Raven's Peak (20 page)

“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 our 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’s 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 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.