“Do you know what day it is, Daddy?” She smiled a ten-thousand watt smile at him. How could she be this happy this early in the morning?
“I’m guessing it ain’t Daddy’s sleep-in day,” Braeden said, brushing his hair out of his eyes.
“Nope!” Abi said, “it’s Halloween!”
Braeden blinked, his eyes sticking open. That was right. It was Halloween. He felt a little tingle of fear, and he answered her slowly. “It surely is.”
“Yay!” She chirped, bouncing lightly on his steadily increasing belly. “I can’t wait to get candy!”
She tended to talk at a high volume, even indoors, loud enough now that Braeden cringed, still feeling like he was suffering from sleep desiring to take his body over again. Still, her stream of thought raised in him more than a little concern. “Baby girl …” he started, trying to figure out how best to inform his daughter that there was no way in hell he wanted her out trick or treating tonight. This town was in the shit heap, after all. What was to stop whoever was causing this crap to come roaring in on kids trick or treating?
“Am I going to get to see Miss Evelyn today?” Abi asked, switching tracks quicker than his sleep-addled brain could keep up. She looked so damned earnest, her lower lip pooched out a little. “I want to show her my princess dress.”
Braeden opened his mouth and closed it, afraid of letting out a toxic cloud of morning breath. Abi had commented on that once or twice, not so politely. “Uhh …” Braeden said when he opened up again, “… well … you’re probably coming to work with me today.”
“I get to sit in the office with Tracy and Mr. Haskins!” She stiffened in excitement, apparently all thought of Miss Evelyn forgotten in favor of something better. “Yippeeeeeee!” And she bounced on him again, roiling his belly.
Braeden just lay back and let her knock the air out of him a couple times. It seemed a fair exchange for what he was going to have to do later, when he’d be forced to tell her there wasn’t going to be any trick or treating tonight. Between this and Evelyn Creek going nuts, Braeden had to admit it was not shaping up to be Abi’s best week.
*
Sun was streaming through the stained glass, right through the broken window, and Father Nguyen was still orbiting the church slowly, chanting under his breath as Reeve listened, the fatigue settling in on him like his bones turned to lead inside him. He could hear Casey’s soft snores somewhere behind him, and Dr. Darlington was passed out on a pew a couple rows away. Lonsdale was still twitching up near the altar, the demon hunter apparently having had enough of demons for the near future.
Reeve could sympathize with that. He’d certainly had enough demons to last him a lifetime or twelve, too.
The front door hadn’t opened all night, and they’d heard not one word from the team at the hospital. Reeve had his doubts about the Legion attacking there, though he’d had to concede when Arch and Hendricks floated the plan, that that was as good a target as any, especially if Father Nguyen went and made St. Brigid’s impregnable to their fucking devil faces.
Reeve sniffed. The smell of his own smoky undershirt and boxers wafting up through the donation clothes Nguyen had provided him to cover his near-nakedness mingled with the incense Father Nguyen was shaking as he walked, and it combined to make a smell that wasn’t unlike the sandalwood shit that Donna used to burn to make the house smell better.
Oh, Donna.
Reeve sat there in the chair, the pad on the seat long ago having lost its battle to keep his ass from touching the metal beneath. Sure, there was still cloth between them, but that pad had fought valiantly to hold him an inch up and failed completely. His tailbone was just about directly on the metal, and it hurt. His legs ached, and his ass was numb. His thoughts were chugging slowly, too, reminding him of one of those motion-activated sprinklers that would spritz like crazy when a duck walked in front of it. In his case it was like he was sleeping when the thoughts weren’t spritzing out in quick sprays, then settling back to nothing but congealed brain drippings.
He was trying not to think of Donna but was failing. He couldn’t even help it, his cheeks were sticky and had that dried-out feeling. He hadn’t made a sound, but sure enough, for about the second time in his adult life, he’d wept, big ol’ tears running down his face as he sat watching the door for trouble. He’d zoned out for long stretches, and then come back to it, alternating between trying desperately to hold it all in and all that feeling just bursting out and dripping down his face.
“You should sleep like the others,” Father Nguyen said, the chain on the incense burner squeaking as he stepped in front of Reeve. This had to be his thousandth orbit of the church. He’d been going tirelessly since last night, whenever it was that they’d all gotten back together here.
“Don’t want to leave the door unguarded,” Reeve said with an inescapable yawn. He reached a hand up to cover his mouth and smelled nothing but the scent of fire. He jerked his hand away quickly, but not quickly enough.
“The church is now a sanctorum,” Nguyen said with a yawn of his own that he didn’t even bother to cover. He was busy holding the incense burner in one hand and a book in the other in any case. “They couldn’t do anything here if they wanted to now.”
“You’ll forgive me the irony if I don’t put my entire faith in that,” Reeve said dryly. He was surprised he could be that clever at this moment. He figured any sense or wit had left him a long-ass time ago, somewhere in the night, or maybe during the fire that took everything else.
“There are other people we could call,” Nguyen said, “to watch the door.” He looked at Reeve carefully, like he was aware that his attention was flagging due to fatigue. “Mr. McInness, Chauncey Watson, Ms. Cherry—why, even Pastor Jones from the Methodist Church.”
“I like how you put the Methodist after the madam in your list.”
Nguyen smiled faintly. “There’s help if we but ask.”
Reeve didn’t smile. “I feel like we’d be dragging these people into a fight they don’t deserve to be dragged into.” He straightened up in his chair, adjusting in the seat so a different part of his ass could go numb. “There’s being in a fight, and then there’s …” He just shook his head. “I don’t know what you’d call this. A massacre, maybe.”
“I can’t begin to imagine what you’re going through,” Nguyen said, “and I doubt my words or prayers would bring you much comfort at this point. But … what’s going on in this town affects us all. Ms. Cherry, Pastor Jones—”
“Seriously, hookers before Protestants? That’s really how you see the world?”
“—Mr. McInness, and Mr. Watson … they live here. They’re part of the town, the only part that believes you, it would seem.” Nguyen smiled, adjusting his collar. “Believes us. This is a community, and has been for as long as I’ve been here, which admittedly is less time than the rest of you. Being part of a greater whole means that … sometimes you have to put aside pride or fear and ask for help when you can’t do it alone.”
“I guess I hope we can do this alone,” Reeve said. “This one thing, dealing with this Legion. I hope we can deal with it on our own, because … I mean, these other demons, they’ve come to destroy the town, and invade and pillage and wreck … but they’ve never made it personal, as I understand it. Not that cow thing, not the guy who wanted to flood the town, not the Ferris wheel guy or the Rog’tausch. They just wrecked shit—errr, stuff. This Legion, though …” Reeve sighed, shaking his head. “He just wants to hit us right where it hurts. Hit us all where it hurts. Pulling in other people right now? Feels like we’d be pulling them into this blood feud with us. And all they’d get is theirs shed.”
“Perhaps you’re seeing it wrong,” Nguyen said pensively, his eyes moving slowly over the church. “Sometimes … people who care want to get involved in your problems. They want to help. And at the very least, they might wish to be forewarned in case this … this thing broadens the scope of its attacks. Innocent townspeople are already bein
g caught in the middle.”
“You might be on to something there,” Reeve said, rubbing his eyes and adjusting in his seat again. “On the other hand, it wouldn’t be too hard for that Legion bastard—errr …” He blushed, looking at Nguyen apologetically, “… to take what Erin knows about the people who supported us at the meeting the other night and just preemptively possess them.”
“You’re facing demons, sheriff,” Nguyen said, putting a hand on his shoulder. It was small, but strong, and he shook Reeve gently. “And not only demons, but demons who specifically take over bodies. They are uniquely positioned to sow distrust, to divide us from one another. And yet if we fail to trust, it is entirely possible that divide us they will, destroy us, and then … what happens to Midian when the next threat comes along? Because as you say, it seems personal with this Legion, rather than them just destroying the town as a means to an end. But with us out of the way …?” The priest shrugged his small shoulders. “Who else will stand between the town and the next threat? Because I’m guessing Mr. Pike won’t.”
“Maybe that’s why we should keep Barney Jones and the rest of them in reserve,” Reeve said. He knew there was wisdom in what Father Nguyen was saying, but it was like the priest was his corner man, telling him to lean into the next punch coming his way. Maybe that was the way to do it, to try and score a hit, but he’d be damned if he could get over the sense of a man who’d taken one of those punches before and had it floor him.” He bowed his head. “I’ll think on it.”
“You do that,” Nguyen said, standing up, his incense burner rattling as he lifted it. “I’m going to go sleep for a while if it’s all right with you.”
“Yeah, I’m tired but I’m not ready to lay down, if you know what I mean.” Reeve glanced back at Dr. Darlington, eyes closed, her pretty face frowning in her sleep. There were no sweet dreams going on there. “I’ll keep watch on the door.”
“Sleep if you need to,” Nguyen said, dragging away, the man’s energy clearly spent walking the last however many hours. “This place is safe now.”
“I’m not sure anywhere is safe from this motherfucker,” Reeve said, but he said it so quiet he knew the priest couldn’t hear him. He felt guilty about swearing in the church anyway, though.
*
Amanda Guthrie was still not used to the name but didn’t give it a lot of worry. She had other things to worry about, after all, what with Duncan avoiding the hell out of her as they paced around the perimeter of the Red Cedar hospital, trying to look incognito while they were prowling. Security hadn’t come out to ask them shit yet, not that it would matter if they did. Duncan and Guthrie both had badges that would leave them with the strong impression that they were federal agents on a case, which would clear the road enough for their purposes. The fact that no one had asked and they’d been out here wandering for hours suggested to Guthrie that security here was not much of a thing.
She caught a glimpse of Duncan as she came around a corner, the sunlight gleaming off the hospital walls. They were kind of a whitish, rocky brick of the old school, and the place had a distinctly gothic feel to Guthrie, like an old train station or city hall. She’d been inside, briefly, and it was all modern in there, like they’d done a renovation at some point, but the exterior still looked like an old hospital ripped right out of Victorian England or something.
The sun was shining down on Guthrie’s shell, clearly trying to cut down on the morning’s natural chill. She was keeping her eyes peeled basically for people who looked like they were keeping their eyes peeled for her. It wasn’t as though she could detect these Legion fucks, after all, so her method of detection was limited to the visual, watching out for people who weren’t walking around like most humans, heads so far up their asses they were experiencing partial digestion of the face.
So far, it was mostly people blissfully unaware of anything outside of their own existence or their cell phone screens.
She had seen Duncan, though, just before he turned another corner. He gave her a look back first, like he had the last few times she caught sight of him. Then he burned off again, hurrying to keep away. He’d never been much of a conversationalist to begin with, it seemed their recent tension was making him even less willing to listen to Guthrie’s occasional lecture. It wasn’t exactly fine with her, but after spending a few months in fire, she could imagine a lot worse fates.
She walked past the hospital dumpsters again, catching a faint whiff of what was waiting in there. She ignored it. She could do that, because her senses, while much better than a human’s or even her last shell’s, did not interpret the smell of garbage with an automatic revulsion reflex. Nor did she feel said reflex on much of anything, really. Even less than before, when she’d been Lerner. It would probably come in handy.
She came around another corner and there went Duncan, around the next, hoofing it to stay well ahead of her and any conversation they might have. That was probably for the best, too, though he didn’t know it. Guthrie didn’t want to explain everything to him. Not yet, anyway.
*
Hendricks woke up in a chair to hear Alison let out a choked sob. He blinked the sleepy crust out of his eyes and saw her standing in front of a doctor, she and her mother and Arch all lined up in a row, having a hushed conversation. He focused in on them and held his quiet, not wanting to intrude on this family moment, but pretty damned curious about what was going on with Bill.
“We really just need to wait for him to wake up now before we can make a full prognosis,” the doctor said. It was a woman in her forties, easily, still wearing a mint green surgical cap. She had glasses on, and her mask was hanging off of one ear like she’d just gotten out of the operating room and couldn’t be bothered to take it off. She had to have changed some, though, didn’t she? Because she wasn’t wearing a plastic surgical gown, just scrubs.
“But he’s still alive?” Addy Longholt asked, her hands hovering around her mouth like she wanted to bite her fingernails. Hendricks had seen her fingernails and doubted they’d been within a mile of her mouth since she grew to adulthood. She looked like she was ready to stick one in now and have a good chew, though.
“He’s alive,” the doctor said, “and he’s stable. But I have to warn you …” she got grim, “… the amount of brain tissue that was lost in the gunshot … there’s almost certain to be impairment to his cognitive functions in some way or another.” Her mouth turned into a thin line as she paused before dropping the big bomb. “He may never be the same again.”
Hendricks could tell from where he was sitting that Arch was getting it all and processing it a lot more impartially than Alison or Addy, but he was also keeping his mouth shut and letting them work to it. The big man was just wearing a frown.
“Never be the same again how?” Alison asked. She was a smart cookie, and she was clearly still thinking, even after the incredible lack of sleep and all else. “Will he ever walk again?”
“It’s impossible to say right now.” The doctor just gave them a half shrug. “We’ll know more when he wakes up.”
“Will he be able to talk?” Alison asked, plunging on ahead. “Will he—”
“We just don’t know for sure,” the doctor said, and Hendricks thought he smelled bullshit couched in polite terms. They had to know where the bullet went through, didn’t they? Wouldn’t that tell them what Bill would be able to do when he woke up? “We’ll need to assess when he’s awake.” The lady doctor started to withdraw, Hendricks could see her desire to pull away, to keep from fielding any more questions she wasn’t ready to answer. “Hopefully we’ll find out more later today.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Arch said, closing the conversation for her and putting a hand on his wife’s shoulder, presumably to keep her from following the lady down the hall and bombarding her with questions until she vanished behind those big double doors in the distance. Hendricks watched her retreat. It was a thing of elegance, he decided, dignified and practiced, like she’d done it a bunch of ti
mes before and would be prepared if someone followed her like a puppy.
“It’s gonna be all right,” Arch said, taking his wife into his arms. Alison looked stunned more than anything, Hendricks decided, her eyes off in the distance as she came around in Arch’s embrace. She looked right at him and he didn’t close his eyes quite fast enough.
“You hear all that?” she asked quietly when they made eye contact. She didn’t sound accusatory, but Hendricks cringed inside anyway.
“Most of it,” Hendricks said, feeling like he’d gotten caught beating off.
“She seem like she was lying to you?” Alison asked.
“Being cautious, more like,” Hendricks said, as Arch raised an eyebrow. “I get the feeling she doesn’t want to get your hopes up or crush them, just wants to let things take their course and see how your dad’s doing when he wakes up.”
That seemed to satisfy her, and Arch let out a breath of relief. Hendricks could read that sudden comfort in the thought that maybe his wife wouldn’t be crawling the walls, overthinking everything. He remembered that feeling vaguely from being married himself.
“No word from Duncan or L—Guthrie?” Alison asked, pulling off Arch slowly.
“I’ve heard the same thing you have,” Hendricks said, yawning. “Maybe less.” He looked around the small waiting area. “I suppose I could go look for them, see if I can get an update.”
“Or we could just call them,” Arch said, relentlessly practical and clearly an enemy of exercise.
“I should go check on Brian,” Addy said, her face softening. “He’s due to be released sometime later today, figure he’ll want to come up here.”
“Great,” Alison said with a complete lack of enthusiasm.
“Don’t be like that,” Addy said, gathering her soft sweater about her shoulders. “He didn’t have anything to do with this and you know it, Ali.” She turned and headed for the elevators.
Alison stuck out of her tongue after her mother in a fine display of five-year-old maturity. Hendricks snorted loudly, but Addy Longholt did not hear before she disappeared around the corner. “That’s great,” he said, in all sincerity. “Prize winning wit, there.”
Legion (Southern Watch Book 5) Page 38
