Paranormal Realities Box Set (11 page)

“I don’t wanna buy no girl scout
cookies.”

“We aren’t selling anything,” Petra said.

“What do you want?”

“The librarian at the Georgia Historical
Society gave me your name and address," I replied. "She said you
might be able to help us.”

“That ugly crone should mind her own
business.”

I imagined a grizzled old curmudgeon of
an academic on the other side of the closed door.

“Instead she violates my privacy.” A
thump of impact from the inside against the door made us jump. “Go away.”

“Please, sir,” I said. “We need
information about the tunnel at the old hospital.”

The silence that met my words lengthened.

“Hello?” I shouted. “Are you still
there?”

“Why do you want to know about the
tunnel?” His voice was so quiet, I had to lean in to hear him.

“We want to know anything you can tell
us.”

“I didn’t say what. I said why. Why do
you want to know?” he shouted. “Never mind, I don’t have time or patience for
you. Go away.”

I heard footsteps walking off.

“Because there were monsters,” I shouted.
“We want to know because monsters came out of the tunnel.”

The sound of returning footsteps
penetrated the door before it opened. The man who stood before us didn't
resemble the crusty, dusty academic of my imaginings. This guy was a ringer for
the GI Joe Adam used to have, complete with his own semi-automatic rifle. I
moved to take a step back and noticed Petra cowering behind me.

“Monsters?” He cocked his head to the
side.

“Um,” I said, not sure of my decision to
come here. But I definitely needed help. I had to trust somebody. “Last night
my friends and I were in the tunnel and a vortex opened. Two monsters came
out.”

“What did they look like?” His face
didn't reveal any expression.

“One was big and hairy and kind of
stocky. The other was dressed for riding in the English countryside and he had
sharp teeth.”

“And what else?” His attitude somehow
told me he knew something about the monsters. Or perhaps that was just my
imagination.

Not wanting to tell him about Juliette
and Franky I said, “Nothing else.”

“Strike one. You’re out.” He turned on
his heel and walked back inside.

“Wait,” I said. “Aren’t you going to help
us?”

“Tell whoever sent you here, I’m not
playing their game.” He slammed the door in our faces.

“We’re not playing games,” Petra called
out.

After scribbling on a piece of paper, I
tore it out of the notebook and folded it.

“I’m leaving my name and telephone
number. Please help us,” I shouted and slipped the note through the crack at
the bottom of the door.

He didn’t answer and the door remained
closed, so we walked back to Petra’s Buick. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw
the curtains on the front window part before they fell into place again.

Back in the car, Petra twisted the key in
the ignition and the engine fired.

“Well! What was that?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” I felt defeated.

“What do we do now?” She backed from the
Anderson driveway.

“I have no idea. I guess we go back to
school.”

Petra pulled onto the street.

After a few minutes, she sat ramrod
strait.

“Uh oh,” she said. “Dad’s gonna have a
fit.”

“Huh?”

“There’s a police car behind me with its
lights on.”

“What did you do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, pull over,” I yelled.

“If I get a ticket, I’ll lose the car.” Petra
pouted but veered to the shoulder and came to a stop.

A uniformed officer approached on the
driver’s side, boots hitting the pavement hard. Petra pushed at the button to
lower her window.

“Can you just let me go with a warning?”
Petra asked before he’d even said a word.

“Are you Petra Walker?”

“Yes, but—”

He bent and peered in at me. “And are you
Kizzy Taylor?”

This wasn’t good. “Yes, officer.”

“You two girls need to exit the vehicle
and come with me.” He opened Petra’s door.

“You aren’t in any trouble, Kizzy.” The
detective sitting at the table opposite me in the interrogation room offered a
reassuring smile.

My eyes slid to Mom sitting next to me.
She smiled benignly too as if in agreement. Usually when adults said you
weren’t in trouble that meant you totally were in trouble…big trouble.

“Although you did skip school,” he
pointed out with a chuckle. “It’s not every truant who gets a police escort.”

“Is that why I’m here? Because I skipped
a couple of classes?” I pulled the surly teen card. “I already told you my
homeroom teacher gave me permission to leave campus to do some research for a
history paper.”

“She gave you permission to leave
yesterday.” The detective lost his fake smile.

“I thought the permission extended to
today.” I turned and said the words to Mom. “But why are we wasting time
talking about my classes. Shouldn’t you be looking for Juliette?” I made my
tone as petulant as possible while still maintaining minimum politeness. The
goal was for him to be so sick of talking to the irritating brat that he’d let
me go. “You said she’s missing didn’t you? Shouldn’t you be asking questions
about her?”

Apparently, the police had come looking
for me at school to question me about Juliette. When I wasn’t there, some
alarms had been raised that I too might be missing.

The detective’s lips formed a tense line.
“Do you know where she is?” He gulped a swig of coffee from the mug in front of
him as if he wished it were whiskey.

“No.” I answered. “Can I go now?”

The detective shook his head.

“My daughter would have told me if she
knew where her sister was,” Mom said.

“Stepsister, right?” the detective asked
Mom.

“Well, yes but…”

“Mrs. Taylor—”

“Mrs. Moreno. It’s Mrs. Moreno. I’m
remarried.”

“Mrs. Moreno I said you could be here out
of deference for what your family is going through, what with your ex-husband
about to go on trial for murder and attempted murder. But you can only stay if
you don’t speak or interrupt my questions to your daughter.”

Mom sat back in her seat with a huff.

“When was the last time you saw
Juliette?” the detective asked, turning to me.

“Last night. She was on a date with Billy
Broadrick.” I knew my face had the tendency to show my emotions. Let’s just say
I had the anti-poker face. So I needed to keep my answers truthful.

“Your mother said Juliette told her she’d
be studying with a friend.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Juliette and I
don’t really hang together.”

“How about Franky Abbott?"

“I do hang with Franky. He’s a friend.”

The detective ground his teeth in frustration.
“I meant do you know where he is?”

“Omigod. Franky is missing too?”

“Yes.” The detective’s eyes narrowed and
he leaned forward in his chair. “Billy Broadrick and Quinn O’Neil also.”

“Billy and Quinn?” My eyes widened in
surprise as I processed their disappearance. The two, in freak out mode, were
probably hiding somewhere. “Do you think they're all together?”

“Do you?”

“I doubt it,” I scoffed. “Franky hates
Billy and Quinn. They bully him quite a bit.”

“A couple of Mr. Broadrick’s friends were
picked up the night before last for trespassing at the old hospital. They said
you were there too.”

“I’m not surprised,” I said.

The detective’s eyes gleamed.

“Billy’s friends would say anything to
get me in trouble,” I continued.

The gleam left his eyes.

“Did they say Billy was there?” I asked.

“No, but—”

“Isn’t it more likely their friend was
there with them than someone they don’t like?” I interrupted the detective.

“Are you saying you weren’t there?” the
detective asked.

“Are you trying to get me to incriminate
myself for trespassing?” I wondered aloud. “Maybe I need a lawyer so I can ask
him.”

The detective’s hand gripped his pen so
tightly I thought it might break. "You are free to have an attorney, Miss
Taylor."

"I do want to help find
Juliette," I said, happy that I'd diverted his questions.

 
“Do you know anyone who would want to hurt Juliette or any of
the others?”

“Not really.”

“How about these men. Do you recognize
either of them?” The detective removed sketches from his file folder. Unfortunately,
I did recognize them. One sketch resembled the big hairy monster man and one
the aristocratic horseman.

Mom peered over my shoulder at the
sketches and quickly drew in a breath.

“They don’t look like men,” I said. “They
look like something out of a monster movie. What do they have to do with
Juliette and the others?”

“Have you ever seen them before?”

I half nodded and half shook my head. “If
I had I would remember it, don’t you think?”

“All right. You can go.” He gathered the
sketches back into the file. “If you think of anything that might help us find
Juliette or the others call me.” He handed me a card with his name and a phone
number on it.

“Please,” I said with all the urgency I
felt. “What do these two have to do with Juliette and Franky?”

The detective glanced from me to Mom. He
seemed to consider for a moment before speaking.

“Last night two vagrants were killed by
these men. We got these sketches from witness accounts. The —um
—manner of the deaths indicate the perpetrators are extremely mentally
disturbed individuals. Naturally, we are concerned about the missing teens and
whether they could be undiscovered victims.”

“Manner of deaths?” I asked.

He was silent for a moment then said,
“You’ll hear about it on the news anyway.” He stared straight into my eyes.
“The victims looked like they’d been torn apart by animals.”

* * * * *

“Where do you think you’re going, Kizzy?”
Mom asked as I put my hand on the knob of the front door of our house late that
afternoon.

“I’m going with Rom.” Actually, I had no
plans to see Rom but she wouldn’t exactly be on board with the idea that I was
going to try to convince a whacko gun-toting historian to help me find Juliette
and Franky.

“I thought you two had a fight.”

I shrugged. “You know how these things
are. We made up.”

“I’m glad but I don’t want you to go out
tonight, honey,” she said. “I can’t worry about you too.” Her eyes teared and
her face crumbled into a sob.

“Rom is going to help me look for
Juliette and Franky.” Lord where had I come up with that?

“Oh no.” She shook her head. “I don’t
want you running into those killers.”

Walking her into the living room I sat
with her on the sofa. It cut me up that she was so upset.

“Don’t worry, Mom.” I put my arm around
her shoulders and she leaned into me. “The police don’t think those weird guys
have anything to do with Juliette.”

She pulled away and blinked at me.

“If they did they’d have everybody in the
city doing some kind of grid search,” I explained.

Mom nodded. “The detective said their
primary theory is that Juliette ran off somewhere with Billy and since they're
both over sixteen..."

“See,” I said with false cheer. “They're
thinking she’ll come home any minute.”

"I don’t think the cops are getting serious
enough.” Mom's eyes welled and she sniffed. “I’ve called everyone I can think
of. I even drove around earlier but I don’t really know where she hangs out.”

 
“Rom’s got a car. We’ll hit the hangouts.” I placed a
reassuring hand on her shoulder.

Mom shook her head. “No. Those killers
are still out there.”

“We’re going to be in a car,” I said.
“Besides, have you seen Rom? He’ll protect me.”

A knock on the door startled us.

“Maybe that’s her.” Mom jumped up and ran
to the door.

She swung it open and Rom stood on the
front porch.

“Oh come in, dear. Kizzy’s in the living
room.”

Rom stepped over the threshold with a
smirky smile and walked toward me.