by David Wood
Cassie looked around again, furtively. She chewed at her lower lip for a moment, clearly trying to come to some decision. “Actually, yeah, that would be really good. I do need to do something in Kingsville and I hate making that drive on my own.”
Grant grinned, pleased with himself. Maybe there was something worthwhile in Wallen's Gap after all. He couldn't believe this cute girl had just agreed to a two hour each way trip with him. Suzanne’s angry face flitted through his mind and he pushed the thought away. She had left him, so he had no time for guilt. He gestured with his head towards the passenger side. “Great. Hop in.”
She hurried over and slipped into the seat beside him. “Thanks, this is nice of you,” she said with a tight smile. “I don't want to be any trouble.”
“No problem. Do we need to swing by your place to pick anything up?”
“No, let's just get going, okay?”
Grant's elation waned at her tense nervousness. She seemed strangely agitated. “Sure thing,” he said, trying to keep his voice light and casual.
He pulled away from the curb, wondering what else he could say to ease her tension. As he made the turn up towards the highway he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the tall, gangly boyfriend, Carl, standing outside the still closed hardware store, staring after them. Carl did not look happy at all.
Chapter 7
Cassie's heart raced as Grant gunned the engine and they left Wallen's Gap and Carl behind. Carl was going to be mad. She looked down at a hole in the thigh of her jeans and plucked absently at the thread, trying to decide where to begin. Now that she was alone with Grant, she couldn't seem to summon the courage to be honest with him. From the corner of her eye she saw him looking at her. She told herself not to blush, but she could feel her cheeks heating. He was cute, and not at all like the losers who populated her town.
“Can I say something?” Grant broke the silence so suddenly that she jumped. “About your boyfriend or whoever he is to you?”
Cassie nodded, not eager to hear whatever he had to say. She knew she should dump Carl, and her inability to do so embarrassed her. He was like an unsightly blemish.
“I've tried to be cool because I don't want to cause trouble for you. But I'm tired, and I'm fed up with the creepy ass people in Wallen's Gap, and if he steps to me the wrong way, or lays a hand on you where I can see him, I'm going to beat his ass.”
Now she did look directly at him. She saw resolve in his eyes and, when he directed his gaze back toward the road, looked him up and down. Cassie almost felt like she was at a livestock show as she sized him up. He wasn't bulky, like Cliff Stallard, but he was tall and lean with whipcord muscles. He looked like he could handle himself.
“Why are you telling me? I'm not the one you want to beat up.”
“In case it's going to cause a problem between you and Carl. You could...” He cleared his throat. “If you needed somewhere safe to go, you could stay at my dad's place. I guess it's my place now. I've got room.”
“There's already plenty of problems between me and Carl. Your fists won't make it better or worse. Besides, he wouldn't fight you. It's the Stallards you need to worry about. Those boys love to brawl, and they don't fight fair.”
“I met those three yesterday afternoon. They dropped by the cabin, claiming they wanted to see if I needed any help, but they were up to something. It was weird. I could almost hear the banjos playing in the background.”
She giggled and he laughed too.
“Do you think all their ancestors were brother and sister, or just the last few generations?”
“Hey now!” she protested, still laughing. “We're not all inbred hillbillies, you know.”
“Just the Stallards.”
“Right.” The moment was gone as soon as it had come, and they lapsed back into silence. Then something Grant had said rang a bell. “Hold on. You said the Stallard boys came by your place yesterday afternoon?”
“Yep.”
“Cliff Stallard was back up there late last night. He said he was driving around and ran out of gas.”
Grant snapped his head around and gave her a sharp look. “What does he drive?” She described the truck and Grant spat a curse. “He was still there this morning. When I went to leave, somebody cranked up a truck and drove away. I only caught a glimpse, but it's got to be him.”
Cassie didn't know what to say. Clearly, Cliff had stayed there all night for some odd reason. What was he doing? Keeping people away, or keeping Grant in?
“Wait a minute.” Grant arched an eyebrow. “How do you know he was at my place late last night?”
There it was. Cassie might as well tell him the truth.
“I came up there to talk to you, and he turned me away. I wanted to ask you about the book.”
Grant flinched and his face went ashen. “You know about the book?”
“I saw you reading it at the Cup of Joe, remember?”
Grant's features relaxed. “Yeah, sure. What about it?”
Cassie wasn't buying it. She could tell when someone was hiding something. Perhaps it came from her childhood, when her daddy was still bothering to try to hide his drinking from her mother. Or perhaps it came from dating guys like Carl, for whom deceit was so ingrained in their character they no longer knew how to tell the truth. In any case, Grant wasn't being honest with her.
“What book did you think I meant?”
“What?”
“I want to play poker with you sometime. I'd have your money, your car, and every stitch of your clothes, cause you can't lie for shit.”
“That last part sounded pretty good. Maybe later on tonight? I think I saw a deck of cards in the cabin.” He was trying to keep things light, but she could tell he was rattled.
“You've got a secret, Grant Shipman.” She swallowed hard. “And so do I. I've got nobody else I can trust, so how about we both come clean, and maybe we can help each other?”
She watched as he chewed on that for a minute, his jaw working and his grip tightening and relaxing on the wheel. Finally, he nodded.
“Okay, but not here. After the attorney's office, we'll find somewhere quiet and I'll tell you everything.”
Grant left the attorney's office and made his way to the cafe he and Cassie had agreed on. He felt marginally better about his father's affairs now that everything official was taken care of or in process. Red tape and bureaucracy were infuriating, but better than the worry of leaving something unfinished or some obscure law unheeded. Cassie sat in a window booth, staring worriedly across the street, playing with the straw in a big, empty milkshake glass. She looked the other way, hadn't seen him yet as he stood across the street. She was cute, but troubled. A part of him really wanted to get to know her better, but another part, maybe his sane side, screamed at him to pack up his father's stuff and get the hell out of this redneck, backwater hole.
Cassie tipped her head to one side and brushed a hand across her cheek. Was she crying? His desire to run away turned quickly to shame. This was a hole, but she was stuck here too, through no desire of her own. Cute or not, she needed his help. And, if he was honest, he needed hers. Perhaps she could help him learn more about his dad.
He crossed the street, making sure she would notice him coming and have a chance to gather herself.
“Hey,” he said simply as he entered the booth, sat down opposite her.
She gave him a broad smile that didn't reach her eyes. “Hey yourself.”
The waitress came over, took Grant's order of coffee, and raised an eyebrow at Cassie.
She shook her head. “That's all, thanks.”
The waitress gave them a wink and a knowing smile as she left.
Grant laughed. “Awkward.”
“Let 'em think whatever they like.” Cassie grinned and raised her eyebrows.
“I like that attitude.” And he did. Too often, she seemed beaten down, cowed even. When she showed a little spirit she was radiant.
They sat in silence for a whil
e, Grant sipping his coffee, Cassie playing with her straw.
Eventually, Grant said, “So. Wanna tell me what's up?”
“Nice.” She smirked at him. “You make me go first? Some gentleman you are.”
“Okay, fine.” He raised both hands in mock surrender. “I found a creepy fucking book that looks like it's written in blood and bound in human skin, and while I was looking at it the pages came alive and moved and screamed.”
Cassie sat back in her seat, wide-eyed. He saw the panic in her, a trembling like a deer as it froze, trying to decide which way to bolt.
“You asked,” he said, before she could hightail it out of there. “And I'm pretty sure those Stallard boys are after the damn thing. Their mom came by, acting all neighborly with food and chit-chat while she stalked around the cabin looking for something. Didn't even try to hide it. Then she sent those idiot sons of hers around.”
“And you think they want the book?” Cassie’s voice was tissue-paper thin.
“Obviously. I don't know if there's anything else my dad might have left behind that they'd be after, but she did mention the book specifically.” He shrugged.
“Do they know for sure you have it?” She bit her lip, tension evident in her face.
“Not for sure, but I think they suspect. I didn't let on that I thought anything was up, and I think they don't take me seriously. Just a dumb city kid.”
Cassie nodded, said nothing. Silence descended again.
“So,” Grant said. “How about you tell me why that picture I was looking at spooked you so much?”
Cassie took a deep breath, visibly steeling herself. “I think I do things at night that I don't remember in the morning. I think I'm under some kind of control or something, like I'm acting out dreams or sleepwalking or who knows what. Carl always wants to stay over. He says he needs to look after me but I don't know if he's really helping or not. Some of the nights he's been there have been the worst. And when I saw that picture, it was like I was seeing one of my dreams or sleepwalks or whatever the hell they are.”
“You mean you dreamed a scene like that?” Grant remembered the three men, his father on one side, the ceremonial robes and all their hands on the big knife buried in the carcass of a goat.
Cassie lowered her voice. “This going to sound nuts, but I don't know if I dreamed it. It feels too real. I think I've been there, or somewhere like it. When I saw that picture it triggered a memory and I recall, I clearly recall, a dream where I was lying strapped to a wooden table and men like that, dressed that way, were all around me. Except it can't be a dream, Grant. The memory is too... real. I remember how rough the table top was, how the damp the air was, the little bit of breeze their robes made when they swished. That can't be a dream. I don't know how else to explain it.”
Grant pressed his lips together and kept his hands in his lap to control their trembling. After a moment, he said, “Can you remember any sounds?”
Cassie's face creased like she was about to cry. Grant reached out, took both her hands in his across the table.
“It's okay,” he said. “You can trust me. We can figure this stuff out.”
Cassie just nodded, face still scrunched up as tears trickled over her cheeks.
Grant took a deep breath. “There was a chant, wasn't there?” Cassie looked up sharply, so Grant carried on. “All the men and women, there were the voices of both, in a kind of repetitive, monotone chant. And over it all a deep, resounding drum, beating double hits like a giant heart.”
Cassie sobbed, gripped Grant's fingers so hard he thought they might break. She stared at him with haunted eyes. “How can you know that?”
“I had the same dream.”
A contemplative silence hung between them as Cassie took that in.
“What are we going to do?” she whispered.
“I don't know,” he admitted. “But there's something weird going on, and we need to understand what it is.”
Chapter 8
The Religious Studies department of Stuart College consisted of one very old man with wispy white hair and skin so pale it bordered on translucent. The plate on his office door named him Professor Charles McKenzie. His rheumy eyes regarded Grant with suspicion, but brightened when they saw Cassie. Grant did not miss how they roved up and down her body. Some guys never outgrew it, he supposed.
“I am sorry,” the professor rasped, “but I require students to make an appointment.”
“We aren't students,” Cassie began. “We are hoping you can answer some questions we have about a religion we read about in an old book.”
“Young lady, I might be old, but I do know how to use a telephone, and even email. Why would you drop by?” He looked like he was about to call security. Of course, if Grant or Cassie meant him ill, he'd never make it to the phone before they laid hands on him.
Grant figured that a career of outmaneuvering sneaky college students had sharpened the old man's wits to the point that trying to bullshit him would likely be futile, so he tried the truth. “We think my father might have been involved in a cult, but the name is one we've never heard before, and we can't find anything online about it. We found a couple of his books and, frankly, they're disturbing. We were in town and this is the only college for two hundred miles. We struck out at the library, but one of the ladies there suggested we speak to you.”
“What is the name?”
“We didn't get her name,” Grant said.
“No, young man. What is the name of the religion in which you suspect your father was involved?”
Grant and Cassie exchanged looks. He'd never said the word aloud and the thought filled him with an irrational dread.
“Kaletherex.”
McKenzie looked poleaxed. He blanched, his pallid face stunned.
“Do not say that word out loud,” he whispered in a harsh voice. “Wait here.” He wobbled over to his desk and, with a shaky hand, scribbled something onto a slip of paper. “Here.” He thrust it into Grant's hand. “This is my home address. Meet me there in two hours.”
And he closed the door in their faces.
They made their way back to Grant's car in silence, both taken aback by the intensity of the man's response. Clearly, Kaletherex was more than just a name in an old book.
“That was weird,” Grant said as he navigated through the narrow parking lot, careful to avoid the college kids who were either too oblivious or arrogant not to step out in front of a moving vehicle. “But he knows something. That's a good sign.”
“Maybe he can tell me why I keep having those...” Cassie frowned as she glanced into the side-view mirror, then whipped around.
“What is it?”
“I thought I saw Jed and Cliff Stallard back there.” She turned back around and forced a mirthless laugh. “Like those two have ever been on a college campus.”
“You think they might be following us?” His anger surged and he balled one hand into a fist, barely stopping himself from punching the dashboard. He didn't know if he could handle the two of them at once, but if he laid eyes on them, he just might try.
Cassie shrugged. “Probably not. Just my imagination. Paranoid.”
Grant wasn't ready to chalk it up to a flight of fancy just yet. He remembered the old saying, Just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you. He turned the car around and they made two circuits of the parking lot, but saw neither the young men, nor any pickups with Scott County plates. Finally, they headed out onto the highway, Grant keeping an eye on the rear-view mirror for any signs of pursuit.
They stopped at a nearby coffee shop where they killed the next hour-and-a-half ignoring their iced mochas and talking about anything but what was truly on their minds. Cassie told him about her alcoholic father and her weird relationship with Carl, who wanted to control her, always wanted to play around, yet never pushed her for actual sex. Grant agreed that was pretty strange behavior for a young man. She told him that the only real passion Carl showed when he
touched her was when it was due to the occasional bout of temper. At that, Grant shifted uncomfortably in his seat, dark thoughts in his head, but she told him to forget about it.
When she was finished, he talked about his distant relationship with his own father, and his confusion about his future. He told her how he had been in a long term relationship with Suzanne since they were both sixteen, and how she had walked out on him, dumping him via voicemail. He didn’t mention how recently it had happened. Cassie was suitably appalled. They finally lapsed into a companionable silence, watching the clock as it crawled toward the appointed hour.
When it was time, they hopped back into the car and headed for McKenzie's house, which was not far from campus. They hadn't made it far when Cassie cried out. Grant hit the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt in the middle of the street.
“See all those police cars?” She pointed to a parking lot up ahead where a half-dozen squad cars and campus police vehicles were parked haphazardly, lights flashing. “That's the parking lot we came out of.”
She was right. Grant's stomach sank as they drew closer. There was no rational reason to believe it had anything to do with him or Cassie, but he was sure it did. He pulled up alongside a cluster of students who were circled in intense conversation.
Cassie rolled down the window.
“Hey, what happened up there?”
A young man in a knit hat with a fringe down the center that make him look like a rooster walked over to the car, propped his elbows on the window, and leaned inside. Grant caught a whiff of clove cigarettes on his breath as he spoke.
“Dude, one of the professors got whacked right outside the building. Somebody beat him to death. Blood everywhere.” He grinned. “Guess he gave one too many C-minuses.”
“Who was it?” Grant asked, as tremors of fear rattled through him.
“Professor McKenzie. The religious studies guy.”
Cassie made a strangled noise and Grant felt the blood drain from his cheeks. “Beat him to death?” he stammered.
