by Jaime Reed
Speechless, I returned to the workstation with a fresh batch of anger and paranoia. Nadine’s consoling hand on my shoulder only solidified that everything was far from all right.
25
An hour later, Caleb returned to the café and conducted his own examination.
He checked my pulse; made me follow his finger, along with light and reflex tests. He all but whipped out a Breathalyzer to prove I wasn’t under the influence of Big Daddy’s mojo.
Once satisfied, he pushed out a long breath. “I’m following you to the hospital tonight, just in case.”
“Just in case of what?”
“Just in case,” he repeated with a determination that seemed foreign.
Nadine paced behind us. “Have you called your brothers?”
“Yeah, Brodie’s catching a red-eye from London, so he should arrive tomorrow. Michael said he’s getting the first flight out, and he should be here no later than Monday.”
My head swung between them. “Guys, if you’re trying to freak me out, you’re doing a bang-up job.”
Caleb rubbed my arms. “I’m sorry, but we need to make sure your mother’s safe. That’s our top priority.”
“What did your dad talk to you about?” I asked.
“I’ll explain it tonight when we have more privacy.” He tilted his head, indicating the two dozen ears and eyes swarming the café. “Nadine and I will follow you to the hospital.”
“I gotta stop by the house and change first.”
“That’s fine. We go where you go.” His stern features told me that the decision was not merely a suggestion, but an undisputed fact.
After the store closed, I called Dad en route to the house and updated him about Mr. Ross. Omitting the otherworldly element of my suspicion, I provided enough reason for Dad to keep his eyes peeled. To my absolute horror, he told me that a man fitting Mr. Ross’s description tried to visit earlier today, but was denied because visiting hours were over. I almost crashed my car. He assured me that there was an abnormal number of police officers circling the hospital, probably courtesy of Caleb’s phone call, which brought my heart rate back to a reasonable pace.
As promised, Caleb and Nadine escorted me to the house. It was a good thing, too. Turning off the car engine, it then occurred to me how forsaken and sideshow-spooky my house looked with no inside lights. Holding a can of mace in hand, I crept toward the porch until the security lights brightened the lawn. Mom had spared no expense when it came to security. She had the interactive security service that called when stuff went down. The porch light afforded enough voltage to light Vegas for two days and blind any possible assailant.
Nadine entered the house and did a quick sweep of the second floor while Caleb searched downstairs. I stood against the front door, clutching my bag, and feeling the terror rise in the back of my throat. When Caleb returned, he motioned me to the living room and took a seat.
Sitting across from him, I cracked my knuckles. “Is this the part where you tell me what the hell is going on?”
“Where do I start?” he asked, more to himself than to his audience.
“Your dad.”
His weary eyes looked up at me. “How much time do you have?”
“As long as it takes.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he laid it all on the table. “Okay. My father is not in his right mind and very dangerous.”
“I figured that much, but what level of crazy are we working with here?” I asked.
He raked a hand through his hair. “Let me go back. It started around seven years ago when my mom was first diagnosed with cancer. There were a few signs then, but we were too focused on Mom to pay attention. When Mom died, he snapped, and a part of him died too. His spirit wasn’t going to let him get away with that, so it took over for a while. And that’s when the incidents began.”
I shifted in my seat. “Go on. You can’t be this foreboding without good reason.”
His gaze lowered to the floor when he continued. “Shortly after mom’s death, women in London were starting to disappear, as well as in Dublin. Their bodies were found days later, all dead from shock or heart failure. The coincidence was too uncanny, especially in those places. It was better than any fingerprint.”
“Why those cities?” Nadine asked, strolling around the living room and eyeing photos on the walls.
“My mom was from London, and they met in Dublin,” he replied. “He was reenacting the beginning of their relationship. Every one of his victims had curly brown hair and blue eyes, like my mom.”
Nadine stopped in front of the fireplace and picked up my baby picture. “Like fantasy role-playing?”
Caleb shrugged. “I’m just explaining the motive here. He’s going through a type of spiritual withdrawal. The emotions, the energy he had with mom were unique and potent, and it isn’t there anymore. His spirit recognized it as a good source of energy. Now dad feeds irregularly, and he doesn’t care if women die or not. He just knows he needs to soothe the loss. The spirit’s energy deficit on top of my dad’s own grief made him delusional. He thinks by finding women similar to Mom, it might pacify the need.”
“Can’t he use an alternative source of energy?” I asked. “You’ve been using sugar for years.”
Narrowed eyes shot in my direction. “And look how far that got me. We sustain by consuming human life energy. Just like me, he’s letting the spirit take over and binge, just to sate the ache. By the time we all figured out what was going on, he had already killed five women.”
I jumped. “Five!”
Nadine spun around, wearing a similar look of horror. “What do you mean already? As in that was just the beginning.”
“I only know about five,” Caleb admitted. “I have no idea what he’s done between the time I left and now.”
“Wait a minute. You’re telling me your dad is a psychotic serial killer who’s after my mom.” When Caleb nodded, I yelled, “And his ass isn’t in jail?”
“There’s no evidence that he was involved. All the autopsy reports prove is that the women suffered cardiac arrest. No charge would stick. Trust me, I’ve called the police several times.”
“So your dad just runs around free and clear?” I asked.
“He’s under suspicion. Detectives follow him, but they don’t have any solid evidence to convict him.”
I couldn’t believe this. How could he just let his dad continue to murder innocent women? Women like Mom.
“Why haven’t you done anything?” I yelled.
Caleb sat up straight, his face hard with indignation. “You think I haven’t? I’ve done everything in my power to put him away. I’ve taken him to mental wards, but they release him a week later.”
“Why?”
“From outside appearances, he’s quite sane; and as you realize, very persuasive with females. Have you noticed how many nurses, psychiatrists, and medical directors are women?”
My jaw dropped. “Omigod.”
“We’ve tried everything, we’ve drugged him, and we’ve put him on house arrest. My brothers take shifts staying with dad, making sure he’s cared for. Haden is more connected, more sympathetic to dad than the rest of us and spends the summer at his cottage in Brussels. Lately, Dad’s been asking for me specifically, needing to reacquaint our spirits, as required. But I couldn’t be anywhere near him. I haven’t returned his calls, and I usually delete his messages. He even sent Haden to come and find me, and we all know how well that turned out. Since they share a strong connection, dad tracked Haden to Virginia in order to find me, and he’s been here ever since. Three weeks, exactly.” Caleb stared at the opposite side of the room.
“He’s been biding his time, moving slow so not to rouse suspicion. He’s been following me, watching me at work... .” Caleb’s eyes, wide and haunted, latched to mine. “Watching me with you. He was there at the poetry meeting, and yet he couldn’t work up the courage to show himself.”
Using my fingers, I did a head count of the cas
ualties. “So, including the lady at the poetry reading, that’s six women total—that we know about. You’re dad has killed six women, and no one is doing shit about it. He’s really hell-bent on becoming a demon, isn’t he?”
Caleb blanched, then cut his eyes to Nadine.
Nadine returned the look, but with more hostility. “She shouldn’t be in the dark about us. Not now.”
In silent acquiescence, Caleb continued. “The transformation requires several lives to be consumed at once. The murders were spread too far apart for the energy to build up. The power that comes with it is addictive. As he gets stronger, so will his hunger. He’ll certainly reach his quota if not stopped.
“My father is beyond redemption. Before, he was consumed with grief, but at least he felt something remotely human. Now, he’s becoming what Cambions fear most, a creature of vice. But there’s a calculated method to his madness. He told me today how he met your mother with every intention of feeding, but he couldn’t do it right then. He wanted to take his time with her, play with his food. He’s made his pursuits a sport, singling out those who resemble mom.”
My stomach lurched. “You think he’s going to go after my mom again?”
The light and warmth behind his eyes was snuffed out. “I know he will.”
I pushed back the bile creeping up my throat. “Why?”
“She triggered a response in my dad that he hasn’t had since mom. He’s curious and hungry.”
“Curious?”
“The fact that your mother is still alive makes him curious. She must have had a hell of a resistance. She might be lonely, but she acts like you: guarded, sarcastic, no-nonsense. That’s kinda what drew me to you.”
My upper lip curled. “That’s gross.”
“It’s the thrill of the chase. And your mother sparked his interest. That’s all he would talk about today, but he slipped once and called her by my mom’s name. And then there’s you.”
I jumped. “What about me?”
He held me with a look that stopped my blood circulation. “He might go through you to get to his prize.”
Having heard enough, Nadine stood up, ready to take action. “How do we stop him?”
Caleb dropped his head into his hands. Curling his fingers into his hair, he said, “Keep Sam and her mother away from him until we can figure out what to do. He’s not full demon yet, so he can still be killed. That’s one advantage we have. And I plan to use it.”
I took a shower, hoping to wash away the past twenty-four hours. I’d never delved into such spirituality before, but this tiled cubicle became my temple, a place of peace with healing waters of absolution.
I should’ve left while I had the chance. As soon as Caleb told me what he was, I could’ve kicked his scrawny butt to the curb. No measure of stupidity could equal mine right now, and Mom would pay the price for my error.
It was easy to identify the irony in this situation. People hailed Samara Marshall as the last person to get into a relationship, and now, here I was, smack dab in the middle of the weirdest kind imaginable. If this summer’s events weren’t a reason to steer clear of guys, nothing was.
And my poor mother’s warnings and cautionary tales did nothing but make her another victim. There was a belief that one perpetuates one’s fears. The amount of energy and concentration invested in something will force it to manifest. The trick was to use that brainpower for good, yet it had clearly backfired on my mother.
I tried not to notice Mom’s shampoo and loofah on the shower rack. I couldn’t look at her monogrammed towel hanging on the door, or her toothbrush and contact solution on the sink. Caleb told me I would go through a stage of guilt, but no amount of forewarning could soften the blow.
Stepping out of the shower, I cataloged the little things that used to annoy me, how my perfume and conditioner would wind up missing, or how Mom used my bathroom instead of her own, or the eighties rock ballads that blared through the walls while she got dressed. This house was a three-dimensional postcard of my mother. Everywhere I turned was a relic of her existence, a shell with no life inside it. All good things must end, but this one just might take me with it.
Once dressed, I packed a bag while plotting an exit strategy. I was in over my head. School began in three weeks and a law degree waited in my future. My dream car sat in a dealership parking lot, calling my name. I had a family to protect, but all thoughts shot back to Caleb. I cared deeply for him; a part of me ached and feared for him, but not enough to throw my life away.
The knock on the door made me jump. “Who is it?”
“It’s me,” Caleb called through the door. “Are you decent?”
“No, but I’m dressed. Come in.”
Poking his head inside, he surveyed the war zone of my bedroom. “Wow, are there any bodies in here?”
“Not yet,” I grumbled. “What’s up?”
“My brother called while you were in the shower. He should be here some time tomorrow night, but he told us to start looking for hotels now. Brodie says dad likes the smaller inns, like bed-and-breakfasts or boarding houses. If we find him, we can find Haden. So after I take you to the hospital, Nadine and I are going to check around and ask if anyone’s seen him.”
“That’s fine, do what you gotta do.” Knowing it was a long shot, I still had to add, “In fact, I can go to the hospital by myself.”
He stepped closer and tipped his head to the side. “I really don’t want to argue about this. I promised to protect you and that’s exactly what I’ll do.”
“No offense, but that’s not gonna help me sleep at night, Mr. I-don’t-fight. And your judo classes just started.”
“I won’t need them if I have this.” Caleb lifted his shirt, exposing the butt of a handgun poking out of his pants.
Why wasn’t I surprised? This was the South; everyone and their mother owned a weapon. Since Mom practically raised me at the shooting range, my only concern was whether Cake Boy knew how to use the damn thing. Those who couldn’t fight were the first to whip out a gun.
Although, I had to admit, nothing said “back the hell up” like a loaded firearm, which was exactly what I did.
“Good luck getting that through the airport,” I quipped. “Where did you get that anyway?”
“Brodie gave it to me the last time he was stateside.” Watching my slow retreat, he dropped his shirt and hid the gun from view. “Don’t worry. I know how to use it.”
I wiped the imaginary sweat from my brow. “Phew, that’s a load off my mind. Too bad you didn’t use it today when your dad came into work.”
“It was locked in my car; I couldn’t get to it. My dad isn’t stupid. He wanted us to meet out in the open for a reason. I know you’re scared, but please trust me.”
I tumbled back, utterly blown away by his audacity. Squaring my shoulders, I let him have it. “Trust you? Are you serious? Since day one, you’ve been hiding the truth from me, and your communication skills suck! I know this isn’t something you want to alert the media about, and I appreciate you trying to save me from the ‘Big Bad,’ but giving your girlfriend a heads-up that your dad is a demonic psycho would’ve been ideal! I’ve seen enough weird shit this summer to dull me to whatever shock you might throw my way. And I’m still here with you, yet I barely know who you are, Mr. Baker—if that is your real name.” I jabbed a finger into his chest for good measure.
He caught my hand in his and held it to his heart. That firm yet gentle touch stopped the flow of venom from escaping my mouth.
His eyes shimmered on the brink of tears, but never shed a drop. Crying and heavy bursts of emotion seemed alien to him, like the many languages he couldn’t understand.
“Baker was my mother’s maiden name. I changed it once I turned eighteen in rebellion, and it made it harder for them to find me. And you know three main things about me that matter: I’m not like most people, I promised to protect you, even from myself, and that I’m in love with you. Everything else is gravy.”
The sound of the L word from his lips made my knees buckle, but I kept my resolve. I simply logged the sentiment away to review at a later date, a free time when people I cared about weren’t in mortal peril.
Taking my hand back, I grabbed my bag and threw it over my shoulder. “I don’t wanna talk about this now. I gotta go see my mom.”
He lowered his gaze to the floor and nodded. “But we will talk about it,” he vowed as I brushed past him to leave the room.
26
The sleepless night began once I entered the waiting room and caught the angry look on Dad’s face.
With language that would get him banned from his church, he revealed how Mr. Peter Marshall, otherwise known as Mr. Absentee-Grandpa, had graced the hospital with his presence. Ignoring Dad, Grandpa had thrown his weight and money around, as if he had a right after seventeen years of abandonment. When he insisted that Mom stay at his house to recuperate, Dad just about hit the ceiling.
The two went into a long-awaited scrap, bringing up two decades of animosity and making their personal business available to staff members and patients. Security intervened before the two men came to blows. Grandpa shot a parting threat to enforce legal action and some crap about power of attorney.
I was thankful for missing the fallout. I haven’t cussed anyone out in a good minute, and Grandpa was a perfect target to unleash my manner of hell. Once the nurse’s back turned, I snuck inside Mom’s room for five minutes, just to touch her and find physical evidence of her vitality.
She looked so fragile lying there, wrapped in tubes with monitors twittering away. The nurse had reported that Mom was coming in and out of consciousness, so I wasn’t too surprised when her eyes fluttered open. Attempting a smile that looked painful, she asked if I was okay. Even now, she worried about her baby, which brought another bout of tears.
The medicine made her a bit loopy, but that didn’t prepare me for the next question from her mouth. “Where’s Nathan? Is he all right?”
I had to shake myself out of the daze and reel in all composure. There was no proper response to that question, none that would prevent my admission into the loony bin. Recalling her reaction when Caleb first came to my house, I knew it was a lost cause to pitch a fit about Mr. Ross. I assured her that he was fine, and insisted that she get her rest.
