by A. I. Nasser
He was propelled through Kathrine’s room, the familiar setting both haunting and forlorn; the house she had hid in was crumbling to pieces as the night sky seemed to shatter and fall. The shrouds were lifted here, its occupant gone. There was no need to pretend any longer. The cold grasped at him, sent shivers through him, and as he soared deeper and deeper into the darkest halls of the corridor, Alan could feel the air thicken and the scent of human rot fill his sinuses.
The pain was greater here, the rooms reserved for the disobedient and the special, the ones Copper wanted to hurt the most. Alan could see the curled up body of Rachel Adams as she shivered on the hardwood floor of a house he did not recognize. She looked up at him, briefly, and jumped to her feet, but Alan could not slow down his pace, could not reach for her and comfort her.
And just as suddenly as it had started, Alan was brought to an abrupt stop, a sudden halt that had him standing in front of a large door unlike any of the others. He could sense the evil oozing behind it, seeping through the cracks in the rotten wood and the open spaces near the hinges where the door bent out of place.
The stench was stronger here, so much that it appeared to have a life of its own as it curled around Alan and wrapped him in its rot. The pulsing light dimmed dangerously, almost as if it were fading out, and the darkness crept around him as inexplicable shadows loomed over him. Large bolts held the door in place, apparently the only things holding it closed as the rest of the door had started to give way.
A slam startled Alan and forced him back, and he immediately sensed eyes staring at him through the door, knowing he was there. A raspy chuckle echoed through the halls, and as a second slam followed, the walls of the corridor began to vibrate and the floor beneath his feet started to shake.
“Carter,” a voice hissed through the cracks, reaching out to Alan. He could feel invisible hands tug at the threads of sanity in his mind, trying to break him as it had before, but Alan pushed them back. A third slam was the response to this challenge, a stronger more frustrated attack at the heavily bolted door, and a shrill cry of fury reverberated through the corridor, shaking its very foundation.
“I will have you,” the voice hissed in anger.
Alan felt a soft tug at his arm, and he looked down into the eyes of a little blonde girl. He recoiled at the sight of her, the ghastly features, the skin pulled tight against her bones and the broken in places that oozed blood.
Alan felt a hand on his shoulder, strong and firm, grasping him tight as it pulled him back, and suddenly the corridor was gone. He was being torn back, away from the door, away from the little girl, and was brought forcefully back to the hospital room where it had all begun.
Alan fell to his knees, coughing and gagging, his stomach turning as he tried to regain composure. The world around him was spinning, and it was all he could do to not give in to the darkness that threatened to overcome him. His heart hammered dangerously in his chest, and the pain that raced through his body was excruciating.
Alan took in deep breaths, fighting to keep his eyes open, and only calming down when the room started to swim back into focus. He pushed himself to his feet, slowly, and came face to face with Daniel Cole.
The old man was looking at him seriously, his smile gone and his eyes firm.
“I think you know what you have to do.”
Alan did. He couldn’t explain it, but he suddenly knew everything he had to do. The weight of it was overbearing.
Daniel nodded in approval and pointed at a door. Alan opened it, revealing a sparsely furnished motel room on the other side. It was not his room, though, and he looked back at Daniel in confusion. The old man only nodded.
Alan walked into the room, closing the closet door behind him as he took in his surroundings. He had never been here before, but the place seemed very familiar, as if a part of him recognized where he was. He turned back to the closet and opened it; nothing but an empty space with a lone hanger.
Alan closed the door and trudged forward, his body aching in places that had never experienced such pain before. He felt a burning sensation in his shoulder where Daniel Cole had grabbed him, and his sinuses were still filled with the stench of the corridor.
His eye caught a matchbox on the commode by the rickety bed, and he picked it up to get a closer look. He stared at the printed log of a smiling whale, and he turned it over to where the motel’s name was printed in bright blue.
Alan Carter was in The Blue Whale.
FBI Report
Deborah Adams
Deborah Adams, 24 Lexington Street, Melington, Connecticut
I am the principal of Melington Middle School. Or, was, actually.
You could say that, but the word inherited is a bit strong. I was made to believe that I was the best person for the job.
No, I had no idea what my mother’s connection to the kidnappings was. She was a devoted educator, and when she wasn’t busy with the school, she was caught up in the Council’s issues.
My mother’s relationship with Daniel Cole was strictly professional. What you’re hinting at is ridiculous.
Yes, I dated Michael Cole for a few years.
My mother wasn’t happy about it, no. I don’t think she liked the Coles very much, and to her, my relationship with Michael was very much taboo.
Personal reasons, nothing specific. People break up.
No, it had nothing to do with Alan Carter. Alan was a childhood friend, and I hadn’t seen him since his sister disappeared. We were very close back then, so it was only natural we’d rekindle that friendship. Michael didn’t understand that, but it doesn’t matter. Alan Carter was not the reason for our break-up.
Alan was extremely troubled, especially by his sister’s abduction. I humored that part of him, hoping I could get him help once we were out of Melington. I knew that his being there would only aggravate the issue, so when he agreed to leave, I didn’t think twice. There was no time to say goodbye; at that point I was only thinking of Alan.
Things had gotten worse. Nightmares, delusional conspiracy theories, hours on end in front of his computer researching lore. It was heartbreaking to watch.
Yes, I learned about the kidnappings later on, and I knew Fiona Bright was involved in a way. But like I said, I had a lot on my plate, and it’s not easy to accuse the sheriff of your town of something that serious without proper evidence. I’m not a detective.
No, I did not know of Daniel Cole’s involvement.
My relationship with the rest of the Council has been very minimal growing up. I know names, but nothing too personal about them other than what my mother would say. She never trusted William Brewster, that’s for sure.
I was shocked to learn that she had taken my mother, but I was already halfway to Maine when I heard about that.
I woke up one day and he was gone. I had no idea of his intentions. I guess he was too involved in his theories and was too attached to Melington to leave.
Of course not. Kathrine Carter’s been gone for years. She’s probably dead.
Yes, I deny any claims that she was with us when we left. That’s absurd.
Like I said, folktales. My mother’s been scaring me with the name Copper Tibet since I was a child.
How would I know where he is? I told you, I had very little to do with William Brewster anyway.
If Alan were alive, he wouldn’t be hiding. I’d know.
Of course not! I loved Alan. How could you even ask me that?
You know what? This is absurd. Unless you are accusing me of something, I want to leave.
Ask Sally Brians. She was the last person to see him alive. Maybe she has the answers you need.
I’m not going to answer any more questions. Either charge me with something, or leave me the hell alone.
Chapter 9
Tiffany Barrister heard the doorbell ring just as she was stepping out of the shower.
The day had been long, and after a twenty-four hour shift in the emergency room, she was looking forward
to a few hours of shut-eye before her son woke her up to make breakfast. The babysitter had agreed to spend the night before, and Tiffany couldn’t have asked her to stay any longer than she needed to.
Which was why she was cursing the person at the front door when the bell rang again. If her son woke up, she would smother her visitor to death.
Tiffany hated the balance between single mom and career woman, and being a doctor was not helping either. As a female surgeon, it was eat or get eaten in the medical world, and it rarely gave her enough time to spend with her son. Back when they had been in Melington, life was easier, especially since she had her parents to help out.
Now, it was almost impossible. She could feel the strain her long hours took on her relationship with her son. The boy was even failing to acknowledge her presence sometimes, lost in his iPad and keeping himself busy with whatever new game the babysitter had downloaded for him. The only thing that was consistent was the early morning wake-ups and breakfast, and Tiffany was conflicted about whether he was doing it to annoy her or actually keep up with the tradition.
The doorbell rang a third time, and Tiffany quickly pulled on a shirt and shorts, racing downstairs while she toweled her hair. She already had a scowl prepared, having half the mind to verbally assault whoever was at the door no matter what the problem was. She barely glanced at the clock on the wall, the hour hand at twelve and reminding her that she would have to be up in six hours.
Tiffany opened the door and welcomed her guest with an angry, “What?”
The woman in front of her was all smiles and black hair, a beautiful red dress stretching down to her bare feet and wrapping her seductively. She looked like she was on her way to a Celebrity Night Out and had lost her way.
“Can I help you?” Tiffany asked, less angry and more concerned.
“Yes, you most definitely can,” the woman said. “Are you Tiffany Barrister?”
Tiffany felt her hand tighten on the door and a chill race down her spine, instantly thinking of the worst possible reasons a woman dressed like that would be looking for her this late at night. She ran through her patient list, fearing that maybe one of them had passed while she was out, but couldn’t think of anyone critical enough for that to happen.
“Yes, I am,” Tiffany finally said.
“Excellent,” the woman’s smile widened. “And your son? He’s home, correct?”
Tiffany frowned in confusion. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
“My name is Victoria,” the woman in red said, stepping closer to the door, “and we’re here for the boy.”
Tiffany screamed as the woman’s face shifted and cracked, and from beneath the skin, a nightmare of rotting flesh and bone peeked out. The smile was frozen in place, as if drawn into her face, and Tiffany was thrown back into the house as the woman in red stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
***
Miranda Cole sat silently in the living room of the large house, uncomfortable in the presence of the old man opposite her, sipping at his tea and smacking his lips. She watched him in disgust, half of her wanting to grab him by the back of the head and slap the smile off his face. Yet, she was brought up to be a lot more hospitable than that, no matter who her guest might be.
It felt odd being in the house again, nothing but aching memories filling the empty space where her husband had once occupied. Daniel Cole was in the ground now, his body tucked away gently beneath the earth, although she knew his soul was beyond saving. Wherever he was right now, wherever he had been taken, Daniel was definitely in a worse hell than she could ever imagine.
At least she hoped so. After everything he had done, there was a sort of poetic justice to how everything had played out in the end.
“This is a wonderful brew,” William Brewster said with a smile. “My compliments.”
Miranda nodded politely.
William lowered his cup slowly onto the small coffee table, noting the coaster and ignoring it completely. He looked up at Miranda and smiled as he saw her face twist in frustration when she noticed. Small wins, William thought to himself. When it came to Miranda Cole, he could only hope for small wins.
There was no denying who the true strength behind the Cole household was, and even though Daniel Cole was a presence to reckon with, his cunningness was no match for his wife’s. Originally a Gardiner, Miranda was a woman of principal, and any deviation from what she regarded as right and just was rewarded with a fury beyond compare. William had always wondered how Daniel had put up with that, unable to comprehend how a woman like Miranda could be tamed.
Still, the way she looked at him proved that Daniel’s effects were not long lasting, and the fury of the Gardiners reflected deep in her eyes despite how well she hid it or how composed she looked.
“I’m glad you like it,” Miranda said. “I apologize I could not offer you anything else. You understand, this is a difficult time, and we’ve hardly settled in yet.”
“Of course,” William replied. “I wouldn’t dare ask for more. Your hospitality is more than enough.”
Miranda smiled, wondering how long the man would keep beating around the bush before he said what he had come to say. There was no love between William and her late husband, and she couldn’t imagine the old man was here to offer his condolences. His excuse for not showing up at the funeral was laughable at best, Miranda knowing fully that the Council had no more ‘matters of extreme importance’ after the riots. She knew the members were all scurrying like rats to hide their involvement in anything.
He’s here to make sure I don’t suspect him for killing Daniel.
“It has been quite some time since I visited,” William said. “The place still looks wonderful.”
Miranda sighed. “Are you here to compliment the house?” she asked. “Or is there some pressing matter you want to discuss? I’m a very busy woman, William. You know that.”
William chuckled. “Come, Miranda,” he said. “Can’t I simply visit to offer my condolences and check up on an old friend?”
“We’re not friends, William,” Miranda replied, “and your condolences have been received. So, why are you still here?”
“Would you prefer I leave?”
“Yes, actually, I would.”
“Now, is that a way to treat an old friend?”
“Again,” Miranda said firmly. “We are not friends.”
William nodded slowly and squinted his eyes at her. “Elizabeth told me you would be a hard woman to talk to.”
“You don’t need my niece to tell you that,” Miranda shot. “You know me well enough. Otherwise, you would come out and tell me what you wanted instead of running circles around me and looking for the best way to stab me in the back.”
“Miranda, seriously!”
“Oh, don’t play the fool with me, William,” Miranda waved. “I know you well, so drop the act and the senile charm. It’s getting old, and so are you. What do you want?”
“I am insulted you feel that way about me,” William replied.
Miranda stood up and sighed heavily. “Then I believe we’re done here,” she said. “Goodbye, William. Be sure to say hello to my sister’s whore for me.”
“The tree.”
Miranda smiled.
So that’s why you’re here.
William looked up at Miranda from where he sat and folded his hands in his lap. He looked very different now that the act had been dropped, his eyes taking on a more serious look, his demeanor more condescending. She had always hated how William believed he was above everyone else.
“What about the tree?” Miranda asked.
“So you know of it.”
“Of course I know of it,” Miranda replied. “Everyone knows of it. It isn’t a secret, William.”
William shrugged. ‘I would have believed Daniel would be a lot more careful with that kind of information.”
“If Daniel were careful, he would have been alive right now,” Miranda said. “Besides, I know our families’ hi
story well. I also know who lit the first torch under Copper Tibet.”
William frowned in anger. “Lies,” he said.
“Of course,” Miranda smiled. “We’re all just a bunch of liars. We’ve been hiding our sins and playing the game for so long, we’ve forgotten where it all began.”
“The tree, Miranda,” William interrupted her. “That’s why I’m here. I need to know how to bind Copper again.”
Miranda broke out in laughter, shaking her head at how stupid William was. He had no idea what he was getting himself into.
“And why would you think I would have that kind of information?”
“You said it yourself,” William grinned, yet his eyes were ablaze. “Daniel told you everything.”
Miranda stared long and hard at William before answering, “Yes, he did.”
“Then that’s all I ask.”
Miranda shook her head. “No,” she said. “I won’t share that. I hated Rachel Adams, but she was right about one thing; the bindings are over. I won’t let you do that.”
William stood up and crossed the distance between them in two long strides, his hand quickly wrapping around Miranda’s neck.
“I want the bindings,” he spat.
Miranda smiled, refusing to struggle against his grip and give the man the satisfaction of watching her writhe. “What are you going to do, William? Kill me like you killed Daniel.”
The surprise she saw on Brewster’s face was enough to confirm her assumptions, and Miranda did the most unladylike thing she could muster; she spat in William’s face. The old man let go of her and staggered back in disgust, wiping the spittle from his eye.