Tortured Souls (The Orion Circle)

by Wheaton, Kimber Leigh

  “I don’t know,” I say, unsure if I want to share my feelings.

  “Ah, come on,” Yolanda says as she bounces into the room and grabs a handful of apple slices. “I just got rid of the guys for a while. I already know I missed a ton when I stayed in Austin instead of returning with Daniel. Spill it.”

  “If you don’t talk, I will,” Rebecca says with an evil grin. “And I have so much ammo against you and Logan.”

  “Ugh, all right,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Logan asked me to be his date for the Samhain Gala. He was all nervous and adorable.”

  “What did you say?” Yolanda asks, boosting herself up to sit on the counter.

  “What did you say?” Rebecca parrots with a snort. “One weekend, Yolanda, and you miss out big time.”

  “Yes,” I whisper, staring at the fruit sitting on the cutting board. Grabbing the knife, I start cutting the apples again. “I said yes.”

  “And then she threw her arms around his neck and gave him a passionate kiss,” Rebecca says with a squeal.

  “That didn’t happen,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat.

  “You should’ve seen them Friday night,” Rebecca says with a sigh. “The way he rescued her with a kiss—totally swoon-worthy.”

  “Wait, how do you rescue someone with a kiss?” Yolanda asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “He distracted her enough to keep the spirit from possessing her,” Rebecca says, sounding a bit defensive. “It was one of the most romantic things I’ve ever seen.”

  “All right, girls,” Mrs. Kincaid says as she pushes Yolanda off the counter. “We need to get this breakfast out and start the meeting. There’s lots to do today.”

  “Dress shopping later,” Rebecca says with a wide grin. “Ryan asked me.”

  “Who’s Ryan?” I shout my question through the almost deafening squeals.

  “Just like the hottest guy in the New Braunfels Circle chapter,” Rebecca says, wringing her hands. “I have to find the perfect dress. We only have like…” She pauses, staring at her hands. “Oh God, only twelve days!” she screeches when she looks back up.

  The sheer panic in her eyes almost makes me laugh. Almost. Unfortunately, I share both her excitement and nerves. I grab the tray of bagels and follow the others into the family room. Twelve days to find the perfect dress… I better text Celia.

  Chapter Twenty

  Unburying the Past

  While nibbling on a cinnamon bagel, I try to avoid the knowing smirks from Yolanda and Rebecca. I refuse to let them influence my behavior, so I remain seated beside Logan on the large sectional sofa, our legs touching. As if I don’t have enough to worry about, now I have two girls scrutinizing my every interaction with him. A dull ache throbs in my temples, and I flop back against the sofa with a heavy sigh.

  Mr. Kincaid has been holed up with Devon and Carl for over half an hour. As much as I enjoy missing school, I wish we could just get the meeting started already. It’s not like my life is on the line or anything. That morose thought leads to grotesque visions of exploded brains oozing out all over the place.

  My stomach roils, and I devour the remaining bagel in the hopes it will settle my upset stomach. Please don’t let Dr. Hayes show up with autopsy photos. I’m pretty sure I’ll lose it if I have to see the pictures. Knowing what happened is bad enough.

  “All right, we finished putting together the photos and information on Yardley’s thirteen victims,” Mr. Kincaid says, entering the room with a grim look on his face. Haunted. “I’m warning everyone now—the photos Yardley took of their murders are gruesome, vile, just awful. No one has to look at these.” His last sentence is directed at me. Unfortunately I’m the one person in the room who has to look.

  “We’ll do it together,” Logan murmurs. He takes my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Part of the process to move these spirits on is to acknowledge the awful trauma they endured. To let them know we may not understand, but we care.”

  “Still, we all don’t have to see them,” Daniel says, his gaze flying to Rebecca and Yolanda huddled together looking scared and ill. “Logan, you and I should be enough to help the spirits.”

  “I need to see them too,” I say in a hoarse whisper.

  “Are you sure, Cici?” Daniel asks with a grave expression. “Mr. Kincaid has seen lots of this stuff, and he looks ready to scream and pull his hair out. No offense, sir.”

  “None taken,” Mr. Kincaid replies in a soft voice. “It’s bad, no doubt. Worse than anything I’ve ever seen before.”

  “I have to do this,” I say, thinking of the trapped spirits. “They need me.”

  “Okay then, Logan, Daniel, and Kacie will go through these files,” Mr. Kincaid says, rubbing his chin with his fingers. “Anna, you Michelle and Devon should go help Dr. Hayes with her research trying to find that illusive connection between our Halloween victims. Yolanda, Rebecca, and Carl, I want you to hit the internet and find everything you can about Lucas Yardley and his cult. I have the other members on call. If you need help contact them directly.”

  “When are we going back to the manor?” Mrs. Kincaid asks in a low murmur as she wrings her hands in her lap.

  “This afternoon I’m taking Kacie, Logan, Daniel, Rebecca, and Carl with me to the manor. We’ll be out long before dark,” Mr. Kincaid says, pausing to see if anyone objects. “Tomorrow it’s back to school, so get as much done today as possible.” He glances at his watch. “It’s eight-thirty now. We’ll meet back here for lunch at twelve-thirty. Sound good?”

  No one utters a reply, but there are nods all around. The overall mood has gone from playful to somber since Mr. Kincaid appeared looking so haggard. Everyone gets up and starts moving around, heading to their assignments. I stay rooted to the sofa, unable to move. I don’t think I’m ready to face actual pictures of the gruesome deaths of Yardley’s thirteen victims. Then again, I doubt they could be much worse than what I’ve already seen in the visions.

  “I think we should take these into the study,” Logan says, glancing at the stack of colorful files. “I don’t want anyone stumbling in while we have the pictures spread out.”

  Logan holds out his hand, pulling me up from the sofa when I place my hand in his. He doesn’t let go on the short walk to the study, and I’m grateful for the comfort. I watch Daniel’s stiff back as he opens the door to the study. It makes me sad to see this carefree guy so upset and agitated.

  The study is lined with bookcases. A desk with a Mac sits up against the window, the only furniture other than the bookshelves. Daniel drops to his knees, spreading out the colorful file folders on the floor. They look garish atop the pale cream-colored carpet.

  “I want to know why thirteen,” Daniel says after Logan and I settle on the ground beside him. “Nut-jobs like Yardley have a reason for everything. Why thirteen and why these thirteen. Understanding what makes these victims special may help find his weakness.”

  “Agreed,” Logan says, squeezing my hand. “How should we proceed?”

  “This one first,” I murmur, reaching for a bright blue folder half-buried in one of the piles. “It’s calling to me.”

  I already know who is inside before I peel back the cover to see the raven-haired girl’s face staring at me. It’s a school picture, and while her smile is awkward, she’s still beautiful. As I run my fingers over the picture, I feel a tiny jolt. I snatch my fingers back, rubbing the burning tips. Logan takes my hand, placing a soft kiss on my aching fingertips. My eyes fly to meet his, and I’m lost for a moment in his gaze.

  “This’ll be slow going if you two continue to moon over each other,” Daniel says with a disgusted snort. “Rule number one, Cici. Never touch a photo of someone you’ve had visions about. Until you’re ready, that is.”

  Tugging my hand from Logan’s grasp, I give Daniel my best hard glare. “Care to elaborate?”

  “I keep forgetting you’re flying blind,” he says, shaking his hair with a dra
matic flourish until it falls over one stormy gray eye.

  “I keep forgetting you’re an emoting asshat,” I reply. Tipping my head to the side, I plaster an exaggerated smile on my lips and blink up at him with wide doe eyes.

  “Ouch,” Daniel says, clutching his chest. “And I paid a fortune for those Captain Kirk Intro to Acting classes,” he adds in a great mockery of the illustrious Star Trek Captain.

  “So why did the picture shock me?” I ask, stifling a giggle at the smirk on Daniel’s face.

  “Photos can contain powerful psychic vibes,” Logan says when Daniel just snickers. “Not only can you get a reading on the person in the photo but also anyone who touched it.”

  “I’m guessing these photos soaked up enough negative vibes to blind us psychically,” Daniel adds, handing me a tissue. “Use this.”

  I look at the guys, trying to determine if this is some sort of newbie joke. They both look quite serious now. Yet I wouldn’t put it past Daniel to try to ease the tension with something ridiculous and inappropriate.

  “We wouldn’t joke about something like this,” Logan murmurs when he notices me eyeing them. “For safety, let’s keep a barrier between our skin and the photos.”

  “What about all the papers?” I ask. “Wouldn’t they hold psychic energy too?”

  “You’ve heard about the way some people react to having their picture taken,” Daniel says while sorting through the pages of the raven-haired girl’s file. “They believe it steals or captures part of the soul in the image. Perhaps it’s just the aura or psychic energy that’s captured. The paper should be fine. I’ll pick up the emotions of people who handled them, but you probably won’t. Not unless you can add clairsentience to your list of superpowers.”

  “Since you seem to have a connection to this girl, start with her file,” Logan says.

  He picks up a yellow file and moves to the other side of the room. When Daniel moves to another side away from both of us, I look up confused.

  “We don’t want to influence each other,” Daniel says.

  After a slight nod, I pick up the photo with the tissue and set it aside before starting in on the first page of the missing persons report.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Thirteen Sacrifices

  Scanning the first page of the police report, I realize it contains nothing but vital statistics:

  Name: Ellie Emerson

  DOB: September 21, 1956

  Age: 13

  Race: Caucasian

  Hair: Black

  Eyes: Brown

  Height: 5’2”

  Weight: 95lbs

  Last seen leaving Pembroke Middle School at three pm on October 18, 1969, wearing the school uniform. After speaking with friends and family, she was determined not to be a runaway. Ellie was the star volleyball player and her team was on their way to regionals. It seems doubtful she would miss such an opportunity. Handle as kidnapping.

  Oh God, she was held captive for thirteen days before her murder. No, that isn’t right. Flipping through the pages, I locate a brief summary of the autopsy report. Death occurred roughly seven to ten days prior to discovery. So the authorities discovered her body… but then shouldn’t her soul be free? On the last page, I find the records I’m looking for. The body was released to Kleavor Funeral Home on November 6, 1969. She was scheduled for burial at Meadow Dawn Cemetery on November 9, 1969. No notes on whether this happened or not, but I’d assume there would be notes if it didn’t. So if her body was found and buried in consecrated ground, then why is her spirit trapped with Yardley?

  After placing the reports back into the file, I slip the picture into the folder and move on to the next. A familiar boy stares up from the picture clipped to the report. The platinum blond hair is unmistakable, though the last time I saw it, much of it was coated in blood. This is the nearly decapitated boy.

  Name: Michael Johnson

  DOB: July 9, 1957

  Age: 12

  Race: Caucasian

  Hair: Blond

  Eyes: Blue

  Height: 5’0”

  Weight: 80lbs

  Last seen leaving Langford Middle School at three pm on October 19, 1969, wearing khaki slacks and a white polo shirt. Friends thought it strange when he missed football practice without a word. Determined after speaking to friends and relatives to be a kidnap victim not a runaway.

  That’s strange. He was kidnapped twelve days before Halloween and he was twelve years old. Ellie was thirteen and taken thirteen days prior to Halloween. Closing Michael’s file, I set it aside and look through the other two. Carla, age seven disappeared October 24, 1969. Hector, age three disappeared October 28, 1969.

  “I found a connection,” I blurt out in my excitement. “We need to compare ages and dates the kids were taken. Grab some paper from the printer.”

  Logan hands me a few sheets of paper and a pen before flopping on the ground beside me. “I hope this will keep me from having to read more of these files. They’re heartbreaking.”

  “Okay, just read out the ages in your files,” I say, scribbling down the ages as they fire them at me. “Look at this.” I hold up the paper. Both guys let out simultaneous gasps.

  “They’re all ages one to thirteen,” Daniel says with a low whistle.

  “Not only that, but there’s one of each age,” Logan adds.

  “I think the dates they were taken will correspond with the ages—at least mine do,” I say, adding the taken dates to my entries.

  Without a word, Logan and Daniel sift through their files, adding the kidnap dates to each entry. When they finish, my hunch is confirmed. The victims were aged one through thirteen and each was taken the number of days prior to Halloween that corresponded with their age.

  “Okay, but what I don’t understand is why they were taken in this order,” Logan says as he flips through a file. “According to the autopsy reports I have, they weren’t killed the day they were taken.”

  After comparing the approximate dates of death, it’s apparent there’s no obvious correlation, at least that we can decipher.

  “Maybe the dates of abduction have more meaning to Yardley than the dates of death,” Daniel says, leaning back on his hands. “Without seeing the autopsy reports, we don’t even know how they died. I mean other than murder.”

  “Ellie had her head bashed in and her legs were shattered,” I murmur, recalling my vision. “I think she tried to flee. In my vision there was always a broken doll next to her, but now I’m thinking maybe it was an infant. You think she tried to escape with the baby?”

  “Could be,” Logan says, gazing at me with an intense look. “But if she was killed in a botched escape attempt, then can we assume time and type of death weren’t of importance?”

  “I don’t think we’re ready to make that leap yet,” Daniel says, staring at the photo of Ellie. “But, yeah. I’m heading there myself.”

  “Michael’s head was almost completely separated from his body,” I say with a shiver. “And the other boy, he was like ten or eleven…”

  “Kenny,” Logan says, pulling out a green file. One look at his picture confirms his identity.

  “His face was bashed in,” I murmur, gazing at the happy blond boy in the picture.

  “So we aren’t looking at ritual sacrificial killings like the media suggested,” Daniel says, chewing on his lower lip. “Did he just kill them for fun?”

  “Well, he needed something from them,” Logan says, stacking the files. “I think when we figure that out, we’ll know how he trapped their souls.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say, stretching my legs. When I glance at the clock, I’m shocked to see that we’ve been in here for three hours.

  “Well, I’m assuming Yardley did some sort of ritual to trap the souls,” Logan says, pulling me to my feet. “Most rituals use an item or something as a binder. We need the detailed autopsy reports to be sure.”
>
  “He may have taken a piece of each victim for his ritual,” Daniel says at my confused look.

  “No,” I gasp. Waves of nausea force me back to the ground. “That would trap them here?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Logan says, dropping to his knees beside me.

  I wrap my arms around his back when he enfolds me in his embrace. Hot tears spill over my eyelashes, tracing a path down my cheek. How can anyone be so cruel? To not only torture them in life but then in death as well—it’s revolting.

  “Why them,” I murmur, sniffing and swiping at my cheeks with my hand. Daniel hands me a tissue, and I bury my face in it. “It’s so unfair. He planned this out so carefully, but we still don’t know what they have in common. Why did he choose them?”

  “There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason,” Daniel says from across the room.

  “There has to be,” I argue. “He plotted and planned and stalked these kids. They weren’t random. Why them? How did he know who they were? How did he find them? How could he know their ages?” My voice rises with each question until I’m shouting.

  “Cici, calm down,” Daniel says, moving to Mr. Kincaid’s desk. “I’ll start looking for a connection.”

  “What should I do?” I ask, hiccupping on a sob.

  “You are going to rest for a while,” Logan says, maneuvering my body so my head rests on his legs.

  “I can’t rest right now,” I insist.

  “Shh,” Logan murmurs. His hand caresses my hair in soothing strokes. “Yes, you can. You’ll need your strength this afternoon.”

  My eyes drift closed, fatigue weighing on me now that I’m no longer fighting. When I roll over onto my side, Logan lies down and curls up behind me. His arms wrap around my body, and I snuggle against him. Right now the floor is much more comfortable than I ever remember my bed feeling. A short nap won’t hurt.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Back to the Beginning