Sinister: A Paranormal Fantasy (Sinisters Book 1) (16 page)

The doorbell chimed a singsong pattern as Matt stood on the porch, his hands tucked into his pockets. His jacket had somehow gained a rubber band, three aspirin, and what felt like a clementine. Matt pulled that one out. Yep, there was a tiny orange in his hand. He stuffed it back in. He might get hungry later.

The clank of a doorknob sounded and the face of Dean's mom appeared behind the screen. A creature slid across the screen like a snake, stopping to hiss at Matt. He started, then noticed the woman was giving him a puzzled look. He was very tired of seeing things others couldn't.

"Hi, Mrs. Hendricks."

She brushed a piece of her short black hair out of her face as she said, "The rest of the group is downstairs. You just head on down, I know you know the way."

Matt headed through a kitchen nearly as familiar as his own, stopping to greet Mr. Hendricks as he read a newspaper at the table. He shut the door to the basement behind him as he entered, cutting off the sounds of a rustling newspaper and the whistling of a tea kettle. Those noises were replaced with the sounds of pool balls hitting one another and boisterous laughter. Shouts of greeting met him as he stepped onto the carpeted floor.

Dean looked up from the cue as he lined up his next shot. "Man, I totally forgot to ask you at practice. How'd your date go?"

Jorge and Sarah, who sat on the back of the couch waiting their turns at the table, seconded Dean's question.

Matt casually stuck his hands in his pockets, wishing that his meeting with Anna really had been a date. His friends indubitably thought more was going on than really was, but he had, at least, gotten to spend time with her. "Pretty good. We got coffee and stayed at the place till it closed."

A couple of laughs answered this statement, and Matt couldn't help but feel pleased. He rarely got this much attention directed solely at him.

Dean sent the cue ball flying across the table, sinking the four ball, and started lining up his next shot. "You should invite her to the winter formal." His next hit sent the seven to the edge of the far pocket, where it hovered. Dean straightened and handed the stick to Sarah as Rachel set up for her shot.

"Is everyone going?" Matt wasn't surprised this was the first he was hearing about it. During their freshman year, he, Dean, and Jorge had been dragged to the dances by the girls, usually rotating dates for each one. Sarah and Rachel would dig up a random friend to accompany the third guy. Homecoming this year had been strange. Jorge had gone with his girlfriend at the time and her group of friends. Sarah and Rachel had started acting weird and hadn't made plans for them, so the other four hadn't gone. Matt wasn't particularly sorry to have missed it.

Rachel's shot went wide and Sarah moved up to the table, lining the cue up for her turn.

"We hadn't really talked about it," she said, with a glance at Dean.

A flash of longing went through him. He hoped Dean would ask him to the dance, and not just as friends. He could picture the two of them, Dean in a tuxedo with his hands on his waist. His dress would flow elegantly to the floor as they swayed.

He jumped. Where had that come from? He had no interest in his friend beyond their friendship, and he definitely didn't want to go to a dance with him. And a dress? Was he suddenly becoming a cross-dresser? Did that happen? Did people just wake up one day and want to wear girls' clothes? He pictured himself sneaking into Alice's room and trying on the clothes she'd left behind. Would he have to tell his parents? What would they think? He felt embarrassed by his thoughts, as though his friends could somehow read them on his face. He didn't want to be a cross-dresser! Why was this happening?

His gaze fell on Sarah, who was still looking at Dean, and understanding descended. He sagged as a wave of relief went through him. He wasn’t suddenly realizing he wanted to wear dresses—not that there was anything wrong with that, he quickly reminded himself. He'd just been channeling Sarah's emotions. He smacked his forehead with his palm. Sarah liked Dean! All of the weirdness between them lately made sense now. He felt stupid for not having noticed it earlier. Looking between his two friends, he wondered if he should say something to Dean. He might not realize Sarah was into him…but if he told him, would he be happy? What would it do to their group if his friends started dating? It could mean the end of these weekends. He’d still have Rachel and Jorge, sure, but Sarah and Dean were his oldest friends. And if he didn’t return Sarah’s feelings, would things get weird? It would be best not to mention it, he decided. He'd wait until his friend brought it up.

Matt grabbed a handful of chips from the bag sitting on a card table, trying to block out the emotions he'd borrowed from Sarah. This new ability gave him a lot of insight into his friends' lives, but he wasn't sure he wanted it. Girls had a lot of feelings.

He turned his thoughts back to Anna, considering the dance. His heart started pounding at the mere thought of asking Anna to accompany him. Caracalla was an easy excuse to hang out with her, but a dance was another story. His hand went to his neck at the thought of Caracalla, and he realized he'd forgotten the strange amulet Luke had given him. Come to think of it, he was pretty sure he hadn't had it on since he left his house that morning. He distinctly remembered Luke telling him to wear it at all times, but there wasn't anything he could do about that now. He wondered if Anna was doing a better job remembering than he was. He didn't recall seeing it around her throat at Oliver's. Maybe he should text her and remind her to wear it. Friends helped each other like that.

His friends quickly finished their game of Stripes and Solids and moved on to board games, which five people could play more easily than pool. They were midway through a game of Cranium when Sarah looked at the clock and grimaced.

"I have to go," she said.

"Now?" Dean protested as she stood up. He dropped the dice, and they clattered onto the board. "It's not even ten!"

She made a face. "I know, but my dad's freaked out and gave me an early curfew. Remember the old woman I told you about? The one whose body they found in the park?" Her voice dropped and she glanced around before saying, "I'm not really supposed to be telling you this, but the police ruled it a homicide. Apparently she was already dead when she was thrown into the lake."

Rachel looked a little green, and Matt couldn't help but shudder himself. He didn't like to think there was a murderer roaming the streets of Madison.

"She's the third one," Sarah continued, her voice hardly above a whisper now. "They can't figure out what killed any of them. None of them have any marks from before they died, but they're all dead."

"Were—were they definitely all killed by the same person?" Rachel asked, her voice quavering.

Sarah shrugged. "That's the theory for now. I like that better than thinking there're multiple murderers out there." Her voice regained a little strength as she continued, "They don't seem to have anything in common. Well, except they were all apparently left-handed."

Ice slid down Matt's back. It couldn't be a coincidence, could it? Three people, all dead in Madison, and all of them were left-handed.

There are plenty of lefties who aren't sinisters, the annoying part of his mind argued. Sure, and it's just a coincidence they're all lefties, he responded sarcastically. That part of his mind was really starting to irritate him.

"What were their names?" he demanded.

Sarah looked surprised. "I don't remember. Betty Fossey was the last one, but the first two...um, I think the first one was Nathan something. There were huge newspaper articles when they were found. I'm sure you can find the info online. It's only been a few weeks."

He vaguely heard Jorge's voice, but he was lost in his own thoughts. Three lefties dead in the past couple weeks? Was this what Caracalla was doing? But why would he kill sinisters? That is, assuming that's what these three were. There had to be a reason. Luke had said the man thought he was doing the right thing. Of course, it was also possible these three knew something they shouldn't, and the man had convinced himself that he offed them for the good of mankind. Matt looked at his own left hand, innocently resting on one of the card boxes. Who knew one little appendage could cause so much trouble?

He stayed long enough to finish the game, but his heart wasn't in it. His friends all seemed distracted as well, and the game petered out more than anything. As Rachel called out the correct answer to one of the trivia questions, Matt stood up.

"I should get going, too,” he said.

After a quick round of good-byes, Matt walked up the stairs and out into the dark, heading toward home as fast as his legs would carry him. He needed to do some research.

Ϯ

The computer's fan whirred as the machine kicked into gear in the darkened room. Matt hadn't bothered to turn on the lights in his room when he'd gotten home; he'd just nudged off his shoes and flopped down on the bed with his laptop. His fingers hovered over the keys, suddenly unsure he wanted to find out more about the murders. If they all turned out to be sinisters, where would that leave him? In way over his head, that's for sure. Somehow, when Luke had told him Caracalla was doing something "less than honorable," he'd assumed it was something magical—that is, something to do with hell, since Luke claimed that wasn't magic. Mystical connections to the underworld sounded more like a game. Murder, though, was all too real, and for the first time, he felt very, very afraid.

There was no going back now. If the victims were all sinisters, he and Anna were in danger. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then typed "Betty Fossey" into the search bar.

The first page of results was all related to the murder. He opened the first one, dated two days earlier, and started reading.

Elizabeth "Betty" Marilyn Fossey, 72, was found dead in Brittingham Park this morning at 6:22 AM. An early-morning jogger spotted the woman and called 911. Paramedics shortly arrived on the scene, and Fossey was declared dead at 6:51 AM.

Matt skimmed the next few paragraphs, which explained how the cause of death was unknown and that the police were asking anyone who had information to come forward. One sentence caught his eye, and he started reading more carefully.

Fossey is the third person found this month in the vicinity of Brittingham Park, leading to speculation that a serial killer is to blame. Autopsies are underway for Nathan Woodward of Fitchburg, who was found on October 20 on the rocks near Monona Terrace, and Joann Lisle of Madison, who was found October 12 by two fishermen on Lake Monona. Both were initially ruled suicides, but Fossey's death has caused police to reconsider their original findings. The autopsies are scheduled...

The article continued on, but Matt stopped there, a sick feeling in his stomach. There was nothing in there about what the three had in common, and reading about murders in such emotionless terms was making him nauseous. Maybe Luke had a point about feelings. There were some times when they could be important.

He clicked back to the search results and added the other two names to the bar. The results list shrank to just a few articles, none of which had much information. Apparently the police hadn't yet told the media that the deaths were definitely murders.

Hoping to learn more about the three before they died, he searched "Joann Lisle." The first two pages were dedicated to her death, but the third page had results from her life, including a long list of race results. Her name was also listed among the volunteers for the local Humane Society. There was nothing about her handedness, but he hadn't really expected there to be. Nathan Woodward returned similarly useless results.

With a sigh, he shut his laptop. He hadn't learned anything he didn't already know, and he wasn't going to find out if they were sinisters by reading articles online. There was an obvious way to answer the question, but he would need to trust Luke enough to ask him. If the guy was lying about what he could tell them, what else would he lie about?

Matt's stomach clenched as a new thought crossed his mind. What if the three victims were all sinisters, but it wasn't Caracalla who had killed them? Luke had access to all the sinisters, and he was certainly powerful enough to kill them without leaving a mark. He wouldn't even need to try to hide the bodies because there was no way anyone would ever figure out he did it. Even if they did, they couldn't do anything. He pressed his hands around his waist. All he and Anna had to go on was Luke's word, and he had no reason to trust that. For all he knew, Luke was just trying to get close to them so he could kill them too.

A cold sweat formed on his brow. He didn't know why Luke would want to kill them, but did the devil really need a reason to kill? Wasn't it enough to want to cause havoc? That was what the devil did, after all. Matt leapt up, flipping on the light and tossing his bed sheets aside as he searched for the amulet Luke had given him. Pillows and covers alike flew across the room. He finally uncovered the necklace. It lay innocently on the fitted sheet, reflecting the overhead bulb. With a grimace of distaste, he picked it up. The metal felt cool against his skin. Holding it between his thumb and forefinger, he walked over to his desk and dropped the piece inside, then slammed the drawer shut. At least it wouldn't be touching him tonight. Tomorrow he'd find a better place to hide it until he got to the bottom of this whole mess.