by Kay Hooper
After a moment, he said, “There are some decisions that get made for us. I hope, for your sake, this isn’t one of them.”
Hollis shook her head again, already dismissing the subject, shoving it aside, refusing to open a door locked securely deep, deep inside her. “In the meantime, we have this case.”
DeMarco accepted the change in subject because it was all he could do. For the moment.
“We have this case. What do you think Trinity distracted us from seeing?”
Hollis chewed on a thumbnail for a bit, frowning at the evidence board. And then she muttered, “Shit. She said it. She said it. And then with everything that came after, I just forgot. Jesus, how could she not think it’s important to the investigation?”
“Hollis—”
“Except . . . maybe she doesn’t know how it ended. Maybe she thinks Samuel’s cult is still alive and well. Maybe when she found the first cross and called Bishop—and I know she did—maybe he didn’t tell her. Maybe he just sent us down here knowing there were two connections we’d have to make. The first to the mountain serial, and the second to Samuel. Or maybe . . . he really didn’t know if a connection existed. Because it wasn’t a part of what we had to deal with then, facing Samuel in North Carolina.”
Slowly, DeMarco said, “The cross reminded her of getting Melanie out of the cult more than three years ago. But there were no crosses specially made at the church in North Carolina.”
“No, there weren’t. But afterward, when it was all over with, I went back and read all the reports on the church, everything that had been sent in from all the different organizations that had been investigating Samuel and his churches.”
“Why?”
“Because . . . because even though he was dead, only Galen and I got the full force of one of those energy blasts of his. I mean, without being able to repel it. I don’t think it meant anything special to Galen.”
“No. Galen is a watchdog, a guardian in the unit. And not even technically a psychic. Or, at least, he wasn’t then. Energy wasn’t something he could have . . . interpreted.”
“No. But I could. Even then, I knew how dark Samuel’s power was. And how strong. I had this nagging feeling it wasn’t over, even though I kept telling myself that he was destroyed, all of him. I don’t think I was all that surprised when he kept the fight going from his grave, when he sent more of his minions after us months later.”5
DeMarco was frowning. “When Diana was hurt and you healed her, when you were so exhausted, you said something later. I thought it was the exhaustion talking. But you said something about hoping he hadn’t escaped. Hoping Samuel hadn’t found the door.”
Hollis nodded. “In Diana’s gray time, that corridor between this world and the next, that was where Samuel’s spirit was, where it had been trapped since he died. I don’t know if it was another place, another time—another dimension. I don’t think Diana knows. But she was so worried then that he’d escape. She was weakening, dying because of her physical injuries, and yet she was willing to stay there to avoid making a door so he could escape.
“Because he wanted to live again.”
“You think the mountain serial . . . is Samuel?”
“I think he wanted to live,” Hollis replied. “And if there was any way, any possibility that he could have, he would have figured it out. And planned for it.”
“Possession?”
Steadily, she said, “If anyone could have pulled it off, it would have been him. He had the will, he had the strength. He’d been stockpiling energy, stealing nearly every psychic ability he could. All he would have needed was a weakened body, someone unable to prevent him from taking over their mind. And we were in a hospital, Reese. An intensive care unit in a hospital. That’s where Diana and I came back. If he came back with us, if he slipped through, he could have found a vessel. None of us were in any kind of shape to notice anything odd about the energy in the ICU, not then. He could easily have slipped past us.”
“Assuming that’s so,” DeMarco said, still slow, considering, “and Samuel did find someone to possess physically, then it’s also possible that his new . . . vessel . . . lacked the capability to absorb energy the way Samuel could. He’d spent his life learning how to collect, store, and channel energy, but that’s as much a physical thing as it is a psychic one.”
“Don’t I know it,” she murmured.
“So maybe he can’t get power that way now. Maybe he has to . . . build up to it.”
“By committing evil acts,” Hollis suggested. “Like abducting and brutalizing young women. The darkest acts create the darkest and most powerful energy. Reese, maybe there is no team. Maybe there’s just whoever and whatever Samuel has become.”
“The energy you felt at the church up the mountain,” DeMarco said slowly.
She nodded. “It was familiar. There was something almost . . . gleeful in it. As if he wanted me to know who he was. Maybe that’s why he left the crosses with some of his victims. Not a huge red flag, not unless one of us had studied all the reports and knew that his church in Atlanta made crosses just like those to sell at flea markets and festivals.”
“And that was what Trinity recognized,” DeMarco said.
“I think so. I think that’s what she reported to Bishop, how he knew whatever was happening here was at least possibly connected to Samuel.”
“Because Bishop would have read all the reports, too,” DeMarco said.
“Of course. The big picture. It’s what Bishop always has his eye on. It’s why he wasn’t surprised when Samuel had killers hunting us even after he was dead and supposedly gone. And I’ll bet anything you like that he’s been suspicious that somehow Samuel would turn up again. And draw us in to another of his deadly games of cat and mouse. Because we beat him. And he’d haunt us forever, trying to get even for that.”
—
“YOU’D MAKE A fair profiler,” Deacon told Trinity.
“No, thanks. If I wanted to chase scum and monsters for a living, I would have stayed in Atlanta.”
“Well, the monsters we chase tend to be somewhat out of the ordinary, but it does lend itself to some sleepless nights.”
Trinity looked as if she would have questioned that, then obviously remembered why she was here. “Melanie, we have your statement taken after Scott was found, and since you were in town and very visible when Barry was killed, I don’t think there’s any need for a second statement.”
“Thank you,” Melanie said. And it wasn’t sarcastic.
“Toby—”
“I didn’t kill anybody, Trinity. And I’ve already checked my books; I was with clients all day when Scott was killed, didn’t even hear about it ’til I got back there.”
“And Barry?”
Toby shook her head. “I was in my office, mostly catching up with paperwork. I’m sure you can find somebody who walked by the storefront and saw me there. I didn’t leave until—until someone came in and told me about Barry.”
Trinity made a few notes, nodding, then looked at Annabel.
Her eyes were huge.
“Annabel, I don’t suspect you of murder,” Trinity told her calmly. “I don’t think you have it in you to kill anyone.”
A little gasp escaped Annabel. “I didn’t. Honest, I didn’t.”
“I never thought you did. I just wanted to talk to you about what happened in your apartment last night.”
She looked slightly confused. “Why? I mean, it scared me half to death, but Melanie reminded me that electronics do weird things all along my street. Always have. It was just my turn, I guess.”
“And the warning?” Deacon had to ask. “That you were next?”
“I’d had a lot of wine.” Annabel still looked frightened despite the reasonable words. “And two of my friends had been horribly murdered. I just . . . I just scared myself, I think. In the daylight, with people around me . . . I don’t know what I heard. If I even heard anything at all.”
Trinity turned her gaze to
Toby. “What about you, Toby? You called Melanie last night, didn’t you?”
“Traitor,” Melanie said to her brother.
“It’s a murder investigation, Mel. We don’t yet know what facts might be important. And I overheard enough to know that Toby was . . . shaken up. By something.”
“What was that, Toby?” Trinity asked. “What shook you up enough to call Melanie?”
“I was just upset. After hearing about Barry . . . I was just upset.”
Annabel was looking at her. “They need to know, Toby. It might be important. I mean—what you saw.”
“I didn’t tell Melanie about that last night. Besides, she didn’t believe me,” Toby said. “Why would they?”
Trinity’s voice was matter-of-fact. “There are a lot of odd things about this investigation, Toby. About these murders. So whatever it is you saw, I need to know about it.”
“I saw Scott,” Toby said defiantly. “In my office, nearly as clear as I’m seeing you now. And he was trying to tell me something.”
Melanie moved restlessly, as if she would have objected, but remained silent.
Trinity sent her a glance, then looked back at Toby. “Could you tell what he was trying to say?”
“You believe me?” Toby asked warily.
“Like I said, plenty of odd things happening. Could you tell what he was trying to say?”
“No. He just looked . . . upset. Worried. It only lasted a few seconds, and then he was gone.”
Deacon said, “What were you doing just before he appeared?”
Toby frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
Deacon knew Trinity was looking at him as well, but he also knew that questions would occur to him—because he used psychic tools in investigations—that wouldn’t necessarily occur to Trinity or any other standard law enforcement officer.
“I mean, what were you doing? A spirit . . . visitation . . . isn’t exactly a common thing, unless you’re a medium or the spirit was a blood relative. So he must have wanted to come through badly, and something you were doing helped him to do that.”
The dark, almost absurdly exotic-looking woman was clearly both uneasy and uncertain. She avoided Trinity’s steady gaze. And was rather stubbornly silent.
Trinity spoke up then, her voice still utterly calm. “Toby? Was it the cards? Or the Ouija board?”
Deacon sat up straighter before he could catch himself. “You use a Ouija board?”
“Well, just for fun.” Toby was looking at him now, clearly startled. “At parties sometimes. But I haven’t even opened the box since Scott was killed. I . . . I just couldn’t.”
“Good,” Deacon said. “Don’t.” Ever, he almost added.
Trinity glanced at him, and then spoke to Toby before she could even try to express the confusion on her face.
“But you did use the tarot cards yesterday or last night, didn’t you? That’s why you called Melanie. And probably what you were doing just before you saw Scott. Why you were upset.”
“Everybody keeps telling me they’re just for fun,” Toby muttered. “So what does it matter? I might as well be playing solitaire.”
“Not quite,” Deacon murmured. He intercepted another glance from Trinity and reminded himself that this was not his interview. And that she hadn’t exactly been open with anyone other than the feds about anything even vaguely smacking of the paranormal. Until now, at least.
She said, “Toby, did you see anything in the cards? Anything that shook you?”
Melanie said, “Tell her, Toby.”
“Well . . . I saw The Group. Every time I dealt the cards, no matter which layout I used, I saw The Group.” She sent Deacon a sidelong glance. “I don’t know if you know about—”
“I know about The Group. Trinity told me.” He decided in the moment not to mention that the other federal agents knew about it as well. Not that it really mattered, as far as he could see.
“Did you see anything else?” Trinity asked calmly. “Feel anything else?”
“I . . . felt . . . we’re all involved somehow. All tangled up with the killer. And I knew Melanie’s brother was coming to Sociable, that he was some kind of cop. And—”
“And?” Trinity prompted.
“It’s just what I felt,” Toby said, her anxiety obvious now. “I could be wrong. I’m probably wrong.”
“Wrong about what? What else did you see or feel, Toby?”
Toby stole another glance at Deacon’s face, then returned her worried gaze to Trinity. “I saw the other two coming. Them and Deacon, all monster hunters. Come to help us.”
Trinity waited a moment, then prompted again, “And?”
“And I knew . . . I felt . . . one of them would be destroyed.”
—
HOLLIS WAS SITTING on the conference table, staring at the preliminary timeline they’d been able to assemble, still brooding.
“You think they know? Bishop and Miranda?” DeMarco asked, but not really.
“I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt and say they probably didn’t know for sure until that first cross turned up. Until Bishop remembered what I did, from the reports on Samuel’s churches. And even then, I doubt even Bishop could have worked out exactly what was going on, much less figured on two separate serial killers operating just far enough apart to demand that he split the investigating team.
“Trinity had a weird murder here, found the cross—and recognized it, or thought it might be what she remembered. Whether or not she knew Samuel was supposed to be dead, any connection to a cult that had preyed on psychics would have had to worry her, especially with Melanie here. And if Toby’s psychic, too . . .”
“Bishop had probably kept in touch,” DeMarco offered. “We know he keeps tabs on psychics outside the SCU, outside Haven. Trinity already trusted him because he helped her get Melanie out in Atlanta. For all we know, they talked regularly.”
Hollis nodded. “So she called Bishop. He knew that at the very least those murders and the murder here could have been connected. Maybe not, because crosses are really common, especially in the South, and word about the victims having them could have leaked out somehow. But reason enough to send us.”
“Without warning us.”
“You know,” Hollis said, “as pissed off as I get just about every time something like this happens, I think I’m beginning to get why he does it. He doesn’t send us in blind just so we can stumble around in the dark; he sends us in with what information he believes will be useful partly because he really doesn’t know the specifics beforehand.
“And because he doesn’t want us coming in with preconceived ideas. If we’d had even a hint that Samuel might somehow be behind the mountain serial and what was happening here, we would have focused on that; it would have colored every decision and choice we made.”
She looked at DeMarco wryly. “It’s how a profiler is trained to think. Don’t listen to what people tell you; look for yourself. Don’t try to bend the facts to fit your pet theory; let the facts lead you to a theory. Notice details, notice behavior. Look for a signature.”
“So the cross is his signature.”
Hollis shrugged. “It’s the only thing he’s done so far that was both consistent and not necessary to the murders. It’s also the only thing he’s done that even hinted at who the killer might be. Or . . . might be working for.”
“So you think Samuel could have arranged, before his death, for a second team of killers to draw out the SCU and, hopefully, Bishop? To destroy it all?”
“It’s more likely than possession.”
DeMarco shook his head. “You don’t believe that.”
“No. When we faced that team of killers he sent to destroy us, I didn’t . . . feel Samuel. Ever. Even in Diana’s gray time, I didn’t feel him. I don’t think he wanted me to. He was always weird about mediums, and I’m sure he hated having to depend on one—or two of us—to set him free.”
“But you feel him here?”
“It was
that gleefulness I sensed up at the church. The girls killed north of here, that was deadly serious, and I don’t think he wasted a thought on games. He was too busy building up his strength. I bet when all’s said and done, we’ll find out that he’s killed a lot more these last months than we ever knew.”
“And now?”
“Think about it. If he’s spent all these months gaining strength every way he could, committing the darkest of acts both openly and in secret, by now he’s probably strong enough that distances don’t matter to him. Time doesn’t matter. He could be killing in the mountains and killing here in Sociable.”
“Seriously?”
Wryly, she said, “I’m not saying he can fly or—or teleport.” She reflected. “On the other hand, I’m not saying he can’t. I don’t think we know his limits now any more than we did then.”
“Just that he’s filled with dark energy, an eternal hatred for Bishop and the SCU, and the bastard just won’t die.”
“That’s about the size of it.”
“Did you know it was Samuel?” Hollis asked.
Miranda’s voice came clearly and calmly from the speaker in the conference room. “We didn’t know, not for certain. When you kill an enemy, you expect him to be dead. But Diana has been uneasy since you went into the gray time and pulled her out, healed her.”
“She didn’t tell me that.”
“She didn’t tell anybody except us and Quentin. Not that she actually has to tell him anything.”
Diana and Quentin Hayes had been married for nearly three months, and their connection was . . . rather special.
“She believed Samuel had slipped out with us? Escaped the gray time?”
“She thought it was possible. And no one knows that place or time or dimension or realm—whatever it is—better than Diana. She thought he could have escaped, so we had to consider it. We suspected he might be behind all the dark energy you had to channel at Alexander House a few months ago.”
“That wasn’t him?”
“You would have felt it if it had been him. Did you?”
