“None of your business.”
Ethan was dying to know, but in the end, the information didn’t matter. The only important thing was to stop the December massacre. “You’re the Reaper, aren’t you?” he asked.
Denise’s eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. “You got it all wrong.”
“What’s happening on December 12?” Ethan demanded.
“December 12? I have no idea.”
He didn’t believe her. “Whatever you’re planning, you can’t do it,” he said. “Think of how it will affect your son.”
“Mikey is all I think about,” she snapped. “Robbie sure as hell won’t take care of him after I die. He hates the way Mikey looks. Says they aren’t really brothers. Once I go, he’ll put Mikey in an institution.”
“I’ll help you figure out something,” Ethan pleaded. There had to be group homes or other, more promising facilities, than state institutions. Surely Grant, with all of his money, and Tessa, with her soft heart, could work magic on Mikey’s behalf. “I know people,” he said. “I can make things happen.”
Denise looked at him closely, taking in his worn boots and old jacket. He knew what she was thinking. He didn’t look like someone with resources. “It’s true,” he said. “We can work this out together.” He risked moving closer to her. “December 12 doesn’t have to be a day of disasters. It can be a good day.”
“You keep talking about that like I know what it is.”
“Twelve people are going to die on that day,” he said.
“And you think I’ll have something to do with that?!”
“I think you’re involved in it.”
“No, that can’t be.” She frowned and shook her head. “It’s impossible. Are you sure?”
“I’ve seen it happen,” he told her. “And I’m not the only one who has.”
“This is wrong,” she muttered. Her fingers nervously worked her key chain. “I mean, I always wondered if it would come to that…but, no. It can’t be.” She turned her pleading eyes towards Ethan. “Are you positive? 100%?”
Ethan frowned, confused. This wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. She wasn’t protesting her innocence or swearing at him or even shouting. Hers was a look of deep pain, as if she knew the truth but couldn’t make herself believe it. “I’ve seen it,” he said.
She pressed her hands to her face.
“You do know something about this,” he said.
“I may, or I may not,” she said.
“Can you stop it?”
“I can sure as hell try,” she said softly.
“I’ll help you,” he said. Whatever she had in mind, he was eager to lend a hand. “You don’t have to do it alone.”
She pressed her lips into a firm line. “No. I have to do it on my own.”
“No, you don’t.” Ethan dug in his wallet and found one of David’s business cards. “This is where I’m staying,” he said. “Come see me. I promise to help you.”
He thought she might refuse the card, but she finally took it. “December 12, you say?”
Ethan nodded.
“I’ll handle it.” She had the look of someone about to face the enemy.
Ethan reluctantly got out of the car. He gave her a half wave as she drove off. The minute she was out of sight, he called Christian. “I did it. We’re in the clear.” The thought made him giddy with relief. “The December massacre won’t be happening.”
“How is that good news?” Christian demanded.
Ethan frowned. “Are you kidding me? The emergency is over. It’s all good.”
“The emergency has only started,” Christian shot back. “Sophie left a message at my apartment. The December massacre is happening tonight.”
Chapter Thirty
Christian opened the door to his apartment before Ethan was halfway up the steps. “Hurry,” he said and ushered Ethan inside.
Ethan stared. Thousands of page-a-day calendar pages drifted like snow on every surface. The floor was about a foot thick, and the couch was nearly hidden by a white drift. Each page declared the day’s date in large, block print. And, more horribly, every page was spattered in blood.
Ethan stood in the doorway, taking it all in. “What happened?”
Christian shook his head at the mess. “I was at the computer, when I heard this sound. It was like a strong wind smacking the side of a building. Then all of these pages dropped at once.”
“There’s more.” Christian motioned down the hall to where Sophie’s bedroom door hung askew on broken hinges. It looked to have been dynamited open.
Ethan cautiously stepped inside. The full-length mirror on the wall had shattered, and the Pokemon plushies had been shredded. The day’s date was written in blood above Sophie’s bed. “She really wanted our attention,” Ethan said.
“She always knew how to get it,” Christian said.
“So we know the date,” Ethan said, returning to the living room. “What about the time?” Then he noticed the large wall clock hanging near the kitchen. Both hands pointed to twelve. “Midnight?”
“Every clock in the place confirms it,” Christian said. “Even my watch is stuck on twelve.”
Staggered by the news, Ethan sank down onto the couch unmindful of the bloody calendar sheets. “Shit.”
“Now I have a question.” Christian was holding his temper, but barely. “What happened? Why is the date moved up?”
Ethan confessed the conversation he’d had with Denise. “I’d thought I’d talked her out of it,” he said, “but I must have made things worse.”
“You think?” Christian snorted angrily. Then, after a minute, he sighed and shrugged. “It’s not your fault. You tried your best.”
“She knows we’re onto her,” Ethan said. “She doesn’t want us getting in the way.”
“Eternal life is a huge motivator,” Christian said. “Especially when you’re actively dying.”
“She’s desperate,” Ethan agreed. He thought of David’s motionless body. “In some ways, I can’t blame her.”
“Don’t say that,” Christian said. “You aren’t like her.”
“Are you sure about that?” Ethan challenged him.
“Yes, I’m sure. You’re a good man, and you’re made of sterner stuff.” When Ethan didn’t reply, Christian grabbed his shoulders and hauled him to his feet. “I’m done with your tortured soul act. I’ll admit it won me over at first. In fact, it was a bit of a turn-on. Now, it’s just pissing me off. Man up. If your boyfriend dies, you’ll get through it. It will suck, but you can do it. You have your friends, and you have me.”
Ethan’s jaw dropped. It was as if Christian had punched him. In his entire life, no one had spoken him like this. Not even David. “You’re saying I’m soft?”
“I’m saying you’re tougher than you think. Now, quit wallowing and let’s do something about the Reaper.”
Ethan set his shoulders. As much as the criticism had stung, Christian was right. Now was not the time to wallow. “Any ideas?”
“Now would be a good time for one of your visions,” Christian said.
Ethan agreed. “I haven’t had one in a while,” he said. Which had been a very good thing, up until now.
“Can you try?” Christian asked. “Maybe fall asleep on the couch or something?”
There was no way that was happening. Ethan was far too jacked up to take a nap. “That’s not going to work, but I could try something else. Do you have a drawing app on your tablet?”
When Christian nodded, Ethan shoved a pile of calendar sheets from the couch and sat down. he picked up Christian’s tablet. “It’s called automatic writing. It’s usually used to channel spirits, but I think I could tap into my vision with it, too. Maybe there’s some details that I missed before.”
Christian sat on the couch opposite him, not bothering to clear the calendar pages first. “You’ve done this before?” he asked doubtfully. “Because we only have a few hours.”
“No,” Ethan admitted, “
but it won’t take long.” And maybe Sophie’s spirit would help.
“Need anything?” Christian asked. “Candles? Chalk?”
“I need to relax,” Ethan said. He rolled his head, trying to loosen his neck. It felt like the eyes of the universe were on him.
Christian went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of wine. “Try this.”
Ethan shrugged and downed the glass.
“How about a klonopin? Sophie had a few for anxiety attacks, and I think there’s a bottle left.”
“I want to relax, not pass out,” Ethan said. “Besides, I hate drugs.” He settled the tablet in his lap, closed his eyes, and concentrated on his breathing. Entering trances was never easy, especially when a deadline was involved.
After a minute, he opened his eyes and found Christian watching him. “Well?” Christian asked.
“Could you go do something?” Ethan asked, annoyed. “I can’t stand you staring at me.”
Christian muttered something under his breath and went to play Fallout on his computer. Ethan tried again.
Deep breath in. Count to five. Deep breath out. In and out. The wine softened his thoughts and unstrung his limbs. He considered the vision he’d had about the December massacre. The flashing lights, the wet pavement, and worst of all, the bodies. Unfortunately, all he could conjure up were memories of the vision, and not the vision itself. In fact, it seemed as if he was looking at someone else’s memories, or listening to the plot of a TV show that someone else had watched. Like the vision was something he’d only heard of and not experience himself.
He dug deeper, but kept coming up empty. No matter how much he focused, the vision wouldn’t present itself. His hand lay still on the cold surface of the tablet. Finally, he gave up.
“I can’t channel a thing,” he said.
“Try another vision,” Christian suggested.
Good idea. Ethan once again turned inward, this time looking for the first vision he’d seen. The one where Sophie was killed by the Scrambler.
In a flash, he was there. He gasped in surprise at how clearly he could picture it. He stood in the middle of the carnival with its swirling lights. At his feet, the rat chewed its popcorn. He could even pick out the songs from the midway.
He began running towards the Scrambler where he knew the Reaper was waiting. The screech of torn metal and the screams of injured urged him on. He put on speed, shoving people aside in his haste to get to Sophie.
Then he was at the front of the crowd, looking on Sophie’s broken body. Denise knelt by her, ready to steal the glowing light of Sophie’s soul. “No!” he cried. He needed to get there first, before she died. Maybe she could tell him about the massacre. Any small detail would do. “Sophie!” he cried.
Sophie lifted her head and blinked. “Ethan?” She looked straight at him.
“I need to know,” he said. Now, he stood above her. “Tell me.”
“Music,” she whispered. “Where there’s music…” Her eyes closed as Denise plucked her soul from her body.
“No!” Ethan shouted.
“Ethan.” Christian touched his shoulder.
Ethan blinked. He was back in Christian’s apartment. “Why did you stop me?” he asked, furious. “I was there!”
“You were there for over an hour!” Christian exclaimed. “We have a deadline, remember?”
Ethan rubbed his face. “I don’t know if it matters anyway. The vision ended with Denise taking Sophie’s soul. I think Sophie told me everything she could.”
“Which was?”
“Music. She said there was music.” And there had been music in the vision. The midway had been full of it. “Maybe she means the fairgrounds?”
Christian looked out of the window. It had been clear earlier in the day, but now it was overcast and raining. Even inside, there was a chill in the air. “No way would people be flocking to the fairgrounds on a day like today.” He tapped a few things into his phone. “No events are listed there for today, either. The place will be dead.”
“Where else would there be music?” Ethan wondered.
“Coffee shops,” Christian suggested. “Malls, grocery stores, bars.”
“So pretty much everywhere.” Ethan rubbed his temples. The vision had left him feeling fuzzy-headed. “Can I get a glass of water.”
“Get it yourself,” Christian said. “You practically live here after all.”
Ethan smiled and went to the kitchen. He poured himself water from the pitcher in the fridge. “What I need to do is try for that other vision.” He explained about not being able to access the vision of the bodies in the parking lot. “That vision would be a lot more helpful.” And a lot more unpleasant.
“You said you haven’t had that one in a while?” Christian asked.
Ethan drank down half his water. “No. Not since that night at the parking garage. I thought maybe I’d scared it out of myself.”
Christian rubbed his chin. “That’s the same night we met Mr. Midnight.”
Ethan stood straighter. “And the night he took one of my nightmares!”
Christian nodded. “Do you think…”
Ethan took Mr. Midnight’s card from his wallet. “I think we owe him a visit.”
Chapter Thirty-one
They agreed to meet at a park alongside the Rouge River. It was past closing time, and the place was empty. Christian parked in the shadows, near a narrow, asphalt strip that served as a bicycle path.
Ethan was so tense that when Christian cracked his knuckles, he jumped. “Would you stop that?” he said.
“It’s either this or smoke,” Christian said, “and I quit a year ago.”
The thought of a cigarette lit a fire in Ethan. He’d recently quit as well, but right now, nothing sounded better than a hit of nicotine. “He’s not going to show.”
“We don’t know that,” Christian said. He cracked his knuckles again.
Ethan had been so focused on looking for cars that he didn’t noticed the shadow slipping out of the trees until Christian nudged him. “Let’s go.”
Christian was out of the car first. Ethan hurried forward on numb legs. He wasn’t sure what worried him more: having to relive his traumatic vision or facing Mr. Midnight again.
Mr. Midnight met them with a grin. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his greasy tench coat, and a cap was pulled low over his brow. He was the type of man people crossed the road to avoid, and parents hoped their children never met.
Mr. Midnight immediately turned his attention to Ethan. “I was hoping you’d call me again.” He licked his lips, making Ethan cringe. “You brought me something delicious, I hope.”
“I need my vision back,” Ethan said. “The one you stole.”
Mr. Midnight drew back, offended. “Stole? You gave it to me.”
“Skip the semantics,” Christian growled. “Give it back.”
Mr. Midnight spared Christian a glance. “Settle down. I’m willing to make a trade. Only it will cost you two of your loveliest nightmares,” he said to Ethan.
“Only if I get to pick which two.”
Mr. Midnight considered. “Fine.” He held out a hand. “Think of them while I caress your palm.”
Cringing, Ethan offered his hand. The moment he felt Mr. Midnight’s cold touch, he thought of two of his most fearful, childhood dreams. The first was of his neighbor’s German shepherd which had terrified him as a child. The dog had been taller than he was and liked to knock him down. The second nightmare was less frightening on the surface, but more sinister. It involved an overfilling bathtub. As a boy, Ethan had been terrified of drowning, which made bath time the worst part of the day. He had hardly dared to dip a toe in the water for fear of losing his life. In this nightmare, the bathtub was alive, like a monster under a bed.
When Mr. Midnight took his hand away, Ethan gasped and blinked. He grabbed Christian’s shoulder to steady himself.
“You okay?” Christian asked.
“Fine.” Better than
fine, in fact. He felt like he’d slept a week. “Now, it’s my turn.”
“Hold up,” Mr. Midnight said, pulling away. “A big dog? A bathtub? Those nightmares are crap! Everyone has nightmares like that. Give me something I really want, or you don’t get your vision back.”
Ethan started to complain, but Christian stepped in-between them. “Give him his vision back, or I start busting heads.”
Mr. Midnight sneered. “You threatened me before, but I’m not letting you do it again.” He pushed his finger into Christian’s chest.
Christian swatted his hand away. “Touch me again, and you’ll be missing a hand.” He reached for his Taser. “Now, you do whatever it is you have to do and give this man his nightmare back.” When Mr. Midnight didn’t move, Christian flicked on the Taser. “Easy way or hard way. You pick.”
“Bullies,” Mr. Midnight muttered. “Can’t let an honest man enjoy himself.” Grumbling, Mr. Midnight grabbed Ethan’s hand.
Almost immediately, Ethan was back in the throes of his vision. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the one he’d expected, but an earlier one. This time, he was alone in a dimly-lit corridor lined with doors. He cautiously made his way forward, wondering where he’d ended up. A television blared with the bullhorn sound of an angry political commentator. Somewhere nearby, a child cried. There were smells, too. Cooking potatoes. Damp tennis shoes. Mildewed carpeting.
He knew that he had to open a door, but the thought terrified him. Something deeply evil lay beyond one of them. Something he wanted nothing to do with.
Steeling himself, he put his hand on the first doorknob. The one leading to the crying child. The moment he did, a gunshot ripped through the air. Ethan let his hand drop and charged forward. He needed the room with the blaring television. He was sure of it.
Suddenly, his vision ended. Mr. Midnight had dropped his hand.
“Shit,” Mr. Midnight said. “This is why I hate cops.”
“Why?” Christian asked.
“Because they always show up at the wrong time,” Mr. Midnight said as he dashed back into the trees.
Red and blue flashing lights suddenly lit up the night. “Crap,” Ethan said. This was not going to end well.
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