AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What does she know?”
“They’re gone.” He observed her through the rear-view mirror. "Didn't specify by who.”
“Don't. No need to traumatize her by telling her she's stuck with the person responsible.” An NBC News van sped along the left lane. “What angle you guys go with?”
“Cult lead by Ingram Hayes blocked the roads and slaughtered any and all Stag Hill residents trapped inside. If you’re asked, we believe he and his followers are worshipping a god of the end times.”
“What’s he like?”
“Mr. Hayes spent childhood working as a magician’s assistant in his family’s now-defunct circus. His mother practiced a gentler form of voodoo. Down on their luck, he used his knowledge from her and skills as an assistant to make a religious figure of himself, but the powerful factions mocked him as a child capable of mere parlor tricks. He lost the few sheep he had, went to college and got a job as a musical therapist. His life is a walk through sludge from then on.” He looked over his shoulder at me. “How were your dreams?”
“Quiet.”
“Not surprised. L’enfer Requins has been busy. Your dreams confirm my team’s suspicions: Ingram’s revenge-minded, musically gifted, but incapable of orchestrating chaos on this scale. He’s the face of the movement, not it’s brains.”
“How do my dreams factor into the equation?”
“Even the most powerful necromancer can’t invade the mind of the living. Ingram may have started out in control, but the thing addressing you calls the shots these days. It ain’t following all the standard rules of demonic activity, but it appears to require a host. You mentioned the face is always changing…Might could be you’re viewing its hosts.”
I blanched. “Keith was in that group. You don’t think he has something to do with this, do you?”
“I’ll ask a corporal to pay him a visit. Still got his plate, but if you would kindly provide his full name and address, we can move on this faster.”
Asleep, Mila's arm slid from her knees and brushed mine. I tucked the blanket around her shoulders. “What’s the opinion of the Otherworld at large?”
“Cautious and aware of the situation. CPA’s received dozens of missing person reports and hundreds of tips and potential sightings since this morning. Then word of the hospital incident reached our office. One missing, three dead, no bodies. Been a shitshow.”
We pulled into the hospital’s visitor lot not five minutes later. I unbuckled Mila and carried her in my arms. With a flash of his badge and a hand on my back, the sheriff guided us through the throng of bystanders and concerned families. The crowd had scared the girl and she was crying, but inside, the main floor was quiet and sterile, manned by an overwhelmed receptionist and security team. A quick word at the desk and we'd contacted the temporary sitter. I wasn't sure who I felt worse for: Mila, or the poor aide charged with the confused pup. Reality probably hadn’t even sunk in yet.
Caelan and I walked beyond a cheery gift shop, over a dingy, suspiciously stained carpet and onto an elevator.
“Gram hated hospitals,” I told the sheriff, backing into a glossy aluminum corner. “Refused to go for her or my own good. Freshman year of college, Lisa and I got drunk over Thanksgiving break and took our boyfriends ghost hunting. I broke my wrist falling through the roof of the slaughterhouse.”
“Graceful.”
“I was fun back then.”
“Reckon you still are,” he replied. “What'd your grandmother do?”
“After sending everyone home, must’ve whipped Tommy good because he left me the night we got back on campus, Gram broke into a physician’s house in the middle of the night.” I paused. “My brain’s working to turn coincidence into pattern, but this doc had the most stunning green eyes. I was shit-faced, but still remember thinking, ‘Wow, I could die happy gazing into his eyes every night.’ Then he asked how old I was. When Gram slapped him I realized I’d been thinking out loud.”
“Do you have his name?”
“Nope. Never saw him since or I’d have died of embarrassment.” On the floor between our feet was a squished, browned daisy. I scuffed it. “In the end, once her lungs got bad, I carried Gram into Hartford Hospital. She was too weak to fight, but she tried, tried so hard to get away we caused a scene in the parking garage. I almost gave in, but I couldn’t do it: I couldn’t let her go. So instead of dying peacefully at home, she died miserable and asking to go home. Haven’t set foot inside a hospital since.”
The elevator dinged and whooshed open.
A doctor with a faded scar across her cheek greeted us. She dabbed a tissue to her red eyes.
“Dr. Rachel Walker,” she said in a brusque voice. Her attention settled on my taller, badge-toting companion, who offered his hand. “Thanks for meeting me away from the scene.”
“Not a problem, Dr. Walker. Investigating this case with me is my deputy, Marcy Davins.”
Fanning her neck, Dr. Walker frowned at my dirt-tinted knees.
“Needless to say,” Caelan continued, clasping my shoulder, "came soon as we heard.”
“Yes, well . . .” The woman’s voice faded. Color fled her cheeks. Her eyes fluttered.
