A Debt to be Paid Read online




  Nowhere to run!

  Gillian Foster is desperate. She received a very strange letter in the mail not long ago. Since then, she’s been seeing shadowy figures everywhere. Coming for her. Frantic to find a safe place, she leaves home with her daughter Meg, only to find there is no way to outrun her pursuers.

  Twenty years later, Gillian has been admitted to Hawthorne Psychiatric Facility. Meg receives a similar letter and is hunted by an unseen force. Is Meg also mentally ill, or are these creatures real? And if so, was her mother right all those years ago? Is there no place to hide?

  A Debt to be Paid

  Patrick Lacey

  Dedication

  For my beautiful wife, who gave me the best advice I’ve ever received when I first told her I wanted to take a stab at writing: just do it. I did and I couldn’t have done it without you.

  Chapter One

  The woman came out of the store and walked to the car, smiling as she saw the girl through the passenger window.

  The girl was playing with one of her dolls that she’d packed. She made it talk and jump and dance, and for a moment, the woman imagined a voice coming out of the doll’s mouth, a voice that she herself had been hearing for a long time.

  She shook her head and walked a little faster, not breathing until she was in the car and the door was shut behind her. The heater was a shock against the cold outside, a bitter winter breeze that made her teeth chatter.

  The girl smiled. “Did you get me a snack?”

  “Of course. I got your favorite. M & M’s.” She slid the candy over to the girl and ran a hand slowly through her hair as the girl tore into the pack and tossed a handful of the shells into her mouth.

  The woman thought about lying back and shutting her eyes for a few moments but that was out of the question. They’d been driving straight through the night thus far and although they’d only been parked at the rest stop for twenty or so minutes, it was long enough for someone to catch a glimpse, long enough to recognize their faces from the television and newspapers. She couldn’t afford to sleep just yet. She needed somewhere more secluded.

  And there were other things out there that could take notice, not just the police and bystanders.

  She turned up the heat but it didn’t seem to do any good. She still shivered, rubbing her hands together and blowing warm air into them.

  The girl went on playing and chewing her candy, silently mumbling to herself, still not totally aware of the situation.

  Suddenly the car seemed too quiet. The woman needed noise, background filler to keep her mind steady, to fight the fatigue she’d felt since last week, when she’d packed as many of their belongings as she could before Brian got home from work. She had written a note but she’d tossed it into the trash before they left. Because Brian didn’t understand. He tried, humored her every now and then, but when you got down to it, he thought she was out of her mind.

  It was a fair assumption but from where she was standing, there was nothing crazy about what was happening.

  She turned on the radio. There was a baseball game on, announcers rattling off plays and crowds cheering in the background. She changed the channel. There were a few news stations but she didn’t want to risk it. If the girl heard her name on the radio she would start to wonder.

  Finally the woman settled on a talk show, some politician being interviewed about healthcare or gun laws or whatever. She didn’t listen to details but she was thankful that it drowned out her thoughts.

  “Where are we going next?” the girl asked. “Can we go see Gramma?”

  The woman smiled and the girl didn’t notice the sadness in her expression. She pushed a loose strand of the girl’s hair behind her small ear. The girl was cursed with static and frizzy hair like her mother. “No, honey. Remember I told you we need to go on an adventure with just us for a while?”

  The girl nodded and ate another M & M. “Yes, but when can we go back home? I miss school and Dad and my bike.”

  “I know you do. We’ll be able to go back someday. But right now…”

  “Right now we need to get away from bad things that only you can hear.”

  “That’s right, sweetie. And once they leave us alone, I swear to you we’ll go back home and things will be just the same as they were before.”

  “Pinkie swear?” The girl held out her hand.

  “You bet.” She curled her pinkie around her daughter’s and put the car in reverse.

  She pulled onto the highway and took a sip of the coffee she’d grabbed inside the convenience store, willing it to wake her. She yawned and cracked her neck, watched the road and the moon and wondered where their next stop was.

  “Hey Mommy?”

  The woman tensed. She’d thought the girl had nodded off. “Yes?”

  “I’m glad I can’t hear or see the things that only you can. They sound really scary.”

  She was about to tell the girl everything would be just fine and that she wouldn’t let the things get to either of them when the radio turned to static. One moment the politician was ranting and the next there was high-pitched white noise that sounded vaguely like screaming.

  And then came a commercial, though she knew immediately it was not a normal advertisement.

  “Are you looking to go back to school? Are you interested in pursuing a new career or simply gaining new knowledge and experience? Well, we have a solution for you.”

  The woman reached to turn off the radio but not before the other voice cut in.

  “You can keep running but you have to sleep sometime and when you do—”

  She pressed the button and the car was silent again, save for the drone of the engine and the highway wind beating against the exterior.

  If the girl had noticed the voice, she made no indication. Depending on how the woman looked at it, that was either a blessing or a curse.

  They drove in silence the rest of the way before pulling off into a high school parking lot. She cut the engine and lights quickly.

  The girl had finally fallen asleep. The woman grabbed a blanket from the backseat and placed it over the girl’s body. She stirred, said something in her sleep and turned away.

  The woman sipped her coffee and looked out into the night, telling herself the shadows were not moving and there were no shapes advancing on her.

  She kept the radio turned off.

  Chapter Two

  I’m going to die here, Meg Foster thought.

  She watched the clock hands move as if they were slowing with each tick. Every few moments she turned to look at Betty and Debbie at the stations to her right and left, and told herself if she ever stayed at the bank that long, she’d blow her brains out.

  It was just temporary, until she could find a better job—a real job, something that paid the bills.

  She thought of the countless applications and interviews and the revising of her resume and wondered just how long “temporary” would be. And then there was the issue of the envelope sitting on her kitchen counter, the one that had arrived in the mail yesterday morning.

  The one she’d been dreading since her college loan grace period began.

  Debbie scowled to herself, concentrating with all her might on a crossword puzzle, though they weren’t supposed to have any distractions during their shift. Next to the crossword was a small note pad with the number 126, the number of days until her retirement.

  Only temporary.

  Meg repeated it like a mantra in her head.

  A few customers came in, cashing their checks, depositing funds, making payments on their mortgages. Meg was helping a sniffly man w
ho was having himself a coughing spasm between words when the phone rang at the back desk behind the stations.

  “I’ll just need to see an ID,” Meg said.

  “I’ve been coming to his bank for—” he paused to hack something up into a stained handkerchief. “For nearly fifteen years.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s bank policy.” She said it without thought, the words automatic by now.

  Betty tapped Meg on the shoulder. “I’ll take care of this. The phone’s for you.”

  “Good luck,” Meg whispered, making her way to the phone.

  Before she picked it up, she thought it odd that someone would call the bank asking for her. In fact, she couldn’t recall giving anyone the bank’s number. Maybe it was an emergency. They were not allowed to have their cell phones out while they were on the clock, so she’d put it in her locker this morning. Something could be wrong. Someone could have tried contacting her dozens of times without luck.

  She took a deep breath and told herself to relax. It was just a phone call.

  Then she answered it.

  “Hello?”

  There was no response.

  “Hello?” She said it louder this time, as if there were a bad connection.

  Nothing. Although that wasn’t quite right. There was no voice but she could tell there was someone of the other end of the line. She thought she heard breathing.

  “May I ask who’s calling?” she said.

  The breathing shifted, grew louder for a moment, and she thought they were about to speak but then it grew dim again.

  The scar on her head began to itch, as it always did when she was scared. She scratched at it like a reflex. It was just a dropped call or a wrong number. Yet she had the odd sensation that whoever was on the other end knew exactly who they were talking to. The realization came from nowhere. It brought on flutters in her stomach. She scratched at her scalp harder, nails dragging across the old wound.

  “Hello?” she said one last time, hoping the voice would speak up. And hoping at the same time that it wouldn’t.

  There was some sort of noise in the background, above the breathing, something like scurrying. She thought of rodents, countless little feet tapping across the floor. The thought made her cover her mouth.

  The call disconnected and a dial tone screeched against her ear.

  She hung up quickly, slamming the phone into its cradle.

  “Who was it?” Debbie asked, still working on her crossword, erasing a row of letters and frowning.

  “No one. Must have been a wrong number.”

  “Couldn’t have been,” Betty said. “They asked for you.”

  “Maybe they were looking for another Meg.” She realized she did not want to be close to the phone anymore. She hurried back to her station.

  “Another Meg Foster? Doubtful. Whoever it was, they’ll probably call back if it was important.”

  “Maybe.” Meg watched the clock again, willing it to speed up and hoping the phone wouldn’t ring again.

  When Meg got home, she avoided the envelope for as long as she could. More mail had arrived, mostly junk, though the electrical was among the coupons and catalogues. She wished she could toss them all in the trash. Instead she threw out the junk and tossed the bill next to the other bill, two pieces of paper that made her heart beat unevenly.

  “It’s not going to be that bad,” she said aloud. Her cat, Dwight, meowed and stretched his leg on her foot. She opened the cabinet and poured some cat food into his bowl, noticing the bag was getting lighter. She made a note of it and saw that the cabinets themselves were not stocked up so well either. There were a few cans of vegetables and soup, and an endless amount of ramen noodles, the one food she always seemed to have on hand.

  Because it’s cheap. Because it’s one of the few things you know you can afford.

  She grabbed a pack of the dehydrated noodles and started to boil some water, trying not to crunch numbers in her mind but failing. Her bank account was dwindling. She lived week to week and sometimes she couldn’t afford an entire cart full of groceries. It wasn’t uncommon for her to toss a few items back if they weren’t essential.

  But what was more essential than food?

  Her apartment was and the envelope that had arrived yesterday might very well make her apartment unaffordable.

  She finished cooking the noodles and sat down at the table. She opened the electric bill, holding her breath. It was a little high but still within her budget. She was stingy with the lights, never left them on if she wasn’t in the room. She slid the bill aside and grabbed the other one. She took a bite of the noodles and winced. They were too hot. She burned her mouth.

  She opened the envelope and read the introductory letter. The loan company welcomed her as a valued customer and told her she’d picked a great interest rate. She was in good hands.

  She turned the page around and saw the first payment amount, due at the end of the month. And then she saw how many more payments would come after that, realizing she would be in her mid-forties by the time she paid them off.

  The noodles became tasteless and her stomach felt sickly. She stood up and headed for the bathroom, nearly tripping on Dwight.

  At the toilet, she kneeled down and dry-heaved. Nothing came out and she felt no relief. Her scar began to itch again, this time much worse. It was always worse when she felt hopeless.

  She wiped her mouth and looked into the mirror, double-checking her part and fixing her bangs so that the old gash did not show.

  She grabbed her coat and decided to head to the closest bar. She had a crumpled five-dollar bill in her pocket. She’d make it last.

  Meg closed her eyes as she passed the open envelope, as if it were mocking her with unseen eyes, and slammed the door behind her.

  Dwight meowed, looked up for a moment, and went back to eating.

  She finished her first Narragansett in seconds. She signaled the bartender and asked for another. He eyed her before setting down another can, probably wondering why a young woman was ordering bottom-of-the barrel beer. Because it’s one dollar, she wanted to say. It’s your cheapest beer and it’s all I can afford.

  It would have the same effect as any other drink on the menu, though the hangover might be a bit worse.

  She sipped and sighed and then began to look for jobs on her phone. She’d need to start working nights and even then, her schedule at the bank sometimes changed. It wasn’t likely anyone would hire her. She’d be forced to move back home, back to New Hampshire with her father.

  Which was just miles away from what she’d been trying to forget, why she’d moved away to begin with.

  She scratched the scar lightly, not wanting to ruin her part.

  A man sat down a few seats to her left, took off his hat and coat and talked to the bartender like he was a regular. He ordered a beer and watched the basketball game on the television for a while. He looked familiar. She was just trying to place him, unconsciously staring, when he turned around and smiled. Her cheeks flushed and she turned away.

  “Excuse me,” the man said. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

  Shit. She wasn’t in the talking mood tonight. It was part of the joy of living in a new place, a rural Pennsylvania town where no one knew your name. She turned toward the man. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

  “Hmm.” The man sipped his beer. “I’ve got it. You work at the Savings Bank on Main Street, right? You’re one of the tellers.”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  “Thought so. I come in all the time. My father and I own the bookshop up the street. Books by the Dozen.”

  She shook her head. “Haven’t heard of it, I’m afraid. I just moved out here.”

  “Now why would anyone move out here? Most people want to get away.”

  “I guess I have an affinity for small towns
. I like to blend in.” She finished her second drink, flagged down the bartender.

  The man nodded to her empty can. “Well, you’re definitely not a beer snob.”

  The bartender handed her the third beer of the night and she took a long sip. This one wasn’t as cold as the others. She could taste the harsh piss-like flavor more now but it didn’t matter much. It was working its magic, going straight to her head and making the bar do short laps around her. She realized she hadn’t finished more than a few noodles and before that she hadn’t eaten since noon.

  “Where did you move here from? If you don’t mind me asking?”

  She did mind but she wouldn’t say so. He was just trying to strike up conversation. He was harmless. “New Hampshire.”

  “You must like unreliable weather.”

  “Sure do. Life itself is pretty unreliable, wouldn’t you say?” She took another swig of the tepid beer.

  “I suppose so. A bit deep for bar talk but you’ve got a point. Did you come out here for your job?”

  She laughed mid-sip, had to wipe away a few drops of beer with her napkin. “Drive across two states for the fame and glory of being a bank teller? Not quite. I came out here to forget something. And before your next question, no, it wasn’t a boy. It was my mother. And yes, we got along just fine. Problem was, she had severe schizophrenia—still does from what I hear, though I haven’t visited her in a long time. She kidnapped me when I was girl and drove me across the country because shadowy figures were following her. And you know the best part? She said they somehow got through to her from an application for night classes at a community college. They mailed her a fake brochure and she signed her name and that was that. They were after her like she was a fugitive, which, coincidentally, after stealing me, she was. Can you believe that shit?”

  The man stopped talking. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go digging up bad memories. I was just trying to make conversation.”

  “And you succeeded.” She finished the rest of her warm piss-beer and set the empty can down on the bar. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to be heading home. Tomorrow’s Friday. Busiest day at the bank. It’s when all of the assholes come out of the woodwork to pay their mortgages.”