by Sara Clancy
An angry flush crept into her cheeks as she stared him down. Nicole didn’t have a death glare. She was more like an angry chipmunk. Not much of a physical threat and just too adorable to take seriously. That said, the girl could wield guilt like a deadly weapon. She did that now, curling her lips and eyebrows just so to make Benton feel uneasy.
“It’s Amy. You know her.”
“I’m not saying that this isn’t important. Obviously, it is. I’m just saying that your mother might be the more logical choice here.” That seemed to appease her somewhat. At least enough for her eyes to stop doing that ‘kicked puppy’ thing. Giving up the fight, he huffed and swept his arms out. “Just tell me what I can do.”
“Use your banshee senses.”
“Can we think up a better way to refer to them?” he grumbled, only to be ignored.
“Just look around for me.” There was that damn look again. “Look at her. Tell me if you see anything weird. Please?”
“It’s not like I can turn it on and off. I see what I see.”
His argument dried out on his tongue as she intensified the ‘why are you doing this to me?’ expression.
“Fine,” he grumbled. Not entirely sure what she expected of him, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
Releasing Nicole’s hands, he examined Amy closely and checking her neck, along her hairline, the length of her arms. When not sure what to do, he always found it best to look busy.
“There’s nothing.”
“Try closing your eyes,” Nicole instructed. “Maybe you can sense something.”
“Again, we need to think of a better way to describe this,” Benton mumbled as he obeyed. “I feel like a dial-up psychic.”
Everything felt normal right up to the second that it didn’t.
It wasn’t that he had stumbled across something that he had ignored. The timing just worked out. He closed his eyes and Death arrived. He recognized the sensation instantly. The static heat that crept across the back of his neck. The tingle in his fingers. The absolute certainty that he wasn’t alone. Opening his eyes, he twisted around to find the black mass standing by the door. An inky smear across reality, marked only with bone white patches that served as its face and hands. There was no detail. Nothing that could be classified as eyes. And yet the unnerving sensation of being watched slammed into his chest like a pulsing wave.
Being in the same room as Death didn’t bring with it the horror that it once had. He supposed it was because he knew, with an unwavering clarity he couldn’t explain, that it wasn’t there for him. Like cage diving with great white sharks. Safe within a feeding frenzy. A perfect viewing spot to watch a colossal force of nature do what it did best. Benton waited for the rush, for the smoke-like body to lunge forth and claim its prey. But Death didn’t move. It simply stood there. Quiet. Still. The drifting ends of its body coiling into the air.
“Benton.”
He heard the voice like it was coming down a long corridor. Carrying a little echo and easily ignored.
“Benton.”
He stared at the unmoving specter, the silence making his heart throb painfully against his ribs.
“Benton.”
The voice hit him all of a sudden, and he snapped around. Nicole forced her polite smile. He sucked in a deep breath. While he didn’t recall doing anything different, he was suddenly panting hard.
“I’m sorry to break your concentration,” Nicole said. “But you were zoning out, so I figured something was going on. How worried should I be, exactly?”
“I don’t zone out,” he protested half-heartedly.
“I waited sixty seconds to disturb you.”
There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt that she meant that time period. Probably counted every second. Blinking rapidly, Benton looked back to the door. Death was still there, having grown big enough to cover the door with its body completely, but no further. The last time he had seen Death in the hospital, it had spread out over an entire wall before claiming the soul it had come for.
“Benton.”
He had to wonder how many times she repeated his name this round before he noticed.
“Death’s here,” he murmured.
Nicole tensed. “It’s come for Amy?”
He shook his head slowly. Being unable to pinpoint how he knew the Grim Reaper’s intentions was frustrating. There was no denying, however, that he knew.
“Yeah. But not yet.”
“I’m sorry?” Nicole asked.
Benton had to drag his attention way. It was like breaking the surface of a placid lake. Serene but still desperate for air.
“It’s waiting,” he said.
“For?” She said it less like a question and more like a challenge to correct her own conclusions.
Benton licked his lip and tilted his head to Amy’s unconscious body. “For whatever attacked her to come back.”
Chapter 3
The glow of the computer monitor illuminated the small police office. Dozens of open windows cluttered the screen. It was both amazing and terrifying how many creatures there were that had a preference for human eyes. Nicole stared unblinkingly into the glare, sucking absently on what remained of her large root beer. The burger and fries that served as her dinner were long gone, leaving only oily paper that was somehow always in her way.
Perfect rows of open files covered the desk. It was a lot of paper with very little relevance. Fort Wayward didn’t have much of a crime rate to speak of. The crimes tended to lean more towards shoplifting and tractor joy rides. In recent months, there had been a few shocking events. They still hadn’t named all of the victims of the Leanan Sidhe. Her museum of death had started shortly before Benton had arrived. Those were the first documented cases of murder the town had known in decades. At least the other creatures had the decency to make the deaths look somewhat like natural causes. That didn’t stop her from collecting every police file that could be considered vaguely relevant.
The ever-increasing weight of her binder shifted upon her lap, making a collection of glitter pens clink together. Disgusting things were easier to stomach when written with pretty ink. Every demon, monster, legend, and beast she had come across in her searches were neatly filed away. Color-coded and cross-referenced. The binder was actually becoming a point of pride for her. Benton’s banshee binder was pitiful in comparison.
Slurping up the last of dregs of her drink, she leaned closer, engrossed in a passage about a Japanese creature called a kamaitachi. The sheer amount of blood in the artist representations drenched the room in a red hue. She leaned closer still, seeking out the details, feeling a cold lump growing in the pit of her stomach. A sudden, shrill cry shattered the silence. Choking on a mouthful of root beer, she jumped, the rolling chair flying the minimal distance to crack against the wall. It took three more screams for her to realize it was just the monotone tune of her ringtone. An awkward crab walk got the chair back to the desk and her blaring phone.
“Have you ever heard about the kamaitachi?” Nipping her straw slurred her words slightly.
It was hard to tell if the pause was for dramatic effect or if Benton was still half-asleep. He was always a bit groggy after his dreams. Proof that fear really couldn’t trump fatigue.
“Sorry?” he said at last.
“They’re these weasels. Three of them, actually. They work together to mutilate people. One trips you, the second cuts off your legs, and the third stitches you up. And they get it all done within the blink of an eye! That’s horrifically impressive.”
“Huh?”
“Well, I don’t agree with what they’re doing but you have to admire the teamwork.”
There was a soft groan that was easy enough to ignore.
“You haven’t been to bed, have you, Nic?”
“How creepy is that?” Nicole declared, flinging her free hand out for emphasis as she slumped back in her mother’s chair, remembering a second later to dig in her heels to keep from rolling. “Just – BAM – no l
egs!”
“That’s a ‘no’ for sleep.” He swallowed thickly, the sound almost lost under the shuffle of bed sheets. “So, you think it’s these kama–”
“Kamaitachi.”
“Right. You think one of those attacked Amy?”
“No, of course not.” She restlessly chewed her straw. “Victims of the weasels don’t know what hit them but they are definitely aware that they got hit in real time. Amy slept through her assault. Or she doesn’t remember it. I wish I knew how much time she lost. I got a general idea from her mom and dad but I can’t narrow it down.”
“You talked to her parents?”
“They were happy to hear from me,” she protested. Freezing in place, she frowned. “I forgot what my point was.”
“The difference between the murder weasels and Amy’s stalker.”
“Oh, right, thanks. Whatever’s coming after her is stealthy.”
“How much coffee have you had?”
“None.”
“Really?”
“I wouldn’t lie to you,” she stated firmly, quickly adding in a rushed whisper. “I had caffeine tablets.”
“Oh, my God,” Benton grunted.
“I have a lot to do today.”
Benton made a non-committal grunt.
“Is that judgment I hear?” she snipped.
“No. It’s only judgment adjacent.”
She smiled lightly and went back to gnawing on her straw. “I suppose that’s acceptable. So, what happened with your dream tonight? Was it a bad one?”
“None of them are pleasant.”
There was a pause. A moment of hesitation where he tried to keep it inside. It didn’t last. The dam broke and the words poured from him. The lines blurred as Benton spoke of a lake somewhere warm and quiet, where people feel safe to swim at night. He described the senses as if they had all been his own. The way the plastic mouthpiece of the scuba gear had made the air taste weird. Forgot that it was someone else that waited in the murky depths for someone to stray too close. He described how light the newest one had been.
“They did the hard part themselves,” he said, voice shifting between utter disgust and malicious glee. “All that thrashing didn’t do nothin’ more than twist the seaweed around their feet. I shoulda thanked them for that. Easier for me. All I had to do was float and watch.”
Ice coated his words. She shivered in the wake of it.
“Benton.” Her voice was a weak squeak. She cleared her throat and tried again, talking louder to be heard over Benton’s chuckle. “Benton.”
He cleared his throat. A sharp, almost brutal sound.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“It wasn’t me.”
Desperation made his voice a whimper. A plea. I made something shatter within her chest.
“I know you didn’t kill anyone, Benton,” Nicole assured.
“I wouldn’t do that,” he pressed. The rest was muffled by the sound of him wiping his face. “It just gets jumbled up sometimes.”
“Benton, it’s okay.”
“It’s really not.” His bitter laugh ended with a sniff. “To be completely honest, I’m a little worried that, one day, I’m not going to be able to sort the pieces out.”
Nicole straightened her spine and fixed a smile on her face. “That’s why you have me. I know exactly who you are, Benton. If you get confused, just ask.”
He scoffed. A strange mix between a sob and a laugh.
“You’re my cheat sheet, huh?” he asked.
“Ask me anything.”
Benton paused for a moment. “Nicole, you’re researching banshees, right?”
“Of course.”
“So, you’d have like a file or something?”
She glanced to the folder sitting on the desk with a bit of pride. “I sure do.”
“But I’m the only banshee you know. Essentially, it’s just a folder about me, right?”
“Well ...”
“It’s basically a stalker file,” he said. “I’m going to need you to let me read that.”
“Oh,” her hand smacked down on the file as if he could come through the phone and grab it. “Well. Um. You’ve told my mom about your dream, right?”
“I always call her before you,” he said. “But just circling back to our original topic.”
“It sounds like this sicko has a particular hunting ground,” she rushed on. “That’ll make it easier to catch him. With any luck, they’ll get there before your dream comes true.”
“Hopefully.”
They both let the conversation drop. Legends spoke of banshees being omens of death. Their role wasn’t to save the lives they came into contact with; they merely gave warnings, time to prepare, and mourned the dead. Their combined efforts had saved a few people and helped to catch illusive murders in the act. But they were far from saving their world.
“You did a great thing, Benton.”
His laugh was back to normal. Self-deprecating and sarcastic in turn. It loosened the knot that had formed in her chest.
“Yeah, that’s me. Just a great guy.”
“Better than you give yourself credit for,” she said.
“Okay, now I’m getting uncomfortable.”
“Oh, have we reached your tolerance level for positive reinforcement?”
Nicole bit her lips until she heard a soft chuckle. His standards for humor really went down when he was groggy.
“We passed it a while back actually,” Benton said around a yawn.
She switched her phone over to speaker and propped it up against the base of the lamp.
“So,” she said with forced cheer. “No swimming for a while.”
“I’m not even getting into a bathtub anytime soon.”
She could hear him rubbing a hand through his hair. Scratching at his scalp in a way he always found comforting.
“Can we talk about something else?” he asked.
Nicole’s mind picked a topic and hurled it out of her mouth without further consultation. “Can you believe that mom wouldn’t let me stay at the hospital? It’s not like this is my first encounter with murder happy paranormal creatures. We were dealing with these things before she was.”
“We were almost killed. Twice.”
She gnawed on her straw. “Semantics.”
“It’s really not.”
“The point is that I’m a responsible young adult, thank you very much.”
“A responsible young adult that broke into a police station and illegally rummaged through private files.”
Nicole’s spine snapped straight. The straw slipped from her mouth as her jaw dropped. “How did you know that?”
“I’ve been developing psychic powers. Didn’t I mention? Thought I did.”
“No, you didn’t!” Instantly, she was scrambling for a piece of paper and a pen, knocking over items in her rush. “When did this first start? Are they feelings or actual visions? What can you see?” She snapped a hand up. “Can you see how many fingers I’m holding up?”
“Three.”
“Oh, my God. This is equal parts amazing and terrifying. Can you read my mind?”
“I don’t think I’m ready for that,” Benton chuckled.
“We’ll start slow. I’m thinking of a number between one and ten.”
“Nic, you switched me over to video call.”
She froze. With a flush creeping into her cheeks, she glanced over at her phone. Benton waved back, the movement sluggish and sleep-heavy. His normal spikes had been worn down, turning his white-blonde hair into a fluffy halo, the tips of which clung to his sweat-drenched brow.
“Hey,” he mumbled, pushing a pillow more securely under his chin.
“Hey,” Nicole smiled. “Well, I feel like an idiot.”
“Sleep deprivation will do that to you. Trust me, I’m an expert.”
“I’m going to sleep. Right after I do this one thing.”
It was a little disconcerting that Benton managed
to parrot the last sentence along with her.
“You’ve been saying that a lot lately,” Benton noted. “Maybe it’s time you actually go and do it.”
“You’re not my mom,” Nicole teased.
“No. She’s the one that’s going to be your arresting officer someday.”
“I’m not going to get arrested.”
He made a sound that clearly meant he didn’t believe her. That sound got a little bit more annoying each time she heard it.
“How was she when you talked to her?” Nicole asked.
His brow furrowed as he squirmed to get more comfortable on his stomach. “Who?”
“My mom. When you called her, did she sound okay? Anything going on at the hospital?”
“Ah. No, everything’s quiet.”
Frustration rolled out of her in a growl. “It’s almost three in the morning! What is it waiting for?”
“You do remember that we don’t want this thing to come back,” Benton said with a smirk.
“Yeah, I know,” she simmered down somewhat. “I’m just saying that it wouldn’t hurt these paranormal creatures to stick to some standard operating hours. Just because you’re evil doesn’t mean that you have to be rude, too.”
Benton flopped his head forward, burying his chuckle into the pillow as he scratched the back of his head with one hand.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he smirked. “Maybe it’s full.”
Her nose scrunched up. “Ew. That’s disturbing.”
“What did you think it was doing with the eyes?”
“I’m trying not to skip too far down that particular road of thought.”
Again, he made that little non-committal noise. He snuggled deeper into his bed, jostling the phone about as he struggled to get comfortable. A hard task, given that the majority of his bedding was now sweat soaked and filled with tangled towels.
“You’re sure it will come back for her?” Nicole asked. “Maybe Death got it wrong.”
Lacking the will to keep his heavy eyelids open, he slumped into his pillow and mumbled, “He didn’t exactly put a time limit on it.”
“So this could take days? Months? We don’t have the resources for a 24-hour guard on her for that long.”
“And by ‘we’ you mean the Fort Wayward RCMP,” he mumbled.
