Chapter 10
“What happened back there?” Haatim asked once Abigail was finally awake. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and rubbed the hair out of her face. “What happened in the park with that little girl? When you got back to the car you looked terrible.”
“Don’t you know you should never tell a woman she looks terrible?”
“Somehow, with you, I don’t think that rule applies.”
Abigail chuckled. “No, I suppose not. Do you have any Tylenol?”
“Aspirin. In the glove box.”
Abigail flipped it open and dug through miscellaneous papers until she found a little bottle. She popped two pills into her mouth and swallowed them, hoping it would at least take the edge off.
As soon as she had climbed into the passenger seat of Haatim’s little Chevy she passed out. He’d tried striking up a conversation once she woke up, but she wasn’t able to respond. Her mind and body hurt and she could barely move. It was as if she’d just run a marathon while taking an exam.
She realized she was putting her life into Haatim’s hands, which was something she didn’t like doing. The only person she’d ever trusted was Arthur, and after she helped lock him away in that black site prison she’d found it difficult to trust anyone again.
But she hadn’t had a lot of options at the time. Her head felt like it was going to explode, and she needed to sleep, which meant she prayed Haatim would keep her safe and get her to Raven’s Peak.
And now Haatim had woken her up several hours later, stopping at a gas station for another restroom and food break. He bought them some cheeseburgers, but she wasn’t hungry.
She bit into her sandwich, barely tasting anything except the grease, and stared out the window. It was dark out, a little after eight at night, and they were about fifty miles outside of Raven’s Peak.
“A lot,” she answered finally. “A lot happened, but not all of it was good.”
She remembered bridging the connection, but the sensations were fading. It was like her memories of the event were slippery.
She knew one thing for certain: everything she needed to know to rescue Arthur was locked in her mind.
But she’d also learned something else. When the demon first took her in the Church six months ago, it had been by surprise, and she’d assumed she could handle the demon if she had time to prepare for a confrontation. Whatever it was that had taken Arthur, it was strong. A lot stronger than anything she’d ever dealt with before.
She knew she couldn’t go toe-to-toe with it even on her best day with months to get ready. Knowing she was helpless against it elicited an emotion in her she wasn’t used to experiencing.
Fear.
She wasn’t going to stop trying to find and rescue Arthur, but now the odds of being successful had dropped dramatically.
“You looked like you were hit by a train,” Haatim said. He was devouring his sandwich, barely breathing between bites. “Or like you’d been to hell and back.”
“Just about,” Abigail said with a laugh.
“You said you knew what we needed to do next?”
Abigail stared at him. “We?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Me and you.”
“There is no ‘me and you,’” she said. “There’s just me.”
“I helped you get to the girl and talk to her.”
“And I saved your life,” she said. “We’re even.”
“Not quite,” Haatim said. “You promised you would tell me what was going on after. It’s after, so start talking.”
Abigail sighed. She knew telling him anything would be dangerous: she wasn’t allowed to initiate anyone without Council approval. If they found out—worse, if Haatim’s father found out that she’d been the one to tell him—she’d definitely be punished.
But, she also felt he had a right to know: if there were things out in the world trying to kill him, he should, at least, understand why.
“What do you want to know?”
“You said it wasn’t your place to tell me about my father earlier. What did you mean?”
“Your father is on the Council,” Abigail said.
“What Council?”
“The Council of Chaldea,” she explained. “It’s a multi-religious and multi-national organization dedicated to protecting the world from the supernatural.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m explaining to you who your father really is. It seems you were never told, and this was a side of his life he kept from you. There are thirty members on the Council.”
“And you’re one of them?”
“No,” she said. “I’m a Hunter. I was trained to battle the demons on behalf of the Council, but I belong to the Ordo Daemonium Venator. We protect and serve the men and women like your father. There are…were…fifty-three of us and we answer to a woman named Frieda Gotlieb.”
Haatim stared at her. “You’re saying my dad is part of a secret organization dedicated to defending the world against evil?”
“We’re more concerned with defending against fear and panic caused by evil. But yeah, basically.”
A long minute passed. “We need to get moving,” Abigail said. “Do you want me to drive?”
“What?” he asked, distracted. “No, I’m fine.”
He started the car but didn’t immediately drive anywhere. He just stared out the windshield, lost in his thoughts.
“You OK?” she asked.
He looked at her. “Yeah, sorry. It’s just a lot to take in. That’s why you brought me along, right? You recognized my father’s name and you’re keeping me safe for him?”
She nodded, deciding to withhold some information. Haatim didn’t need to know that Frieda didn’t trust his father or that she hadn’t told him where Haatim was. Best to skew the details, at least for now.
“And I wasn’t exactly sure what was going on when I first found you,” she said. “So I brought you along to keep you safe.”
“OK,” he said.
“Your family knew you were in Arizona, right?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “It was where I went to college, so it’s where I returned to after my sister died. I just couldn’t stand being around my parents anymore. I told them I needed space.”
Abigail nodded. “I can sympathize. I wouldn’t talk to anyone for months after Arthur was taken.”
“What happened?”
Abigail wasn’t planning to tell him about this part of her life, considering it off-limits, but she started speaking before she could stop herself.
“I was possessed,” Abigail told him. “Several months ago.”
“Wait, what?”
“A demon lived inside me for several hours. I don’t remember what happened during that time, I just remember waking up in a hospital bed almost a week later. Apparently when they found me I was half-dead and delirious.”
“That…” Haatim said, trailing off. “That’s crazy.”
“Tell me about it,” she said. “The demon who was inside me took Arthur back to hell with it. I’ve been trying to find him ever since. The little girl, Sara, was linked to Arthur.”
“OK.”
“When I…when I saw her, I found out that she couldn’t help me find out who the demon was. But, it doesn’t matter. I already know.”
“You do?”
“Yes,” Abigail said. “Or, at least, I knew before it possessed me. It hid the memories from me, but at one point I knew it’s name. Now I need someone to help me retrieve that memory.”
“People can do that?”
“I know a guy,” Abigail said, “and that’s where I’m headed next, as soon as we get to Raven’s Peak and you head back home to be with your family.”
“Why not just go there now?”
“I have to check this out for the Council,” she said. “It’s my job. How far are we from Raven’s Peak?”
“An hour,” Haatim said. “Maybe less. I picked up a map to help us find our way. I don’t think GPS is going to work that far into the mountains.”
“Probably not,” Abigail said.
“What’s in Raven’s Peak?”
“I don’t know,” Abigail said. “Probably nothing, Maybe something. We’ll find out when we get there.”
“So you don’t know what we’re looking for?” he asked.
“No idea,” she said.
“Like…” he said, “more demons?”
She was silent for a long minute. “It’s possible,” she said. “But more likely just strange activity and weird lights. It’s usually just odd things and has nothing to do with the supernatural.”
“Do you—”
“I think that’s enough for now,” she said. “I promised I would fill you in and I wouldn’t lie, but I’m exhausted. The only thing you need to know for now is that I’m waiting for a call from a friend to find out when and where I’m dropping you off. You’ll be back with your family in no time.”
“OK,” Haatim said.
She reached over and flicked the radio on, spinning through the static to find music. They managed to pick up an oldies station and a few country ones. She flicked it back out and let out a sigh, having no desire to listen to either.
They drove on, passing mile markers and exits only in a monotonous pattern. She felt like she was in the middle of nowhere, and it had with it a strange sense of déjà vu. It was as if she’d driven on this road before. Maybe she had, when she was younger and traveling with Arthur. They’d gone all across the country on various jobs through the years.
She thought back to the moment she’d touched Sara’s forehead and the sheer intensity of the connection. Bits and pieces of memory had flooded back to her, intangible details only the fragments of which she could remember.
The demon had come here looking for something, she remembered. It was here for a reason, but she didn’t know what…
“How did you get started doing this?” Haatim asked suddenly, interrupting her thoughts. It had started raining, she realized, the drops pattering against the window. It was soothing, a sound she’d always loved.
“Started doing what?”
“Fighting demons,” he clarified. “You said Arthur trained you.”
“Yeah,” Abigail said. “He was my mentor.”
“Were you like chosen or something?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Indulge me.”
“It’s what I’ve always done,” Abigail answered after a moment. She was looking out the window, facing away from him. “The earliest things I remember. I was born into it.”
“You don’t remember anything from before.”
“No,” she lied. The cult she’d been kidnapped by, she decided, was off-limits. “I don’t remember anything before it.”
“It just seems so…” he said. “Crazy. I mean, most people don’t think things like this are real, and you battle against them on a daily basis.”
“It is what it is.”
“Why don’t you tell people about it?”
“Tell them what?” she asked. “That the monsters they hear about in stories are real?”
“Yeah.”
“Because it couldn’t possibly benefit me. For one thing, people wouldn’t listen to me or believe me. For another, there are people out there who would actively try to stop me.”
“What people?”
“Politicians, state officials, police. Not a lot of them, but enough to make my life miserable. If you can think of a group of authority figures, they are involved in hindering the work we do. And there aren’t a lot of us left to do it anymore, anyway.”
“Do what?”
Abigail glanced over at him, frowning. “Keep the world from falling apart.”
They reached Raven’s Peak after only a little while longer. It was just before nightfall, the sun dipping below the horizon. The last bit of driving was down a two lane road weaving up the mountains on a switchback path
The map Haatim had purchased showed the little town being backed up into the side of the Smokies, and this road was the only way in or out without trekking across empty countryside for days. Secluded didn’t even begin to describe it.
There was little traffic: a few cars or semis heading out of Raven’s Peak but nothing else. There was the occasional house set off the road, some of which looked abandoned, but it wasn’t until they were only a few miles outside the town that they started to regularly see gas stations, diners, and motels.
“Should we stop here for the night?” Haatim asked as they passed one such motel. It was just inside the city limits. “It’s really late.”
Abigail shook her head. “No,” she said. “We need to keep moving. I was supposed to take care of this problem today, and I plan to be out of here by tomorrow. I just need to talk to a few people and find out if anything strange is happening in or around the city. And then I’ll report back to the Council and move on.”
“OK,” Haatim said. He kept driving farther into the city.
They continued into Raven’s Peak, passing municipal buildings and various small shops. The entire city could have fit into one district of Phoenix, less than a half mile in diameter.
It couldn’t have had a larger population than a few thousand people, Haatim realized. This late at night the entire city appeared empty; there weren’t even very many lights on and most of the buildings were closed for the night.
“It’s so quiet,” Haatim said.
“Places like this usually are,” Abigail said.
“It feels disconnected,” Haatim said. “Like we aren’t in America anymore.”
“I know,” Abigail said. “Like you left the twenty-first century and traveled back to the fifties.”
“Yeah,” he said with a chuckle. “Like that.”
“I was born in a town like this,” Abigail said.
“Oh?” Haatim prompted. She ignored him, staring out the window and watching the city flow pass. It had stopped raining, but there were still clouds overhead like it might start again at any moment.
He continued driving slowly, studying the buildings and shops. Most were short with barely a few standing above two stories. Quaint little structures with old fashioned signs: a post office, a pair of corner restaurants (Italian and Mexican), and several storefronts with dirty glass windows selling antiques. They were all built before prefab construction existed, each artistic and unique in its own design, but it made the town feel old.
“Not a lot of money in a place like this,” he said.
“No, not much,” she agreed. “Coal mining, probably. Places like this used to be everywhere. But the mines closed years ago, and the towns went with it. Everyone who could leave, did. The ones that are left just try to get by and survive.”
“What’s that over there?” he asked, pointing toward an enormous structure on the east side of town. It towered above the other buildings and looked to be at least the size of a football field, maybe bigger.
“A factory, I think,” she said, squinting to see it. “They must manufacture something here. It’s probably the only thing keeping the people in town employed.”
“What do you think they make?”
“Hard to say,” she said with a shrug. “Textiles, maybe. We can check it out tomorrow.”
“Where are we heading?”
“Not sure,” she said. “Everything looks closed.”
“There’s a store up ahead,” Haatim said, pointing down the road. “Looks open.”
“Couple of bars, too. Go ahead and park and let’s check around this area.”
He pulled into the parking lot and switched off the car, then climbed out and followed Abigail toward the entrance. There were puddles all around, filling potholes from a recent rain. It didn’t look like the city fixed the roads very recently, and he doubted they would spare the expense. The air tasted cold and fresh, a lot cleaner than he was used to.
On the way across the lot he saw an SUV pull in from the other direction. The woman driving was wearing a brown overcoat and seemed exhausted. Her son—probably no older than ten—sat in the passenger seat.
Haatim started to look away when the boy suddenly turned to look at him. Haatim felt his stomach clench and the world shift as their eyes connected. The boy stared with a blank expression on his face, but his pupils were filled with an energy and intensity that made Haatim shiver.
It was only a momentary glance, but in that moment Haatim took a stutter step and suddenly felt very cold. Something about that child was terribly, horribly wrong.
“You all right?” Abigail asked. Her voice ripped him back to reality and he felt his hands quivering.
He turned to her. “What? Yeah, I’m OK.”
“You sure?” she asked. “If you don’t think you can do this…”
“I’m fine,” he reiterated firmly. She nodded and disappeared into the building.
Haatim glanced back at the parked car one last time. The mother was climbing out, saying something to her son, and he was facing away from Haatim once more. Nothing out of the ordinary, just a boy and his mother stopping to get snacks on the road.
Pull yourself together, Haatim, he chided himself. Just a kid. Stop seeing ghosts where there aren’t any. With a calming breath, he turned and followed Abigail into the building.
It was a corner store called Aunt Jane’s. A bell tinkled overhead as they walked inside. The shelves were dusty and half filled with canned goods and boxes of cereal and pasta. The lettering was fading on half of the boxes, and he was afraid to look at the expiration dates.
There weren’t any patrons inside, just an old, matronly woman manning the front counter while filing her nails. Her skin was leathery from long hours spent in the sun, and she wore a polka-dot dress.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“I hope so,” Abigail said. “We’ve been driving all day, and we were hoping to find somewhere to refuel.”
“There’s a gas station on up the road,” the woman said, gesturing vaguely back outside. “Just on the outside of town. They only take cash.”
“Oh,” Abigail said. “I think I have some, so we should be all right.”
“Are you campers?”
“Excuse me?”
“Are you heading to the campground,” the woman clarified. “It’s why most people come out here, and the gas station is on the way. The last place you’ll pass until you reach the campground. It is our only tourist destination.”
“Yeah, that’s why we’re here,” Abigail lied. “Spending a few nights.”
“Hope you rented a cabin,” the woman said. “After the rains today the ground is going to be muddy.”
“We did.”
“If there’s anything you’re running low on you’ll want to pick it up here. Once you head down that road you won’t have anywhere else to buy toothpaste or soap.”
“I think we have almost everything we need,” Abigail said. “It’s just a little farther down the road?”
“About an hour,” the woman said. “But, if you’re hoping to get there tonight, you’ll want to leave pretty quickly. The campground gets a little less inviting at night.”
“Oh? How so?”
“Just odd stuff lately. Campers have said they saw strange things in the woods. Things going missing. If I had to guess, we’ve got some thieves trawling the grounds, but no one knows for sure.”
Abigail nodded. “I see.”
“It’s pretty out there,” the woman said. “Just watch your belongings.”
Abigail nodded and gestured to Haatim. He followed her down the aisle, out of earshot of the woman.
“We passed a bar about a block back. I’m going to go check in there and see if there is anything interesting going on in town.”
“Do you think there’s something weird at the campground?”
“No idea,” Abigail said.
“She said there were strange things in the woods.”
“She said campers thought there were strange things in the woods,” she said. “But, people who don’t grow up in a town like this tend to think everything is strange, and the rustling of an animal can become terrifying.”
Haatim shrugged. “True. It’s probably nothing.”
“Still,” she said. “It’s worth checking out if nothing else shows up. You stay here. Pick us up some dinner and breakfast, and I’ll be back in a bit.”
“All right,” he said.
Abigail headed off, and he heard the tinkling of a bell as she disappeared outside. He looked around at the offered wares in dismay.
There were pastries in a display case that appeared like they’d been there since the forties and cans of soup from Campbell’s that looked older than Andy Warhol’s.
He also managed to find stale bread and soggy bologna and figured they could make some decent sandwiches. He continued walking down the aisles, looking for the most edible items to add to their dinner.
The bar turned out to be a dimly lit dive joint called Fred’s Blue Moon. It was dirty and dark, smelled like piss and ashtrays, and filled with clouds of smoke; the perfect kind of place to get a cheap drink and information.
There was a pool table in the corner with a faded and peeling finish and a couple of chairs throughout, but the floor was mostly empty. The floor was sticky, and the walls were covered in country music posters.
The entire place was empty except for the bar at the front and a pair of booths in the back. An old man looked to be sleeping in one of them, and a woman in her fifties sat at the other, nursing a martini. Four grizzled looking men sat on the barstools watching TV and sipping beers. If she had to guess, she’d put them in their late twenties to early thirties.
A burly old man stood behind the counter, leaning against a shelf of cheap whiskey and vodka and watching his patrons. News was on the tube above his head, but the sound was turned off and no one seemed to be paying attention to it.
They all glanced over as she came in, but each of them dismissed her in turn as she walked up to the bar. It was chipped and covered in stains but appeared modestly clean. She sat down on a stool a few seats away from the others so she could listen in on their conversation.
One of them was wearing a police uniform, and the other three wore plain clothes but definitely worked in some profession requiring a lot of manual labor: they were muscular with thick necks and beards.
The bartender leaned against the counter as she came up. “Want something to drink?”
“A whiskey,” she said. “Jameson if you’ve got it with a splash of coke.”
He poured out her drink into a smudge covered glass and slid it across the counter to her. She took a sip: it had decidedly less than a splash of coke in it, but she wasn’t about to complain.
She sat with her drink for a few minutes, listening to the group of friends talk. They mostly just bitched about their wives or their jobs; a lot of talking, no substance. She sipped her drink and listened, pretending to read the captions on the television. Eavesdropping and being invisible was a skill Arthur had taught her early in her training.
The conversation shifted and they started talking about the group of campers that had come through a couple of days ago, a bunch of college kids. The cop told them about a blonde chick he was hoping to bust with something just so he could pat her down.
It was clear after only a few minutes, however, just how much they disliked the college group. That didn’t surprise Abigail. She doubted any of these men had ever been to college, and they had a sort of tribal aversion to people who did.
One of the four men got up a few minutes later, finished off the last dregs of his beer, and headed for the door. He stood above two meters tall and had a scraggly black beard and flannel shirt. “See you fellas tomorrow.”
“You leaving?” the cop asked.
“Yeah. Going to pop into Jane’s and get something to eat and then head home. I work early in the morning.”
“All right, Tim. See you tomorrow.”
Tim headed out of the bar and disappeared down the road, walking toward the corner store. Abigail was about to follow him, but was interrupted when one of the other men spoke to her. He had a receding hairline and intense eyes.
“Where you from?”
“Arizona,” Abigail answered.
“On your way to the campground?”
“Yep,” she said. “Just staying the night with my husband.”
“You should watch yourself when you’re out there. Group of stuck up college guys rented out Owl Cabin.”
“That a nice one?” she asked.
“It’s the expensive one. The other one is Hawk, and it’s a few hundred bucks cheaper.”
“They’ve got money,” the cop said. “Spoiled little rich kids, if you ask me.”
“No one’s asking you, Mike.”
The cop shrugged and took a swig of his beer. “It’s too bad then, because if it were up to me I’d shut down the campgrounds altogether. We don’t need it, and it brings in too many outsiders who don’t give a damn about us. They just want to see the old town.”
“The old town?” Abigail asked.
“Out in the woods is the original location of Raven’s Peak. This was back when they were still mining, but it was too hard to get to once the mines were closed. They moved it here about a hundred years ago, but the remains of the old town are still out there, just a ruins.”
Something about the thought of ruins sparked Abigail’s memory: secluded ruins in the middle of the nowhere sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.
“Have strange things ever happened in those ruins?”
Mike chuckled. “All the time, if you ask tourists. It’s a ghost town, spooky, so I can understand people getting scared. They hear strange things. Just the usual tourist bullshit.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“It’s just a bunch of old buildings. People come out here because they think it’s something to see, but they don’t care about us.”
“Do they cause problems?”
“Vandalism, mostly,” the cop answered.
“And littering,” another guy spoke up. “We’ve been out there three times this year and taken in over ten bags of garbage.”
The cop nodded. “People just toss their garbage and expect us to clean it up.”
Abigail sipped her drink. “Still, it’s tourism money?”
“We don’t see any of it,” the cop said. “The guy who owns the campgrounds doesn’t even live here. He lives in Minnesota, I think. We don’t see a dime.”
“I see,” Abigail said.
“We should just close the roads and put up a blockade. That would keep people out.”
“Yeah,” another guy added, chuckling. “Or use those police spikes. The ones they use to flatten tires.”
“Yeah,” the cop said. “Something like that. I’d kill for an opportunity to drop those.”
Abigail listened to them talk for a couple of minutes longer, but they quickly lost interest in her and went back to their own conversations. She wasn’t surprised that they were disgruntled about tourism, especially if they weren’t seeing any money from it, but she was surprised at how openly hostile they were about it.
She felt almost like they were trying to threaten her. A petty machismo effort, because she knew they would never actually do anything to outsiders, but it did show how closed off this town was from the rest of the world. They were cut-off from outside influences and kept to themselves.
Which meant it would be hard getting any real information out of them. She stuck around for a few more minutes, though, and listened just in case they happened to mention something else that might be of use.
Haatim finally settled on a few cans of fruit that weren’t expired, some ravioli, baked beans, and a couple of cokes. He was worried about perishable items, but he did find a few wrapped cookies baked by a local pastry shop that looked rather tasty.
He passed the woman in the brown overcoat a few times as she shopped. She hadn’t brought her son in with her and was picking up snacks. She offered him a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
He was hugging the items to his chest and wishing he had grabbed a basket when he heard the doorbell chime again. He assumed Abigail was back and started making his way toward the counter.
He realized almost immediately that it wasn’t her, however. The footsteps sounded like heavy boots. He peered around one of the aisles and saw a tall and overweight man in a flannel shirt, jeans, and a cowboy hat walking up to the register.
“Where is she?”
The woman at the register stood up from her seat, a concerned look on her face. The other shopper, the one in the brown overcoat, slipped away into one of the aisles, out of sight.
“Tim, what’s wrong?”
“Where is she?” Tim asked again, an edge of anger in his voice.
“Where is who?”
“Elizabeth,” Tim said. “I know she’s here.”
“Tim…”
He turned and cupped his hands around his mouth, shouting toward the back room: “Elizabeth! I know you’re here. Come on out and let’s go home.”
“Tim,” the woman said, her voice sympathetic, “Elizabeth isn’t here.”
“I know she is,” Tim said. “Stop hiding her from me, Barbara.”
“I’m not, Tim,” she said. “You know I’m not.”
Tim looked confused for a second, like he was trying to process what she was saying. Suddenly he noticed Haatim, standing in the aisle and watching. He stormed over, and Haatim almost dropped all of the items he was holding. The guy was tall, maybe five inches more than Haatim. Enough to make Haatim feel really small.
“Have you seen Elizabeth?” Tim asked. He had rough features and a scraggly black beard. He looked like he was in his late forties, but it was hard to tell.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know anyone by that name,” Haatim said. “I’m not from around here.”
The man thought about this for a second and then nodded. “Well, if you see her, tell her to come home, all right?”
“All right,” Haatim agreed, thoroughly outside his element.
Then Tim turned and disappeared back outside. The bell tinkled again, and then it was completely silent in the store. No one moved for a good thirty seconds.
Haatim finally walked up to the counter and set his pile of goods down. The woman at the register—Barbara—stood staring at the door, shaken up.
“Are you OK?” Haatim asked after a few seconds. She slowly glanced over at him, a vacant expression on her face.
“What?” she said, shaking her head. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“Who was that?”
“Tim Melloncamp.”
“Who was he looking for?”
“His wife, Elizabeth. She used to work here.”
“Used to?” Haatim said.
“Yeah,” Barbara said, grabbing the items and scanning them. “But she died.”
“Oh,” Haatim said. He glanced back at the door. “Is he…?”
“He’s not taking it well,” Mary said. “I was sure he’d gotten over it, because it happened a few months ago, but I guess something must have snapped. There’s no telling how someone’s grief will go.”
The woman in the brown overcoat reappeared from up the aisle, carrying a bag of chips and some drinks. “That’s terrible,” she said.
“Elizabeth was a great person,” Barbara agreed. “She had liver cancer. Is this all?”
“Yeah,” Haatim said. “Just some snacks for tonight.”
She finished scanning the items and bagged them for Haatim. He paid, thanked her, and headed for the door. The woman in the brown overcoat went to the register, setting her items on the counter.
“Do you know if there’s a vacant motel in the area?” she asked.
“There’s one a few blocks west. They never fill up all the way. Most people just continue down the road to the campground.”
“Heaven’s no,” the woman said. “We stayed in one of the cabins the last two nights, but I’m not staying out there one night longer. My son was almost lost in the woods and it gets scary at night. We have the cabin rented for three more days, but I just can’t be out there another second. We just need somewhere to sleep before heading back to Chicago.”
“Then the motel is your best bet. I think it’s a Super Eight.”
“Thanks,” the woman said.
“I would recommend sleeping on top of the sheets, though,” the woman said. “If you know what I mean.”
Haatim bit back a laugh and pushed the door open. He stepped out into the cool night air and glanced around. Abigail was still gone, and there were very few streetlamps lit up, so it wasn’t very bright in the area.
After he loaded all of the supplies into the backseat, he sat on the hood of his car and waited for Abigail to return. It was chilly out, and the wind nipped at his skin, but he could see a myriad of stars in the sky, more than he’d ever imagined. He had to admit, living out in the country did have its perks.
Abigail showed up at the car about ten minutes later. Haatim was lightly dozing on the hood of his car, not quite asleep but definitely not awake, either. He felt a tap on his shoulder and jumped, almost falling off the hood. When he saw it was Abigail, he sat up. She had a bemused expression on her face.
“Get everything?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, “I might have found something interesting in the store, too.”
“Me, too,” she said. “You first: what did you hear?”
“A guy lost his wife,” Haatim said.
“That’s it?”
“He isn’t taking it well, and he was acting strange.”
“When did she die?”
“A few months ago,” Haatim said. “But he was really freaked out, like he didn’t even remember that she was dead.”
“Too long ago to be what we’re looking for,” Abigail said. “And grief can do funny things to people.”
“What did you find?”
“I overheard another tidbit about the campgrounds. A group of college kids went out there a few nights ago to stay in the expensive cabin. They have been stopping in every night at the bar to purchase drinks, but no one showed up today.”
“Are they missing?”
“No one knows for sure. I spoke to a cop who said if they don’t show by tomorrow night they’ll have to send someone to check on them.”
“You think that’s what we’re looking for?”
“If there’s anything here to find, it’s probably out at the campgrounds,” she said. She climbed into the passenger seat and started looking through the bags of stuff Haatim had purchased. “Let’s head there and check it out.”
Lincoln Cole
