by A. I. Nasser
“I’m not saying he actually did it,” Adrian defended. “It’s just a little weird, that’s all.”
“Look into it, but quietly,” Jeffrey said. “See if he has any connections to the Lints.”
Adrian shrugged. “It’s only a theory, Sheriff, really. As much as I heard, the guy keeps to himself most of the time.”
Jeffrey turned to where he had last seen Kyle’s car disappear around the corner. “When did he come back?”
“Four years ago? Maybe five.”
Jeffrey thought back, trying to remember if there had been any other fires during the last five years, but nothing came to mind. Nothing as big as what had happened in the last twenty-four hours at least.
He turned back to Adrian. “Look into it anyway,” Jeffrey said. “It’s still a theory, and until we find Helen Lint, it’s the only thing we’ve got.”
Adrian dropped the cigarette and put it out with his foot. “On it,” he said as he walked past the Sheriff.
Jeffrey Gadge gazed at the charred library. This was definitely going to be a long autumn.
***
Kyle was out of the car before Aley had even put it into park.
She struggled with the keys, climbed out and locked the doors, then hurried after him. The Kent Country Inn looked like the typical charming New England home, but Aley had little time to admire it as she followed Kyle inside through the single door in the back patio.
They were instantly welcomed by the lush décor and the smell of freshly baked bread wafting out of the kitchen.
“Welcome to the Kent Country Inn.”
Aley turned just as a smiling blonde walked around a corner, drying her hands on a paper towel. She seemed to be in her early forties, her hair tied back in a tight ponytail, her blue eyes dazzling even in the dim light coming in through closed curtains. She seemed to fit right in.
“I’m Paula,” the woman said cheerfully. “Do you have a reservation?”
Aley turned to Kyle and raised an eyebrow questioningly.
“I’m actually here to meet someone,” Kyle stepped in, attempting to return Paula’s smile but failing miserably. Aley cringed at the constipated look on his face and the equally uncomfortable one on Paula’s, but was impressed at how well the woman was able to maintain her welcoming smile nonetheless.
“Connor Fegan,” Kyle said. “He said that he was staying here.”
Paula nodded, and Aley could see the woman visibly relax. She could only imagine what kind of impression Kyle left with his bloodshot eyes, disheveled hair and the smell of smoke coming from him.
“Mr. Fegan, of course. I’ll call him right away,” Paula chirped. “You can wait in the living room, if you’d like.”
Aley grabbed Kyle by the arm and pulled him towards the couches in the corner. Kyle slumped down next to her, feeling the couch wrap around him like a warm hug, and felt himself instantly relax. The tension in his shoulders began to ease, and his hands - which would not stop shaking since the fire - were finally lying still in his lap. All of a sudden, he felt like he desperately needed a drink. If he hadn’t been hell-bound on talking to Fegan, he probably would have asked Aley to take him to Kingsely’s instead. She would have probably tried to convince him to let her take him home, but he didn’t feel like he was up to dealing with the monsters under his bed right now.
Definitely not now.
“This is a cute place,” Aley said, admiring the beams above her head. “Very homey.”
Kyle glanced at where she was looking, was reminded of the beams that had once decorated his home back in California, and turned away quickly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes.
“Mr. Fegan will be down in a bit,” Paula said from behind her desk. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to smoke outside. We have a wonderful outdoor garden courtyard. I can send Mr. Fegan to you there.”
Kyle thanked her, got up, and made for the door. Aley sighed and followed.
The courtyard was a lot humbler than Paula had let on, but seemed to fit right in with the inn. The small fountain in the middle of what could only be described as a backyard, was surrounded by three benches and a picnic table. Without thinking, Kyle led them to the table and sat down, his eyes darting everywhere, almost as if he were looking for someone.
“It’s nice here,” Aley ventured, trying to catch Kyle’s eye and calm him down. He was on edge, and although she had no idea who this Fegan guy was, it seemed like it wouldn’t be in either’s best interest if Kyle didn’t at least try to get a grip on himself.
That’s stupid, you know that.
And she did. The sight of the burning library must have brought back some horrid memories, and Aley didn’t even want to imagine what was going through Kyle’s mind right now. Besides, Tracey being unaccounted for must have made things a lot worse. Deep down, she knew what that meant, and she didn’t need to read minds to know that Kyle understood it, too.
His mind is probably doing summersaults right now.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you home?” Aley asked, sitting opposite to him. “You can always come back later.”
“I’m sure.”
Aley sighed. “You’re in shock, you know that, right?”
“Being a doctor again?”
“Being a friend,” Aley replied.
Kyle turned to her, and the look in his eyes scared her a little. “I don’t need a friend right now,” he said. “I need to talk to Fegan.”
Aley was about to reply when his attention was grabbed by something over her shoulder, and she turned to see Connor Fegan exiting the inn and making his way towards them. The old man was dressed in black, a hat sitting comfortably on his head, a wide smile on his face.
“Mr. Ashfeld,” Fegan greeted. “I had a feeling you’d be visiting me today.”
***
Kyle didn’t waste time with formalities. Almost as soon as Fegan was within arm’s reach, he jumped up, grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt, and threw him down onto the table. Aley jumped up in surprise, shouting something incomprehensible.
“You did this, you bastard!” Kyle yelled in Fegan’s face. “I should be calling the cops right now if I didn’t want the chance to pound you myself!”
Fegan didn’t fight back, his hat strewn to a side and his hair out of place. But the smile remained, and despite Kyle’s threats, the old man was gently tapping his hands.
“Mr. Ashfeld, I suggest you let me go,” Fegan said. “Violence will not give you what you came here to find.”
“I already have what I came here for,” Kyle spat.
“I highly doubt that,” Fegan replied. “However, I do believe you have finally come to see the truth to what I was warning you about. You are not here for vengeance, Mr. Ashfeld, as misplaced as your anger may be. You are here for answers.”
“I’m pretty okay with breaking a few bones,” Kyle hissed.
“Kyle?” Aley tried to soothe him.
“Stay out of this,” Kyle shot at her. His gaze never left Fegan. “Did you do it? Did you burn it down? Did you know there was someone inside there? Tracey’s dead because of you, you sick bastard!”
“That is truly unfortunate,” Fegan said, wincing as Kyle slammed him down on the table again. “However, I assure you, I had nothing to do with the fires.”
Kyle frowned. “Fires?”
“There have been more than one, correct?” Fegan asked. “Surely you know that.”
Kyle squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back a ringing that was starting in the back of his head. “That’s not why I’m here.”
This time, it was Fegan’s turn to frown. “Mr. Ashfeld, do you honestly believe that both events are unrelated?” he asked. “I told you last night, it’s the witching hour. I warned you about this.”
“Kyle, what’s he talking about?” Aley asked, gently placing a hand on Kyle’s arm.
Kyle turned to her, the ringing now a shrill sound scorching through his head. He felt himself sway,
suddenly nauseated, and quickly let go of Fegan. He rushed a few steps away, fell to his knees and heaved. The taste of bile lingered in his mouth, and his throat screamed with residual acidity. He heaved again, this time his stomach clenching tight enough to make him feel like he was about to regurgitate his entire intestinal system. Aley fell to her knees beside him, a gentle hand on his back as she waited for him to catch his breath.
Kyle felt the world around him spin, his vision suddenly overwhelmed with red spots. He tried to blink them away, and it took him a few seconds before his body stopped shaking and he swallowed gulps of air. Aley grabbed his arm and helped him up, gently setting him down at the picnic table.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Kyle wanted to lie and say that he was, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He felt like crap, his temples throbbing and his head spinning. He looked up at Fegan, the older man now standing up straight, adjusting and dusting off his clothes.
“What did you do to me?” Kyle croaked.
Fegan picked up his hat, inspected it, and then set it back down on the table. “You give me more credit than I deserve, Mr. Ashfeld,” he said. “I can only assume that your body is reacting to the shock you have experienced.
“Bullshit,” Kyle whispered.
“Now, if it suits you, I would rather we discuss what you came here to discuss without further need for violence,” Fegan said. “We are, after all, civilized people, are we not?”
Kyle only glared at him, wishing his body would settle down and give him enough of a chance to really beat the old man. But he was exhausted, suddenly spent, and didn’t feel like he had the energy to do anything more than listen to Fegan’s craziness.
“What the hell is going on?” Aley asked, breaking through Kyle’s thoughts.
Fegan turned to her and smiled. “I am afraid I have yet to introduce myself,” he said. “My name is Connor Fegan, and I came to Kent to deliver a very important message to Mr. Ashfeld.”
“And what message is that?”
“That he has been called upon to stop the demons of the witching hour.”
“The who of the what now?”
Aley’s jaw dropped, and her eyes stared in clear disbelief at Fegan, who only chuckled in reply.
“My dear girl,” Fegan replied, “I would be lying if I told you I was surprised at your reaction. However, I believe Mr. Ashfeld can attest to what I am about to tell you.”
Kyle felt his stomach churn, and he winced. “Right now, I can only attest to how much I would love to shove my fist down your throat.”
Fegan nodded and sat down, stringing his fingers together. “I believe you,” he said. “But wouldn’t it be more beneficial if you listened to what I have to say without the urge to do me harm?”
“What the hell are the demons of the witching hour?” Aley asked, looking from Fegan to Kyle and back again.
“Six of the most terrible beings Hell has ever spawned,” Fegan replied. “The messengers of destruction, the harbingers of all devastation. Once every century, when the doors to Hell are weak enough to let them through, they escape and roam this earth, bringing with them nothing but suffering and catastrophe.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Kyle said, glaring at the old man. “He came to me last night, at the library, spewing his stories and expecting me to believe them.”
“They are not stories, Mr. Ashfeld,” Fegan said, shaking his head slowly. “I believe the events of last night and this afternoon are proof enough of that.”
“All these prove is that a stranger came to Kent,” Kyle said, turning so he was fully facing Fegan. “And since then, two fires have broken out. I think the Sheriff is going to have a ball with that.”
“By the time the Sheriff even begins to look for me, I will be gone,” Fegan said. “My work here is done. I have warned you, and what you choose to do with the information is now up to you. At the end of the day, Mr. Ashfeld, you are the Hand. Only you can stop them, and if you choose to do nothing, all the innocent souls that suffer because of your inaction – well, their blood will be on your hands.”
“The Hand?” Aley asked.
“The one human who can move between worlds,” Fegan replied. “The demons may possess a human host, but their true form hides in a parallel dimension, one that they create for themselves. Only there can the demons be destroyed, and only the Hand can move between this world and theirs.”
Kyle scoffed. “This is ridiculous,” he said, shaking his head. “Do you even hear what you’re saying? This fantasy you’re expecting us to believe, it’s not going to hide the fact that you’re nuts, and it’s definitely not going to get you out of arson.”
Fegan sighed and shrugged to Aley, almost apologetically. “This is never easy to hear, and it is true, people have often regarded these warnings as fictional tales of a madman. However, they are true. Tell me, Mr. Ashfeld, how are the nightmares?”
Kyle’s eyes widened. “What did you say?”
“The nightmares,” Fegan repeated. “The burning bodies, the demon that taunts you in your dreams. Will you deny those as well?”
Kyle shuddered, and the feeling of a cold hand gripping his spine and tugging violently shook him to his core. When he had first decided to confront Fegan, all he had wanted to do was beat a confession out of him. He was certain that the old man had had something to do with the fire at the library, and seeing him come out of the inn, all smiles and nonchalance, had confirmed that suspicion in Kyle’s head.
The reference to the nightmares, though, had caught him off guard.
Suddenly, Fegan seemed a lot more sinister than Kyle had assumed him to be.
“Visions, Mr. Ashfeld,” Fegan continued. “That’s what those are. The first of the demons is here, very much responsible for the fires you accuse me of. And it hunts you. It will continue to do so until it destroys you, the one person who can stop it.” Fegan stood up and adjusted his clothes. “You have seen the other world, Mr. Ashfeld, and the demon has seen you. You can continue to run from your fate, or you can embrace it. The choice is ultimately yours.”
“Where are you going?” Kyle asked, standing up quickly. He felt a rush of blood to the head, and began to sway dangerously before Aley grabbed and steadied him. “We’re not done.”
“Actually, we are,” Fegan replied. “I, for one, have completed what I have come here to do. You, on the other hand, have quite some ways before you. I wish you all the luck.”
Fegan began to leave, and Kyle grabbed him by the arm. “This isn’t over,” Kyle hissed. “I’m going to make sure the Sheriff knows where to find you.”
Fegan smiled. “Of course,” he said. “But the Sheriff will be quite disappointed when he does not find me, and no one in this fine establishment even remembers me being here.”
Kyle hesitated, his eyes searching Fegan’s. “What are you?”
“A priest,” Fegan replied, his smile widening. “Of sorts.”
With that, Connor Fegan shrugged out of Kyle’s grasp and disappeared back into the inn.
Chapter 8
“Any time you’re ready.”
Aley sat in the driver’s seat, hands wrapped around the steering wheel as if for dear life, the sweat on her brow itching. She wanted to wipe it away, but for some reason couldn’t detach her grip, and for the past hour or so had kept her gaze set straight ahead, not daring to look at Kyle.
The sun had begun to set, and the orange hues mixed with the purple lines in the distant skies would have been beautiful if not for the fact that Aley felt liked she had just woken up from a really bad dream. A chill had found its way through her, had wrapped itself around her bones and was eating away at her from the inside. Fegan’s words still lingered in the back of her head, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of dread since their meeting.
And that smile. That goddamn smile!
It was almost as if he were still standing next to her, the wide grin on his face sending shivers up and down her spine. He hadn’t dire
cted his smile to her, but she had felt its effect nonetheless. A cold hand reaching inside her head, tearing at the barriers inside, revealing everything she could possibly hide, laying her naked and bare for all to see. It was as if he had stripped her apart layer by layer, revealing the ugliness that she had not known was there.
And all that while he was concentrating on Kyle. She didn’t want to imagine what would have happened if he had directed that gaze onto her.
She had helped Kyle back to the car, his weight crushing her, as if ten people had been leaning on her instead of just one. She had felt her back crack when she had finally helped him into the passenger seat, and for a few seconds, it felt like the whole world had come crashing down around her. Suddenly, she felt extremely claustrophobic.
Still, the silence they had settled into was even worse, and as paralyzed as she felt right now, she wanted nothing more than to press down on the gas pedal and get the hell away from the inn.
“Kyle?”
Kyle’s eyes fluttered open and rolled towards her lazily. She could see him in her peripheral vision, almost curled up in the seat, shaking like a leaf. Whatever Fegan had done to the both of them, its effects had lingered, and she had a feeling that they would continue to do so as long as they stayed where they were.
“You want to fill me in on what the hell is going on?” Aley asked, turning to look at him, her neck straining as if trying to prevent her from moving her head at all.
“I don’t know,” Kyle mumbled.
“That’s not good enough,” Aley said. “I have no idea what kind of beef you have with that guy, but whatever it is, it doesn’t feel right, and I would love to at least be in the loop.”
“You heard what he said.”
“You told me not to believe anything he said.”
Kyle groaned as he shifted in his seat. “I’m not feeling all too well right now.”
As if that were her cue, Aley turned the key in the ignition and shifted into drive. She pulled out of the inn’s parking space, tried her best to control the car as she swiveled it around, and screeched onto Maple Street. Luckily, there was no traffic this time of day, and she fought the urge to race past the speed limit in her attempt to put as much distance between them and the inn.
