Homecoming (A Finn McCoy Paranormal Thriller Book 1)

by Scott Langrel

  To do this, though, he would need either proof or an admission of guilt, and both were currently in short supply. Not to mention, all of this was assuming that they lived to see dawn, and that, by John’s best guess, was a big “if”.

  “It’s nagging at you, isn’t it?” Kenner said from behind him. John nearly jumped through the roof.

  “Sorry,” the smaller man said. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “It’s okay. I guess we’re all on edge. How’re you feeling, Paul.?”

  “Better, now that I’ve had a chance to rest.”

  John looked doubtfully at Kenner’s wound. The makeshift bandage job was already red with blood. “We need to get you to the hospital as soon as we can,” he said.

  Kenner dismissed the suggestion with a wave of his hand. It was a gesture John had never seen the man make before.

  “We’ve got bigger fish to fry here, Big John. Like what to do about Lyle, for instance.”

  “What about Lyle?”

  Kenner looked around to see where Deidre was. The female deputy was over at the dispatch station, toying with the radio. Seemingly satisfied, Kenner leaned toward John and spoke in a low voice.

  “The fact that Lyle is in cahoots with those gremlins. It’s obvious to me, and I think you know it , too.”

  John grabbed his jaw and pretended to rub it to keep it from hitting the floor. Kenner had never been the sharpest knife in the drawer. The only reason he’d gotten this job was that his uncle was a councilman, and everyone, including Paul Kenner, knew it. He was a likeable little guy, but he wasn’t much of an officer. John knew for a fact that Lyle despised Kenner. How Kenner had suddenly mustered the insight to reach his conclusion was beyond John’s ability to reckon.

  “It’s obvious to you?” John asked, not sure how he should play this.

  “Of course,” Kenner replied with another dismissive wave. “He had to know that those things were out there, and he had to have some kind of deal going with them. Otherwise, they would have raided the town before now.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  Kenner looked at John as if the big man had just crawled drooling from under a cabbage leaf. “Look at the number of disappearances we’ve had over the years. You mean to stand there and tell me that those things weren’t responsible for some of them, if not all? Lyle’s not stupid. He’s known for years, I’ll bet.”

  John wasn’t sure he liked being talked down to by someone a foot and a half shorter than he was, but he kept his cool. Kenner was injured and probably not in a right frame of mind. Maybe that was why he was acting funny. On the flipside, the injury sure had made the little guy a lot smarter.

  “I’ll bet you’re wondering what Lyle got out of turning the other way,” Kenner said.

  “The question had crossed my mind,” John admitted.

  “How long has Lyle been Sheriff?” Kenner asked. “Twenty-some odd years? And that with two or three people going missing every year. None of them ever solved. Not much of a track record to use as a platform for re-election, is it?”

  John had to admit that Kenner was right. He had never really thought much about it before, but it did seem odd that Lyle had been able to hold onto his job without ever solving a missing persons case. And because major crimes were not prevalent in Shallow Springs, each case had been a pretty big deal. But Lyle had always had some explanation. This one ran off with a girl two towns over. Another owed a bunch of drug money and left town. More than a few were probably victims of wild animal attacks. And so on. Since there had never before been any real evidence of foul play, people tended to accept whatever explanation the sheriff offered.

  “Remember a few years back when Tom Baker was running against Lyle?” Kenner asked. “Early polls showed Baker had the job in the bag. Then he suddenly withdrew and he and his family left town in a hurry. Everyone suspected that Lyle had something on Baker. Maybe he did, only it wasn’t what everybody thought. You know what I mean?”

  John knew exactly. It all made perfect sense. He still didn’t know how Kenner had figured more of this out than he himself had, but he had to admit that the little guy was certainly on the ball.

  “So,” Kenner said. “What are you going to do?”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, you. You’re the senior deputy. Not only that, but everyone respects you. If anyone’s going to set this right, it has to be you.”

  “I guess that depends,” John said.

  “On what?”

  “On whether or not Lyle returns. He’s been out of contact for a long time. That’s not like him. He likes to be in control.”

  Kenner grinned. It looked out of place on his pale, sweaty face. “Yeah,” he said, “you’re right. You are the sharp one, Big John. Maybe they’ve already taken Lyle out. Poetic justice, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I’d say no one deserves to die like that. Not at the hands of those…whatever they are.”

  “Did all those people who vanished over the years deserve it?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then if Lyle was a part of it, it’s justice.” Kenner turned and checked on Deidre, who was still back at dispatch. “You need to start thinking about yourself, and what’s next for you,” he said, turning back to John. “If Lyle’s out of the picture, the council will put you in as interim sheriff. It’s a done deal.”

  John hadn’t really thought that far ahead, but he supposed it was true. Lyle still had over a year left before the next election. The town council would almost certainly appoint him to fill in until then, but he would have to bust his ass to win the general election in November. With Lyle gone, he would be certain to face some stiff opposition. Opposition with big money backing them.

  As if reading his mind, Kenner said, “The next election will be tough. A lot of people around here have been waiting patiently for Lyle to slip up or retire. You’ll need the right kind of backing to ensure the job will be yours.”

  “I assume you know where I might find that backing?” John asked.

  Kenner’s grin became a full-fledged smile, and John didn’t much care for it. “I do believe that I can be of assistance, John.”

  “You’re talking about your uncle?”

  For a moment Kenner’s expression went blank, as if he had no idea what John was talking about. Then the smile was back, but he was shaking his head.

  “Oh, John,” Kenner laughed. “That’s small fish. I’m talking about a major player here. With someone like this behind you, you couldn’t lose even if you tried. Of course, there will have to be a minor concession on your part, but…”

  “Someone’s here!” Deidre shouted. John turned to the front doors. Sure enough, he could see a pair of headlights pull up in front of the building. He turned back to Kenner.

  “We’ll talk later, Paul.” Kenner looked annoyed, but nodded in agreement.

  “C’mon,” John said. “It appears we have company.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Is she here?” Baracheck asked as McCoy pulled to a stop in front of the sheriff’s office.

  “Let’s get inside, then we’ll talk,” McCoy said. He had an urgent feeling, like time was growing short, and he didn’t like being out in the open. “Amanda, cover us on the way in. I’m going to get those bags out of the bed.”

  Amanda nodded and got out of the truck. Baracheck, who had been sitting between them, followed her out. McCoy swung out of the driver’s side and hauled the two large trash bags out of the bed of the truck. The contents of the bags rustled as he hurried up the sidewalk to the front doors of the building.

  John Talbot was fumbling with the door locks as they approached. He got the doors open just as they made it to the entrance, and the three of them hurried inside. Talbot locked the doors behind them.

  “Where’s Cynthie?” Baracheck asked when they were all safely inside. “I want to see my daughter. I want to see my daughter now.”

  Talbot started to say something, but McCoy shot hi
m a warning glance. He took Baracheck by the arm and gently steered the man toward Lyle’s office.

  “Where are we going?” Baracheck asked.

  “To talk.”

  Baracheck stopped in his tracks. “Mr. McCoy, I’ve been more than patient so far. But that patience is wearing thin. I think I have a right to know what’s going on here.”

  “You’re right,” McCoy said. “Let’s go into the office. I’ll tell you everything I know, and then you can decide whether or not you want to be a part of this. I’ve got to warn you, though; it may be a little late to walk away.”

  “If it involves Cynthie, Mr. McCoy, there’s no way in hell I’m walking away.”

  McCoy nodded, and they went into the office. McCoy shut the door behind them.

  “Have a seat, Mr. Baracheck,” McCoy said. Baracheck took one of the chairs that sat in front of the large desk. McCoy took the other one.

  “My daughter’s not here, is she?”

  “In this building? No. But I haven’t lied to you, Mr. Baracheck. She is alive. I saw her myself, only yesterday.”

  “Call me Dave. Where were you when you saw her?”

  “I was driving up Drover Mountain.”

  “And how do you know it was Cynthia, Mr. McCoy? I haven’t seen my daughter in seventeen years. I might pass her on the street and not recognize her.”

  McCoy paused as he considered how to continue. “Back at your house, when I told you that Cynthia was alive, you said something about thinking that the things in the woods took her. What do you know about those things, Dave?”

  Baracheck shrugged. “I don’t know what they are. I’ve never really gotten a good look at one, but I’ve caught glimpses, and I’ve heard them. I know that the grass monkeys seem to keep them away.”

  “Grass monkeys? You mean the poppets?”

  “Whatever. I got them from an old man named Dalton. He died several years back. His wife made them, I think.”

  “Okay,” McCoy said. “I’m going to give you a really brief rundown on the situation. It has to be quick, because we haven’t got much time. The things that kidnapped your daughter are called the Sluagh. You can think of them as evil spirits or monsters; it doesn’t really matter. The Sluagh enjoy two things: killing adults and abducting children. They’re proficient at both. Whatever happens to the children, most of them are never seen again. For some reason, this isn’t the case with Cynthia.”

  Baracheck shook his head. “I don’t understand. What you seem to be telling me is that not only is my daughter alive, but that she has been here in Shallow Springs all this time. If those things took her, how could she have survived? Why hasn’t she come home, or at least contacted me?”

  “I asked myself those same questions,” McCoy said, “and I believe I have the answer. You’re not going to particularly like it, though.”

  “I didn’t figure I would.”

  “Cynthia is alive because the Sluagh took care of her. I don’t know why they did. It goes against everything I know about the creatures. Whatever the reason, they are her family now, and I have every reason to believe that she is leading the pack.”

  Baracheck took a moment to digest this information. Outwardly he appeared to remain calm, but McCoy knew that the man was struggling with conflicting emotions. On one hand, his daughter was alive, against all odds. At the same time, the life that she had been forced to live might have made death seem like a more humane option.

  “I assume,” Baracheck said slowly, as if each word held a great weight, “that there’s a reason that you drug me into town at this hour. I mean, as important as this news is to me, I’m sure you would have waited until morning unless you had a good reason not to.”

  “You’re right, of course. That brings us to the next part. I said that Cynthia isn’t in this building, and that’s true. But she is in town, or if not, she will be soon.”

  “If she’s with those things, why would she be coming here?”

  “Because she’s leading the Sluagh on an attack on the town.”

  Baracheck gave McCoy a look of pure contempt. “You’re out of your mind. Cynthie would never do something like that. I don’t care what’s happened to her over the years, my daughter would not spill the blood of innocent people.”

  “Dave, you’re thinking of her as a three year-old girl. She’s not, and hasn’t been for a long time.”

  “It doesn’t matter!” Baracheck yelled. “She doesn’t have it in her. When she was little, she wouldn’t even step on an ant. All I’ve heard here so far is conjecture and supposition. And while part of me hopes that Cynthia is alive, another part hopes to God that you’re nothing more than a raving lunatic, Mr. McCoy.”

  McCoy looked down at his hands. “I wish I were, too, Mr. Baracheck. It would make things easier for a lot of people. But since I’m fairly certain I’m as sane as the next guy, I need to tell you why I brought you into town.”

  Baracheck said nothing. He was staring at one of the trophy fish on Lyle’s wall.

  “She remembers you,” McCoy said.

  Baracheck looked at him then, and McCoy saw that tears welled in the man’s eyes. It certainly didn’t make going on any easier, but he had no choice.

  “I’m not the only one who’s seen Cynthia. She’s been spotted watching you as you walked through the forest. I don’t know how much she remembers, but she knows who you are. And that’s why you have to be here, in town. She won’t attack if she knows you’re here. She won’t risk you getting hurt.”

  Baracheck broke down then. His eyes were closed tightly and his body was racked by the force of his silent sobs. McCoy tried to imagine how the man must feel, but found that he couldn’t. He didn’t have children, and he had never, before Amanda, let himself get close to anyone. Still, it was a hard thing to watch, and he was relieved when Baracheck began to pull himself together.

  “I’m sorry,” Baracheck said when he was able to speak.

  “Don’t be.”

  “So what are the chances of this having a happy ending?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Can’t, or won’t?”

  McCoy looked the man in the eyes. “I’ve seen a lot of things in my time, Dave. A little too much to say that this can’t work out good, and way too much to sit here and tell you that it will. A lot of it depends on Cynthia. We can’t know what living with the Sluagh for years has done to her mind. But maybe, just maybe, the memories of her time with you will be enough to bring her back.”

  “I pray to God that they will,” Baracheck said. “I’ve missed her so.”

  “I’m sure you have. And you have my word that she will not be harmed if at all possible.”

  Baracheck nodded. “I appreciate that. But let’s be clear on one thing before we do this. I’ll do what you want me to, but my main concern is getting my little girl back.”

  “I couldn’t see it being any other way,” McCoy said, and they got up to rejoin the rest of the group.

  ***

  Sam Henderson stared at the coffee maker, or tried to. His eyes kept shutting; he should have known better than to sit up and watch that stupid movie last night. It had been one of those chick flicks that Carolyn liked to watch, and she had wanted him to watch it with her. It had actually been a pretty good movie, but he had pretended not to like it out of principle.

  Sam was not a morning person by nature, but the Triple Gem Mining Company was doing its damndest to make him one. The job was a double jinx; he had to get up early, and he had to work underground. Neither situation greatly appealed to him, but coal mining was pretty much the only good-paying job that you could get with just a high school diploma, unless you moved away. Sam had been born and raised in Shallow Springs and had no intention of leaving, thus he was resigned to the coal mines. It wasn’t that bad, really, and he knew that he was lucky to have a job at all.

  When there was enough coffee in the carafe to fill his mug, he snatched the pot and quickly sloshed the joe into his cup. Some of the ho
t liquid poured onto the warmer before he could replace the carafe, but that was okay. He only had time for one cup, anyway. He wished he had more time to relish the stillness of the early morning, but he just couldn’t bring himself to wake up any earlier. At least he didn’t have to work the hoot owl shift anymore. That had gotten really old really quick.

  From somewhere outside, his dog Rusty began to bark. That was just great. The dumb mutt would probably end up waking Carolyn, and Sam would just as soon not have that happen. Not that he wouldn’t like to get a kiss goodbye before he left, but Carolyn tended to be grumpy as hell if something woke her before she was ready to get up.

  Rusty was really tearing it up out there. Sam wondered what was causing the dog to cut such a shine. Maybe it was because he hadn’t been awake for long, but he was starting to feel on edge. He considered the shotgun in the hall closet, and suddenly thought that he would like very much to have it in his hands. The feeling was totally ungrounded, but that didn’t make it any less urgent. He trotted to the closet and retrieved the firearm.

  “What’s up with Rusty?” Carolyn called from the bedroom, her voice thick with sleep.

  “Nothing,” Sam answered. “I’m going out to check on him. Go back to sleep.”

  He waited a moment for a response, and when there was none he eased toward the kitchen door. He flipped the switch to the porch light, knowing as soon as he did it that it was a wasted effort. The bulb had blown weeks ago. He’d been meaning to replace it, but had never gotten around to it.

  If he took the time to rummage around for a new bulb, replace the blown one, and go check on things outside, he would be late for work. He remembered that there was a flashlight in the kitchen junk drawer, the one beside the refrigerator, and he grabbed it. The batteries were weak, but it would shine enough light to let him see where he was going.