Descending: A Gina Harwood Novel (The Gina Harwood Series Book 2)

by Indi Martin

  Morgan completed the shutdown of his computer and swiveled his chair to face her screen, gathering his papers and notes into his laptop bag. “Sure,” he said. “As long as it’s just a minute, I’m fading fast.”

  “It’s actually four minutes,” she replied. “But I’d really like your opinion, and if we wait til morning, I may not be able to get back to sleep. Think of it as an investment towards tomorrow - don’t watch it, I’ll be very grumpy from lack of sleep, and you don’t like me when I’m grumpy.”

  “That’s not necessarily true,” started Morgan.

  “No, you’re right. It’s that I don’t like you when I’m grumpy.” YouTube flashed up on her screen. “Here,” she announced, “Watch.”

  The video began on a black screen, with deep, rhythmic music crashing in almost immediately. A few white-on-black text cards flashed by, explaining the video to the watcher. ALERT! MISSING!! On October 10th, members of the band Brothers of Abaddon left their homes in Lancaster, PA to make a music video. They went to an unknown location, we believe no farther than 250 miles away, in a 1998 green Chevy Cargo van. These video clips were sent from them for later editing. Please pay close attention to the faces and clothes of those pictured in the following video, and please message us immediately if you think you may have seen any of them after October 10th!!!!! Morgan glanced at the video’s post date; it was posted yesterday, on October 18th. The text faded out, replaced by video footage synched with the music. The video wasn’t terribly high quality, though the lighting was pretty good. It showed a tall, thin man with a mighty beard in his late twenties drumming feverishly on a set in the middle of the woods at night, a few branches surrounding him illuminated with the drum spotlight, and sparse grass in the dirt at his feet. This cut quickly to two guitarists, one short and thin with dark, angle-cut hair, and one huskier, taller man, candlelit by dozens of candles in some old room or library. Bookshelves lined the wall behind them and eerie shadows were thrown across the books and their faces. A well done spiraling view shot closing in on a blonde girl lying in a bed at an odd angle, Morgan guessed she was younger, around her early twenties. Her lips were painted a shocking red, and her eyes stared, unblinking, at something out the dark window. The singer appeared, mouthing words to the camera, his long, tan hair obscuring most of his face except for his lips. Quick cuts between vaguely disturbing images - a closeup of a cracked doll face, fingertips moving behind a black curtain, the singer whispering something into the girl’s ear, a stained book laying open against a dusty hardwood floor, the guitarist laying in a hole in the ground, a rocking chair creaking forward, and dolls’ heads swiveling in unison. The singer appeared in a mirror, singing to himself with blackout contacts in his eyes; hands appeared caressing his neck, and the woman’s head slid up over his shoulder and stared at him in the mirror, smiling innocently. The scene panned back to follow them, half-dancing, half-walking, past the aforementioned dolls, and the singer dipped the girl low, arching her back almost to the floor. Abruptly, the music stopped and raw video sound replaced it, the girl screaming hysterically and pointing at something across the room. The camera swiveled quickly toward the mirror and back, and the video cut off. Text and static pictures of the people in the video scrolled slowly up the screen. Missing: Luke Glassman. Daniel Bronski. Chris Stivek. Nathan Jones. Melissa Mathers. Please contact us if you have seen any of them!!!! The last screen was a list of contacts with names, phone numbers and email addresses, including the Lancaster, PA police department number.

  Charlie turned to face him. “Well?” she asked. “What do you think?”

  “It looks like a publicity stunt for the band,” he answered, shrugging. “Are they actually missing?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I ran across the newspaper article first, it mentioned that there was a video that some of the family were putting up to try to determine where it was that they stayed. There’s a few of these videos, see?” She clicked on an associated link, and it began playing, flashing photos of the band in their everyday life. “But the music video one is the one that caught my attention.”

  “Still could be faked,” he said. “Who reported them missing? And why wouldn’t anyone know where they were going? That seems suspicious.”

  She typed furiously on her keyboard, pulling up several articles. “Apparently they were booked into a bed and breakfast-type place somewhere, but never arrived. A few of the members, Chris Stivek and Daniel Bronski, were supposed to be back at work on Monday but didn’t show. Family can’t reach them and messages stopped on October 14th, four days after they left. They uploaded raw video to their dropbox, but nothing was sent to that after the 14th either. One of the families supposedly edited the music together.”

  “That’s still fishy to me. Why bother with music editing if you’re genuinely trying to find somebody?”

  “Maybe it made the family feel better.”

  “Alright. Say they’re legitimately missing and it’s not a stunt. What makes you think it’s up our alley?”

  “Ah,” she said, excited. “This. See this comment?” She scrolled down to one of the video’s comments, which read Who’s the dude at 3:29? Charlie dragged the bar back on the video to 3 minutes and 29 seconds, a slightly blurry freeze frame of the mirror after the girl began screaming.

  Morgan leaned in closer to the screen for a better look. There was clearly the reflection of a man in the mirror, possibly the singer, and there was no one standing in front of it. He nodded approvingly. “It’s a good trick,” he agreed. “But come on. All that footage was obviously intended to try for a scare. Doll heads? Weird contacts? This fits right in. It’s too neat.”

  Charlie leaned back, eyes still glued to the screen. “Maybe,” she admitted. “That’s why I didn’t jump on it earlier. But something about that girl’s scream stuck with me. It didn’t sound fake, and it’s harder than you think to fake a convincing scream. It wasn’t pretty, or modulated, or any of the things you would have expected her to try for… I don’t know.” She considered a moment longer. “And I agree, it’s a good trick. A really good trick. A way better trick than moving doll heads or anything else they showed in the video. I think it’s too good a trick for them to have pulled off.” She turned to him. “I think we should check it out.”

  He rubbed his temples again. “Okay, sure. We’ll do more research tomorrow and try to figure out where they were filming?”

  “Yep,” she chirped. “Except it’s already tomorrow. Go get some sleep, I’ll get started on this.”

  “Great,” he said, relieved. “You’re not allowed to be grumpy tomorrow. I did what you asked,” he added.

  She waved him off. He zipped up his laptop case and slung it over his shoulder.

  Morgan’s phone rang, a shrill sound that sliced through the room and pierced his temples. Cursing, he snatched his phone out of his pocket and glared at his screen, his anger fizzling quickly to concern. Sliding the screen up to answer it, he whipped it to his ear.

  “Gina? What’s wrong?”

  13

  Luke leaned against the door, heavily, raking in gasping breaths that he tried to keep as silent as he could. He rolled against the wood, slowly turning to face the evidence of his crime. The light was off. He couldn’t remember having turned it off.

  He flung an arm out and fumbled for the light switch. Finding it, he clicked it up, sending searing yellow light through the room. Luke froze.

  The bed was empty.

  It took him a moment to process that fact, as his eyes slid around the room mechanically gathering information. Glass lay shattered on the floor from the bedside table lamp that had previously lit the room, though he hadn’t heard the lamp break. The blankets and sheets were in the same disarray he had left them. Slightly open, the window let in a chill breeze that ruffled the curtains’ edges. Cold. Frowning, he walked over to slide the glass shut and flicked the lock over. His brain seemed foggy and disordered, unable to make sense of his visual cues. Suddenly exhausted, he colla
psed on the bed, laying his head down on the pillow and staring at the ceiling.

  I’m losing my mind, he decided. Either I moved Melissa’s body, or she got up and walked away. Maybe she wasn’t really dead. Maybe she’ll go out and tell the others what a horrible thing I did. He sighed. That prospect didn’t really bother him at the moment. At least she’d be alive. I wouldn’t have killed her. Just… his mind wouldn’t let him form the words “raped her.” He closed his eyes, wishing it was him instead, that his internal processes would just stop. He willed his heart to stop beating; it had no apparent effect.

  A different thought occurred to him. Maybe the house took her. Maybe it’s protecting me. He reopened his eyes and glanced around, thoughtful. Actually, it doesn’t even matter where she went. She’s not here. She’s not in the bedroom. There’s nothing here that says I had anything to do with it. Buoyed with new hope, he sat up, and immediately felt a debilitating wave of guilt wash over him. He gritted his teeth against it. No. Time for that later. Luke decided that he would grab this chance for his own freedom now, and deal with the consequences later. He played the scene over in his mind a few times until he had a good idea of how it would go. Steeling his resolve, he stood and half-ran back toward the living room. Bursting through the door, he screamed “She’s gone! Melissa’s missing!”

  ⇼ ⇼ ⇼ ⇼ ⇼

  Sleep flitted about the edges of his thoughts. Shivering, Danny drew the blankets up around his chin and turned over, curling as much as his large frame would allow. Thoughts of the day’s filming replayed in a slow movie, and he watched them dutifully as his brain wound down from the day. He was tiredly confused by the events, which didn’t seem to fall completely in order, but wasn’t alert enough to care overmuch.

  He coughed roughly, hacking slightly. There was a tickle in his throat that was making each breath catch.

  Rewinding his mental player, he tried to trace how he had jumped from Melissa screaming and running outside in a panic to a calm, quiet evening in the living room, and now in bed. There was something missing.

  Body convulsing with the effort, his breath exploded in a flurry of coughing. There was definitely something in his throat.

  Sitting up and shoving the blankets down to his lap, he coughed again, tonguing the back of his throat exploratively. He turned on the old glass lamp on the dresser beside him and tried clearing his throat. It didn’t help, in fact, it seemed to make it worse. Gagging slightly, he stuck his fingers down his throat and fished around with his fingernails, catching on something. Hooking onto it, he dragged it up his throat and out his mouth, stifling a heave. Immediately, his breathing cleared and the tickle was gone.

  Examining his fingers in the light, he saw a bundle of wispy black hairs, seeming to catch in an invisible wind, swaying and moving slightly. Horrified, he threw them down to the ground with a strangled cry, where he could still see them wriggling. He turned to the mirror and opened his mouth, grabbing the lamp to angle the light so he could get a better view. Nothing appeared amiss; his mouth and throat looked normal from what he could see.

  Setting the lamp back down hard, he began to crawl back onto the bed, and stopped, staring at the window. It was very dark out now, but there was a figure silhouetted against the forest, standing just outside the window. Yelping, he grabbed the lamp again to illuminate the window, but pulled too hard and yanked the cord out of the wall, extinguishing the only light in the room.

  Blinded for a moment, his eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness slowly, as he stood, frozen, in the blackness. Momentarily, he could see the figure a little clearer - it was definitely standing just in front of the window. It turned its head slightly, and then walked out of view.

  Danny backed up toward the door, as he heard a commotion coming from the living room. He could hear Luke yelling something, but his focus was on the window until he felt the solid wood of the door behind him. Fumbling behind him, he turned the knob and let himself back into the golden glow of the living room, shutting the door quickly behind him.

  “There’s someone outside,” he huffed breathlessly, feeling a droplet of sweat roll down his forehead.

  “Maybe it’s Melissa?” offered Nathan, who was standing now and looked worried.

  “Why would Melissa be outside?” retorted Danny.

  “She’s not in here,” yelled Luke, too loudly.

  Chris pushed past them all and headed for the front door. “Where did you see her, Danny?”

  He jogged up to meet his friend and walked through the door. “Around the side, out the window from our room.” He heard Nathan and Luke behind them.

  “Stay together,” warned Chris.

  They pushed out onto the porch and down the stairs, huddled close in a sight that Danny thought would be laughable later. Creeping around the corner, Chris and Nathan both flicked their phones on to cast a dim light ahead of them. “Shine that around,” ordered Danny, squinting his eyes to peer through the darkness, looking for a figure.

  “Shit!” cursed Chris, as he tripped and fell in the freshly dug earth. “Fucking rabbits!”

  “No, wait,” Danny grabbed the phone from Nathan without waiting for permission. “We did a better job than this.” He shone the light across the large hump of ground that Chris had tripped over. “That’s not the rabbits.”

  Raising up to kneel, Chris wiped away the dirt to uncover a patch of smooth skin and strands of blonde hair above it. Realizing what it was, he sat back and quickly crabwalked backwards away from it. “Christ!” he breathed.

  Shoving the phone roughly back at Nathan, Danny fell to his knees and quickly began digging at the dirt with his large hands. “She might be alive,” he yelled accusingly. “Dig her out!”

  Nathan fell in next to him to help, and Chris crawled back, wiping dirt wincingly away from the spot he’d already cleared. The body wasn’t buried deeply, only an inch or two of dirt covering her, and Danny reached under her to pull her out the rest of the way and turn her over. Nathan and Chris fumbled for their phones and shone the light on her face; Nathan turned and heaved. It was definitely Melissa, but she wasn’t alive. Her neck was a deep purple, with hand shaped bruises covering most of it, and her eyes were wide and staring. Danny continued to hold her, completely unsure of what he should do, torn between revulsion and sadness. She was wholly unclothed, her naked skin shining a soft white in the pale light of the screens.

  “We need to get inside,” urged Chris in a low voice, tugging at his beard anxiously. “You saw somebody out here, right? We need to get inside now!”

  “I’m not leaving her out here,” said Danny, as he stood, lifting Melissa’s limp body in his arms. Her head arched backwards at a sickly angle.

  “Fine,” snapped Chris. “Let’s just go!” He turned around and walked into Luke, who was staring at Melissa’s body in Danny’s arms. Roughly, he shoved Luke toward the house. “Fucking move, man,” he whispered hoarsely, head jerking around as he kept an eye out for movement.

  He felt a pat on the shoulder, and saw Nathan nodding at him in agreement, shining his light in front of Danny so he could see while he carried her. Danny lurched around the corner, moving as quickly as he could; she was a small girl, but her body seemed disproportionately heavy in his massive arms. Dead weight, he thought to himself, and felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. She seemed like a nice enough girl; it didn’t seem fair to him that anyone should have to end up like this, naked and dead in a grave meant for rabbits. He had never seen a dead body before, other than his grandfather, and had certainly never carried one. Danny felt entirely unprepared to handle this situation. His only thought was to bring her inside from the cold and the wild, and away from whoever was out here, whoever did this to her. He shuddered again, remembering the silhouetted figure at his window. That guy must have been burying her, he thought. He must have seen the light and stopped. He wished he’d turned on the light sooner; maybe then she would still be alive.

  The group bundled back into the house,
Chris manning the door and slamming it shut after they were all inside. He bolted the lock and slid a table in front of it.

  “Um,” said Danny, unsure of where to lay Melissa. Now that they were inside, her nakedness seemed less ethereal and more garish, another insult to her above the injury of death. Her nipples stood out like little rocks, accusing and angry, and Danny looked away from her, ashamed for noticing them.

  Chris paused for a moment, in thought, and strode across the room. He whipped off the black cloth covering the dolls and laid it on the floor in front of them. “Here, I guess,” he said, his voice trembling with uncertainty.

  Lowering her body carefully, Danny lay her on the cloth and wrapped the sides of it over her, covering her from head to toe. The cloth was thin, and she was still slightly visible within it. Danny shivered. A death shroud, he thought. Wish we’d thought of that for the video.

  Turning away from her, his eyes sought out Luke, who was sitting on the couch, head buried in his hands. Poor guy, this must be even harder on him, thought Danny, but he had no idea what to do about it.

  “What did the guy look like?” asked Chris, walking to the windows systematically and drawing the curtains on each one. “When you saw him in the window?”

  Danny blinked. “I don’t know, man. I just saw a shadow of somebody. He was just staring in, and then he moved out of the window.”

  “He? Definitely a he?”

  Danny gestured at the shrouded body on the floor. “Pretty sure it had to be a he.”

  “He must have been trying to bury her,” said Chris, snapping shut the last curtain. “This is so fucked up.” He flipped open his phone. “It’s only midnight.”