by Mae Clair
Only a handful of minutes had passed yet it seemed an eternity that Caden stood rooted to the spot, spellbound by the revelation of the creature’s face. When he looked again, that unexpected glimpse had been swallowed by the red of the Mothman’s eyes. Without a sound, the creature faded into the trees, shuffling away on foot rather than taking to the air. Its gait was slow and awkward when land-bound, but the trees provided camouflage the sky could not.
Thunder crashed overhead. Seconds later, the pent-up storm finally broke. “Over here, Pete.”
A few more minutes and the sheriff found him, Rosling jogging close behind.
“Oates needs help.” Caden indicated the fallen deputy, rivulets of rain already dripping from his hair. “Did you call for an ambulance?”
“On the way.” Pete’s face clouded as a streak of lightning revealed the extent of Oates’ injuries.
Without a word, Rosling hurried to the wounded man and squatted beside him. “Oates.” Carefully, he rested a hand on deputy’s shoulder.
“He hasn’t come to since I found him. The sooner we get him help, the better.” Caden shifted his attention to Pete. “How’s Ryan?”
“Waiting at the patrol car for the ambulance.” It was hard to gauge Pete’s expression through the rain, but an unmistakable edge of frustration roughened his voice. “I’ve pulled everyone back. We’re floundering around out here in the dark, perfect targets for that monster to pick us off one by one. I’ve got no intention of losing any more men.” He stared at Caden directly. “Have you seen it?”
“No,” he lied easily. Five minutes ago, he would have replied differently. “You made the right call, Pete. There are too many pitfalls in these woods and too many places for the creature to hide. Now with the storm…” He frowned up at the sky. It had taken all week for the thing to break, and it looked like it was going to be a bad one. “It’ll be easier hunting in daylight.”
Maybe by then he’d have a plan. At least now he had a goal.
But to see it to conclusion he needed help from the one person who continued to disappear—Lach Evening.
* * * *
“Sarah.” Wrapping his arms around her, Quentin helped Sarah up from the ground. The moment he touched her, the blue glow radiating from his amulet and her pendant died. Shivering against him, she clung to the front of his shirt and buried her face against his chest. They were both soaked through. She trembled so violently he feared she might be going into shock.
“He had a knife,” she gasped.
His gut twisted. He’d seen the knife up close and didn’t want to think about the kind of damage it could inflict. “Are you hurt?”
She shook her head.
Quentin gazed over the field. Despite a jagged flash of lightning, he could no longer see Shawn. “He’s gone now.” Behind them, a revolving red light cut a swath through the darkness, announcing the arrival of a patrol car. The siren reached a crescendo and died. “Come on. You’re soaked. Let’s get inside.”
She didn’t argue, but clutched her drenched robe close as he led her back toward the trailer. An hour later, she slept peacefully curled up beside him. She’d given her report to the police, taken a hot shower, then changed into shorts and a top. While she did that, Quentin stripped in the laundry room and tossed his clothes in the dryer. It was too late to drive back to the hotel and he had no intention of leaving her alone. Instead, he lay fully clothed on the bed and held her in his arms until she’d fallen asleep.
As groggy as he was, rest eluded him. He’d come close to losing Sarah tonight, an ugly reality that made his gut clench. They’d only just met, but there was something intrinsic at play in their connection. Madam Olga and Pen would tell him it had to do with past lives, but he didn’t believe he was Jonathan Marsh reincarnated any more than Sarah was Etta Sherman. He wasn’t in love, not by a long shot, but he was attracted to the fragile woman beside him, and wanted to explore that attraction in greater depth. Maybe it was fate at play, bringing him and Sarah together centuries after their ancestors had been denied a chance at happiness. Or maybe it had to do with the odd blue light that had danced as wildly as the storm tonight. He and Sarah had talked about it briefly after the officer responding to the call had left, but neither had been thinking clearly, still operating on adrenalin and nerves.
Something supernatural had happened at that fence as if the light from the amulet and pendant were in themselves a part of the storm. He’d seen Shawn recoil from the blue glow. If Deputy Gardner hadn’t arrived when he did, Quentin was positive the mysterious light would have prevented Shawn from harming Sarah. It was almost as if Jonathan and Etta had banded together to protect their descendants…paving the way for Quentin and Sarah to have a future they’d been denied.
* * * *
Caden lost track of time, but not long after returning to the sheriff’s station, word came through of the incident at Sarah’s trailer. Gardner reported that Shawn had fled on foot, abandoning his car at Sarah’s home. For Caden, the episode was one more nugget of proof that Preech had crossed the edge. Locating the report Roy had processed on Shawn’s fingerprints, he grabbed the file and headed for Pete’s office. The door stood open, Pete visible behind his desk where he sat hunched forward, elbows resting on top. The sheriff looked as haggard as Caden felt.
“Got a minute, Pete?”
Weston raised a cup of coffee to his lips and waved him inside. The caffeine would keep him going through the night, a trick Caden often employed. It was already nearing three o’clock in the morning, with no end of activity in sight. He wondered how Eve was doing and if she slept through the storm, which was proving to be one of the worst Point Pleasant had seen in years.
“You’ve heard about Shawn Preech?” Caden dropped into a chair in front of Pete’s desk.
“Yeah.” Setting his coffee down, Pete parted with a weary exhale. “Already released a BOLO on him. Seems like the whole county has gone crazy.”
“You know he’s armed?”
“With a knife.”
“A knife with a four-inch blade and a trailing point.” The same type of knife that had killed Will Hanley.
As if reaching the same conclusion, Pete frowned. “What are you saying?”
“Take a look at this.” Caden slid the file across the desk. “I had Roy lift Shawn’s fingerprints off a coffee mug he used when he was in here.” He waited a beat for Weston to digest the report. “They’re a match, Pete.”
“What the hell?” Disbelief washed over the older man’s face. “Are you saying Shawn killed Hanley? Shawn Preech?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but look at his behavior lately. Something’s going on with him, and tonight proves it. He didn’t go to Sarah’s place for a chat.”
Report clutched in one hand, Pete scanned it swiftly. “Wait a minute. This says the prints don’t match those on file for Shawn.”
“Yeah, I know.” That was the kicker, sure to come back and bite them in the butt. In the hands of the right attorney, that anomaly could result in accusations of deliberate framing and evidence tampering. “I don’t understand it, but those were Shawn’s prints on the mug and those”—Caden pointed to the papers in Pete’s hand—“are the prints we lifted from the Hanley scene. It casts enough suspicion to bring him in for questioning.”
Pete tossed the report on the desk. “If we can find him.”
“He’s on foot. He’s not going far.”
“Shit, I’ve known that guy since he was a kid.” Pete shook his head in bewilderment. “I won’t deny he turned out to be jerk, but I never thought he’d be capable of murder.”
“We need to find out.”
Pete reached for his phone. “I’ll update the BOLO. If I were you, I’d go home and get some sleep. You’re going to need it if we manage to pick him up.”
“Right after I get an update on Ryan and Oates.”
Caden intended to drive to the hospital to check on his brother, but five minu
tes later as he straightened up his desk, Ryan called him.
“I ended up with stiches and a small pharmacy of pain meds,” Ryan told him over the phone. “They’re sending me home.”
Caden breathed easier. “Need a ride?”
“Sure. Give me about fifteen minutes to do the release paperwork. You can pick me up in the ER.” Ryan’s voice was groggy, threaded with the tautness of residual pain.
“How’s Oates?”
“He’s going to be okay, but he’ll be here a few days. They’ve got him sedated right now. One of the guys called his wife and she’s here with him.”
Not a pleasant scene, Caden was sure. “Does she know what happened?”
“You mean that the Mothman attacked him?” Ryan hesitated briefly. “We had to tell the doctors what went down. Word has a way of getting around.”
Caden swore softly, knowing renewed panic was sure to follow. Pete had drawn everyone out of the woods for the night, but tomorrow they’d be back in force. Not only to search for the creature, but to block vigilante hunters from getting hurt in the process. Now, more than ever, it was imperative he reach Evening.
* * * *
Sarah woke to the smell of bacon and coffee. Gray light bled into her bedroom, seeping from beneath the curtains drawn at the windows. Rain beat against the glass pane and the roof, reawakening memories of the previous night. She looked around for Quentin, but found the room empty. Grabbing her robe, she headed for the bathroom.
The mirror was far from kind, reflecting circles under her eyes and the ugly discoloration of a bruise splayed over her left cheek. Had Shawn really gone after her with a knife?
Shivering, she splashed water on her face and ran a comb through her rumpled hair. Ten minutes later, wearing a pair of soft lounge pants and a T-shirt, she wandered down the hall to the kitchen. Quentin stood at the stove, flipping bacon in a pan.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning.” He spied her immediately and grinned. “I hope you don’t mind I rooted through your refrigerator and took over your kitchen. I thought you might like a hot breakfast.”
“That sounds great. And the coffee smells divine.” She pulled a mug from the cupboard and helped herself to a cup. Her movements were stiff, slower than usual, her energy off from last night. “What can I do to help?”
“Nothing. Sit at the table.” He pointed with a spatula. “I’ve got batter ready for French toast.”
“What a nice surprise.” Sarah slid into a chair at the breakfast table, and glanced out the adjacent window. The rear of her property was washed in hues of pewter and gray, rain coming down in sheets. For once she was thankful for the weather. The storm made it difficult to see the split-rail at the perimeter of her yard. She could still feel Shawn’s crushing grip as he’d yanked her back from scrambling over the fence.
Shuffling the thoughts aside, she looked back to Quentin. “You’re pretty handy in the kitchen.”
“Comes from being a bachelor.” He didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong. “There are a few things I can throw together.” Using tongs, he dipped a piece of bread in a bowl of creamy batter then flopped it on a griddle. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Stiff. Sore.” She took a sip of coffee. “Still trying to make sense of what happened last night.”
“Me, too.” Quentin adjusted the flame under the griddle. “Why would Shawn come after you like that?”
Sarah hesitated. She’d promised Suzanne she wouldn’t tell anyone how Shawn had battered her, but that was before his newly acquired taste for violence escalated. He’d actually had a knife with him. A horrible knife with a black blade. Would he have used it, or had he just brandished it to frighten her?
“He wanted me to tell him where his wife is.”
Quentin cast a glance over his shoulder as he worked at transferring bacon from the pan to a plate. “Suzanne, right?”
“Yes. They’re getting divorced, but Shawn did something horrible to her.” Haltingly, Sarah told him what she knew about Suzanne and how she’d arranged for her to stay with Jerome. “I’m so glad he hasn’t found out where she is. After what happened last night, I’m really worried about her.”
“You need to tell her to contact Caden.”
Biting her lip, she wrapped her hands around her coffee mug. “I tried to convince her.”
“It’s beyond that now. Preech has gone off the deep end. He came after you with a knife and could do the same to her.” Quentin plated two pieces of French toast with two slices of bacon, then set the breakfast in front of her. “You need to tell her what happened to you. By protecting her, you’ve placed yourself in danger. Jerome, too.”
“She’s my friend.”
“I realize that, but if she knew what happened last night, she’d probably call Caden willingly. If she’s as much of a friend as you say she is, she isn’t going to want to place you in jeopardy.”
Sarah glanced down at her plate. She’d been hungry before, but her appetite fled as she thought of everything that had gone wrong in the last week. Cornstalk’s curse in play. Had Quentin’s arrival in Point Pleasant truly triggered a nefarious ancient power into seeking revenge?
She fingered the pendant at her throat as the storm raged outside.
Something, or someone had protected her last night. The bonfire of blue light seemed surreal in retrospect, but she’d witnessed that otherworldly spectacle as surely as Quentin had.
“I’ll talk to Suzanne.” She fiddled with her fork, sliding it over her napkin as the memory of the light jogged awake another. “You’re right that she needs to know about Shawn and what happened. There’s something else, too.” Her gaze sought his and she waited until he sat beside her. He must have read the anxiety in her expression because he leaned forward and took her hand.
“Tell me.”
“Last night…when Shawn stood over me…I saw…” The memory burst in her mind as startling and ugly as it had been last night. “Quentin, it was like someone else was there.”
His brows drew together. “What do you mean?”
“I looked up into his face and it was like someone else was standing over me.” Tightening her fingers around his, she prayed she didn’t sound delusional. “He didn’t look like Shawn at all. I saw someone else. Almost as if…” She swallowed hard, slightly nauseous as the idea settled in her gut. Something had protected her last night, possibly Jonathan Marsh or Etta Sherman, maybe both. If she believed in their presence, then she had to believe in the presence of evil too. “I think Shawn is possessed by Obadiah Preech.”
* * * *
Caden grabbed a few hours’ sleep, enough to function the next morning when he rolled out of bed. A quick shower and a change of clothes later, he felt halfway human. Afterward, he downed a bowl of cereal while standing at the kitchen sink. He explained the events of the night to Eve between bites of cornflakes. Her eyes grew wider with each moment that passed.
“You’re sure Ryan’s okay?” she asked when he was through. Seated at the kitchen table, she poked a spoon through her breakfast of fruit and yogurt. Normally they would have eaten on the screened porch, but the morning downpour made the air humid and uninviting.
“He was out of it when I dropped him off last night. Doped up on meds and sore.” Caden had helped his brother into the house and gotten him settled before turning in. “He’ll probably sleep most of the day.”
“What a horrifying experience.” Eve set her spoon down and fingered her napkin, her brow creased in concern. “I can’t imagine what poor Mary must be going through.”
Mary was Oates’ wife, someone Eve had gotten to know through department functions—picnics and the annual Christmas party. Like most sectors, the men and women of the Mason County Sheriff’s office were a tight-knit group. There was bound to be an update on Oates by the time Caden made it into town. Someone had probably been checking throughout the night.
“I’ll let you know
if I hear anything.” Caden scraped the last soggy flake from his bowl, then set it in the sink. “I’m going to go to the hotel and talk to Lach.”
“Do you want me to come with you? I should be there, in case—”
“I just need to ask him a few questions, Eve. There’s no need to get involved.” She’d taken a shine to Lach, but he’d never fully trusted his alien friend. He might have to rely on Evening for answers, but his skepticism remained intact through each encounter.
Eve bit her lip. “I can’t sit here and do nothing, knowing everything that happened last night.”
He hadn’t told her about Shawn’s fingerprints matching those on the knife used to kill Will Hanley, or about what he’d seen in the TNT. The Mothman’s face haunted him, a disturbing memory he had to force from his head. Instinctively, he rubbed the brand on his forearm. The marks remained the same bitter black as they had all week.
“Call Sarah. She probably needs a friendly voice this morning.”
“You’re right.” She nodded reluctantly.
“Of course I am.” He stepped to her side and kissed her on the head. “And it wouldn’t hurt to check in with Ryan and my mom later today. You’ll probably find Katie over there.” He’d breathe easier knowing she’d be occupied. Gut instinct told him a storm was about to break over Point Pleasant. One that had nothing to do with the inhospitable weather outside.
When that happened, he wanted those he cared about as far away from the danger as possible.
* * * *
Lach Evening was gone.
Caden arrived at the hotel to find Eve’s part-time employee, Sharon, manning the front desk. When he inquired about Evening, the girl told him she’d found Lach’s key and the money he owed in an envelope on the counter that morning.
“He must have left sometime overnight.” Sharon chewed around a wad of pink bubblegum, as she waved a room key for evidence. “I already checked out his room and it doesn’t look like he even used the place. You know what I mean? Spotless.”