Tortured Souls (The Orion Circle)

by Wheaton, Kimber Leigh

  I curl up next to Logan and take my plate back, finishing the entire pizza slice, including the crust. I’m so full now I doubt any spirit could fit in my body. With the last bit of my soda, I down the two orange pills Dr. Hayes hands to me. Kodiak leaps up onto the sofa, nosing at my empty plate. He shoots me a forlorn look and snorts before stretching out beside my leg. Reaching out, I run my fingers through his plush fur, basking in the comfort he provides.

  Leaning against Logan’s side, I listen to Daniel recount the tale with a dramatic flair. The boy was made to act. He brushes his dark hair back while describing what he felt when he touched my ankle. For one brief moment his eyes meet mine. The haunted look within their depths sends a shiver coursing through me. I don’t know why, but seeing the fear in his eyes makes it all more real for me.

  “Why’s he getting through now?” Logan asks when Daniel finishes his tale. “She’s been having these visions for a couple weeks. Why is he suddenly able to manifest and attempt possession?”

  “I think I have the answer,” Michelle says, glancing at me with a look somewhere between fear and pity. “Let’s watch the DVD Mr. Kincaid and Carl put together. That will explain some of this.”

  “No questions or comments until the end,” Mr. Kincaid orders as he starts the DVD. “We’ll discuss it when it’s over.”

  Gritty news footage appears on the seventy-five inch screen, soundless and bouncy. When the camera stops moving, it focuses on a young brunette woman holding a microphone. She glances over her shoulder multiple times while saying something we can’t hear. The plastered smile on her face turns to a grim frown within moments. A male voice blares through the silence startling me. Logan grips my hand beneath the blanket.

  We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming for a late breaking news story. Please stand by for a live news feed from our sister station KAPT in San Antonio, Texas.

  The camera bounces around some more like the cameraman doesn’t know where to focus. Police cars are everywhere. Swat team members crouch behind them, their assault rifles peeking out around fenders and doors. The camera moves back to focus on the dark-haired woman.

  This is Monika Alexis reporting for KAPT News San Antonio. I am standing outside this house in the tranquil Wooded Acres subdivision of North Central San Antonio, where the police have finally ended their two day standoff with the members of the Hell’s Gate satanic cult. My sources indicate that the cult members participated in a mass suicide rather than face arrest by the authorities. The thirteen children held captive by the satanic cult are also dead. May their souls rest in peace. Wait a minute, there’s some kind of disturbance. Gerry, are you getting this? Pan the camera over to the right side of the house! He has an assault rifle! Take cover!

  “I am Lucas Yardley,” the man yells as he sprays the area with bullets. “I am the son of our God Lucifer—the new Anti-Christ! Your tiny bullets cannot harm me!”

  Those are the crazed man’s last words before a bullet pierces his forehead, forever silencing him. The police swarm over the body like fire ants as the news crews stand in shocked silence.

  That was the leader of the Hell’s Gate cult shot dead by police. It appears there are several downed officers. As you can see the SWAT team is closing in to make sure the premises are clear. We are waiting for the green light from the SWAT team, and there it is. We have Lt. Jonathan Harvey, the chief investigator into the thirteen missing children, prepared to issue a statement. Lt. Harvey can you give us an update on the current situation?

  The detective clears his throat several times and runs a hand through his hair before speaking.

  At eighteen hundred hours one of the cult members surrendered to the police informing us of a mass suicide before succumbing to the cyanide she ingested. We have confirmed that the thirteen missing children are on the premises, all deceased. We do not have cause of death for the children yet. Cause of death for the thirty-three cult members was suicide via cyanide except for the cult leader. We are actively investigating the scene and will issue another statement when we have more information.

  The detective turns and walks away, ignoring the shouted questions from the myriad of media personalities.

  Well there you have it. All thirty-three cult members are dead along with the thirteen children abducted by the cult for their satanic rituals. We will provide updates as we receive them from the SAPD. This is Monika Alexis reporting for NBC KAPT Channel 6 TV.

  Silence permeates the room when Mr. Kincaid pauses the DVD. I expected to feel something like a flash of recognition when Lucas Yardley appeared on camera, but there was nothing other than disgust. He was crazy, a raving lunatic. The phantom stalking me seems more controlled, calculated. Could they be the same man?

  “This news footage was from October 31, 1969. You’d think with an incident this dramatic, people would talk. Look at Waco,” Mr. Kincaid says, pausing for the half-hearted chuckles. “Many people believed he was really possessed by the devil. This incident had a similar effect as the movie The Exorcist did. It drove people to church, and the evil was buried under the carpet.”

  “So you’re running with the theory that the anniversary makes him stronger?” Logan asks. He tips his head and narrows his eyes. “Why would this year be any more special than last year or the year before?”

  “He’s been gaining power for years,” I murmur, clenching Logan’s hand. “Maybe this is the first time he’s had enough power to do anything.”

  “Perhaps, but I have more news footage for you to see,” Mr. Kincaid says, his mouth set in a grim line.

  The DVD plays again, this time without sound. Pictures of newspaper footage flash by. Each one highlights an unexplained death: a fifty-year-old man, a teenage boy, a young mother of three, a nine-year-old girl, a twenty-five-year-old actress, and a well-respected newsman. It appears that the only thing connecting the cases is the date, cause of death, and they all happened in San Antonio. It was so violent and odd—the police even made a connection, but the investigation never went anywhere. The only place it could lead was where few cops dared to tread. The supernatural.

  “So as you can see, each one of these people died on October 31 over the past ten years of a massive brain hemorrhage,” Mr. Kincaid says before pausing on the newsman’s obituary. “The author of this obituary suspected foul play. But his pleas to the police to reopen the investigation fell on deaf ears.”

  “Based on the amount of blood, it appears their brains were liquified,” Dr. Hayes murmurs while tapping her chin. “They bled out every orifice in the skull, even the eyes. I’ll have to pull the autopsy reports.”

  “Is there anything other than date and cause of death linking these people?” Daniel asks, leaning forward to study the obituary frozen on the TV screen.

  “That’s what we intend to find out,” Mr. Kincaid says. “We need to scour the medical records and the police files. These are all listed as natural deaths so the police files are officially closed. I’ll get in touch with my contact at the SAPD.”

  “I know where you’re going with this,” I say a bit louder than I intended. All eyes snap towards me. “These people were in some way clairvoyant and Lucas Yardley tried to possess them. Their brains exploded when they were overloaded. You think I’m next. After today, I can’t even argue.”

  I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Several days ago, I was doing a somewhat decent job of ignoring my powers. Now I’m being pursued by a madman in spirit form.

  Is this my punishment for acknowledging everything?

  Michelle clears her throat. “In all fairness, Kacie, your visions started before you knew about the Circle.”

  “Get out of my head!” I cry, whipping my head to glare at Michelle.

  “I’m sorry, but you’re projecting your thoughts rather loudly,” Michelle says, staring at her hands. “It would be like ignoring someone screaming in the room.”

  Daniel puts his hand on my upper arm. Though I know he m
eans it to be comforting, I can’t help but think he’s trying to read me too.

  “Don’t touch me,” I say in a hissed whisper.

  “I promise I won’t read you,” Daniel replies with a half-hearted smile. “We’re all here for you, Cici. You have something the others didn’t.”

  “Us,” Logan says when I continue to glare at Daniel. I whip my head back to look at Logan, and I can’t help but melt a bit from the tender expression on his face. “You have us. The Circle. We’ll do everything we can to keep you safe.”

  With a choked sob, I collapse against his side. He wraps both arms around me, holding me close, and I rest my head on his chest. Gentle fingers stroke my hair. I’m relieved when the waterworks don’t start.

  “You have every right to cry, Kacie,” Michelle murmurs.

  “You’re doing it again,” Logan says, his voice rumbling in my ear.

  “I know, sorry,” she says in a thin, reedy voice. “I can feel what she’s going through and it makes me want to cry. I just…” She trails off with a soft gasp.

  “Well, you’ll all be happy to know that you’re being excused from classes tomorrow for Circle business,” Mr. Kincaid says, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “We have a little over two weeks until Halloween, so we need to solve this case. Meet at my house tomorrow morning at eight. I’ll be handing out assignments at that time. Anything else?”

  “I don’t want Kacie left alone, especially at night,” Mrs. Kincaid says. “Her visions are strongest when her conscious mind is asleep. We can’t let this Yardley fellow get to her while she’s sleeping. Kacie, tonight I want you to stay with your brother, and we’ll work out a rotational schedule for the rest of the week tomorrow. Will that work?”

  Logan nudges me when I don’t answer. “Kacie?”

  “Yeah, Gavin and I can sleep in here,” I reply in a flat tone. “We have several air mattresses so it shouldn’t be a problem. I doubt I’ll sleep, though.”

  “You will be sleeping because of the medication I prescribed for you,” Dr. Hayes says, shaking her finger at me. “You have to sleep well every night. Lack of sleep also makes you more vulnerable to a psychic attack. Promise me you’ll take this medication exactly as prescribed. As an added bonus it should suppress your visions and keep that monster away.”

  I nod, a weak bob of my head against Logan’s chest. It’s all been too much—the drugging and incense Friday night, the vision in the hospital, the attack today. Closing my eyes, I take deep, even breaths while I listen to the chatter around me. Mr. Kincaid hands out a few research assignments, and I’m relieved when he doesn’t offer one to me or Logan. The Circle members trickle from the room, leaving behind blessed silence. Before long, I can’t cling to consciousness anymore, and I drift off to sleep in Logan’s embrace.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Life Goes on in Spite of the Dead

  I awaken with a start, grasping at the hazy tendrils of a dream. It was about the murdered children. That much I know, and yet I can’t seem to remember anything else. Just fog and trees, some candles… A hand smoothes my hair away from my face, and I realize I’m not in my bed. As the memories come rushing back, I recognize the plush brown sofa beneath me, which means—the pillow beneath my head must be Logan!

  Lurching to a sitting position, my eyes fly around the dimly lit room before landing on Logan. He’s reclined on the chaise beneath my leopard print throw. Someone covered me with the blanket from my bed when I sprawled out on the sofa. My pillow is on the sofa beside me. It looks as though I tossed it away in my sleep to curl up on Logan instead. The wall sconces are set to the dimmest setting which makes it difficult to see anything other than his outline.

  “Dr. Hayes wants you to keep a dream journal,” Logan whispers, handing me a notepad and a pen. “Write down everything you remember while it’s still fresh.”

  “I don’t remember anything,” I whisper back. “Why are we whispering?”

  “Gavin’s asleep on the floor,” Logan replies, pointing to the dark form of my brother on an air mattress near the TV.

  Gavin wasn’t kidding when he said that medication would knock me out. I can’t believe I slept through so much activity.

  “What time is it?”

  Logan illuminates his iPhone. “Twelve-thirty.”

  “I’m sorry I woke you,” I say, scooting away a bit. My mouth feels like I ate cotton. No way I’m getting close to him with dragon breath. “Why’re you still here? Shouldn’t you be home?”

  “My parents are out of town, remember? Your dad said I could stay here as long as we aren’t alone at night,” Logan says with a low chuckle. “Like we turn into hormone crazed monsters once the sun sets.”

  “Sorry,” I mutter, imagining the talk Dad and Gavin probably had with poor Logan. My cheeks heat up and I’m grateful for the darkness.

  “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” I can hear the laughter in his voice. “Dr. Hayes said to have you take one of these pills if you woke up before one.”

  I take the pill from his fingers. “I’m heading to the bathroom. Be back in a few minutes.”

  Racing from the room, I dart down the hallway, not breathing until the bathroom door is locked behind me. I flick on the light, grimacing at my disheveled state in the mirror. My hair is sticking up and out in so many different directions, I look like I stuck my finger in a light socket. With a sigh, I brush my teeth and swallow the tiny orange pill. Well, at least I’ll know by morning whether Logan really likes me or not. If he doesn’t run away screaming at my morning appearance, then nothing will scare him away.

  “I feel guilty,” I mumble while we wait in line at the bagel shop. “This is dangerous and I just dragged the entire Circle into it.”

  “Dangerous is kinda what we do,” Logan murmurs back. “Besides, we had already accepted this Foxblood Manor case before you even joined.”

  “Coincidence?”

  “More like providence or fate, depending on what you believe.” He stops talking when we reach the counter to address the clerk. “We’ll take two of the dozen specials plus an assortment of cream cheese.”

  “I can’t help but feel bad anyway,” I say when the clerk leaves to fill the order.

  “You’re bringing breakfast,” he replies with a laugh. “The guys at least will love you forever.”

  “Can bagels really cancel out a ghostly homicidal maniac?” I ask, glancing up at him with a grin.

  “You’re right,” Logan says with a groan. “Should’ve got doughnuts.”

  My laughter comes out an embarrassing snort. That’s what I get for trying to hold it in. After paying for my bribe to the Circle, Logan and I carry the bags out to the Mustang. My mind wanders as the neighborhood flies by in a blur. We pass an elementary school, and for a brief moment I feel a pang of regret while watching the children race around on the playground. Was there ever a time when I was that innocent?

  “Hey, I need to ask you something,” Logan says, startling me from my reverie.

  “What?” I ask when he remains silent.

  “It’s kinda last minute and all, but the Southern Texas chapters of the Orion Circle have a Samhain Gala every year,” he says while twisting his hands on the steering wheel. “This year it’s at the Hyatt on the River Walk the Saturday before Halloween.”

  “A gala?” I ask when he doesn’t continue.

  “Uh, yeah, it’s like a formal dance. It’s a reward for a year of hard work,” he says as he pulls into the driveway of the Kincaids’ house. “Would you go with me?”

  “Yes,” I reply, nodding like a fool. At least I managed to contain my squeal of excitement. “It sounds like fun.”

  “Great,” he says with what sounds suspiciously like a relieved sigh. “Are you ready for the meeting?”

  “I’m nervous and scared, Logan,” I reply, the high I was feeling just a moment ago fading in the face of reality. “But, I doubt we could hide out here.”

 
“C’mon, Kacie,” he says, opening the door and unfolding his tall frame from the seat. He grabs the boxes of bagels from the backseat. “You got the cream cheese?”

  Without a word, I hold up the bag of cream cheese. Logan sets the boxes on the hood of the car and pulls me into his arms. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I rest my head against his shoulder.

  “It’s gonna be okay,” he murmurs. “I promise.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  He gives me a tight squeeze before pulling back and kissing my cheek. “I am,” he says, giving me a cocky grin that makes my heart flutter. “Let’s go inside.”

  We are among the first to arrive, and I busy myself by helping Mrs. Kincaid prepare the continental breakfast spread. No one asks how my night went, in fact, the conversation is light and about as far away from the paranormal as possible. I sit on a stool leaning against the granite countertop peeling and sectioning oranges.

  Mundane. Normal. Yet the light conversation surrounding me seems forced and wrong.

  Without missing a beat, I move on to slicing apples. My ears fill with the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board, blocking out everything else. When Michelle takes the knife from my hand, I jump in alarm.

  “God, Michelle,” I blurt out in a startled gasp. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  “I called your name three times,” Michelle says, setting the knife on the counter. With a shaking hand she runs her fingers through her hair. “I’m sorry. Everyone’s walking on eggshells around you. Though they mean well, it seems to be setting you more on edge.”

  “It is,” I reply sighing. “I expected to be bombarded with questions the moment I arrived. When it didn’t happen I was relieved, but that relief quickly morphed into something else.”

  “Anxiety,” Michelle says, nodding her head. “I’m picking up tons of anxiety… but also elation.” She chuckles under her breath, “Shall we talk about what’s causing that?”