by Kim Faulks
Goosebumps raced along my skin. I shivered under the cool mountain air and pulled my feet high. The growl of engines far behind me was strangely comforting.
I thought about them…who they were…what they were. Their lives, their wants—their families. Were they happy? Were they sad? Were they hunting…just like me?
Sleep was cruel, leaving me to flail under the murky gray sky. I wanted to dive deeper, to leave the feel of my own skin far behind. Dreams hovered in the distance until I couldn’t fight anymore.
I cracked open my eyes, groaned and shifted on the seat. The steering wheel dug into my thighs as I turned and moved, trying to find a little comfort.
A child’s laughter broke out from somewhere outside. I listened to the perfect sound and tried to remember the good times Alma and I’d had. This is my favorite photo of us. The words took flight, and the black and white image filled my head.
She left it for me to find…why would she do that?
Did she know she was going to die? Had she seen it all in the throwing of old bones? Thoughts collided, leaving a trail of debris in their wake. I listened to the child laughing outside.
A chill slipped in through the crack of the window.
Out of a shiver came the night hag. Dark eyes…haunting eyes. Nails razor sharp, tearing open my skin to climb inside.
I flinched with the thought, and in my mind that child’s laughter became hers.
I’m coming for you, Lorn, she chuckled. I’m coming.
I jerked with the sound, and wrenched my eyes open. Boom…boom…boom…
My heart thundered, filling my head with the deafening sound. I grabbed the wheel and wrenched myself upright…it’s okay…you’re okay…jagged breaths savaged my chest. I couldn’t get enough air.
I clawed at the lock, and then the door handle, shoving the door open with my shoulder and stumbled free of the car.
Horns blared in the distance, the sound making me jump.
Jesus, what the hell was wrong with me?
I lifted my hand to my chest, finding the tremble underneath. Cars whipped past on the highway in the distance. The panic…the speed…I felt it all with the fading terror of the nightmare.
I sucked in the frigid air and nudged the car door closed. Panicked thoughts raced through my mind. I needed to get my shit together, needed to find some way to focus.
I headed to the restroom as a truck pulled up alongside my car. The hiss of air brakes tore through the air, making me flinch as I stepped through the door to the ladies’ room. I was too damn jumpy…too on edge.
I’d never been like this before. Never so unsettled.
I went into the stall and locked the door. The heavy thud of boots outside drew my focus while I used the toilet and then rose.
Cracked tiles covered the counter. Dirt piled in the corners of the stalls. I stepped closer and lifted my gaze to the mirror. Someone else stared back at me. This woman was thin, drawn, dark circles under lifeless eyes. I lifted my hand and she followed, skimming ragged nails along the stands of my hair. “What the fuck happened to you?”
She never answered, only stared, trying to figure it all out. I leaned forward and hit the faucets, then cold water splashed out, wetting the front of my shirt. “Fucking awesome.”
I lathered my hands and then grabbed a wad of paper towels. White fragments were left behind as I grabbed the hemline of my shirt and dabbed at the wet patch.
A splash of red in the chipped mirror caught my gaze. I lifted my head and stared at the red mark over the swell of my breast.
Cloth slipped from between my fingers. The sodden wad of paper dropped from my hand. The mess on my shirt was long gone. My fingers trembled as I reached for the top button and worked it free, and with every inch of exposed skin, the scratch deepened, carving across my body.
Fresh blood beaded along the wound.
I’d seen this before—my fingers dropped from one button to the next, splaying open the navy-blue shirt—seen it in the aftermath of that darkened alley weeks go.
The marks were now healed, the ones on my skin, at least. But the memory of that night hovered far too close to the surface. I could still see the fear Titus’s eyes, still feel the desperation in Gabriel’s voice. Still smell the bitter scent of hot rage Rival left behind.
Hours, they told me…I’d been hours in that alley, fighting an unseen enemy.
But the night hag hadn’t been unseen to me.
She’d been just as real as I was standing here right now.
Movement came from the corner as a woman stepped into the rest room and lifted her head. She slowed, gaze gravitating to the mirror and my splayed shirt revealing everything. “Leave him, honey. Ain’t no man worth putting up with that shit.”
She disappeared into a stall and closed the door, leaving me to stare at the raised gash across my body.
Goosebumps raced as I touched the wound.
Pain slashed, stinging as I swiped the tiny beads of blood.
Dark eyes waited…darkness and promises. I’m coming for you, Lorn, the night hag had whispered.
Hate burned in my veins as I stared at my reflection. Fingers curled around the edge of the basin. “Fuck you. You want to hurt me? You want to come for me? I’ll tear you afuckingpart. I’m coming for you…” my chest rose with a savage breath. “And you won’t even see me coming.”
The toilet flushed a second before the door opened. I leaned backwards and lifted my hands to my chest, slowly working the buttons on my shirt. The woman watched me as she neared. But there was no alarm in her gaze, only a quiet understanding—one beaten woman to another.
She leaned forward, punched the button for the soap and lathered her hands as I straightened my shirt and grabbed the wad of paper.
“Don’t you worry, darlin’, I saw nothin’ and I know nothin’. Make sure you’re the last one standin’. I sure as hell did.”
She hit the faucet and ran her hands under the water before turning it off, then went out the door, flicking her hands in the air. I grabbed the wad of paper and cast it into the bin.
The woman’s words filled me. I took one more glance at the stranger in the mirror as I strode from the restroom. Be the last one standing, that’s what this fight for salvation came down to…be the last bitch standing.
The driver’s door of the massive truck slammed shut as I came up to my car. I pushed the button and opened the driver’s door.
The cabin of the truck shuddered as the big rig started with a roar. The woman backed the oversized beast out of the parking lot without missing a beat.
She swung wide, slowing long enough to give me a nod before pulling the truck out, and headed toward the highway.
We shared a secret, she and I, one she’d never tell—I leaned forward and started the car—and neither would I.
I was past talking, past planning. I shoved the car into gear and followed the truck out toward the highway. I glanced at the map beside me on the passenger’s seat. I was a good eight-to-ten-hours’ drive from the start of the Eytan Mountains.
Cars whipped past, heading north. I nosed the car out onto the highway and back into the flow of traffic. I pushed the button for the radio, watching the numbers race as it tried to find a station.
Music filtered through, a country twang became a classical composition. I scanned and drove until finally I hit the button once more, ending the drone.
I didn’t want to be on my own. I’d became used to them, used to their noise and their clutter in my life. I’d become used to the feel of their hands, and their desire.
I’d forgotten how to be alone.
An ache tore free as I gripped the wheel. This all felt awkward…like somehow I’d taken a wrong turn and now I was lost. Lost without them. Lost on my own.
I swallowed that nagging feeling, pushing it all the way down, and watched the miles slowly tick over on the odometer. I bypassed small towns and slowly proceeded west.
I stopped and ate at a small-town diner on th
e side of the road as the morning turned into midday and then afternoon.
Peaks rose in the distance, and my heart sped at the sight. Dark clouds moved in, and rain followed. I kept the speed as the wipers whipped back and forth. A chill slipped in through the crack in the window and licked my skin. I shuddered and twisted the temperature gauge, finding a little warmth. Those mountains came closer and closer, turning into giants.
I slowed the car, signalled, and pulled over to the side of the road. The turn was up ahead. The map bowed across the steering wheel as I traced the markers. I’d take the slower way around the base of the first mountain before I started to climb…not too long now.
A tremble broke free, and this time it wasn’t because of the cold.
I’d never been nervous before, not like this. Not been so desperate of an outcome. I dropped the map back against the seat, put the car in gear, and pulled out.
I scanned the signs as they whipped past and veered over to the side lane. The sun sank on the horizon as I slipped down the off-ramp and headed for the Eytan town.
Logging trucks sat on the side of the road. I guessed there wasn’t a lot going for a place like Eytan apart from the logging industry. The pines here were the biggest I’d ever seen. This was all unknown territory for me. I’d been east with Alma when I was younger as we traveled all the way up to the border.
Small white buildings appeared at the edge of the towering trees as I passed a sign that said Welcome to Eyan, home of the Pine.
I glanced at the fuel gauge and the mess of empty wrappers on the passenger’s seat as I left the never ending sea of green behind and slipped back into the fifties.
Peeling paint, closed down buildings, old men who sat outside the shops and watched newcomers drive by. This place had goddamn friendly written all over it. I signaled and turned into the gas station. A ding sounded somewhere inside the small shop.
A young dark-haired guy came out, wiping his greasy hands on a rag and then stuffed it back into his pocket as I climbed out and headed for the gas pump.
“S’alright ma’am, we still give full service ’round here.”
I gave a nod, and stepped away as he turned to the pump. “Thank you, just fill her up, please.”
I opened the driver’s door and leaned across the seat to gather the rubbish. My shirt rode high along my back, exposing flesh, as I grabbed the empty packets and the mess of wrappers before I stood upright.
His stare was a weight along my body as I straightened. Small town people didn’t usually like strangers, but maybe this was the best chance I was going to get. “I’m in town looking for someone. A Reginald Banks, you know him?”
Distrust sparked in his eyes as they slipped to the open collar of my shirt. “Why? He your boyfriend?”
“What? No. He’s the father of a friend of mine. He’s sick, needs to contact his dad.”
“Don’t they have cell phones where you’re from, city girl?”
There was a sly smile, but I knew he was doing his best to get a lot more information out of me than I was out of him. “Yes, but he doesn’t have a number, that’s why I’m here.”
“Mmhmm,” he muttered. “Don’t know no Reginald, but I know a Mr. Marcus Banks. Helps out Sheriff Braeburn ’round these parts from time to time. You can find the Sheriff a ways down this street on your right, can’t miss it.”
Marcus Banks? I watched the kid as the pump clicked off and he tapped the nozzle before placing it back in the holder.
It had to be the same man. I wonder why all the secrecy? He worked for Harbor Metropolitan, and as far as Alma knew, he was a stand-up guy, until the death of his wife and the nervous breakdown that followed.
My mind was too suspicious…an element of my nature and my training. Alma wrote the wife was killed by a drunk driver…and I had to wonder, was that the truth?
The kid moved around to the front of the car, lifting the wipers and scrubbing the grimy windshield, until he stiffened and then stilled.
I turned my head to find him staring. Maps, knives, my grandmother’s open journal, and two talismans were exposed for him to see. He flinched with the sight and jerked his head upwards. “You…you’re one of them…one of those hunters.”
Fuck. I wrenched my gaze to the seat and winced. “Yeah, but I’m not hunting anyone right now. I’m just helping out a friend, okay?”
He stared at my eyes, my body, and then my hands—and this time it was for a whole other reason. “You just stay right there. We don’t like people like you ’round here, comin’ in thinkin’ we’re dumb and easy pickings.”
Jesus Christ, what the hell did he think I was going to do…eat him? I lifted my hand, palm up. “Easy now. I’m not here to hurt anyone. All I’m after is to talk to Reginald Banks. I just need some information.”
I jumped as the ding, came once more from behind me. I didn’t dare turn my head…didn’t dare take my eyes off this kid for a second.
I’d seen people like him. People with knee-jerk reactions and a loaded gun. I scanned his pockets for something more than the filthy rag.
The creak of a door was followed with, “Everything okay here, Scotty?”
“Sheriff,” the kid muttered as relief filled his dark eyes. “This lady here is asking about Mr. Banks.”
I turned then, taking a step backwards to keep both in my line of sight. For a small-town cop, he was drop-dead gorgeous. Thick dark hair, olive skin, and deep brown eyes that danced over me before turning to the attendant. “Go on now, wash the lady’s windshield and then can you see to the truck?”
“Yes, sir,” he murmured, and scrubbed, grateful to hand the problem over to someone else, ‘the problem’ being me.
The sheriff closed his driver’s door and took a step closer. “You asking about Mr. Banks?”
He was one of those suave kind of cops. The ones that watched you without really watching you. And with anyone else, the sly glance at the license plate and step toward the pump just so he could search for weapons on the front seats might’ve gone unnoticed.
“Reginald Banks,” I answered. “Young Scotty here says there’s no one here with that name. But says a Marcus Banks helps you out from time to time.”
“Does he?” The sheriff muttered, one brow rose high as he glared at the young kid before he turned to face me. “I might know of a Marcus Banks.”
He returned to his car and leaned against the driver’s side door. I was being scrutinized, but it was more than the swell of my breasts, or the curve of my ass the sheriff was after.
“These mountains can get kinda dangerous, for a pretty young thing like you…if you don’t know what you’re doing.”
I’d been an experienced hiker for as long as I could walk, but I doubted that what was he meant. “Don’t let my appearance fool you, sheriff,” I murmured and crossed my arms. “I’ve hiked plenty of times before.”
But not here, right?
Not in Eytan Mountains. Not in his town.
“You a supe?”
I’d forgotten how abrasive the words were to someone outside Harbor City. I gave a nod. “Yes, if that make a difference?”
“Maybe,” he murmured. “What brings you looking for Mr. Banks, anyways.”
My gut clenched, and that voice inside whispered…lie.
“Friend of her’s is sick, isn’t that what you said? She thinks Mr. Banks is her father,” the loud-mouthed attendant cut in as he shoved the nozzle into the sheriff’s car and squeezed the handle.
“His,” I corrected. “His father.”
The sheriff leaned forward, suddenly interested. “This male friend of yours have a name?”
“Titus,” I answered. “Titus Banks.”
There was a twitch at the corner of those dark eyes. He turned his head, and gave a nod to the big-mouth. “That’ll do, Scotty. I’ll fill her up on the next round.”
The young kid worked fast, tapping the side of the nozzle on the inside of the tank before pulling it free. “No problem, sheriff, a
s you well know, I’m here all day.”
There was a smirk, and then a nod as the sheriff gave a nod and turned to me. “I think we should have a talk, Ms?”
“Payne,” I answered. “And I thought we were talking, sheriff.”
“Not here,” he answered and gave a quick glance toward the idiot who hovered.
No doubt word would spread faster than melted butter as soon as I started the damn car. But right now, I didn’t have a whole lotta options.
Rock up uninvited to the business end of a double-barrel, or get at least some information from the small-town sheriff as to what brought a cop all the way from Harbor to a place like this.
And the more I thought about it, the more none of it made sense. There was something more to this…and I wasn’t leaving until I figured it out.
Chapter Nine
Lorn
I swung the car into the parking area alongside the sheriff’s office and killed the engine. Sheriff Braeburn climbed out of the cruiser and headed my way with the kind of swagger that made my pulse race.
He was fit, heavy with muscles, and as I stared, all I could think about was Titus, and Gabriel, and Rival.
Thoughts followed by the heat of desire.
Dark eyes, dark hair. Just like the sheriff here. And as the name cut through my mind, the sheriff reached for my driver’s door.
Redemption.
“My office is just in there.”
I flinched at his voice, forced a smile, and then glanced up to the mountain. I could just leave here, try the dark, slippery toads tonight and let what will be happen.
What, you don’t trust yourself?
The question was a slap in the face as I climbed out. Trust myself? With the sheriff, sure…with Redemption? Not a chance in hell.
A pang of loneliness speared through my chest as I followed the sheriff along the side of the building to the path and then inside. For a little one-horse hick town, the place was fairly new.
Steel and chrome…a communications room on the left. I could hear a woman’s voice inside chatting.