by H. P. Bayne
“I’m not going to be calmer. Not until Kayleigh—” The sound of her name on his own lips broke Dez open. Fury fled, replaced by grief so desperate and profound it dropped him on his ass on the verge next to the schoolyard fence. He lowered his face into his free hand, a sob erupting from him as his body shook.
He felt Lachlan’s fingers against his, his phone being withdrawn from his hand. Dez allowed it. He was right. The phone was a lifeline to Kayleigh.
Lachlan’s voice sounded, and Dez had to work to focus on the words.
“Any chance anyone at the school called the police?”
“Don’t know.”
“We need to check to make sure they didn’t,” Lachlan said. “Until we can get the upper hand, we need to play this safe. For now, that means no police.”
Dez nodded and heard Lachlan’s footsteps as they moved off toward the school. A couple of minutes passed, minutes Dez filled with thoughts of Kayleigh. Was she okay? Was she scared? She was a smart kid; had she clued in that something was wrong? Would she try to escape? If she did, and was caught, what would that mean for her?
His brain busy plumbing the depths of his own personal hell, he didn’t hear Lachlan return. The first indication was a groan and a grunt from the man, then a pressure on Dez’s left arm. He looked up long enough to see Lachlan had settled next to him beside the fence.
“Secretary didn’t call police. She figured you would if there was a problem. She was planning on staying at the school, though, just in case police needed to talk to her. I told her everything’s fine, just some miscommunication in the family. She seemed relieved.”
Dez didn’t answer. He was pissed at the school, too, and didn’t give a damn about the secretary’s relief. Rational thought dictated office staff and teachers hadn’t done anything wrong, not really. They had no way of knowing what a terrible person Lowell was. No one had told them. All they knew was that Lowell and Kindra were family and that Kayleigh had happily greeted them as such. It didn’t make the current situation any better, but it might help Dez avoid an angry confrontation with Kayleigh’s homeroom teacher at their next parent-teacher meeting. And there would be a next meeting. There would have to be. Anything else was not an option.
His thoughts were again interrupted by the man sitting next to him. Lachlan blew out a long breath, the kind that revealed sadness and tension rather than dispelled it.
“I never had kids,” he said. “So I don’t know what you’re going through. But I do know it’s got to be sheer hell, the kind even the worst human being should never have to endure.” Lachlan’s hand settled on his shoulder. “I need you to know something. I’ve never been good with kids, but I value them. And I will do anything and give anything, including my own life if need be, to get your daughter home safe to you. I promise you, Braddock, I won’t rest until we find that bastard and get Kayleigh back. And I will see to it he pays for what’s he done—for all of it.”
Any other day, his words would have touched Dez deeply. Today, there was no room for positive emotion, grateful as he was for Lachlan’s support.
Dez’s mind grasped onto and held Lachlan’s final statement.
“Thanks, Lachlan. But you won’t see to it that asshole pays.” He met Lachlan’s eye to make his final point.
“That’s my job.”
13
Muscle memory was a blessed thing.
Thadeus knew what cars were, thanks to his existence within a modern world, but he’d never been in full control of one before.
The first kilometre or so had been nothing short of terrifying, the steering wheel not cooperating and the snow threatening to pull him into the ditch each time he wandered even slightly off the pre-made tire tracks.
He survived by reverting to what he knew Sullivan had done when he needed strength for deeds he couldn’t accomplish on his own: He reached deep within, searching for that other side of himself. Thadeus didn’t know how to drive, but Sullivan did. Muscle memory kicked in, making the journey far more bearable.
Which was fortunate, because by the time he got to the highway, he could hear sirens in the distance. Two fire engines—older ones, obviously belonging to a nearby town’s volunteer fire department—blazed past, sirens blaring, faces of the men inside a blur, just as Thadeus hoped his was to them. He truly hoped he’d gone unnoticed when he passed two police cars speeding in his direction. They couldn’t have seen him turn off the road, so they would have no immediate way of connecting him to the explosion, but it paid to be cautious. It was possible, of course, someone had seen him either on the farm or leaving it.
In his rearview mirror, he tracked the red and blue lights as they swirled into the distance. He watched to see if they turned around, questioned what he’d do if they did. Outrunning the police would be manageable in other circumstances, but he didn’t like his chances in a car. Even Sullivan, experienced as he was with driving, wasn’t sufficiently skilled behind the wheel to shake off pursuing cops.
It wouldn’t come to that today. Not now, at any rate. The lights continued on, dwindling into the distance until they disappeared entirely.
Now it was just Thadeus.
Thadeus, the road and the target at the end of it.
It had taken more than an hour to get from the city to the farmhouse. Thadeus’s inexperience and anxiety in this unfamiliar situation meant it would take even longer to get back.
He estimated he was about halfway there when he came up with an entirely new reason for worry: He had no idea whether this car was owned by one of the men he’d killed. If someone discovered the existence of the vehicle, he didn’t want to be driving it when it was spotted.
A small town lay ahead, and he took advantage, turning left and steering along the main street to get to the opposite side. Christmas was just around the corner—Yule as he’d always called it—and the lights were on display, bright shapes of candles, sleighs and presents shining through the gathering dusk from the streetlight poles. Something was going on at the community hall, a gathering of some kind judging by the number of vehicles present. He’d contemplated abandoning the car out of town on a quiet road, then walking back in and begging for a ride back into the city, but this presented a second option.
Someone was backing out ahead, and he waited until they drove away before pulling into the empty spot. People were far more likely to notice an abandoned car on a country road than to pay attention to one of many vehicles parked at a busy location. Anyway, he now had numerous people in one place from whom he could beg a lift. Surely, someone would be kind enough to oblige him.
He left the keys in the ignition, using still-gloved hands to turn them to the off position and open the door. Before climbing out, he took one last, long look inside the car. He’d been careful, had kept his hood up and gloves on, making sure he left nothing behind that could trace to him. Back in his day, none of that mattered, but police had science at their disposal these days, and they had new and incredible methods of identifying criminals.
Not that Thadeus had done anything wrong, exactly, and it certainly wouldn’t look any different based on evidence police would find at the crime scene. All they’d discover were several corpses incinerated at the house and two shot men, one killed by the other and the final one dead by his own hand. Police had come a long way in terms of science, but they were still dunces when it came to the world in which Thadeus existed. They’d never grasp certain truths, wouldn’t believe them even if they could. At this moment, Thadeus found safety in disbelief.
The cold winter air bit into the bare flesh of his face as he stepped from the car and closed the car door behind him. A cold night lay ahead. Perfect for the deeds needing done.
The door to the hall was before him, and Thadeus made his way toward it, eyes drifting to a noticeboard just outside. A large poster in the centre announced a community Christmas supper this evening: “Community Hall, 5 to 7 p.m. Perogies, cabbage rolls, turkey, sausage and salads. And a visit from Santa Claus. $1
2 a plate, $6 for kids.” Thadeus smiled. Santa might visit later; the devil had arrived first.
He stepped up to the door and pushed inside. The smell of hot food hit him, and his stomach growled in response. It had been a long time since the last meal, and this seemed like a good opportunity. He located Sullivan’s wallet in his jacket and pulled it out to check its contents. Two twenty-dollar bills. Good enough.
“Would you like a ticket?” an older woman manning a table at the front asked.
“Thank you, ma’am, I would,” he said, handing over one of the bills and removing his hood.
Her eyes lit up. “You’re from London! I recognize the accent. My father was born and raised there, and his accent was just the same as yours.”
“Good Cockney man,” Thadeus said.
The woman continued to smile. It felt strange. No one had ever smiled at him during his own lifetime. Not in this way. He supposed he had Sullivan to thank for that. He had a face people—women in particular—liked to look at, and he didn’t wear his darkness on his sleeve like Thadeus had in life.
“He was a good man,” she said. “Are you visiting someone in the area?”
“Just passing through. My car’s been causing me problems and I came here in hopes of begging a ride into the city. I don’t think I’m going to make it back in that piece of junk, and I’d rather not end up stranded on the road in this weather.”
“I’m sure we can find someone to help you out,” the woman said.
“I’ll take care of him,” came a voice from behind.
Thadeus spun. He knew the voice, enough to distrust it. He recognized her immediately. The witch, Raiya Everton, was clad in a long, loose-fitting purple dress that floated over her full figure, a large, slouchy bag over her shoulder. But it was the expression she wore that held Thadeus’s attention: suspicion.
As if that wasn’t enough, someone else was walking over. Marc Echoles, the professor with the aura-reading ability. If Raiya appeared suspicious, Marc was outright terrified.
“Perhaps we could take a look at your car,” Raiya said. “Marc and I haven’t gotten our plates yet, so you can sit down and eat with us afterward.”
The ruse was obvious. She wanted to get him outside, get him alone.
It seemed a good idea to him. If it came down to a fight, far easier to get rid of two people than an entire hall full of them.
He felt Sullivan squirming, sensed his dread. He could stay where he was, far as Thadeus was concerned. The kid didn’t have what it took to take care of himself, not really. Thadeus had had to step in more than once, and he was tired of doing it. Better he take control permanently, save them both the hassle. Anyway, he thought as he followed Raiya and Marc from the hall, he liked this, being in charge of a body again. Liked it enough to defend against any attempts to change it.
No doubt that was exactly what he’d have to do now.
“Where’s your car parked?” Raiya asked.
“Does it matter?” Thadeus asked. “This isn’t about my car, is it, Raiya?”
She continued walking, proving him right. They turned at the corner of the building, continuing on until they’d reached the back lane. Only there, protected by the shadow and quiet, did Raiya draw them to a halt.
Only, she didn’t simply stop. She whirled. Thadeus saw an object in her hand as her large bag hit the ground. He didn’t have time to react before the object struck him in the head.
Then they were on him, both of them, pinning him against the back wall of the hall. The object that had hit him, whatever it was, was being held to the side of his head now, holding him so his opposite cheek was pressed against the cold siding.
It was silly, all of this. He had no particular desire to harm these people; they’d been useful to Sullivan and therefore to him. But they were also a threat, never more so than now. They knew about him, about his existence within Sullivan, and they were aware of the dangers Thadeus presented—now and always. They’d do everything they could to send him back into the darkness.
If they insisted, he’d put them there first.
“What is it you think you’re doing?” he asked.
“Getting our friend back,” Marc said.
Thadeus laughed. His amusement died quickly as Raiya started chanting in a language he didn’t understand. Marc fumbled with something near Sullivan’s upper chest, tucked the object inside the shirt Sullivan was wearing. Thadeus yelped as it touched his skin.
Mariel’s crucifix.
It burned.
“Let me go,” he growled. “Let me go, or I’ll send the both of you to meet the one who made you.”
“You let go first,” Marc said.
Raiya continued to chant. The object in her hand was growing hot now, blazing through him. What started off as the sensation of a fever escalated, until he felt as if the blood running through Sullivan’s body was heating up, reaching boiling point.
It was now or never.
Ned was still inside him, waiting for a command. Thadeus set him loose, heard Marc cry out as he was thrown backward.
Thadeus easily recognized the outside threat. He hadn’t counted on one from within. Sullivan was done being controlled. Thadeus felt him now, grasping onto Raiya’s chant and the feel of the wooden crucifix as if to a rope lowered into a well. He was climbing, hand over hand, toward the surface.
Thadeus struggled, honed in on Raiya. If he could push her away, he could finish this and get out of here before anyone noticed anything. Maybe he could do it without killing them. Maybe not. He didn’t care.
He didn’t get the chance.
More unrecognizable words from Raiya and Sullivan was no longer climbing. He was leaping.
Thadeus howled as his insides burned.
The world around him, already darkened by the coming of a winter evening, faded out completely.
Sully awoke to two faces hovering above his, peering down at him worriedly.
Raiya’s voice came through a parting fog. “It’s all right. He’s back.”
“I know,” Marc replied. “I could see it the moment the other presence faded. It looked to me like someone flicked on a light inside him.”
She passed a hand over Sully’s face. “It’s okay, Sully. You’re safe now.”
He tried to sit up but was gently pressed back down.
“Don’t try to move just yet,” she said. “You’ve been through the wringer. Sorry I had to hit you, by the way. I had to take the other one by surprise if we were going to get past him.”
“It’s okay. I’m glad you did.” Sully’s gaze went to Marc, but his friend’s focus had shifted to the street. A passing car had slowed, the window down to allow a woman inside to shout out a question.
“Everything okay?”
“Fine,” Marc said, his tone coming off calmer than Sully suspected he felt. “Our friend is diabetic. He collapsed. We’ll get him something to eat inside right away. That’ll fix him up.”
The woman looked to Sully as if for confirmation, and he followed Marc’s lead by offering a smile and a nod. “Yeah,” he said. “Thanks. I’ll be fine.”
The woman smiled, put her window back up and drove off.
As Marc turned back to him, Sully asked the question he’d intended to a moment ago. “Are you okay?”
“Nothing these old bones can’t take.”
“I’m serious, Marc. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“Wasn’t you.”
“It kind of was. I wasn’t really in control, but it was a part of me. God….” He trailed off, mind returning to the farm, to the lives he ended there. The memory was strange—horrifically strange. He’d been present, had observed Thadeus kill as if watching a movie through a virtual reality headset. Yet he’d felt all of it, including the satisfaction Thadeus had taken in his total power.
It scared the hell out of Sully.
Or it should have done. Truth was, hell apparently dwelled within him.
“Sullivan?”
The
one-word question had Sully snapping his gaze back to Marc.
“I think it might be there are some things you need help with,” Marc said. “It’s why we’re here. Let’s get you inside, get something to eat, and then you can tell us what’s been happening with you.”
“What do you mean, it’s why you’re here? You didn’t just come out here for supper?”
Raiya stood and extended a hand to Sully while Marc did the same on the other side.
“Marc’s right,” she said. “Let’s get you inside and warm. After that, we can talk.”
They found a spot at a far table, away from the majority of other community members. Raiya insisted they eat before they get into any sort of serious conversation, and Sully was happy to oblige. He had yet to figure out how he was going to tell them about the things he’d done tonight, when the dark side of his soul had taken the wheel.
“I grew up here,” Raiya said, around a mostly swallowed bite of cabbage roll. “Nice place. Nice people. But not exactly sold on the whole Wicca thing. Very Catholic town, St. Stephens.”
“That’s where we are?” Sully asked. “I didn’t even notice.”
He hadn’t noticed much of anything, come to that. All his brain had room for was the memory of the terror in the eyes of the men he’d killed, the screams of the one he’d tossed inside the exploded house, the pleas on the lips of the last remaining hitman. Right before he forced him to pull the trigger on himself.
“I take it you haven’t checked in with your family?” Marc said. “Maybe you should. It might be they’re worried.”
God, Dez. Sully hadn’t even thought about him, lost as he was in guilt. Marc was right. Dez would be in panic mode by now.
Sully pulled out his phone and hit the button that should have lit up the screen to check for calls. It didn’t work.
“Phone’s dead,” he said. He wasn’t surprised. Between Ned’s frenetic and powerful force and Thadeus, every bit of surrounding energy had likely been sapped up. It was a wonder, frankly, the car battery had held up.