by G. A. Rael
A creature unlike anything Jordan had ever seen with body of a monstrous wolf was leveling destruction on a burning city. A human arm hung from one of its jaws and fresh blood dripped from its gnashing teeth. Each set of the beast's eyes were aflame with red light and its bear-like paws made the earth quake with every step it took.
Jordan struggled to pull away, but her hand was stuck to Max’s like she was being electrocuted. The beast's head swung around to look at her and she fell back onto the grass. She covered her eyes and turned away from the stench of death on the monster’s breath as it hovered over her and prayed that the next bite would be clean.
"Jordan!" The sound of Max’s voice snapped her out of the vision. Max was holding her on the ground and Jordan's chair was overturned. She must have fallen in reality as well as in her vision. Max shook her gently. "Hey, wake up. You started screaming and you blacked out."
"I had a vision," Jordan said shakily, struggling to sit up on her own. Max righted her chair and helped her into it.
"A vision?" he asked doubtfully. "Like a psychic vision? You really have those?"
"Not usually when I'm awake," Jordan said, trying to swallow. Her throat was dry. "It's been a weird day."
"It is the full moon," Max mumbled.
"What?"
"Nothing. What did you see?"
Jordan stared at Max. She was expecting him to react the way Darren would have, incredulously and afraid for her sanity. Instead, he seemed like he was questioning someone who’d just witnessed a crime. “A monster,” she said carefully, afraid to divulge more than that.
"A monster, huh?” Max’s tone grew stiff. “What did it look like?"
"Awful," Jordan said in a trembling voice. "It was the most awful thing I've ever seen."
Max’s jaw tightened and he looked away. “Yeah, well, my aunt's been working you to the bone, so of course you’re seeing shit,” he mumbled guiltily.
"Yeah," Jordan murmured.
“I’ll drive you home.”
“No,” Jordan said quickly. “I’m alright. I’d like to finish out the night and I still have to take the cash to your aunt.”
“Okay,” Max said, watching her in deep concern. He hesitated and reached for the pen she’d used to keep track of the customers. Before she could ask what he was doing, he took her hand and started writing on it. “Here’s my number. I know this sounds weird, especially with everything that’s going on between you and Darren, but I want you to call me if you need anything, okay? I mean it.”
Jordan stared at him, then at the number he’d scrawled on her palm, not quite sure what to make of it. At first, she was tempted to tell him off for hitting on his best friend’s recent ex, but she got the feeling that Max didn’t have the reputation he did for nothing. If he was hitting on her, he’d probably be a hell of a lot more forward than that, but that just made it all the more puzzling. “Yeah… sure.”
"Good," said Max, glancing at the table. "See you later and thanks for the uh, weird hand thing."
Jordan laughed tiredly, rubbing her throbbing temple. “Don’t mention it. Sorry it wasn’t enlightening, but I warned your aunt I was bad at this kind of thing.”
“Nah. We’ll try again sometime. See you,” Max said gruffly, waving to her before he disappeared in the crowd.
Once he was gone, Jordan went behind the booth’s curtain to change into her regular clothes. She grabbed the cash box and made the trek across the festival grounds to deposit it in Cindy’s trailer before any last-minute customers could show up. She didn’t think she could handle getting any more visions that night, whether they were the apocalyptic kind or simply depressing. It had been years since she’d experienced anything like that, and while her father’s guidance had been exploitative, it was even more bewildering alone.
So much for thinking she could run away. Then again, maybe Cold Creek just had a way of dredging up things people would rather forget.
When she made it to the trailer, only Cindy's assistant was there. It was at once a relief and a disappointment. Jordan felt guilty for skipping town without saying goodbye to the woman who had been a better friend than she deserved during her brief sojourn in the sleepy little town, but at least she had been able to do something to show her gratitude.
Besides, the longer she stuck around the more time she would have to disappoint Cindy and everyone else. It was much better to leave on a high note. Especially before her father could show up and ruin everything.
The full moon hanging over the festival looked so heavy that Jordan thought it just might come falling down. Her car was packed with everything she would need for the next few days and a moving truck would be out by the time the sun rose to remove the last physical traces of her stay in Cold Creek. As for the other traces, she had a feeling those would disappear easily enough on their own. Darren would find someone else. Someone who didn’t come with a truckload of baggage.
Most of the other vendors were starting to pack up by the time Jordan made it to the dark parking lot, shadowed by a few of Cold Creek's famous willow trees. Earlier in the day the shade had been welcome, but it made it difficult to see as she fumbled for her keys in the dark. If she left now, she could be in Pennsylvania by the time anyone realized she was gone.
Jordan finally succeeded at unlocking the car and tossed her bag in the passenger's seat, pausing to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything. She tentatively opened her phone to check and see if she had missed a call or even a text message from Darren. It was strange how a person could hope for and against the very same thing.
At first, Jordan thought the loud click she heard was coming from her phone, but when she felt cold steel pressed against her temple, she knew better. In the rearview mirror, barely visible in the shadows of the back seat, was Hank Thomas.
Twenty-Three
"You're gonna want to give me that phone, girlie," Hank said, holding out the hand that wasn't pressing a gun into Jordan's temple.
Jordan's hand trembled as she placed the cellphone in his palm. The gun didn't waver. "I already turned the cash box in."
"I don't want your con money," he snapped, cocking the gun. "You know what I want."
Her heart sank. "Your wife."
"Stu Herbert couldn't sign his name on a check before you came here and now he's strutting around town like a twenty-year-old," he said sharply. "I saw what happened with those teenagers, so don't bullshit me. You might have Darren fooled, but I know what you really are."
Jordan swallowed hard. "You were watching me all night?"
"A good cop always does his research," he said simply. "I've been keeping an eye on you for a long time, and I've learned a lot of real interesting things. I know your real name ain't Jordan and I know about those devil worship books you keep beneath the floorboards of your apartment."
"How did you --?"
He nudged the gun into her head. "Less talking, more driving."
Jordan's hands were shaking so badly it took her a few tries to fit the key into the tumbler. When the engine finally roared to life, she reached for her seat belt only to feel another shove.
"Nu-uh. If you try to crash this car, you're goin' through the windshield right along with me. Pull out of the lot, onto the trail and take your first left. We're going to the hospital."
"Oh, God," she breathed, pulling out of the parking lot.
"After seeing some of the sick stuff on your bookshelf, I don't think you wanna be calling on him," Hank said coldly.
Jordan gripped the wheel to control her tremors and focused on keeping the car on the road. She hoped desperately that some passing driver would notice something amiss, but no assistance came. She followed Hank's instructions to the letter and grew more anxious with each mile that passed. Somehow, she had to keep him away from the hospital and all the vulnerable people inside of it.
"Make another left up there," he said as the bright white sign in front of the hospital came into view. "Drive past the main parking lot and go around th
at bend."
She followed his instructions until they came upon a quieter building that was obviously a recent add-on to the hospital itself. As they drew closer, she saw the modest sign for the hospice wing.
Maybe he really was just trying to save his wife. If that was true and he wasn’t a risk to anyone else, Jordan hoped she could reason with him. At least long enough to think of another solution.
"Park back there," he said, pointing to a desolate spot in the back of the lot. Once the car was off, Jordan's breathing was the only sound that punctuated the silence. "When you get out, you just remember that I could shoot a tin can off your balcony from the creek in the woods if I wanted to."
She shuddered and carefully opened the door, trying to remain calm as she stepped out of the car. He obviously mistook her rage for fear, which was just as well. He’d be less likely to see it coming when she had her chance to get the upper hand. Hank was behind her in an instant with a leather jacket draped over his forearm to hide the gun pressing into her back.
"I'm the only guard on this watch for the entire hospital, so just remember that if you scream, the only one who's gonna answer is me," he warned as he pushed her toward the entrance. Jordan noticed that the front desk was empty and so was the lobby, save for one man who had long since fallen asleep with his jacket over his shoulders. From the looks of him, he wasn't waking up for a long time.
"Keep moving," Hank muttered, urging her down a hallway to the right. The harsh fluorescent lights would have given the wing a surreal, nightmarish feel even under the best of circumstances. Even if she hadn't already feared hospitals, Jordan knew she would have developed a phobia then. Every turn and flickering light looked sinister.
They came to a room near the end of the hall and Hank paused. He seemed about to say something, but instead he swiped a card in front of the door and a green light flashed above the handle, signaling that it was unlocked.
The room was small and clean with a single bed and a cot off to one side that Hank had doubtlessly occupied on many occasions. There were fresh flowers on the nightstand by the bed where a gaunt looking woman was sleeping. Her hair was cropped into a short industrial cut and her light-blue printed gown made her skin look yellow in the lighting, but she was still beautiful.
The room and the sleeping patient who occupied it weren't what Jordan noticed first, though. Darren sat in a chair on the far side of the room, his arms and legs bound to the frame with thick rope. His bloodied mouth was covered in tape, but his muffled screams were still audible. His desperate, bruised eyes met Jordan's, full of horror. She could only assume his injuries were the result of his struggle with Hank.
"Darren!" she cried, forgetting about the gun pressed against her back as she ran toward him. Hank jerked her back so hard that he nearly dislocated the same shoulder twice.
"That's enough," he growled, shoving her over to the other side of the hospital room. He walked over to Darren and leaned down. "I'm real sorry to do this to you, doc. You're a good man, but you have no idea what you're getting yourself into. Now's probably as good a time as any for you to know your girlfriend was planning to leave tonight. Packed up her car and everything."
The rage left Darren's eyes for a moment as they settled on Jordan again, questioning.
She looked away, too ashamed to admit it out loud. She knew her silence was enough confirmation. Besides, they both had bigger problems now.
Hank looked between them and smirked. "Looks like you two lovers have a lot left unsaid. I'd hate to deny a man his answers before he dies, so I'll do you both a favor and let you have a little chat. Darren, just remember that if you so much as scream, I'll put a bullet in her head before a syllable can make its way out of your mouth. Same goes for you, little lady. Understand?"
Darren was seething, but he nodded. So did Jordan. Hank ripped the tape off all at once and Jordan could see the pain on Darren's face, but he didn't make a sound. He worked his jaw for a moment before turning back to Jordan. "Why?" he asked, his voice hoarse from yelling.
At least now she knew why he hadn't shown up at the festival. Jordan swallowed the knot in her throat, or tried. "I was trying to protect you," she said shakily. "All of you."
"From what?" he demanded.
Jordan looked away, more afraid of Byron Hurlow from a distance than she was of the man who had a gun pointed at her head in the same room.
"I'll answer that for you since the witch isn't feeling chatty," Hank said in a mocking tone. "She's scared of her daddy."
Jordan's shoulders stiffened. She could feel Darren reading her every move. "Is that true? Is that why you ended it?” he demanded of her. “Did he threaten you again?"
"Oh, looks like I've stumbled upon a lover's quarrel," Hank quipped.
"Just let him go," Jordan pleaded. "You want me, not him."
"Happily," said Hank. "Once you heal Susan, I'll be glad to rot away in a cell for the next ten to twenty years and you and your boyfriend can spend your days running from your Bible thumpin' father all you like."
"You've lost your fucking mind," Darren muttered. “You and all the other gossips in town. Jordan is just a normal woman. She can't heal your wife any more than you can bend a spoon with your mind."
"I'd watch your mouth if I were you," Hank said, aiming the gun at Darren's forehead. "You don't know what you're talking about. The innocent little schoolgirl routine is an act, but her fortunetelling sure ain't. She doesn't just heal people, she sees things. This girl's a freak, but she's a freak with powers like you wouldn't believe."
Darren shook his head in a mixture of pity and disgust. "Just let her go, Hank, before you do something you'll regret. You haven't done anything that can't be undone, not yet."
Hank brought the side of the pistol down hard on Darren's head. Jordan gave a startled cry but Hank shoved her back when she tried to reach for Darren.
"Why don't you undo that, you sanctimonious prick?” Hank sneered, turning back to Jordan. He kept the gun on Darren. "Next time it'll be a bullet in his head. Get to work.” He nodded toward a box on the floor beside the bed.
Jordan's stomach twisted into a knot as she realized the box was filled with items from her apartment, including some hacked-off branches of her beloved plants and a spellbook she hadn't so much as opened in years. He really had ransacked her place.
"You don't understand," she began shakily. "It's not a matter of not wanting to do this. I can't. I'm not powerful enough.”
Darren groaned, a trail of blood seeping from the cut on his forehead. "Jordan, don't encourage him. He's delusional."
"I said shut up!" Hank roared before turning back to her. "As for you, you better hope you're wrong. If you can't heal her, your boy here's as good as dead. Or maybe he'll get lucky and the bullet'll just leave him in a coma for the next ten years like my Susan.”
Jordan cringed. She knew she couldn't do what Hank wanted, but maybe going through the motions would at least buy them some time. She swallowed hard and began to remove the items from the box. "I need a space to work," she said quietly.
Darren opened his mouth to argue again, but Jordan gave him a pleading look to stay his protest. Hank wheeled over a tray table from the corner of the room and she began to collect the items in the page he had marked in her book. It was the same spell she had used to heal Hermes. Hank had dutifully gathered everything the healing spell required. What he couldn't possibly know was that the ingredient it all hinged on was something Jordan simply didn't possess in the quantities it would take to heal a human who was already so far gone and had been for a long time.
"Don't try anything funny," Hank warned, on edge as he watched her prepare.
"What's she going to do," Darren muttered, "click her heels together three times and send you back to Oz?"
Hank ignored him, to Jordan's relief. She stayed focused on placing each item on her makeshift altar, taking her time.
"Hurry it up," Hank ordered.
Jordan frowned at him. "You're
already asking me to do the impossible, now you want me to rush the job?"
His silence told her she had succeeded in buying a few more minutes but she knew she couldn't put it off for long. Hank would have his spell, one way or another, and she still had no idea what to do when it failed. And it would fail. Bringing back someone who was only breathing because of life support was practically necromancy. If Susan’s soul was still clinging to her body, there was no telling how to reach her.
"The book said there was another ingredient," Hank said, leaning in to look over her shoulder at the setup. He took the book from her hands and tapped the page. "Vitae. What's that?"
She sighed. "It means blood."
"Jordan!" Darren growled.
"It's fine," she said, giving him a reassuring nod as she removed a short silver blade from the box. "It doesn't take much. It's just a symbol."
"This is insane," said Darren. When she dragged the blade across the lifeline on her left palm and held it over a shallow bowl of water, he cringed and looked away.
"I need quiet," she said, looking at them both. Hank nodded, but Darren wouldn't meet her eyes.
Taking a deep breath, Jordan picked up the bowl filled with her diluted blood and carried it over to the edge of the bed. Holding her hand over the water, she began to chant the softly spoken incantation in the book.
The whispered chant built in intensity until Jordan had repeated it seven times. At first nothing happened, which was exactly what she expected. When the water began to ripple in the bowl, a flicker of hope rose inside of her. She continued to chant, renewed in her intention. Even as the lights flickered overhead, she kept her focus on the bowl, not on Hank's anxious shifting or Darren's muttered curses of disbelief.
"Shh," Hank hissed, taking renewed interest in the spell. "I think it's working."
