She looked up at him. “Whoever it was—he was inside my room, waiting. That scares the hell out of me.”
“You’re staying here from now on,” he said firmly.
Kyle said nothing. She couldn’t shake the image from her mind; that reflection in the mirror, the way he stood there, gaping at her. So calm. So creepy.
“Did you get a chance to see his face?”
“Not really.” She shifted nervously, sipped the tea, and then put the cup back on the table. Her hands were still shaking. “It was dark in that corner of the room. I couldn’t see much.”
“Was there anything you could make out about him? Anything at all?”
Kyle tried to think, then shook her head with a frown. “He slipped away so fast. By the time I got to the door, he was already taking off out of the parking lot.”
“Wait a minute … you saw the vehicle?”
“Not much of it.”
“How much?”
She shrugged. “Just the back end.”
“He wasn’t driving a white van by any chance, was he?”
Kyle looked up at him suddenly. Her face went blank.
Chapter Seventy-Five
6623 Hunter’s Run
Faith, New Mexico
“This isn’t the first time I’ve heard about them,” Cameron told Kyle.
“Them?” she asked. “There are others?”
“Yeah. At least two.”
“Who are they?”
Cameron frowned, shook his head. “I don’t know much, really, other than a few people have seen them in town, too. Sounds like they’re looking for something.”
“Where have they been seen?”
“Judith Hedrick’s shop, for one. And they were over at the Foley place, as well.” He thought for a moment. “That seems to be ground zero. It’s like that place is holding the secret to what’s been happening here, like I keep being led back there.”
“Bethany,” Kyle said, suddenly.
“What?”
“She’s orchestrating all this, has been from the start. She’s the catalyst.”
“So what’s the connection?”
“She piloted me here—literally—from hundreds of miles away. She’s trying to tell me what’s been happening.” Kyle’s voice softened. “So frightened.”
“Who?”
“Her … The way she would come and go. The information came in tiny spurts at first. I thought she was playing games—you know, the way children do, but it wasn’t that at all.”
“What was it?”
“She was scared.”
“Of what?”
“I don’t know. It’s like she’s been running—running from what happened.” Her voice trailed off and she looked at Cameron for a moment, then her eyes opened wide. “That’s it! That’s what it is! She wants to clear her brother!”
Cameron shook his head. “Can’t be.”
Kyle looked up at him, puzzled. “Why not?”
“Because there’s no question: he definitely did it.”
“Yeah, but we don’t know why. Don’t you see? She’s been trying to tell me all along—the dreams, the images, everything. They tell the story. It’s all starting to make sense!”
“So what’s the story?”
“Sorry. Can’t help you there. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Bethany, it’s that you can’t rush her. She controls the flow of information. She decides when and how … and only when she feels safe.”
Chapter Seventy-Six
1500 Block of Gentry Street
Faith, New Mexico
“Unit one.”
“This is unit one.”
“Receiving a report of a domestic disturbance at 2244 Hathaway Street. Stanley Gilchrest residence. Neighbors report subject holding wife and kids hostage inside the house, threatening to…”
(Static)
“You’re breaking up. I copied, subject inside house. 10-9?”
“Subject is holding a rifle—I repeat—holding a rife and threatening to kill his family. You copy?”
(Pause)
“You copy, sheriff?”
“Holy sh….”
(Static)
“Yes, yes…copy. Send backups to the scene, but tell them do not attempt entry into the residence—I repeat—do not attempt to enter that house until I get there. Under no circumstances … is that clear? Do you copy?”
“Copy, sheriff, do not enter the house. Affirmative. What’s your twenty?”
“Gentry and First, about three minutes away.”
“Copy. Gentry and first. Three minutes away.”
(Static)
“Unit one, come in.”
(Audible sigh) “This is unit one. What is it?”
“Got another one.”
“Another what?”
“Call … this one’s on Fairhaven.”
“WHAT? What’s happening on Fairhaven now?”
“Assault”
“An Assault?”
“Female victim. Beaten and raped in the back alley. Behind the drug store.”
(Pause)
“Sheriff? You still there?”
“The drug st…. (Brief pause) …What in God’s name’s going on?”
“Don’t know, but victim’s no longer at the scene. Been transported to Faith Community.”
“Continuing on to….”
(Unintelligible)
“You’re breaking up, Sheriff, can you 10-9?”
“I said, continuing on to Gilchrest residence. Send a unit to secure the Fairhaven scene…another to the hospital—if you can find someone—I’ll get there whenever I can. Do you copy?”
“Yeah, copy. Heading on to Gilchrest residence. Sending a unit to Fairhaven to secure the scene, another to the hospital.”
“Affirmative. Affirmative. Anything else going on I need to know about?
“Negative. Not yet.”
“It’s the ‘not yet’ that worries me. Over.”
“Copy that, sheriff.”
Chapter Seventy-Seven
2244 Hathaway Street
Faith, New Mexico
Stanley Gilchrest had fled the scene by the time Cameron arrived, leaving behind a much-shaken—but nevertheless alive—wife and kids.
Cameron sat in his squad car taking notes with the door open, one foot inside, the other out, and feeling as if he had a foothold on hell.
A short time later, Frank arrived, apparently roused from the comforts of home wearing torn gray sweatpants, an Arizona State ball cap, and a yellow T-shirt with the words: In my world, you don’t exist written across the chest. Classic Frank. He walked up to the passenger window, poked his head inside, and scowled. “Armageddon. Fucking Armageddon.”
Cameron gazed up from his notes to make eye contact for a moment, then looked back down and continued writing. “Gilchrest’s gone. Took off just before I got here.”
“Anybody out looking for him?”
Cameron looked up again, this time shooting him a what-do-you-think sort of expression.
“Can’t take anything for granted anymore,” Frank said, crossing his arms and looking around at the crime scene. Then he looked in on Cameron. “What about at the hospital, the other victim?”
“Christina Hawkins,” Cameron said, “Raped, beaten, stabbed … and dead. We lost her en route to the hospital.”
“Never made it.”
“Never stood a chance.” Cameron replied. “She was in bad shape.”
Frank opened the door and got in. He stared out at the scene for a moment, then at Cameron. “So tell me. How come Gilchrest didn’t kill his family?”
“Oh, he tried, ‘cept the neighbor, Sam Johnson, put a stop to it. Cowboy style. Ran inside firing off shots with his rifle. Stanley tried to shoot back but couldn’t match the firepower.” Cameron nodded toward the house. “Took off out the back door.”
“Idiot. Who the hell told him to go play Rambo?”
“He cast himself in the role,” Cameron said. “A l
ittle sooner and I probably could have gotten things under control, and got Stanley into custody. Now he’s running around town, gun and all.”
“Or someplace else,” Frank said. He opened the glove box and started rifling through. “Put a call out to everywhere within a fifty-mile radius of here. Make sure they’re on the lookout for him. We need to cover our bets in case he’s headed out of town.”
“Already took care of it.”
“Good,” said Frank, continuing his search of the glove compartment.
Cameron watched with bothered interest. “Something I can help you with there?”
Frank pulled out a wad of papers, tossed it onto the floor. “Antacid. I need an antacid.”
A thought crossed Cameron’s mind, then, a shadow of apprehension seemed to follow. Frank looked up and noticed. “Don’t worry … it’s not ulcers—it’s heartburn.”
“Wasn’t thinking about that. Was thinking about something else.”
“What’s that?”
“Christina Hawkins.”
“What about her?”
“Not just her … how she was raped. How she was killed.”
“Beat the hell out of her … right?”
“Yeah. Did that. But didn’t stop there.”
Frank shook his head.
Cameron looked at Frank for a good ten seconds before he spoke. “After he smashed in her face, and after he snapped her neck in two, then he went on to rape her. But just raping her—at least in a conventional manner— apparently wasn’t enough…”
“I don’t—”
He used a knife … to penetrate her.”
Frank shook his head, seemed to draw a blank. “What the hell kind of sick fuck…?”
“Don’t have to tell you what that did to her insides … sure you can imagine.”
Frank said nothing after that. He didn’t have to.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
6623 Hunter’s Run
Faith, New Mexico
Kyle went to bed, her mind feeling like a windmill set on high speed and spinning out of control. Faith was coming apart, seams and all.
She needed Bethany’s help, and she needed it fast.
Kyle turned off the lamp beside the bed and laid her head on the pillow. In her mind, she tried to create vibrations, hoping to attract the little girl—hoping to get the information she so desperately needed.
Within minutes, sleep came.
And for the first time since this all had started, so did her dreams, at the perfect moment.
A familiar, bright, and over-lit hallway, almost blinding, and a nurse moving a patient. Roughly. She pushed the gurney, racing around the corner so quickly that the patient nearly slid right off, his legs flopping to one side as they made the sharp turn. A quick shift in direction corrected the problem, sliding him the other way. He let out a sorrowful moan, but his face revealed no emotion, remaining expressionless, vacant.
The nurse gripped onto the metal handles with small, bony hands, barely able to reach around them. Her leathery skin drew tight over protruding knuckles and gnarled blue veins that resembled shiny fish scales.
She kept her speed, slamming the gurney into, and through, two swinging, stainless steel doors. Metal crashed against metal, producing a deafening sound. The patient reacted with a violent jerk but did nothing else. To the right of the doors hung a sign: 5TH Floor Subjugation Unit.
The nurse moved into a room filled with doctors and even more nurses—a sea of white coats and vacant expressions. Kyle recognized the scene. Lewison, she thought, from her earlier vision, the one they had “parked.” He’s next.
They transferred him onto a shiny metal table. One of the doctors reached above and pulled down the hinged metal arm with the domed light. Someone flicked a switch and a giant burst of light exploded, covering the room like a neon blanket. Although the patient was looking up into the lamp, he didn’t seem the least bit affected by its blinding intensity. The pupils remained dilated—and dark.
Another nurse entered, rolling in a small and flimsy metal cart. On it, lying across a blue paper towel was a syringe filled with a brownish-colored liquid. A small wet circle formed just below the tip of the needle where some had leaked out, expanding as it absorbed into the towel.
Almost like a choreographed dance, three nurses stepped forward. They each tightened one of three heavy leather straps across the man’s chest, stomach, and legs. The one going across his stomach also bound his arms against his sides. The flesh beneath the straps ballooned along the edges, turning it bright pink; still, the patient showed no reaction, staring into the light above him, expressionless.
The nurse grabbed the syringe and held it up to the glaring light, which transformed it into a brilliant amber color. As she pushed up from the bottom, a tiny, liquefied ball began to extrude from the long slender tip. Lowering it down, eyes glued to the spit-sharp needle, she pressed the point against the skin on his arm where it plunged, deeply, disappearing into flesh. The liquid inside the syringe slowly descended downward until gone.
At first, the man showed no outward reaction.
Then everything changed.
The patient went from impassive and lifeless to an acute state of hyper-awareness. The pupils began to shrink, his eyes regaining their color, their resilience. Color returned to his face as well, and tiny beads of sweat began squeezing through his pores, growing large, then inching down his skin like raindrops sliding along a windshield.
He began to twitch.
Then, as if some external forced had grabbed hold of his body, he started jerking back and forth, rocking the table, and causing the legs beneath to skip off the floor.
One of the nurses stepped back. The patient looked up, locking eyes with her, and in that instant, he suddenly stopped moving.
Then something happened, something Kyle didn’t expect: a smile. A horrible one.
An orderly stepped forward, but he seemed to know better, avoiding eye contact with the subject. He raised his hands just above his head and slapped them together, forming a tight fist. Then, he threw them down onto the patient’s chest with a force so powerful it produced a deep, hollow thump that reverberated throughout the room.
The patient let out an intense, gut-wrenching howl that resonated.
The orderly looked over at the doctor, who nodded back at him with a restrained, approving smile. He smiled back.
Through all this, Kyle stood in the corner of the room watching everything unfold. Then, suddenly, she felt her head move to the right at a speed that did not feel natural, as if being directed toward a specific spot, to an open doorway.
Bethany appeared on the other side. She walked through it and right up to Kyle. The little girl stood for a few moments, staring, saying nothing, her expression vacant and dreary.
Without warning, the little girl opened her mouth, and a thick, muddy sludge poured out, splattering as it hit the floor, then sailing up through the air. It was the same color Kyle had seen swirling in the small child’s eyes—that putrid, greenish color. It looked like mud, and the smell was thick and foul. The sludge continued to pour from Bethany’s mouth, and Kyle could feel it oozing around her feet, warm and wet.
“What?” she pleaded with the girl, disgusted by the thick, slimy mess now crawling between her bare toes. “What is it? Tell me! Please tell me!”
Bethany stared up toward the ceiling.
Kyle looked up too, then back at the girl, shaking her head quickly, confused by the gesture.
Bethany revealed a hint of a smile, then nodded and said, “Look up.”
The girl turned around and began walking away.
“Look up?” Kyle shouted out to her. “Look up where?” Kyle had, but all she’d seen was the broad, empty ceiling.
Bethany turned around. “Today is the last day. The deadline is now.”
“I don’t understand!” Kyle shouted back, although it sounded more like a plea for help.
Bethany turned back around and kept walkin
g. When she got to the doorway, she went through it, disappearing upon reaching the other side.
Kyle didn’t know why, but she had a strong feeling this was the last time she would ever see Bethany Foley.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
6623 Hunter’s Run
Faith, New Mexico
The next morning, the first thing Kyle did was reach for her notepad. The dream had jolted her awake in the middle of the night, and she’d spent at least an hour taking notes, describing as many details as she could recall. Bethany had come through for her with the information; now all she had to do was figure out what it meant.
5th floor subjugation unit. She thought about the words, ran the definition through her mind: it meant to bring under control, to make submissive.
She looked up and stared at the wall. Submissive? Control? Was that what this was all about? Some sort of mind control? She remembered the groans she’d heard coming from behind locked doors. Had she been wandering through some kind of human storage facility for those trapped inside themselves, people in some sort of vegetative, non-responsive state?
She remembered the orderly, how he’d slammed his fist down so hard onto the patient’s chest. The sound it made was horrific. The subject responded to it with a harsh moan, but only after getting the injection. Was it some kind of test to measure the patient’s responsiveness?
And what about that shot? He’d reacted violently to it, even began to shake and writhe. It was as if he’d started coming back to life, going from unresponsive and catatonic, to awake and explosive. He’d frightened the nurse just by smiling at her, and for a brief moment, it appeared that he had turned the tables, making her the submissive one. Even while bound by the heavy leather straps, he was still able to strike fear in her.
It was the smile: that menacing, eerie smile.
A switch went on in Kyle’s head. She remembered her earlier dreams, about the violence, the blood. That syringe with the brown liquid. Something in it must have been powerful enough to alter the patient’s mental state. She’d seen it before, once during that dreadful blood match, and again, when all the patients got loose, killing each other, as well as the medical staff. They all had that same intense look in their eyes.
While the Savage Sleeps Page 24
