C.H.A.R.O.N., page 11
“Got jumped by a wolfman,” Travis replied without a hint of humor. “Mighty strange town you’ve got here, Sheriff.”
Travis and Brent waited with Calabrese until two ambulances arrived to take the bodies. “You boys go on back to Chris’s. I’ll get your official statement tomorrow. No reason for all of us to freeze,” he told them.
They were both quiet on the walk back to the car. Despite the rain slicker, Travis’s damp clothing chafed, and water had seeped inside his boots. He turned up the heat in the Crown Vic and switched off the radio.
“You okay?” he asked Brent.
“Not really,” Brent replied with a shrug. “Two more people dead, and we didn’t actually stop the killer.”
“They’ll get a decent burial,” Travis pointed out. “And we’ve got more ‘proof of monster.’ Clearly, this isn’t just a mass hallucination. These creatures can be real enough to kill—and then just disappear. Now we need to figure out what the hell they are. Gotta start somewhere.”
They returned to Fisher’s for dinner and found the bar even more crowded than before. Brent was surprised to see Liz working with the cook to pack boxes with food.
“How are you doing?” Travis asked her.
“I’m a nurse. I deal with trauma by staying busy,” she said. “Power here wasn’t out long. But the storm’s taken out power on the south side of town. We’re moving folks who are at risk into the senior center and the library, where we’ve got light and heat. Chris is donating meals.”
“It’s no big deal,” Chris said, coming over to join them. “Just helping out. Were you able to get a bus lined up?”
Liz nodded. “A tour group out of Johnstown is donating the use of a bus to take anyone who wants to go to a temporary weather shelter until the storm blows over. Some people won’t leave because of pets or family, but I want to send away anyone who can go.”
Brent figured it wasn’t polite to agree too wholeheartedly, although he thought that getting everyone out of South Fork was smart. “That’s probably a good idea.”
“Does this happen often? The outages and need to evacuate?” Travis asked.
Liz sighed. “More often than it used to. The infrastructure is older, and so are the people who still live here. A lot of folks are on pensions or scraping by on Social Security. They don’t have family they can go to, and this is the only home they know.”
“Can we help?”
Liz looked from him to Travis. “Stop the evil. Then maybe we can rebuild our town after the storm.”
Chris came around the counter and wiped his hands on his apron. “I’ll help you get all that into your car. Give me the keys, and I’ll back it up to the door so you don’t get soaked.”
Brent swallowed back a smile. Whaddya know? I think Chris has got it bad for Liz.
Chris returned looking bedraggled. Liz hugged him and stole a kiss. “I’ll call when I get to the senior center. And I’ll avoid driving through standing water. I know the drill.”
“Be safe,” he told her, holding her hand. “Don’t take chances. What’s going on—it’s not normal.”
Liz shot a glance at Travis and Brent. “South Fork normal, or ‘other people’ normal?”
“Regular normal. ‘South Fork normal’ is fucked up.” Chris watched her go and walked to the window until the rear lights of her car disappeared in the night.
Travis elbowed Brent, a silent warning not to tease. Brent stayed silent, but his grin spoke volumes.
“Shut up.” Chris snapped a bar towel at Brent.
“Didn’t say a word.” Brent grinned.
Chris glanced over his shoulder, but the bar patrons seemed content with their drinks for the moment. “We’ve been around the block a few times,” he said to Brent. “We’re both divorced. We’ve known each other all our lives. Been friends since school. Now—maybe we can find something good in this godforsaken town.”
“Seriously—I’m glad for you,” Brent said. “After everything, you deserve it.”
The sound of breaking glass and a chair falling over made them turn, and Brent expected a bar fight.
“I said it, and I meant it,” a man shouted, standing up from a table with two other men. “South Fork is cursed. There’s a hunger in the darkness that won’t be satisfied until we’re all dead. You know it’s true.”
“Settle down, Harry.” One of his companions reached out, and Harry threw off the restraining hand.
“I won’t settle. Not this time. I tried to warn people, they say ‘settle down, Harry’ or ‘you’re imagining things, Harry.’ Well, I know what I saw. I know what they did. You can look it up. But now, I’m not going to keep quiet.”
“That’s ‘crazy’ Krystyk,” Chris sighed. “He gets like this sometimes.” The bar owner made a move to intervene, but Brent caught him by the shoulder.
“Wait. Could we talk to him?”
Chris gave him a skeptical look. “The guy’s slipped a few cogs. Everyone in town knows it.”
“Maybe. Or he saw something no one else will believe—that might be true. Can’t hurt.”
“Be my guest. But if he takes a swing at you, don’t blame me.” Chris went back behind the bar. Brent led the way over to the table, where Krystyk’s companions continued their effort to get him to sit down and be quiet.
The men fell silent when they walked up. “Mr. Krystyk? I’m Brent Lawson, and this is my partner, Travis Dominick. We’re special investigators. Sheriff Calabrese asked us to lend a hand. We heard what you said—and we’d like to learn more.”
Krystyk grinned victoriously and shot a side-eye at his nay-saying friends. “Finally. Someone who’ll listen.”
Brent gestured toward the back table he had started to think might as well have a plaque with their names on it. “Lead the way.”
Krystyk held his head high as he strode past the other patrons, and Brent got the feeling the man was used to being the town’s Cassandra.
Chris brought them coffee without being asked, and Brent wondered if it was a “thank you” for averting a scene.
“We’re all ears,” Brent told him. “What’s this about ‘hungry darkness’?”
“You’re not going to make sport of me, are you?” Krystyk asked, defensive.
Travis shook his head. “No. We handle supernatural threats. We’re just having some difficulty figuring out what sort of activity is going on here—or how many paranormal things are happening at once.”
“Ghostbusters, huh?”
Brent chuckled. “Sort of. Nothing like on TV.”
Krystyk sipped his coffee, looking pleased to be taken seriously. “I was an orderly at St. Benedict’s for ten years. Ended up working with the veterans’ programs because I’m ex-Army. Most of the doctors, they were legit. But this one guy, Dr. Wyrick, I didn’t like.”
“Why not?” Travis seemed to realize that Krystyk would need to be guided to get his story out.
“Honestly? I wasn’t sure for a long time, except that he kinda raised the hair on the back of my neck, you know what I mean?” He paused to take another sip of coffee.
“I decided to keep an eye on him in case there was something hinky going on. Wyrick was all friendly and professional, but every time I saw him, I felt this darkness. No one else seemed to mind the guy. And at first, everything seemed to be okay.”
Brent wondered if Krystyk had some untrained psychic ability, like the people Travis gathered as his Night Vigil. It would explain the man’s heightened sensitivity to supernatural energy and why he sensed things no one else noticed.
Krystyk stared off into the distance as if he was looking across the years. “The other docs worked with old injuries, physical therapy, chemical exposure. Wyrick was a shrink. Maybe that’s why I didn’t trust him right off—that stuff wasn’t real common, at least around here. He got the shell shock cases, the guys who had to drink until they blacked out to get a decent night’s sleep. Like my buddy, Charlie.”
When Krystyk remained quiet, Brent leaned forward. “What about Charlie?”
The older man seemed to come out of his thoughts. “Charlie and I served together. When he came home, what he saw over there did bad things to his head. So he went to Wyrick to get fixed up.”
“What happened?” Brent feared that he knew, but he had to ask.
“At first, Charlie seemed to do better. But then Wyrick convinced him to do some ‘clinical trials.’ The trials were supposed to ‘free his mind’ and help him get rid of his nightmares. But little by little, Charlie changed.”
“How?” Travis leaned in, encouraging Krystyk to share his concerns.
“Charlie was always an easy-going guy. Even the military didn’t screw that up. Suddenly, he was hot-tempered, getting into fights. He started working out all the time when that wasn’t really his thing. And then he killed someone barehanded. They said he was like a wild animal. He died in prison.”
“Do you think he was possessed?” Brent asked.
“Possessed? Like by a demon?”
“What do you think changed Charlie?” Travis prodded.
Krystyk looked around, making sure no one was nearby and dropped his voice. “I think that Dr. Wyrick experimented on Charlie—and the other vets he treated.”
“Drugs?”
Krystyk nodded. “Yes. But more than that. I think he was doing something with spirits…or at least, energies.” He held up a hand. “I know it sounds insane—”
“You’d be surprised,” Travis muttered.
“Part of my job was making sure the treatment areas were re-set and ready. I was helping my parents after my dad got injured, so my work schedule wasn’t regular—I worked odd hours to make up for absences. There were times when I went into Wyrick’s office, and I don’t think he expected anyone to see what he’d been working on. I saw what I swore were spell books and Halloween-type stuff—goblets and candles and symbols I’d never seen in any medical textbook,” Krystyk confided.
“I freaked out. It was like he was doing…witchcraft. Like out of a horror movie. I didn’t touch anything, and I didn’t tell anyone. Maybe I should have. Didn’t think anyone would believe me. Maybe I half-thought Wyrick would come after me if I said something. Anyway, after that, I kept a close eye on him. I started noticing what books and papers were in his lab when I cleaned up. I went through some of the cabinets and drawers. I found where he hid things he didn’t want anyone to see.”
“I promise we won’t judge. What do you think Wyrick was doing?” Brent asked.
Krystyk chewed his lip as if debating how much to say. Brent figured the man had been mocked for so long he hadn’t expected to be taken seriously.
“Charlie told me that Wyrick was very focused on dreams. That he told Charlie to try to control them and will his dreams into reality.”
“That’s not so unusual—” Travis began.
Krystyk shook his head. “You don’t understand. Wyrick seemed to be hung up on finding a way to make dreams real. Make what people imagined real. I found his notes and read them. He was giving the same advice to all his patients. Some of the exercises…he had them try to ‘imagine’ legendary creatures and bring them to life. I think…somewhere along the line, something Charlie ‘imagined’ took him over and destroyed his life.”
Holy shit. He’s talking about Wyrick trying to draw out psychic abilities using magic. This might be the lead we needed, Brent realized.
“What kinds of legendary creatures?” Travis nudged.
Krystyk shook his head. “I don’t know. The whole thing freaked me out. I just remember that the notes were about dreams and fears and legends, willing things into being. I got the feeling that the people Wyrick picked to treat had some sort of ability—and he wanted to increase that talent.”
Brent and Travis exchanged a look, certain that they had stumbled onto something important.
“Was there anything else that you remember?” Brent asked. “Even something minor?”
Krystyk nodded. “Back then, we still handled interoffice mail and outgoing letters. Part of my job was taking Wyrick’s envelopes to the mailroom. He sent a letter every week. I remember because the address was so weird. C.H.A.R.O.N.—all capitals, like it stood for something. The address was Washington, D.C. Why did the bigwigs in the capital care about anything in South Fork?”
Krystyk took a deep breath and then drained his cup. “That’s it. I’ve been telling people that something Wyrick did made South Fork’s luck worse than usual, but no one ever believes me.”
“We believe you.” Travis took the man’s hands in his. “What you’ve told us is extremely valuable. Thank you.”
Krystyk looked gobsmacked. “Really?”
Travis nodded solemnly. “We need to think about what you’ve told us. But this was important. If you think of anything else—anything at all—please give us a call.” He slid his business card across the table. Krystyk stared at the card for a moment before he pocketed it.
“Sure. Glad to help. Thanks for listening.” He got up and walked back to where his companions waited, and this time, Brent swore the man had a bit of swagger in his step.
“What do you make of that?” Brent asked Travis.
“Dunno. Need to let it sink in—but I think it might be the break we’ve been looking for if we can figure out what it means.”
Brent’s phone rang, and he frowned as he answered. “Sheriff,” he mouthed to Travis. “What’s up?” He listened for a few moments. “Sure, we can meet you. Just tell us where.” Brent repeated the address that Calabrese gave him so Travis could put it in his phone’s GPS. “We’re leaving now.”
He looked at Chris. “Sheriff wants us to go see something. He said he’s got two more situations—and they’re our kind of thing. You okay if we don’t make it back to close up?”
Chris nodded. “Go. I’ll handle things here. See you at the house and don’t worry how late—I’ll be up. Watch the roads—it’s bad out there.”
With its broad wheelbase and low center of gravity, the Crown Vic handled well despite the bad weather. Brent looked out the passenger window, noting where lights were out and water pooled on side streets. Motion caught his eye, and for a second, he thought he saw a dark shape keeping pace with the car.
“Fuck—did you see that?”
“See what?” Travis asked, not taking his eyes from the road.
“I thought I saw another shadow creature chasing us—or racing the car. What do you think? Ghost? Black shuck? Something else?”
“Too many possibilities—not enough details,” Travis muttered. “I feel like the clock is ticking faster, and we’re too slow to catch up.”
They had been in town for less than two days, but Brent shared his partner’s impatience. “If it was easy to fix, someone would have done it by now. There has to be a piece we’re missing—and if the sheriff can get us access to the autopsy records, that might be what we need to catch a break.”
They parked just beyond the first responders’ vehicles. Flashing lights lit the night and reflected from the dark, wet road and the alley walls. Travis and Brent got out and walked toward the cordon, and Brent breathed a sigh of relief when their “Sheriff” slickers got them past the firefighter standing guard over the alley entrance with just a wave.
“Figured you’d want to see this,” Calabrese said as they joined him. He stepped back, and Brent caught his breath as he realized what he was looking at. A man was pinned against the wall on the loading dock, impaled by one of the tines of a forklift.
“Name’s Kelson Reynolds,” Calabrese said. “Not a bad kid, but he’s been busted before for drugs. I suspect that’s what he was out here to get in this weather. I’ve already asked for the security video.” He pointed to a camera aimed at the alley and dock. “I want to know how the hell the forklift pinned him? Why was it running? Who drove it—and why kill him? It’s hardly like his habit racked up enough debt to get him murdered.”
Brent noted a flicker of pain in the sheriff’s eyes. “No witnesses?”
Calabrese spread his hands in a gesture of futility. “In this weather? And there aren’t windows looking out on the alley. My bet is that Kelson met up with his dealer in the park that’s at the end of the street and ducked into the cover of the loading area because of the rain. And then he died.” He shook his head. “I don’t need a medical degree to know it wasn’t quick.”
He turned on them with a fierce expression. “I need you to figure out what’s tearing this town apart and stop it. I’m tired of burying everyone I know.”
“We’ve got leads,” Travis told him. “If we can get to the morgue records—”
“I spoke with Doc Medved. He’ll make sure you can access anything you need.” Calabrese closed his eyes for a moment. “Kelson isn’t the only death tonight. Nora Johnson died from blood loss inside her locked house, in her bedroom, after something carved her up from the inside and left her kidneys on the mattress next to her body.”
“Fuck,” Travis muttered.
Brent exchanged a look with Travis and figured they were on the same wavelength. “Doc Medved works the night shift, right?”
“I’m sure he will be tonight.”
“If he’s okay with it, we can keep him company. That way we’re around if anything odd turns up in the autopsies, and we can go through files in the meantime,” Brent said. “I’ll call Chris and let him know we might not be back to the house tonight.”
“Being at the morgue isn’t the worst way I’ve ever spent the night,” Travis mused, and Brent decided he didn’t want to know the details.
“I’ll let the doc know you’re on your way,” Calabrese said. “And if you want to get in good with him, stop at the diner and pick up a bucket of fried chicken to go—enough for all three of you. It’s his favorite.”
“I think we can manage that,” Travis replied.
“My nonna has the Sight—I might have a scrap of it myself,” Calabrese admitted. “My intuition has always been freakishly on target. Right now, my gut is telling me to pack up and leave town, and take as many people with me as I can. I really hope you can prove me wrong.”
