by Jordan Dane
“How did Allison Barstow and these other kids find this place?” she asked. “It’s isolated. Who owns the property?”
“The Barstow family, an uncle. Local kids come here because they think it’s haunted and they don’t wait for a key to the gate,” Ramirez said. “Boys badger each other into staying overnight. If they make it through dawn without dropping a deuce in their pants, their dicks grow like Pinocchio and they have bragging rights.”
“Nice wood analogy,” she said. “Anyone know why the girls were here? Was this a party?”
“I guess, but since they’re all underage, no one’s talking. They were drinking alcohol out of a barrel, using mason jars and paper cups. Looks like the kids dumped whatever liquor they brought and mixed everything together.”
“The explosion. Any idea on how it happened?” she asked. “Were these kids using lighter fluid to grill food? I’m wondering if this was just a terrible accident.”
“This was no accident, Special Agent Crowley.” He handed her a plastic evidence bag. “The girl who died, Allison Barstow? This is her cell phone. You’ll want to see what’s on it.”
Chapter 3
Brownsville, Texas
November 1
After 1:00 am
Ryker Townsend
A sound or the faint sigh of a memory drew me to a brushy ridge that overlooked the grotto. A whisper. A cry. I couldn’t be sure.
I kept my senses open to anything, even if the feelings could’ve been only a misleading glimmer of a past case. My mind had become a repository for countless horrors. I collected atrocities in my head like some men compiled baseball cards—one of the many reasons I never made a very good conversationalist at cocktail parties.
My visions had always required interpretation, but since I almost hadn’t survived my brush with the Totem Killer in Alaska a year ago, I’d grown skeptical of the easy answers and my first impressions. As I climbed toward the ridge, I noticed long strands of grass had been matted down at the crest near a boulder, as if someone had been there.
The spot was only dimly lit from the generators and the moonlight, but the overlook would’ve been a good vantage point for whatever had happened last night. I’d chosen not to use my flashlight. I wanted to see the crime scene as it might’ve been yesterday.
I crept through the thick brush, not entirely sure where I’d end up. I followed a course that only my gift sensed. A presence lingered in the shadows. I closed my eyes and let the sensation wash over me, but when I did, it tapped into something I wasn’t prepared to feel.
No. Not now.
I wanted to fight it, but I couldn’t. The hopelessness of becoming a victim rushed over me like a floodgate opening. I nearly choked on the magnitude of it. Images of my ordeal bombarded me. I caught glimpses of another face. It all happened too fast, I wasn’t sure I could retain what I’d seen.
Just like last time.
Last year, in the hands of a killer, I didn’t know if I’d been awake or asleep. My drug-induced hallucinations mimicked my visions until I questioned my own sanity. That same doubt hit me again.
I didn’t know if I could trust my instincts when it came to the sensation from my dream, that a new killer had found me in my sleep and may have followed me to this crime scene. The drug’s damaging effects had once tainted my gift, but I hoped the setback hadn’t been permanent.
Doubts about my special ability bubbled to the surface. Were my visions becoming more of a problem? Had they permanently crossed over into my waking hours, forcing me to question everything I saw? No therapist could help me. The wall I had carefully built, to compartmentalize what I witnessed on the job, felt as if it were crumbling.
I didn’t know what that would mean. For my work. For my life.
“What are you doing up here in the cheap seats?” Lucinda asked.
I hadn’t heard her approach. Her voice startled me as if I’d been doused in cold water. I didn’t want to let go, but I didn’t have a choice now. The vision drained from me and I physically ached as it twisted free.
“I’m not sure.”
I lied, but I didn’t know enough to tell her anything. Whatever I would say might influence our investigation—even in my own mind—and I didn’t want that. Someone had watched Allison Barstow die.
Whoever it was had stood where I did now.
“I wanted a bird’s eye view of what happened,” I said. “This seemed a likely spot.”
My explanation satisfied Crowley. I didn’t always share the machinations of my gift. If I revealed every psychic itch, I would surely bear a striking similarity to the boy who cried Canis Lupus one too many times. Despite my growing trust in Lucinda, I kept things from her. I wondered when or if that would stop.
Would I ever be capable of having a real relationship?
“It looks as if someone had been up here.” I pointed. “See where the brush has been flattened?”
Lucinda fought a grin and said, “I’ll resist sharing my first thoughts about teens under the influence and what flattened grass might mean.”
“I appreciate your consideration.”
“I’ll ask Detective Ramirez if he’s aware of this ridge and get Hutch up here too,” she said. “Thought you should see this.”
Crowley handed me an evidence bag with a cell phone in it. A text message was on the display screen. I slanted it toward the light coming from the crime scene to see it better.
Death can come anytime…for anyone. Even YOU!
Are you ready to face God?
“Sounds like a death threat,” I said. “Do they know who sent it?”
“Not yet, but I’ve got Sinead working her magic from home. She’ll have something soon.” Crowley nudged her head. “Ramirez wants your take on the religious symbols at the crime scene. He thinks they’re Satanic, maybe Voodoo. Are you done here?”
“Yeah. Lead the way.”
I followed Crowley down the hill and back to a shallow cave made of limestone, located near the fire pit. At the entrance to the opening was a low table set up like an altar, covered by a red tablecloth. Votive candles, bowls of food, and an abundance of fruit had been arranged. The heat and humidity in the air intensified the stench of rotting food and candle wax.
The flies had not been deterred.
“Did any of the kids say what the food was for? This is set up like an altar. The votive candles don’t exactly say ambience.”
“No one’s saying yet, but someone will talk. Allison Barstow was a real popular girl. Everybody liked her,” the detective said.
“Everybody?”
“We haven’t talked to everyone,” the local admitted. “We’re still questioning her teachers and school administrators. They may know something these kids aren’t saying.”
“My team will want to see who you’ve questioned so far and what they’ve said.”
“You got it.”
I shifted my gaze toward the cave opening and the markings on the stone. From a distance it had looked like graffiti, but up close, I saw layers of religious symbols painted on the rock face. I leaned closer for a better look and sniffed.
“Some of these look older, worn by the weather, but these appear fresh.” I stepped back and pointed. “I can still smell the paint.”
I raised my cell phone and took a photo of the images.
“I think these symbolic signs are Santería, not Voodoo,” I said.
I wasn’t familiar enough with the religion to know if the series of symbols were made by true believers. I’d come across Santería for another case early in my career. I needed an expert to tell me more.
“The food looks untouched, like it was meant to be an offering for the Orishas, the demi-gods of Santería,” I said. “Any results on the explosion?”
“Nothing yet.” The detective shook his head. “My guys are analyzing trace from the scene. From how witnesses described the blast, there had to be an accelerant used.”
Before I asked another question, my cell rang. I
glanced at the display and saw the name, Sinead Royce. Lucinda mentioned she had her working from home, even at this late hour.
“Townsend.”
“Okay, I’m just gonna put this out there.” Sinead dispensed with a greeting. “We should really consider casual jammy Friday. Working in pajamas is liberating.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Does that mean you don’t wear anything to bed, Ryker?”
I rarely put Sinead on speaker for a reason.
“We could use some good news, Royce. What do you have?”
“I found out who sent the text message to Allison. I have an address.”
“Good work. Give it to me.”
Chapter 4
Morning
Ryker Townsend
“This is it.” Lucinda said as she pulled the SUV to the curb in front of a matchbox-sized house. “The address registered with the phone company for Elisa Madero. Her daughter Selina did the texting. The girl goes to school with our victim.”
Something about the family’s name sounded familiar, but I didn’t let the distraction pull me from a sensation that hit me hard. I hadn’t found the words to describe the feeling. My nightmare of the burnt corpse seethed to the surface in a sudden burst. I flinched with the first memory and fought for control of my mind as the images pummeled me. I sensed the thin veil between my world and the other side was in danger of a meltdown, forcing me to choose a side.
I couldn’t let that happen.
“Tell me the name of the girl again?” I asked. I shut my eyes tight to block the mental barrage as I waited for Lucinda to answer.
“Selina Madero.” Lucinda reached for my arm. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
I got out of the vehicle and stepped toward a chain link fence that surrounded the yard of a dingy white clapboard house. Weeds and dandelions battled for control of what little remained of the St. Augustine grass. Spindly rose bushes had dropped leaves, stressing in the aftermath of a summer drought. A meager basket of wilted flowers hung from the eaves.
I opened the gate and let Lucinda walk through before I clanked the latch shut behind us.
Near the porch, a shrine to the Virgin Mary stood as a tribute with plastic red roses, blanched of color, fluttering in the scant breeze. In stark contrast to the religious memorial, every window and the front door had wrought-iron bars to keep criminals out. I wondered what could these people possess that would be worth stealing, but bad guys preyed on the poor because they lacked the power to do anything about it. I followed Crowley up the steps and stood by her at the front door.
After Lucinda rang the doorbell, I heard the sound of footsteps inside. The door creaked open and through the wrought-iron bars, a familiar face emerged from the shadows.
“SSA Townsend. Good to see you and Special Agent Crowley.”
The woman from the crime scene last night, the one consulting for the local PD, stood inside looking as if she belonged.
“Athena Madero, in case you forgot.” She crossed her arms and didn’t open the wrought-iron door.
As she said her name, it hit me.
“Madero. You’re related to Elisa and her daughter, Selina,” I said. “I thought there was something familiar about the name.”
“She’s my sister.”
“Yet you’re consulting with the locals,” Lucinda said. “I’d say you have a conflict of interest.”
“Detective Arturo Ramirez doesn’t have a problem with capitalizing on my experience. He can vouch for me.” She smiled. “What can I do for you?”
“We’re here to talk to your sister and her daughter.” I said.
“Is this in connection with your case?” Athena tensed her shoulders and clenched her crossed arms.
I fixed my gaze on the woman, not giving an inch.
“Is your sister home? We prefer speaking to her and Selina.”
Athena narrowed her eyes and stood in silence until she finally opened the door.
“Come in. It’s not a good time, but they’re home.”
After Lucinda and I entered the small living room, Athena walked across a creaky wooden floor and down a hallway. I heard muffled voices but couldn’t make out what they said.
A small shrine to the Virgin Mary burned votive candles in blood red glass on a side table against a wall. The statue of Mary held Selina’s school picture in plaster hands. Flickering light cast shadows on the face of the effigy.
A church pamphlet for the Sacred Heart Church of Brownsville stood up right next to the figurine. I caught a glimpse of Selina’s picture on the inside, but couldn’t see the reason why she’d been featured.
It struck me as odd that Selina had been the sole purpose for the religious memorial, but I would never question a mother’s love for her daughter. I’d been blessed with a mom who accepted and nurtured her strange son with his unusual visions.
Within minutes, Athena came back with her sister and a young girl. They both looked as if they’d been crying and took a seat on the sofa.
“This is Elisa and her daughter, Selina.” Athena didn’t sit. She ran fingers through her dark hair. “Why are you here, SSA Townsend?”
“We’re talking to people who knew Allison,” I said. “We have a few questions. This won’t take long.”
Lucinda picked up on the tension between us and started the interview with a question directed to Selina.
“You went to school with Allison Barstow, right?” Lucinda said. After the girl nodded, she went on. “The police have talked to other students who were there and taken statements from other witnesses. Allison was popular. They said everyone liked her. Is that true?”
Selina didn’t lift her head. Her fingers had blanched from the stress of balling her fists, but she didn’t speak. I took a seat next to the sofa and lowered my voice.
“Selina, can you look at me?” I asked.
When she lifted her chin and dared to meet my eyes, a tear slid down her cheek.
“High school can be tough,” I said. “Popular girls like Allison can make it harder. Is there anything you want to tell us?”
The girl reached for her mother’s hand and sobbed. Pain radiated off her small body like heat, but I sensed something more that I couldn’t explain. I didn’t think she’d answer me, but eventually she did.
“Allison is a…was a bully. Real mean.” She took a ragged breath. “She was popular, I guess, but she wasn’t really…liked.”
“Is this really necessary?” Her mother put her arm around the girl. “Selina is new at school. You know how cruel kids can be. Some of them have picked on her. I’ve seen it. I work in the principal’s office as a volunteer.”
The girl pulled from her mother’s arms.
“Stop, momma. It’s bad enough that they’re here. Please don’t.”
“My daughter had nothing to do with what happened to that girl.” Elisa Madero’s voice cracked and her eyes watered.
“You were there, weren’t you?” I asked. “You saw what happened from a ridge near the grotto.”
The girl gasped.
“How did you know that?”
“What?” Athena Madero stopped pacing and came towards me. “You have no right to accuse her.”
I kept my eyes on Selina and I answered her question as if we were alone.
“I saw the flattened grass where you were. My crime-scene techs took evidence from that spot. There’s no sense in lying. We’ll have proof you were there.” I took a gamble on another guess. “You weren’t invited, were you? You were hiding from them on that ridge. Why?”
“My daughter did nothing wrong.”
I had to get Selina’s attention and keep it.
“Have you told your mother about the text message you sent to Allison before she died?” I asked.
The girl flinched in surprise and I had my answer.
“What text message?” Athena stepped forward and shifted her gaze between me and her sister, Elisa.
“Mi hij
a, don’t say anything else,” the girl’s mother said. “We can talk after they leave. Please don’t—”
Lucinda didn’t wait for Selina to say anything. She read the text message aloud.
“Death can come anytime…for anyone. Even you! Are you ready to face God?” she said. “What did you mean by that? A girl died. We have to know.”
Selina’s face drained of color and she burst into tears.
“I didn’t mean anything by it, nothing to hurt her like that. With Dia de los Muertos coming, I wanted her to feel bad over what she did to me and others. That’s it. I wanted her to think about facing God and answering for her sins.”
The pitiful damage in this girl cast me into a dark mood. I sensed she told the truth, but not all of it. I had to be sure.
“Tell me about Allison, Selina.” I kept my eyes on the girl. “How did she hurt you?”
Tears drained down her cheeks and the sobs had her gasping for air. I let the room fade to nothing until all I saw was her.
“I’m not here to judge you. I’m only after the truth. Please…talk to me.”
Selina raised her chin and stared into my eyes in sad defiance until she opened up.
“Allison made my life miserable. I don’t know why, but she and her friends targeted me every day,” she cried. “She made me hate going to school. She said terrible lies about me. She hacked all my social media accounts, the ones I used to keep up with my friends…and she told them lies pretending to be me. I have no friends because of her. She took everything from me.”
“Oh, mi hija, pobrecita.” Eliza comforted her child. “Why didn’t you tell me it had gotten so bad?”
“I didn’t want you to worry. Everything you do is for me. I didn’t want you to make things worse. Girls like Allison, they don’t stop. I’m sorry, Momma. I’m so sorry.”
Red-faced, Selina ran from the room and shoved through a door down the hallway, heaving. When she vomited into the toilet, her mother raced to her side and left Lucinda and me alone with Athena.
“I think you should leave.” Athena waved a hand toward the front door. When we got outside, she said, “My sister told me about the bullying. It’s been bad, but I don’t think she knew how terrible it’s been for Selina.”
