The Truth Collector by Corey Pemberton Page A

you probably won't like it.”
    “Why?” said Malcolm.
    “That demon isn't done with you. I can't overpower it, but I can hide you from it for a while. I won't stop until I find Nora and bring her back. You're going to help me.”
    Malcolm and Paul looked at each other to see who would make the first move. Neither one did.
    “Come on,” the woman said, motioning for them to stand. “I know a place just up the strand. We can get more privacy there. And hopefully find you some clothes.”

 
    CHAPTER ELEVEN
    She led them down the strand, pointing out sharp rocks and glass along the way. Malcolm and Paul followed her to a makeshift fishing pier of planks and boxes and crates. Once she made sure it was empty, the woman led them beneath the pier. She huddled under the support beams in the gap below the pier before it jutted out into the water. Malcolm and Paul sat down in the secret cave, drained of energy and blood from the walk.
    “Everyone comfortable?” she said, dropping one cigarette and lighting another just a few seconds later.
    They nodded.
    “Let me start at the beginning. My name's Charlotte Fontaine. Everyone always called me 'Charlotte Fountain,' but you know how people are with French names. I guess I could have picked a new one after I died, but I like the one my mother gave me so I'm sticking with it.”
    Paul stood up and nearly banged his head on the pier. “ Died ?”
    “That's right,” she said. “It was the damn train that did it. I was young and stupid. And very much in love. That might explain the stupid part.”
    Malcolm reached for her. He had to feel her – to make sure she was still solid. She kicked away his hand when it found her ankle.
    “Did it hurt?” Paul said. “Sorry. Forget I asked that.”
    Charlotte shrugged. “Not at all. I didn't feel a thing. But I guess that's what happens when you're playing around on the train tracks drunk. Okay. I wasn't really playing around. But I was playing house with a man who'd never be mine.” She squinted at the water like the memory was floating somewhere out there, sealed in a bottle for freshness.
    “When did this happen?” Malcolm said.
    Charlotte looked at him. There were tears in her eyes when she spoke. “A long time ago. Over one hundred years I think. It gets harder to remember as time goes on. Long enough ago where a woman pursuing a man out of wedlock – a married man, at that – made my mother and father want to send me off to a convent.”
    Paul held his arms across his chest, shivering when the wind kissed his bare skin. “All that time passed… and you're still here. Is that what happens when you die? You just get stuck in the cracks – and the world moves on?”
    Charlotte reached out and touched his arm. “Not at all. And don't let your mind go wandering or you'll drive yourself mad. Most people make it safely across to the other side. Where it's peaceful. But there are others like me – I see them wandering from time to time – though it's been years since I've come across one. We're the leftovers. The ones who died in transition. Stuck between the lines or tracks or other things.” Her brown eyes flashed, and she leaned forward and grabbed them both by the hand. “Now we're stuck between worlds – between this life and the next.”
    Malcolm pulled his trembling hand free. “What happened to the man you loved? The married one.”
    Charlotte lowered her head and began to kick at the little piles of loose dirt beneath the pier. “He 'came to his senses.' That's how he put it. He said he wasn't going to leave his wife and child and run off like we'd talked about. We'd had too much to drink that night – there was always too much to drink – and he told me he was going to make something of himself. He wouldn't leave his wife. We fought while he drove us back to Lemhaven. I begged and pleaded until there wasn't a shred of my dignity left. Then I made him stop and let me out of the car.”
    “You were walking