by James Hunt
Spittle fell onto his chin, and he hastily wiped it away.
“Why did you lie?”
“The kind of attention a new disease receives can put its discoverer on the map.” Wagner held out his hand, extending an arthritic finger for every disease that he ticked off. “Polio, malaria, hepatitis, all of them global killers with the potential to bring humanity to its knees. And each of them with a mind behind the cure that made them famous. Rich.” He pressed his finger into his chest. “I could have been one of those people. But I stayed here to be with my wife and my son. Instead of greatness, I had a family.” He grimaced as if something sour had touched his tongue.
“Then how is Iris Bell still alive?” Dell asked.
Wagner shrugged and exhaled a breath that rattled his bones. “She cured herself.”
Dell stepped backward, the uniform growing tight beneath his chest and constricting his movements. “Oh my god.”
“You and I both know the extraordinary circumstances that have surrounded that family over the years. And I know most of it is hearsay, but you can’t deny the number of Bells that have succumbed to early graves. When I saw those… scales crawling up Iris Bell’s leg, I was sure I’d found the truth behind the myths. But I ran every test available to me at the time, and I can tell you without a trace of doubt in my head that there was nothing medically wrong with that woman. Blood work, heart rate, all her vitals were normal, and yet there were those things just staring me in the face, taunting me.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “The board said I was trying to make trouble over a bad case of the shingles. But you and I both know better, don’t we, Deputy?”
“How did she do it?” Dell asked. “How did she cure herself?”
Wagner smiled as he stared at Dell. “You’d have to ask Iris Bell.”
The moment Dell was out of the woods and off the dirt road, he hit the lights and the siren. He knew both were redundant, but he needed something to help focus the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins.
Both hands on the wheel, Dell tightened his grip until his knuckles flashed white and he thought he was going to break the steering wheel in half. The engine roared, the speedometer ticking up past seventy, eighty, and then ninety miles an hour.
“Dell, you there?”
Dell picked up the receiver. “I’m here, Faye.”
“Listen, the sheriff just called me and told me that the judge approved the warrant, and that the troopers are on their way to Bell, probably thirty minutes out.”
“Perfect,” Dell said, relieved at the good news.
“I also got some more information about those Bell family members.”
“Go ahead.”
“Turns out their medical records all listed the same type of death as hypothermia or frostbite. There were even a few special notes about how odd the afflictions were, but they all occurred during the winter.”
Dell kept his thumb off the receiver. “Son of a bitch.”
“I also got some information back on that Brent Alvarez. He’s mid-thirties, black hair, brown eyes, around six feet tall. He has a 1968 Pontiac GTO Judge registered with New York State. Still haven’t been able to track him down though.”
Dell hugged the curves of the highway, his headlights illuminating a clear path ahead. When he came around a left-leaning bend, he saw the two beams of light shooting up from the ditch on the right side of the road, penetrating the darkness.
Dell slowed, pulling his cruiser off to the side of the road, eyes widening in horror as he gazed upon the wreckage of the smashed GTO in the ditch. He flung the door open before he even put the cruiser in park. “Shit. He’s here, Faye.”
“What?”
Dell quickly fiddled with his seatbelt. “Send backup to a wreck heading southbound on the highway one mile past Redford. Suspect is a one Brent Alvarez.”
“Copy that,” Faye replied.
The blue and red lights from the cruiser highlighted the twisted and crumpled metal chassis of the muscle car. The roof and side doors had been caved inward, most likely from a roll down the berm. The windows had shattered, turning the clear glass into frosty panes of white.
Dell removed his flashlight and then his weapon, unsure of what he would be walking into. The driver’s side door was open, so he flashed his light into the cabin but found it empty.
He was just about to turn away when his light caught a jacket in the passenger seat. The light green was familiar, and he grabbed it. It was a Carhartt jacket. Sarah’s jacket.
“Sarah!” Dell shouted then stepped toward the tree line, raising his gun and flashlight. The beam of light passed over a group of trees, illuminating the broken paths that led into the forest.
Dell dropped the beam to the ground, heading toward the trunk of the flipped GTO. He searched the ground, hoping to find footprints. A flash of red caught his attention as he passed over the grass. He jerked the light back over the area and knelt.
Blood droplets lingered on the dead blades of grass like dew. Slowly, Dell followed the droplets along the ground, using the flashlight to help guide him through the forest. He switched between flashing the light on the ground and up ahead. He grew more worried as the bloodstains grew larger, becoming red streaks smearing across the ground.
Dell hastened his pace, weaving between the trees, sweat collecting beneath his uniform. And just when he thought he’d taken a wrong turn, a gunshot echoed through the forest. Dell scurried for cover, the bullet zipping past his head and splintering the tree trunk.
He flicked off his light and ducked behind the fattest tree trunk that he could find. Both hands clasped on the pistol, and when the barrage of gunfire ended, Dell slowly craned his head around the trunk.
A high-pitched whine deafened him to the breeze drifting through what leaves remained on the trees above. He squinted, spotting no movement ahead, and then tucked himself back behind the tree. “If you’re heading west, you’ll find nothing but forest all the way to Quebec.” He inched closer back toward the tree’s edge. “And it’s only going to get colder, so unless you’re carrying shelter with you, you’ll freeze to death.” Still no movement in the darkness from the gunshot’s origins, not even a sound. “Put the gun down, come out with your hands in the air.”
The ringing in Dell’s ears slowly faded, and he spun around to the other side of the tree, trying to get a different perspective, but still saw nothing ahead but darkness.
“I think you’re forgetting about the ace I have up my sleeve,” a voice said, his voice sounding more distant than the previous gunshots. “She’s unconscious right now, so I think putting a bullet through her skull wouldn’t be very sporting of me. But all those big words sound a lot like a threat to me, so I’d be remiss if I didn’t make my own.”
Dell shut his eyes, cursing under his breath. He shouldn’t have left them alone at the tavern. He should have waited for a highway trooper for backup or gotten George’s ass out of bed or—
“So this is what’s going to happen,” he said, his voice a little closer now, which meant that he was moving toward Dell. If Sarah was unconscious, he’d left her alone somewhere. No way he could be moving that quietly while carrying her. “You’re going to toss that gun on the ground, and you’re going to come out with your hands in the air, and then we’re going to talk like the pair of upstanding law enforcement officers we are. What do you think about that?”
The voice was coming from Dell’s right, so he worked his way to the opposite side of the tree, standing straight up, the pistol still in his hands. “I say no.”
The voice paused. “Well now, that’s a real shame.”
The air, the trees, time itself stopped cold as Dell waited for movement, for a sign of the man’s position, all the while struggling to keep his thoughts in the present moment and not on Sarah’s status.
A branch snapped to his left, and Dell spun in position to fire, only to be pushed backward by three gunshots that missed wide left and right, sending him running to the safety o
f another tree.
The man followed, the gunfire relentless, as Dell huddled behind the trunk. He waited for any break in the barrage of bullets, but they only grew more frequent.
A brief pause triggered Dell to spin around the opposite side of the tree, quick as he could, gun raised. When he cleared the tree trunk, Brent collided into Dell, knocking both men to the ground.
Their pistols were flung from their hands, the pair transforming into a blurred ball of hands, elbows, and legs as they rolled over the frozen and rocky terrain.
Dell was to his feet first and lunged, but Brent quickly spun around, arm reaching for his left hip, from where he drew a knife that he slashed with wildly. Dell pulled his hips back, watching the blade nearly skim across his uniform.
Brent stabbed forward, forcing Dell to retreat, his boots scraping against the frozen ground, until Dell’s heel hit something metal. When Brent dropped his eyes, Dell did as well, and both spotted the pistol in the grass.
Brent stumbled back, and Dell charged. He worked the body, two quick punches to both sides of the ribs, and then delivered a thundering right cross to Brent’s face that spun him around and knocked him to the ground.
Both men rolled, hands clamoring through the frozen and dead foliage, fingers twisting over the deadly weapon. Shoulder to shoulder, their cheeks reddened. Dell had his fingers on the handle, while Brent had his fingers wrapped over the barrel and a portion of the trigger.
Dell head butted Brent, loosening the detective’s grip. Dell yanked the weapon free and then jumped to his feet, his vision blurred and his forehead bleeding from the fight. “Don’t move.” He wobbled on two feet, gun aimed at Brent’s head. “Where is she?” He panted, watching Brent rise to his knees, blood streaming down his smiling face, which only made Dell’s anger boil over. He lunged forward, pressing the gun against Brent’s forehead and gripping the collar of his shirt. “I said, where is she!?”
“What happens when you find out she’s already dead?” Brent asked, a smile creeping up his face. “You wander out into the darkness, and your foot catches on her arm, and you find her face down in the frozen dirt, blood already congealed around the body and the life drained from those pretty little eyes.” He wobbled back and forth, clearly disoriented from the blows. “You know how many guys she’s made have that same look on their face that you’re wearing right now?” He laughed. “She managed to wrap you around her little finger, and you couldn’t care less.”
Dell pulled the hammer back on the pistol, and all of that rage and adrenaline and fear focused to the pinpoint accuracy of the sight on the gun. “You didn’t kill her. You wouldn’t have run out here if you had, so where is she?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, amigo,” Brent said. “I woke up in the ditch back there with my car wrecked, and I saw blood traces leading into the forest.”
Dell grimaced and then let go of Brent’s collar and reached around for his handcuffs, keeping the pistol trained on Brent’s head. “Turn around.”
The cuffs clicked into place, and Brent winced when Dell tightened them and then shoved him toward the road.
The red and blue of the flashing lights acted as a lighthouse of sorts, a beacon guiding him home. Dell shoved Brent into the back of the squad car and put the guy’s revolver in his glove box, then took one last look at the wrecked GTO and the darkened forest. “Where did you go?”
18
Sarah stumbled through the woods like a zombie, nothing on her mind but getting back to Bell. It was a primal instinct, one that she knew was fed by the icy scales on her leg.
It was in the darkness that filled the night. It was an inaudible whisper that tickled the hairs on the back of her neck. All of it was leading her back to Bell, back to the house.
In a fit of exhaustion, she collapsed to the ground, rolling to her side, her breaths shallow and quick as she stared up at the night sky.
Barren tree branches twisted up and outward against the starry night sky. She caught her breath and thought how beautiful the night would have been if it weren’t for the circumstances. But that had been the story of Sarah’s life. A series of unfortunate events, that had accumulated to bring her life to an end before she had ever had an opportunity for real happiness. For real peace.
Sarah closed her eyes, her arms spread out at awkward angles, and all she wanted to do was sleep, to just melt into the earth where she lay. But she couldn’t.
Sarah stood and, like before, the farther she walked and the closer she drew herself to the town, the better she felt. Twice she stopped to check her waistline to see if the scales had started to spread and watched the frost blue shimmer beneath the moonlight.
“It’s getting worse.”
Sarah spun around, finding the redhead floating nearby. “I don’t have time for you.” She trudged forward, traveling through the maze of trees. She figured she was close to the house now that the redhead had returned.
“You’re running out of time,” the redhead replied, floating next to her.
“I know.” Sarah kept her tone short, but the frustration mounted, and she whirled on the ghost. “Where the hell have you been?” The redheaded girl cringed as she backed away. “Do you have any idea what’s happening? Pat’s dead!”
“I’m sorry.” The apparition lowered her head and turned away. “I was afraid to show you.”
Sarah stomped around to the girl’s left and saw what looked like tears running down her cheeks. But with the translucent nature of her body, the tears looked like crystals that sparkled in the darkness. Never had grief looked so beautiful.
The redhead wiped away the diamonds from her eyes and straightened her posture. “It’s time for you to see.”
“See what?”
“To see why this all started.”
Sarah frowned, and then that familiar tug yanked at her waist, and the world around her went dark. The floating sensation returned, and after a moment, Sarah blinked, her surroundings transformed back to the same room and time she had been in before.
But this time, after Sarah dropped to her knees and cradled her head, a cramp formed in the pit of her stomach. “What’s… happening?”
Redhead appeared through the floor beneath Sarah’s face and stared straight into her eyes. “The spirit’s control over you is growing.” She pointed to the leg on which the scales had crawled up past her waist and onto her stomach. “It can feel you getting closer.”
Slowly, Sarah lowered her hands and stood, trying to focus on anything but the splitting pain running down the center of her skull. “Christ.” A few deep breaths and the sickness became more manageable.
When Sarah felt a little better, she found the redhead at the door and then followed her upstairs, doing her best to stay upright on the upward spiral path.
“I won’t be able to go inside with you once we’re upstairs,” the ghost said, keeping a few feet of distance between the two of them.
“Why?” Sarah asked, reaching for the rail as another bout of dizziness struck her. When her hand went straight through the wood, she nearly tumbled downward before quickly correcting herself.
Redhead frowned. “It’s like the door is locked, and whatever… Happened inside—” She stopped abruptly and then turned around. “The thing that killed me, it doesn’t want me to see it. And since I’m living in its house, I’m forced to follow its rules.”
Once the pair passed through the door on the fifth floor, Redhead allowed Sarah to walk ahead, and when they reached the halfway point, she stopped completely. Sarah looked back at the girl, whose gaze was locked on the door at the end of the hall.
“You don’t have to listen to it,” Sarah said. “It doesn’t have to control everything you do.”
Redhead’s mouth went slack, and she gently shook her head. “No, whatever’s on the other side of that door—” She swallowed. “I just can’t see.”
Sarah stepped closer. “Show it that you’re not afraid. Show it that it can’t frighten you.”
> The sunlight breaking through the window at the end of the hall dimmed, and Redhead floated backward, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Sarah.” Her voice trembled with fear, and she looked at Sarah one last time before disappearing through the door. “Good luck.”
And just like that, she was gone, leaving Sarah alone in the hallway. She turned to face the end of the hall, the light fading as if it were being sucked from the sky itself.
The darkness swallowed shadows from the furniture and paintings as Sarah neared the door. She reached out her hand and her heart hammered in her chest. The closer she drew to crossing the barrier, the louder the noises grew on the other side.
They were muffled at first, but then they started to sound like sobbing, and just before her face went through the door, she was greeted with a shrieking cry of pain.
“AHHHHH!”
It was the redhead, except she was in bed, sheets up to her chest and wearing the nightgown that Sarah had seen her floating around in. And much like the ghost’s, her living cheeks were a pale white, the color gone from her lips. But her hair was even more striking in person, the red so vibrant against the white of her skin and nightgown that it looked to be on fire.
Two people were in the room with her, a man on the left side of the bed and a woman on the right. At first glance, Sarah would have thought it was the girl’s mother and father, but then the man removed a stethoscope from a briefcase, and she noticed the long white coat. He was a doctor.
“Mary, you need to keep still,” the doctor said.
But the expressions of pain etched on redheaded woman’s face shifted and squirmed with the rest of her.
“Keep her still!” The doctor barked the order across the bed to the woman, who sprang into action, grabbing the girl by the shoulders and pinning her back into the pillows.
