by Indi Martin
“Morning,” replied Morgan. “Barely, but yes.”
She sighed as she poured the water. “Coffee?” she offered.
“Love some,” he grumbled, sitting on her sofa.
Gina was glad that he let her finish in silence, the only sounds in the apartment the bubbling of the water through the grounds and the drip-drip-drip of caffeine. She folded her arms and leaned against the counter, tapping her slippered foot impatiently. When it was finally done, she poured them both cups, heaping sugar and cream into her own. “Still black?” she asked.
“Mm-hmm,” he grunted in affirmation.
Offering Morgan his cup, she sat on her recliner, sipping the liquid gingerly. It was far too hot, and scalded her mouth, but she didn’t mind the burn of it going down her throat. “I assume you’re here to drag my lazy ass into the office,” she chuckled. “Must have missed the alarm.”
“Sleep well?” asked Morgan, eyeing her over his cup. “Any dreams?”
“No, well, yes, but not the one I wanted…” she trailed off, glaring at him. “Hey! No asking me questions before I’ve had my coffee!”
He smiled. “You’re always loose-lipped before you’re fully awake.”
She flushed with irritation.
“Actually, I’m here to tell you to pack your stuff. We think we’ve found a mission. Well, Parker did, she wants us to check something out.” Morgan framed his sentences carefully, ensuring to not call Charlie by her first name. He didn’t want a replay of last night’s argument.
Gina was torn between excitement over something new, and frustration that it might impinge on her own nightly experiments. “What is it?”
“I’m not sure it’s anything to get super excited about, it’s iffy. A video was posted on YouTube calling for help with several missing persons, and the footage from them has a reflection in a mirror that shouldn’t be there.” He sipped his coffee. “Thing is, it’s embedded in a meant-to-be-creepy music video, but something about it has really captured Parker’s attention. She thinks its the real deal.”
“You think it’s a stunt?”
Morgan shrugged in response. “Maybe. Still, we’re new, she gets to make those calls. I don’t mind getting away from here for a day or two, or however long. It’ll be nice to stretch my legs again.”
Gina grinned sideways at him. “Whatever. You run every morning.”
Morgan blinked, surprised that she knew that. He did prefer to start his mornings with a brisk run through the trails surrounding the headquarters. “Not this morning. I’m beat,” he answered, hoping to spark a conversation about the previous night’s events.
“Should have slept in,” replied Gina with a wink.
“Have you checked your phone this morning?” Morgan couldn’t figure out a way to ask without asking directly, and he didn’t want to try to check it without her knowing.
“No, why? Did I miss a call?” she set her cup on the table and went to retrieve it from the counter.
“Just curious. My call history shows you called me, I was just wondering what yours said.”
Gina glowered, her countenance darkening. “I didn’t call you.” She flicked through her screen. “See? Right here…” she trailed off, looking confused.
Morgan waited patiently for her to continue, stifling a smile. He kept his expression blank as he asked “What is it?”
“I did call you,” she whispered.
He couldn’t help but grin. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”
“Shut up,” she said without force, as she walked slowly back to the recliner and fell into it. “This doesn’t make sense though. This has been on the kitchen counter all night, and even in the dream, you called me.”
Morgan shrugged. “I don’t expect things to make sense when we’re dealing with your… you know.” He tapped his finger on his temple.
“Yeah, funny,” she said absentmindedly.
“Maybe you called me for help without even realizing it.”
Gina didn’t answer.
“Maybe I can help you, Gina.”
“Oh, really,” she snapped. “You have any special mental prowess I’m not aware of? Are you telepathic? How can you even know what it’s like?”
Morgan let the silence sit for a moment while Gina seethed. “No,” he said finally, keeping his voice as level as he could.. “I don’t. But you do.”
“That’s kinda the problem.”
“No, see, you’re missing the point,” he clamped his teeth together before he could add “as usual.” He wanted this conversation to remain as civil as possible. “Without fail, when you have gotten to the point where you needed someone to wake you, you have called me. Even if you didn’t mean to, or didn’t realize what you were doing. Right?”
Reluctantly, she nodded.
“So, I could do just as good a job watching over you as Victor could. Maybe better. Sure, he can read your mind, but I can read you. And you obviously, somewhere deep down in that stubborn skull of yours, know you need my help.” He spread his hands magnanimously. “I just want to help.”
Gina sighed. “I know you do.” She stretched out like a cat before curling further up into the recliner. “But that’s not really a solution. I can’t just have you watch me sleep all of the time. You need sleep too. At least Victor doesn’t need sleep, but either way, I don’t want to have to have someone babysitting my dreams for the rest of my life. That’s not exactly optimal.”
Morgan took a deep breath. “Victor thinks you can overcome it eventually. It’s just a stop-gap until you get stronger.” He braced himself for her inevitable conclusion.
Drawing breath past her teeth in a hiss, she studied him carefully. “You… talked to Victor.”
He nodded simply.
“About me.”
Morgan nodded again, surveying the table closest to her for things he may need to dodge, should she decide to throw them.
For a moment, rage flashed in her eyes, but it dimmed as quickly as it came, replaced with a wry smile that slowly spread across her face. “That’s weird to hear.”
“I didn’t want to go behind your back,” he said slowly. “But you weren’t exactly forthcoming with the information. I thought he might be able to shed some light on what was going on.”
“And he did,” she said.
“Only because he was thinking of what was best for you,” added Morgan.
“What was best for me,” she echoed, and her smile was tight. “You realize you sound like a bunch of overprotective assholes, right? I’m not a little girl. I can fend for myself.”
Morgan smiled. “I know that. Pretty sure Victor does too.” His voice softened and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looking into her eyes. “I know I can’t fight this battle for you, but that doesn’t make me stop wishing that I could. I just don’t want you in danger, especially somewhere I can’t follow.”
Gina held his gaze for so long he felt lightheaded, and realized he was holding his breath. She broke it off and looked down at her lap. “I can’t fault you for that,” she murmured, flushing a deep red. “I want to, but I can’t.”
She met his eyes again, and Morgan held her green-eyed gaze. The room blurred slightly around him as he focused on her alone, a tether of light seeming to extend between them. A ghost of a tune floated somewhere in his mind, ethereal and haunting, and he was suddenly sure it was hers, some sort of musical fingerprint imprinting itself upon his thoughts. Her lips were slightly parted, and he could hear her breathing in the silence. A sudden and overwhelming urge to taste her breath, feel her lips against his, washed over him, and he wondered idly if the urge was hers too, dancing across the tether and meeting his own. Time stopped, and there was only the two of them, her green eyes swallowing his gaze hungrily, and her tremulous breaths a symphony of anticipation.
An unwelcome chirp sounded, shattering whatever connection had existed between them. He glanced at his phone in frustration, seeing an incoming text from Charlie. “
She’s found something,” he announced, too loudly, cringing at the sound of his voice breaking slightly. Gina didn’t look like she’d noticed; she looked full of thought, staring absentmindedly at the phone cradled in his hands. He allowed himself a moment to study her face, feeling the fleeting moment between them dissipating in the air, before he stood abruptly. She looked startled by the sudden movement, but regained her composure quickly, a small smile tinged with confusion playing on her lips. “Get packed up, I’ll call you once I have the itinerary, okay?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Great.” Her eyes were still slightly unfocused, and Morgan wondered if she had actually heard him.
“I’ll… see you soon?” He turned up the end of the sentence slightly.
Gina nodded slowly.
“Okay,” he said, making his way quickly to the door and closing it behind him.
Morgan stood in the crisp autumn air, breathing heavily as though he’d just finished his morning run.
23
Chris tugged at Nathan’s sleeve, crabwalking backward until his back hit the stone wall. Nathan followed quickly. Neither wanted to be near the trapdoor when it opened.
Luke had climbed up three rungs on the ladder, at a snail’s pace. After each step, he would freeze and cock his head, appearing to listen for any reaction above him. Chris was torn between wanting him to hurry up and get on with it, and wanting him to come back down the ladder and sit with them. His words still hung in the air, thick and heavy, and Chris steeled his resolve. He would not allow a man who could do what Luke did to sit with him.
Stretching out an arm, slowly, Luke placed the flat of his hand against the trapdoor. “Melissa,” he whispered. “Are you there?” His question hung limply in the air.
“Right here,” came the eventual response, no more than a whisper, though Chris could hear it clearly across the room.
“I’m so sorry,” said Luke, a tiny bit louder and with a hitch in his voice. “I’m so sorry, Melissa.”
“Just open the door,” came the response quickly, still a soothing whisper.
Chris saw Luke ascend one more rung, pushing against the trapdoor with both hands, his body straining from the effort of lifting the heavy door. Chris crawled forward just a bit, craning his neck to try and peer past Luke and the ladder.
The next few minutes seemed to happen all at once.
It seemed to be raining through the door, except it wasn’t a liquid rain. Things fell down the ladder, landing in small heaps on the stone beneath, each creating a dull thud upon impact. Chris peered through the candles, trying to figure out what they were, but more fell upon the others, until he could barely see the man on the ladder. With a strangled cry, Luke tried to climb down the ladder, but the things were falling on him, too, and he fell to the floor beneath it with a sickening crack. He landed wrongly, his right leg and right arm bending madly as his weight followed behind, and Chris’ mind rejected the strange angles his limbs were making. The wind appeared to have been knocked out of him from the fall, his eyes wide and his mouth open in a soundless scream. Then, the scream was not soundless, a hoarse, pained, terrified cry that pressed Chris against the wall. Nathan clamped his hands over his ears again, burrowing his small frame behind Chris as best as he could.
The rain slowed, then ceased, and Luke’s broken body was half-buried in a pile of furry puddles. To Chris’ horror, the things began to move, to writhe, piling up on top of the screaming man lying at the foot of the ladder. Beady black eyes reflected the candlelight, igniting tiny flames in the brown and white pelts, and Chris realized they were rabbits. Their teeth flashed in the light, small and sharp, and at once they fell upon Luke’s frame, biting and ripping at his belly. Luke’s screaming faded to silence as he stared up the ladder to the figure leaning over the hole. “Melissa,” he whispered, his face pale.
Chris felt blood rush through his limbs, breaking through the terror, and he leapt across the candles in one fluid movement, kicking and stomping at the creatures that were devouring his old friend. “Stop it!” he heard himself scream. “STOP IT!” He grabbed them by the scruffs, tearing them away along with the flesh still gripped in their teeth, dashing them against the wall before bending to pick up more. How long he fought he was unsure, but at last the bundles of fur were scattered and unmoving. Sound above him startled him, and he leapt back over the candles reflexively, squatting in front of Nathan in a protective stance. Eyes wide, he watched as Melissa descended the ladder as though it were a staircase, stepping lightly from one rung to the next until she stood beside Luke. Kneeling fluidly, she cradled his head in her lap.
“Poor baby,” she crooned softly. “Were the bad bunnies mean to you?”
Luke was quiet, lifting his still-good left arm to her face and stroking her cheek lightly. Chris guessed he was in shock, or something similar, as he should have been screaming. His right side was broken, badly, but the rabbits had done their work. His abdomen was a bloody mess, slashed and ripped in countless places, oozing a crimson puddle that spread beneath him slowly.
“You… you’re dead,” whispered Chris. “I found you, you were dead.”
Melissa looked up at him, and Chris fell back into Nathan, clutching at him without embarrassment. The black cloth was wrapped loosely around her, flowing out from her as a dress might, but her face… Chris looked away, feeling his body retch. Her face was white and cracked, her eyes black and glassy, her smile painted and unnerving. She looked like a porcelain doll. “You were both kind to me,” she said, her voice musical and lilting. Chris glanced back up at her fearfully, and saw her gather Luke into her arms, lifting him as she stood with no discernable effort. “I’m sorry for what will happen to you,” she said, sounding sincerely apologetic as she turned and climbed the ladder as easily as she had come down. Luke coughed weakly, his limbs dangling crookedly from his body, as he was carried upstairs.
A loud slamming sound erupted and made both of them jump. Cautiously, Chris crept to the edge of the wall, following it only as far as he needed to get a clear view of the ladder. The trapdoor was closed. Luke and Melissa were gone.
Chris moved away from the rabbit corpses and back toward Nathan. He hugged Nathan tightly, as he might do his younger brothers, trying and failing to make sense of the day’s events. He was tired, too tired to think, and he closed his eyes, relieved at the darkness.
24
“What did you find?” Morgan’s irritation at Charlie’s interruption faded slightly as he saw her bright eyes smile, gleaming with the rush of a hunt. Clearly, she had found something.
“Okay. So, while none of these dolls might be definitive on their own, the collection is. According to one of the experts I contacted, a Mr. Fiennes, this collection is unique. See this one?” She pointed excitedly to one of the dolls on her screen. “That’s an Alice in Wonderland head style, and this one…” her finger moved, and Morgan couldn’t tell much of a difference in the fuzzy frame. “This is a Jenny Lind. But this one, the one I thought might be our key, it’s a Maison Rohmer doll, that’s pretty rare, but not rare enough. Still, all of them together, Fiennes is pretty sure it’s the collection of Esther Locke.” She beamed victoriously.
Morgan cocked an eyebrow. “Is that name supposed to mean something to me?”
“Nope!” chirped Charlie happily. “Me neither. But I did some research on her, and I think I might have hit paydirt.” She clicked through screens. “Esther and Harold Locke, both deceased. He died back in 1952, and apparently was thoroughly unliked. Check out this obit.”
Morgan scanned through the old newspaper copy quickly. “Where do you get that he was unpopular? This looks fine.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “Oh, come on. This has all the standard euphemisms in it. He was a ‘colorful character who, nevertheless, did not suffer fools gladly.’ That means he was a drunk and an asshole, probably at the same time.”
“Seriously?”
She nodded. “There’s lots of them, and they’re pretty much al
l in here. ‘He was associated with the First Baptist Church’ instead of attended, I’m guessing he wasn’t much of a churchgoer.”
“I like him already.”
“‘He is survived by wife Esther, with whom he spent a life of firmness and plenty.’ Not familiar with that one, but I’d guess he was a miser and maybe a wifebeater.”
“Well, maybe I don’t like him that much then. Aren’t you just guessing? Maybe he really was a nice guy and the obit writer just wasn’t very good.”
“He apparently died in some accident at the house; it’s not spelled out here, and the death certificate is sketchy. What’s really weird is that she didn’t report his death for two weeks.”
Morgan goggled at that. “Two weeks? What did she do with him?”
“Apparently she buried him on the property, but then thought better of it after a while, and called to have him taken away.”
“No kids?”
“Nope.”
“Alright. So he keels over, she drags him outside and buries him - that is strange. How do the dolls fit in?”
Charlie clicked to a different series of browser windows. “The Lockes didn’t really socialize, unless you count Harold’s bar-going. She became very reclusive after his death, but continued collecting old books and old dolls. Apparently she was quite known for her collection before Harold died. She even displayed it in the Lykens city hall once in 1964, upon invitation.”
“Lykens?”
“Lykens, Pennsylvania.” She turned to him, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “It’s only about 90 minutes from Lancaster.”
“Close enough to be within the radius,” replied Morgan, impressed.
“The Lockes didn’t live in Lykens, though. They lived up in the State Gamelands, about thirty minutes away.”
