Welsh Road (The Depravity Chronicles) (4 page)

“Then it’s settled,”
Sam said. “Trevor, go get your sister. I’m calling Lisa and having her meet us
there.”

“Sounds good,”
Anna said.

Trevor and Simon
took the normal pathway to the basement, one that didn’t involve a lot of dirt
and insects.

“You know, we’re
pretty awesome,” Trevor said. “Like, I don’t mean to sound arrogant, you know?”

“I know what you
mean,” Simon said with a smirk. “We kicked the dark side’s ass. There’s
something inherently magical about danger and euphoria.”

“That’s one way
to put it,” Trevor said as he rolled his eyes. “Do you remember when Mom said
that we had to act as normal as possible?”

“You mean during
all the funeral services and being interrogated by the FBI?”

“Yeah,” Trevor
agreed. “But, like, how can you go back to normal when that normal doesn’t
exist anymore? How can she believe something that stupid?”

“With a plate of
denial and a side of WTF,” Simon said with confidence. “That’s how.”

“Well, she
doesn’t want to admit it, but normal changed for her, too. Especially after we
found out that my dad is dead.”

“Well, coping
mechanisms can only work so long,” Simon observed. “At least on the surface.
But I would think that after a year of doing that, one way or another, what
lies beneath always reveals itself in time.”

“That’s what I’m
afraid of,” Trevor said.

“Speaking of
remembering things,” Simon said. “Do you remember what Anish said to us about
the portals?” He didn’t wait for Trevor to respond. “Most portals are created
by people practicing dark magic. But there are other doorways that are natural.
You know, they don’t need people to conjure them.”

“Right. What
about them?”

“I think there’s
a lot about them we don’t know and I think it’s time to find out. Like, are
there any natural portals near Crimson Falls? If there are, where are they?”

“Yeah,” Trevor
said thoughtfully. “And at least a million other questions.”

“So let’s find
the answers.”

“Sounds like a
plan. But first, let’s eat.”

* * * * * *

3

Jena felt
grateful to this man whom she had no memory of having met. Apparently he had
saved her life, though how he had done that she didn’t know. In truth, there
was quite a bit she couldn’t seem to remember. Like, what happened after she
fell asleep? Did the bird demon put Nicholas in a coma? How had she gotten
away? And last but certainly not least, how the hell had she managed to end up two
miles from the car?

Anish smiled as
Jena searched her mind for any clues that might lead to solid evidence. As she
reflected on the events of the night, two local police officers – one male, who
wore a black patch over his left eye, and one female – entered the room. They
sat down in chairs on either side of her bed.  Jena noticed how even the cops
treated the Native American man with respect and deference. She had a funny
feeling that pretty much everyone felt small next to this man. But, it didn’t
make you feel bad about yourself. It was beyond weird. But, again, not
negative.

“Ms. Marsh, are
you sure there isn’t something more you can tell us?” the first officer asked.
It seemed like the millionth time he had asked that question. Jena looked at
the name on his badge. Mullins.

“I’m sorry,”
Jena responded, trying to fill her voice with more sorrow than she actually
felt. She liked Officer Mullins, but knew immediately that the other cop was a
different story.

“Maybe there’s
some sort of trigger,” the female officer suggested. Her breasts were so
ridiculously large and fake that Jena decided not to search for her badge. She
didn’t need to know the lady’s name that badly, so she mentally referred to her
as Busty.

“It’s unlikely
that there is a trigger in this situation, Cindy,” Anish observed.

Ah, so Cindy was
her name. Jena figured she’d stick with her new name. Busty.

Officer Mullins
nodded, as if Anish’s statement closed the door on their investigation. At
least for tonight. Jena wondered how Anish had this kind of sway. Who was this
mysterious man? Just as she asked herself these questions, Anish winked at her.

Oh, crap. He
reads minds, too?
she
assumed anxiously.
What other special powers does this guy have?
She
found that she didn’t want to spend much time thinking about that. Moving on.

“…any kind of
certain detail can let loose the floodgate,” Busty was saying. God, she was
like a dog with a bone. Jena tried to ignore her. As she focused on the officer
keeping quiet, Busty began clearing her throat. The more intensely Jena focused
on Busty being unable to speak, the worse the coughing became. At first it was subtle;
she continued to discuss the overrated floodgates. But then, after another
thirty seconds or so, the violent coughing fits began.

Another minute
passed. Officer Busty was now coughing blood into the palm of her hand. Jena
felt a strange sensation in her head. It wasn’t a headache exactly. It was more
like her brain was tired. Somehow she
knew
she was responsible for Busty’s
incessant coughing. Panic swam through Jena’s stomach.

God, you’re an
idiot,
she
scolded herself.
You don’t have magical powers
. This whole night had
just been too surreal. And scary.

Anish gave Jena
a severe look, almost as if he was scolding her.
Stop telepathically messing
with the cop, young lady
, he seemed to say. He quickly walked the stricken
officer out of the room. Everyone waited in tense silence as they overheard Busty’s
continued hacking. As strangely as the coughing fits had arrived, they exited
stage right just as quickly. When they came back into the room, Busty’s face
was red.

“Sorry about the
interruption,” she said, obviously embarrassed and frustrated. She was lightly
caressing her throat with her fingers. She stood over Jena to bring home her
point. “I am
not
pleased with our conversation.”

“Well I am not
pleased with your presumptiveness,” Jena’s father Hank said. She could tell he
had slipped into lawyer speak, being the successful assistant district attorney
that he was. “I think she’s had enough for one night. Besides, aren’t you from
Crimson Falls? This is out of your jurisdiction.”

“That’s enough
for tonight,” Officer Mullins interjected, standing up from his chair. He gave
a firm nod to Busty. “We’ll be back in the morning,” he said flatly. Clearly,
he was disappointed. Jena couldn’t blame him. They were leaving with the same
information they had before they arrived: nothing. She had to protect herself.
It wouldn’t take them long to sedate her if she started babbling about a demented
birdman. They’d transfer her to the loony bin if she so much as mentioned Welsh
Road. She seriously doubted that the cops could do something about that kind of
thing anyway. If it was even real, of course, and not some random
hallucination. Little did she know, the police force in Crimson Falls had
learned the hard way about what happens when you ignore clues, especially if
they point in supernatural directions.

Jena waited
until Officers Mullins and Busty were long gone before she addressed the matter
that was burning a hole in her brain. The proverbial million dollar question. She
looked solemnly at Anish. “The blood…the blood you said I was covered in?”

Anish nodded. He
appeared more tired than he had before he escorted Busty out of the room during
her “episode.” Jena’s parents were huddled together in one of the chairs beside
her bed, distant and withdrawn.

“Nicholas…was
the blood on me his? Was it his blood?” Jena asked. She swallowed a lump of raw
terror. It tasted bitter.

“There was not
even a drop of blood on Nicholas,” Anish explained. “You can imagine that given
the condition of the vehicle, that’s pretty surprising. Some would say strange.”

“What do you
mean?” Jena asked.

Anish fell
silent. Her dad chimed in to break the quiet. “The Mustang was totaled,” Hank
said.

“Completely,”
Isabelle added.

“That doesn’t
make sense,” Jena said. She had to take a moment to fight her intense desire to
pull the covers over her head. She wanted to shut everything and everyone out
of her mind. But alas, she knew that this was only the beginning.

“Why is he in a
coma if he didn’t have any blood?” Jena asked.

No one answered.

Now it was time
to ask the second burning question in her mind. She cleared her throat,
unintentionally adding to the already thick tension in the room.

“So if it wasn’t
Nicholas’ blood, and it wasn’t
my
blood…” Jena began, yet there was no
need to finish. The meaning was clearly implied.

“Indeed,” Anish
said, his arms folded across his chest. “
That
, my dear Jena, is the real
million dollar question.”

1

Anna awoke to a
bright morning sun and a thin layer of frost on the ground. She was surprised
when the clock revealed that it was half past nine. There was a note in the
kitchen from Trevor; they were already long gone.

Saturdays were
Anna’s favorite day. Not only did she not have to deal with work, she usually
got to spend at least a chunk of it with her children. Having three teenagers –
plus Simon, whom she genuinely loved as a son – was not always a walk in the
park. At the same time, there was a lot of love and laughter in the Blackwood
home. After making a cup of coffee with her beloved Keurig machine, Anna walked
out the French doors in the dining room and onto the back porch. The smell of
autumn was thick in the air. A neighbor was burning leaves in his yard and
waved to her with enthusiasm. She casually returned his greeting.

“I have five
acres and we managed to build the house on the edge of it,” she mumbled through
her forced smile. In truth, she enjoyed her neighbors. They were quiet, kind,
and often considerate. After her husband Thomas left…died…they fed her family
for over a week and were thoroughly supportive. She quietly chided herself for
being ungrateful.

Just as Anna
asked the blue sky for a quiet morning of reading, her cellphone began vibrating
in her pocket. She set down her coffee and newspaper and fished for her phone.
The number was unavailable, so she considered not answering it. But one thing
she had learned during her tenure as sheriff was that unavailable calls were
often work related and almost always important.

“Sheriff Blackwood,”
she said as she walked to the edge of the porch. A wide grin spread across her
face when she remembered her sons’ snooping attempts from the previous day.
That smile quickly faded when she heard the caller’s voice.

“Anna,” a low,
rumbling voice sneered.

“Hi Sheriff
Hoover,” Anna said affably.

“Sheriff Bubba
Hoover here, the lawman of Taylor’s Landing.”

Anna wondered
why he had to announce himself when she had already greeted him. It took a
great deal of effort to tolerate Bubba. He was the poster child for sexism,
racism, and basically every other form of –ism that existed. If something was
politically incorrect you can bet that Bubba Hoover had mastered the art of
saying it.

Anna waited for
Bubba to say something, but it quickly became clear that she was the one who
would have to speak. “What can I do for you, Sheriff Hoover?”

“We had us a few
murders here last night,” Bubba said, adding a few unsavory expletives.

This news
startled Anna. “I didn’t see that in the papers,” she said, knowing that any murders
would have made the front pages of their local media outlets.

“That’s ‘cause
we haven’t released that to the public,” Bubba said condescendingly. “I’m sure
you know how that goes,” he added.

“Sure do,” she
said. Anna knew he was referring to last year’s cold cases, but she wasn’t
going to engage him on the topic. “What do you need from us?”

She expected he
would ask for their dogs, or perhaps a bit of manpower. What he asked for
instead took her off guard.

“I understand
you’re off today?” Bubba stated it in the form of a question, but she was quite
sure he knew the answer.

“That’s right,”
she said, wondering where he was going with this. Certainly he didn’t need to see
her
…

“I reckon you
got some time then to come over here for a bit, though not sure how long it’ll
take. You can bring that Sam fella along. Might be useful.”

Anna scowled,
knowing full well that Bubba believed her to be incompetent because she was a
woman. “Not to sound rude, Sheriff Hoover, but what is it you need from us that
requires my and Sam’s presence?”

“It’s best left
unsaid ‘til I see you all. See you in a bit. At my precinct.” Bubba hung up.

“Sure, I can do
that,” Anna said to her phone. “Let me just giddy on up over there, pardner.”
She texted Sam and asked him to meet her at the station in an hour.

Anna was
reminded of that late afternoon when Janet had radioed her about Alan
Brickton’s body. As she took a sip of her coffee, her phone vibrated again. Two
texts. The first was from Sam, who confirmed their impending trip. The second
was Trisha, who apparently felt that walking down the stairs was too strenuous
an effort. The text simply read:
No shop. Other plans
. Anna was somewhat
relieved she wouldn’t have to let her daughter down by not going shopping. But,
at the same time, she felt defeated. This particular Saturday was not starting
off well.

Anna was about
to find out the hard way how much worse your favorite day of the week can get.

* * * * * *

2

Jena awoke at
5:13am Saturday morning. Her mother Isabelle was snoring softly, sleeping in
what looked like an uncomfortable position in the chair beside Jena’s hospital
bed. She had refused to leave her daughter’s side. Jena figured that her father
Hank must have left at some point during the night while she slept.

It’s now or
never
,
Jena thought to herself. She had to make it fast so she could be back in bed
before her mother awoke. Isabelle would
not
approve.

Slowly, she
crawled out of her bed and walked as quietly to the door as she could. The
other patient in the room, Martha Patterson, was also awake. According to the
suspicious looks she was throwing at Jena, Ms. Patterson had apparently decided
that Jena was up to no good. So she turned on the television as Jena crept by,
probably trying to awaken Isabelle and get Jena in trouble. She was being a
pain in the ass, the biggest problem being that Isabelle can’t sleep if the TV
is on.

As her mother
began to stir, Jena concentrated on turning off the television. Her brain got
that tired feeling again, so she focused harder. It was almost like linking the
weird feeling to the television. Suddenly a small spark flared behind the
television. It only made a small popping sound, but mission accomplished.
Isabelle maintained her slumber and the television would not be turned on again
for quite some time.

I could get used
to this
,
Jena thought to herself. A small sliver of anxiety blossomed in her belly, but
she pushed it back and ignored it.

Once Jena was
out in the hall, she pulled the back of her gown closed so her backside wasn’t
on display. The number 334 was running through her thoughts wildly, so she followed
her intuition. When she reached room 334, a sudden draft of cold air chilled
her to the bone. There was a random pressure against her chest, coming from out
of the blue. She found it difficult to even push the door open, but once she
did, what she saw made her gasp. She put a hand over her mouth, forgetting
about the open gown. Lying in the bed across the room, surrounded by tubes and
noisy, beeping machines was her Homecoming date. She pulled up a chair, sat
down beside him, and took his hand in hers.

“Nicholas,” she
said in a soft voice. “Can you hear me? Are you really in a coma?”

She felt
somewhat silly when he didn’t respond. People in comas can’t talk. And that
sucked big time. Jena needed answers and she needed them, like, yesterday.

Before she knew
it she was consumed by a swarm of butterflies in her stomach. Aside from being
a little whiney and frozen with fear when the bird-like demon was stalking
them, Jena still thought Nicholas had the potential to be a heroic hunk. She
squeezed his hand.

“Oh, Nicholas,”
Jena sad sadly, a single tear falling down her cheek. “What happened last night?
To you? To me? Did I help you? Did I hurt you?” She blinked away another tear,
mortified by the prospect of hurting him in any way, consciously or unconsciously.
Jena spent as much time with Nicholas as she could before her paranoia
motivated her to return to her room. Her mother would be waking at any moment.

As she turned
toward the door to leave, Jena didn’t get a chance to see Nicholas move his fingers.

Ms. Patterson
was thankfully sound asleep, her mouth open and drooling, when Jena returned to
her room. Better yet, Isabelle was also still with the Sandman.

“Rise and shine,
sleepy head,” Jena teased her mother after crawling back into bed. As far as
she knew, no one had been a witness to her little excursion to see her
boyfriend. Or, her friend that was a boy. Or, whatever.

Isabelle yawned
dramatically, smiling sleepily and leaning over to stroke Jena’s long, wavy
brown hair. “How are you feeling this morning?” she asked.

“Better,” Jena
lied. If anything, her nerves were even more frayed than before.

“I’m going to go
to the bathroom and then get some coffee,” Isabelle said. “Will you be okay?”

“Look around,
Mom. I’m in a hospital. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Mothers worry,”
Isabelle said as she stretched. Again, her behavior was dramatic. Jena had
always respected her mother’s flair for theatricality, but at times like these
it was downright exasperating.

“I hope you
understand that what happened to you last night is a really big deal,” Isabelle
continued. “Something pretty dramatic happened and we need to figure it out as
quickly as we can.” She hugged Jena tightly before turning to leave the room.

Less than a
minute later, Anish Bearson filled the doorway. He, too, had a sense of the
dramatic about him. But this guy was in no way theatrical. He just
was
.
It was a quiet kind of drama.

“Good morning,
Jena,” he said warmly.

“Morning Mr.
Bearson,” she replied quickly.

“Please, call me
Anish.”

“Okay. Good
morning, Anish.”

“That’s better,”
he grinned. “Have you had the opportunity to recover any memories?”

“Wow, you don’t
beat around the bush,” Jena said. “And no, I haven’t recovered anything. My
brain isn’t a file that was accidentally deleted.”

“My apologies,”
Anish said. “I suppose my bedside manner is a little lacking.”

“Actually, it’s
refreshing,” Jena said. “I’m sorry if I have my grumpy pants on.”

“No problem at
all,” Anish said, chuckling. “I don’t want to disturb your time with your
family, but I am hoping that perhaps we can talk more about what happened.”

Jena felt
anxious, though she knew she could trust this man. Although she wasn’t ready to
go to his home or something similarly intimate, she did want to brainstorm with
him. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“I teach at the
university here in town. Why don’t you stop by later today.” Anish handed her a
small piece of paper. “That’s my cell number. Just text me when you’re on your
way.”

She looked down
at the number curiously, trying to gather her thoughts. When she looked up
again, Anish was gone.

“International
Man of Mystery,” she announced with some enthusiastic humor.

“Oh?” Isabelle
said as walked into the room. “And who is this man of mystery?”

“Just something
I was reading about on my phone,” Jena lied, again. How had her mother not seen
Anish? Only seconds separated his departure from her arrival.

“Then what do
you say we blow this joint?” Isabelle asked with a wink.

“Sounds good to
me,” Jena agreed. She was eager to get home, take a shower, and ruminate while
preparing for her meeting with Anish. She also had to come up with an exit strategy.
Hell would freeze over before her parents would allow her to leave the house
without a chaperone, let alone visit the mysterious Native American. Isabelle
and Hank might be grateful to Anish for finding her in the woods last night,
but they weren’t about to become bff’s.

As Jena waited
for her mother to get the ball rolling on her release, she reflected on the
insanity that was Homecoming. Her mind kept leading her to the same questions.
What had she done that she was blocking from her memory? Did she really make
that cop have a coughing fit? Jena had always been curious about the
supernatural, so much so that it wasn’t unusual for her to read a book here and
there about witchcraft, metaphysics, and similar genres.

Her phone buzzed
briefly three times. She leaned over the side of her bed to grab her cell that
was lying on the movable trey table. Someone had texted her.

I’m in the
Social Sciences building, Room 334. See you around 3:00? Anish.

Of course, room
334 again. She texted him back, surprised by her own lack of surprise that
Anish had somehow managed to get ahold of her number.

You’re a
resourceful man. Yeah, see you then.

She closed the
texting app and opened her browser to her favorite search engine.  

It’s now or
never
,
she thought to herself for a second time. Last night was intense. As far back
as she could remember there had always been spans of time she couldn’t recall.
She and her mother called them her mini blackouts. But several hours? The minis
had never lasted more than a minute or two. And what was with the whole
‘covered in blood’ thing? That was where she drew the line. The blackouts, the
weird lethargy in her brain followed by weird occurrences, like a light bulb
burning out, pictures falling off walls, things like that. Everything seemed to
be escalating toward something big, something significant. Jena knew she had to
figure out what was going on because it was likely that she would not survive
any further advancement in this power.