by A. I. Nasser
“We trust that the Sheriff is doing everything she can to handle this,” Jerry Taylor said.
“Really?” David asked. “Are you sure, Mr. Taylor? Because it seems to me you’ve given up completely.”
Samantha Taylor stood up angrily, the scowl on her face threatening as she spat out in rage. “How dare you?”
David raised his hands in surrender, cursing himself for being so rash. He wasn’t expecting a family that had lost its child to be this complacent. “I’m only voicing concern over the fact that your son is not the first child to go missing.”
Jerry Taylor stood up as well, and it was clear that he was as angry as his wife. “Mr. Whelm, we know this town, and we know the Sheriff,” he said. “If Fiona Bright says she is doing everything she can to find Harry, then we believe her. Now, if you don’t mind, I think you’ve upset my wife enough.”
David looked from Jerry to Samantha in utter disbelief, unable to comprehend their ludicrous approach to the situation. He waited a beat, trying to think of what he could say that would change their minds and loosen them up again, but it was apparent that they were far too angry to give him that courtesy. He nodded in defeat and stood up.
“I’m sorry to have wasted your time,” David said, “but keep in mind that, right now, I seem to be the only one in this room who actually cares about what happened to your son.”
“Get out!” Jerry Taylor hissed.
David gave him one last disapproving look before storming out of the house, slamming the door behind him.
Once in his car, he opened his pad and looked at the other three names on his list. There was no guarantee that any of the remaining families would be any different from the Taylors, but that couldn’t stop him now. He was going to keep pushing until someone made a fuss, and then the truth would come out.
David turned the ignition, shifted into reverse and pulled out into the street.
Six Months Ago
“Logan Carter was a tough nut. Tougher than anyone I have ever met.
When we had been much younger, before I met your father, Logan Carter was the only person in Melington I would have ever imagined spending the rest of my life with. He was a gentle soul, much like Alan, and he protected his own with the vigor of a lion protecting its pride.
I wasn’t the only one that had a crush on him. Ever since high school, the name Logan Carter was on every girl’s tongue. Who would he take to the prom? What did kissing him feel like? Were his hands as gentle as his tongue? It was silly, but you can imagine the dismay when he ended up marrying Alan’s mother right out of high school.
Logan never left Melington. He was a responsible part of the Council when his father stepped down, and he did more for this town than the entire Council combined. He knew his history, how the mess we were in had started with his ancestors, and he was determined to make things right. He spent his entire life searching for a way to stop Copper once and for all. And to be completely honest, I believed that he might.
It was Logan who came up with the theory that there must be a place Copper kept the children.”
Chapter 6
Michael Cole hung up the telephone and buried his face in his hands.
It was only a few hours past midday, and he was fighting to keep his eyes open. He was exhausted, but that was nothing compared to the deep feeling of dread that ate at him from the inside.
He had woken up that morning with blood caked to his clothes and his entire body wrecked in pain. For the first time in his life, there were parts of him that ached that he had never thought could feel pain. His muscles were cramped, his neck had stiffened in an agonizing angle, and his head hammered nonstop.
Walking home had been hell. His ankle was of no help, and the excruciatingly long trek had taken even longer to follow back. The scars on his chest, long lines that could have only been caused by a bear or mountain lion, burned bright red and promised an infection that would make his life miserable. His voice was hoarse, and even coughing hurt.
At least you’re safe now.
But he wasn’t, and Michael Cole knew that well. He was far from safe. The hand around his ankle, the arms that had pinned him down, and the rotten breath that had whispered into his ear and had promised hell on earth; those had all been real. Try as he might, he knew that he hadn’t been dreaming. He had tried to convince himself of it, that maybe he had been exhausted and had fallen asleep in the field, but he knew better.
The scars were proof enough.
The rotten stench that lingered in his sinuses was proof enough.
Michael had spent the remainder of the morning under the shower, hot water forcing him to cringe in pain, yet relentless in his quest to scrub away the memories of last night. He had dressed his wounds, quickly brushing away the idea of going to the hospital, and had settled into his father’s home office. The door was locked, the windows open wide, and every light in the house turned on, despite the amount of sunlight coming in through the massive windows.
No darkness. There couldn’t be any darkness.
Michael sifted through the multiple piles of paper on his father’s desk. He hadn’t thought of going through Daniel Cole’s things before, fearing that when his father returned, there would be hell to pay for the trespass. Yet, desperate times called for desperate measures, and whatever had attacked him in that field seemed to mean business.
Bring me the children.
What children? Michael had agreed to something he had no comprehension of, and no idea where to start. What had that thing been talking about? He shuddered at the memory of those arms around him and the wet, raspy voice against his ear. He would have agreed to anything then. He would have agreed to find Mount Olympus if it could stop the nightmare he had been in. Now he was suffering the consequences of that, oblivious to what it was he was supposed to do.
He had to figure it out quickly, though. Something told him that whatever that monster had been, it wouldn’t wait for much longer. Plus, there was no telling how safe he was, even if not in direct vicinity of the rotting maple. Now his father’s warnings all those years ago made sense. Now he understood why the darkness was his enemy, and it confused him even more to why his father had gone to that field on several occasions if he had known what was there.
What was his father’s involvement in all of this?
There was nothing useful in any of Daniel Cole’s files. He knew that it would be impossible to try and go through anything in Town Hall, especially now that he was not the Chairman’s son; there would definitely be restrictions to what he could and could not see. He had tried calling Rachel several times in the past hour, but her secretary had told him that the Chairman was busy and would call him back later.
Michael knew she was brushing him off, but why?
He turned in his seat and switched on his father’s computer, waiting for it to start up as he slowly massaged his temples. Bring the children. What did that even mean?
When the computer asked him for a password, Michael quickly typed in the name of his nieces, the twins his father had been so proud of that he had forgotten all about his own children. The computer accepted the password, and within minutes, Michael was scouring through the various files within. After an hour of searching and coming up with nothing at all, he slammed his hand down on the desk in frustration.
He was getting nowhere.
Michael grabbed the phone, dialed Rachel Adams again, and waited for the secretary to pick up. His eyes absently scanned the shelves of the study, barely making notes of the volumes of books lined behind various picture frames. Suddenly, his eyes stopped at one of them, and he quickly hung up as the Chairman’s secretary answered.
Michael stood up and crossed the study to the shelves, grabbing the frame. In the picture, his father sat behind his desk at Town Hall, and around him stood the other Council members. Daniel Cole was the only one smiling, the rest of the Council visibly uncomfortable, as if they hadn’t wanted to be there in the first place. Michael looked f
rom one member of the Council to the other, all familiar faces from founding families, except for one.
Fiona Bright.
The Sheriff stood to one side, young and ambitious, clad in her deputy uniform as she stared seriously into the camera. Michael remembered that it had been his father who had promoted her after becoming Chairman, but her presence in this particular photograph was strange.
Michael placed the frame back in its place and returned to his father’s desk. Grabbing the old man’s contact book, he quickly searched for Fiona Bright’s private number.
***
Alan could only see darkness.
He didn’t bother getting up, closing his eyes again, feeling the coldness in the floor reach past his clothes and through his skin, all the way to the bones within. He shivered in the dark, automatically switching to breathing through his mouth instead of his nose. The air was colder this way, but it was infinitely better than the alternative.
Alan waited, knowing that it would only be a matter of time before he woke up to the familiar surroundings of his living room. He had chosen to take a quick afternoon nap in hopes that he could maybe get some uninterrupted sleep without having to spend time in the darkness of this cage. Deborah had still not returned from her meeting with her mother, and he was making absolutely no headway with his research.
A nap had seemed like a good idea. Now, though, he already regretted the decision.
“Alan!”
Alan’s eyes flew open.
“Alan!”
He sat up instantly, his breathing suddenly coming fast and hard. Memories rushed through him, a strong burst of emotions shaking his body. He knew the voice; he knew it well. He had heard it the last time he was here.
Kathrine.
“Alan!”
Alan jumped to his feet, immediately racing forward with arms stretched out. He touched the cold stones of the nearest wall and quickly began feeling his way across them. He could feel his body shaking with excitement, the adrenaline rushing through his veins. He cursed as his hands traced their way across the stones, forgetting that he had already tried this before but to no avail.
But, it had opened before. The last time Kathrine had called for him, it had opened. Alan began to panic, his scurrying now much more frantic as he slammed his fists against the walls, screaming into the darkness. He needed to get out of here, he couldn’t figure out how.
A gentle rumbling began beneath his feet, and Alan gasped in recognition. He knew what was coming, and he quickly pushed up flat against the wall. The vibration crawled up his legs and raced throughout him. Alan closed his eyes as it intensified, and soon the raging roar of the shaking walls and floor hit.
He pressed himself harder against the cold stones, opening his eyes and searching the darkness for any signs of light. This had happened before. He remembered now. The shaking had started and a door had opened. He remembered the sequence clearly now, as if he had experienced it all a few moments before. This was it. This was his way out.
The shaking of the room grew stronger, and something fell beside him and crashed onto the floor, bursting into dust and pebbles that struck at his face. Alan covered his eyes in time, falling into a crouch as he steadied himself. Another crash sounded further away, followed by a third and fourth.
This was taking too long. The last time this had happened, it had lasted mere seconds. This was going on for a lot longer than he remembered.
Alan waited, knowing that the safest place for him now was against the wall. At one point Alan could have sworn he heard something scream above him. It was a loud, screeching sound that pierced the darkness and forced tremors through his body.
Finally, from the corner of his eye, he saw the door open.
The small crack of light seemed to appear out of thin air, and Alan wasted no time. He could now clearly see large chunks of stones falling from the ceiling above and shattering into millions of pieces. He dashed for the door, not waiting for it to open completely, and threw himself against it. His shoulder connected with the hard wood, and he flung himself through the door, rolling into the hallway beyond. The red light pierced his eyes, scorching him, a stark contrast to the darkness he had just been in.
Alan looked up as the door to his room closed, and his eyes quickly took in the familiar corridor. The hall stretched on forever, lined on either side by more doors that looked exactly like his. Alan felt a cold chill race down his spine at the memory of the place, the endlessness of the corridor, the pulsing red light.
“Alan Carter,” a voice said behind him.
Alan turned quickly and instinctively scrambled away before he realized who was talking to him. He calmed down when recognition hit. He gazed upon the woman in the red dress, her black hair tied back and her blue eyes piercing through him.
“You have returned,” the woman said, floating above the floor, her very being pulsing along with the red light around her. “You shouldn’t have.”
Alan was about to reply when he heard his name being called out again. “Kathrine,” he whispered.
The woman in red shook her head. “That is not your sister.” Her voice was hauntingly calm.
Alan looked up at her, then past her down the corridor, hoping to catch any sign of Kathrine.
“You shouldn’t be here, Alan Carter,” the woman said, raising her arms and pointing at the door he had come through. “You escaped once. It will not happen again.”
The door to his room flew open, and from the darkness within he could hear someone calling his name. It was a different voice; not Kathrine’s. Alan looked up at the woman in bewilderment.
“Go!” the woman said, and Alan suddenly felt a strong hand grab him by his arm and pull him into the darkness.
***
Alan sat up with a start, his eyes open wide as the world around him swam into focus.
He was in his living room, sitting on the couch, and Deborah was holding his hand.
“Dammit, Alan, you scared the hell out of me!”
Alan blinked, trying to regain focus quicker as he gazed around the room, still unable to comprehend how he had been in the red hallway but was now in his living room.
“Where is she?” he stammered.
“Who?” Deborah asked.
“The woman in red,” Alan replied, looking at Deborah. “She knows where Kathrine is. I need to find Kathrine.”
Deborah stared into Alan’s eyes, trying to decide whether he had completely lost his mind or not. Her mother’s words resonated in her mind, and she sighed.
“Alan,” she said, squeezing his hand in hers. “We need to talk.”
***
Tracy Turk knew that she was not alone in her room.
It was well past her regular bedtime, and although her father had always been strict about what time she had to be in bed, there was never any rule to when she actually slept. She always waited for the lights in the hallway outside to go out, the thin sliver beneath the door letting her know when her father had finally decided to go to sleep himself.
When she was sure he wouldn’t surprise her by walking in unexpectedly, she would roll out of bed, grab one of her many books and dive back under the covers to read. It was never the ideal situation, but with the light coming in from the streetlight, and when she adjusted the angle just right, she could see the pages clearly.
She knew that turning on the lights, even the small bedside lamp, would give her away, and she didn’t want to anger her father. She knew how hard he worked; always coming home tired and drowsy, taking small naps on the couch in front of the TV while she did her puzzles on the coffee table beside him. Still, it was summer after all, and she hated going to sleep early during the vacation.
Reading for an hour or two always excited her, and usually helped her sleep better. The books took her mind off her mother, and the result was usually a dreamless slumber that had her fresh and bouncy in the morning. She had never had any problems sitting up in the dark alone, engrossed in her books, but tonig
ht was different.
Tonight she was not alone.
Tracy couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t an assurance that she could bet money on. Besides, from where she sat, even with the long shadows that the streetlight cast, she obviously couldn’t see anything. It was a feeling, though. Just that. A sinking feeling that made her uneasy.
Someone was in the room with her but she couldn’t see them.
Tracy pulled the covers up tighter around her and tried her best to concentrate on the adventures of Dora, but it was useless. The gnawing at the back of her mind was relentless and would not give up. She couldn’t shake that feeling away, and after a few minutes of forced concentration, she gave up completely and closed her book.
Tracy looked about her room, contemplating crossing to the light switch next to the door and drowning her room in enough of a glow to reassure herself. However, she didn’t want to risk waking her father up.
When the scratching started, though, it was her fear that froze her in her place. Tracy’s eyes darted across the room, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from, but couldn’t quite put her finger on the source. Her first guess was the drawer set that was pushed up against the wall opposite her bed; a gift from her father when she had refused the pink closet he had picked out.
The scratching intensified, and soon enough, Tracy was sure that it wasn’t coming from the drawers after all. She felt a cold chill race through her, and she shivered instinctively as the realization hit her. No, there was nothing behind the drawers.
Whatever was doing that scratching, it was coming from under her bed.