by Alex Gates
“A six? Are you serious?” Shaking her head and mumbling under her breath, she started the car and pulled into the road. “That’s bullshit.”
“Bullshit? You’re the one who thinks that Xander is sexier than me.”
“I don’t think that,” she said.
“You don’t?”
“No. Literally everyone in this world knows that. You’re like… like that skinny white guy from Fantastic 4, and Xander is Michael B. Jordan.”
“The new Fantastic 4?”
“I don’t know. The one with Michael B. Jordan.”
“You think I look like Miles Teller?”
“I don’t know his name. He’s super nerdy, though—oh, he’s also in the new Footloose, where Blake Shelton sings the title song.”
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s fucking Miles Teller. He’s an amazing actor.”
“He’s a dweeb.”
“You’re a dweeb,” I said, really laying into her. “Well, your charm level just dropped to four.”
“Okay, Miles. Get the fuck out of my sight before I demolish you!”
I stared at her from the corner of my eye, my mouth agape. “Are you quoting Whiplash right now? You saw that movie?”
“Uh, duh. I fucking loved it.”
“Thank you!” I said, throwing my arms in the air, not only flipping my fries onto the food-covered floor but enticing a sharp pain across my abdomen.
“Really?” Dakota asked. “You’re going to just throw your fries on the ground?”
I glanced at her floor mat, then back at her.
“I would have eaten them!” she cried.
I laughed under my breath. “No one—literally no one—I have ever met has seen that movie. It’s so underrated.”
By the way, if you haven’t seen Whiplash, I invite you to put this book down and watch it. You won’t regret it. Miles Teller crushes it as a young drummer trying to impress this hard-ass instructor played by J.K. Simmons, the dude who plays J. Jonah Jameson in Spider-Man. So good!
“Right?” Dakota giggled, biting her lower lip and glancing at me like she might actually be flirting.
I kept my head facing the cracked windshield, but watched her from the corner of my eye. For a second, there wasn’t any sound but the traffic as we continued down the street, and that was okay. The silence wasn’t one of those awkward, overbearing silences that needed voice. We sat there in a strange yet comfortable quiet, like old friends.
“Why do you keep looking at me?” Dakota asked when I glanced at her for the ninety-third time in less than a minute.
“What?” I asked, returning my attention to the road. We were headed West on Arden Way. “Where are we going?”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “Why were you looking at me? Do I have something on my face? Sometimes when I eat burgers, I can’t help but reenact the Carl’s Jr. commercial from years ago where it gets all over the place. Do I have ketchup or mustard on me?” She ran her tongue around her lips.
“No,” I said, trying to think of grandpas and complex math problems in my head to suppress the image she had planted in my mind. My new pair of jeans didn’t allow for me to hide my gun as easily as Xander’s baggy pants had. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“So, you’re just staring at me like a creep?”
I swallowed a lump of embarrassment sitting in my throat as my chest tightened to painful levels. The cab of the car became incredibly hot. “I was—” I scratched my nose and exhaled. “I don’t know,” I said, hating myself for being so terrible with women.
“You think I’m cute, don’t you?
“No!” I said.
She tore her eyes from the street. “No?”
“I mean… fuck. Why are you like this?”
“Like what? Full of charm?”
I pushed the radio knob, turning the sound to a volume that threatened the safety of my eardrums. “I can’t hear you!” I screamed.
Dakota smirked, though she didn’t respond otherwise. We exited north onto Watt Avenue and drove through residential neighborhoods until we came to the fields spread out between Roseville and Sacramento.
Dakota parked on the shoulder of a back road bunkered by plowed fields. Drawn in the faded asphalt were pentagrams and swastikas and dicks ejaculating and scribblings that read 666 and Turn Around Now and Mark & Abby 4EVR. The trees on the side of the road and in the fields had similar carvings in their trunks.
“Nice place,” I said. “Very inviting.”
Dakota unbuckled, opening the driver’s door. “You scared?”
“Terrified.” I unbuckled and stepped out of the car, nearly stomping the head of a muddy baby doll not wearing any clothes. “Fuck,” I said, startling at the sight. My heart rate accelerated. I wasn’t usually spooked by play dolls, but this one had one of those haunted looks about it—and I thought some blood had dried around its eyes.
“You okay?”
“Almost murdered by a Chucky doll. Other than that, I’m fine.”
A few feet from the doll sat a couch that a werewolf must have owned. It was shredded to pieces. A pile of wet, black garbage bags lay beside it, near a barbed wire fence almost leaning onto the ground. The wooden posts were rotted at the bottom, crawling with termites throughout.
“What is this place?” I asked, not believing we’d only driven twenty minutes out of Sacramento. “And why are we here?”
“For a few reasons,” Dakota said, stepping over the angled fence and into the field. “One, it’s a hot spot for supernatural activity. Ask Xander about Dyer Lane and he’ll probably have a thousand paranormal stories that originated from out here. Two, there was a report that came in late last night about a group of robed people congregating in this field. When the patrol unit came to check it out, they found nothing but dirt.”
I followed Dakota in my brand-spanking-new kicks, stomping through the moist earth. “Why did you buy me a pair of white shoes if you knew we were coming out here?” I asked, watching the mud stick to them. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Yesterday afternoon, about ten miles from here, a thirteen-year-old boy—Aaron Brooks—went missing. He was last seen walking home from school. According to his mom, the distance between their house and the school campus was just under a mile.” She stopped walking and faced me with a grin.
“Why are you smiling? That’s super creepy, telling me a story like that and smiling.”
“So,” she continued, “we’re going to spend the afternoon scanning this field for any sign of a cult or a young boy.”
“Believe it or not, that’s not the creepiest thing I’ve been commanded to do in a barren field.” I stared off over the horizon and clicked my tongue. The winter sun glared into my eyes and warmed my face, spawning an afternoon headache after my morning of drinking. “How many acres is this?”
Dakota shrugged and glanced over her shoulder, surveying the property. “Don’t know. Three… five tops. Enough so that we’ll be here until dark—when the monsters come out. Are you afraid of some monsters?”
“Let me get this straight. Dyer Lane—clever name, by the way—has a history associated with paranormal activity—and not the terrible movie, either. Last night, some random person happened to be out here, in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere, and called in a group of robed figures being creepy in the middle of this field. One of your deputies drove out here, checked it out, and cleared the call.”
Dakota stuck her hand to her hip and scowled at me. “Correct.”
“A kid went missing after school yesterday.” I scratched my neck, trying to find the dots she’d connected. “You believe that whoever called the station about a cult ritualizing in this field was telling the truth. And you’re assuming that the cult ritualizing in this field kidnapped that kid and sacrificed him.”
“That’s my reasoning. Why make up such a ludicrous call to the sheriff’s department? Who comes up with that shit?”
“People are batshit,” I said, scanning th
e field. “This was what you had planned for the day? Stomping through a field in search of clues to a… what?”
Dakota scowled again, and the sunlight drenched her in radiance. “Look on the bright side. It’s better than Hephaestus finding and killing you, right?”
I cleared my throat. “I don’t know about that.” Staring at her, I asked, “How do you want to do this? You take half, I take half?”
She pursed her lips. “I was sort of hoping we could just stick together.”
“Okay,” I said. “But let me warn you, I’m prone to bitching and complaining quite a bit.”
“Oh, I caught on.”
Walking three yards apart, we shuffled across the first stretch. Finding nothing, we about-faced and began lap number two. The air was thick—not with humidity or fog or anything natural, but with a dark energy. It almost felt like something just out of sight was watching us, and its eyes held a menacing weight.
Trying to ignore my paranoia, I sighed and said, “Tell me about Mel.”
“What?” Dakota asked.
“About Melanie. Not about the evidence you found. We can save that for Xander. But I know, while following me, you had to have collected information on her from friends, teachers, family. Can you tell me anything about her?”
We finished the second stretch in silence. Before we turned to start the third, Dakota paused and stared at the blue sky. She scratched the back of her head, ruffling her blonde hair. “She was shy, according to most of the adults I spoke with. The kids her age said she was quiet, too. Some were scared of her in a way they couldn’t explain—both kids and adults. Did you know she was seeing a psychiatrist?”
“You said that her, Derek, and Marie were all in counseling for reoccurring nightmares.”
“Yeah, well, according to their doctor, they all suffered very similar nightmares. It started about two months ago. They would see a loved one being taken from them. At first, the lost person would approach them with indifference, then they would turn into a monster and attack the dreamer. Each night, the lost loved one assaulted them in a different, more horrific way.”
“Her birthday was two months ago,” I said offhand. “She turned seven.” I don’t know how that helped, but the information felt too coincidental not to mention. Mel’s abduction and subsequent murder had taken place seven years after Callie’s death. Then, right around my daughter’s seventh birthday, she and her family had started to experience horrific nightmares that landed them in counseling? “I was pretty out of it the night I fought Medea, but she kept saying something about Mel not belonging to this world.” I shook my head, again just reaching for straws that might hold weight. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t either,” Dakota said, continuing with the search.
The bright afternoon soon darkened in the early winter sky. The weight in the air became heavier with the spreading of the shadows. A deep chill arrived as the sun fell below the horizon line, stealing the light from the land. Dakota and I concluded our search of the field, finding nothing more than a few weeds, some crushed beer cans, and a few cigarette butts.
“I don’t think your robed friends partied without you last night,” I said, dragging my feet back to her car. “Did we avoid your feelings getting hurt?”
She faced me, the shadows of twilight obscuring her face. “Reason number three we came out here—if you want to learn how to use your new power, why not start training out here, in a paranormal hotbed?” She leaned over, grabbed a clod of dirt and chucked it at me.
I dodged, hearing the compacted earth woos by my ear. “What the hell?”
“Come on,” she said, “you’re a Sorcerer now. Tap into your dormant power, awaken it. Learn to use it. What better way than reflex? Don’t allow your body to dodge, force your magic to ward. Don’t think. Just act.”
“Who the hell are you? Dumbledore? Brom?”
“Who’s Brom?”
“That guy from Era—never mind. I wasn’t being literal, anyway. It’s just… what, all of a sudden you, a Sheep, can mentor magic users?”
Dakota chuckled. “I’ve spent twenty years dedicating my life to this shit. I probably know more about magic and the Nephil than you ever will.” She picked up another clod and tossed it straight up in the air, catching it on the downfall. “Now, let’s find the power you accessed against Medea.”
I shook my head and bit my lip, but listened to her. Closing my eyes to drown out distractions, I reached for the well of power that had appeared within me a couple nights ago, and again this morning. Opening my eyes, the surrounding darkness had taken a corporeal form—not only that, but I could see through it with ease.
Dakota wound up like a pitcher and bulleted the dirt clod at me. I mentally reached for the darkness and commanded it to shield me from the attack. A shadow flinched at my command, but it didn’t cover me. The projectile smashed into my bandaged stomach with a hollow thunk. The breath fled from my lungs at the impact and a shattering pain registered in my abdomen. I collapsed to my knees.
“Fuck,” I wheezed, gripping my bleeding stomach. “This shirt was brand-new, and I actually liked it.”
“What happened?” Dakota asked, jogging up to me and kneeling.
“You threw a rock at me, remember? Shit. I think we need to head back so I can change these bandages, unless you have some first aid in the car.”
“No, we’ll get you back to Xander’s. He’s probably close to getting off work anyway. He’ll be wondering where we are.”
Dakota helped me to my feet and assisted me across the field to her vehicle. A hair over five-foot-seven and weighing around 130 pounds, she was stronger than I’d given her credit for—especially as I struggled to walk, trying not to tear the injury further. She opened the passenger door for me, and I crawled inside while she jogged around and situated herself into the driver’s seat. As the overhead light dimmed and winked out, she said, “Creepy out there, yeah?”
I knew what she meant. As the darkness deepened across the sky, a billowing of thick fog had crawled in as well, distorting sound and fragmenting trees. I understood why people found it easy to believe in the paranormal out here.
Frowning, I said, “Creepy, schreepy, as I always say. A little dark and a little cold never hurt anyone.”
“I would argue with you,” she said, “but what’s the point?” She started the car.
The headlights beamed in front of us, illuminating a shadowed figure standing near the edge of the field, right behind the fallen fence. It wore a black robe and a human skull for a mask.
Dakota chuckled—a strange response, for sure. I responded with a little more fear and gasped. Let me set the record straight by saying I didn’t quite squeal or shriek, though my voice had taken the high-pitched tone of an adolescent girl. “Drive,” I said. “What in dickens are you doing?”
Dakota unlocked the car and opened her door, stepping outside like a lunatic. As soon as her feet touched the ground, the figure vanished from sight.
“Where did it go?” Dakota called from outside the car.
“What are you doing? Does it matter where the bastard went? Let’s make like a fucking tree and leaf this place.”
She ducked her head into the cab and scowled at me. “Really? That’s what you’re going with right now? Make like a tree?”
“Uh, I said a fucking tree. And if you don’t like it… fine. How about this? Let’s make like sheep and get the flock out of here.”
“You’re not curious about that apparition at all?” Dakota asked, pulling her head from the car’s interior and moving forward a few steps, standing in front of the car’s headlights.
“Not at all,” I said. I won’t lie, though… the light did a great job of highlighting her backside features and I wasn’t much interested in anything else. I took full advantage, checking out her ass. I probably should’ve been watching for signs of danger, but gosh darn, those jeans made it hard—no pun intended.
Dakota’s phone vibrated in the cuphol
der. I glanced at it out of reflex and saw the caller. “Hey,” I called out to her, “Dr. Tacet is calling you.” The caller ID showed his full name as Mortimer Tacet. “What kind of name is Mortimer, anyway? He literally sounds like a villain from a bad cartoon.”
Dakota walked back to the car, her hair tangling in her face as a gust of wind threw it around. Ducking into the driver’s seat, she grabbed her phone and answered. “I’ve been ignoring you all day on purpose, Tacet. It’s my day off and I don’t want to hear from you.” She hung up, tossing her phone back in the cupholder and shutting the driver’s door.
I stared at her with a pinched face, thinking it pretty strange how she’d responded to the call. “Isn’t he the one dealing with Mel’s body?” I asked. “Why aren’t you answering him?”
“Because he’s a fucking creep who doesn’t understand social conventions or personal boundaries.” She grabbed her phone. “I’m just going to block his calls for the rest of the night.”
“Uh, no you’re not. Let me reiterate for you—he has Mel’s body. What if he found some new evidence? Call him back.”
Dakota shook her head and her phone lit up as she unlocked it. “Oh, look here.” She held the screen to my face, showing me her voicemail notification. “He left a fucking message two hours ago. So, why call again? Stupid piece of shit.”
I adjusted in the seat, finding her behavior toward Dr. Tacet disturbing. I’d needed to get Mel’s body out of Medea’s chamber and bury it, and Dakota had put me and Xander in contact with Tacet. Yeah, he did look a lot like an oversized, gangly corpse himself, and he had a lazy left eye, which freaked me out… but why that didn’t explain why Dakota was acting so strange. She must have really hated lazy eyes.
Hitting the play button and putting her phone to her ear, she listened to message. Her face went from a grimace to slack and open. Her breathing labored a little as she moved the phone from her ear and restarted the voice message, putting it on speakerphone.
“Clark, it’s me… Mortimer. I, uh, I have some bad news, and well—I’m not exactly sure how to say it. That girl your friends brought in here the other night, well… she’s gone missing. Give me a call back. You know my number.” The line went dead, steeping us in silence.