The already blurry scene became even more hazy, smoky. Wait, one more, Zach thought.
No. It is enough.
The scene faded amidst an overwhelming stench of Sailor Black.
The pieces will fall into place. But be careful.
And, with that, the presence of his godfather was gone. The smell of tobacco abated, Zach fluttered his eyes open, but he couldn’t see. It took a moment before Zach realized that his eyes were adjusting and there was nothing really to see. It was night.
He sat cross-legged in full darkness. Bark from the oak dug into his back, and the blood’s warmth on his flesh was already cooling. More time had passed than he had planned on.
Much more.
Typically, he’d get one or two scenes during an episode. This had been what, four or five? Six, he thought, six scenes. He wanted to rest, but knew that he couldn’t yet. He pulled a small vial of holy water from his bag and began pouring it on his wounds. The bleeding slowed and stopped, but based on how weak he felt, he suspected he’d lost more blood than ever before. He reached inside the bag and felt for the gauze. The strain of such a simple movement nearly caused Zach to pass out, but he fought it off. Slowly, deliberately and methodically, he wrapped his wrists and then each foot with gauze. As his heart rate increased to normal levels, the feeling in his extremities returned. It made the pain worse, but Zach didn’t mind physical pain. He rested a minute before retrieving a large bandage from his bag and slapping it onto his side.
He reached for his long-sleeved shirt. He was shivering—he needed a nap to recharge, but he didn’t think he’d have the time. They’d be looking for him.
He wrapped the shirt around his shoulders and slipped his arms through. Before he could button it up, two figures emerged from Rosewood headed in his direction. Even at a distance and even lightheaded, he knew the silhouette with the baseball cap to be Matthew. The other, more than half a foot taller, was clearly that of Bryce Finman.
Chapter Thirty-One
“How the hell should I know where he is?” Little more than a whisper, Matthew’s voice cracked.
Bryce said something in low tones that was too garbled for Zach to understand.
“No, he never just takes off like this. He suspects something,” Matthew said.
They stood at the edge of the tree line, close enough for Zach to hear their hoarse argument. Far enough away that he remained hidden in the shadows. Or so he hoped.
“Dude, you’re just paranoid. Don’t fall for the trick where he pretends to know more than he does in order to get you to admit to something. That’s one of the oldest tricks in the book.”
“No, he suspects something. I’m telling you,” Matthew said. “I know this guy.”
“Yeah,” Bryce said, “you know ‘this guy’ well enough to know he’s never going to make you an investigator on his show.”
“What does that have to do with it? I’m not backing out, I’m just sayin’…”
There was the flash of a lighter. Bryce lit a cigarette—from the initial smell of it, a regular cigarette. “Sayin’ what? It sounds like you’ve got cold feet, like you’re tempted to not go through with it.”
“Hey, fuck you,” Matthew said. “I’m the one taking all the risk.”
“Yeah, right. Whatever, dude. C’mon, let’s do this.”
Upon further sniffs of Bryce’s secondhand smoke, the cigarette was laced with marijuana. His head already woozy and his stomach empty, the odor nearly made Zach pass out.
“Put your weed out,” Matthew instructed. “People will be able to see the light all the way to the asylum.”
“Yeah, right. They’d just think it was a firefly.” He gurgled out a laugh.
“Shhhhhhh.” Matthew was staring in Zach’s general vicinity. “Did you hear something?”
Zach resisted an urge to duck and flatten his body on the ground. He tried his very best not to move one muscle lest he make a sound. He kept his breath shallow as he could without blacking out. If they discovered him in this weakened condition, he’d be completely at their mercy. Something Zach had learned at the poker table and had observed ever since in real life: desperate men take desperate actions. Not only can’t those actions be predicted with any regularity, they’re usually harsher than the situation calls for. Zach didn’t want to test this theory tonight.
“Yeah, I heard something” Bryce said, “a fucking ghost.” He raised both hands and waved them wildly around Matthew’s face.
“Fuck, asshole. You just burned me. Put that fucking thing out now or I will call it quits.”
Zach resisted another urge—to relax. He couldn’t let his guard down. He closed his eyes and remained as calm and meditative as he could.
“Okay. Okay.” There was a rustling as Bryce presumably snuffed out his joint.
“Alright,” Matthew said. “Let’s go get the stuff.”
The leaves rustled beneath their feet. Zach kept his eyes closed. Opening them meant taking the chance they’d catch a shine or a glimmer. Or that he’d think they’d seen him and make a noise that would give him away.
They’d either see him or they wouldn’t. He’d hear their response if they did. Not many people could stifle a reaction when stumbling upon a half-clothed, bloody man in the woods.
Still, his heart raced. More rustling. Were they farther away or was it his wishful imagination? A small branch snapped behind him…but a safe distance behind him. They’d passed by.
He opened his eyes and, seeing no one, he reached for his jeans. Slipping them on without disturbing the sticks and leaves under and around him posed a problem. Even the slightest exertion made his vision blur and his heart pound. He needed rest. He needed nourishment. But most of all, he needed fluids. He reached into his bag and pulled out a water bottle and guzzled it down as quietly as he could. After the massive blood loss, it wasn’t nearly enough.
He stared at the remaining holy water.
“Holy water is water, son.” Macginty’s voice in Zach’s head was a modification of the Monsignor’s earlier words. Macginty had never uttered that actual phrase, nor would he. Or would he? In an emergency he might, then again—
Zach caught himself passing out. From his sitting position, he’d nearly tipped all the way over on his side. He stared at the container of remaining holy water. There was about a liter of it and, in his state, it looked so enticing.
Holy water is water.
Was it his godfather’s voice? No smell of Sailor Black, thank God, or he’d have passed out for sure. Zach chugged the entire container of holy water. Some of it spilling on his cheek and chin. It helped. A little. He wished he could eat a protein bar he’d packed in the bag, but unwrapping it now was not an option. His head wasn’t so woozy to think that Matthew and Bryce wouldn’t hear wrappers crinkling in the haunted forest. Zach almost laughed but caught himself—then centered his emotions with a silent deep breath. He grabbed the protein bar and slid it into his back pocket.
He stood. He took two steps and stubbed his toe on a stone. The pain rang through the bones of his bloodless feet. Out of nowhere, he recalled cymbals throbbing with tone the last time he was at a jazz club. Focus. Focus. Shoes.
He heard voices and a hushed “Psst. Here.”
He looked about wildly, but no one was there. The sounds had come from near the back fence line maybe twenty yards away. It sounded closer, but the breeze must have carried it. Zach backtracked and tried to slip on his shoes while standing. Couldn’t. He sat down and pressed them onto his aching feet. Evelyn’s voice rang in his ears. “She punished him by scraping embers from the fireplace and scalding his feet.”
He shivered. Poor John Paramour—the man who went on to stab dead bodies and commit arson…
Zach caught his head bobbing, his eyes half closed. Both shoes were on. Sockless, it felt like wood planks across his toes—the pressure grated the gauze over his wounds. He tried to stand. Couldn’t find his balance. Decided to crawl. One arm and knee forward after the
next. Like in Kindergarten. His palms and wrists now ached worse than his feet. A smell invaded his nostrils. The smell of wet leaves and urine? Had Bryce and Matthew pissed back here? Was this a dream of some sorts? A nightmare? Shhhh. One deliberate movement after the next. He’d crawled twenty-five yards or so, and was within spitting distance of the tree line. Voices drifted from the far corner of the property. He inched toward them stopping once to recoup energy.
He reached a row of waist-high, boxwood hedges that ran like a mini barricade just past the outer trees. About five feet separated them from the back fence. Zach double-timed his crawl the remaining distance. His woozy, throbbing head sobered when he saw that he was lying about six feet away from Bryce Finman’s feet.
“C’mon, before somebody sees us,” he was saying.
“Don’t worry. See how dark it is? I shot out both of those streetlights.”
Zach imagined Matthew pointing over the fence. Were they going to climb it? It’s barbed wire, Zach reminded himself. Not impossible but…
“Fucking bankrupt State of Illinois and City of Pullman,” Matthew continued. “It’ll probably take ‘em months to replace those bulbs.”
“Just, come on already,” Bryce said.
“There. There it is. It’s open.”
“Holy fuck me, dude,” Bryce said, moving farther from Zach’s hiding place. “I gotta admit, that’s fuggin’ brilliant.”
“I told you I was good,” Matthew said. “I cut the fence down that way to give Old Man Winkler something to distract him.”
“Distract him? For what?”
“Hello? What do you think?” Matthew sounded annoyed. “When I broke into the administration building, I had to leave another hole for him to discover so he wouldn’t find this one.”
“Winkler’d never notice this.” Bryce grunted. “Fuck, I knew it was here and didn’t see it.”
Zach couldn’t resist a peek. He raised his torso off the ground and settled into a wobbly crouch. His eyes adjusted, but he couldn’t believe what they saw.
Matthew stood on the other side of the fence holding a net-like contraption. A modest triangle segment had been cut from the fence’s corner pole to the ground. The hole was wide enough that Bryce could crawl through it.
“Careful. Careful. Don’t touch the side or the top if you can help it,” Matthew said. “Lean against the pole.” He stretched the net-like contraption up and away from where Bryce passed through.
Zach wondered if he was hallucinating.
Once Bryce had cleared the fence, Matthew stretched the net-like apparatus across to the post and fastened it back in place. From Zach’s vantage point, even knowing there was an opening in the fence, he couldn’t see it.
Apparently, the work was just as impressive up close. Bryce stood with hands on his hips and was shaking his head. “Fucking amazing.”
“Yeah, it won’t last,” Matthew said. “We were lucky not to get any rain the past couple days. First good downpour will crack the paint all to hell.”
“Who gives a fuck.” Bryce stated flatly. “Come on. Let’s get outta here and get the stuff.”
They made their way up Lincoln Avenue. When Zach was certain they were far enough away to be able to see into the darkened corner, he stood. Perhaps Bryce and Matthew had been able to leap over the boxwood hedges, but in his weakened condition, Zach would have to press through them. At full strength, the task would barely have slowed him down. However, short of blood, dehydrated and weak, he ventured only halfway through the bushes before he had to stop and rest. His heart pounded against his chest. His head swam and tiny lights flashed in the corners of his eyes. Anxiety that bordered on panic reared its Medusa-like head. He couldn’t pass out halfway through the bushes. The noise. They’d come back. He couldn’t pass out at all. Certain that his willpower alone would sustain his consciousness if he only wished for it hard enough.
I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.
He had to follow them—find out what they were planning and figure out what they’d done. Zach pushed through the hedges, ripping leaves away from their branches and breaking dead twigs. He tried to press through despite his fatigue. Determined not to fail.
When you wish upon a star, makes no difference—
It was happening again. He was losing his thought stream. His heart was pumping too fast for too little blood, which meant his head would get less and less of it.
Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it.
They were his mom’s words. His mom’s old warning. When she had said it to him as a boy, he’d had no idea what it meant. Mid-shrub, the meaning was very clear. Get your wish, cross to the other side of the bushes, pass out, and let Bryce and Matthew find you when they return.
Zach strained to reverse his course. He didn’t have much time to get back to the safe side, the darker side.
He teetered a second, his head swimming and his vision failing. Against his will, for the first time in a long while, Zach blacked out.
In fact, he was completely unconscious before his head hit the ground.
Chapter Thirty-Two
8:02 PM - Rebecca
“How many times are you gonna call him?” Angel asked. “There must be something wrong with his phone. Call Sara. She’ll know what’s up.”
“I called her already,” Rebecca said. “She hasn’t seen him for hours.”
An intuitive feeling had been running through her since about 6 PM. Where was Zach? For just a flash, in her mind’s eye Rebecca saw him, envisioned Zach covered in blood. She shook free of the mental picture. She banished it far away.
The Foster’s modest front room contained cheap oak furniture and smelled vaguely of spoiled milk. The walls were decorated with country prints and pictures of Joey.
Ginny joined them. “He’s asleep. He was tired and cranky all day. He didn’t sleep very well after the thing last night. He kept having nightmares.”
“So are you ready to tell us what happened?” Angel readied a video camera.
Ginny looked between him and Rebecca, then she nodded and sat on the edge of her couch. She sighed. “Yeah.”
“Let me light some incense?” Rebecca asked, hoping to cleanse the air.
“Um, sure.”
Ginny didn’t look thrilled about the idea, but Rebecca lit it anyway.
“Okay, so the thing is, there’s what Joey did, and then there’s the creepy thing.”
Rebecca glanced at Angel to make sure he was filming. He flashed her a thumbs up. “Go ahead,” she said.
“Last night after dark, after Joey was in bed sleeping—or so I thought, I looked out the front room window across the street. Mrs. Radkey was standing in her yard with her hands on her hips and her hair in curlers. I didn’t think anyone still wore curlers or that Mrs. Radkey had anyone to curl her hair for, but that’s beside the point.”
“What was she doing exactly?” Rebecca didn’t see how the story was important.
“She was staring. Just staring at something along the side of my house. Of course I ran outside to see what was there.” Ginny looked at the wall.
“What was it?”
“I stormed out and sprinted to the side of the house. There, just around the corner was my son…playing with matches—not just playing with them. He was trying to set the house on fire.”
“Oh my gosh.”
“I know, right? Anyway, I grabbed him hard and I scolded him bad. I even spanked him. It’s the only time I’ve ever spanked him in public. But he looked so…lost, so confused. It was like he’d been sleepwalking. I was still angry and put him to bed.”
“What about Radkey?” Rebecca asked.
“By the time I’d taken Joey back inside the house, she’d disappeared, presumably back into her house. I’m telling you though. She was watching him the entire time. Staring as though she’d known what Joey was doing. Something’s wrong over in that Radkey house.”
Rebecca could feel it. She had felt somet
hing drawing her attention there the prior night. Talking to Radkey earlier in the day had creeped her out.
“Joey was raised better than that. He’s a sweet boy, but he’s been radically different since his dad died.”
“Aw, his dad passed.” Rebecca said.
“What happened?” Angel asked.
Ginny looked composed as she said it. “Seven months ago, my—I mean Joey’s dad committed suicide.”
8:37 PM - Sashza
Bryce hadn’t called and by now, she was sure he wouldn’t call. And that was that for Rosewood. She was done with it. Solve the mystery or not, release the spirits or not, she wasn’t even going to tell him what else had come to her. Bryce Finman wasn’t interested in anything but ratings anyway. She knew that. It used to bother her, but accepting reality had its own reward. Accepting the reality of what the Demon Hunters really were, a television show and nothing more, allowed her to focus on her private practice. Her private clients who, once fame had been established on the show, were willing to pay three and four times what they were before she was “famous.” It was for her, the end justifying the means. Sashza wished to begin a series of operations which would transform her from what she had been created as, to what she knew at heart she was meant to be.
But these visions, or “after-visions” as she’d come to refer to them, were like nightmares with tentacles attached to her soul. She couldn’t shake the thoughts or the memories of the little girl. Amelia was her name. Had something from her psychic reading at Rosewood stowed away in her subconscious? Had it been ported home with her? She wondered if anguish over having been denied a female childhood had attracted something in Rosewood’s haunted residue. Memories, although not Sashza’s memories, had lapped over her throughout the day like bathwater slowly turning cold and cloudy.
“No,” Boy had said, looking up, “this is my place.”
That one caused her to shiver every time it came back. Not so much what he said, but how he’d said it. Not so much the icy resolve in his eyes, but the hate that lay just behind it. Not so much who he had been in life, but what she sensed he had become—was becoming in death.
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