The Drifting Gloom (Maddy Wimsey Book 2)

by J. R. Rain

  “God tests us all in various ways,” says Waters. “Aw, screw it. None of this stuff was supposed to be real.”

  Peyton looks back and forth between us, fidgeting her hands, her eyebrows furrowed. She gingerly picks up the painting, which appears to be a rendition of Jesus, and carries it back to where it belongs on the wall.

  Waters rubs the talisman dangling around his neck. His cheeks still haven’t regained any color. “That shadow… it was really here?”

  “Yes,” I say. “And it might come back.”

  Waters shivers. He spends a moment fidgeting, unable to look any of us in the eye. Finally, he says, “Forgive me, Peyton. I’m not really who you think I am.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I know, child. I will explain. I will explain to everyone.”

  “How’d you wind up going from venture capital fraud to being a pastor?” asks Rick.

  Waters shrugs. “Saw a lot of guys inside find God. Got me thinking, watching how fast religion spread. Figured I could use it to my advantage, once I got out.”

  “So, this is just another con?” I ask.

  “Low key. Just enough to survive on without having to work. My mistake before was trying to make too much money too fast. That’s what got me caught. Talking’s easy.” Waters chuckles. “I can talk all day long and twice on Sundays. And I’m a quick study. Getting paid to run my mouth about whatever these people want to hear is a pretty sweet gig. I never expected this shit to be real.”

  “You lied to us!” shouts Peyton, her expression heartbroken. “You don’t believe in God? But you’re a pastor.”

  “Well, I didn’t up until a day or so ago. Not so sure now, to be honest. Never thought there’d be much harm in it. God doesn’t seem to object when people use him as an excuse to start wars or kill people, so I figured if he exists, he wouldn’t mind helping me cover my rent. Who’s it hurt to say stuff to make people feel better?” Waters picks up my amulet from his chest and examines it. “After seein’ that thing, I ain’t so sure. Guess the Lord is up there after all.”

  Peyton stammers, as likely to burst into tears as verbally bite his head off. She winds up doing neither, storming out of the room a few seconds later.

  “What about now?” I ask. “Still think it’s made up?”

  He glances at the spot where the shadow had manifested. “I think I’m going to need absolution from Father Jim Beam.”

  Rick chuckles. “Careful. Jim’ll hit you over the head when you’re not looking at him.”

  “So…” Waters glances back and forth between us. “Guess this is it, huh?”

  “It?” asks Rick.

  “You’re not here to bust me?”

  “We’re homicide, not fraud,” I say. “And there might not be anything to investigate if you return these people’s money.”

  Waters cringes. “There isn’t a lot of money. It mostly goes to the property. I’ve got maybe a few thousand in the bank.”

  Rick scratches his head. “Well, it would be kind of difficult to prove fraud here. You’d have to legally establish the nonexistence of God. He’s selling an intangible service. I suppose if he can’t return the donations, he could always go legit.”

  “Go legit?” I ask. “How do you figure that?”

  Rick shrugs. “Doesn’t seem too difficult to me. Just keep doing what he’s been doing, but start believing in it.” Rick pokes him in the shoulder. “And I’d appreciate it if you stopped trying to incite riots against my partner and her associates.”

  Waters sits there with a numb expression for a few seconds before nodding.

  “Please just tell me what happened,” says Peyton from the doorway. Redness rings her eyes, but she appears calm, albeit confused.

  Eyes closed, I take a deep breath, knowing what I have to do. And it’s not technically a lie, either, though perhaps a stretch. But it’s a framework she’ll grasp. I walk up to her and in my most sincere, comforting tone say, “An agent of Satan possessed him and inspired violence. He should be all right now.”

  Peyton stares at me, then looks past me at Waters.

  “It’s true, child,” he says.

  She opens her mouth to speak, then closes it. She steps past me and wanders into the room, looking over the bookshelves. “It does feel different in here… lighter.”

  I face Waters again, and catch Rick making a silly face at me―probably for talking like a priest. “Waters, you should keep that pendant on if you want to keep your mind to yourself. At least until your faith is intact.”

  “All right.” He continues turning the wooden amulet between his fingers. “Thank you.”

  “He’s going to need some looking after,” I say to Peyton. “He’s had a dangerous brush with darkness.”

  She fixes me with a neutral stare.

  Right, that’s my cue. I give Rick a ‘let’s go’ nod and walk out.

  Once we’re down the front steps and in the parking lot, he lets out a long, low whistle. “That guy’s either going to wind up a true believer or sleeping on park benches.”

  “I guess it depends on how deeply Father Beam hears his confession.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Doll

  Saturday Afternoon – July 22, 2017

  We take a couple steps across the lot, but I stop when a stiff breeze rolls over us and my hair somehow stays out of my eyes.

  “What’s up?” asks Rick.

  I turn in place, looking around. “Bad feeling.”

  “You feel something?”

  I take a step back toward the chapel. “No, but the wind just kicked up and my hair didn’t go all over the place.”

  “You know, Wims, most cops get gut feelings. Not messages from their hair.”

  “Well, I’m not most―”

  Pastor Waters lets out a scream like he’s seen a genuine zombie.

  We dash back to the chapel, but the doors fly open before we get to the stairs. Waters scrambles down the steps, flailing his arms, and sprints toward us. Peyton appears in the doorway, her long black hair waving off to the side in the wind, her dress fluttering.

  “You’re a liar!” she shouts, and holds up a small revolver.

  “Gun!” yells Rick, going for his weapon.

  I draw mine. Before I can yell ‘drop it,’ I notice her eyes have gone full black. “Shit!”

  By the way Rick’s mouth drops, he sees it, too. The teen snaps a shot off in the general direction of the fleeing Pastor Waters as I charge toward her. Rick holds his fire, probably because I ran in front of him like a dumbass.

  “Wims!” shouts Rick.

  The girl changes aim to me. Goddess protect me! A split second before she fires, the top step cracks out from under her. She falls backward, her shot going off into the clouds. I stuff my weapon back in the holster and dive on top of her, grabbing her right wrist in both hands.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Wims!?” shouts Rick.

  Peyton rocks forward. With all my attention keeping her little .38 pointing at dirt, I can’t fight back and we go rolling down the steps to the pavement. Unfortunately, I land on my back. Peyton straddles me, shrieking and snarling like an animal while trying to get her right hand away from my grip. She rakes her left hand at my face, scratching my cheek. Rick grabs her from behind, pulling her to the side. With him distracting her, I manage to get control of her weapon. An aikido-inspired wristlock forces her hand open and I toss the gun out of reach.

  Rick drives her chest-first into the ground, holding her down, shouting, “Stop resisting!”

  “It’s not her.” An idea hits me.

  I lunge at Peyton while taking my small pentacle necklace off and pulling it down over her head. Rick wrestles her arms behind her back and cuffs her. I press my hand to her cheek.

  “Fiend of shadow, darkling ill,

  “I bind you now, Goddess’ will.”

  Still with my left hand against her cheek, I grasp the amulet I put on her in my other fist.

&nb
sp; “As the circle binds the star,

  “Remain within, where you are.”

  With a smudge of dirt from the lot, I smear the four elemental runes on her cheek.

  “An innocent soul to keep,

  “Do no harm, no tears to weep.”

  Peyton growls with a man’s voice, babbling in another language.

  “Well, this isn’t quite the doll I was thinking of using as bait, but…” I look at Rick, who’s still pinning her to the blacktop. “I need you to trust me on this.”

  “Whatever you need, Wims,” says Rick, looking surprisingly calm. I love my partner.

  Pastor Waters creeps over, stopping a hesitant distance from where we’ve got Peyton held down. “Is… Is she gonna be okay?”

  “Where the hell did she get a gun?” snaps Rick.

  “My desk…” Waters can’t seem to figure out what to do with his hands, and stuffs them in his pockets after a few seconds.

  “You do realize you’re an ex-con, right?” Rick glares at him. “You’re not supposed to have a weapon.”

  “It’s not mine.”

  “Uh-huh,” says Rick.

  Meanwhile, Peyton keeps thrashing and screaming.

  “I promise, it isn’t. I took it away from a young man who wasn’t acting right. I thought he was about to hurt himself.”

  A shiver runs down my back. “Terry Farmer?”

  Waters gawks at me. “Yes, that’s right. How did you know?”

  Rick mutters, “Jesus.”

  I glance at Rick, “Waters might’ve saved our life by taking the gun away from Farmer. Can’t bust him for it.”

  “All right, but that could bite us in the ass, kiddo.”

  “Found it in the parking lot?” I ask.

  “Dumpster,” says Rick.

  I nod. “All right. But we have to confiscate it.”

  Waters waves us off. “Please do. I would’ve turned it in, but I was afraid of being thrown back in jail.”

  Rick hauls Peyton upright. Screaming and kicking, her flip-flops go flying in different directions. Her eyes are still as dark as onyx orbs.

  “It worked, but I don’t want to leave her like that too long. I need you to trust me,” I say.

  “Just tell me what to do,” says Rick.

  “First, we need to take this girl to Abigail’s for a little while, not drag her downtown.”

  Rick blinks. “That’s technically kidnapping.”

  I pull her head around so he can get a good look at her eyes. “And this is technically what?”

  Rick tilts his head toward me. “That’s technically FUBAR.”

  “Think of it as taking a suspect to the ER on the way to the station. In this case, the ER is a hallowed coven.”

  “I’m hearing it, but I don’t believe it.”

  “Oh, shut—oof!”

  Peyton rams her knee into my gut and stomps on Rick’s foot. I crumple like a sack of wheat, but Rick holds her steady.

  “I got some zip ties in the trunk,” says Rick, grimacing, hopping on one foot.

  I wheeze, “You’ve got zip ties in your private vehicle?”

  He shrugs, manages a grin. “Never know when you’ll need them. I’ve got handcuffs, too.” He shows me his belt.

  “Amândoi veți muri!” shouts Peyton, in a deep voice.

  “Sweet mama. What the hell was that?” asks Rick.

  I force myself upright, cradling my gut. “No idea, but it kinda sounded like Romanian.”

  “Okay… right. Whatever. Where’s Abigail live?”

  “Let’s take my truck… after we raid your trunk.”

  “Umm,” asks Pastor Waters, walking alongside as we drag the thrashing teen over to Rick’s sedan. “Are you arresting Peyton for trying to shoot me?”

  I glance at him. “You remember being influenced by a dark force?”

  Waters nods.

  “Same thing. Maybe worse.”

  “Oh.” Waters looks off at the parking lot. “You left the gun. I’ll assume you do not want me to go get it for you.”

  “Smart man,” says Rick, while cinching riot ties around Peyton’s ankles. He looks at me. “I got her. You mind nabbing the, umm, hand cannon?”

  “Hah. Sure.” I trot off to pick up the dinky little gun, and also the girl’s flip-flops.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Blood Pact

  Saturday Afternoon – July 22, 2017

  We take the Silverado. Rick’s in the back seat with Peyton, holding her down. The closer we get to Abigail’s, the worse the entity freaks out. My partner winds up clamping on in a bear hug to keep her from breaking her wrists on the handcuffs. A steady stream of not-English comes out of her.

  “Maybe you had the right idea,” says Rick, in between grunts while holding her as still as he can. “If we brought her in like this, she’d go straight to the mental ward.”

  Ugh. Letting that thing loose in a mental ward would be bad.

  Maybe I drive a little fast, but nothing that’ll start a bizarre conversation with a patrol unit.

  I use the hands-free to call Caius.

  “Is everything all right? You’ve been gone a while,” he says by way of answering.

  “I’m en route to the manor. I’ve got it with me.”

  “What?” Caius is quiet for a moment. “It? How’d you manage that?”

  My brief explanation of what happened at the chapel, plus turning an innocent eighteen-year-old into an improvised soul trap leaves him stumbling over words.

  “Wow. Right. Interesting,” says Caius. “I’ll let the others know you’re on the way.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Is that Romanian?” asks Caius.

  “No idea. Might be. We should be there in about ten minutes.”

  “If it matters what she’s saying, I can try to get Mihai on the phone.”

  I don’t remember the name of the band, but their drummer’s Romanian, if I recall. “I don’t think it’s going to help. Probably just cursing us out.”

  “All right. Be careful,” says Caius.

  “Trying,” I say. “Back plot?”

  Caius murmurs out of earshot of the phone for a moment. Abigail murmurs in the background, indecipherably quiet. When he comes back to the line, he says, “Yes. The back plot.”

  “See you there.”

  “Goddess protect you.”

  “Thank you. May she watch over you as well.”

  He hangs up.

  “What exactly are we doing?” asks Rick.

  “The manor house is surrounded by wards that block off negative energy. That thing inside Peyton has been after one of my coven sisters for years. It can’t get through the wards, and she’s been hiding inside the house. I don’t want to know what would happen if we try to bring this girl past the wards, so we’re going to the outskirts of the property where they don’t reach. We call it the back plot.”

  Peyton writhes and squirms. Deep, gasping noises come out of her mouth as if she’s attempting to vomit up her lungs.

  “What’s happening to her?” asks Rick, sounding alarmed.

  “The entity’s trying to get out of her, but it can’t, as long as the amulet’s around her neck.”

  Rick redoubles his hold around her middle. “This kid is pretty damn strong. Uhh, one more question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Am I dreaming?”

  “No, Rick. This is real life.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  Despite myself, I grin. Meanwhile, her struggling intensifies over the next few minutes, as does the non-English cursing. At least, I assume it’s cursing us out. I don’t even know what the entity is so afraid of. It’s not as if we can destroy it. We’re only going to send it back across the veil. At one point, Peyton gets her legs up and starts mule-kicking the back of my seat over and over.

  Guess this is good practice for having kids on a long road trip.

  Once we reach the dirt trail into the woods, she stops speaking coherent
words and lapses into long, tonal moans. Rick’s deep into freaked-out territory, if the look on his face is any indication. He’s probably going to go join Waters for some Jim Beam after this is over.

  I take the left fork in the road, the long way around to the side of the property, and pull up into a grassy field at the western edge of Abigail’s land. The others, including Elise, are all waiting for us.

  Rick and I haul Peyton out of the truck, carrying her like a roll of carpet over to a pentacle they’ve cut into a patch of bare dirt. The sight of Peyton bound hand and foot elicits shocked gasps from everyone except Tamika.

  “I know that bitch,” says Tamika. “She got in my face at the bookstore.”

  “The issue is dealt with,” I say. “I’ll explain later. Unburden yourself of it.”

  “That poor child!” Abigail runs over, but her shock gives way to a grim expression when she notices the all-black eyes. “You trapped it inside a person…”

  “Spur of the moment.” I cringe with guilt. “It was already in her.”

  “Come.” Abigail waves us toward the circle. “Let us proceed so this innocent soul may return to her own way.”

  Elise cowers back from the writhing teen.

  As soon as Peyton sees her, she laughs in a man’s voice. “How are your parents, girl?”

  “Ignore it,” says Colleen, putting an arm around Elise. “Don’t listen.”

  “Your daddy died screaming,” says the shadow, laughing as Peyton squirms against her restraints.

  Abigail points at the ground in the middle of the pentacle.

  Rick sets Peyton down on her back, and sits nearby to hold her in place. “This does not feel like something we should be doing,” he says to me, but also to anyone who will listen. “We’re supposed to be chasing the people who tie up young women and drag them way off into the woods.”

  “Worry not.” Abigail smiles. “No harm will come to this girl.”

  “Derrick still dreams about that night,” barks the shadow. “When I made him try to kill you, he liked it.” The shadow laughs in a deep voice that melts to Peyton’s giggle.

  Tamika looks about ready to punch Peyton, but stops herself. Instead, she pats Elise on the back. “Don’t listen to it. You’re good. We’re all here.”