by Rita Herron
So many girls dead recently.
Their salvation lies in your hands. You have to help them.
Only she didn’t know how to rid the town of the evil.
The insufferable heat served as a reminder of the devil playing his hand, that the short reprieve Vincent had experienced with Clarissa inside that cave had been a fleeting lapse in judgment.
They did not live in a vacuum or a sacred place.
They had to return to the real world and the battle that awaited.
He didn’t trust himself with Clarissa. The thought of her dying at his hands terrified him.
He glanced over his shoulder, and his stomach clenched at her pale complexion, the dark circles beneath her eyes, the haunted expression that he’d helped put there.
“Are you all right?” he asked gruffly.
For a tension-filled minute she didn’t reply, simply stared back at the cave as if the spirits inside were calling to her.
Her tormented look wrenched his gut. She couldn’t help them all, and it pained her.
The reason she was too good for him.
He gently touched her arm. “We have a long hike. Can you make it?”
She nodded, but her eyes were glazed and distant. “Yes, just lead the way.”
He wanted to drag her in his arms, comfort her, quiet the voices. Place the amulet back around her neck so she would have it for protection.
But caring for her only made her more vulnerable to him and to the demons who might come after him.
So he turned and began to hike down the mountain. She followed, her dog at her side, although Vincent paused to help her down the rockier terrain. By the time they reached the slope that led back to her house, she was wavering unsteadily. Between the heat, exhaustion, and the blow to the head, she had to be suffering. Unable to stand watching her struggle any longer, he scooped her into his arms.
She muttered a protest, but he shushed her and carried her the rest of the way to her house. She fell asleep against his chest, and he cradled her close, carried her inside, then undressed her and tucked her in bed.
He stood and watched her for a moment, longing to join her, but the amulet she’d returned to him weighed against his chest, and he knew he had no right. Stifling his own needs, he turned and strode down the steps.
He had to be stronger than his father. His mother would have been better off, safer if she’d never loved him.
Just as Clarissa would be better off without him.
Hours later, when Clarissa finally awakened, only a sliver of daylight still remained, bleeding through the gray sky. Her body ached, and an emptiness swelled inside her.
The voices had haunted her in her sleep.
“You have to help us.”
“We need you.”
“You’ll never be able to stop this demon.”
“Join us in the darkness.”
“It’s your fault we’re lost.”
“You should die like your mother.”
“He’s going to keep killing . . .”
“How many more of us have to suffer?”
Trembling from the sound of their anguish, she dragged herself from bed and climbed in the shower. She had to do something, summon the girls and force them to face what had happened, make them see the demon’s face so they could catch him.
She scrubbed her hair and body, aware she was sore and tender from her lovemaking with Vincent. Yet her body yearned for him again, ached to share the closeness they’d experienced at the pool’s edge. To feel his arms around her, his length inside her.
Where was he now?
“You’re going to lose,” a voice whispered.
“He’ll die, and so will you.”
“No!” She shouted at the walls, at the voices, willing them to stop. But they continued to pummel her as she dried off and dressed. Knowing they would haunt her until she did something to help the lost, she hurried down the steps.
Vincent had left a note by the coffee pot. “I went to meet the sheriff. Call me if you need me.”
Right now, she needed to talk to the spirits. She’d be closer to them at the graveyard.
She hesitated for a moment, contemplating whether to wait for Vincent’s return, but she couldn’t keep depending on him. He would leave soon, and she had to stand on her own, just as she’d always done.
Her heart aching, she grabbed the keys to the rental car and drove toward the cemetery. The winding roads and tall ridges rolled around her, the spiny leaves and branches reaching out to grab her, the jutting ridges and overhangs filled with lost spirits, roaming restlessly.
Helpless frustration washed over her. For the first time in her life, she understood the pain her mother had suffered and why she’d chosen to end her life. Forgiveness teetered on the edge of her consciousness, but her mother had also deserted her, and she’d needed her.
How could she possibly help all the ones who called to her? The dead from Hell’s Hollow, the lost miners, the girls who’d been killed by the demon . . .
Their voices melded together in her head, and by the time she arrived at the cemetery, dusk was already settling, the sun slipping beyond the treetops and into the canyon. Climbing out on wobbling legs, she wove her way through the endless rows of graves, her skin crawling as the ghosts pushed through the ground to claw at her arms. A shadow lurked at the edge of the graveyard, and she tried to discern who it was. A human or a spirit? Or maybe a demon . . .
She halted by Tracy’s grave, then closed her eyes and beckoned the girls to join her. Suddenly, cold air swirled around her, rustling the leaves and her hair, sending a chill down her spine.
When she opened her eyes, Billie Jo, Jamie, and Tracy appeared to her. She searched for Cary Gimmerson but didn’t see her. Alarm bells clamored in her head. What if Cary had traded her soul to the evil?
Then the voices of the girls began.
“Help me . . .”
“I didn’t deserve to die.”
“Who murdered me?”
“You have to tell me,” she cried. “I know it’s painful, but you have to think back to your murder, to the last few moments before you died. Tell me what you see.”
“Only darkness,” Tracy said.
“A black-faced monster,” Billie Jo cried.
“Before that. Did he have a human face? Maybe the demon possessed the body of someone in town. Think.” She raised her hands in comfort. “If you face the monster and tell me his name, I can catch him. And then you can cross over.”
Another whiff of icy air swirled around Clarissa and she stumbled, then touched the edge of a tombstone to steady herself. It was a freshly dug grave waiting for a body.
Cary Gimmerson’s?
She glanced down at the tombstone and saw an image of a skeleton reaching for her, trying to drag her into the ground.
But her breath caught as she read the name on the granite marker.
Clarissa King.
Reality dimmed as images bombarded her. Visions of a body being lowered into the grave, her skin peeling off in rotting layers, her bones crumbling and turning to dust.
A thousand voices assaulted her at once, tortured screams of the dying. She crumpled to the ground on her knees, covered her ears with her hands, and rocked herself back and forth, trying to drown them out.
But the pain was unbearable.
A sinister low voice rumbled through the wails, “The only way to end this is to bury yourself here with them. Climb underground and join them.”
The demon’s voice? Or was she going crazy?
A clawlike hand pressed against her shoulder, pushing her into the dirt, and she curled into it.
Excitement zinged through Hadley as Clarissa curled up by the grave. He’d watched her here before, knew she talked to ghosts. That she carried voices in her head just as he did. That the dead were her friends.
The voice in his head ordered him to end her misery. To help her join the others in their dirt beds.
He had to do as the
voice commanded.
He glanced around to make sure he was alone, then slowly crept from the shadows of the giant oaks. She was so lost in her tormented thoughts that he approached her from behind, and she didn’t even look up.
Raising his shovel, he brought it down against the back of her head.
She moaned, her body going limp, then lost consciousness. A smile curved his mouth. He’d bury her here with the dead so she could talk to them day and night.
But a car puttered in the distance, and he glanced up and saw it approaching. Shit.
He grabbed Clarissa’s arms and began to drag her toward the woods. He’d have to dig a new hole for her. Bury her with the animals he’d put underground.
Then no one would ever find her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Waller glared at Vincent as they gathered in his office along with Deputy Bluster. “Where in the hell have you been, Valtrez? We just got done questioning J. J. Pirkle. He was dating Daisy Wilson, but he’s been out of town and arrived home to learn of her death.”
“So Pirkle is in the clear?”
“Looks that way,” Waller said.
So far, they’d eliminated Bennett, Lamont Franklin, the real estate agent, and J. J. Pirkle. Who was left?
Vincent explained about tracking Clarissa’s dog into the woods and the collapsed mine.
“Jesus,” Waller mumbled.
“Where’s Clarissa now?” Bluster raised his eyebrows in accusation.
“Home resting.”
Waller consulted the report on the latest victim. “The girl who went over the ridge is definitely Cary Gimmerson. ME matched her dental records. Said she shattered almost every bone in her body in the fall.” He glanced up, pain etched in the deep grooves around his eyes. “She was twenty-one. According to her sister, her only living survivor, she was terrified of heights.”
Vincent nodded. “Just as Clarissa suggested.”
“I know you thought the girl was pushed,” Waller continued, “but the initial examination shows no evidence to prove it.”
Because the killer hadn’t physically touched her. The gray areas in the other crime-scene photos took on new meaning. Perhaps they were the spirits of the girls, or demons.
He grimaced. How could he explain that to Waller?
“I talked to Cary’s sister,” Bluster interjected. “She said she didn’t have any old boyfriends who might be pissed-off enough to kill her. Just J.J., and he was out of town.”
“We need a damn witness.” Waller scratched his head in frustration, and Vincent silently cursed.
He was their damn witness. Yet he wasn’t ready to share that fact, or the fact that the killer wasn’t human.
The phone rang, and Waller answered it. “Yeah. What? Hell, we’ll get on it.” When he hung up, the grooves beside his mouth deepened.
“What’s wrong?” Vincent asked.
“That was Hadley Crane’s mother. She said she found all his pills dumped in a potted plant. And when he left for work earlier, he was talking out of his head, talking about Clarissa and how she communed with the dead.”
Vincent’s chest tightened as fear gripped him. “I’m going to check on Clarissa.”
He jogged to the door, punching in Clarissa’s number as he climbed in the SUV. The phone rang and rang, but there was no answer.
Dammit. He’d never felt connected to anyone before, but he felt a connection with Clarissa.
And she was in terrible danger.
Hadley dragged Clarissa deep into the woods. The graveyard would have been better, but he couldn’t get caught. And she was close enough here to commune with the lost souls she hadn’t been able to save.
He found a spot beneath a live oak and began to dig her hole. Deeper, deeper, he wanted it to be just right like the others.
Didn’t want anyone to find her.
She started to stir, but he whacked her again on the back of the head with the shovel, smiling as blood trickled from the wound, dotting her thick coppery hair. She groaned, then lost consciousness again.
The next time she woke up, she’d be staring at the world from her grave underground and holding hands with the spirits.
Vincent sped up the winding graveled drive to Clarissa’s, his pulse racing as gray clouds covered the waning moon.
He never should have left her alone. If she died, it was his fault.
Screeching to a stop, he scanned the yard and drive, but Clarissa’s rental car was missing.
He tried her cell phone again, but the machine picked up, so he left a message.
Anxiety plucked at him, and he decided to check her house anyway. Maybe she’d left a note.
He jumped out and jogged up the porch steps to the front door, then pounded on it. “Clarissa! Are you here?”
His heart clenched as he waited, but she didn’t answer. Panic ate at him, and he turned the doorknob, expecting the house to be locked, but the door screeched open. Instantly alert, he pulled his weapon, although he doubted a gun could stop a demonic killer.
Wulf barked from somewhere in the house, but he didn’t see him, so he inched inside and scanned the entry-way, then the living room. Slowly he moved through the downstairs, but it was empty. Wulf howled again, and Vincent found him in the laundry room, pacing madly.
Where in the hell was Clarissa?
Wulf whined, and Vincent stroked his head, then jogged up the stairs and headed into her bedroom. But she wasn’t there, and he didn’t find a note anywhere.
He had to go to the graveyard, find Hadley. If he’d hurt Clarissa, he’d kill him with his bare hands.
He raced back to the car and flew around the mountain to the graveyard. Outside the temperature felt like a hundred, and his palms were greasy with sweat as he gripped the steering wheel and passed the turnoff for Hell’s Hollow. The stench of smoke and charred bodies still lingered, as if the horrendous fire had just burned through the neighborhood that day.
Time would never be able to erase the vile odors, just as it couldn’t erase the images in his mind from his own past.
He swung a left into the graveyard parking lot, glanced at the church—a sacred place, Clarissa called it. His heart pounded when he spotted Clarissa’s rental car. But he checked it and she wasn’t inside. He strode through the rows of tombstones, his jaw tightening when he spotted her purse lying by an empty grave, the contents spilled.
The wind whistled through the bare trees, sending the hairs on the back of his neck at full attention. His instincts kicked in, and he scanned the graveyard for Clarissa.
A noise to the left jarred him, then he noticed the ground had been disturbed. Marks from a body being dragged across the yard created indentions in the ground.
His heart thundered as he followed the trail in the woods, wielding his weapon.
More scraping. He hiked on. A mile, then another, until he spotted a shadow in the distance. He hesitated behind a live-oak, assessing the situation.
Clarissa was lying on the ground, blood seeping from her head. Hadley Crane stood above her, sweating and dirty, a shovel in his hand.
Vincent clenched his hand tighter around his gun, then jumped Crane from behind. A barbaric sound careened from Crane, and he bucked backward in an attempt to throw Vincent off his back.
But fury fueled Vincent’s strength, and he wrapped his hands around Crane’s neck in a chokehold. Crane screeched, but Vincent tightened his fingers, digging them deeper and deeper into Crane’s throat. He could hear him wheezing for air. A crack of his windpipe and he’d snap . . .
Clarissa stirred, then dragged herself up and tugged at his arm. “Vincent, stop, please,” she whispered, “don’t kill him.”
But all Vincent could see was the grave Crane had dug for Clarissa. All he could feel was the black rage eating at his soul.
Clarissa jerked him again. “Please, Vincent, look at me. Stop. Arrest him and turn him over to the cops.”
But the monster inside him wanted to forget the law. End Crane�
�s life for trying to hurt Clarissa.
She gently stroked his back, his shoulders, her soft voice whispering against his neck. “You can’t do this, or you’ll be like him.”
Crane gurgled with another scream. His eyes were bulging now, rolling back in his head.
Finally, somewhere in the far recesses of his brain, Clarissa’s words registered. He was a Dark Lord. This was a battle he’d have to fight all his life.
He couldn’t give in to it.
Clarissa sagged with relief as Vincent released Hadley. He dropped to the ground in shock, clutching at his throat, wheezing and coughing violently. Vincent grabbed handcuffs from his belt and cuffed Hadley’s wrists, then phoned Waller.
“Crane assaulted Clarissa. He’s in cuffs now, so send an ambulance to the graveyard.”
He hung up and dragged Clarissa into his arms. She curled against him and he stroked her hair, holding her and rocking her, his heart pounding.
If he’d been a few minutes later, she wouldn’t have made it. Crane would have buried her alive.
Finally Waller and the ambulance arrived. Hadley screeched and cried like an animal as Waller jerked him up and shoved him toward the squad car. “The voices told me to do it. I had to listen. I had to obey.”
The medics rushed to Clarissa and examined her injuries. “You need stitches, miss. And you probably have a concussion. We have to do x-rays.”
Clarissa protested going to the hospital, but the medic insisted she needed further testing and observation.
“Let them take care of you, Clarissa,” Vincent said. “I want to interrogate Crane.”
She grabbed his arm. “I need to take care of Wulf.”
“I’ll take care of him,” Vincent promised.
A dizzy spell assaulted her, and she conceded, then allowed the medics to help her onto the stretcher. She should be relieved Crane was being arrested, but as the ambulance rolled away, a sick feeling pinched her stomach.
If they had found the demon, the girls should move on.
But so would Vincent.
Crane’s crazy screeching echoed from the back room as Vincent entered the police station.
He slammed his fist on the table in the interrogation room, his blood still sizzling with rage, from the need to kill.