Rotting Souls

by Sara Clancy

  “It’s a dream catcher!” Nicole declared.

  “I didn’t know they were a Blackfoot tradition.” Cheyanne stumbled to add in a whisper, “Is that okay to say?”

  Nicole’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry?”

  “She wants to know if you prefer to be called Blackfoot or Siksika,” Benton explained.

  Working at the Buffalo Jump Education Center had perfected Nicole’s ‘museum tour guide’ tone.

  “While I can’t speak for everyone in my tribe, Mrs. Bertrand, I personally like Siksika. Although either is fine. Regarding the dream catcher, there’s a bit of debate over the exact origin, since trade and intermarriages tend to spread traditions. That said, it’s generally accepted that they originated with the Ojibwe.”

  “I learned something new today,” Benton said, watching as his dream catcher slowly rotated.

  The moment Nicole turned back to him, her smile turned into something real and warm.

  “A friend I made at last year’s powwow made it for you.” Before Cheyanne could ask, she hurriedly added, “It’s a week-long cultural festival celebrating numerous tribes. It’s open to the public. You and Mr. Bertrand should come.” That over with, she fixed her attention onto Benton. “Do you like it?”

  “It’s cool,” he said, transfixed by the motion of the feathers. There was something familiar about them. A rich cameral with darker stripes. “I don’t know what a dream catcher is, though.”

  Nicole giggled until she realized he was serious. “Oh. Wow. Okay. Well, the air is full of dreams, both good and bad. You hang the dream catcher over your head as you sleep. Good dreams, being lighter, can slip right through these gaps and trickle down the feathers.” It was a simple idea, but she demonstrated with her fingers anyway.

  “And the bad ones?” Benton asked.

  “They’re too heavy to make it through,” she said. “They stay trapped and are destroyed with the first rays of dawn.”

  Benton marveled at the small ring. Could it be that easy? “No bad dreams.”

  “I’m not saying you should use it all the time. Just when you need a break.”

  Cheyanne shifted uncomfortably, caught between insisting that Benton’s condition could be regulated with medication and denying that he had a problem, to begin with.

  “As Grace explained it to me, the custom was that girls got owl feathers, for wisdom. And boys got eagles, for courage. Well, gender restrictions aren’t what they used to be. Besides, owls suit you better.”

  Great horned owls, he realized with a chuckle. By Siksika tradition, owls were omens of death, and they sure loved him. Cheyanne looked between the teens.

  “What am I missing?”

  “Just a bad private joke,” Nicole chirped.

  Benton’s gaze focused through the gaps within the spider web, turning the barn from a blur into a solid looming structure. Ackerman scuttled across the roof, a dark, misshaped figure that the floodlight glare couldn’t touch.

  “Benton?” Nicole asked.

  He swallowed thickly, feeling a slight pang. “We really should call it a night.”

  Chapter 2

  Nicole stifled a yawn. Her picnic basket swung from her arm, rattling the assortment of cookies that filled it as she moved about the bustling room. Everything had a silver lining. For the Slaughs, it was that everyone had embraced the concept of generosity. Every blood drive was an exercise in organized chaos. It was her job to control the flow of people. For reasons she couldn’t fathom, the nurses refused to let her do the stabbing part.

  “Make yourself comfortable, Ms. Long Fisher,” she beamed to the middle-aged woman. “The nurses will be with you soon.” A quick glance and she was on her way to Mr. Smoke. “Ready for your cookie?”

  The old mechanic was peering hungrily into her picnic basket before she could finish the sentence.

  “What have you got for us this time?”

  She plucked out a key lime pie cookie with a flourish. “Don’t worry. I remembered your favorite.”

  The man took it with a grin. He patted her on the head as he moved towards the door. A flush of pride swept through her, helping to fight off her fatigue for just a little longer. Turning around, she was about to call the next donor over when there was a sudden crash.

  The single level hospital didn’t have an excess of space. The emergency room entrance was just down the hall. And the corridor devoted to it ran the length of the room, visible through a series of windows. Staff rushed past. A blur of white coats and pink scrubs crowded around a trembling gurney.

  A gargled scream tracked the progression. Frantic. Panicked. A roar that made terror roll through Nicole’s veins. She moved without thought, sprinting across the room to catch a glimpse of what was coming. Through the crush of bodies, she caught a glimpse of the patient. Amy Black Bear. Horror distorted the young girl’s features. But that wasn’t what stopped Nicole in her tracks.

  Nicole’s stomach dropped. She barely heard the cries and whispers that swept through the crowd like wildfire. The medical workers swept the sobbing girl down the hall and out of sight. But the image of her remained, burned into Nicole’s mind.

  Someone took her eyes.

  ***

  “Benton,” Dr. Aspen sighed. “Are you sure that this is what you want to spend your hour on?”

  Tossing a baseball between his hands, Benton sunk back into the therapist’s over-padded patient chair.

  “Why not? You get paid either way.”

  Aspen carefully kept all the frustration he must have been feeling out of his voice. It was an impressive skill. “One of these days, you might want to try talking about yourself.”

  “Why? They don’t matter all that much.”

  “But Nicole does?”

  Benton caught the ball in his right hand, feeling the scars that marred his palm squish against the smooth surface.

  “Well, yeah. It’s Nicole.” Why do shrinks always ask dumb questions?

  “Nicole is a–” Aspen searched for a way to describe the neurotic teenager completely devoid of personal boundaries. “Unique girl.”

  “Understatement,” Benton noted with a smirk. Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees. “Look, we all know she’s been through a lot. Everyone in this town has. But there was this other thing, and I don’t think she’s dealing with it well.”

  “What thing?”

  She shot a serial killer point blank between the eyes to save me. “It’s complicated.”

  Aspen straightened slightly. “Benton, are you suggesting that Nicole has been a victim of an assault?”

  “No.”

  The lie came out with well-practiced ease. It was what they had all agreed on. Zack, Meg, Danny, and Nicole, Benton listed them, still unable to believe that there were so many people in on one of his secrets. Oh, and Dorothy. Benton hadn’t gotten around to telling Zack and the twins that the constable knew what had happened on the road. But he had been expecting Nicole to suffer a complete breakdown and wasn’t about to risk her mother not being there to show support.

  “Then what?” Aspen pressed, his question pulling Benton from his thoughts.

  “You know, stuff. She’s had two friends die under strange circumstances within a year. That can’t be good for her.” He struggled to grasp the proper line of thought but soon gave up on it. “Look, the point is that we need to help her. She’s filling every second of her day. I mean, sure, that’s kind of normal for her. But this is getting extreme. I don’t think she sleeps anymore.”

  “A situation you can relate to.”

  Benton arched an eyebrow and started tossing the ball again, not bothering to straighten up. “Can we focus, please?”

  “We’ll never get to the root of your problems if you refuse to discuss them,” Aspen said for the thousandth time.

  “What problems?”

  “Off the top of my head,” Aspen said as he lazily twirled a pen beside his notepad. “Your night terrors, sleep deprivation, and the increas
ing resentment you hold towards your parents.”

  “I have prophetic dreams about brutal murders. I’m secure enough in my masculinity to admit that it scares the hell out of me. So, oddly enough, I’m not all that eager to fall asleep.” Benton continued before Aspen could respond, “My parents would rather think I’m a murderer than believe me. Have they told you that they think I’m going to kill Nicole? Because I can’t have a friend unless death is involved.” He ignored how accurate that statement was. “Would you look at that? We’ve covered all my issues. Today was a good day.”

  Aspen tried to hide his smile but didn’t quite succeed. “Your parents have been expressing some concerns over the intensity of your relationship with Nicole.”

  Benton sputtered a laugh. “My what?”

  “They think that you may be becoming co-dependent.”

  “They wanted me to make a friend. I made a friend,” Benton flung his arms out in indignation.

  “Have you ever thought of perhaps making a second friend?”

  “That sounds like a lot of work.”

  “It’s important for your social development.”

  Benton huffed. “I joined the baseball team. Isn’t that enough human interaction?”

  A small sigh slipped past Aspen’s lips. The sound indicated he was about to get serious.

  “Co-dependence isn’t something that you should dismiss out of hand, Benton. It can be damaging for both you and Nicole.”

  “Did it occur to you that my parents might be exaggerating?”

  The office door suddenly jerked open, just far enough that Mike, Aspen’s assistant, was able to poke his head inside.

  “Are you busy?”

  “You ask a man obviously in the middle of conducting a therapy session,” Benton mumbled. All things considered, he liked Mike. The guy always had the coffee pot full and never tried to force Benton into small talk. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t give the guy a hard time every now and then.

  Mike leveled Benton with his standard ‘I’m completely done with your shit’ look. “I was actually talking to you.” Shifting his glance to Aspen, he continued, “I normally wouldn’t interrupt, but she was very insistent. And irritating.”

  Before Aspen could reply, Nicole’s head popped in under Mike’s.

  “Hey guys,” she smiled, her voice locked into her super cheery Miss America tone. “Sorry to interrupt. Benton, can I borrow you for a second?”

  “Sure thing,” he hopped up and tossed the baseball back into the toy chest by the door.

  “Benton,” Aspen spoke sharply as he got to his feet.

  “It’s been forty-five minutes. I think we made good headway,” Benton replied as he slipped under Mike and out of the room.

  Aspen drew in a deep breath. “Okay, the two of you–”

  “I’m really sorry to be rude, but we have to get going, and I’ll listen to everything you have to say later, and I left you cookies as an apology, bye!” Nicole rambled in one rushed breath, latching onto Benton’s hand and dragging him out of the reception area.

  Benton had to jog down the long corridor to keep up with the pace she set. Without missing a beat, she took him down a flight of stairs to the hospital.

  “Um, Nic, remember how these situations go better when you tell me what we’re up to?”

  “That’s debatable,” she dismissed as she jumped the last couple of steps.

  His sneakers had barely hit the tiles before she was pushing him back against the wall. Pinning him in place with one hand on his sternum, she swooped over to peak around the corner. The tips of her hair brushed across the tiles, creating a dark shiny waterfall that was bound to draw attention. With a sigh, Benton gathered it back for her.

  “Why are you attempting to be stealthy?”

  She shushed him, paused, then shot him a look over her shoulder. “I am stealthy.”

  “In a Godzilla-in-Tokyo kind of way, sure.”

  Straightening up, she looked on the verge of an argument before recalling the supposed importance of whatever it was that they were doing. One more glance and she reclaimed his hand, pulling him past the empty nurse’s station to the cluster of patient rooms beyond.

  “Why are we sneaking around?” he asked.

  “So we don’t get caught.”

  “There’s barely any staff, and you’re still wearing your candy-striped uniform.”

  The red and white striped apron looked a little odd with her ever-present boots. Recently, she had taken to wearing that. They were Mountie standard issue, something stolen or inherited from her mother. He wasn’t sure which. While he never asked, he was sure the soft leather was a deliberate choice. Hopefully, they would survive longer than her other pairs. They had a short shelf life in dealing with the paranormal. Her jeep sustained damaged, but at least it kept running.

  Without warning, she backtracked and pushed him into a room they had just passed. Benton stumbled, suddenly aware of every lanky inch of his legs, but managed to keep upright. To his surprise, they weren’t in a janitor’s closet. For reasons he couldn’t guess at, Nicole had an odd fascination with having important discussions in them. He blinked into the dim light filtering in through the closed curtains, taking in the sparse dimensions of the space. He wasn’t entirely surprised to see that there was someone in the single bed.

  He jerked a thumb in the girl’s direction. “You know she’s here, right?”

  “Of course, she’s the reason why we’re here,” Nicole said as she closed the door quietly. “Don’t worry, she’s been sedated.”

  “Are you trying to make me feel like a creeper?” Benton asked.

  Nicole dismissed him with a wave of her hand, already perusing the doctor’s chart.

  “Amy, right?” Benton asked.

  Nicole blinked in surprise. Her head finally popped up. “I didn’t know you two were friends.”

  “We’re not,” Benton said with a half shrug. “I just got that thing for names and faces, remember. I think we have History together. What happened to her?”

  “According to her mother, she completed her shift at the fort, did her homework and went to bed.”

  “And according to her?”

  “Well–”

  Benton groaned.

  “I haven’t said anything yet.”

  “Yeah, but that’s your warning tone,” Benton said.

  “She’s in a hospital. That really should have been your first indicator.”

  “True, but when you use that tone, I normally end up being attacked by monsters.”

  “Oh, you get attacked all the time. Don’t start drama,” Nicole dismissed. Drawing him closer, she handed him the charts.

  “I can’t read these. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

  Nicole huffed with frustration, her body strumming with energy. Eventually, she rounded the end of the bed and waved him closer to Amy’s sleeping form.

  “Nic,” Benton whispered in warning.

  “She’ll sleep right through it,” Nicole promised. “Just look at this.”

  He reached across the bed and snatched up her hands before she could touch Amy.

  “Stop.”

  The command broke through the haze of anxiety and brought her to a sudden halt. As if waking from a dream, she looked down at the sleeping girl, then back up to Benton.

  “I haven’t washed my hands,” she said numbly.

  “What?”

  “I was about to touch her wounds, and I haven’t washed my hands.” Horror twisted up her face, and her chest began to heave with every breath. “How can I treat Amy like this? What was I thinking?”

  “Hey, you were just too focused on the big picture.”

  Nicole looked at him with tear rimmed eyes. “I’m a horrible person.”

  “If you’re horrible, then I’m heading straight to hell,” Benton replied. “No, just tell me what is going on.”

  “Something took her eyes.”

  The words came out in a sudden rush, so fast that he was
sure he hadn’t heard it correctly.

  “What?”

  Nicole repeated herself, careful to keep to a normal pace.

  “You mean, something attacked her, and her eyes got injured?”

  “I mean, according to the medical report, her eyes have been completely removed. The muscles were surgically cut.”

  Benton studied Amy’s tawny complexion. His dreams had educated him in just how much eye-wounds bled, and what that kind of volume loss did to a body.

  “She hasn’t lost any blood.”

  “There were none on her sheets, either,” Nicole blurted out. “Okay, yes, I read the police report, don’t tell mom.”

  “None on her sheets?”

  “Not a drop. Her blood tests are all clear, no sign of a struggle, and her mother didn’t hear anything strange.”

  Benton looked between the women once more, his eyes lingering on the small stitches keeping Amy’s eyelids secured.

  “Something like that takes a lot of skill.”

  “Creepy way to put it, but yes.”

  “I’m just saying, whoever did this has some serious game.”

  “That’s not any better,” Nicole replied. “And you know that a human can’t do this.”

  “Actually, I know at least seven that can.”

  Silence lingered between them for a long moment.

  “That disturbs me,” she said.

  “Yeah, well, they’re serial killers. So they probably should,” Benton replied.

  She ignored that and quickly got back on track.

  “Did you dream about her?”

  “You’d know if I had,” he replied.

  “Are you sure?”

  He wanted to roll his eyes, but it seemed too disrespectful in the present situation.

  “I tell you and your mom every dream I have.”

  Nicole bit her bottom lip almost petulantly as she thought. “I don’t think a human did this. It just feels like it’s something more. Something,” she glanced around like she suspected they were being overheard before leaning in and whispering. “Other.”