Welsh Road (The Depravity Chronicles) (15 page)

“Oh, you mean
the line about going to the priest’s church and looking shit up?” Jackson
sneered.

Jackson was
apparently quite adept at detecting lies. Sam didn’t bother trying to argue, so
he stuck with half-truths and generalities. “Let’s just say that in situations
like these it’s best not to questions. Just let them work.”

“Sam, let me
tell you something,” Jackson said after clearing his throat.

It took a lot of
restraint for Sam not to roll his eyes or sigh heavily.
Oh, Jesus. Here we
go
. But when Jackson started talking, Sam found himself pleasantly
surprised.

“I know you kids
went through a hell of an ordeal last year. Can’t imagine how hard that must
have been, or to what extent you would have needed to bend the law to fit your,
uh, predicament. In situations like these I have found it useful to build a
small, tightknit troop who reports to me and who does
not
have to worry
about such things.”

“Such things?”
Sam asked. He knew where Jackson was going with this, but he was going to force
him to say it out loud.

“Bending or
breaking things,” Jackson said in a hush.

“Like rules,”
Sam prodded.

“Jesus H.
Christ, Sam King!” Jackson hollered. “Yes, for fuck’s sake.
Breaking or
bending the rules
!”

“Got it,” Sam
said, grinning. He was pleased to discover that even Jackson could look the
other way if necessary.

Jackson couldn’t
help but return the smile. “I like you, Sam. I’m thinking you need to leave
Anna’s charge and come work for me.”

“Not going to
happen,” Sam said matter-of-factly.

The finality of
Sam’s response made Jackson laugh. “Of course you would stay. Look at her! I
don’t know how you haven’t already tried to get yourself a piece of that.”

Sam fought the
urge to punch Jackson the Jackass in his mouth. It would do him some good to
lose a few teeth. Again, he stuck with brevity and restraint. “I’m happy with the
sheriff’s leadership. Besides,
my wife
loves Crimson Falls. No way she’s
leaving.”

“Ah, I see,”
Jackson said, his interest in the conversation dead in the water. “So did your
priest come up with any interesting ideas about what the
F
is going on
out here? Or is he just another kook that believes all the supernatural
horseshit about this road?”

“You mean Welsh
Road?” Sam asked. “Bubba said something about that on the drive up here. And I
hate to admit this on the first day as a member of your honorary troop…but I
doubt that I am getting off on the right foot here if Bubba knows more about
this road than I do.”

“Bubba’s an
idiot,” Jackson said, waving his hand at the very idea of the backwoods sheriff.

“Then what’s the
story about Welsh Road?” Sam pushed.

“Ghost stories
aren’t really relevant to this case and I don’t like wasting time,” Jackson
said as he gestured grandly toward the bodies that were now wrapped in black
bags and lying on gurneys.

“True enough,”
Sam lied. He was frustrated that Jackson wasn’t going to share the story. By
the sound of it, Sam figured that it was not only relevant to the current
crisis, but perhaps a central part of it.

“Bubba is
loyal,” Jackson said out of nowhere. “That counts big when you work for me,
Sam. He is what you might call ‘my muscle.’ Sure, he’s as dumb as my ass crack.
But I can count on him to have my back…to tell me
everything
I need to
know.”

Ah, that’s it
, Sam figured.
Jackson’s strange monologue suddenly made sense. Jackson thinks that they’re hiding
something from him. Truth be told, Jackson should be suspicious. There were
many, many things that he didn’t know. And Sam wasn’t about to be the one who shared
the 411.

“So, King. What
do you think is going on here?” Jackson asked, a grave expression on his face.

“The obvious
answer is that our killer is offering sacrifices,” Sam said.

“But you think
there’s more to it, don’t you?” Jackson prodded.

“I think it’s
hard to say until we get the translation of those papers,” Sam said.

“And if there is
something that connects the victims,” Jackson added.

Sam nodded. “I
have a feeling they’re completely random. Aside from the birthdays of course.”

“That’s what I’m
afraid of,” Jackson confessed. “And to top it off, what the
fuck
was
jumping around in those trees? They sure as hell were
not
squirrels.”

Sam was caught
off guard. He knew Anna had seen something because of her strong reaction.
Jackson had only asked questions, so Sam figured he hadn’t seen anything. It’s
most often the case that the only time you can recognize a demon is when you’re
actually looking for it. Even then it can be damn near impossible. But who
looks for that kind of stuff? Aside from strange recluses like Sam’s
half-brother Alan Brickton, of course.  

Jackson snapped
his fingers in front of Sam’s face. “Anybody home?”

“Sorry,” Sam
said, startled. He quickly gathered himself together and sighed.

“Where did you
disappear to? And how’s the weather there?” Jackson asked eagerly. Yep. He was
fishing.

“Nothing.
Nowhere,” Sam answered poorly. “I’m just thinking that I didn’t really see much
at all. Maybe Sheriff Blackwood did, but she didn’t say anything to me about
it.”

“Me either,”
Jackson said, falling silent again. Sam wasn’t sure if Jackson’s answer was in
response to seeing the shadow or Anna’s decision to remain mum about what she
had seen.

“So I take it you
didn’t see anything?” Sam pushed.

“Oh, I saw some
thing
,”
Jackson mused. He played with the hair on his chin as he reflected.

Sam waited.
Jackson remained quiet.

“Something? Or
some
thing
?” Sam asked, hoping Jackson would share his suspicions and
ideas.

After another
moment of tense silence, Jackson shrugged his shoulders and laughed uneasily.
“I suppose it was just a shadow. It was too big to be a squirrel. Personally, I’m
not familiar with any critter of that size leaping across branches in these
woods. Or
any
woods for that matter.”

“Surely it can’t
be our killer,” Sam lied. He was having an internal struggle over how much he
should tell Jackson. Was it possible that with Anish’s and Matthew’s help, Sam
and Anna could solve this case without official police involvement?

“Surely can’t,”
Jackson repeated with another loaded laugh. It was difficult to discern whether
Jackson was being sarcastic or genuine. Doubt was not a frequent feeling for
Sam; he prided himself on being an excellent judge of character. Yet he still
hadn’t figured out Jackson’s story. Sam recognized that being a police
commissioner in a large city often required lying to people. The press, the
public, the mayor, you name it. For all intents and purposes, Jackson was a
politician. And if Sam was sure of one thing, it was that he did not like
politics. Or politicians. Commissioner Jackson reeked of all kinds of politics.
The
real
question, however, was whether Jackson could be trusted with
sensitive information. You don’t get much more sensitive than shapeshifting
demons.

“Do you need a
ride back to town?” Jackson asked randomly, forcing a subject change.

“No thanks,” Sam
said. “I think I’ll stick around for a while.”

“Sounds good,”
Jackson said. “Make sure your sheriff gives me a call when she and the good
father have translated the killer’s love note.”

Sam nodded.
“Will do.”

Jackson headed
toward his unmarked Charger and, just before climbing into the car, scanned the
treetops. After a few moments he looked at Sam, a strange expression on his
face. It didn’t seem negative. In fact, it was almost comical, like he thought
all of this was funny somehow. Whatever the meaning, Jackson had a backstory
and Sam was determined to figure it out.

Suddenly, Sam decided
that it wasn’t a good idea to let Jackson out of his sight. While he still
hadn’t decided whether Jackson could be trusted, he was still a central player
in these murders. Worse, things could get dangerous – downright deadly – if
Jackson rejected the supernatural out of hand. Sometimes living by the book can
be a lethal proposition: it all depends on the book.

Sam waved to
Jackson and jogged toward his car. “Wait, Commissioner!”

“What can I do
for you?” Jackson asked through the window.

“I think I’ll
join you.”

Jackson smiled.
“Suit yourself.”

Sam climbed into
the Charger and thanked Jackson for waiting. But the commissioner had his eyes
closed. So Sam waited for him to respond.

“Glad you took
me up on the offer,” Jackson said after a moment. “You got any Ibuprofen?”

“Uh, not on me,
no,” Sam said.

“Sometimes this
job can get to you,” Jackson said.

“I hear you,”
Sam agreed. As they pulled away from the crime scene, Sam wondered whether Anna
and the crew had made any headway. Little did he know at the time, the headway
was heading his way.

* * * * * *

4

Jena rocked
nervously in the recliner as she listened to Anish and Matthew translate the
ancient papyrus. While they waited, Anna brought them up to speed about what
had happened in the woods with the four murders. That didn’t help to soothe Jena’s
anxiety.

“You okay?”
Simon asked as he pulled up a chair beside Jena.

“As okay as can
be expected,” Jena answered.

“That’s the
thing,” Simon said. “I’m not sure what to expect from you. We kinda redefine
normal, don’t you think?”

“Touché,” Trevor
added as he sat down cross-legged at their feet. “You do look a little wired,
Jena.”

Jena managed a
smirk. “Big time. It’s hard to explain. Before the dance last night I never
really thought much about my blackouts. I mean, I thought about them, of
course. But I never really filed it in the
Supernatural
cabinet, you
know? I have no idea what to think or expect now.”

“I hear that,”
Simon agreed.

“I think you
have more power than you realize,” Trevor added.

“Why do you say
that?” Jena asked. Even though he was a bit eccentric for her liking, Jena enjoyed
Trevor’s company. Both he and Simon were crazy smart and this wasn’t their
first go-round with demons. It didn’t hurt that they were easy on the eyes.

She could tell
Trevor was thinking hard. He had a habit of scowling when his engines were operating
at full speed. It was his signature expression. Finally, he often gave voice to
his random trains of thought.

As if on cue,
Trevor delivered a random thought. “Dude, just watching you when you moved the
coin was intense enough. But when you astral projected, it was downright
awesome.”

“It
was
exciting
to witness,” Simon added. “I agree with Trevor. I think you’ve only just begun
scratching the surface of your potential. You know, your magical potential.”

“
Magical
potential?” Jena repeated, incredulous. “As in Hermione Granger magic?”

Simon tried not
to cringe at the comparison. Jena could tell he was a Harry Potter fanatic.
This realization gave her a good laugh.

“What’s so
funny?” Simon asked.

“The look on
your face,” Jena said. “Seriously, though. Magic?”

“If that’s what
you want to call it,” Trevor interjected. “I mean, it’s not like you’re a
full-fledged witch or anything.”

“We don’t know
what I am,” Jena sighed. “That’s a little messed up if you ask me.”

“More like
awesome
,”
Trevor teased. “It’s already saved your life. Who knows how many times it has
saved you in the past. And I have a feeling that it will probably save a few
more lives by the time the night is through.”

“Dammit!”
Matthew suddenly yelled in frustration, startling everyone. Trevor’s mom, who
had gone to the kitchen to clean up after sharing her story, bolted into the
room.

“Is everything
okay?” she asked. When she realized that there was no imminent danger, she
walked over and put her hand on the priest’s shoulder. “Are you having trouble
reading it?”

“Not at all,”
Anish answered when it was clear that Matthew wasn’t going to. “We’ve
translated the hidden text behind the scriptural passage from Numbers.”

Everyone took
turns looking at each other. Jena shifted uncomfortably and began playing with
her hair. “So?” she asked impatiently. “What does it say?”

Matthew cleared
his throat. “Loosely translated, it says:
How to keep an idiot busy. Read
the back for instructions.
So, we read the back. Do you know what it said?”

“Yeah,” Trevor
answered. “
How to keep an idiot busy. Read the front for instructions.
”