Daughter

by Patrick Logan

  Only their eyes were whole, and they were black as pitch.

  Clifford screamed.

  A moment later, he was joined by harrowing cries from the demons that held him as the flames first ignited his clothes, and then rendered his skin beneath into a blistered, waxy mess.

  Chapter 29

  “Is there somewhere we can speak in private?” Liam asked in a quiet voice, flicking his eyes towards Nancy who, while she was doing a valiant effort of pretending not to be listening, was no Joan Rivers.

  Mayor Bobby Lee Ross was a mountain of a man, both in personality and in stature. Dressed in a crisp, navy three-piece suit that bore a hint of a pinstripe, complete with a pocket square that didn’t quite match his tie (by design, evidently) he looked even larger than what Liam estimated was a hefty three-hundred-and-ten pounds.

  The man’s doughy features, a pale shade of pink, were trained on Liam as he spoke, and his beady eyes—black if they were a color at all—darted nervously about the room.

  “This better be good Liam,” the man growled. He hooked a chubby thumb over his shoulder, “I’ve got some very important people in there.”

  Liam nodded.

  “Trust me, you want to hear this. And you want to want to hear it alone. You know that I wouldn’t—”

  Bobby Lee’s jowls lowered in a frown.

  “Come with me,” he barked, rising to his feet. As he started toward the door adjacent to the room that he had just exited, he turned to his secretary and said, “Nancy, I’ll just be a minute. If the men in the boardroom ask, just make something up—whatever happens, don’t let them leave.”

  Nancy nodded briskly as if they had gone over this scenario before, and then Liam followed the mayor into his personal office. With a huff, Bobby Lee lowered his girth into a massive leather seat behind the desk.

  He didn’t offer Liam a seat.

  “We’ve got a bit of a problem,” Liam began and then, without hesitation or prompting, went on to tell the big man about what had happened to Patty Smith, and then about the little girl who had visited Father Smith before he’d gouged his eyes out and committed suicide. He left out the part about the New York City detective and his strange ideas about a witch in the swamp.

  Bobby Lee seemed to consider this information for a few seconds with all the fascination of the fruit fly contemplating its own existence, before he said, “Liam, you’re the Sheriff, I’m the mayor. I told you when I nominated you, I don’t want to be bogged down with this kind of crap. This is your job—you deal with it.”

  Liam scowled. He didn’t mean to, but he couldn’t help it. This was not the response he’d been expecting.

  A murder and a suicide were not ‘crap’ by any measure.

  “With all due respect, Bobby Lee, this is very serious. I think you know as well as I do how important Father—”

  Bobby Lee slammed a meaty palm down on the desk, startling Liam.

  “Dammit, Liam, I don’t have time for this shit now. I’ve got some very important people in that room, people who have the means and the desire to transform Elloree.”

  This was the second time in under an hour that Liam had heard about this so-called transformation or revitalization, and it gave him pause; Elloree had been the same since time immaterial. It didn’t require any outside intervention.

  In Liam’s estimation, the place was damn near perfect.

  Except for the murder of the preacher’s daughter…

  “Bobby, you know-”

  “Take care of it, Liam,” Bobby Lee said, his dark eyes blazing into him.

  While it was clear that the Mayor wanted this to be the final point on the discussion, there was one more thing that Liam felt obligated to add.

  “There’s also—” Tommy Ray; there have been allegations that he’s dealing heroin, Liam wanted to say, and would’ve said when the radio on his shoulder suddenly squawked. He reached over and clicked the button. “Sheriff Lancaster here.”

  “Liam? Liam, I think I found something. Something… strange.”

  With only a furtive glance at the mayor, Liam clicked the talk button, effectively cutting Dwight off.

  “I’ll be right in,” he said quickly. Then to the mayor, he offered, “I’ll take care of this, Bobby. Sorry to have bothered you.”

  The big man grunted, and with that, Liam took his leave. After nodding briskly and saying goodbye to Nancy, he exited into the afternoon sun.

  As he made his way to his cruiser, Liam paid particular attention to the cars in the parking lot, ones that had been there when he’d arrived, but he had been too distracted by what Hugh Freeman had said to notice. But now…

  Elloree was a simple place, and the only person who drove a car that cost anything near the average mortgage value was Bobby Lee himself. But in the parking lot, Liam noted that there were five brand new looking Mercedes, along with a 7-series BMW.

  People with the means and the desire to transform Elloree…

  Liam got into his own vehicle, a bruised Ford Taurus, and wondered what the Mayor had offered in return. Then he clicked the walkie on his shoulder.

  “Dwight, I’ll be there in ten—we’re on our own here.”

  Chapter 30

  Dwight wanted to add more, but decided against it. The usually conversational Liam Lancaster had intentionally cut him off, suggesting that he was in the presence of someone whom he didn’t want to overhear.

  Either that, or the man was simply overwhelmed by the past twelve hours. For the sake of them both, Dwight hoped that it was the former.

  I need a coffee, he thought. Or maybe something stronger.

  He started toward the door, intent on making his way back inside to wait for Liam, when it suddenly swung open and Sylvie stepped out. A slender cigarette quivered between the first two fingers of her right hand.

  “How you holding up?” Dwight asked as the woman slipped outside.

  Sylvie didn’t reply right away; instead, she struggled to bring the cigarette first to her lips, and then light with the lighter in her other hand.

  “The girl tell you anything? Did she tell you where she learned all that weird Latin shit?” Dwight asked. His eyes flicked to the sign outside the door, which clearly indicated that smoking was not permitted within five meters of it.

  The irony of Sylvie breaking the rules wasn’t lost on him, but Dwight was smart enough to know that calling her on it at a time like this would be a mistake.

  “No… she really hasn’t said anything at all,” Sylvie replied between drags.

  Dwight nodded. With no children of his own, he had no idea how the mind of a child worked, but what he did know was that watching a man stab his own eyes out with a pair of scissors before driving the sharp end into his throat, would put anyone into a state of shock.

  Sylvie Sinclair included.

  But those eyes, those dark, empty eyes…

  Dwight shuddered again.

  “Where’s Stacey now? She in there with Susan?”

  Dwight wondered if the shock that so clearly gripped Sylvie had extended to Susan, as the woman hadn’t said two words to him since arriving. Sure, they had decided to keep their tryst, if that’s what it was, private, but these were extenuating circumstances. And seeing as Dr. Larringer was still on his way over, that meant—

  “Shit, tell me that the girl isn’t in there with the detective? Alone?”

  Sylvie took a deep drag and nodded.

  Dwight swore again and hurried inside. He still wasn’t sure he trusted Hugh Freeman, and his instincts told him that it would be in all of their best interests to keep the two apart.

  He had no idea what had really happened in the swamp, how much of the strange story Hugh told was true, but no good could come from the two of them getting back together, of that he was certain.

  Hugh was sitting in the chair vacated by Sylvie, his face but an inch from little Stacey Weller’s, and he was saying something in a low voice that Dwight couldn’t pick up.

  “St
ep away from her, detective. Step away from the girl.”

  Hugh immediately backed up his chair and held his hands up at his sides defensively. The girl, on the other hand, didn’t react at all. Thankfully, her eyes had regained their normal crystal blue color, however.

  “What’d you say to her?” Dwight asked.

  Hugh said nothing, and Dwight grabbed the man’s arm and squeezed tightly. Hugh was all skin and bone beneath his long-sleeved T-shirt. Dwight pulled him to his feet and away from Stacey, before leaning in close and whispering in his ear.

  “What’d you say to her?”

  Hugh looked at Dwight then, his eyes so full of sadness that Dwight felt compelled to let go of his arm.

  “She’s one of them,” Hugh said softly. “And she can take us to the others—to the witch.”

  Any sadness that Dwight felt for the man vanished at the mention of the witch.

  This man belongs in the loony bin, not helping out with a murder investigation.

  With a sigh, Dwight said, “I want you to sit over there, and wait for the Sheriff to get back.”

  Hugh followed his outstretched finger with his eyes, and then made his way to Stevie’s desk and took a seat behind it.

  “And don’t touch anything,” Dwight added.

  Liam might see something in the man, but Dwight wasn’t sure he did. Nothing that wasn’t certifiably insane, that is.

  Satisfied that Hugh wasn’t going anywhere for the time being, Dwight crouched down in front of Stacey, who was now staring intently at her hands.

  “You okay, sweetheart?” he asked.

  The girl said nothing, and Dwight observed her closely. Her face was caked with dried mud, and there was a spray of Father Smith’s blood on her cheek.

  Dwight’s eyes drifted to the door where Sylvie still stood, struggling to light another cigarette.

  Jesus, you couldn’t even wipe the blood off the poor girl?

  “We’re going to get you cleaned up,” Dwight said. As he spoke, he reached out and laid a hand gently on her shoulder.

  And then something happened.

  Later, he might think a vision, a daydream, perhaps, but at the time, it felt like memory.

  There was a woman, stripped naked, bound to a large oak tree. She clutched a small, blond child against her legs and belly.

  “Please, just take me, leave the girl!” the woman sobbed. Flames started to lick at her ankles.

  And then someone else spoke, but it felt as if the words were coming out of Dwight’s mouth.

  “If you aren’t part of this family, then you’re against us.”

  He pulled his hand back so quickly that he almost fell.

  “What the hell was that?” he gasped, as he regained his balance.

  Dwight blinked rapidly, and shook his head, trying to rid himself of the horrible scene that had played out in his mind. He glanced over at Hugh, who was staring at him, not with a confused expression that he might have expected, but one of knowing.

  With a groan, he stood and was going to go retrieve Sylvie Sinclair from outside, when the phone on his desk started to ring. Grateful for the distraction, he reached over and grabbed it.

  “Elloree police station, Deputy Dwight Porter speaking.”

  “Yeah, Dwight, this is, uh, Peter Sheppard from Sheppard Construction, out by Stumphole?”

  Dwight rubbed his eyes. The vision had been so visceral that he thought he could even smell burning wood.

  And singed flesh.

  “Yeah, what is it Peter, we’re real busy over here today.”

  “Yeah, I just wanted to let you know that there’s a fire in the swamp. Looks like a pretty big blaze. I mean, I doubt it’ll spread given the—”

  Dwight’s eyes snapped open.

  “Did you say fire?”

  “Yeah, a fire, must be pretty big, too, ‘cuz I can see the smoke from the shop. I was going to call the fire department, but I thought I’d give you a call first, you know, because we was friends way back when.”

  Dwight suddenly found it difficult to swallow.

  “Yeah, you did the right thing, Peter. I’ll call the fire department, you just hold tight. And whatever you do, don’t go into the swamp.”

  Chapter 31

  Liam Lancaster pulled into the police station at nearly exactly same time as Dr. Larringer. In fact, the good doctor almost broadsided the Sheriff as he pulled into his parking spot.

  But before Liam could say anything, he noticed Dwight at the front doors, gesturing frantically for him to hurry. The Sheriff hopped out of his car and offered a cursory nod to the doctor, before addressing Dwight.

  “What’s going on? What’s the emergency?” His eyes flicked to Sylvie who was so busy huffing on a cigarette that she hadn’t even acknowledged his presence.

  “I’ll tell you on the way,” Dwight replied.

  Liam raised an eyebrow.

  “On the way? Where? The doctor just got here,” he said, gesturing to Dr. Larringer, who hurried to Liam’s side.

  Dwight looked like a deer caught in headlights: his eyes were wide, and his face and forehead were slick with sweat, even though it was venturing into late afternoon now, and the temperature couldn’t have been warmer than eighty.

  “There’s a fire… a fire out at the swamp, I think we should—I really think we should go check it out.”

  Something flashed over the deputy’s face then, something akin to pure terror, an emotion so strong that it overwhelmed Liam’s sense of confusion.

  The swamp…

  If they’d had more manpower, they would have been out there already, investigating what had happened to Patty and Hugh’s partner.

  I saved her, if she can be saved, that is. The others are all dead.

  “We need you to clear the body inside,” Liam said to Dr. Larringer. “Susan Bauer’s still there, but we need you to release the body.”

  The doctor, who looked considerably more tired than he had earlier in the day when they had met to look over Patty Smith’s body, squinted.

  “Another body?”

  Liam nodded solemnly.

  “It’s Patty’s father, Larry Smith. I’ll explain later.” Without waiting for a response, Liam turned to Dwight. “Where’s Stevie? And the detective?”

  “Stevie’s going to meet us there—he’s on his way back from the library. As for the detective…”

  Something else passed over his round face then, pinching his features. Liam got the impression that Detective Hugh Freeman was quickly overstaying his welcome. And yet, he couldn’t leave him here.

  “Go get Hugh, he’s coming with us.”

  With that, Liam gestured for Dr. Larringer to head on inside, which the man did with hesitant steps. Unlike Liam, he must have seen his fair share of dead bodies, but there was something different about a murder victim. Murder or suicide.

  Something that never sat quite right.

  “What about me? What should I do?” Sylvie asked, her eyes still locked on the sidewalk.

  The question confused Liam. Not the words themselves, but the fact that Sylvie was the one to ask them. Ever since Bobby Lee had instated her as head of HR, she had acted as if she were the one in charge and not Liam.

  An image of the luxury cars in Bobby Lee’s parking lot came to mind then, and for the first time, Liam wondered if Sylvie’s placement had less to do with alleged HR infractions, and more about keeping the mayor up to speed about the inner workings of the police department. Although Liam had known the mayor personally for more than two decades, their interaction today suggested that perhaps Bobby Lee was no longer the man that he had gone to high school with.

  Liam shook his head, trying to focus on the task at hand; Sylvie and the mayor could be dealt with later. Right now, however, they had more than one fire to put out.

  “Stay here with the girl. Keep her company while we wait for Officer Jenkins to arrive from Batesburg. If he comes before we’re back, fill him in on what’s going on,” Liam chewed his li
p for a second, “but just about the murders, that’s it.”

  Sylvie’s face contorted.

  “Please,” she pleaded, “don’t leave me here with the girl. There’s something wrong with her, something—”

  “Do it, now Sylvie,” Liam snapped. Without waiting for a response, he grabbed hold of Dwight’s sleeve and pulled him close. “Get Hugh and let’s go. I’ve got a terrible feeling about this.”