“Coffee in a sec, kay?” Julie offered.
“That'll be great, thanks.” Terrick replied, flashing the waitress a smile.
Julie waltzed off to retrieve the steaming jug of filter coffee, leaving Terrick watching Clare.
“Well, you got any plan B?”
They had nowhere to go, no clue to follow. They had come up short at the very first attempt.
“No I don't. I think however the best plan will be to survive the next few minutes.” Clare tilted her head in the direction of the route they had taken round the restaurant. An elderly gentleman with tufts of hair sticking out all over the place peered around. He made eye contact with Clare, frowned and approached the table.
Chapter Fifteen
As the old man approached, Terrick whispered, “Don't make a move.”
Clare realized that not for the first time in her life, she was totally out of her depth. The night her parents had died, it was all bluster and phony confidence that had gotten her back into her house. Now her confidence was hanging by a thread. Physically she was a wreck and Terrick knew this. If he couldn't diffuse this situation and something bad happened, she was done for.
Before she could take another breath, the old man had entered their booth and sat next to her, looking back and forth between the two of them.
“Steady, neighbour,” Terrick said in a low voice. “This booth is taken.” A click under the table reinforced the steely gaze as Terrick cocked the hammer of his until-now concealed pistol.
“Calm it down there, Sheriff Bart,” the old man shot back in a fierce whisper. “Give a feller a chance, why dontcha?”
This earned a glare of such fury from Terrick that it could have melted steel. Despite the tension between the two men, the sheriff maintained his composure. “Why don't you tell us why you are here?”
Julie returned with coffee, noticing the newcomer. “Why, hi there Wilf. Thought you were gonna miss the special today an all. You stayin' here with these good folks? Not your spot on the counter?”
“Yeah I'll be sittin' here with my friends. I'll have coffee, me darlin'. And then the special.”
“How 'bout you folks?” A man across the restaurant waved a coffee mug at Julie and yelled her name. She shook her head and turned back.
“Pot roast for me, please, and the sausage and gravy biscuit for my friend,” said Clare.
“Give the check to me, Julie,” Wilf said. “It's my treat.”
“Sure thing.” Julie smiled and moved off.
“You don't have to,” Clare said, once they were alone.
“We're fine, thanks,” Terrick added, his tone still cold.
“Nonsense,” Wilf replied. “In addition to a free meal, let me give you this as an appetiser. Jarret Logan.”
This sent Clare's warning bells into overdrive. “Where did you hear that name?”
Wilf smiled. “Jim Deane wasn't always chief of police in this little paradise. He may hold the position but he has no instinct and wasn't there the day Logan came to town.”
“Wilf O'Reilly,” Terrick wondered aloud.
“In the flesh,” replied their companion. “You might lose the badge when you retire, Sheriff Heckstall, but it's in you. Police work's all you know and it's a difficult habit to break. Let's say I keep tabs on the department, from afar.” Wild hair bristled with anger as Wilf leaned forward. “The department's not what it once was. The chief's more concerned about politics now than policing. They wouldn't know a mystery if it jumped up and bit them in the ass.”
“But you do?”
They paused as Julie swept in with a round of coffee before hurrying off.
“So there was a day, a decade or so back, when this guy shows up at the station, such that it was. He was a tall drink of water, short dark hair. The perfect lookin' city cop. He presents me with transfer papers from Worcester, signed by some lieutenant or other. Now I can tell you here and now he wasn't lookin' very happy. When I sent him on his way, he didn't get mad. Looked sort of resigned to his fate, as if there weren't nowhere in the world for him to fit no more.”
Clare's heart had clenched at the words 'on his way'.
“What do you mean you sent him on his way?” Her question was asked with caution. The last thing she wanted to do was frighten this old man off.
“Well I saw it like this. We didn't need anybody else, and we certainly weren't gonna have some punk-assed lieutenant from Worcester ordering us around. They had always treated us like poorer cousins as it was.”
“Was there anythin' else of note?” Terrick asked. She gulped down her coffee; it was only just below scalding temperature and she felt the hot flush as the liquid hit her stomach.
“Yeah there was. He looked like he knew something was up; Kept glancing out the door behind him. I think he wanted a safe refuge, from what I initially had no idea. It was like he never expected to get that far. When I sent him on his way he refused to go. He asked about a case that had happened back then. A couple of strange deaths had been reported. These people looked like they had been sucked dry.”
Clare's blood turned to ice. The twisted faces of the victims in the morgue returned to her. The report of her parents, the copy safe in her travel bag, suddenly felt like a lead weight.
“Sucked dry, you say?” Terrick watched her while he repeated this; maybe he was looking for signs of a possible reaction.
“Yup,” Wilf continued at a whisper. “Sucked dry, but somehow still chewy, if that's the right word. It looked like someone had hooked in a tube and just drawn the life out of 'em. I swear, it looked like somethin' supernat'ral. They were well-preserved, but an animal must have gotten to 'em. They had strange marks up their arms. Looked like lovebites. Claw marks too, like they'd been gripped.”
“Did you take any photos?”
Wilf fixed her with a steely gaze. “Girl, this is the wilderness up here. Nobody knew the deceased and they had no identification. In all honesty the guys wanted rid of the bodies and the case. How Logan knew about it was anyone's guess. He reacted like you when we told him everything was gone. I gave him the case notes and sent him on his way. We don't like strange things transpirin' round here. We certainly didn't want a media circus in Bernardston. The less people as knew about it, the better. Your Chief Deane was a rookie and out on patrol when this went down. He wasn't part of the investigation, and we kept it that way.”
“You keep saying 'we',” Terrick observed. “Who else was involved?”
“Sergeant Pete Carter, one of my oldest friends. He died soon after. I saw no reason to tell anyone about this. With Pete dyin' of old age, and Logan takin' all the evidence, it just went away.”
“It hasn't gone away,” Clare said. “The same thing is happening right now. We had hoped Logan would be able to help us.”
“You don't say?”
Clare nodded, the futility of the situation frustrating her.
“Well girl, your answers don't lie around here. That's one thing Deane and I agree on. You need to try up round Ashby. That's what I told the other guy.”
“What other guy?”
“He was a little guy, this other. The polar opposite to Logan, twitchy and staring. I didn't trust him. Said he was on a taskforce to transition officers who excel in the hope of training a new generation of state-wide law enforcement. I sent him on too, said he could catch the first guy if he hurried. He was only hours behind.”
“Was there anything else remarkable about him?” Clare suspected it was the janitor. Small and staring; that was him all over.
“Not that I care to remember. He was ordinary, unremarkable until he stared at me. Then the eyes were so bright, at least they seemed that way. He also had a fruity scent about him. Come to think about it, so did Logan.”
“What makes you think of that?” Terrick asked.
“She had the same scent on her breath when I first sat down. In fact, he had a look like you as well, the first guy, Logan. Gaunt, as if the very flesh was being eaten from
within. He really looked like he needed to be somewhere in a hurry, just didn't seem to know where.” Wilf pointed at Clare with his fork. “Strange how you remember these things after such a long time.”
“Strange indeed,” Terrick agreed.
“Listen. You want a tip? If you're gonna go poking up around Ashby, be very cautious. If I were you, I'd approach it out of state.”
“How so?”
“Because Harley's got everybody looking for you two, that's why.”
Clare let go of her coffee cup surprised, causing a clatter and a few of their closer fellow diners to turn their heads. “How do you know that?”
Wilf smiled and pulled out a portable scanner. “This is one of many. There's a lot of weird crap goin' on these days. It don't hurt to stay clued in. Follered you as soon as I heard Chief Deane chasin' your name with Worcester. Do me a favor. If you're dead set on this, remember the word 'Viruñas'.”
“Who's that?” Clare asked.
“Beats me. The second guy had it tattooed on his forearm. Hid it up pretty quick too when I spotted it. Stay away from the sheriffs too. Nasty bunch round there.”
Lunch came and went quickly after Wilf's strange warning. Given direction, Clare once again felt that familiar surge of purpose. It was good to be back on the trail. Without worrying about the check, Clare used the bathroom before joining Terrick in his car. The engine already idling, he shifted into gear as soon as her behind touched the seat.
“Fortuitous,” was the only word he uttered for ten minutes during which time they passed the small Italian restaurant, Antonio's, crossed the I-91 and headed at a leisurely pace toward the Vermont town of Winchester through craggy hills and dense pine forest. They passed a sign hammered to a couple of rough pine logs, faded yellow text on a cerulean background bearing the words 'Welcome to New Hampshire'.
Upon passing the sign, Terrick let out a sigh. “A night's respite. If anybody's been followin' us, they'll stop at the border. Cops up here're much more provincial.”
“How's that gonna help us? We have to go back into Massachusetts to reach Ashby.”
“It's as old Wilf said. They won't be looking for us in this direction. If Jim Deane made contact with Worcester, the last place they knew we were was Bernardston. Nobody but the old cop and his dead partner know where Logan went, so unless you go announcin' us, we have a moment to breathe.”
“Unless feds are on the case,” Clare pointed out.
“Don't go creatin' problems for us, girl. Let's deal with what we have in front of us.”
Terrick was right. Clare felt the sting of her insides fighting against whatever was ruining her. Why worry about a hypothetical situation when they had actual concerns. Pushing her hair back behind her ear, Clare said, “So what's the plan? Do you know this area?”
“Some. You see that great hill up in the distance?”
Clare watched for a gap in the trees. When they opened out, the horizon was dominated by a squat but very broad peak, the forest ending in pale gray granite.
“That's Mount Monadnock,” Terrick said. “Around it is the town of Jaffrey. I know a few places to stay that are out of the way, and only twenty miles or so from Ashby. We camp out here tonight, and hit Ashby in the morning, ask around about anything that might have happened a decade back. They must have stores and restaurants. How's that sound?”
Not liking the sound of 'camp out', Clare shrugged. “We have a place. That's a start.”
Camping out turned out to be two rooms in a lakeside hotel called the Woodbound Inn, next to Contoocook Lake, which sprawled south of Jaffrey. Clare especially enjoyed the wood-panelled rooms and the open fire, which she set to a blazing roar just as quickly as she was able. After a brief meal with Terrick, Clare returned to her room. It was not late but despite the morning's sleep weariness was ever-present. Clare closed the curtains and lay down atop the plush maroon comforter, stitched into diamonds, and watched the flames flicker in the hearth. She had no idea how long she lay there listening to the crackle of burning wood. One moment the fire was alight, bright yellow flames reaching heavenward and the next moment she was looking at glowing coals, far more sedate but still very alive with heat.
Clare shook her head, reaching for a drink. How long had she lain there? The room was very warm, and she felt rested but hadn't registered sleep. Was this insomnia? Was she now in a semi-catatonic state where she could not tell the difference between the two? Unable to settle, Clare could no longer just lie there. She reached into her jacket, hanging on the chair, and grabbed both her cell and Tina's.
The clock read 3:42 am; she must have slept at least some of the time yet she still felt exhausted, her stomach in knots and her bladder full again. Instead of seeing to herself, Clare settled back onto the bed, too weary to move any further. She considered Tina's phone for a long while. There was one number stored in the quick-dial, presumably to another phone that Tina held. Clare's thumb hovered over the send button for what seemed an age before she placed the burner out of temptation's way on the table by the bed. If Wilf O'Reilly could detect a conversation, surely more advanced technology could do so too. That would be her quest for answers over in an instant.
Clare looked at the other phone. The Wi-Fi bars indicated good signal. Clare grinned and opened a search engine. What was that word? Vironas? Verunos? She tried several combinations before a complete lack of sensible results led her to the answer.
“Viruñas,” she said to the empty room.
The logs crackled back at her. Clare entered the word into the phone. When a grinning face appeared on the screen, she yelped, throwing the phone across the room. It landed screen up, staring at her. Shaking, she drew her knees up and buried her face in her legs.
Chapter Sixteen
Daylight crept in under the heavy velvet curtains. The room was warm and scented with pine from the still-smouldering logs. Clare lay on the rumpled comforter, still wide awake.
A polite tapping at her door made her jump.
“Terrick?”
“You decent?”
“Come in, it's unlocked,” she called.
The door opened and Terrick entered, closing the door behind him. “You look like crap,” he observed. “Did you sleep?”
“Maybe; What day is it?”
“Thursday.”
Interview day plus six.
“What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost.”
“Terrick, I know what Viruñas is.”
The sheriff pulled one of the straw-colored cushioned seats from the window to the side of her bed. “Go on.”
Clare brought an image to the screen of her cell. In it, a pale-skinned humanoid creature with glowing red eyes and several missing teeth crawled toward the front of the picture. A straw hat obscured much of the body but it had trousers on. Clare flicked to another screen. In the dark, an emaciated creature bound with a minimum of muscle stared at the screen, mouth agape. Its skin was a pale gray but again, it was the eyes that were the focus of the picture. They shone pure white.
“There are more pictures like this, Terrick. Every depiction of this creature has glowing eyes, as if there is nothing behind them but a lust, a hunger that knows no satisfaction. It's as if the eyes have no soul in them whatsoever.”
“Or they don't realize what's going on, like a substitute character for an everyday man, like a werewolf.”
Clare laughed. “Now you're talking like a loon. Such things don't exist.”
“Okay, so that is a Viruñas. What has it to do with these murders?”
“Well first it's pronounced 'beeruhnyas', and it's a legend based in Colombian folklore. The creature itself is also called a Mandigas and is believed to be a depiction of the evil one, I guess meaning Satan. It's often depicted as a handsome man who steals the souls of the people. There are other stories that tell of Viruñas being a werewolf-type creature, presumably with the same goal. It's really all very sketchy. What they do have in common is what he does to people. He scrat
ches them with talons. His victims then just lay down and allow him to take their souls.”
“Just lie down and take them…” Terrick repeated in a mystified voice. “How the hell would one do that, if it existed? Which it doesn't.”
“That's not all,” Clare continued. “The stories speak of the bodies of his victims. Twisted and thin, like agonised shells of the people they once used to be. Sound familiar?”
“So you're sayin' that what, this janitor of yours with the word Viruñas on his arm is some sort of legendary copycat?”
“The tales go on. Though they originated in Colombia, centuries ago, these stories tracked the path of Viruñas northward through Central America. Each country tells its own tale, sometimes about Viruñas, or the other name he took, Mandigas. The trail leads up through Mexico, into the South-Western United States, the last report of such tales being that of a native tribe in the early twentieth century. Always sporadic attacks, grouped presumably to not betray a pattern.”
“Or because your legendary monster only needs to feed every so often.”
Clare felt a weight pressing in, as if the creature was there, menacing them. “Always six attacks. There's only two more to go.”
“Yeah. If this was a creature out of legend, Clare. I think you're overreactin'. What you've got here is a guy whose probably seen the same website you've read. He's a copycat.”
“If that's the case, where's the mescaline coming from?”
“This cactus still grows, Clare, the guy could be using it because he's deluded, or a very clever psychopath. Maybe he's just tryin' to resurrect a legend.”
“Whoever this is, we need to get to Ashby and find out what happened to Logan. Someone will have a name, a witness. If he ended up there we need to find something. My parents can't rest in peace until we nail that scumbag.”
The eyes haunted Clare in silence as both she and Terrick prepared for Ashby. She came to the realization that not only was her body rebelling against her but her mind, her very essence, was altering. Never in the past would she have entertained the concept of a flight of fancy directing the search for her parents' killer. She was beginning to believe in instinct, in something other than what she could analyse. As they neared the crossroads where route 124 would take them from New Hampshire back into the metaphorical maelstrom that was Massachusetts, she imagined a road full of cops waiting for her. Weapons would be raised, the lights of the cars flashing red and blue in the shape of a huge pair of glowing eyes. Everywhere she looked Clare saw them. A chipmunk on a branch watching her: Eyes. Another driver coming past, waving a rare greeting between travellers: Eyes. Shadows in the trees: Eyes.
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