A Cold Tomorrow

by Mae Clair

  Caden stepped closer to the wall. “Burning?”

  The heat of her gaze was almost tangible on his back. “You don’t believe me. You think I’m as insane as my residents.”

  “I never said that.” He fingered the nearest square of paper. Clean, no residue. He bent to study the floor, then kicked the baseboard. Solid. “Did you have anything to drink last night?”

  “Sergeant Flynn!”

  “I don’t mean alcohol.” Hands on hips, he turned to face her. “Water. Tea. Soda. Is it possible someone slipped a hallucinogenic into your drink without your knowledge?”

  She pressed her lips together. “No, it is not possible, and no, I didn’t have anything to drink.”

  “All right.” That thread was going nowhere. “What about this drawing?” He jabbed a thumb at Parker’s life-sized puzzle. “My guess is this isn’t something the average patient pieces together. Does it mean anything to you?

  Her posture was stiff. “I’m fairly certain I know who it represents.”

  “Who?”

  “Indrid Cold.”

  The name meant nothing to him. He shrugged. “Someone he knows?”

  “According to Parker, Indrid Cold is someone he met during a moment of great significance.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the event, Sergeant. I’m referring to the night Parker killed Hank Jeffries, and you shot Parker in retaliation.”

  * * * *

  Caden walked into the sheriff’s office to find Ryan camped at his desk, his forehead cupped in his hands as he studied an open file folder. Overall, the room was subdued, only two deputies on duty, both engrossed in paperwork. If the quiet held, the station might eke through the morning without the usual burst of paranormal rumors stirring the pot.

  “You look as disgusted as I feel.” Caden looped his jacket over the back of his chair.

  “Huh?” Ryan glanced up. It took a second or two for him to focus; then his mouth flattened in a grimace. “I’ve got a license plate with no history.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Remember that van I told you about? The one outside Katie’s house?”

  “The one you think belongs to Lyle?”

  “Yeah.” Ryan swiped a pencil from a cup holder at his elbow. He rapped the eraser against the folder. “It was back last night, only this time Katie got the tag number.”

  “And?”

  Ryan waved a hand over an innocuous-looking paper. “According to the DMV, it doesn’t exist.”

  “Maybe she was off a digit.”

  “I thought of that, but she seemed certain. And even if I buy that theory, there’s nothing remotely close in the sequence she gave me.”

  “Huh.” Caden dropped into his chair. “Bogus tag?”

  “Looks that way. How about you?”

  “I just left West Central.”

  “Yeah, I heard about Parker.” Ryan tossed the pencil onto the folder and linked his hands over his stomach. “The guys in the lab have been going over the film from the security cameras all morning.”

  “Anything?”

  “No go. I had a look myself. The hallway and exterior cameras didn’t pick up a thing.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Based on what we’ve got, Parker never left his room.”

  “What about the ceiling? Or the windows?”

  “The ceiling is solid, and you’ve seen the windows. No way to get through them. Besides, they’re rigged with an alarm in the event of a breach.”

  “Maybe the film was tampered with.”

  “Possible, but it doesn’t look that way. Looks like our boy vanished into thin air.”

  “Great.” More weird shit. “Did anyone talk to Floyd?”

  “Pete had him in earlier for questioning. Said he was home all night, and didn’t know anything about it.”

  If Pete had questioned Parker’s father, the interview would have been thorough. The sheriff was friendly with most everyone in town, but took his job too seriously to let camaraderie interfere.

  “I kind of believe Floyd.” Caden wished it weren’t the case. With him out of the picture there wasn’t anyone left with a motive to aid Parker.

  Ryan looked surprised. “What?”

  “Nothing against Floyd, but he doesn’t have it together enough to break his son out of West Central. And, more than that, why now? Parker’s been there for two years. According to Nurse Brenner and the doctors I spoke with today, he was a model patient. Why decide to make a run for it all of a sudden?”

  Ryan tugged on his bottom lip.

  Caden could see the wheels spinning in his head. It was how they worked best, bouncing thoughts back and forth in a ping-pong match of ideas.

  “His life was routine,” Ryan said. “Same schedule day in, day out with no complaints.”

  “Same visitors too. Except for me and you.”

  “And Jerome Kelly.”

  The single wild card in the scenario. “Sure wish I knew what they talked about during those fourteen minutes when Jerome visited.”

  “I might have something on that later today.” Ryan flipped the folder closed, abandoning the DMV report.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Katie has something she wants me to see. Some kind of paper she found in her jacket.”

  “What’s that have to do with Jerome?”

  “She gave the jacket to Jerome the night she found him off the road. He kept complaining he was cold.” Ryan paused, giving him a chance to connect the dots. “She thinks he slipped the note inside.”

  “Cold, huh?” Caden rubbed his forehead. His thoughts spiraled back to the odd image taped to the hospital wall. How long had it taken Parker to create that life-size drawing and why had he bothered? “Does the name Indrid Cold mean anything to you?”

  “No. Should it?”

  “According to Nurse Brenner, it’s someone Parker talked about a lot.”

  Ryan leaned forward. “So let’s run him through the database and see what it kicks back.”

  “I’ve got a feeling it’s going to be a waste of time.”

  “Why?”

  “Because according to Parker, Indrid Cold lives on a planet called Lanulos.”

  Chapter 8

  Katie was delighted when Ryan accepted her spur-of-the-moment dinner invitation. She’d half expected him to blow her off when she phoned and suggested they chat about Jerome and the van over pasta. A pitiful offer, but he’d seemed pleased. Maybe Eve and Sarah were right, and there was the chance of something more than friendship between them.

  Trying not to read too much into their “date,” she rushed through work, then swung by a department store in Gallipolis to pick up a Halloween costume for Sam. He’d finally decided on trick-or-treating as Luke Skywalker. At home, Katie showered, changed into jeans and a sweater, then scraped her hair into a ponytail. No one would ever accuse her of being a glamour queen, but at least she didn’t spend an hour in the bathroom fussing with hair gels.

  By the time Ryan arrived, she had dinner almost ready. Ten minutes later, they sat down to a meal of rigatoni, tossed green salad, and Italian bread in her dining room. Ryan brought a bottle of Cabernet, but she only had a little, the memory of Eve’s sleepover still too fresh.

  “Have you heard anything more on Jerome?” she asked.

  Ryan speared the last of his pasta with his fork. “I got an update this morning. No change. I’d pay money to know what he and Parker talked about.”

  Katie had heard the news about Parker’s disappearance from Jack Devon at the hotel. The cook and a few others were already speculating Floyd had to be involved. Although, if you talked to one of the Bradley brothers, you were more likely to hear the Mothman was responsible. Someone had even started a rumor the “spaceman” Parker had been in communication with for the last two years had broken him out of West Central.

  According to Floyd, the alien even had a name—Ind
rid Cold. Floyd told Shawn Preech, who’d told Martin Ward, who’d told Jack that his kid had drawn a life-size picture of the UFOnaut—what Parker called him—and taped it to his wall at the hospital. Katie had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before Cold was blamed for everything from stirring up the Mothman to the dog disappearances, cattle deaths, and the glut of “star shit” in Chester Wilson’s farm field.

  Sighing, she rubbed two fingers against her temple. Lately, there were too many bizarre happenings to track. Toss in the fact she’d only recently remembered she’d been witness to a UFO, and what more was likely to materialize? “What about the license plate number I gave you?” At least that was something concrete.

  “Sorry.” Looking uncomfortable, Ryan set his fork aside. “It came back without a match.”

  “But I know I got it right.” Her eyesight was good, and despite the darkness, she’d seen the van clearly. This time she’d even gotten the make and model.

  “It’s not that I don’t believe you, but the DMV says it doesn’t exist. The plate was probably doctored.”

  “Great. Now what?” Disgusted, she slumped in her chair. “If Lyle is playing games, I wish he’d quit creeping around and own up to them. I’m worried about Sam.”

  “I know. I am too.” He hesitated a moment. “I did some fishing around today and drove over to Darrell’s place.”

  “Oh?” A flicker of warmth passed through her. Maybe the plate was a dead end, but Ryan hadn’t dropped the idea entirely. She was touched he’d go to the extra trouble. Best not to dwell on how touched. “What did Darrell say?”

  Ryan frowned. “Nothing I didn’t expect. He denied knowing Lyle was in town. Said he hadn’t seen or heard from him.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. He didn’t seem like he was lying, but it’s hard to say. I told him to get in touch with me if Lyle showed up. He seemed okay with that, then asked about the dog disappearances. He’s been talking to Shawn and Suzanne Preech.” He shot her a glance that seemed to suggest she might not be overly fond of Suzanne.

  It was hard to warm up to someone who hadn’t outgrown the high school mentality of slinging mud behind your back.

  Katie kept her expression neutral. “I heard their dog, Duke, disappeared.”

  Ryan nodded. “Darrell said he saw some kind of weird light in the sky the night Duke took off. He seemed more interested in that than Lyle.” He shook his head. “There’s too much weird shi—stuff going around town these days.”

  His swift correction made her smile. It was sweet he tried to temper his language for her.

  “I want to show you the note I found. It’s pretty weird too. But first I want to clean up the kitchen.” She stood, picking up her plate. “Why don’t you watch TV in the living room until I’m done?”

  “I’ll help.” Ryan began gathering the silverware.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I know I don’t, but I don’t mind. I’m used to helping my mom.”

  She followed him into the kitchen, both of them carting dishware. “How is your mom doing?”

  “Really good these days.” Ryan set the flatware in the sink.

  Mrs. Flynn lived with him in the family home, the property located beside Eve’s. Last year through “conversations” Mrs. Flynn had with Ryan’s dead sister, Maggie, she’d been able to tell them where to find Wendy’s remains. Katie didn’t know Ryan’s mother well, but was forever grateful for her part in bringing Wendy’s killer to justice.

  “The difference in her behavior from last year to now is night and day,” Ryan continued. “My mom’s no longer hung up on the past and Maggie’s death. I could move out and get my own place, but she says the house is too big for her.”

  Katie had no such issues, her two bedroom rancher just over eleven hundred square feet. On the small side, it was enough for her and Sam, and the mortgage was manageable.

  They continued to chat while they cleaned up the kitchen, then retreated to the living room with coffee and apple pie. Katie waited until Ryan had finished his dessert before retrieving the scrap of paper she’d found in her jacket. Sitting next to him on the couch, she passed him the slip.

  “What do you make of this? I certainly didn’t write it.”

  Ryan took the paper, frowning at an indecipherable scrawl of numbers. He flipped it over once, then dropped the scrap on the coffee table with the writing face-up. “It looks like gibberish.”

  “Jerome must have written it. Probably when he was with Parker at West Central.” That was important.

  “Maybe.” Ryan took a moment to kick the thought around. “You gave Jerome your jacket because he was cold?”

  “Yes.” Something niggled at the back of her mind. Swinging to face him, she bumped her knee against his. “Now that I think of it, he never actually said ‘I’m cold.’ He just kept repeating the word ‘cold.’” She paused before leapfrogging ahead. “And he’d just come from seeing Parker….”

  “Who we know talked about Indrid Cold.” Ryan finished the thought.

  Or course. Connecting the dots made sense. And if she dug deeper, Sarah’s Ouija board had spelled out C-O-L-D the night they’d gotten together with Eve. What if the common tie between everything that happened was Parker’s imaginary spaceman? With all of his conspiracy theories and UFO fanaticism, Jerome would have bought into anything Parker shared about Cold. Unfortunately, of the two people who might know what the scribbled message meant, one was missing and the other was in a coma.

  “And you were never able to find out anything about Deputy Brown. He had to be an imposter.” She was starting to sound—even think—like Jerome. “What if he was after the message?”

  According to UFO Stories and Sightings, organizations connected to UFOs sometimes had people pose as law enforcement officers or government officials. Usually it was to track someone of interest—Jerome?—especially if they thought that person had stumbled across an element of value. Could it be Deputy Brown was one of those? Someone who’d been assigned to watch Parker and feared he’d passed something critical on to Jerome? The book said others who’d encountered mysterious “shadow” officers were rarely able to remember them. The imposters used a type of instant hypnosis that was performed on their victims without the person’s awareness. Probably why she couldn’t recall a single feature of Deputy Brown’s face.

  Her attention returned to the scrap of paper on the table. It didn’t look like much, random numbers strung in a senseless order:

  11223344556677889900223344556677889900

  33445566778899004455667788990055667788

  99006677889900103123415677889900889900

  99000011223344556677889900223344556677

  88990033445566778899004455667788990055

  66778899006677889900778899008899009900

  The more she studied the sequence, the more Katie grew convinced the digits had to mean something.

  “It must be a code of some sort.”

  “Possibly.” Ryan picked up the paper, studying the numeric jumble. Half of his face lay in shadow, making his expression grim. “But if this note originated with Parker, it might be exactly what it looks like. Garbage.”

  “I don’t think so.” Apprehension crept up her spine. If Deputy Brown had been after the code, she could have easily ended up in a coma instead of Jerome. Plagued by a shiver of vulnerability, she reminded herself Brown didn’t know she had it or where she lived. “So what do we do now?”

  Ryan tucked the paper into his pocket. “Let me hang on to this for a while. I’ll run it by Parker’s doctors at West Central. It might be some kind of made-up language only he understood.”

  Along with Indrid Cold.

  She bit the inside of her cheek. If Parker believed Cold talked to him through the radio, then it was possible he’d created his own fantasy language to converse with the alien. In that case, it probably really was nothing. Except Jerome was in a coma,
and a sheriff’s deputy who didn’t exist might have put him there.

  Tapping a finger against her knee, she thought back to the night she’d spent with Eve and Sarah. Cold’s wasn’t the only identity the Ouija board had delivered. “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone with the initials QM, would you?”

  “QM?” Ryan gave a short laugh. “Afraid not, but then ‘Q’ isn’t that common. I think I’d remember. Why?”

  In light of everything that had happened, adding a Ouija board to the mix didn’t seem so farfetched. Plunging ahead, she told him about her night with Eve and Sarah, then went further and shared the UFO experience she’d had as a child. Afterward, she held her breath, waiting for his reaction.

  He didn’t scoff, but a hint of skepticism lingered in his gaze. Of her small circle of friends, he’d always been the most cynical when it came to the paranormal. An odd outlook, considering his brother carried a branded mark from the Mothman.

  “It’s a lot to absorb, Katie.”

  Her heart deflated. “You don’t believe me.”

  “Of course I believe you.” He took her hand as if to cement his trust. “You think you saw something as a kid. There’s no question of that. I just don’t understand why you suppressed it all this time.”

  “I don’t, either.” She wrapped her fingers around his. At least he hadn’t called her crazy, or belittled her for playing with a Ouija board. Eve and Sarah and their silly ideas. And yet their silly ideas had identified Cold—and QM. Whoever that turned out to be. “Thanks for listening to me.”

  His lips curved in a small smile. “No thanks needed.” Reaching forward, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

  It had worked loose from her ponytail some time ago. Given the hour, her makeup had probably dulled, too, steamed away by the boiling pasta water she’d used for dinner.