A Cold Tomorrow

by Mae Clair

* * * *

  Caden Flynn was not prepared to find his brother, Ryan, sitting behind his desk when he arrived for duty. Assigned to night shift at the sheriff’s office, he expected the daylight officers to have cleared out by now.

  “Hey.” He tossed his hat on his desk. Constructed from heavy wood, the monstrosity was a relic from the 1950s, in line with most of the furniture in the department. Outdated, it was nonetheless solid, and had seen countless officers through countless years of service. Butted front to front with Ryan’s, the desk’s positioning allowed them to sit facing each other, making it easy to converse. “I thought you were done here an hour ago.”

  “I was.” Rapping the eraser end of a pencil against an open folder, Ryan wore an edgy expression. “It’s been a weird day.”

  The office was quiet, manned by a junior deputy and a clerk who traded gossip by the coffee pot. Except for his brother, who looked ready to scale the walls, the atmosphere was low-key. At twenty-eight, five years younger than Caden, Ryan still carried a reckless edge. That rashness often bristled through in his work, exposing itself as impatience or agitation. Whatever currently troubled him had obviously gotten under his skin. Either that or he was operating on a caffeine-sugar high from too much coffee and the bite-size Snickers bars he stashed in his desk.

  “Weird how?” Caden dropped into his chair.

  His brother frowned. “Uh, let’s see…cow mutilation, phantom deputy, missing resident. Does that fit the bill?”

  Okay, so Ryan was in a flippant mood. Caden retrieved a few letters the clerk had left. “You’re going to have to explain that.”

  “Chester Wilson had a Holstein turn up dead in one of his fields.”

  Livestock died sometimes. Disease, even age, but his brother wasn’t headed there. “You said mutilation.”

  Ryan nodded. “Lots of blood from the ears, nose, and mouth. No visible sign of trauma.”

  That didn’t fit disfigurement or butchering. “Could be illness.”

  “I called the county vet.” Ryan sat forward in his chair, leaning on his desk. “He’s got to do a more thorough examination, but based on initial findings, he believes the cow had a ‘concussive reaction’ created by an outside source.”

  Caden sorted through the mail. Two notices from the courthouse—probably filing updates—and a plain envelope addressed to Sgt. Caden Flynn c/o Mason County Sheriff’s Department. “What does that mean?”

  “That something delivered enough pressure to make her brain explode.”

  “Huh.”

  It wasn’t the first time there had been animal deaths in Point Pleasant, but one dead cow—no matter how freaky her passing—didn’t mean a similarity. Over a decade ago, a number of farm animals had been found butchered, likely the poor dumb victims of a satanic cult. Caden had been in high school at the time and remembered it well. In 1966, Point Pleasant had erupted with everything from Mothman sightings to nightly reports of UFOs. Animal mutilations were just one more oddity thrown into the mix. The authorities had never caught whoever committed the grisly deeds. Most believed the culprits had moved on to new hunting grounds.

  “Huh?” Ryan looked rattled, ready to sprout horns. “Is that all you’re going to say?”

  Caden sighed. “No. I was just thinking… Chester lives near the airport. It could have something to do with low altitude flight traffic.”

  “I’ll give you that. I thought the same thing until Doc Holden set me straight. He said the decibel level had to be extreme. We’re talking supersonic military shit.”

  “Everyone in town would have heard the fallout from something like that.” Caden’s gaze dropped to the letters in his hand. When not reined in, Ryan could pick at something relentlessly. “What about the ‘phantom’ deputy?”

  A contemptuous snort. “You mean Deputy Brown?”

  “Is that his name?” Caden sliced open the plain envelope, listening while his brother relayed a phone conversation he’d had with Katie Lynch. “Maybe she got his name wrong,” he suggested when Ryan was through. “It could have been Clive Broder.”

  “I asked. He was off duty last night. I even tried the hospital, thinking I could pick up word on Jerome.”

  “What’d you find out?” Hopefully, nothing serious had happened. Jerome was loopy, hung up on conspiracy theories, but he was an okay guy.

  “Nothing.” Ryan frowned openly. “Jerome never showed up at the hospital—with or without Deputy Brown.”

  Caden shrugged, slipping a sheet of paper from the envelope. “Maybe he went home.”

  “I tried calling. No answer.”

  “Could be sleeping. Especially if he’s not feeling well.”

  “Yeah.” Ryan tugged his bottom lip with a thumb and forefinger. He was quiet a moment before speaking again. “It’s early yet. Maybe I should take a drive and make sure he’s okay. Katie seemed pretty upset.”

  And Ryan wouldn’t want Katie upset. He might not admit it, but Caden was sure his brother had a soft spot for Doreen Sue’s daughter. “Since you’re technically off duty, I’ll tag along.”

  “You sure?” The agitation fled Ryan’s voice, replaced by a thread of wariness. “You do remember Jerome bought Hank Jeffries’ old place?”

  “Yeah.” It was time to put that ugly fiasco behind him. He’d hung up his badge for eighteen months over the mess with Jeffries and the Kline brothers. For too long he’d believed he could have done something differently—that Hank didn’t have to die, or Parker end up in a mental ward. He’d been back on the force four months now, reinstated to his old rank. Sadly, Parker Kline would never be the same.

  Hank Jeffries had been a decent guy, but he’d had two well-known vices. He was petrified of the Mothman, claiming to have seen the monster once, and he liked to drink. Excessively. Unfortunately for Tim and Parker Kline, just days from high school graduation, Hank had been drunk out of his skull when they’d decided to prank him.

  Two years ago on a warm June night, Tim had dressed up as the Mothman and the brothers crept onto Hank’s front porch. In the dark, fueled by an alcoholic haze, Hank had thought the monster was real. He’d pumped a shotgun blast into Tim’s face, killing him instantly.

  By the time Caden arrived on the scene, Hank was sobbing uncontrollably, Tim’s lifeless body cradled in his lap. Only later, would Caden learn the boys had borrowed their father’s truck for the night, and that Parker had raced back to grab the revolver Floyd kept wedged under the seat. When he returned, his face was blank, his eyes burning with an unnaturally bright light. Before Caden could intervene, Parker put a bullet point-blank in the center of Hank’s head. Caden had been forced to fire in retaliation.

  The boy spent the next several weeks in the hospital fighting for his life. Eventually, he was given a hearing, deemed unfit to stand trial, and placed in the state mental ward. A shell of the outgoing teenager who’d once been a track star for the Black Knights, he spent most of his time babbling about UFOs.

  Caden puffed out his cheeks. Time to suck it up. He hadn’t been to Hank’s place since the night Jeffries and Tim were killed. “I can handle it.”

  “If you say so.” Standing, Ryan snatched his jacket from the back of his chair. “Hey, what’s that?” He nodded to the sheet of paper in Caden’s hand.

  “Not sure.” Wrapped up in the past, he’d almost forgotten about the letter. Unfolding the page, he discovered two sentences in black ink written in the center.

  I remember her. You should too.

  “A little short on whom I should remember.” Frowning, he turned the paper so his brother could see.

  Ryan leaned forward to read the words. “What the hell does that mean?”

  Caden shrugged. There was no return address on the envelope, but the postmark read Austin, PA. “Someone from Austin, Pennsylvania who remembers someone I might have forgotten.”

  “That covers a lot. Freak show, if you ask me.”

  “Nah. Probably just someone I se
nt up for domestic assault or something.” Tossing the letter on the desk, Caden stood. “Hopefully, the guy’s found a better home in Austin. Let’s go check on Jerome so you can keep Katie happy.”

  Ryan frowned. “I never said—”

  Caden shot him a grin. “You didn’t have to.”

  * * * *

  Hank had never been an overly neat homeowner. Apparently, Jerome wasn’t much better.

  Caden pulled his police cruiser into a small gravel driveway, stones crunching loudly beneath the tires. Clumps of weeds, still stubbornly clinging to life before the first frost of the year, sprouted in patches among the pebbles. Beneath the front window, shrubs huddled in a snarl of raggedy branches crowned with browning leaves. Jerome’s Impala was tucked beneath a carport, sheltered by a rust-pitted aluminum canopy. “Looks like he’s home.” Caden parked behind the sedan and killed the ignition. The property hadn’t changed much since Hank owned it. Still dingy and gray, the house sported the same shuttered windows and sagging front porch. Hank had been too wrapped up in his paranoia over the Mothman to notice the neglect, and Jerome had done nothing to step up repairs. “Think I’ll wait in the car.”

  “Huh?” Ryan shot him a surprised glance.

  “The guy’s obviously home. You’re probably going to wake him up by pounding on the door. No need to freak him out by finding two sheriff’s sergeants waiting outside.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.” Ryan considered it. “Okay, I’ll only be a minute.” Popping the door on the cruiser, he slid outside and headed for the front porch.

  Caden watched through the windshield. Most would have steered clear of purchasing the Jeffries house, knowing it had been the site of a double homicide, but Jerome Kelly was a strange bird. After Hank’s death, the house sat vacant for a number of months before Jerome bought it sight unseen. Rumor said he’d moved to Point Pleasant because he believed it was a hotspot for supernatural activity and UFO sightings. Toss in the fact Hank’s house bordered the TNT, and it was probably more appealing. Any paranormal expert worth his snot knew the TNT was the favored terrain of the Mothman.

  Covered by the sleeve of his jacket, the welts on Caden’s forearm tingled—three red gashes, the center slightly longer than the rest. The branded mark of the Mothman where the creature had gripped him fifteen years ago. In all that time, the wounds had never faded, never healed. Now, the mere thought of the Mothman could reawaken his connection to the creature. He hadn’t seen it in four months. Not since it saved him and Eve from the man who’d murdered his sister, Maggie, and Wendy Lynch. He’d blamed himself for Maggie’s death when the Silver Bridge collapsed, and most everyone in town had labeled Wendy a runaway. It had taken fifteen long years for the truth to emerge. For Roger Layton to pay the price he deserved, killed by a creature most believed didn’t exist.

  The brand tingled again.

  Yeah. I know better. A lot better.

  Exhaling, Caden scrubbed a hand over his face. He wasn’t in a hurry to be anywhere, but wondered how much longer his brother was going to wait. No one had answered Ryan’s knock. There hadn’t been the slightest twitch of movement behind the shuttered windows. Given the night he’d had, Jerome was probably out like a light.

  Caden was about to honk the horn when Ryan held up a finger indicating another few seconds. He knocked again, then shifted to the side, peering through the front window. A few moments later, he trotted back to the car.

  “Well?” Caden asked when he slid into the passenger’s seat.

  “I think you’re right. He’s probably sleeping. No movement that I could see or hear.”

  “Is that what you’re going to tell Katie?”

  “I’ll wait to call her. I can always ring his house again in a few hours.”

  “It’s your show.” Caden backed out the driveway. “But I think you’re going to a lot of bother over this.”

  “It’s no bother. Katie’s a friend. And I want to ask Jerome about Brown.”

  Being at Hank’s place had made him momentarily forget the elusive deputy. It was possible someone could have slapped a Mason County Sheriff’s emblem on the side of a sedan, and pilfered a uniform and badge. Bottom line: they might have an imposter. “Did you tell Pete about Brown?”

  “Yeah, I told him.” Sheriff Pete Weston, their boss, had been a good friend to their late father, Donal, and had watched Caden and Ryan grow up. “He put out a wire, but it’s hard to ID a guy without a description. Hopefully, Jerome can do a better job than Katie.”

  “I guess we’ll find out when he wakes up.”

  Caden punched the gas and headed down the road, a little too anxious to put the cheerless house behind him.

  * * * *

  Katie took another sip of wine and sank back against the comfy sofa in Eve’s living room. Why had she let Sarah talk her into a second glass? She wanted her head clear in the event Ryan called about Jerome.

  But the Chardonnay was smooth, and hanging out with her friends made her realize the fun she’d missed as a kid. Opportunities to giggle over boys, share nail polish, down soda, and eat fattening things like potato chips and cheese curls. Eve and Sarah’s rapid-fire gossip made her feel part of the group.

  “Polly said its head exploded.” With an exaggerated shudder, Sarah grabbed a handful of popcorn from a big bowl on the coffee table. “Gruesome. Like something out of a horror movie.”

  “I heard someone cut out its eyes and tongue.” Eve swirled the pale liquid in her glass with a grimace. “When I stopped at the grocery store, the woman at the register said it had to be the work of a satanic cult.”

  Katie hadn’t heard about farmer Wilson’s dead cow until she’d arrived at Eve’s house. Maybe whatever had butchered the cow had taken Rex too. She hoped not. “I think everyone’s overreacting.” The practical side of her wasn’t easily swayed by rumors.

  “What?” Eve turned sideways to face her, drawing a knee onto the sofa. “Come on, Katie. You have to admit last night was pretty strange. All those weird lights in the sky.”

  “And poor Chester’s cow getting slaughtered.” Sarah reached for another handful of their buttery snack.

  “I didn’t see any strange lights, and it sounds like the stuff about the cow has been exaggerated.” If there was something odd going on, Ryan would have told her. Unless…

  She took a slow sip of wine.

  Unless he didn’t want to worry her. According to Sarah, Ryan had been the one to respond to the call about the cow. And Sarah would know. Employed at the courthouse, she was often privy to scuttlebutt that filtered down from the sheriff’s office.

  “But you had that strange encounter with Jerome and the weird deputy,” Eve protested.

  Reluctantly, Katie nodded. She’d told both her friends about the encounter shortly after arriving. “Jerome was just shaken up,” she clarified. “And cold. It was probably nothing. Neither one of us saw any weird lights.”

  “I didn’t, either,” Sarah chimed in, sounding almost disappointed. “But then I was in bed early. It’s pathetic when you’re dateless.”

  “What about Darrell Mason?” Eve plucked an olive from the cheese tray. “I’ve seen him smiling at you when he delivers mail to the courthouse.”

  “Darrell?” Sarah frowned. “Be serious, Eve. He was creepy when we were kids, and he’s still creepy. Always watching and listening.”

  “I’ll side with Sarah on that one.” Katie helped herself to popcorn. “He might follow her around like a puppy, but if he’s anything like his cousin, he’s a waste of time.”

  Sarah eyed her openly. “I guess you’re glad Lyle’s gone.”

  Katie tamped down the instinct to scowl. “Hopefully, he’ll stay gone.” It was hard talking about Sam’s father without bitterness tainting her voice.

  “I never really understood…” Eve fidgeted as if worried she pushed too far. “I know I shouldn’t ask, but Lyle was always out of the picture when we were kids. He was older, near Caden�
��s age. How did you two…” The sentence fumbled into silence as she shifted again, taking sudden interest in her glass.

  Katie laughed. “It’s okay. I don’t mind talking about the jerk. It’s just…you know…like admitting I was a jerk too.” She took a sip of Chardonnay, liberating her tongue. It felt good to have girlfriends. She and Eve had grown close in the short time since Eve had returned to Point Pleasant, and Katie was gradually coming to know Sarah better. At first she’d feared the other woman might not warm to her, but that was old prejudices and doubts getting in the way.

  “Lyle said all the right things at the right time.” Glancing down at her glass, she circled a finger around the edge. “As a kid, my sister was my only true friend. After Wendy vanished, it got really lonely. And it was hard listening to the things people said. How she got knocked up and took off to have an abortion, or that she ran off and ditched her family.”

  Sarah sniffled. “I remember saying horrible things.”

  Katie was surprised to see a shimmer of tears in her eyes.

  “I was such a fool back then,” Sarah continued. “We all were, Katie. To think what really happened to Wendy—”

  It must not be easy admitting you’d contributed to slander and gossip, especially in face of the ugly truth. “It’s okay.” Katie smiled softly, thankful for her new friend’s honesty. “We all do and say things we regret.”

  It was only four months ago that she, Eve, Ryan, and Caden had unearthed Wendy’s grave in a thicket of woods at the edge of town. For fifteen years her bones had lain undiscovered, her murderer free to go about his daily life. Roger Layton was dead now, the official cause of his death listed as drowning. Only a select few, Katie among them, knew he’d met his fate at the hands of the Mothman.

  “I regret ever having listened to Lyle.” She shook her head, recalling how stupid she’d been getting sucked up in his sweet talk. “He came along at a low point in my life. My sister was gone, and my mom and I—well, we didn’t have the best relationship back then. I was flattered Lyle took an interest in me.”

  “He was a predator.” Having gotten remorse out of the way, Sarah seemed determined to defend her. Sitting straighter, she reinforced the comment with a resolute nod, sending her coppery curls bouncing. “You were what…six years younger?”