by Indi Martin
“I don’t like this,” he whined, as Chris gathered the money from the register.
“I don’t either,” replied Chris, pulling the money out and stuffing it into his pockets. “I hate it.” He looked up and Nathan noticed that tears were streaming down his cheeks. “But we have to go now. The other guests could be here any minute.”
Nathan nodded and they ran outside and jumped into the van. Things had not gone well since leaving the house, to say the least. “It was our fault,” he said flatly.
“We had nothing to do with it,” said Chris forcefully. “We just wanted to check out, and found him like that.”
“Right. And we had nothing to do with those people at lunch yesterday, either,” sneered Nathan, shuddering at the memory. They’d been so hungry, and tired of sitting in the van, and the golden arches had seemed like a pleasant detour, a chance to forget what had happened to them. Just food in a normal place, like normal people. “All the screaming,” murmured Nathan.
“We just have to be more careful.” Chris took a deep breath, running his hand through his hair as he tried to decide which way to turn.
“I don’t like taking the money,” accused Nathan. “It’s bad enough that…”
“Look, we didn’t kill the guy. We didn’t touch anyone yesterday. But we need to survive, too, and we won’t get very far without money, okay?” Chris let his breath out in a long, controlled blow, trying to calm down. The cheery, bald man had been a shock to find, and his hands were trembling on the wheel. He had taken the money mechanically, instinctively, but his mind was screaming at him the entire time. He didn’t like it either.
“We can sell the equipment.”
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll have to do that too,” answered Chris, tugging at his beard.
“It wanted us to leave,” whispered Nathan. “That’s why the keys were in the van when we woke up. It wanted us to go.”
The sound of sirens in the distance broke Chris’ indecision and he flicked on the right turn signal and gunned the engine. “Time to go,” he said, watching his rear view mirror for the flashing lights he dreaded… yet a tiny part of him hoped to see them there. However, the view was clear, and he sped up and merged onto the interstate.
“Where this time?” asked Nathan, sagging in his chair.
“We’ll find somewhere safe,” assured Chris, crooning with a confidence he himself didn’t feel. “I promise.”
33
“Do you think she could have used less confusing pronouns? Or maybe names?” exclaimed a flustered Chaz. “Everything is ‘he,’ ‘he,’ ‘he!’ Even when it seems like she’s talking about different people!”
“Hey, I tried to get her to clarify,” replied Gina, munching down on a slice of bacon.
“Well, the part about the survivors seems pretty clear,” said Morgan, sipping his coffee. He concentrated, blocking out the sounds of the bustling breakfast crowd packing the cafe. “‘Death will follow in their wake,’ that’s disturbing, but at least it’s not as cryptic as the rest of it.”
Gina smiled as she sipped her hot tea; she had chosen it instead of coffee this morning, hoping the taste might trigger some additional memories of the dream. Her shower had been an anxious mess, wondering what to tell the others. She knew she had to share the dream, but even now after all this time, she was always afraid they wouldn’t believe her. But they did, in an instant. Even Morgan, although he had asked if she were absolutely sure that it wasn’t a regular dream. However, he had accepted her affirmative without reservation, and transitioned to treating the dialogue as evidence immediately. It buoyed her spirits and made her ashamed that she hadn’t asked for help the night before.
“I don’t like the idea of burning the house,” said Charlie, tapping her chin in thought.
“I agree,” concurred Morgan, glancing at Gina. “I don’t like the thought of destroying a crime scene, especially with the investigation just having started.”
“It’s not even that,” replied Charlie. “It just doesn’t feel right.” She mumbled something angrily under her breath, and Gina thought she caught Hanagawa’s name along with a choice expletive or two. “Gina, can you call the… Victor, please? Let him know what’s happened up to now, and see if he has any ideas other than burning the place down.”
Surprised by Charlie’s usage of the word “please,” which Gina didn’t know she even had in her vocabulary, she nodded. Taking a piece of buttered toast with her, she excused herself from the table and stepped out of the cafe to make the call.
“Hello?” Victor’s voice was silky and low, and Gina was surprised at how much she had missed hearing it.
“Hi, Victor,” she said.
“Ms. Gina! Is everything alright?” His voice was concerned, and she smiled.
“So far, yes. But I need your input on something…” Gina recounted the dream, taking her time to include every detail she could recall.
When she finished, there was silence on the line. “Are you still there?” she asked, after a moment.
“Yes, yes,” he replied. “I am thinking, give me a minute.”
Gina drummed her fingers along the metal rail of the cafe entrance, impatient for his response. She felt sure that the dream was important, sure that it really was Esther Locke who had contacted her somehow. Even so, a small flutter of anxiety in her stomach wondered if he would dress her down for misinterpreting it, tell her it was nothing after all, and that she was trying to be more important than she was.
“I believe her recommendation was a correct one,” he finally said. “But I think I may be able to help. Let me do some research and I will contact you when I find what I am looking for.” His stilted speech patterns stood at odds with his velvet accent, and Gina forced herself to listen to his words instead of his voice.
“So we burn it?”
“Yes. Raze it to the ground,” he commanded, and the vehemence in his voice surprised her.
“How do we find the survivors?” she asked, hoping he might be able to shed some light on their direction.
“That is what I will research. But in the meantime, you may be able to find their trail. Listen for stories that are not right, just like Ms. Parker did to find the video. And Ms. Gina,” he added. “I am glad that you are safe.”
She began to thank him, but the line clicked off, and she stared at her phone. “He hung up on me,” she whispered to herself bemusedly.
⇼ ⇼ ⇼ ⇼ ⇼
Morgan watched Gina walk through the cafe door, aware that the conversation had flagged at the table. Once she was outside, he turned to look at Charlie, who was studying the woman through the window.
“What do you really think?” he asked, having decided that Charlie was holding something back.
“I’m concerned,” she answered. Chaz tilted his head in surprise, but listened. “I’m concerned about the part of the conversation that doesn’t fit.”
Morgan nodded. “The falling bit,” he said. “‘Only you can save him after he saves you.’ I wondered about that too.”
Charlie pinched her lips together in thought. “Yes,” she answered.
“So we believe it all?” asked Chaz carefully, wincing. “I mean, I know you guys are still kind of new…” he let his question trail off.
“She knows the difference between a normal dream and a prophetic one,” replied Charlie, gazing out the window at the woman talking animatedly on her cell phone. “I believe her when she says the dream is important.”
“Important doesn’t mean true,” countered Chaz. “How do we know it even was the Locke lady?”
“We don’t,” answered Morgan simply. “But it’s something to go on, for now.”
“It could be misdirection,” sighed Charlie. “It could be any number of things, but I agree. I think we treat it as legitimate, at face value, for now.” She leaned in across the table. “But we need to watch her closely. This says she’ll be in danger, and someone has to save her.”
“And die in the process
,” added Chaz, his face pale.
“It doesn’t say ‘die.’ It says ‘fall,’” replied Charlie.
“Isn’t that just a poetry-way to say die?” asked Chaz, picking at his fingernails nervously.
“That’s how I read it,” agreed Morgan, leaning back and sipping his coffee. “But it doesn’t change anything. I don’t believe in fate, and I definitely don’t believe in prophecy. If it was Esther Locke, then great. We burn the house down - still not comfortable with that, by the way - we find the survivors, and we shut whatever is out there down. Doesn’t mean we have to get lost in the mystical bits.” He shrugged.
Charlie nodded almost imperceptibly at the window and leaned back, taking a prim bite of her hash browns. Morgan didn’t turn around, but heard Gina’s footsteps approaching under the clatter of the cafe. He smiled at her as she slid down next to him in the booth. “Well?”
She lifted her shoulders. “He said to raze it to the ground.”
Charlie dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “Alright,” she said. “Chaz, make the calls to get the feds to escort everyone off the premises. Make sure they collect the bodies before they leave.”
“He also said we should be able to find their trail,” continued Gina. “And that he might have an idea on how we can find them faster, but he has to do some research.”
“Well, good for him,” snapped Charlie. “I’ll wait in the rover while you guys finish up. I have a few things to do myself.” She stood and walked out of the cafe without looking at any of them.
“How do you deal with her every day?” mused Gina, and Morgan found himself wondering the same thing. Charlie’s swings between kind and open to closed and angry were sharp, fast, uninterested in the collateral damage.
“We manage,” he said, but his focus was elsewhere. “Excuse me.” Gina let him out of the booth and he walked up to the counter, where several elderly men were sitting. Most had newspapers spread open before them.
“So weird!” he heard one exclaim again, and beelined to him. Morgan could tell he was older than he first appeared by the paperlike thinness of the skin on his hand, but his eyes were bright and seemed younger than the rest of him.
“What’s that?” asked Morgan, sliding onto the barstool next to him.
“My niece told me about this,” said the man, poking at a story on the paper. “I thought she was having me on, just making fun of her old uncle.” He shook his head. “But here it is, finally.” The old man glanced at him and leaned in conspiratorially. “Local newspaper ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. I think they just reprint yesterday’s news from Pittsburgh and Philly.”
“What’s the story?”
“They’re calling it a mass hallucination, but I think somebody drugged the food. Or maybe it’s some disease!” The man’s eyebrows waggled. “Just a burger joint at the side of the highway, and everybody suddenly lost their minds. Went nuts! Some woman in the lobby started stabbing everyone’s food, saying it was alive, stabbed the hands holding it if they wouldn’t put it down. Then, the article says everyone started seeing things, like that their fries were worms. Crazy stuff.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“Couple of people got stabbed with forks. Some poor girl in the kitchen is in critical condition - got the fry oil poured all over her. Burns over most of her body.” He shook his head. “Burns are the worst. That poor girl.”
“Can I buy this paper off of you?”
The old man folded it up and handed it to Morgan. “Nah, you can have it. I was pretty much done.” He shook his head again. “Crazy world.” He signaled for the overworked waitress to bring him another cup of coffee, and she smiled briefly at him to acknowledge the request.
“Was your niece there?” Morgan asked, quickly scanning the story.
“Nah, it happened in Wilkes-Barre, and she lives up in Scranton. Knew someone who knew someone who was there, you know how it goes.” He shrugged. “S’why I figured she was just making it up. She told me to watch the papers, though. She knows we’re always behind here.”
“Thanks,” said Morgan, clapping the old man on the shoulders as he walked back to the booth. “Think I found a lead,” he announced, shaking the paper and nodding toward the door. Gina and Chaz gathered their stuff and followed him out of the cafe.
Charlie was waiting in the rover, the engine purring. “Ready to go set fire to things?” she asked dryly.
Morgan hopped in the front seat and spread out the paper. “Yep,” he said, reading. “And I might even know where we go next.”
34
“Ready?”
Charlie held up the match, ready to strike it. The place looked a lot less creepy in the daylight, just a sad, abandoned old house, but Gina knew it was no less dangerous in the daytime. The investigating teams had gone, gathering the bodies and snapping photographs, but leaving the house mostly untouched. She nodded hard. “Do it,” she said, shivering although the day was sunny and unseasonably warm.
Striking the match against the flint paper, the tiny flame roared to life. Charlie threw it, and it spiralled through the open front door to land inside. Face contorted with concentration, she gestured wildly, and the flame sprouted wings, licking at the old wood hungrily. “That should be enough,” she said, letting her arms drop to her sides and sagging against the black SUV. “Now it should really catch.”
Her words were true enough, as the house exploded into flames. The heat was intense, even across the clearing, and Gina looked nervously at the old trees around them. “Are we sure we’re not starting a wildfire? Again?”
“I’ll rein it in when I need to,” replied Charlie, watching the yellow and orange tongues dance along the rooftops. “Just enjoy the show.”
Gina jumped, startled by the vibration in her pocket. She pulled out her phone and flipped it open. “Hello?” she asked, plugging one ear with her free hand.
“Ms. Gina,” came Victor’s voice through the small earpiece. “Put me on speaker and turn me up. I have found something.”
“Okay, one second,” she answered, fumbling with the controls on the phone and motioning for Morgan and Chaz to come closer. Gina sidled up to Charlie, being careful not to obscure her view of the fire.
“They can hear you,” said Gina. “But barely. It’s loud here.”
“I think you should try a bone compass,” buzzed the phone’s speaker.
Charlie reacted to this by looking down at the phone, surprised, before returning her attention to the fire. “Really?” she asked. “That didn’t go so well last time, if you remember.”
Morgan and Gina both looked at Chaz for more information, but he just shrugged, looking confused. “What’s a bone compass?” asked Gina.
“Ms. Parker can certainly explain it,” replied the speaker. “From the transcript of Ms. Gina’s encounter with Mrs. Locke, it seems that Mr. Locke is the key to all of this. Whether it’s truly him, or something acting through him, I cannot be certain. If this is the case, a bone compass should lead you to what remains of him, assuming you burn the corpse after collecting the needle.”
“I hate exhuming bodies,” muttered Charlie in irritation. “Are you sure it will work this time?”
There was a pause before the speaker buzzed with Victor’s voice. “I cannot be certain of anything here, Ms. Parker. There are a lot of assumptions that must be made to determine a next step, but this is the best next step I could come up with. Assuming that Ms. Gina’s encounter can be taken as legitimate on its face, then this seems to be a good fit. If that assumption is incorrect, then I am at a loss. I do feel safe in assuming you tried to reach Mr. Hanagawa prior to calling me. Am I safe in drawing the conclusion that he is still out of contact?”
Charlie glanced down at the phone again and grimaced. “Yes,” she answered.
“I see. Are you encountering any resistance on site?”
Gina noticed that Charlie’s focus was on her. “Well, are you?” she asked.
Blinking, Gina realized that the
dark, inky feeling she’d encountered here before was all but gone. “No,” she said, surprised. “Actually, no. I don’t really feel anything but echoes. That’s good?” she guessed.
“Be careful at the gravesite,” warned the speaker. “Do not let anything prompt you into destroying the body before you gather the splinter.”
“Anything else?” snapped Charlie. “I have a fire to contain.”
“No, Ms. Parker, that is all. Ms. Gina, you may take me off speaker now.”
Gina flicked her screen to turn off speaker and held the phone back up to her ear. “You’re off speaker,” she informed.
“Good. Be very careful, Ms. Gina, at the gravesite. Remember that the apparition stated he could warp minds, change one’s perception of reality. Hold fast to your keystones and do not stay at the site longer than you must.”
She found herself nodding even though she knew he couldn’t see her. “Will do, thanks Victor.”
She looked down and saw the line had gone dead again, and blew a strand of hair out of her eyes in frustration. “Does he always do that? Just hang up? It’s really annoying.”
“Yeah,” replied Chaz, gazing at the burning house. “He doesn’t like phones.”
“So, what’s a bone compass?” asked Morgan.
“How about you all let me focus on not burning down the county, and we’ll discuss it on the way back to Lykens. Chaz, you can drive.”
Chaz fist-pumped the air. Gina looked worriedly at Charlie, knowing how much energy she was expending in controlling the flames, and knowing that she was only letting Chaz drive because she would be unable to do so.
Even with Charlie’s assistance, the fire took hours to fully consume the house. Gina fetched Charlie a few bottles of water over the duration, but otherwise she would not accept assistance and did not want to speak. They stood, leaning against the rover, waiting for the end. At last, the ground was covered in ashes, and only the stone foundation and basement remained, charred and exposed. Without comment, Charlie walked slowly to the back hatch and extricated a fleece blanket, wrapping herself in it and sliding into the backseat. She fell asleep almost immediately, curling up across most of the leather bench seats.
