Gifts From The Void

Gifts From The Dead

Richard Beard

Copyright 2011 by Richard Beard

Smashwords Edition

Acknowledgments

First and foremost, I want to thank my wife, Emily for her endless support and for tolerating my moods as I wrote this novel. Thank you to Mom and Sue for reading the early form of this work and lending me feedback. Thanks to Steve Alcorn for the wonderful class I took that helped me see a new way of forming a work so that it almost wrote itself. Thanks to my family for supporting me and always pushing me to be what I’ve dreamed of being all my life.

Gifts From The Void

Prologue

Lizzie

December 18, 2010

Lizzie Milling smacked the top of her cigarette pack against her palm several times, pinching a strip of cellophane between her thumb and forefinger and twisting it around the pack. She crinkled it in her hands and flipped open the box. Tanya Smith glanced at the pack in Lizzie’s hand. She shoved her hands in the pockets of her khakis, rolled her eyes and shook her head side to side.

I don’t know how you smoke those things, Tanya said.

Lizzie gathered windblown hair around her ear and looked at the ghostly clouds against the dark sky.

Looks like a hell of a rain coming, Lizzie said.

Ignore me if you want, Tanya said. But they’ll still be the death of you.

Of course, at the time, Tanya had no idea that a truck would be the death of Lizzie Milling, and that she would know how soon if she just watched seconds tick off on her watch.

Lizzie looked over her shoulder, up the slow hill to the top of the street.

Come on, she said, taking Tanya’s hand and pulling her to cross the street.

Tanya looked up the hill and then jogged in front of Lizzie as headlights came over the hill, projecting their long shadows.

Look at this guy, Tanya said, nodding in the direction of the headlights. Lizzie stopped and looked. He’s really moving, too.

Let’s get out of the street, Lizzie said, quickening her pace. Tanya jogged past her and they reached the other side. Lizzie stepped up, onto the curb as the truck drew nearer. She stopped and turned around. Her eyes widened as the truck swerved and the headlights washed across her face. She turned and pushed Tanya with both hands, sending her backward. Tanya spun around in time to break her fall on the sidewalk and heard the unmistakable sound of the truck’s tire hitting the curb and the back wheels squealing. Her shoulders tensed and she covered her head with her hands as she heard a thump and the sound of her friend’s throat emitting a high-pitched yelp. It made Tanya think of an injured dog. Then another thump. Tanya rolled onto her backside and looked up. The truck stopped with two tires on the curb. Out of pure coincidence, Tanya looked at the license plate. One of the lights above the plate was burned out, but the other washed enough of the plate in yellowish light that she could see the lettering. Then, in a squeal of tires, the truck’s engine raced as it returned to the road and Tanya’s eyes followed its wake. She didn’t want to look at her friend. But she hunched her shoulders and slowly turned her head. There was a huddled mass in the darkness, half resting on the curb, half on the road. She stood up and took a couple of steps, calling Lizzie’s name. Lizzie’s body lay twisted and quivering. She rested at least ten feet from where she’d pushed Tanya out of the way.

Tears rolled down Tanya’s face as she screamed for help.

Connection Severed

Jasper Milling, was flying down the highway in a truck through a strange, pinkish mist that wisped in front of his headlights like a cloud of cotton candy. His foot weighed the accelerator to the floor and his knuckles were white from his grip on the wheel. A sense of sorrow overwhelmed him. Something tragic had just transpired, but he couldn’t remember what the event was. Simultaneously, he felt a thrill, a pulsing adrenal surge that confused him. A persistent son-of-a-bitch voice inside his head screamed, Go! Drive, you bastard! He slammed the accelerator down and the truck cut through the strange pink mist down a dark, two-lane road, putting distance between him and the event he couldn’t remember.

When the adrenaline faded, he realized warm liquid was trickling from his ears and his nose. A thick taste covered his tongue as the liquid flowed between his lips. Blood, he thought. But he didn’t relinquish his grip on the wheel to confirm what he already knew to be true. An excruciating, shooting pain lanced his left leg and he glanced down expecting to see the jagged milky-and-red point of a broken bone protruding from below his knee cap, with torn skin wrapped around the area where bone penetrated flesh. But his leg was intact.

The phone rang.

What fucking phone? His eyes shot to the passenger seat and, sure enough, there was the very phone that took up residence on the bedside table in his bedroom. How did that get here?

Then Jasper Milling bolted upright in his bed and felt the air go out of his lungs. He was drenched in sweat. His heart was pounding in his chest.

Laura stirred in the bed next to him and whispered something incomprehensible. She was breathing steadily with her eyes closed, by the time Jasper grasped for the phone. He fumbled it onto the bedside table, cursed and slapped the receiver to his ear.

Hello?

Jasper Milling? A woman’s voice.

Images from Jasper’s dream swam in his mind and the room seemed to whirl around him. He slapped his palm on the bedside table to steady himself.

Jasper Milling?

Jasper’s head steadied and he sat up straight.

That depends on who you are, he replied. The glow of green digits from his clock read 2:42am. Do you have any idea what time it is?

I’m sorry to wake you Mister Milling, she said. I’m Deputy Collette Stevens from the Fillmore Sheriff’s office.

Jasper’s heart fell six inches in his chest and seemed to land with a thud.

Do you have a daughter named Elizabeth?

Yes, Jasper said. Lizzie is my daughter. What’s going on? Is she okay?

Jasper felt his wife shoot up in the bed. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Is something wrong? She asked. Did you say Lizzie?

He held up a finger.

Mr. Milling, she said. I’m en route to your house now. I didn’t want to ring the bell in the middle of the night. I’ll be there in about three minutes.

What’s wrong with Lizzie, he said. Is she okay?

I’m afraid she’s not, Mister Milling, Deputy Stevens replied. There’s been an accident. I’m close by.

Deputy Stevens had an ivory complexion and longish red hair, pulled back in a ponytail. She held her Sheriff’s Deputy hat in her hands. Stevens was tall and looked broad in her uniform coat. Laura offered her coffee. She wasn’t sure what else to do. Stevens declined with a polite shake of her head. Jasper led the women into the living room and motioned toward a lounger. Sitting on a leather sofa across from Deputy Stevens, he took Laura’s hand in his own. He could feel the pulsing in his chest rising to his throat. He wondered if there could be a better example of intuition. There was a strange air in his world and the dream he’d experienced was not fading away, like most dreams. He remembered waking and tried to put his finger on the feeling he’d had as he rose in his bed. It felt like a connection had been severed. Somehow, it all added up to one thing for Jasper - bad news was coming and he knew what it was.

I’m sorry to inform you that we found your daughter on the side of Jones Lake Drive an hour ago, said Stevens. She was sitting forward on the edge of the lounger. It seems she was a victim of a hit and run. I’m sorry to say, she died on the scene.

Oh my god, Laura said, covering her face with both hands. Oh god, no. Jasper wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her toward him. He absently kissed the top of her head and turned steered his eyes back to the deputy.

Are you sure it’s my daughter? He asked, knowing damn well it was. His own voice sounded feeble and distant, miles from where he sat on the sofa.

She was with Tanya Smith and Elizabeth’s I.D. was in her pocket. Tanya has already confirmed her identity. The I.D. listed this address, Stevens said. I’m very sorry. Stevens leaned forward and put her elbows on her knees. Did she live with you?

No, she’s off at college but was home on Winter break, Jasper replied. She and Tanya were childhood friends. Oh my God, Is Tanya okay?

Yes, Deputy Stevens said. She’s a little scratched up from a fall, but she said that Lizzie saved her life…pushed her out of the way as the truck jumped the curb.

Jasper pushed away a thought that maybe Lizzie could have survived if she’d just jumped out of the way.

Did Tanya say what they were doing out so late? Jasper asked.

They were walking on the road between Tanya’s house and a convenience store about a mile away when Elizabeth was hit, Stevens said. Evidently, they’d gone for cigarettes.

There was a long silence, save for the quiet whimpering coming from Laura.

I’m very sorry, Deputy Stevens repeated.

Do you have any idea who hit my daughter? Jasper said.

Actually, we think so, Stevens said. Tanya had the sense to get the license plate off the truck. We sent a cruiser to the address on file.

"They just hit my girl and drove away?" Laura asked in a throaty whisper.

Stevens nodded solemnly. Jasper could tell she’d done this before.

He might have been intoxicated, she said. But we don’t know yet. She stood. Even though Tanya identified her, we’ll need at least one of you to come and I.D. Elizabeth’s remains, Stevens said.

Lizzie’s body lay on a metal slab, covered by what looked like a dull, gray sheet. Deputy Stevens was standing behind Jasper with a hand on his shoulder. Dr. Michael Sullivan, the county coroner, was a tall, gaunt man with pale skin and a couple days stubble. Jasper could see his shirt tails dangling inside Sullivan’s lab coat. When the coroner pulled the sheet back, Jasper felt the wind escape his lungs again when he saw the tattered remains of his daughter and his last bit of hope was deflated. Reality exploded into what had been a fuzzy, almost blurry morning. The drab colors of the coroner’s office disappeared as the image of Lizzie’s bruised flesh and bloody injuries enveloped his focus. It was like the world around him faded to black and only the broken body of his daughter remained.

Jasper shivered and rubbed his shoulders. He felt an overwhelming urge to pull Lizzie off the metal table and wrap her in a warm blanket. She was twisted sideways; her vertebrae seemed to push her skin out too far. Her forehead was covered with a checkerboard of scrapes and bruises. Jasper saw a vision of her body being thrown and then sliding across pavement, tearing at her skin. When he saw the gash that divided an earlobe, he had a flash of his dream, and absently rubbed his own ear.

Did she die instantly? Jasper asked.

Unfortunately, no, the coroner said. But she didn’t live long because her internal injuries were extensive.

Jasper was about to ask another question, but he wasn’t sure words would come out in any more than uneven squeaks around the lump that returned to his throat. Besides, it might be better if he didn’t know any more details. The devil was in the details and if anyone knew how long a traumatic event could torture a person, it was Jasper Milling. He was a writer; his life was in the details.

If it’s any consolation, the shock probably blocked her ability to feel pain, the coroner said. She might have even been unconscious. The way her leg was broken alone is enough to have made her pass out, if she was aware of it at all.

Her leg?

A wave of dizziness nearly brought Jasper to the floor. He steadied himself on the edge of the metal table until the spinning stopped. He pulled back the sheet on one side, being careful not to reveal any areas Lizzie would’ve considered embarrassing for him to see. Her tibia protruded through a mangled patch of skin, beneath her knee. He saw a flash of pink fog and his own knees became rubbery. The coroner rounded the table and placed a hand on his back.

Are you ok?

I felt it, too, Jasper said. Somehow, I felt it, too.

I’m going to take Mister Milling home, now, Stevens said. She took him by the arm. Jasper started to pull away but she had a firm grip and she pulled him to her, being as gentle as she could without letting go. She’s gone, now, Jasper. Her southern draw was less pronounced when she spoke quietly. If you want a few minutes, I can get you a chair, but you look pale, honey. I don’t want you to pass out on me.

I’m not going to pass out, Jasper said. He looked back at his daughter. Deputy Stevens released his arm. He looked at her face one last time, bent down and kissed her cheek. He ran his hands across her hair, which was pulled back, away from her face. Then he turned back to Stevens and said, I’m ready.

There was no Christmas to speak of in the Milling home. Jasper’s father stayed in the guest room on the third floor. Jasper’s mother and only sibling had both died when he was a teenager. Laura’s parents died in a car accident when she was 17 and she had no siblings. Their other daughter, Mona, was at their side for the entire week, through the funeral and into the New Year. Later, Jasper would remember this time in his life as if it took place in a fog…

(A pink fog)

…memories of his wife on a sofa, cradling herself and rivers of tears rolling down her puffy pink cheeks would reappear as overexposed images from a tragic photo album of Jasper’s mind, constructed by tragedy and loss.

The funeral itself was quite the event. In small town North Carolina, everyone went to the funerals of their friends, neighbors and fellow church goers. The community laughed and cried together. They told stories about the deceased. Lizzie’s wake and service were no exception. The fact that this was the daughter of a local celebrity ensured a populace turnout and closed gas stations.

At Lizzie’s grave, a breeze delivered the swirling aroma of fresh flowers beneath the canvas awning. They sat in padded, folding metal chairs at the graveside. Laura sat to Jasper’s right, Mona sat to his left. He held each woman’s hand firmly. Even as tears ran from Laura’s eyes, Jasper felt no threat of creating his own. He felt as if his body couldn’t make anymore. His body was numb, desensitized to the physical expression of pain. Laura sat perfectly still, except for the periodic squeezing of his hand and dabbing tears with a tissue. Mona lay her head on Jasper’s shoulder about halfway through the preacher’s eulogy. He could feel her soft hair on his neck and he smelled the comforting, sweet, fresh smell of her shampoo. It struck him that Mona, his youngest daughter, was what he and Laura had left. He turned his head and kissed Mona’s hair. Then he stole a glance at Laura’s swollen face. Even at this horrible time in his life, he saw the beauty of his wife through puffy cheeks. In the chair to Laura’s right, Jasper’s father sat at an angle so he could face Laura. He was gripping her other hand in both of his.

The casket was a dark, reddish wood. He didn’t really know what kind. In all her grief, Laura still had the wherewithal to make the arrangements and involve Mona in the whole process. She told Jasper it was because she thought it would help her youngest say goodbye to her big sister. She maintained the strength so that Jasper could grieve. Human resiliency amazed him. He knew Laura and he knew all that was the sun in her life had just been pinched out like a candle wick. Maybe she wanted to make sure she buried Lizzie in her own way. He didn’t know. But he wasn’t about to question it. His father had told him that all people grieve differently and he was best just letting them do it. God knew his father had enough experience with grief.

For a moment, just in a flash, Jasper thought he could see his daughter’s twisted body inside the coffin. The image brought a short flash of pain, deep in his chest. The center of the casket was semitransparent and the twisted girl inside, wrapped in a blue dress his wife had somehow fit her in, stared back at him with the vacant, white irises of the dead. They’d had to go with a large casket, because they didn’t want people handling their daughter’s remains in any intrusive way that would have been necessary to straighten her out for the service. They never even asked the funeral home director if it could be done. It was going to be a closed casket and Laura had known that they both had the kind of vivid imaginations that would leave their minds the reeling if they had to imagine people twisting their precious daughter every which way just to get her into a wooden box. They hadn’t spoken about it. Laura had just handled it. Par for the course. She’d been with Lizzie when she’d found the blue dress in which her daughter was being buried. Lizzie had loved the color, the cut and the fit so much; Laura bought it on the spot. She told the story to Jasper in bed that night in a way that made him see the glow of his Lizzie’s enthusiastic face – a face that most people lost as they became adults. Not Lizzie, not ever. Closed casket or not, Laura made damned sure that she wore that dress when she was buried.

Jasper diverted his eyes from the casket and looked to one side. A crowd of people, dressed in their Sunday best, stood in rows like a church choir. In the front center, he saw a beautiful young woman (a girl, to him) in a black dress with a strand of modest pearls and just a touch of makeup. It was Lizzie’s friend Tanya. She looked over and caught his eye. Then he saw her look at Laura. He felt Laura release his hand and turned to see her motioning at Tanya. Tanya looked around and then tiptoed over to Laura. Laura slid to the edge of her seat. Jasper saw sorrow penetrate her eyes, but he also got her message and slid to the edge of his own chair. Mona raised her head and slid over to give Jasper some room on her chair. Then Laura pulled Tanya down, so she could sit between them. Laura and Tanya gave each other a single-armed embrace and then turned to watch the preacher. Jasper wrapped an arm around Tanya on one side and pulled Mona closer on the other. Though they’d lost Laura’s sunshine, he couldn’t have imagined a more right ending to his daughter’s life, to be lowered into the ground surrounded by those who had loved her.

The reception after the funeral was held at the Milling house. The table and marble top counters were covered with food and Jasper didn’t think he or his wife would have to cook for a month. There were good things about living in a small town. Laura had decided her work was done and chose a spot on the living room sofa when they arrived home. The mourners circled and stopped to offer condolences. She accepted them gratefully, but stayed on the sofa until everyone was gone. Mona distributed the plethora of covered dishes townspeople stacked on the table.

When the crowd cleared out, Jasper started picking up what loose ends they left behind. Glasses, paper plates and the like were scattered throughout the downstairs. It wasn’t a lot, but it allowed him a few moments of engagement, away from the ringing echoes of dead Lizzie’s voice and the burning anger he had for the man who’d killed his daughter. In the kitchen, he was dispatching the trash when Mona walked in through the door by the foyer. She’d changed into a pair of purple lounge pants and a UNC sweatshirt, with the logo of a barrel-chested ram standing on two legs and holding a triangular, powder blue banner in one hand. He looked at his daughter for what seemed a long time. She returned his gaze and gave him a slight frown.

A hard day, he said.

The worst, Mona replied. I hurry past her room in the hallway. I walked up there while the people were milling about and when I came to the room, I felt a chill, even with the door closed. I feel like I have to tiptoe by it.

I know what you mean, Jasper said. I went in there the day after she died and haven’t been back since.

She approached and looked up. He embraced her with both arms and she let herself fall into Jasper’s chest. He squeezed tightly and was thankful. He might be half empty, but Jasper figured he had even more love to give to this daughter, now. When he let go, she stepped back and there were fresh tears running down her face.

How do you get past it? She asked.

I don’t, he said.

"No, I mean, how do we get past it?" She said, voice choking on tears.

We never will, he said. "It’ll get easier with time. But we