of lemon when he climbed from the unmarked sedan and stood on the sidewalk.

  He had never been inside Matt's home before, although he had driven past a time or ten.

  An ambulance was screaming down the street in the distance, and Gavin was torn between chasing after it and barreling into the house. Dom took over, barking questions at the officers on the scene and relaying the information back to Gavin in quiet words, squeezing his arm too hard as he pulled him into the rush, the harsh demands of the crime scene unit shattering the peaceful night.

  Gavin yanked himself back into the present, staring at the door of Matt's hospital room, wondering if the man inside knew of his wife's demise. The doctor had stopped to let Gavin know she was gone about thirty minutes prior. Dom would be well and truly pissed right now, if he knew Gavin was still in the hospital, waiting to interview their friend.

  Ex-friend. Whatever.

  He was too close. Dom was right. He needed to go to the station and sit this one out, wait for Dom, anyone, to get back to him and feed him information vicariously. But the pull of him, of Matt, was too strong. Gavin wanted to make sure he was all right, that was all. Then he would hand it off. There were certainly other homicide detectives, good ones.

  Gavin's initial assessment of the crime scene hadn't been reassuring when he left the house. No sign of forced entry, apparent murder weapon found in an upstairs bedroom next to the victim's body. He had left Dom standing on the blood-soaked carpet and raced to the hospital as soon as they had confirmation that Matt was alive. Not the victim.

  As long as he lived, Gavin never wanted to relive that moment when he had stood in the bedroom, staring down at the deep red stain, not knowing if Matt was—

  His cell phone rang and he dug it from his pocket. "Dom. Tell me something good, man."

  "I think we're about done here, Gav. CSI agreed there is no sign of forced entry, large screen TV and stereo equipment in plain view in the living room," he paused. "Neighbor across the street says she saw Ma—Mr. Laurel arrive home at approximately 4:30." Dominic looked over at the CSI guy packing up his camera equipment, but the man didn't seem to notice the slip. No sense letting it get out that the victim's husband was a childhood friend. There would be time enough for that reveal later.

  "How sure is she about the time?" A doctor left Matt's room and nodded to Gavin. He was cleared to interview him.

  "Very sure. Says her son's favorite cartoon comes on at 4:30 and the theme music was playing when she looked up and saw Mr. Laurel pull into his drive."

  "What time was the 911 call?" Gavin was paused outside of Matt's door now.

  "At 4:46. But Mr. Laurel didn't make that call. He ran across the yard to the neighbor, Mack Grady. Mr. Grady called 911."

  Gavin snorted. "Let me guess, bastard still doesn't use a cell phone."

  Dom chuckled. "Looks that way." He hesitated. "Gavin, the phone line in the upstairs bedroom, where the victim was found, was cut clean in two." He cringed, stepping into the upstairs hallway, away from prying ears before continuing. "The cut in the wall where the line was slashed, it tested positive for blood, you know, like maybe the line was cut with the knife after Leanne Laurel was stabbed."

  "To prevent her from calling for help, maybe." Gavin had his hand on the door handle.

  "Yeah, maybe, but Mr. Laurel told the neighbor that he's the one who pulled the knife out of her chest."

  Gavin paused. "What are you saying, Dom?" He set his teeth.

  Dom took the hint. "I'm saying we're going to tread very carefully."


  Gavin hung up and opened Matt's door without knocking.

  He was sitting on the bed, his dark head bowed, and he looked thinner than Gavin remembered. He turned when Gavin entered the room, and his deep blue eyes widened in surprise.

  "Hello Matt."

  Chapter 2

  June 28, 1993

  "Get me a rocket pop!" Matt bent over his knees, gasping. He pretended to drop his towel, tossing it a few feet behind him down the hill, to give himself a few extra seconds to catch his breath.

  "Come on you pussy," Gavin yelled over his shoulder.

  Matt scowled as he watched the other boy's tanned back disappear into the trees, then turned to retrieve the wet towel. They had walked down to the lake after lunch, to spend their two free hours floating aimlessly on giant black inner tubes and swatting at flies. It would be time for dinner soon and they were both on kitchen duty; that meant eating late and cleaning up the mess hall afterwards. They had time to sneak a Popsicle out of the deep freezer in the back of the kitchen first, if Gavin could get past Berta, the cook. Matt sometimes thought Berta purposefully looked the other way whenever Gavin snuck in. There was no two ways about it, this summer Gav had eaten more illegal ice cream sandwiches than everyone else in camp combined.

  The temperature fell as soon as Matt stepped onto the pine needle path in the forest, mid-summer sun hidden by the treetops high overhead. The hushed dark trail cut through the heart of the woods, saving precious minutes that would have been otherwise eaten up if they had followed the lake's edge around to the dormitories and then doubled back to the mess hall. Matt took his time, enjoying the peace of the tree cover. He liked the quiet; Gavin said it gave him the heebie-jeebies. Matt smiled, remembering the way Gavin had climbed into his sleeping bag two nights ago during a thunderstorm. There hadn't really been room on the narrow cot for two gangly bodies, but Matt had pushed as far against the wall as possible so that they fit. Gavin was so rarely still, even more rarely close these days, and Matt had wanted to relish the moment for as long as he was allowed. Gavin was scared of the dark, and of storms too, although he would deny both on pain of death. Matt mused that he was only allowed to know these two small weaknesses because he and Gavin had met on the first day of kindergarten and had been inseparable ever since, and they had spent far too many nights in each other's backyards and bedrooms for it not to come up at some point over the course of their childhood.