99 Souls

  The excitement the journalists felt fed on itself, and even though no one was answering their questions, they shouted louder and louder to be heard. Who was that woman who had gone inside? What was their strategy? How long would the hostage situation last?

  Suddenly, an ’87 Buick that belonged to an underpaid reporter for The In-Town Gazette flew some twenty feet into the air, spinning upside down as it ascended, then fell to the street. Before it collided with the cement, it hit two of the cars that had been parked around it, crushing metal, breaking glass.

  “Oh, my God!”

  “What was that?”

  The people closest to the car backed away from it. They were just as terrified to stay where they were as they were to take their eyes off the possessed vehicle. Those who’d been standing farther away likewise retreated, though not without taking the time to point and speculate.

  Then another car flew into the air, flipped, and came crashing back down.

  With that, all speculation deteriorated into screaming and running. The journalists and onlookers scattered in all directions, getting as far from the scene as possible without losing sight of it.

  The police redirected their attention from Trevor’s house to the makeshift parking lots, trying to spot the source of the chaos.

  A third car went into the air...

  INSIDE TREVOR’S FOYER, Sarah didn’t see the polished wood floor, the handcrafted banister at the bottom of the stairs, or the antique Italian furniture in the sitting room, even though they were all visible to her. And she didn’t see the duffle bag of dolls. All she saw was her son, sitting on the stairs in a state that appeared almost catatonic, and Trevor Borin, the man who’d brought so much pain to her family.

  “Brandon!”

  He didn’t answer.

  She wanted to run to him, to hug him and kiss him, but she knew better than to make any such move with Trevor nearby.

  Instead, she asked Trevor, “What do you want with him?”

  Suddenly, she heard a crash and people screaming.

  “Perhaps you should take a look outside,” Trevor said.

  Without taking her eyes off Brandon, Sarah took several steps toward one of the windows. When she was close enough to look out, she heard glass crunch under her feet. She pushed back the curtain and looked outside through the broken window long enough to see a car fly into the air as chaos overtook the crowd.

  “I’m going to walk out of here,” Trevor said.

  Sarah turned her attention away from the window. The sight of cars flying into the air didn’t faze her. She’d been certain since the abduction she that was dealing with something supernatural, and this was par for the course. Besides, the chaos was outside the house, and her son was in here.

  “Whatever you’re up to, you don’t need Brandon.”

  “But I do. Your son is the key to all of this. He is the only chance mankind has to save itself from its own destruction—and mankind doesn’t deserve that chance.” He had to shout the last few words to be heard over the growing roar of wind funneling through his broken window.

  “GET IN HERE!” MARK shouted to Jim as the wind started to pick up and storm clouds billowed overhead.

  Jim snapped out of his debilitating fear and got into the van. “What’s going on?”

  “Hell if I know.” Jeff Blank closed and locked the rear doors. “But this thing’s made of reinforced steel. It can take a lot of abuse.”

  Then Jim remembered the story Sarah had told him about the abduction and the feeling that had come over him when he’d driven her back to her house and knew, finally knew, he had to expand his definition of reality.

  At the same time, Frank Norcross climbed into the driver’s seat. He started the engine.

  The wind outside picked up, reaching near-tornado speeds, with Trevor’s house in the eye. Even before Frank could shift gears, the wind had grown strong enough to start pushing the van sideways.

  Everyone in back grabbed what they could for stability.

  Frank slammed on the gas, trying to get them as far from the storm as possible, but they only made it a few feet before the wind pushed the van onto its side and swept it away.

  Jim and the rest of the passengers slammed into the side of the van when it flipped. The chairs from the work stations crashed into each other around them. Up front, Frank’s head hit the window.

  After sliding off the road, ripping up grass as it went, the van finally came to a stop when it crashed into one of the fir trees. The passengers groaned and cursed as they rubbed their bruises, but nobody had broken anything.

  Looking through the windshield, Frank was able to see that the sky was clear overhead. The storm was limited to the area around Trevor’s house.

  “What the...”

  He climbed over the seat and crawled into the command center. “Everyone all right back here?”

  “I think so,” Les said, pushing herself up to her knees.

  Frank nodded. “Good. You guys have to see this.” He flung open the rear doors.

  “What are you doing?” Mark asked. “The storm—”

  “Is all the way over there,” Frank interrupted. “Look.”

  MANKIND DIDN’T DESERVE THAT CHANCE.

  Sarah didn’t know what he meant, but she realized she would have to kill Trevor if she wanted to get her son back. She looked around for anything to use as a weapon.

  She saw the crushed RRV and thought it might do. But before she could figure out how to get her hands on it, Trevor—who must have known what she was thinking—charged her, grabbed her by the collar of her sweatshirt, and threw her into the living room. She slammed into the back of a couch, which slid several feet, revealing Officer Noah Bramston’s Glock 22.

  Sarah’s head throbbed from the impact. She needed to find a way to level the playing field. When she saw the gun, she knew that she just might have a chance if she could get her hands on it.

  Without wondering where it had come from, she reached for the weapon. But before she could get it, Trevor grabbed her again and threw her in the other direction, toward the front door.

  She landed on her back underneath the shattered window. Eyes closed, she groaned. Her arms swept slowly through the broken glass as one leg bent at the knee, and then she was still.

  SARAH HAD ONLY HER ears to rely on, but they were all she needed. She had a plan. It had come to her the moment she hit the ground.

  She fingered the shards of glass around her until she found one that was long and came to a point. She placed her hand on top of it and waited, holding her breath, listening for the sound of approaching footsteps. She hoped he would come close to see whether she was dead.

  Then she heard what she’d been waiting for—the sound of Trevor’s footsteps as he approached. He hovered over her, placing two fingers on her neck to check her pulse.

  She wrapped her hand around the piece of glass. The edges of it sliced into her palm. She opened her eyes and whipped the makeshift dagger upward, stabbing it into Trevor’s throat, severing his carotid artery.

  Sarah let go of the glass and slid backward toward the door as Trevor pawed at his wound.

  With blood-soaked hands, he pulled the piece of glass out of his neck. He clenched his teeth and pressed his hand to the wound to slow the bleeding. Slowly, he got to his feet.

  Sarah had hoped stabbing Trevor would be enough to kill him, but it wasn’t. She needed to get to the gun.

  She glanced past Trevor to her son, who was still sitting on the stairs, slack-jawed and staring at nothing. “What have you done to him?”

  Trevor didn’t answer. Instead, he lunged forward, reaching for her with one hand.

  Sarah’s concern for Brandon turned into rage for the man who had put him in this state. Her fear vanished. Her mind went blank. She punched Trevor in the neck, landing square on the bloody wound.

  He hollered with pain and sank to one knee.

  Sarah darted past him, toward the living room. Before she made it out of
the foyer, though, she felt him grab her ankle.

  She collapsed to the ground beside the crushed RRV and rolled over.

  Trevor was clawing at her legs so she couldn’t get away. The hatred she saw in his eyes was no greater than that which she felt for him, but it was much more than she’d seen directed at her before.

  As he pulled himself on top of her, she kicked and punched, desperate to get free of his grip. However, all of her efforts were useless.

  His hand closed on her throat, cutting off her supply of oxygen.

  With blood dripping out of his mouth, he gargled up words she couldn’t understand. Then, as she felt herself getting weak, teetering on the edge of consciousness, she did the one last thing she could think to do: she grabbed the RRV and slammed it against the side of Trevor’s head.

  He let go of her throat and rolled off of her, once again howling in pain.

  Sarah scrambled to the Glock, grabbed it, and spun around to see Trevor still coming after her. Without thinking, she fired all fifteen rounds in his general direction.

  She had no experience with guns and the recoil reverberated through her body with every shot. It was impossible to keep the barrel level. With the way his body jerked, she guessed at least a few of her bullets hit their mark. However, it wasn’t until she had emptied the chamber that she realized he was lying on the ground, not moving.

  She dropped the gun and got to her feet. Trembling, she stood there for a long while, expecting him to get back up. When she was convinced he was dead, she hurried over to Brandon.

  Kneeling in front of him, she placed her hands on his face, leaving bloody prints on his cheeks. “Honey.”

  She grabbed him by the arms and shook him. “Honey, it’s your mom. Wake up.”

  He blinked, sluggishly rocking his head forward and backward. At the same time, the storm outside began to dissipate.

  “Honey!”

  “Mom,” he said, as if awaking from a deep sleep.

  She hugged him tightly and kissed him. Tears poured down her face.

  Fully awake now, Brandon looked at her with worry. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m fine. Let’s get you out of here.”

  Brandon looked at the dolls poking out of the duffle bag in the corner. “Not yet.”

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Without answering, he walked over to the bag, avoiding the pools of blood. Then he jumped on top of it and continued jumping until every doll in the bag was broken.

  As each of the ninety-nine dolls broke, he saw a shapeless, shadow-black soul drift up and away.

  Once he knew they were all destroyed, Brandon reached into the bag and pulled out the Raggedy Ann doll. He ripped its head off and saw Ashley’s soul flee, too.

  Sarah didn’t understand what Brandon was doing, but she knew there was more to it than anything she might guess.

  She glanced out the window to see if it was safe for them to leave. It was. The storm had abated.

  Wiping away her tears, she scooped up her son and carried him outside.

  Chapter 56

  BRANDON SQUINTED WHEN SUNLIGHT HIT his eyes. He saw not only the overturned and windswept cars, but the hundreds of angels that surrounded the house. He knew what they were immediately.

  When they saw him emerge, they glowed brighter, then faded into nothing as they rose into the sky.

  Although he couldn’t yet understand why he could see them, the link between seeing them and the ghosts of ghosts, or how either of these gifts would help him as he grew into adulthood, he did understand that the angels were pleased he was alive.

  WHEN JIM SAW SARAH exit the house, he ran to her. She was barely beyond the gate when he reached her. “Are you all right?” he asked, seeing all the blood.

  “I’m okay. We both are.”

  Then he grabbed her. They held each other tightly.

  When the detectives caught up, Les told her she should go to the hospital.

  “It’s not my blood. Most of it, anyway,” she said. Her hand hurt from where it had been sliced by the glass. She might need stitches, but the wound wasn’t life threatening and she wasn’t ready to be separated from her son.

  “He’s dead?” Mark asked.

  Sarah nodded.

  He went into the house to check out the scene. Les, Frank, and Jeff followed.

  Surrounded by Brandon and Jim, Sarah remembered what Trevor had told her on the phone: Why have you kept everyone at arm’s length since your husband died, then?... You don’t want another moment of joy?

  She did want another moment of joy. No, not a moment. She wanted to love and to be loved.

  Since her husband had killed himself, she’d been afraid to take another risk. But after having Jim stand by her when no one else would, she knew he was what she needed in her life. He was more than just a kind-hearted rock of stability; he was a trusted confidant, a loyal friend, and someone who would always be at her side.

  He was the man she wanted with her raising her son, whatever her son grew up to be.

  She smiled at him and said, “Thank you for everything.”

  “You got it.”

  Chapter 57

  THE FBI MATCHED THE CRUSHED CERAMIC dolls to all the “God is Blind” victims and, after two months without any more deaths, determined that Trevor must have been working alone. They confirmed the case closed.

  “The world has been held hostage by the fear of these killings for long enough,” said Tom Lawrence at the end of his exclusive with Detective Mark Hammond. “In the end, we all owe this man a debt of gratitude for bringing to justice the lone psychopath we now know as Trevor Borin.”

  Mark grimaced toward the camera. He hated being on TV, but he had promised Tom this exclusive.