by Mae Clair
The sight of it sitting empty punched a hole in her stomach. Her natural empathy kicked in, leading her down a trail of the man’s life. Did he have a wife? Children? Was his wife anxiously checking her watch, frantically sending texts, wondering why he was late in coming home? Had someone notified her of his demise? Was she sobbing even now, children huddled close, unable to comprehend how she’d face another hour, another day without the man she loved?
Stop. Just stop.
Jillian pictured the family Labrador pacing in the background, keyed up by the woman’s sobbing. A small child clutching her ragdoll, tears brimming on the surface of her eyes. “Mommy, what’s wrong? Where’s Daddy?”
With a soft woof, Blizzard pressed against Jillian’s legs.
The sound drew her back to the moment. Made her grope for the tinted glasses looped around her neck. One hand tangled in Blizzard’s soft fur as she slipped the lenses over her dilated pupils.
“Thanks, boy. I’m okay now.” She fought to slow her breathing.
Several paces away, Sherre stood with her head bowed, speaking into her mic. Jillian waited until she was through before moving to her side.
“Sherre.” Somewhere in the past they’d moved past “officer” and then “Detective Lorquet” to friendship. “Do you have a moment?”
“Jillian, now’s not a good time.”
“But the tree—”
“The fire company thinks the ground must have been hollowed out by a small sinkhole. The base of the tree shifted. As old as it was, the weight set off a chain reaction and cracked the trunk up the center.” Sherre pressed her lips together. “A freak accident.”
Jillian gnawed her lip. She had no proof to contradict otherwise. How could she ever hope to explain the removal of Gabriel Vane’s protection was at fault for the tragedy?
“Um…I wanted to ask you about the bones that were stolen the other day. Do you have any leads?”
Sherre blinked as if she hadn’t heard correctly. “That’s not my focus right now.”
“I realize that, but it’s important.” Tightening her fingers on Blizzard’s leash, she plowed ahead. “It’s connected.”
“What is?”
“What happened here today…” She knew she sounded like an idiot. “The bones.”
Sherre wedged her hands on her hips and stepped closer. “What happened here was an accident. Tragic, but accidental. It has nothing to do with—”
“You won’t believe me if I tell you the truth.” Jillian knew she pushed the envelope but could already feel the malevolent touch of something sinister in her gut. “I told you the truth about Madison, and you believed me. You know why I need Blizzard as a therapy dog.”
Sherre glanced away before swinging her gaze back. “Are you going to tell me this has something to do with empaths?”
“No, but if you believed me then…” She halted, flustered. “Sherre, I heard a bell toll before the tree fell. It was a death knell.”
“You’re talking about the folklore associated with this place.” Sherre shook her head. “No one takes those legends seriously.”
“I do.”
“Detective Lorquet.” One of the firemen hailed her from a spot near the decimated tree. “Can I see you a minute?”
It gave the detective the out she needed. “I’ve got to go.”
Jillian gripped her arm before she moved away. “This is just the first accident. The first of many.” She watched as Sherre jogged toward the fireman, the sour miasma of fear ballooning in her stomach.
“Hey. You okay?”
Lost in her thoughts, she gave a startled jerk when Dante DeLuca touched her arm. “Dante—” She forced a shaky smile to cover her confusion. “I didn’t realize you were here.” She glanced around, looking for Tessa. “Is—”
“Over there.” As if anticipating her question, Dante pointed to his cousin. “She’s talking to one of the detectives.” He offered his hand to Blizzard, who snuffled around his fingers before being rewarded with a scratch behind the ears. “Thanks for calling about Elliott.”
“How did you know?”
“I was on the phone with Tessa when your call came through. She told me what happened as soon as she was done talking to you. I thought I’d better drive down to make sure she and Elliott were okay.”
“It’s wonderful how you look out for them.” Even if she couldn’t read his emotions, it was easy to see his concern was genuine. “I tried to keep Elliott and Finn—the other boy—away from the site of the accident. I think they know the poor man didn’t survive, but…” She closed her eyes briefly. “It was such a freak thing. Sherre said a sinkhole under the tree caused the trunk to crack.”
“Sherre?”
“The detective I was talking to.” She nodded in Sherre’s direction, noting the detective was still busy conferring with several firemen. It wouldn’t be long before they hustled nonessential personnel out of the area, her and Blizzard included.
“I overheard you tell her this was the first of many accidents.” Dante surveyed her levelly.
“I—”
“It’s a good thing you were here when the accident happened,” Dante continued as if he hadn’t expected a response. “Although it’s an odd place to visit.” His smile was quick and effortless. “Why were you here?”
She wet her lips. “I took Blizzard for a walk.”
“In a cemetery?”
“I’m not sure what you’re asking. Or implying.” Damn, she wished she could read him, but it was as if he had a shield in place, an impenetrable barrier that kept him isolated from others.
“Nothing upsetting.” A second passed before he heaved a sigh and tilted his face skyward as if steeling himself for something. When he met her eyes, his gaze was nonjudgmental. “Look. I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I’d like to talk to you. Not now, but at some point later when things settle down.”
Curious, she angled her head. “About what?”
“The bell you heard. The death knell.”
She sucked down a breath.
Dante compressed his mouth in a tight line. “I’ve heard it, too.”
Chapter 7
October 12, 1799
If Gabriel had any doubts of Hiram’s ability to think like the Endling, his skepticism vanished the next day. When Jasper questioned why they hadn’t continued the hunt at night, Hiram explained the farms the beast favored were too scattered with too much ground to cover.
“Now with a full belly and its thirst for carnage slaked, our wolf will be sluggish. Slow to scent danger. We need to venture deeper into the forest, away from the greensward.” He nodded to the east where white birches grew tall and straight, thick as wheat. “The Endling will seek rest in a place that does not leave it vulnerable. A hollow or cave, something that allows it to sleep protected.”
They set out early when the sun was barely above the horizon. Within an hour, Hiram had picked up a path of “dullings.”
“See how the grass and weeds are shiny with dew?” He indicated the clear droplets clinging to the tips of grass and weeds. “Plants hold onto that moisture, but if something passes and wipes it clear, a dull spot is left behind.”
It took several seconds for Gabriel to sort the patches of dry foliage from those glittering with dew. In time, he discerned a pattern. “Whatever passed here must be large.”
“Aye.” Hiram drew rein, then dismounted for the third time that hour. Squatting, he examined the leaf depressions in the ground. “Whatever beast passed, it was in no hurry. Walking without fear, moving slowly.” Pressing his hands flat, he got down on all fours and lowered his head, bottom eye pressed to the soil. He hovered briefly, gave a soft grunt, then pushed to his feet. “We’re following the right path, lads. I’d be willing to wager these compressions were made by the Endling, though I can discern no solid pri
nt.”
“Then we move on,” Gabriel said.
Over the next two hours, Hiram pointed out more signs of passage—broken twigs, an occasional tuft of hair snagged by brambles, diagonal walk patterns that revealed part of a heel lobe or inner toe. The trees grew thicker, the paths swaddled in moss-slick stones and soil detritus. Occasionally, they came upon a shelf of rock or ground cavity where water collected. By the time the sun was almost directly overhead, the tracks became more frequent, clear depressions with elongated claws and heel pads.
Hiram drew to a halt and surveyed the terrain. “There will be rock caves here. Look for a cavity or fissure, any kind of hole that might conceal a creature while it sleeps.”
Jasper spotted the burrow first. Twenty minutes into their search, he indicted a small hollow cut into a hillside. The crevice looked pitch black from the outside, barely wide enough for two men to pass through together. Judging by the height of the opening, they would need to stoop to enter the den, an advantage to the slumbering beast within.
Almost immediately the horses grew jittery, sidestepping and refusing to go forward. Hiram motioned everyone to dismount, then led them back several hundred yards to a safer distance. Even then the horses shuffled hoof to hoof, Jasper’s bay giving a nervous whinny.
He rubbed his hand over the horse’s muzzle. “They’re spooked.”
“I can’t fault them.” Gabriel tethered his mount, then slipped his rifle from his shoulder to check the flint and frizzen. Beside him, Hiram drew his wind rifle.
“You’re the experienced hunter.” Gabriel deferred to Hiram with a nod. “But I would think logic dictates one of us flush the beast from its den, the other two primed to fire when it flees.”
“You think wisely, Gabriel Vane.”
Jasper wet his lips. “It will be dangerous confronting the creature in its lair, a task no one should have to assume. Let us draw straws.”
Gabriel shook his head. From the moment he’d seen the cavern, he’d mentally worked a plan. In order to win Dinah’s hand, he needed to prove himself to Atticus. “There’s no need. I will go.”
Hiram frowned. “Why is that?” The wind scattered dark hair about his face.
“It is only logical. I am the smallest and quickest. The beast’s den does not appear large, far too restricted for a man of your size, Hiram.”
“And I?” Jasper challenged. “I am only a few inches taller than you.”
“But we both know I am the swifter runner, should it come to that.” Gabriel laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “And you have a spiritual flock to tend in the village until such time God sends another to take your place. I will be fine, Jasper.”
Hiram was still scowling. “You do not know this creature as I do.”
“No, but it is a beast with heart, lungs, and blood as any other four-footed animal, and like any other animal, it will surely die.” He slipped his hand into the pocket of his frock coat, fingering the gemstone Dinah had given him. She had vowed the emerald would protect him. It was time he put that promise to the test.
“Come, gentlemen. Let the predator become prey.” Swinging the barrel of his rifle up against his shoulder, Gabriel headed for the Endling’s den.
* * * *
Present Day
It took a solid day for the accidents to gain momentum. Jillian scanned the news app on her phone, finding several tragedies, most nothing more than a footnote. Two construction workers died when a defective crane boom fell at a jobsite. A drunk driver lost control of his car and plowed through a convenience store window, killing himself and the teenage clerk inside. A woman died in a freak accident when the outside deck she was standing on inexplicably collapsed. A window cleaner suffered fatal injuries when the scaffolding he was on plummeted six stories to the sidewalk below.
She set the phone aside and rubbed her forehead, propping her elbows on the breakfast table. She had agreed to meet Dante later that evening, and there were still several hours until her appointment with Eli Yancy. In the interim, she could try to appeal to Sherre again, convince her how important it was to return Gabriel’s bones to his resting place. She needed to visit Madison, too. Make sure her sister was all right. Like many people in Hode’s Hill, Jillian and Madison were at risk for tragedy. Their connection to Gabriel Vane could either play in their favor or factor against them. It took less than twenty minutes to change clothes, pull her long hair into a ponytail, and get Blizzard situated in the back of the car.
In the parking lot of the care facility, she spied a familiar gray Taurus. Sherre Lorquet was leaving the building as Jillian approached the entrance. The timing couldn’t have been better. It warmed her to know Sherre still visited Madison regularly, especially given the drive to the facility.
“Two visitors in one day.” Jillian drew Blizzard to a halt as Sherre bent to fuss over the dog. “Madison should be pleased.”
“Do you think she knows?” Sherre gave Blizzard a last scratch beneath his muzzle, then straightened, hooking her hair behind her ear.
“I have to believe she does. Somewhere inside. I don’t suppose it does any good to ask if she was different today?”
A pained expression crossed Sherre’s face. “It wasn’t a good visit. They had to give her a sedative.”
Jillian sighed. “She must be reliving the past again. Boyd’s death is stuck in her head like a skipping record. She won’t break free and move past it.”
“Sit down for a minute?” Sherre indicated a wooden bench just off the sidewalk.
Blizzard took a few moments to nose through the grass after the two women were seated. Lacing his leash between her hands, Jillian stared across the parking lot to the stream of traffic on Barrington Avenue. The steady drone bordered on melodic, white noise that blended into the background. The breeze carried the scent of yellow and orange chrysanthemums, arranged in stone planters by the entrance.
Jillian looked at Sherre. “Are you going on duty?”
“In another hour. I’ve been running errands and wanted to see Madison.”
“I don’t suppose you have any new leads on Boyd’s killers?” The case had gone cold long ago, but Jillian couldn’t stop herself from asking.
Sherre shook her head. “Something might still turn.”
The answer was the same each time Jillian asked. At least there was someone in the Hode’s Hill PD who hadn’t written off the case as closed.
“You’ve done more than I could hope for, Sherre.” The detective was one of the few people she trusted implicitly. “You visit Madison. You helped me get Blizzard, and you haven’t given up. That’s all I can ask.”
“I wish it were more.” Stuffing her hands in the pockets of her military-style denim jacket, Sherre slumped against the bench and extended her legs. A jogger passed farther down the sidewalk, headed to the street. “It’s been hard to accept the whole empath thing you and your sister have going on.” She slanted a sideways glance at Jillian. “Monday, when you were in the cemetery, you were wearing those glasses.” She nodded to the tinted lenses looped around Jillian’s neck. “Was it because—”
“My pupils were dilated.” Sherre had seen her like that before, the black of her eyes nearly obliterating the green on the morning Boyd was murdered. When she’d run across the street to her sister’s home, babbling hysterically, pupils blown open, Sherre had first suspected she was high on something. The cemetery had brought a quieter kind of remorse. “The man on the tractor—”
“His name was Henry Teale.”
That made it worse. “I don’t think I can hear more.” She looped her fingers over Blizzard’s collar, scratching the dog in an effort to anchor herself. She didn’t want to know if Henry had a wife. If he’d left parents, brothers, and sisters behind. If he coached his son’s little league games or read his daughter stories before tucking her into bed each night.
The sudde
n sting of light made her flinch.
“Shit. That’s unreal.” Sherre watched her with a stunned expression.
Jillian slipped the glasses over her eyes, conscious her pupils had expanded.
“Were you thinking about him?” Sherre pressed.
“Just like Monday afternoon in the cemetery.” Jillian bowed her head, grateful when Blizzard pressed against her. “It’s what an empath does—putting themselves in someone else’s shoes. Living their pain as if it were her own.”
“Like your sister did with Boyd.”
“That was different.” She raised her head, thankful the tinted lenses hid the moisture in her eyes. “She watched him die. There was no way to close her heart and stop the horror. That’s what I can’t get past—that she’s forever caught in that moment of terror, living it over and over. Maybe it would have been more merciful if she’d died, too.”
“Get that shit out of your head.” Heat kindled in Sherre’s eyes. “Boyd was bad news. He’d been on HHPD radar for over a year. Madison was too naïve to realize he was up to his neck with the wrong people. He crossed the line and paid for it. Your sister was an innocent victim.”
Jillian looked back to the street. The late morning sun was dazzling, spiking through the trees on Barrington, splattering leaf-shaped patterns over the dingy asphalt. A pair of bicyclists, male and female, turned the corner and headed northbound at a leisurely pace. Seconds later, a red Camaro whizzed by in a splashy blur of candy-apple gloss and chrome.
She heaved a sigh. “I suspected Boyd was involved in something illegal. He could barely hold a job but always had money to burn. I think Madison liked the idea that he played on the edge. She was always attracted to the wrong kind of guy.” Admitting the truth soured her stomach.
