C.H.A.R.O.N., page 5
“Scared the shit out of me,” Sullivan admitted. “But I wasn’t going to let Rick get smashed to death.”
Calabrese checked his watch. “Dr. Thompkins said to come back in half an hour. How about we all finish our food and then go talk to her.”
When they returned to the Emergency Room, a nurse was watching for them and went to bring Thompkins. The doctor gestured for them to follow her into a consultation room.
“I can speak to the sheriff because he’s law enforcement,” she told them. “If he vouches for the rest of you, I’ll let you hash it out with HIPAA if there’s a problem.” Thompkins leaned against the wall while the others sat around the small table.
“Rick’s still in surgery. His injuries are severe, and it’s going to take pins and plates to put him together again. He’ll probably always have a limp—if he is able to walk again. Once he’s out of surgery, he’ll be heavily sedated. We’ll bring him out of sedation as his pain level wanes. That could take a few days,” Thompkins told them.
Talking to Rick wasn’t likely to be possible any time soon, Travis realized, not in time to ward off whatever was causing South Fork’s gruesome streak of deaths.
“Thank you,” Calabrese replied. “When he does wake up, please make sure someone notifies me. I don’t know what he’ll remember, but his testimony could be important.”
“What kind of sick fucker does that to someone?” Thompkins asked, looking to Calabrese as if he had the answer.
“I don’t know, Donna. But we’re going to find out,” the sheriff reassured her.
Travis didn’t add that the culprit was likely long dead and beyond the reach of the law. “Let’s go back to Fisher’s. I’ve got questions.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“There’s a lot to unpack,” Brent said as they walked to the sheriff’s Jeep. “Is there somewhere we can go to talk?”
Calabrese chuckled. “Sure. There’s the diner, Fisher’s, and the processing room at my office. Take your pick.”
“Fisher’s,” Brent replied. “Quieter than the diner, and I’m allergic to jails.”
“Suit yourself—although once Fisher’s opens in the morning, it’s hardly ever empty. People drift in and out all day,” the sheriff said.
They drove back to the bar as a light rain fell. True to Calabrese’s prediction, three cars were parked in front of Fisher’s despite it being past time for lunch. Chris looked up when they entered and jerked his head toward a table in the far corner. Brent saw a hand-lettered “Reserved” sign claiming it for them.
“Guess we’ve got a space for the duration,” Brent said as he took the far chair on the right side. Travis took the seat next to him, putting Calabrese across from them.
“What did you want to know?” the sheriff asked. “I’ve got to get back to the office before too long.”
“Is there any significance behind the way the people are dying?” Travis asked. “The circumstances are pretty unusual.”
“Not to my recollection, and I grew up here as well as being sheriff for the last few years,” Calabrese replied. “My wife Tammy works at the library—they’ve got a lot of historical archives, assuming that sort of thing would be recorded.”
“It’s a start,” Travis said, making a note on his phone.
“The people who died—were they in some sort of trouble?” Brent pressed. “Owed money, abusive partner, cooking meth…that sort of thing?”
Calabrese shook his head. “Nobody’s a saint, but I’m not sure any of those three even had recent parking tickets. No warrants served, no prior arrests, no history of altercations. Folks around here don’t have the energy for a whole lot of drama because putting one foot in front of another takes damn near everything you’ve got.”
“Did any of them have a sudden streak of exceptionally good luck?” Travis asked, and Brent knew his partner was looking for demon deals.
Calabrese laughed. “In South Fork? If they had, they’d have high-tailed it out of town. Nah. More like the opposite. Zeke Kendall put a new engine in his truck last week that was gonna have him working extra shifts until Kingdom Come. Becca’s divorce just became final. I drove her asshole of an ex to the edge of town myself and told him to never come back. Rick just got a good job with the county road crew—that he’s not going to be able to do with the way he got busted up.”
So much for demon deals come due.
Chris sauntered to the table with four cups and a pot of coffee and took a seat at the table. “Coffee’s on the house. Did you see what you needed to see?”
“Saw it—still figuring out what to make of what we saw,” Brent replied. “Can you give us a rough map of where the attacks happened? Maybe if we go to the sites, we’ll pick up on something.”
Chris flipped the paper placemat over and pulled a pen from the order pad in his bar apron. He drew the main streets of South Fork with boxes to indicate landmarks. “Here’s the feed store where Zeke Kendall died. And the diner where Becca was attacked. And Rick’s trailer,” he said, adding an “X” for each one. “Tony’s crew has been over all of them, and with the rain, anything that got left behind is probably ruined, but fresh eyes can’t hurt.”
“We aren’t doubting that you’re thorough,” Travis said, with a look directed at Calabrese. “But supernatural entities can leave behind traces that might not look like normal clues.”
“Have at it,” Calabrese said. “Hell, if you can stop people from dying, I’ll give you a fucking ticker tape parade.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, I overheard you and the coroner talking about someone checking a dam?” Travis put in.
Calabrese sighed. “Yeah. About that. South Fork is downriver from an earthen dam. It’s held for almost a century, but that means every year the parts are a little older. Pete’s one of our city engineers, and he keeps an eye on it because of the water supply. With all the rain, we’re a bit twitchy. It’ll take him a while to check things over. I’d like to know it’s in good shape before this next storm front rolls through.”
“There’s a chance it might not be?” Brent exchanged a look with Travis.
“You ever hear of the Johnstown Flood?” Calabrese replied. “It was the old South Fork Dam that failed. Killed fifteen hundred people and leveled a city. That was a hundred and thirty-some years ago. It would be ‘South Fork luck’ to get a repeat performance.”
“South Fork luck?” Travis raised an eyebrow. Brent remembered Chris using a similar expression.
“Crime isn’t a big problem—people in these parts don’t have much worth stealing,” Calabrese replied, pausing to drain his coffee cup. “I’ve got a deputy and an office manager. We stay too busy documenting ‘accidents’ and suicides. Haven’t seen this much carnage since Afghanistan. I’m probably crazy not to pull up stakes and leave. But I love my wife and my kids—and my friends. So I’m gonna dig in my heels and fight to keep what’s ours.”
The sheriff checked his watch. “Gotta go. Here’s my number.” He pulled a card from his pocket. “Call if you find anything. I’ll swing back through around dinner time to see how your day went.”
Brent sipped his cooling coffee and watched the sheriff leave. “Seems like a good guy. Law enforcement types don’t usually make us feel real welcome.”
“Tony’s solid,” Chris replied. “It didn’t hurt that I vouched for you and that the three of us were in the war. South Fork ain’t much, but it’s home.” He paused. “When you’re ready to call it a day, let me know. I’ve got two spare bedrooms if you’re not too choosy. I’ll even spot you cold cereal or toast and jelly for breakfast. And the price is right.”
“Thank you,” Brent said after gaining a confirming nod from Travis. “That would be great.”
Chris gave a tired smile. “You hauled ass out here when I asked for help. It’s the least I can do.”
Brent finished his coffee and set the cup aside, and Travis did the same and stood. “We’d better go do our exploring before it starts raining any harder. Anything else we should look at while we’re out there?”
Chris shook his head. “South Fork looks like every other one-stoplight town you’ve ever driven through. If you’re interested, the Protestant cemetery is on the east end, and the Catholic one is on the west end. Don’t get adventurous around the old coal tipple or what’s left of the Leigh Mine over on Route 3. The mine’s boarded up for good reason—cave-ins and bad air. The tipple and the rest of the processing plant is likely to fall over in a hard wind.”
“Sounds like our kind of place,” Travis remarked with a wry smile.
“That’s why I’m warning you. I’m sure there are ghosts. There were plenty of deaths back in the day, most of them gruesome. But nothing lately. We don’t want you two added to the toll—need you alive if you’re going to save our skins,” Chris said.
Brent snapped a mock salute, and Chris flipped him off. “Message received.”
“You always were a smart-ass son of a bitch,” Chris muttered.
The slow, steady rain promised to soak everything, coming down harder than before.
“Thoughts?” Brent asked as Travis drove. This was the first chance they’d had to talk privately since they arrived in town, and he wondered if they had the same questions and noted similar details.
“I think your friend Chris and the sheriff are straight shooters,” Travis replied. “For once, there’s a sheriff who doesn’t seem to resent us—which tells me that whatever’s going on scares him. He wants to do right by his town, even if it means asking outsiders for help. I respect that.”
Holding to the slow speed limit gave them a chance to get a good look at South Fork. A brick Methodist church and a large cemetery anchored one end, giving way to a one-street downtown. Most of the buildings along that stretch dated from the 1920s; none looked newer than the 1960s. Several were boarded up. A few vacant lots between the shops attested to fires or demolition. The only person in sight was an old man trudging along with a brightly colored grocery bag.
“The hardware store looks like a general purpose sort of place,” Brent observed. “There’s a diner, school, hospital, grocery store, sheriff’s office, hair salon, dollar discount. Hell, I don’t even remember passing a Walmart on our way in. Can people shop online? Do they have to find a mall?”
Travis snickered. “You sound like a spoiled city boy.”
“I am a spoiled city boy,” Brent countered.
“I get the feeling folks here keep things pretty basic,” Travis replied. “Most young adults likely skipped town long ago, and for the ones who stayed, their kids will fly the coop as soon as they can.”
A local pharmacy, offices for doctors, a dentist, a lawyer, and an insurance agent rounded out the main drag, along with a long-defunct movie theater and a fire hall. Anchoring the other end of town was a bowling alley, the Our Lady of Tribulation Catholic Church with its own cemetery next door, and finally, the feed store.
“Not much of a selling point that the only way to leave town in either direction is past a cemetery,” Brent said. The overcast sky and steady rain dimmed his mood, already uneasy after what they had seen at the morgue and heard from Chris and Calabrese. What remained of South Fork gave credence to the description of the town as “hard luck.”
A scream sounded, close by, shrill enough that they could hear it through the closed car windows. Travis pulled to the side, and they jumped out, guns drawn at their sides, looking for danger.
Brent glanced back the way they came. “Shit. Where’s that old man?”
Ignoring the rain, Brent and Travis ran back to where they had last seen him. Travis pointed to an alley, and they headed into it with Travis taking point.
Brent spotted the colorful shopping bag the old man had been carrying lying in a puddle next to a dumpster. A streak of fresh blood marred its bright design.
“Over there,” Travis whispered, pointing farther down the alley to a creature that resembled a tall wolf but with a prickly line of hair down its spine like a hyena and a large, lantern-jawed head.
They opened fire. The wolf creature howled and dodged behind a dumpster. By the time they cautiously closed in on the location, the beast was gone.
They searched but found no trace of the old man other than his discarded bag.
“Where the hell is the old guy?” Brent fretted. “He’s got to be nearby. That thing didn’t have time to go far.”
They checked the dumpsters, stairwells, and doorways to no avail.
“It must have carried the man off when it ran, but I’ve got no idea how or where,” Travis admitted. “Then again, if this is its hunting ground, it knows the area a lot better than we do.”
Brent called Calabrese and told him everything they had seen. He promised to send his deputy and acknowledged that his team was unlikely to find anything if Travis and Brent had already scoured the area.
“We’ll watch for any missing person reports,” the sheriff said. “Then again, a lot of our seniors in town live alone, so sad as it is to say this, no one might notice for a while. Keep me posted if you see anything else.”
They headed back to the Crown Vic, even more rain-soaked than before.
“Are you picking up on any spirits?”
Travis paused as if searching with his senses. “I haven’t seen any ghosts yet, but I can feel their presence. Maybe they’re keeping some distance to figure us out. I don’t feel threatened, but there are more here than in most places. That makes me wonder why they haven’t moved on.”
“The living certainly have,” Brent remarked. “Not a lot of people out and about or cars parked. It’s a crummy day, but usually folks still have errands to run. Maybe people are thinking twice about going out unless they absolutely have to.”
“How about you? Getting anything on your ‘demon radar’?”
Brent shook his head, knowing Travis was really asking for his gut feeling since he didn’t have any special psychic abilities. “Nothing yet—although there’s some sort of low-level resonance, like static in the background or music that’s too quiet to really hear. It’s there—I just can’t make it out. And I keep seeing movement in the shadows out of the corner of my eye, but nothing’s ever there.”
“Let’s see if those impressions get stronger near the sites of the attacks,” Travis said. “Then I’m thinking that maybe we should go to the library and see if the sheriff’s wife can pull up some town history.”
“You’ve got a theory?” Brent enjoyed hearing how Travis’s mind worked. Brent approached problems from a military and law enforcement perspective, while Travis’s approach was more academic, steeped in history and lore. That made them a good team since one often noticed what the other overlooked.
“Chris and the sheriff both mentioned how bad luck haunts South Fork. Maybe it’s more than bad luck,” Travis said. “Maybe we need to think whether there’s something twisted about the place.”
“Genius loci? Elemental? There are a lot of land spirits.”
“Chris said that the recent attacks have happened closer together timewise, but there’s been a long history of bloody deaths around here,” Travis mused aloud. “Some of that goes with the dangers of farming and mining, but even the locals think it’s too much. Barring a bunch of homegrown serial killers over several generations, it makes me wonder if there isn’t a taint to the land itself.”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
Travis parked in front of the feed store, and they got out, flipping up their hoods to keep the worst of the rain at bay. “They said Kendall’s attack happened toward the side of the lot—makes sense if he parked his car out of the way for customers.”
They separated to cover territory faster, still close enough for backup if needed. Rain and the fire department’s cleanup had washed away the blood. Brent knew Travis was opening his psychic abilities to search for ghosts or pick up on images left behind by trauma.
Wish you were here, Danny. You’ve always been my extra set of eyes. Brent felt a pang of loneliness for his twin’s ghost.
No matter how Travis teased him, Brent was hardly a human demon detector, just like despite his mediumistic talent, Travis wasn’t a ghost scanner. Demons cost Brent his parents and his brother. They tried to kill him and his team in Iraq and dogged his steps during his time with the FBI and police. He’d finally stopped running, choosing to fight the demons instead.
Both men carried salt, iron, and holy water. Travis had an advantage as a former priest with exorcisms, but Brent knew how to fight with weapons that could weaken demons and force them to flee. He could exorcise a demon as a last resort, but with less certain results than Travis.
Brent glimpsed motion out of the corner of his eye and pivoted to face…nothing.
Travis caught the movement and turned, alert for trouble.
“Thought I saw something,” Brent said, searching the brush around the edge of the lot. Nothing moved, and while they remained still for several minutes, he didn’t hear anything rustling that might suggest an animal or a bird.
“Don’t take any chances,” Travis warned, as if Brent needed the reminder.
“I’m not picking up any traces of demons,” Travis added. “No sulfur, none of their residual energy.”
“Are you reading anything else?”
A queasy look crossed Travis’s face. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Brent moved protectively close as Travis made his way a little farther down the lot’s edge.
Travis stopped and stared at an empty spot on the gravel lot, looking as if he might throw up.
“What?” Brent asked.
“You can’t see them?” Travis pointed. Brent shook his head. “Do you remember the demon maggots back in Cooper City?”
“Been trying to forget, thanks. Both of us could see those. Are they here?” Brent looked around quickly, not wanting to meet up with those creatures again.
Travis turned away and closed his eyes as if he were willing his gorge not to rise. “Remember how the witness said that Kendall kept stomping around like something had gone up his pant leg and then seemed to be hacking away at whatever he saw?”
