“I know you wouldn’t have,” he said. “You wouldn’t have believed me last week, but now, how can you still question there may be things you don’t understand? A phenomenon which defies logical explanation?”
I mulled this over. “I guess you’re right. But what do you mean a Goddess? Wouldn’t that be someone good?”
He shrugged. “There’s a lot we don’t know, but there is some kind of being, creature, ghost or whatever it may be that aids the Oppressors. They call her Hecate.”
“How could you know that?”
“I know it sounds like a bunch of crazy stories, but I have to trust from all I’ve seen that there’s truth to the stories.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Something is managing the Oppressors, otherwise we’d be teaming with them, or there’d be none. There has to be someone controlling their passage from the Underworld to Earth.”
He slid his cup in slow circles, leaving a trail of condensation behind. “We’re like an Oppressor training ground. We’re right in between Pittsburgh and the university. They can go from one to the other or pick off the transients passing through.”
I turned to the window, watching the rain streak down the glass, distorting the images on the street as the wind picked up. The familiar masks hung, rattling off the street sign. “What’s with the creepy masks?”
Chance followed my gaze. “Some people believe hanging the masks will bribe the Goddess to help them choose the right direction at an intersection.” He shrugged. “Others hang them outside their house to keep spirits, or those from the Underworld, from entering. Some leave food at intersections, either to signify they honor her or want to be under her protection. It’s said she protects those most would shun, fear or misunderstand.”
“Does that work?” That might explain Mrs. Shaw and the bags of leftovers I kept tripping over outside the bar. Initially I was relieved to see them there, just to know she wasn’t taking them home to eat. But finding the ripped remains of the plastic bags disturbed me more.
He sat back in the booth. “Hard to say. It’s kind of like superstition. The stories probably started with facts, but over the years fiction caused them to grow or warp. But these practices make people feel like they’re doing something, like they have a little control. It’s kind of like the saying to keep your enemies close.”
“What can we possibly do? There’s few of us and so many of them.” I pushed my sandwich away as my stomach clenched. “We don’t even know where to start.”
Ruthie said Oppressors were everywhere, but people aren’t aware of them, except for me.
Chance grabbed my hands and squeezed. “It has to start somewhere and every bit matters. Their numbers are dwindling because of people like us. We can shift the balance. Doesn’t even one life make a difference?”
It was the closest to seeing him angry, but of course on him that meant his brow furrowed a little. I thought of Tessa and how nice it was to see her in the mirror. How much nicer it would have been to have her here, for her and Ruthie to continue to argue in person about recipes.
“It’s your choice.” Chance watched me expectantly as I processed this information. “You can leave right now, if that’s what you want.”
“Can I?”
Chance averted his gaze, whether he didn’t want me to leave, or he didn’t want to answer, I didn’t know.
Finding Tessa with her unnaturally twisted body burned the image forever into my brain. I recalled the monster leaving through the back that night, but was unable to put a face to her murderer. Clouds of blackness like a swarm of flies surrounded her body, leaving behind a nauseating stench like rotting flesh.
With the hope she was alive, I rushed to her side, even though I knew it was impossible as the pool of blood surrounding her grew. When I checked for her pulse, her head flopped forward on her broken neck. Yes, one life would make a difference. It would have made a world of difference to me.
“It was an Oppressor that killed Tessa, wasn’t it?” I said what I’d known for some time.
“What did it look like?”
“Not a person. More like an electrical image flashing on and off. His features were distorted by the blackness surrounding him.” It looked a lot like the creature from the woods with more of a human form, but nothing like Drake. Or whatever Griffith might be.
“He probably was one of the lower level ones. Those are ones too disfigured to walk in normal society because he’s not formed enough.”
“What do you mean, a lower level one?”
The teenagers had left, and the sub shop had emptied out except for us since the lunch hour was about up. “Oppressors thrive off fear, hate, violence, and death.” Chance ticked these off on his fingers as he explained. “The more they absorb, the more powerful they become.”
“The higher the level, the easier they can blend within society and not stand out like a freak. Most lower level Oppressors can’t even be seen. Higher level ones look human.”
I sipped the remainder of my soda, the straw nosily protesting as I sucked more air than soda. “But I could see him. He was barely visible, almost like a ghost.”
“That’s one of the ways we’re different. You, in particular, can see most or all of them. Destiny and I can’t. That’s where the animals help us, in case any get too close.” He placed his palms on the table and waited until I lost interest in my straw. “We want you here because you’re family, but we need you because you’re the strongest of us all.”
I squirmed under his scrutiny. “Has someone seen it? The Goddess or guardian or whatever it is?”
“Not exactly. I’ve heard of other witches claiming to have seen her. It’s said she can walk the earth in another form, but only in her true form and power when there’s an ebony moon, or otherwise two new moons in one month. There are lots of stories about what she looks like, but I don’t think anyone would be able to see her.” He caught my gaze. “Except maybe you.”
Chapter Fifteen
We need you. I thought about Chance’s words as I drove, studying the signs for the psychiatric hospital. Had anyone ever needed me? Maybe Tessa, but when she needed me the most, I hadn’t been there.
It felt good to be needed, but it was terrifying. It meant responsibility. People counting on me. I counted on me, no one else. I was used to letting myself down, not others. Except for Tessa.
Since I’d gotten here, I’d been blindly following everyone, believing what they told me, trusting. All Tessa ever emphasized was, trust no one. Rely on my instincts. That’s what I planned to do now. I trusted Griffith, but no one else did. I needed to start making my own decisions.
Turning down the narrow road leading to the state hospital, my car shook as it bumped over a pothole. Huge, sprawling buildings were spread out over a few acres of ground. The old buildings on the hill appeared to be from a different era, with a few crumbling and falling apart. Barren trees lined the roads and walkways.
The trees were probably beautiful in the fall, when they were full of color, or in the spring sprouting new buds. But right now, their naked, skinny branches heightened the creepy atmosphere. I parked in the visitors’ lot and stepped out of the car. Being a few miles from the main road resulted in a serene isolation, and despite the desolation, it was peaceful here.
I walked into the building marked Administration. People milled around in the lobby, appearing to have no destination other than aimlessly wandering. I couldn’t tell the difference between the staff or the patients since everyone wore street clothes. I’d followed the same policy when I’d worked at an inpatient psychiatric ward. The intent was to make the patients comfortable in the relaxed atmosphere. With no receptionist desk in sight, I went directly to the window marked Security.
“I’m here to visit Mrs. Kneel.” The man slid the window open separating us. His badge labeled him as security, and the uniform confirmed it, but his rotund physique and orange crusted, cheese puff stained fingers had me doubting his commitment to his job. This might work to
my advantage.
I’d been concerned I wouldn’t be permitted to visit Griffith’s mother, since I wasn’t a relative and hadn’t met her before. Mr. Cheese Puff might not care.
“Sign in here and fill out this name badge.” He pushed a clipboard and a white sticker in front of me, and went back to observing the cameras displaying various pictures of the grounds. Most of the screens were empty of people. They didn’t appear to merit the interest he took in them, munching snacks as if watching a prime time movie. I would’ve thought the people in the lobby might prove more worthy of his attention than the scenery on the screens.
After filling out my name, I stuck the tag boldly marked visitor on my shirt, careful to avoid attaching the sticker onto stray strands of my hair.
The cinnamon scent became stronger as each minute passed. I’d thought once the voices in my head started, I’d no longer suffer with gagging on the smell of cinnamon, and muttered as much. I complained quietly, but apparently not quietly enough.
“It’s ’cause there’s so much hopelessness there.”
I recognized Tessa’s voice.
“Everyone’s trying to get in the Kitchen to help because the amount of despair at the hospital is too much for you to handle, even with all of us here. I’ll see what I can do, honey.”
I gritted my teeth and cupped my head in my hands as the smell became nauseating. The security guard pulled his attention from the cameras to me. Lowering my hands, I tried to hold my breath, forcing a tight smile. The skin felt tense across my cheeks with the strain, twisting my grin into more of a grimace.
“You all right, miss?” He put down his cheese puffs, licked his fingers, and then wiped them on his pants, leaving a four-fingered orange streak on his leg. He kept one hand near the little walkie-talkie hanging on his belt.
My eyes watered from the sickly cinnamon scent. “I’m fine.” The taste of cinnamon filled my mouth. “Just allergies.” I coughed into my fist and whispered, “Come on, Tessa.”
As quickly as the pungent smell filled my head, it dissolved. The scent of unwashed bodies, cigarette smoke, and mustiness filled my senses. I never thought I’d be grateful for that combination of odors.
“All taken care of for now, sweetie,” Tessa replied, in my mind. “I don’t know how long I can keep the migraine at bay with the amount of depression in this place. I’m not sure what your point was coming here. Try to make it a short visit. You aren’t strong enough for this, yet.”
The security guard continued to eye me warily, but luckily the chirping of the walkie-talkie interrupted his observation. “Joe, pick up.” The radio buzzed again.
Joe reached for it on his hip as he dismissed me. “Third floor on Ward Four. I’ll let them know you’re coming up.”
“Thank you.” I hurried to the elevator and pushed the button before he could change his mind. A coat of light blue paint tried, but failed, to camouflage the ugly cement brick walls of the lobby.
A dark-haired woman approached to stand beside me. “You got any smokes?” Her dentures fell from their perch where they’d hung precariously onto the roof of her mouth and clacked together. She tried to push them up with her tongue but gave up and used her nicotine-stained thumb to pop the dentures back into place.
“Sorry, I don’t smoke.”
“How about tea bags, then?” Her foul breath forced me to step back to escape it.
“No.” Her gaze raked over me, searching as if I might have any number of desirable items stashed on me. Her inspection was more thorough than the security guard’s.
“Coffee?” she asked.
“Sorry, I don’t have anything.” Besides, I wasn’t sure if I could give it to her if I did. Maybe she didn’t have any of that stuff for a reason. The elevator arrived, and I rushed in with her right at my heels.
“What are you here for?” She shoved her hands into her pockets of her tight, faded jeans.
“To visit someone.” The elevator doors slid closed at an excruciatingly slow pace and shut with a thump. The engine rumbled, as if trying to gather the strength to rise the two floors, and I stood in the motionless elevator that felt the size of a closet with this overbearing woman. I impatiently pushed the floor button again, even though it remained lit.
The woman studied the button I pushed. “There are two Wards on each floor. Which ward do you want? Three or Four?”
Though she didn’t appear threatening, and there wasn’t any Oppressor-like fog floating around her, something about the woman made me uncomfortable. The plastic peeled back on the corners of her faded, worn name badge. A frowning photo identified the woman as, Angela, a resident of Ward Four, with grounds privileges. It appeared we’d be traveling together.
“Ward Four, to see Mrs. Kneel.” I figured she’d know Mrs. Kneel or find out who I intended to see anyway with her continued questions.
“Oh, Stella. She doesn’t ever get visitors.” Angela frowned, as if trying to determine my motive for visiting and then visibly brightened. “Hey, if you’re going to be visiting Stella again, maybe you can bring me stuff? Cigarettes, coffee and tea bags?” She moved closer.
I edged toward the door as her overpowering floral body spray unsuccessfully tried to mask her body odor. “I’ll see.”
The elevator thudded to a stop with a jerk, making me wonder if the ancient thing had hit the roof. I braced my hand on the wall as the elevator rattled, settling into place on the new floor, then the door opened at a snail’s pace. I squeezed through, the minute it appeared wide enough for me to fit. Hesitating in the dimly lit hallway, I searched for a sign to indicate the direction to Ward 4.
“This way,” Angela said, her voice gravelly from a throat abused by cigarettes. She pointed toward a pair of locked doors to the right. I trailed behind, pausing as she slid her name badge through a card slot to gain admission. Angela went into the ward, but I hesitated, uncertain whether I should walk in unannounced. The local mental health center I’d worked at in the past had limited security, but I thought there’d be more security here.
“Come on, you just head up to the nurses’ station first.” She pointed down the hallway. “They’ll take care of you.”
“Okay, thank you.” I tried to hurry by, in my impatience to be rid of her, but she grabbed my arm. A flicker of surprise flitted across her face. She must’ve felt a tinge of hope leak into her, most likely a foreign feeling for a veteran patient like her.
“Don’t forget the stuff next time.” She said it like a threat. “I can get lots for that here.” She nodded as if we had an understanding since she showed me the way to the ward. As if I wouldn’t have been able to locate it with only two ways to choose.
She wandered away without waiting for me to reply.
I glanced into the first room and tensed, frozen in place. The man lying on the bed could barely be distinguished from the thick black cloud surrounding him. The blackness was as dense as honey, except for a flicker of slanted eyes near the man’s head and a mouth with a forked tongue darting in and out as it whispered to the patient.
The Oppressor’s slanted eyes rose as if sensing my interest, but I averted my eyes. I didn’t want the beast to know I could see it.
Jerking out of my frozen unease, I picked up my pace toward the nurses’ station, seeing more and more signs of Oppressors in residence. A patient sat on the floor in the corner rocking, while wisps of a black ash-like substance circled and gained in consistency with each moan or grimace of the patient.
The misery and agony weighed upon me. The cinnamon scent didn’t return as Tessa kept the migraine at bay. The palpable pain of the patients made it difficult for me to breath. I staggered the last few steps to the nurses’ station and grabbed onto the handrail for support. Feeling as if I’d run a marathon and not the short walk down the hallway. I couldn’t visit for long, or I wouldn’t be able to make it back out.
I stood, clutching the rail and catching my breath, startling when a patient came up behind me and touched my arm. He
r face displayed conflicting emotions of confusion, hope, and anxiety. She swayed in her hospital gown, with her hand remaining on my arm, touching me ever so gently. The darkness lingering around her head repeatedly expanded then diminished as she battled her inner demons.
My skin increased in temperature by the second as her grip tightened, puckering my skin around her fingertips. Hopefulness infused into the woman, chasing away the oppressing thoughts lingering within her, while sapping the energy out of me. I pulled at my arm, but she tightened her grip on the lifeline I’d become to her.
“Please let my arm go,” I said, but she didn’t relinquish her grip. Other patients stopped in the hall to observe. If they determined I could be their personal battery, or the Oppressors here realized what I was, I’d never get to see Mrs. Kneel…or make it out of here.
The woman’s eyes cleared of the cloudiness they’d harbored and a light of optimism glimmered within them. Her posture straightened and a small smile played at the corner of her lips. I could free this woman of her inner demons, but for how long and at what price to myself?
The weight of fatigue and agony descended upon my brain. “I’m sorry.” I yanked my arm out of her grip.
The woman stumbled back and raised her palm to look at it, then me. Despite feeling as if I’d been sunburned in the spot where she’d touched me, my arm looked normal.
I stumbled toward the door at the nurses’ station. My head hung with despair that I couldn’t help this woman any more, nor any of the other desperate people housed here.
“Thank you.”
The woman stood taller and smiled broadly. The blackness no longer surrounded her. She turned and went down the hall, ducking into one of the rooms. Perhaps I’d done a little good, after all.
When I returned my attention to the door, several staff observed me with interest. I struggled to stand upright and let go of the railing. Energy was returning to my body since she’d released her hold on me.
“I’m here to visit Mrs. Kneel.”
The surprised look on the man’s face couldn’t be ignored. “How do you know Mrs. Kneel?” He laid down the visitor’s sign-in sheet and a pen, eyeing me warily.
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