Blood Moon's Servant: A Paranormal Thriller

by Leah Kingsley

  Amy bit her lip and chose every word with care. She was balancing on a tightrope over a yawning pit of fire. One miss-step and she would burn in hell. If I bring you what you want, will you let Susan and the others go?

  His reply was swift. Yes. Although I am thinking about finding a nice big lake and making it her grave.

  Amy smiled with triumph, even as her stomach churned. The mention of the lake where Susan had nearly drowned ought to prove they were dealing with Alex. Kimmy had other ideas. She claimed anyone could have made that threat after watching news stories from two years ago.

  Amy twitched with anger. She tapped out her reply with more force than necessary. Why do you want revenge on Zack?

  I like to finish what I start. Amy gritted her teeth. Why were his messages so cryptic?

  So, nearly killing him in the hospital wasn’t good enough for you? She held her breath like a balloon inside her stomach and shut her eyes until her phone pinged with his reply.

  Not in the least. This time will be much messier than a bullet to the head.

  Amy thrust a triumphant fist into the air. She had him! She texted Kimmy, hatred bubbling within her like a volcano of corrosive acid. Pretending to betray Zack was going to leave a scar. She might love Susan more than him, and those kids needs may outweigh his life, but sacrificing her boyfriend to a psychopath? Living with the guilt would be worse than dying, herself. Amy thumped a frustrated fist into the grass. If Alex had told her she was the one he wanted, she would have gone to him in half a heartbeat. And if Zack found out he was Alex’s target, he might do the same. Nausea swirled in her gut. She had to keep this a secret. Zack could never know.

  She skipped the rest of her classes that morning and texted Kimmy every five minutes asking for news. Kimmy got sick of her and referred her to Peter. He had been working with Kimmy since yesterday, helping her brainstorm Alex’s weaknesses. Peter was patient with her but had little to report.

  Damien and Zack joined her at lunchtime with Subway sandwiches and Starbucks lattes. Amy sat between the two boys and gazed around at the sun-dappled lawn and the campus’s gorgeous architecture. They looked like three happy students having a picnic in the sunshine. Passersby must think they hadn’t a care in the world.

  Amy accepted a vanilla latte from Zack. “Kimmy has called a meeting. Seven p.m. at Peter’s apartment.”

  “Nice of him to tell me.” Damien snorted.

  Zack pressed his lips into an irritated frown. “It’s Kimmy’s way of making sure we stay in Vancouver until then.”

  Amy and Zack exchanged a loaded look. They had shared the same, irrational thought that going back to Toronto was the only way to help.

  Damien blanched. “Neither of you should go anywhere near Toronto. Alex has no idea where you are right now. Do you want to make it easier for him to find you?”

  Amy rolled her shoulders and took a bite of her sub. Damien had a point. They dropped the subject.

  The rest of the afternoon dragged, each minute more painful than the one before. Amy was unable to put down her phone. She and Zack were glued to Alex’s website, sickened by the footage yet unable to look away. Not knowing what was happening was worse than watching the horror unfold.

  Damien and Jessie stuck close by their sides like extra attentive emotional support humans. Charles and Raquel had all but disappeared. Zack’s phone pinged with a text from Charles every half hour or so, but Amy’s own phone stayed silent. Amy felt her friend’s absence like a gash in her heart. Charles was not the person she had thought he was. All it had taken was one lying ex-boyfriend to turn him against her. Did he even care about Susan and Chris?

  Amy, Zack, Charles, Damien, Kimmy, Peter, and Jessie crowded into Damien’s and Peter’s studio apartment at seven that evening. Amy raised an eyebrow as Charles walked through the door. She hadn’t expected him to show up after yesterday’s throw-down. That, coupled with his obvious aversion to Peter and Damien, ought to have given him plenty of qualms about coming.

  “Nice place you have here.” Kimmy snickered, surveying the gorgeous view of the dumpsters and the extreme lack of furniture.

  “The furniture will be delivered tomorrow.” Damien flopped onto his mattress.

  “At least they have comfy beds.” Amy collapsed next to Damien, and a wave of calm enveloped her. He had a mysterious, soothing vibe that helped her relax.

  Kimmy sat across from them next to Peter. Zack and Jessie joined Amy and Damien. Charles hovered in the middle of the room with an agonized expression. Having Peter here must be hard for him. The two had an ugly history. Amy shot him a sympathetic look before remembering she was supposed to be mad at him. Charles perched next to Kimmy. A bolt of anger chased her sympathy away in a blaze of fiery hurt. Charles would rather sit with Peter than risk talking to her. She went back to scowling at him.

  “Okay.” Kimmy produced a clipboard and got straight down to business. “I’m going to be honest with you guys under two conditions. The information I’m about to share must not leave this room, and none of you,” she paused to skewer Zack and Amy with a frosty scowl, “are to get any stupid ideas and go back to Toronto.”

  Zack’s eyes flashed. “We can’t just sit here and do nothing! Those are our siblings locked up with a psychopath.”

  “I am well aware of the situation. If you are unable to obey the conditions of this meeting, you may leave now.” Zack clenched his jaw but shook his head. Kimmy smoothed her perfect dark hair. “Experts have been unsuccessful in their efforts to dismantle Alex’s website. He continues to upload disturbing content to the Internet, and despite the government’s attempts to discourage families from making donations, many have done so to protect their children. This has increased the pressure on the families of those who have not made donations as there are now students who are exempt from his torture. There have already been two deaths, their teacher, Mr. Zellner, and a red-haired female student named Maria Lawson.”

  Amy shivered, imagining Susan lying dead in Maria Lawson’s place. She gripped Damien’s and Zack’s hands. Damien gently squeezed her fingers. She swiftly dropped his hand and entwined her fingers with Zack’s. That poor little girl was not her sister. But what if Susan was next?

  Charles furrowed his brow. “Why did Alex kill a student? Thought he was trying to raise money with the incentive of keeping them alive.”

  Kimmy’s shoulders slumped. “Alex killed her when the police arrived. The situation is out of control, which is why the Toronto PD has requested I fly out immediately to assist them.”

  Peter poked her shoulder. “The Toronto police can’t function without you.” Amy grinned. Peter was trying to raise a cop’s spirits. What a thoughtful ex-gangster.

  Kimmy dazzled the room with a flattered smile. Amy gaped. The tough, tiny cop liked Peter’s attention? She had to be reading this wrong.

  Anger sparked in Zack’s crystal blue eyes. “Why do you get to fly out there and not us? The last time you saw Alex, he threatened to kill you, Kimmy.”

  “He did what?” Peter’s eyes sparked with alarm.

  “Lots of people threaten to kill me.” Kimmy waved away their concern. “It’s simply part of my job. You two are civilians, and it’s also my job to keep you out of harm’s way. I will travel to Toronto tonight with Peter, and we will investigate Alex and anyone who knew him. We will rescue your siblings. Trust me. I am doing all I can.”

  “Of course I trust you.” Zack looked more irritated than ever. “That’s not the issue here. I just want to help.”

  Kimmy slapped a hand onto her thigh, her patience wearing thin. “Then stay out of the way, Zack!”

  She relayed a few more details of the case and left with Peter to catch their flight. Charles, Zack, and Jessie headed out as well, the boys off to their rooms, Jessie to a club meeting. Amy rolled her eyes. Her best friend’s social life was a full-time job.

  Damien poked her shoulder. “You sleeping here tonight? I’m not sure how your boyfriend would feel about tha
t.”

  “No, I’m not sleeping here tonight.” She grinned and threw a pillow at him. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. It had been a long day.

  “Want a drink?”

  Amy had an uncomfortable flashback to her near alcoholic days in eighth grade. “No thanks. After Monday, I vowed never to drink again.”

  “Fair enough.” His emerald eyes twinkled.

  “Thanks for your support today.” She gave him a warm smile as she got up to leave. “I’m still sorry for everything I did.”

  “Amy, please, stop apologizing. I told you, I’m over it.”

  She trudged to her dorm through the thickening dusk, the warm September evening barely lifting her spirits. Her feelings of calm had faded the moment she left Damien. Sleeping over might have been a good idea after all.

  She changed into leggings and Zack’s old football jersey and crawled into bed with an exhausted sigh. Someone rapped on the door the instant her head hit her pillow. Amy groaned. Jessie must have forgotten her key.

  She got up to answer it. “What are you doing here?”

  He pressed a rag to her face, and everything went black.

  Seventeen

  CHARLES WAS LOCKED in a staring match with the Dark. His heart was in his throat, and his stomach had tied itself in knots. Frustration bubbled just beneath the tension. Why was Kimmy letting Damien sit in on their meeting? It was like reporting everything they knew straight to the enemy, and Amy’s and Zack’s younger siblings were going to pay the price.

  Charles expelled a forceful sigh. Damien was far from his only problem. His friends were nearly as frustrating. Amy was refusing to talk to him, and Zack had followed her example. Charles shifted uncomfortably at the memory of confronting Amy. He had said some stupid things that he wished he could take back. Alcohol created nearly as many problems as it solved, it turned out. Jessie had spent the day trying to mediate, and Raquel had spent the day avoiding Jessie. The last thing he wanted after all that drama was a meeting with a Dark. And yet, here they were. An angel, a mage, a Dark, and a smattering of humans all hanging out together like the beginning of a bad joke.

  He wrenched away from the Dark’s piercing gaze, and a jolt of horror slammed into his gut. Amy was holding its hand. Charles used magic to test the power level in the room. Damien had flooded the space with mass amounts of energy to distract Kimmy and keep the humans calm. He was especially focused on Amy. A thick fog of power had curled around her, hitting her with enough mind-numbing bliss to knock her unconscious. She looked like a sequel to Sleeping Beauty by the time everyone else was getting up to leave.

  Charles stayed put with his eyes locked on Amy. He was pulled to his feet and propelled out the door. He clung to the handle and gazed back at Amy, still half asleep on Damien’s bed. He willed her to get up and follow them. He willed Zack to carry her out. The door slipped from his hand, and he found himself blinking beneath the glow of the lamp-lit walkway.

  “I don’t like this one bit.” He struggled to make Amy follow them, fighting to influence her for the first time ever.

  “I know.” Zack mistook his uneasiness for jealousy. “Why should Peter get to go while we’re stuck here?”

  Charles stared at Damien’s closed door and fought to lift his hand to open it. Instead, he wandered to his dorm with his mind reeling with questions. What damage could a Dark with as much power as Damien do? Alex had never been able to straight up will him out of a room. Granted, whenever Charles had found himself in the same room as Alex, he had longed to leave of his own volition.

  Charles grabbed a granola bar and plunked down at his desk. He was on a mission to mine the life of Damien James Green. Charles had teleported Damien’s wallet right out of his pocket. He now knew Damien’s birthday and his social insurance number. He even had access to his bank account. He could steal his identity if he cared to.

  Charles started with a Google search on Damien Green. He skimmed past an environmental company, a website selling antique watches, and an article about an Australian man who claimed to have seen Bigfoot. His search turned nothing up on their Damien. Some might find this frustrating, Charles found it weird. He could Google the name of anyone he knew and generate at least one result. Whether it was something to do with their work, an award they had won, a sports team they had played on, or simply a social media account, something always popped up. But according to Google, Damien didn’t exist.

  One result caught his eye, a week-old article from the Toronto Times on the escape of an 18-year-old criminal. The escapee, Damien Brown, had vanished from his cell last Thursday evening and authorities had no idea how he had managed it. Charles bit his lip. Escaped criminals were becoming an unwelcome theme.

  His stomach gave an almighty lurch. The name of the prison the youth had escaped from was all too familiar. He scribbled it on a piece of scrap paper and Googled Peter Jenkins to make sure he was right.

  There were a lot of results on Peter. News articles detailing his arrest and release as well as the events of his case and trial, one mention of him on THS’s football team, a statement made from prison about the death of his former gang member, and older articles from even further back.

  “You have a very colorful life, Peter,” Charles muttered to himself.

  He sifted through the results until he found a recent article on Peter’s release. He compared the name on his scrap paper to the name on the screen. They matched. He pumped his fist. Peter had been held at the same facility from which Damien Brown had escaped.

  Fingers flying across the keyboard, Charles refocused his search on Damien Brown. He must have changed his name after escaping prison a week ago and assumed the new identity of Damien Green. That was why Google had nothing on him.

  He scrolled through the results with his eyes glued to his screen. Damien Brown had been arrested for speeding back in June. His fingerprints had matched those of Damien Gray, a kid from Vancouver who had stabbed his classmate. Charles gaped. How many identities did this guy have? The police were searching for someone who matched the descriptions of Damien Brown or Damien Gray. No one had discovered Damien’s third and most recent identity, Damien Green.

  Charles finished reading about Damien Brown and ran a search on Damien Gray. His attention was piqued by a newspaper article from ten years ago. It showcased a photo of a smiling boy and girl on a lit school stage. The little girl looked a hell of a lot like Susan, but the date made no sense. Susan would have been a year old. The headline sent a ripple of shock through his chest. “Damien Gray and Amy Evans steal the show at Pleasant Bay Elementary with their heartwarming performance of Beauty and the Beast.”

  Charles goggled at his screen. Damien knew Amy? Since when? They had acted like strangers when Peter introduced them. But the little girl in the photo was definitely Amy, all pretty black hair and rosy cheeks. The boy looked a lot like Damien, except he had compassionate eyes of electric blue instead of his current shade of emerald green. Amy and Damien were the picture of grade-school happy, holding hands and beaming at the audience.

  Charles shook his head and moved on to the next article. This one outlined the story of Damien’s first arrest. He had stabbed a fellow classmate, Chris Jackson, in ninth grade. Charles’s sleepy eyes flew wide open. What the hell? Jackson had been his former roommate before he had agreed to switch with Zack. Was he dreaming? Was this all a wild story concocted by his stressed-out subconscious?

  He glanced at his watch and rubbed blurriness from his eyes. It was almost 2 A.M. His bed was calling. He scrolled passed one last article and stumbled across a webpage titled Damien Gray’s Goodbye. He clicked the link and big, block letters filled his screen. The content of this webpage has been restricted due to privacy violations.

  His sleepiness evaporated. He had never seen that message before. He hacked into the website with a smidge of magical help, read the first few lines in a state of severe confusion, and rubbed his tired eyes to clear the cobwebs from his head. He had to have misunderstood. He
read the first paragraph three times and continued to gape at his screen.

  To all of the people whose hate, empty promises, and inaction have forced me into this decision, I say congratulations. By your combined efforts, you have successfully rid the world of the nuisance and burden you all think I am. I don’t expect sympathy. I don’t want your tears. I doubt anyone will even read this. But if you are reading this, I beg you to continue. In a few short moments, this webpage will be all that remains of the memory of Damien Gray.

  To the father I hardly knew. How did it feel to bring a child into this world for the mere purpose of acquiring another asset? Did it make you proud to check me off your list of accomplishments? Did your friends congratulate you on your loving marriage or toast to your successes? Did your heart swell with pride when you showcased me to your friends and family? Did you cry when you lost custody of me in the divorce? Was I ever any more to you than an accessory on display? I hope all your friends turn to you now and say, “Raymond Gray, you sure raised that one well.”

  To Caroline Gray, my sweet mother whose crimes pushed a child to the brink of insanity. I never spoke of the things you did to me. Not to other students, friends, teachers, or the police. I will not speak of them here, either. But I hope this helps you understand that I am not a plaything for you to love while others are watching. I am more than your entertainment when you get bored or lonely. I am so much better than everything you told me I once was.

  To my fellow students, the ones who bullied, harassed, and literally beat me into my place. There are far too many of you to mention, but I shall single out a few. I know you would hate to miss out on the glory. Cory Rinehart, Mike Ozera, Brady Keene, and Kendon Peterson: you were my primary tormenters and ought to receive most of the celebrity for sending me to my fate. Cory, especially. Your dedication to destroying me persisted far beyond schoolyard bullying, owing to the fact you lived right across the street. I literally could never escape you. Congratulations!