by Lukens, Mark
David found himself nodding before he even answered. “I can feel it. I know my friends, Cole and Stella, are in trouble.”
Billy seemed to remember them or the rumors about them. “Where are they now?”
David looked at Begay.
Begay nodded that it was okay.
David turned back to Billy. “In Costa Rica.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pants pocket, pulled up the news article, and then handed it to Billy.
Billy took his time reading the article, thumbing the screen slowly, studying it. After a few minutes he gave the phone back to David. “Did you warn them?”
“No. Not yet. I wasn’t sure at first.”
“Have you been having dreams?” Billy asked.
“How did you know?” David asked.
“What have you been dreaming?”
“They’re like memories. Of the ghost town. Back when it was Hope’s End. It feels like I was there back then, back when everyone in the town was killed. “He paused for a moment. “I was there in that town before. Back then. I fought the Ancient Enemy then, but it took me into the Void.”
“What do you remember about the Void?” Billy asked. “What do you remember about its world?”
David shrugged and shook his head a little. “Nothing. It was like I was there, then I was here. Like the blink of an eye.”
Billy exhaled a long, slow sigh. For some reason David felt that Billy suspected him of lying about his memories of the Void, but he didn’t say anything about it.
“What other dreams have you had?” Billy asked.
Again, David was shocked. It felt like Billy was reading his mind somehow, probing it a little, but it was like Billy couldn’t see everything he wanted. “I’ve been dreaming about a serial killer. He’s killed some people in Colorado.”
“You see the murders through the killer’s eyes?”
“Not really, but I’ve seen the things he’s done.”
“Have you seen the killer’s face?”
David shook his head no. “He’s like a shadow. Just a blurry image.”
“What did Joe Blackhorn say about the Ancient Enemy when you were training with him?”
“He told me that I might have only driven the Ancient Enemy back into its own world. He said I might have hurt it, or even damaged it, but I might not have actually killed it.” He glanced at Begay. “And now I think it’s back.”
“How am I supposed to help?” Billy asked.
“I never finished my training with Joe Blackhorn,” David admitted. He hoped Billy wasn’t going to ask him why—he didn’t want to go into the real reasons he had turned his back on Blackhorn.
“I am not a shaman,” Billy said. “I cannot show you what to do. Only you can know what to do.”
“But some say you know about witchcraft,” David blurted out.
Billy’s eyes cut to Begay.
David didn’t look at Begay; he kept his eyes on Billy. “Some say you have strong powers.”
Billy sighed. “I do not have the powers you do, David.” He pulled off his necklace and stood up from the rock. He walked the few steps over to David and gave the necklace to him. “I can give this to you. I can perform a few ceremonies. But I cannot do much more than that.”
David nodded. It wasn’t the answer he’d been hoping for, but he took the necklace.
“It’s kind of your necklace anyway. It was meant for you.”
David didn’t say anything.
“You are going to have to face this ancient evil again.”
David nodded—he already knew that.
“It will never stop looking for you,” Billy continued. “It will not stop looking for everyone around you. But this time you will have to go on a spirit walk, you will have to enter its world. You will have to enter the Void.”
“I don’t know how to enter its world,” David said. “I don’t know how to go on a spirit walk. Joe Blackhorn never showed me how.”
Billy frowned. “I am sorry. I cannot help you with that.”
David couldn’t help believing that Billy Nez was lying to him, but he didn’t say anything about it.
*
A few minutes later David walked beside Begay on the trail through the woods, heading back to Begay’s pickup truck. Moments later they passed the trailers where Billy’s daughter and grandchildren lived. David looked at the rotting deck of the last trailer. He thought he would see Billy’s daughter standing there, but the front door was closed. The children were inside. Everything was quiet.
They got to Begay’s truck and David got in the passenger side and closed the door. He slipped his seatbelt on.
Begay started the truck, but he didn’t shift into reverse yet. He looked at David.
David met his stare. “Sorry about calling Billy a witch. I . . . I just . . . I didn’t know what else to do. I just need some help.”
Begay shook his head like he was already forgiving David and accepting his apology. “That’s okay. I’m sure Billy’s heard that many times. The dream you’ve been having about the serial killer. Tell me more about that.”
“It’s like I told Billy, I can’t see the killer; he’s just a shadow. But I know he’s there and I know he can see me now. I don’t think he could see me before in my dreams, but now that the Ancient Enemy is inside of him he can see me.”
Begay sighed and finally shifted into reverse and backed up, turning around so he could drive down the bumpy trail that led back to the road.
David stared at Begay as he wrestled with the steering wheel down the path through the weeds. “You know something about the killer, don’t you?”
For a moment David didn’t think Begay was going to answer, but then he finally spoke. “The killer you’re dreaming about, he killed another couple in Colorado.”
“How do you know that?”
“Do you remember Agent Palmer? The man I was with when I came to the ghost town, the one from the FBI?”
David nodded. “He got bitten by the rattlesnakes at the church, and then the roof fell on him.”
“Yes. He called me yesterday. He told me that he believed the Ancient Enemy was back.”
“How would he know that?”
“Palmer told me that he’d been at the scene of the murder earlier in the day. He said things had been done to their bodies that only the Ancient Enemy could do. He also told me that his last name was written on the wall in blood.”
David realized that the agent’s phone call was one of the reasons Begay believed his story about the Ancient Enemy being back; Begay had already heard it from Palmer. David was happy to be right about his suspicions that the Ancient Enemy was back, but he was also terrified at the same time.
“What else did he say?” David asked.
Begay shrugged. “Not much. I told him that you believed the Ancient Enemy was back.”
“I think it’s coming after me,” David said. “I think it’s inside that killer I keep dreaming about, and I think he’s coming for me now.”
Begay nodded like this made sense to him.
“But I think the Ancient Enemy wants more than me; I think it also wants revenge.”
Begay seemed like he believed that, too.
“I need to go to Costa Rica. I need to find Cole and Stella. It’s after them too, and I need to be with them again. You should come with me.”
“I can’t go,” Begay said. “I’m too old and sick to go down to Central America. I don’t think I’d even be able to help much.” He looked at David as he pulled off of the dirt driveway and onto the paved road. “But maybe you should go.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. Have you talked to them lately?”
David shook his head no. “I’ve been sending texts and calling Stella, but she hasn’t called me back in a few days.”
Begay frowned, and David didn’t like that look from him. It seemed like Begay believed that Stella and Cole might be dead, but David was sure they were still alive. He couldn’t say exactly
how he knew, but he just did.
“It’s going to be dark soon,” Begay said. “I think you and your aunt should come and stay with me and Angie at my house.”
“Okay,” David answered.
“I think we should talk to your aunt when we get back.”
David nodded in agreement, and then he pulled out his cell phone. It was time to send another text message to Stella. It was time to warn them.
CHAPTER 17
Palmer
Denver, Colorado
In the dream Palmer was standing at the edge of the road. He watched the killer walk down the other side of the road, dragging a head and parts of a body behind him. Beyond the road there was nothing but woods. It was night, but there was an unnatural lightness in the sky, like the moon was ten times brighter.
Like in so many of his dreams, Palmer couldn’t move. All he could do was watch helplessly as the scene in front of him unfolded. He was rooted to the spot at the side of the road. All he could do was yell and cry out, but he knew the killer wouldn’t look his way.
Even in the illumination from the dark blue sky, the killer was still a shadowy figure. Not blurry—the edges of him were clearly defined—but he had no features. He was dressed from head-to-toe in black: black sweater, black pants, black boots, black gloves, and a black hood of some kind, like a ski mask. He looked to be about six foot tall and lean, maybe a hundred and sixty or a hundred and seventy pounds. His movements were quick and fluid, suggesting youth. And he seemed confident.
The killer held the woman’s head in one hand by a fistful of her blond hair, the rest of her long hair hid her face. Below her head, where the rest of her body should have been, there was a string of meat, strips of skin, a tattered piece of clothing, bones, and a section of spine—the vertebrae still held together somehow. The pieces seemed to be tied together by bits of slimy string (but Palmer knew they were small strips from tendons and ligaments). The bones knocked into each other like a bamboo wind chime as the killer walked down the road.
And then the killer veered off the path, walking towards a huge tree. One massive, gnarled branch from the tree sloped down towards the road. He hung the woman’s head from the branch, attaching it somehow with more cords of stretched-out flesh, wrapping the string around the limb and then underneath the woman’s chin like a noose. The rest of the gore, bones, and strips of flesh hung down from the woman’s head like the tentacles of a jellyfish.
And then the killer moved on down the road, disappearing into the darkness.
Suddenly Palmer was moving across the street towards the remains of the woman hanging from the tree branch. It was like his body had been picked up by some invisible force and now he was floating across the road, faster and faster, helpless to fight the force, helpless to stop it. It was a strange and terrifying sensation.
He was getting closer and closer to the woman’s head and the parts of her body that hung down below. Her blond hair was still partially hiding her face, a face that was bruised and battered. But even with the eyes swollen shut and the bloodstains, Palmer knew who the woman was—it was Teresa.
Palmer was rushing towards Teresa’s face when her eyes popped open.
That’s when Palmer had woken up from the dream.
It was ten o’clock in the morning. He hadn’t slept much last night, and he’d finally fallen asleep around dawn. He felt like he’d only been asleep for a few minutes but he knew it had been longer, at least a few hours.
His first thoughts were of Eliza and the kids, then of Teresa and Gary. He was out of bed in a flash, rushing for his cell phone. He called Eliza first.
The phone rang five times and then she told him to leave a message in a chipper voice.
“Hey, Lizzy, it’s your dad. Just wanted to see how things are going and make sure everything’s okay.” He tried to keep the tremble out of his voice. He tried to sound like he wasn’t scared to death. “Just get back to me as soon as you can. You can text me if you want. You don’t have to call if you don’t want to. I just want to make sure you’re okay. That’s all. Love you, honey. And tell the kids I love them, too.”
He hung up and stared at his phone. Maybe he should call Teresa. His finger hovered over the contact button for a few seconds and then he touched it, the phone dialing her number. After several rings it went to voicemail, just like Eliza’s phone.
“Hey, Teresa. I don’t mean to bother you.” He was probably the last person she wanted to hear from right now. “I called Lizzy and didn’t get an answer. I just wanted to make sure everything’s okay. If you talk to her, can you have her call me as soon as possible?” It was better to make the phone call about Eliza rather than about himself.
He hung up the phone and went into the kitchen. He was thirsty. He popped a can of soda open and drank half of it down—the bubbly liquid felt good on his parched throat, the sugar and caffeine helping to bring him fully awake. He was still tired. He thought about trying to go back to sleep for a few more hours, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep now.
After turning on the TV to a twenty-four hour news channel, something babbling in the background, Palmer took a shower. He spent ten minutes standing under the hot water, the dream coming back to him as he stood there. He saw Teresa’s dead face hanging from the tree limb in the dark, her blood coating the bones, organs, and strings of flesh hanging down from her head, the blood black and glistening in the luminescent moonlight.
And then her eyes popped open.
Palmer remembered stifling a scream as he’d awakened. He tried not to think about Teresa and instead concentrated on the killer. For some reason he was sure he had seen the actual killer in the dream, or at least the man the Ancient Enemy was controlling now, but he hadn’t gotten a good enough look at the man, especially with the black clothes and ski mask he’d worn. Palmer could tell the man’s height and approximate weight, but that was about all. He felt pretty sure the man was young, maybe mid to late twenties. But those were all details that Cardenelli and the FBI had already guessed at.
Not being able to see the killer clearly in the dream was frustrating. It was like the killer was taunting him. Only it wasn’t the killer sending the dream to him, Palmer knew that—it was the Ancient Enemy, and the dream was either a warning or a portent of the future.
Or it had already happened.
That was what Palmer didn’t want to face. Deep down inside, he couldn’t help feeling that Teresa and Gary were already dead and the Ancient Enemy was just showing off to Palmer what it had done to them.
Palmer shut the shower’s water off and got out, drying off quickly with a faded towel. He dressed in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, his movements panicky and jerky. He wanted to call Eliza again. He needed to hear her voice, make sure she was safe. She might get annoyed if he kept calling, but he didn’t care. He darted across the living room to grab his cell phone, but as soon as he reached it, the phone rang. The name on the screen was Cardenelli.
Palmer didn’t want to answer it. He didn’t want to make the dream real. The phone rang a third time and Palmer picked it up and swiped the screen.
“Palmer. It’s Cardenelli. There’s been another murder.”
Palmer felt his stomach convulsing. He hadn’t eaten any breakfast, but the can of soda he’d had earlier wanted to come up along with bile and stomach acids. He didn’t want to hear this, but he was powerless to stop it. He remembered the dream, how he had floated across the road towards Teresa’s remains hanging from the tree branch, rushing forward through the night air, trying to fight against the force that paralyzed him yet propelled him forward. He felt like that now, like he was being propelled forward towards something he didn’t want to face.
“I’ve got some bad news, Palmer.”
Here it comes.
“It’s your ex-wife Teresa. She and her husband were murdered last night. And there are two new names painted on the wall in blood.”
CHAPTER 18
Palmer
&nbs
p; Denver, Colorado
Palmer stared at Teresa’s head and the wind chimes of her bones, the dreamcatcher weaving of her intestines, the lengths of flesh and entrails that hung down from her head like the tentacles of a jellyfish.
Just like the dream.
And just like Cardenelli had said on the phone, two more names had been written in blood on the wall in large, looping letters: Cole and Stella.
Palmer felt sick to his stomach, afraid he might vomit at any second. His head was light and he felt weak and unsteady on his feet. The coppery smell of blood and the rotting smell of roadkill filled his nostrils. It had taken years to get that smell out of his nose, out of his mind, and suddenly it was back.
He had the sensation of being watched by Cardenelli, every action of his being scrutinized and studied. Was he a suspect in this?
Forensics was already in the house, getting set up, taking photos and jotting down notes. They were dressed in their protective clothing, gloves, and masks. Palmer had a pair of papery booties over his shoes, latex gloves on his hands, and a dust mask over his mouth and nose. The dust mask felt like it was cutting off his breathing, the gloves too tight on his hands. He needed to get outside.
Palmer walked away from the thing that used to be his wife that hung from one of the ceiling fans in the living room. The rest of her parts were in the bedroom with what was left of Gary. Palmer walked to the front door and stepped outside, ripping off his mask so he could breathe in a lungful of fresh mountain air, the air he had come out west for. But now that air felt tainted. He could still smell the scent of blood and fresh meat and shit in his nose, the smell of torture and pain, of fear and misery.
Cardenelli caught up with him. “I’m sorry. I imagine you and Teresa weren’t that close anymore but—”
“We were still close,” Palmer snapped, not sure why he was defending their relationship, not sure why he was lying. “We were close in our own way.”
“Well, I’m sure this is hard on you.”
Palmer thought of the dream he’d had only hours ago. Teresa’s head and what was left of her body had looked exactly like that in the dream. And then he thought of Eliza. He’d left three voicemails and three text messages, but he hadn’t heard back yet. He needed to make sure she was safe. And now he also needed to let her know that her mother was dead.
