Though he prided himself in his ability to work alone, the success of the mission came first and foremost. As badly as he hated to admit it, he was going to need Finn McCoy’s help if he were to have any hope of defeating the demon and saving Pru.
Marshalling his strength, Wolf pulled himself up and out of the shower. Time was no longer an uncommitted spectator in this contest; it was now striving to work against him. He had planned to wait until dinner that evening to approach McCoy and make his pitch, but that was no longer an option. He needed to see the handler as soon as possible.
Wolf hurriedly toweled himself dry and put on the first set of clothes he pulled out of his bag. He jammed the .45 into his waistband out of pure instinct; it would be less effective against an archdaemon than would a pea shooter against a grizzly. From a compartment within the bag, he retrieved a rolled-up piece of cloth and unfurled it on the bed. Inside the cloth were a pair of ornate daggers which had been blessed by an archbishop. The blades were engraved with various holy symbols and words, each designed to inflict pain and damage upon the unholy. Wolf had utilized the blades before against lesser demons, always with satisfying results.
Next, he withdrew two scabbards and a belt from the bag. He cinched the belt around his waist and placed each of the two daggers into a scabbard. A loose-fitting button-up shirt would conceal these, as well as the gun. Finally, he removed the vial of holy water he’d pilfered from the church last night and stuck it in his pocket.
There were a few other items remaining in the bag, but nothing that would aid him against demonkind. The two daggers and bottle of holy water would be the extent of his offensive weapons, and he knew that he would be a very lucky man indeed if he were able to get close enough to actually use them.
Leaving the darkness of the motel room, Wolf walked to the Harley, straddled it, and hit the ignition switch. The bike roared happily to life, and Wolf sped out of the parking lot, heading to Pru’s house.
He only hoped that he wasn’t already too late.
***
When the phone rang, Pru nearly jumped out of her seat. She looked at the clock; it was too soon to be expecting a call from McCoy. Walking over to the phone, she glanced at the caller ID. Rena. Damn, she’d forgotten to call her friend, what with everything that was going on. Rena would just have to understand,
“Hello,” she said, picking up the phone and expecting to hear Rena cussing her for not calling. Instead, though, it was Rena’s mother Donna.
“Good morning Pru,” Donna said pleasantly. “May I speak to Rena, please?”
Pru felt a spasm of fear surge through her spine. If Donna was calling Pru’s house for Rena, then it meant Rena had told her mother that she was staying with Pru. It was the oldest trick in the Teenager Handbook, and both girls had used it before when they planned to be somewhere that they knew their parents would not approve of. The trick, though, was to let the other person know that you were using their house as cover. Pru had not heard from Rena.
“Hi, Mrs. Ford. You’re looking for Rena?”
“Yes. She is with you, isn’t she? She told me she was coming over there last night.”
The fear that had massaged Pru’s spine settled into the pit of her stomach and lay there like a rock. Rena was her best friend, but she couldn’t lie to Donna. Especially since Rena hadn’t even contacted Pru. And there was something worse—much worse—that she remembered Rena saying when they’d spoken on the phone yesterday morning.
“There must have been some kind of mix-up,” Pru said. “I haven’t spoken to Rena since yesterday morning, and she didn’t show up over here last night.”
“Oh God, Pru do you have any idea where she might be? Please tell me if you know.” The fear in Donna Ford’s voice was evident. Normally she would have been mad, but the recent murders had everyone in town on edge.
As for Rena’s whereabouts, Pru was afraid she had a pretty good idea where Rena had gone, but she didn’t know for sure.
“I don’t know where she could be, Mrs. Ford. If I knew, I would tell you. Maybe she went to Gabby’s house. Are you certain she didn’t say Gabby instead of Pru?”
“I’m pretty sure it was you. But I’ll call Gabby to make sure. Pru, if you hear from Rena tell her to get home at once. And call me and let me know that you’ve spoken to her. Will you please do that for me?”
“You bet, Mrs. Ford. I promise.” But Donna Ford had already hung up. She was probably already frantically dialing Gabby’s house.
Pru sat the phone back on the charger. “Oh, Rena. Please tell me you didn’t do something really stupid. Please tell me you didn’t.”
McCoy. She had to get a hold of McCoy. He would be getting close to the trestle by now, and he was the only one she could count on to help her. She picked up the phone and dialed his number. It rang four times before going to voice mail.
“Shit!” Pru screamed into the phone. “McCoy! Pick up! It’s urgent.”
She hung up and then tried again, once more getting the same result.
Pru frantically considered her options. She could either wait where she was and hope to get a hold of McCoy, or she could take matters into her own hands and go find Rena herself.
She remembered Rena on the phone yesterday, talking about how cool it would be to go up to the trestle at night. It’d be just like one of those ghost hunting shows, she’d said.
She tried McCoy one last time. No answer.
“Screw it,” Pru said to the empty house, and went outside to get her bike.
***
McCoy slowed as he approached the turn off which led to the field where the film crew had been set up. As he had feared, a line of yellow tape had been stretched across the lane. The police were not letting anyone in.
The question was whether or not there were actually any policemen present. A small sheriff’s department might not have the manpower to spare for a deputy to sit out there twenty-four hours a day. They might simply rely on the Do Not Cross tape to keep the majority of gawkers and passers-by out of the immediate area.
If that were the case, McCoy could simply bypass the tape and go on about his business. There was no deputy sitting at the entrance, which would be the logical place for one to be posted. But he supposed that they might be in the field where the camp had been, or that they might be in the woods searching for Mark, assuming that they hadn’t found him yet.
The best bet was to park the Jeep a little ways up the road and hike overland to the field. It wouldn’t take long, and if he saw that the coast was clear, he could come back and drive in. If not, he would have to devise a way to circumvent the cops and gain access to the mountain.
He drove about a thousand feet up the road and pulled the Jeep off the shoulder of the road. He took his phone out, intending to call Pru, but it rang in his hand, startling him. He looked at the display and saw John Talbot’s number.
“That was pretty quick,” McCoy said.
“Yeah. I hope you’re duly impressed. I put the guy’s name in and got a dozen hits right off the bat.”
“Wow. He must have a rap sheet a mile long.”
“No. Actually, he has no rap sheet,” John said.
“But you just said—”
“He has no need for a rap sheet. Unless saving people has become a crime, and they forgot to tell me about it.”
“Saving people?”
“Yep. He’s shown up in a number of reports, and I’m pretty sure this is your guy. Anthony James Donovan, age twenty-eight. Six-two, one-eighty, hair black and long. His last known address was in Kansas City, but that was a little over a year ago.”
“How many people has this guy saved? And what did he save them from?” McCoy asked.
“Let’s just say that he’s trying to make a career out of it. Mostly he’s saved people from some type of assault or attempted murder. These have all been total strangers, mind you, or people he’d known only for a short time. Several times, he killed the perp, but it has always been justified. An
d get this: several of the intended victims went on record as saying that monsters were trying to kill them, and that Donovan saved them by killing the monsters first.”
“I take it they didn’t mean monsters in the metaphorical sense.”
“I don’t think so,” John replied. “There’s a couple of instances where he rescued someone from a burning building, once from drowning in a lake. Let’s see…the only other thing I have on him is from 2008, six years ago. He was shot during an altercation at a bar. Almost died.”
“Almost, or did?” McCoy mumbled.
“What? I didn’t catch that.”
“Just wondering aloud. John, I appreciate it. I think you’ve answered my question.”
“I did? Well, good. How are things going up there, by the way?”
“They’re going. Listen, I’ll call you back later. I’ve got some recon to do.”
“Ok. But take some time to watch your own ass while you’re watching everyone else’s.”
“Roger and wilco.” McCoy snapped the phone shut and laid it on the passenger’s seat. From the back seat, he grabbed his knapsack and slung it over his shoulder. He probably wouldn’t need it just yet, but it was far too valuable to him to leave sitting in the Jeep.
Leaving the vehicle, he waded into the tall grass which lined the sides of the road. If he kept his bearings, he should be able to make it to the field and check it out without anyone being the wiser. He had travelled several hundred feet toward the tree line when he remembered that he’d forgotten to call Pru. He checked his pocket, but his phone wasn’t there. Then he remembered laying it on the passenger’s seat.
He stopped and briefly considered going back to get it, but decided against it. He wouldn’t be gone long—ten or fifteen minutes at the most. He would call Pru when he returned to the Jeep. She wasn’t going anywhere; she was safe and sound back at her house. He continued walking and slipped into the shadows of the trees.
On the passenger’s seat, the phone began to ring.
Chapter Fifteen
Wolf Donovan pulled the Harley to a stop in front of Pru’s house and hopped off. The first thing he noticed was that there were no other vehicles parked outside. Becky was probably at work, and McCoy’s Jeep wasn’t there, either. He only hoped that he would find Pru safe and sound inside.
After knocking vigorously three times, his hope began to fade. Pru wouldn’t have gone to work with her mother; therefore, she was most likely with McCoy. Wherever he was.
Wolf walked back to his bike, deep in thought. It was possible that they’d just run out to the store to buy groceries for dinner. The fact that they weren’t at the house didn’t necessarily mean that they were in any danger. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that things were about to take a drastic turn for the worse.
At a loss, Wolf figured he would simply cruise around town, hoping to spot McCoy’s Jeep. As he was straddling the bike, his temples began to throb. Knowing what was coming, he gripped the handlebars tightly and tried to prepare himself for the onslaught to come.
The visions flashed furiously before his closed eyes: a dirt road with police tape draped across it; a girl, not Pru but about the same age, screaming as she ran through the woods; McCoy writhing as hellfire engulfed his body; Pru, bloody and dead at the bottom of the ravine. Over and over the images flashed before his eyes like some brief but demented horror film.
She lives, the voice boomed from inside his own head. At all costs, she lives.
And then, mercifully, it stopped. Wolf sat rigid for several seconds, unable to let go of the handlebars. He felt as though he’d been electrocuted. Finally, his body relaxed, and he could do nothing but slump down upon the gas tank, exhausted. Every muscle in his body ached, and he felt nauseous.
At least he now knew where to go. But the visions, while helpful, left him temporarily incapacitated, unable to do much more than breathe. From experience, Wolf knew that it would be several minutes before he would be able to ride, and even then, he would have to take it easy. He would not be breaking any speed records on his way out to the old trestle.
All the same, he was running out of time. The visions he’d seen might come to pass within the next six hours or within the next ten minutes. They might be happening now, as he lay draped across his bike, unable to move. He had no way of knowing. What he did know was that, barring his intervention, all of the visions he’d seen would come true.
He had never failed a mission. He had never before lost anyone. And he wasn’t about to start now.
Slowly, gathering all of the strength he could muster, Wolf sat up in the seat. He turned the key and flipped the ignition switch.
Underneath him, the motorcycle came to life, its vibration sending shockwaves of pain through his tortured body. He concentrated on the pain, drawing strength from it.
He would not fail Pru. And, if there were any way possible, he would save McCoy and the other girl he’d seen running through the woods.
And, if the unthinkable happened, if Pru died at the hands of the archdaemon—
Then he would send it back to the pits of Hell for all eternity.
***
Rena Ford fought against the bonds which held her arms and legs nearly immobile. She had long since given up trying to call for help; the gag had cut into the corners of her mouth, making them bloody and raw. She had decided instead to concentrate on the strips of cloth with which the monster had hogtied her. They appeared to be pieces of bloody clothing which had been ripped and fashioned into crude ropes.
Over the course of the past several hours, she had felt them loosen slightly. This had given her a renewed sense of hope that she might be able to break free and escape the monster’s clutches. She had not seen the thing in quite some time, but she knew that it would return soon. And when it did, she wanted more than anything else in the world to be gone.
Why hadn’t she listened to Pru? If Pru had been afraid to come, then Rena should have known better, because Pru wasn’t afraid of anything. She had known Pru pretty much all her life, and she couldn’t remember Pru ever backing down from anything, be it a bully or a dare or a spooky house at night. Rena should never have come without Pru. She shouldn’t have come at all.
But she had been curious, and she had never really believed in the stuff that Pru was drawn to—ghosts and goblins and stuff like that. And she surely hadn’t believed in the Goat Man, not until he had risen up in front of her and grabbed her. She had been so frightened that she hadn’t even thought to run, though she doubted she would have made it very far if she had. The Goat Man was big and fast, and it smelled like rotten eggs. Rena had seen the monster watching her after it had brought her back to its den, and she didn’t like the way it looked at her.
The very thought of the creature’s eyes caused Rena to redouble her efforts. The bonds weren’t chains, at least. They weren’t even real ropes. They were pieces of clothes, and clothes stretched. She had thrown away clothes before because they’d become stretched out of shape and no longer fit the way she liked them. And she was sure that they were looser now than they had been an hour ago. Maybe even ten minutes ago. She just had to keep tugging at them. She couldn’t give up hope.
If only the monster would wait a while before returning.
If only she had listened to Pru…
***
Pru was winded. At thirteen, she’d felt as if she had outgrown her bicycle; after all, she could begin driving in only three short years. As a result, she hadn’t ridden it much over the past year or so, and she was paying for it now. Her lungs felt as if they were on fire, and her legs were like wet noodles as she pedaled along the road.
Though determined to find Rena, Pru felt bad. She had broken two promises—one to her mother, and the other to McCoy. The one to McCoy couldn’t be helped; the big galoot wouldn’t answer his phone.
But she had promised her mom that she wouldn’t run off without saying anything, and that promise hadn’t even lasted twelve hours. As a daughte
r, she felt like a total failure.
As a friend, however, she was doing what she had to do. If Rena had gone to the trestle, then she was in trouble, or worse. Images of Rena’s lifeless body hanging in a tree flashed unbidden before her mind’s eye, and she quickly chased them away.
She came to the edge of town and took the paved road which passed by the trestle. The road here was relatively flat and straight, allowing her to keep up a decent speed with a minimum amount of exertion. The sun’s heat, though, was beginning to become oppressive as it beat down upon her. She felt as though the bicycle’s tires might start melting to the pavement at any time.
Pru hoped to be able to find McCoy. It was too bad that handlers couldn’t sense each other the same way they sensed paranormal entities. That would make things a lot easier. She supposed, however, that she would have to go about it the old-fashioned way. At least she had a pretty good idea where he would be, and this time she wouldn’t be stumbling around in the dark.
Pedaling as if someone’s life depended on it—which it probably did—Pru raced toward the dirt road.
Chapter Sixteen
McCoy hid in the brush beside the clearing and studied the tableau. The tents and tables were still in place, though the cameras and other electronic equipment had been taken. A shiny police cruiser sat in approximately the same spot where McCoy had parked his Jeep the previous evening, but there was no sign of the deputy. From his vantage point, McCoy could see that the car appeared to be empty, though he supposed it was possible that the officer was lying in the seat, napping.
At any rate, driving the Jeep in was no longer a viable option. It would be much easier to skirt the edge of the clearing and enter the woods from the far side. That way, if the deputy did appear, McCoy would be able to lay low or slow his progress, thus avoiding detection.
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