Damon turned away from the door, intending to return to the papers in front of him, when the sound of car doors slamming reached his ears.
He glanced at the digital clock on the other side of the room.
7:30 a.m.
Who the hell?
Maybe there was a break in the case, he thought suddenly. Maybe they didn’t want the information to go out over the radio for fear of the press catching wind of it. While he knew it was wishful thinking, Damon’s steps grew lighter, a sense of heady anticipation welling inside him.
The bell sounded, and its echoes hadn’t even faded before he slipped the lock and opened the door.
"Mind if we come in?" Sam asked the Sheriff. "We really need to talk to you."
Without a word Damon stepped back, allowing Sam and Katelynn room to step inside. After Sam introduced Katelynn, Damon indicated the hall that led to the living room and they all headed in that direction.
Katelynn took a seat on the sofa, Sam beside her, and, without thinking, Damon chose the seat across from them, the coffee table like an unconscious dividing line between them. It was only after he sat down that Damon felt the first traces of the adversarial nature of their choice of seating, a feeling which grew as his police instincts recognized he’d been right; Sam and his friends did know something about what was happening in Harrington Falls.
Damon spoke first. "I know I suggested you make an appointment to see me this morning, Mr. Travers, but I didn’t expect to see you this early," he said lightly, hoping to dispel some of the tension he could feel slowly enveloping them. "What can I do for you two?"
He watched as they glanced at each other, saw Katelynn nod her head to Sam, and so wasn’t surprised when it was the latter who addressed him in reply. The ball had quite clearly been dropped in Sam’s court.
"Sorry it’s so early, but we needed to speak to you."
Damon nodded for him to continue.
"I, we, need to tell you a few things, but before we do, we need to get your promise that telling you won’t cause us further trouble. If we don’t get your word on that, I’m afraid we can’t continue."
Puzzled, Damon stared at the two of them for a moment without answering. Just what had they gotten themselves into?
Cautiously, Damon said, "As long as whatever it is doesn’t break the law and would therefore violate my oath as an officer, I guess I can agree to that."
Sam hesitated, and glanced at Katelynn.
"I think that’s the best we’re going to get, Sam. Tell him," Katelynn replied, and Damon was surprised to hear the pain and resignation in her tone.
Turning to the Sheriff, Sam said bluntly, "We know what has been committing the murders."
So shocked was he at the announcement that Damon didn’t pick up on Sam’s choice of words. He leaned forward eagerly in his chair. "Who?"
Taking a deep breath, Sam told him.
About the statue.
About Gabriel and his tale of the Age of Creation.
About the Nightshade and the attack at Riverwatch.
He told him everything they knew. When he was through it all, Sam told the Sheriff where Jake was headed and what his friend intended to do.
Then he sat back and waited for a response.
For his part. Damon had been running a gauntlet of emotions ever since Sam had started speaking. Now, forty-five minutes later, he didn’t know what to think. He’d started with disbelief, moved to sarcasm, and then developed a deep-rooted conviction that they had both gone crazy. As Sam had continued speaking, this gradually gave way to a surprising sense of belief.
As crazy as it sounded, God help him, it also made a weird kind of sense.
Provided you believed in monsters.
"What, exactly, is it you want me to do?" Damon asked Sam.
"Go with us to Riverwatch. That’s where Jake is headed. If my story is true, you’ll get your shot at the killer that’s been terrorizing this town. If it’s not, I apologize for wasting your time."
Damon thought about it for a few minutes. What would it hurt to go with them? he asked himself. It was likely they really had seen something out by the river; Sam had not displayed even the slightest sign of lying, something Damon’s trained eyes would have detected instantly. And the fresh wounds on his back and shoulder were certainly proof they’d run into something. It was entirely possible that they had seen the animal that Strickland had been talking about after the autopsies, and had simply let their imagination run away from them. Could he blame then for that, considering the present circumstances?
Damon didn’t think so.
If there was a chance they had actually seen the thing, he was duty bound to look into it.
Besides, it was the only lead he’d had in days.
"Okay. I’ll go with you."
He stood up and moved to the gun cabinet on the opposite wall. Taking the key ring from his belt, he unlocked the doors and selected a high-powered rifle from the rack within. He reached inside a second time and filled his pockets with spare ammunition for the weapon. If it turned out that Sam was right, Damon did not want to be caught unprotected.
When he was ready, he turned to face them.
"Let’s go have a look at this thing," he said.
Chapter Thirty-three: First Strike
Jake stared at the Nightshade with a mixture of awe, fear, and dreadful fascination. It was hanging before him, suspended by its feet upside down from one of the ceiling rafters in the garret, its claws gripping the rough wood securely, its body swaying slightly in the light breeze that entered through the open window. The low light from the lantern glistened off the creature’s form, the beast’s scaled hide wet with the dew that gathered during the early morning hours. He could see it was large, probably over six feet when standing. The multiple folds of its wings meant they would probably somewhere over ten feet when fully extended. Now they curled gently about the creature’s body like some kind of protective screen, making it seem the beast had wrapped itself in its own awesome embrace. The Nightshade’s head was tucked down against its chest, the edges of its wings against its temples, and Jake was suddenly glad that he wasn’t going to get a good look at the creature’s face.
Jake set the lantern down slowly, gently, taking care to be as silent as possible, not knowing how good the creature’s senses actually were. Does it know I’m here? he wondered. Can it sense me? Smell me?
With his right hand Jake reached behind his back and slowly withdrew the pistol from the waistband of his jeans, never once taking his eyes off the beast. So far the it hadn’t moved; that was good. Maybe I was right, he thought to himself with sudden hope, maybe the damnable thing goes into hibernation during the day after feeding so much at night. Maybe I’ll be able to end this right here, right now, before it even has a chance to defend itself.
Adrenaline kicked and surged through his system, forcing him to take a more secure grip on the pistol as his hands began to sweat. Slowly, he shifted into the classic shooter’s stance; legs slightly bent and shoulder-width apart, left hand cupped over the bottom of his right, arms extended before him. His sneaker scuffed the floor as he shifted weight and instantly he froze, but the beast never moved, never even flinched. After a long, fear-filled moment, he released the breath he had been holding and prepared to fire.
He surveyed the beast’s form for a moment, settling on the head as his best possible target. He knew he had to make the first shot count, hoping it would be enough to slow down the creature long enough for him to empty the whole magazine into the thing. If nineteen bullets weren’t enough to stop the thing, then there wouldn’t be much else that he could do except to say a quick prayer and run like hell for the staircase behind him.
The Nightshade still hadn’t moved. If it was going to wake up, it already would have already done so, he told himself.
Steadying his aim, Jake crouched slightly lower in his stance and locked his arms in their current position. He drew in a deep breath and slowly began lett
ing it out, squeezing the trigger as he did so, the motion one long steady pull just the way he’d been taught at the range, his eyes never leaving the target.
The creature opened its eyes and looked at him in the same instant that the gun fired.
The Nightshade took the shot high in the space between its shoulder and its neck, snapping its head back with an audible crack. As force of the shot slammed its body against the wall, its feet suddenly losing their grasp on the crossbeam overhead, causing it to drop to the floor.
Jake adjusted his stance, sighted, and fired again before the sound of the first shot stopped echoing around the small room, putting the second bullet cleanly into the side of the beast’s head. The passing slug tore a hole through the creature, taking a large chunk of skull with it as it tore its way back out, spraying the wall and floor with a grisly mixture of blood and bone.
Silence filled the room as the echo of the two gunshots faded away.
Jake held his ground, waiting for the beast to move.
It’s dead, it has to be. Nothing can take that kind of damage and survive, he thought to himself. Even so, he held his ground, his breath frozen in hopeful anticipation, the adrenaline surging through his body like a raging river.
The minutes slipped away.
Neither he nor the beast moved.
Jake waited a full five minutes before lowering his arms, his muscles shaking with the sudden release of tension and the overload of adrenaline in his system. It seemed he suddenly remembered to breathe again, and the air came rushing into his lungs.
Relief flooded his system.
Then the sudden rasp of a claw on stone sent his heart slamming into overdrive.
The Nightshade was moving!
The beast had pushed upwards on its arms while at the same time drawing its feet underneath itself for support, forcing its body up into a crouch, its claws scraping the floor as its limbs fought to obey the commands its damaged brain was sending out to them. Yet that wasn’t what made Jake stare in dumb amazement; it was something far worse.
The Nightshade’s skull was slowly beginning to heal right before his eyes.
The bullet had left an exit wound the size of a grapefruit, as he knew it would. The edges of this cavity were slowly drawing themselves together now, new flesh and bone flowing out of the skull like clay, matting itself to the other sides and knitting them together. In a matter of moments there would be no evidence that the wound had ever existed.
And then the beast opened his eyes.
In the space of a second, Jake realized two things with cold hard certainty.
The first was that the creature was laughing at him.
The second was that he was about to die.
It was a testament to his stubborn pride that the second fact unfroze him from his pose of immobility and got him moving again, his right arm swinging back up, his finger tightening on the trigger even before the gun was in line with its target.
Unfortunately, this time the Nightshade was faster.
Jake managed to get off one shot, the slug slamming into the creature somewhere between its left shoulder and ribcage. Then the beast’s clawed hand smashed into Jake’s own, leaving bloody furrows down the length of his forearm and knocking the gun from fingers that had suddenly gone numb from shock and pain. Without any hesitation, the same arm that had struck him seconds before came back around in the opposite direction, this time striking the side of his head with the back of its hand, the blow hard enough and strong enough to knock Jake clear off his feet and halfway across the room.
The Nightshade moved closer, and suddenly it did laugh, the sound striking Jake like ice pouring into his veins, the hair on the back of his neck rising in response.
The laugh was low and chilling, and utterly inhuman.
Unless he did something, and did it quickly, Jake knew he was going to die.
He could clearly see that his left leg was bent at an unnatural angle just below his knee. Moving caused white-hot pain to flare in his leg and he had to clamp down his teeth to keep from screaming aloud.
The creature was halfway across the room now, no more than ten feet away. Its arms were outstretched, its hands, if you could call them that, clenching and unclenching in what Jake imagined anticipation of sinking those great claws into his unprotected flesh. As it approached the Nightshade unfurled its wings like a cobra spreading its hood. Their length cast him in shadow as they blocked out some of the light from the lantern on the other side of the room, the sound of their movement like the rustling of reeds in the gentle spring breeze by the riverside.
The sound was anything but reassuring.
Knowing that he had only seconds before the beast was upon him, Jake gritted his teeth against the pain he was feeling and tried to gather his good leg underneath him, using the wall against his back to support his weight as he pushed himself into a semi-standing position.
By the time he managed to accomplish that, the beast stood before him.
Jake stared into the creature’s inhuman eyes and fear washed over him in a wave.
But the stubborn side of him, the one that forced him to try to shoot the beast even after he’d seen it heal itself, that side again rose and coaxed his courage back out of hiding.
If he was going to die, at least he would do it on his feet, facing whatever was to come. His left hand tightened into a fist at his side, a meager defense considering what he was facing, but reassuring in its own, simple way.
All right, you bastard, he thought fiercely, let’s see what you’ve got.
As if in answer, Moloch reached out swiftly and grasped both of Jake’s shoulders in his iron grip. He dragged Jake closer, a hideous smile splitting his mouth open to reveal the double-rows of needle-sharp teeth that lined his jaws.
The pain from the motion of his broken leg was too much for Jake.
Darkness closed in around him.
Out of that darkness came a voice, a voice full of menace and hatred, a voice that scurried up his spine with millions of tiny, ice-cold feet to reverberate against the walls of his skull with enough intensity to cause physical pain. It was a voice that was felt, not heard, directly inside his mind.
"You are cattle," said the beast, with the confidence of a predator trying to explain to dull-witted prey. "You have always been cattle. That is your rightful place. Watch!"
Suddenly the darkness was swept aside, to be replaced by visions of violence and gore, of a land and a time long since forgotten and passed behind. Jake’s senses were overwhelmed by the blood and sudden violence, by the smells and sensations that came through the tide of the Nightshade’s memory. They were so real, so vivid; a drama of such scope that he was not only an observer but also a participant, locked within the creature’s mind.
As he hung there, desperately trying to fathom a way out of his predicament, the beast’s voice echoed inside his mind.
"Cattle! If it were not for the meddling of the Elders, things would not have changed; the balance would not have been disrupted. Now you can find no solace amongst them. This time, things will return to the way they were supposed to be." His tone turned to one of grim satisfaction. "Cattle you were, and cattle you shall become again.
"There are none left to oppose me!"
Moloch leaned forward, his mouth opening wide to reveal those rows of gleaming teeth. A forked tongue flicked out to dart here and there about Jake’s face, leaving trails of glistening mucous where it came in contact with his flesh.
Moloch’s vile laugh filled the tiny room.
Jake stared death in the face, and realized that he no longer had the strength to resist. The pain in his leg was overwhelming, and it had quickly sapped what little strength he had left, so that all he was able to do was hang limply in Moloch’s grasp and meekly wait for what he knew was to come.
As the beast’s jaws came slowly closer, Jake braced himself for the pain. The mocking scorn in the creature’s laugh told him it would be anything but swift and painless.
The teeth descended.
*** ***
Katelynn was riding in the back of Damon’s Bronco, listening only vaguely to the conversation going on between Sam and Damon when it happened. Her left hand held the necklace Gabriel had given her, sliding the stone back and forth on the gold chain on as she gazed out the window nervously, praying they would be on time. When the stone first glimmered with the faint flickering of red light from deep within, she didn’t immediately notice. It was only several moments later, when the faint glow suddenly flashed into blazing incandescence in the blink of an eye, filling the back seat with its eerie red glow that she did.
Katelynn felt a faint tickling in the back of her mind, a sensation she barely noticed over her surprise at the light emanating from the stone. When that tickle turned abruptly into pain, like two great icy hands squeezing her mind between them, she realized that she was in trouble. By then it was already too late, for she only had time to gasp softly in pain before the darkness that had begun swimming on the edges of her vision rushed in like the swell of the tide and she lapsed into unconsciousness without uttering a word.
The first sign that Sam and Damon had that anything was wrong came when they felt something violently strike the back of their seat. Turning to investigate, Sam almost caught Katelynn’s next kick full in the face. As it was, he was struck high on his shoulder with enough power to elicit a sharp grunt of pain.
"Holy shit!" was all he managed to utter in surprise.
The rear seat was filled with a deep scarlet glow that sprang from the stone clenched tightly between Katelynn’s fingers, a bright, lurid light that made everything it touched seem to be drenched in a thick tide of blood. In the middle of this, Katelynn thrashed back and forth violently, lashing out with her feet, slamming her sweat-drenched head from side to side against the leather of the seat, obviously in the grip of some kind of bizarre convulsion.
For one long moment, Sam could only stare.
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