The Blood of Seven

by Claire L. Fishback

  Ruthie stood and lurched toward Teresa on unstable legs. Teresa unfroze and sprinted to the door and out into the night, where the cold air smacked into her, icing her lungs.

  “This way!” Tiffany darted across the town square toward the dirt road leading to the abandoned funeral home.

  Teresa’s lungs burned. Her legs ached with each forward push. Her foot splashed into a mud puddle, soaking her slippered foot. She tripped. Her body pitched forward, and she landed on her stomach. The syringe flew from her hand and clinked and clattered on the rocks a few feet away.

  “No, no, no!” Teresa gasped for air and crawled over to the glass syringe. Gravel poked and pierced her knees. The glass remained intact.

  Ruthie screamed. Teresa chanced a look. A stick-like figure lurched along about ten yards behind her. How could Ruthie move so fast? Teresa launched to her feet and took off.

  “Mommy! This way!” Tiffany leaped over the ditch at the side of the road and dashed into the forest. Teresa dug deep and pushed herself through the woods. She dodged tree trunks and finally came to the old cemetery near the abandoned funeral home. She dropped to her knees.

  “We made it,” Tiffany said in a gleeful whisper. She enveloped Teresa in a cold hug. Tiffany pulled away and twirled in a slow circle. Then Teresa saw them. Fuzzy green lights bobbed and danced in the night. Their green glows illuminated the headstones, tree trunks, and even Teresa herself.

  “Do you like them?” Tiffany asked. She reached out a hand and poked one. It puffed away, leaving behind incandescent smoke.

  “What are they?” Teresa asked. She held out her free hand to touch one. It landed in her palm and tingled against her skin. Others floated over and landed on her or hovered close by. They covered her torso like a sweater vest.

  “They’re lost souls,” Tiffany said. “They are drawn to you.”

  Lost souls also collected around the barrel of the syringe. When she moved, they darted away, but drifted close again, like moths drawn to light.

  “They want to free her,” Tiffany said. She stroked the syringe. “Let’s get inside.”

  Teresa glanced back just as Ruthie jumped across the creek and took two steps before she seemed to meet resistance. A crackle of electricity coupled with Ruthie’s pained screams disturbed a handful of nesting birds. She pushed forward and stumbled four more steps. Her body smoked. She clawed at her arms and torso like she was covered in bugs and ran back across the creek. She paced along the bank like a hungry hyena.

  “She can’t stay in here,” Tiffany said. “You have to have a soul, or be one, to cross over.”

  “She has no soul . . .” Teresa dropped to her knees again and moaned. “What have I done to her?” She watched Ruthie lurch and stumble along on legs so thin it seemed they should snap off at the knees.

  “You did what needed to be done so we can be together again. You do want to be together again, don’t you?” Tiffany’s dear sweet face held a sad, expectant expression.

  “Yes, of course, baby.” Teresa looked over at Ruthie. “But I’ve destroyed her.” She looked at the hypo in her hand. Could she stick the needle into Ruthie and give it back? A tear coursed down her face, and she sobbed. Tiffany touched her cheek.

  “Don’t worry, Mommy,” Tiffany said. “She will be just fine, and you and I will be together again.” Her hand left a cold trail on Teresa’s skin. “Time to come inside.”

  Teresa nodded and followed Tiffany. At the door, she cast a glance at Ruthie one last time and at the lights of the lost souls dancing and bobbing. So many of them. She looked at the soul in her hand and stepped through the doorway.

  The meager light in the living room dimmed until Teresa could see nothing. Then torches on the walls sprouted flames, lighting the cave with a warm, flickering glow. Tiffany was gone.

  “Tiffany?” Teresa called.

  A deep and resonant voice answered. “She’s gone to bed.” The words filled her chest and caressed her heart. “She is a child and tires easily.”

  A man wearing nothing but a loincloth stood by the pool at the back of the cave. Dark hair caressed muscular shoulders, which flexed when he turned around and met her stare with yellow, predatory lion’s eyes. With his physique and only a loin cloth covering his necessary elements, he belonged on the cover of a romance novel about cavemen.

  A half-naked man in a darkish place? A flicker of fear shuddered through her. She backed away from him.

  He laughed, deep and rumbling. A soothing sound. “Don’t be afraid—I know my appearance can be . . .off-putting.”

  Off-putting? He was gorgeous, ageless in his beauty. Teresa relaxed but only a little.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  The man only smiled. His bright white teeth tapered to sharp points.

  “You have what I need.” His voice slithered like ribbons of silk falling to the ground.

  Teresa gripped the barrel with both hands and held it against her chest. She backed away from him. “Tell me who you are.”

  “I’m the one you’re helping,” he said. “If you wish to see Tiffany, to be with her, you must give me the zoe.”

  Teresa retreated until she hit the opposing wall where the door should have been but wasn’t anymore. While she was distracted by the sudden realization she was trapped, the stranger pounced and penned her with a hand on either side of her shoulders. She looked into his eyes.

  “You don’t . . . you don’t scare me,” she said. It was meant to come out strong, but it came out breathless. She couldn’t avert her eyes.

  “I’m the one who has given you the ability to see your daughter, to spend time with her.” His voice filled her, warmed her. Heat flushed her skin. Teresa closed her eyes and swallowed hard.

  “I’m the one who will return her to you.”

  His breath on her neck. His lips on her mouth. A small moan escaped her. She wanted to resist, but she couldn’t. She tried to lift her arms, to push him away, but found herself pulling him toward her instead, returning his kiss. Everything inside her screamed no, but she couldn’t stop.

  His hand enveloped hers, and she released the hypo. He pulled away from her, leaving her breathless and ashamed.

  “Go home now.”

  “But Ruthie . . .” she said. “And Tiffany. I want to see my baby.”

  “Ruthie no longer wants you.” He smiled. “You will see Tiffany again very soon.”

  The uneven cave wall at her back changed shape, and the door to the outside took form. She took the knob in her hand. Everything in her wanted to say, no more, she couldn’t do this, but when she met his eyes, she asked, “How many do you need?”

  The stranger smiled. Something in the expression made her cringe.

  “Seven bloods, seven souls. Six more.”

  Ruthie’s soulless shell no longer prowled outside the cemetery. Teresa staggered home in a daze. Her mind couldn’t understand what she’d just done. What she’d just seen. None of this was real. It couldn’t be. She would wake up in the morning and none of it would have ever happened.

  Chapter 20

  Sunday

  A small group of people stood outside Mac’s Diner. Ann didn’t expect the masses until after eleven when church let out. She scanned their faces and body language. These people weren’t waiting for breakfast.

  “What’s going on?” Ann asked the first person she encountered.

  “Ruthie didn’t open the diner,” the young woman said. She turned and met Ann’s eyes. Recognition flashed across her face. “Hey! I heard you were back in town.”

  Ann didn’t fully recognize the young face, but something in the girl’s smile was familiar.

  “My parents watched every news story that aired.” She held out her hand. “Marcie Berg,” she said. “Roger and Betty’s daughter.”

  Ann shook Marcie’s hand. Roger Berg graduated Ann’s sophomore year, but she knew him well enough. He’d been the class Valedictorian that year and had done well for himself all through high school in both spo
rts and academia.

  “George and Sheriff McMichael are at Ruthie’s,” Marcie said.

  Ann slipped through the group and peered down the hill toward Ruthie’s house. George stood around, shifting his weight and repositioning his hands like he didn’t know what to do with them.

  McMichael wandered out of Ruthie’s house carrying a small evidence bag. Ann’s curiosity piqued, and she ducked under the sagging police tape.

  “We told you to stay back.” The sheriff was still looking at the contents of the bag. He turned. “Oh, Ann.” He indicated the bystanders. “Thought you were one of them.”

  “What’s going on?” Ann asked.

  “Got a call from Ruthie’s mom this morning. Ruthie didn’t show for Sunday breakfast. Came down to the diner to check on things, and the place was still closed up.”

  Ann could deduce the rest, but McMichael went on.

  “When I got down here, the door was wide open, and Ruthie wasn’t home.”

  “Any sign of forced entry?” Ann asked.

  “Nope, not at all. It’s like she forgot to shut the door behind her.”

  “Or,” George said from right behind Ann. She nearly jumped out of her shoes. “The perp forgot to shut it.”

  “You need to shut it,” the sheriff snapped. He led Ann into the house.

  McMichael handed Ann the evidence bag.

  “Found this in her room and traces of it ground into the carpet leading from the front door to the back bedroom.”

  Ann held the bag up to the light. The substance inside looked like strips of old scabs. Pieces had flaked off just from handling it. “What do you think it is?”

  “Not sure. I’m gonna have George drive it to Pine Valley to have the lab rush it.”

  “How long will it take to get results?” she asked.

  “Historically? At least a week,” McMichael said. “Ruthie’ll probably show up with a perfectly good explanation by the time we hear back.”

  “Does she disappear often?” Ann asked.

  McMichael took off his hat and scratched his head. “Not often, but every once in a while she sort of runs off.”

  Ann raised an eyebrow.

  “Now, now, hear me out,” McMichael said. “Ruthie always calls her sister, Debbie, to run the restaurant whenever she plans to run off, and that’s what concerns me. And she certainly wouldn’t leave her mama worrying either.” He replaced his hat. “Ruthie is one of our best.”

  “Did anyone call Debbie? Maybe Ruthie did call her.”

  McMichael nodded. “She hadn’t heard anything from Ruthie. She’s on her way to open up.”

  “What did you tell her?” Ann asked. She would have mentioned Ruthie missing but would have reassured her and told her not to worry.

  “I told her the truth,” McMichael said. “That Ruthie didn’t show up to open this morning.”

  Ann stepped toward the door. “Let me know if there’s anything you need a second opinion on.”

  Outside, the fresh air filled her lungs. She hoped McMichael knew what he was doing. Per protocol, all law enforcement officers were trained in crime scene investigation. At least enough to not screw things up. But this was small town nowhere, and McMichael was, well, old.

  George stood by the evidence kit sitting open on the Jeep’s hood. He blew a kiss toward the top of the hill. Ann followed the direction. Marcie pretended to catch the kiss and held it to her chest.

  “How old are you?” Ann asked. She narrowed her eyes at him. George turned to her.

  “Twenty-one next Tuesday,” he said with a nod. Ann looked up the hill where Marcie still stood. George followed her gaze and stopped smiling. “She’s seventeen,” his eyes widened. “She’ll be eighteen before the end of the year. And I haven’t done nothing with her, honest. Just kissing and stuff.”

  Ann smirked and walked up to Forest Parkway, stuffing her hands in her pockets. There was a small grocery store down the street. A package of bacon, a carton of eggs, and a few other essentials would at least get her fed and give her something to do.

  “Are you helping them find Ruthie, Detective?” someone asked her.

  Ann looked up. A young male, late teens to early twenties, held a notepad with a pencil poised over a blank page.

  “For the community paper?” Ann asked. The community paper was a home-printed-and-stapled affair with news about upcoming events, a classified ads section, and pictures from around town.

  He shrugged. “Sort of. More like a pet project, really.” He held out his hand. “Brent Winter. Can you tell me anything about the case?”

  Ann shook his hand. The remaining crowd turned their way.

  “Yeah, there is no case.” Ann took a step.

  Brent blocked her way.

  She sighed. “I offered my professional opinion. End of story.”

  “Can I take your picture?” He pulled a camera out of his jacket pocket.

  “No, I don’t think that’s—” Ann held up her hand to stop him, but Brent took her picture anyway.

  “Thanks, Detective.” He looked at the digital display. “That’s exactly what I need.”

  A shiny white SUV pulled up in front of the diner, and Ruthie’s sister climbed out. She unlocked the restaurant and let the people inside.

  “Hey, Debbie,” Ann said, holding out her hand. Debbie looked at the hand, took it in her own, then looked at Ann’s face.

  “Ann . . . oh my god, what are you doing here?” Her eyes widened. She gasped. “Is Ruthie dead?” Debbie clutched the sleeve of Ann’s jacket.

  “She’s probably fine,” Ann said, gently removing Debbie’s hands. “Sheriff McMichael is looking into it. Besides, Ruthie isn’t technically missing yet. The local law’s just antsy to do something besides break up bar brawls and warn bothersome neighbors to keep quiet. Right?”

  Debbie wiped her eyes and nodded. “I better get inside,” she said between sniffles. “Knowing you’re helping out—I’m sure you’ll find her.”

  Ann walked to the grocery store feeling like she couldn’t escape herself. If it hadn’t been to investigate her dad, she wouldn’t have come here. And, sure, she could leave anytime, follow protocol, and give the case to the police. But she knew she had to be here. Harmony was where she was meant to come.

  Louise’s voice rang in her mind.

  You were drawn here.

  “Dammit.”

  Drawn here my ass.

  * * *

  Ann returned home with a bunch of frozen meals. The front door hung wide open. She dropped the groceries and grabbed the tire iron out of her truck, then stood to the side of the door and peeked around the jamb.

  The couch cushions lay askew, and the drawers on the TV stand had been removed and dumped out. The roll-top desk in the corner spilled its contents out onto the floor. Her copy of the Salida Stabber case file lay open on the coffee table. Crime scene photos spread out like a macabre table cloth. She’d almost forgotten she brought it.

  Ann sneaked inside holding the tire iron out in front of her. She cleared the master bedroom, then turned quickly into the bathroom and tore aside the shower curtain all in one swift movement. Half the rings came off in the process. Lower level cleared, she crept up the stairs.

  At her old bedroom, a dark shape filled the crack between the hinges. She sidled inside and jerked the door away from the wall, ready to clobber whoever might be hiding there. Just a jacket on a hook.

  After destroying the shower curtain in the second bathroom, she sat at the bottom of the stairs. Anger replaced adrenaline as she surveyed the mess. Anger and a sense of violation that someone had come into her private space and destroyed it. They had broken in—or found the key by the mums.

  Ann gritted her teeth and dug her fingernails into the lip on the edge of the step. She got a jolt of pain on her fingertip. A sliver of wood protruded from beneath her nail. She felt along the underside. It was rough.

  On her knees, she leaned down to see why it wasn’t smooth like the rest of the wood.
The word Angel was crudely carved into the lip.

  She bent sideways to get a better look. The tip of a wire stuck out. She pushed it, but nothing happened. It wasn’t sticking out far enough to pull. She shifted it sideways and heard a soft click. The top board popped up.

  There was a message carved on the bottom. The same message she’d seen a lot of lately, it seemed.

  Summon the Angel.

  Angel’s hideout. How did her dad expect her to put that together on her own? A wooden box sat in the bottom of the space. She pulled it out.

  Carvings adorned the lid, intricate and detailed, depicting an angel standing at the edge of a pool of water. She held her hands out, not in offering, but palms down. Below the surface of the water, a snake with a lion’s head writhed in pain. Yalda-whatever. The demiurge that created the physical world in Louise’s whacked-out mythology.

  Ann opened the box. Cobalt velvet lined the inside, protecting a crusty piece of paper rolled up like a scroll, and a necklace. She lifted the necklace by the chain and examined it. Antique silver vines enclosed a glass cylinder about one-inch long. It looked like the drawings in the journal she’d found in the storage unit.

  Her father didn’t wear much jewelry. Usually just his wedding band and a watch. The only other item was this necklace. Ann remembered seeing it twice in her life. Once when it fell out of her dad’s shirt when he was kissing her goodnight, and the other time when he was drunk.

  He had pulled it over his head and held it in his hand. Ann remembered the expression on his face. He wanted to tell her something. Instead, he sighed heavily, tucked the necklace away, and hugged her. That was fifteen years ago, right before she left Harmony to go to the police academy. Right before their huge fight.

  Ann slid the chain over her head. The vial rested between her breasts.

  She unrolled the piece of paper. It was a list of names followed by two dates. Ann figured they were birth dates and death dates.

  At the very bottom, a diagonal tear took off the left corner, but her father’s first name had been saved. None of the other names on the list were familiar.