Read Online Pale Immortal by Anne Frasier - Free Book Online
Authors: Anne Frasier
Tags: America Thriller
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But it wasn't water Somehow she knew it wasn't water. Victoria reached for Rachel with one hand—just as Victoria had reached for her in the morgue, in a sorrowful, imploring, helpless gesture.
She wanted Rachel to come inside the church.
This was why she should have stayed in California. The dead didn't appear to her in California.
Victoria was still calling.
Don't do it.
Don't go in there
Turn and leave. Act like you don't see her.
Rachel fled.
Now that she was in motion, now that her body had finally responded, she ran like hell. Her feet flew over the ground, and somehow she didn't trip. Branches slashed her arms and face, but she didn't care.
She wasn't in great condition, and her lungs quickly became raw, her breathing loud. Still she hurtled herself forward into the darkness.
A shape appeared directly in front of her.
She veered to the right. Hands grabbed her.
"Hey!"
A male voice.
Hands holding her arms.
"Hey, hey, hey! What's going on? Why are you running? I'm sorry I scared you. You just came plowing into me."
It took her a moment to realize this was a real person.
"Are you Rachel?" he asked. "I'm Phillip. Sorry I'm late. I got hung up at school."
The presence of another person had an immediate calming effect on her.
He put an arm around her shoulders, guiding her, and they began to walk from the woods toward the gate, which she could see was ajar. "Old Tuonela was built on a fault line," Phillip said, in what seemed a poor attempt to distract her. "Did you know that? Did you know that we could have a bigger earthquake here than anything San Francisco has ever seen?"
"I try not to think about it."
They had reached her van.
"You scratched your face." He wiped a thumb across her cheek, then showed her the blood. His car was next to hers, running, parking lights on.
He was one of those intense artist types. Probably raised by a nanny in a suburb of Chicago. Not that Rachel held it against him, but she suspected that kind of upbringing created another form of alienation.
She could easily imagine him as a college student, writing obscure poetry and attending open-mike night. He would have worn a black turtleneck and horn-rimmed glasses. Very serious. Very mysterious.
His hair was shaggy and longish, which added to the Dylan Thomas quality. People in Tuonela spoke highly of Phillip Alba. They thought he was doing a great job with the children and the plays.
"Did you see something in there?" he asked.
"Like what?"
He watched her closely. "I don't know. Why were you running?"
"I just got spooked, that's all."
"What were you looking for?"
"A grave." Bit by bit she pulled herself together.
"What kind of grave?"
"The grave of the Pale Immortal. Have you heard any rumors? About it being somewhere in OT?"
He shook his head. "Nothing other than the possibility. But I was also told he was buried somewhere else."
"I've heard that too. Probably right. If you see any signs of anybody snooping around, call Chief Burton."
"Will do. But I get the idea you were looking for something specific. Were you?"
Normally she wouldn't have been so free with information. But she was still shaken, and she felt that they now had a bond. He'd rescued her. "Some people think he was buried under an oak tree in the church graveyard."
"Under a tree?"
"The tree was planted over his grave. To hold him down. To keep him from rising."
"Oh." Phillip nodded and smiled. The kind of smile outsiders smiled, because she was talking silly stuff. Outsiders didn't believe the Tuonela myths. Hell, she didn't believe the myths.
"Did you find it?" he asked. "The grave?" He was joking with her.
"No. I think I found an oak tree, but no grave."
"Would you like to come inside a minute?" He jabbed a thumb toward the house.
She was about to say yes when a pair of headlights appeared in the lane. Rachel recognized Dan's car. He pulled to a stop, cut the engine, and jumped out.
"Hey." He looked from Rachel to Alba, then back to
She wanted Rachel to come inside the church.
This was why she should have stayed in California. The dead didn't appear to her in California.
Victoria was still calling.
Don't do it.
Don't go in there
Turn and leave. Act like you don't see her.
Rachel fled.
Now that she was in motion, now that her body had finally responded, she ran like hell. Her feet flew over the ground, and somehow she didn't trip. Branches slashed her arms and face, but she didn't care.
She wasn't in great condition, and her lungs quickly became raw, her breathing loud. Still she hurtled herself forward into the darkness.
A shape appeared directly in front of her.
She veered to the right. Hands grabbed her.
"Hey!"
A male voice.
Hands holding her arms.
"Hey, hey, hey! What's going on? Why are you running? I'm sorry I scared you. You just came plowing into me."
It took her a moment to realize this was a real person.
"Are you Rachel?" he asked. "I'm Phillip. Sorry I'm late. I got hung up at school."
The presence of another person had an immediate calming effect on her.
He put an arm around her shoulders, guiding her, and they began to walk from the woods toward the gate, which she could see was ajar. "Old Tuonela was built on a fault line," Phillip said, in what seemed a poor attempt to distract her. "Did you know that? Did you know that we could have a bigger earthquake here than anything San Francisco has ever seen?"
"I try not to think about it."
They had reached her van.
"You scratched your face." He wiped a thumb across her cheek, then showed her the blood. His car was next to hers, running, parking lights on.
He was one of those intense artist types. Probably raised by a nanny in a suburb of Chicago. Not that Rachel held it against him, but she suspected that kind of upbringing created another form of alienation.
She could easily imagine him as a college student, writing obscure poetry and attending open-mike night. He would have worn a black turtleneck and horn-rimmed glasses. Very serious. Very mysterious.
His hair was shaggy and longish, which added to the Dylan Thomas quality. People in Tuonela spoke highly of Phillip Alba. They thought he was doing a great job with the children and the plays.
"Did you see something in there?" he asked.
"Like what?"
He watched her closely. "I don't know. Why were you running?"
"I just got spooked, that's all."
"What were you looking for?"
"A grave." Bit by bit she pulled herself together.
"What kind of grave?"
"The grave of the Pale Immortal. Have you heard any rumors? About it being somewhere in OT?"
He shook his head. "Nothing other than the possibility. But I was also told he was buried somewhere else."
"I've heard that too. Probably right. If you see any signs of anybody snooping around, call Chief Burton."
"Will do. But I get the idea you were looking for something specific. Were you?"
Normally she wouldn't have been so free with information. But she was still shaken, and she felt that they now had a bond. He'd rescued her. "Some people think he was buried under an oak tree in the church graveyard."
"Under a tree?"
"The tree was planted over his grave. To hold him down. To keep him from rising."
"Oh." Phillip nodded and smiled. The kind of smile outsiders smiled, because she was talking silly stuff. Outsiders didn't believe the Tuonela myths. Hell, she didn't believe the myths.
"Did you find it?" he asked. "The grave?" He was joking with her.
"No. I think I found an oak tree, but no grave."
"Would you like to come inside a minute?" He jabbed a thumb toward the house.
She was about to say yes when a pair of headlights appeared in the lane. Rachel recognized Dan's car. He pulled to a stop, cut the engine, and jumped out.
"Hey." He looked from Rachel to Alba, then back to
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