I’ve completed two more resurrections. I’ve got the truck, and I got me a fake driver’s license, one that’s good enough to fool all but the most fastidious of cops. There’s so much cash stuffed inside my mattress it blows my mind, like why the hell didn’t I do this sooner? Guess I just needed somebody besides myself to save.
It’s time to get Cathy and leave this place behind. I haven’t heard anything about gods or weird deaths from Hindley, but Halloween is in a couple days, which means the whole Coosaw clan is going to descend on the Grange, and that’s a paranormal shitstorm I don’t want to deal with, besides the fact that more people in the house means more chances of my stash of bills being discovered.
Cathy goes to church with her dad every Sunday, so that’s where I’m going this morning. I’ll catch her either going in or coming out, and we’ll leave. We’ll drive to her house, grab a few of her things, and run.
I text her again before I leave, and I keep it generic, in case her dad sees it.Might stop by church.
No response. Not that I was expecting one.
I’m gonna talk to her today, no matter what. If I don’t find her at church, I’m going to her house, the store—hell, I’ll scour the forest to find her. I’m not giving up unless I hear straight from her mouth that she doesn’t want to leave with me.
Hindley’s sleeping off an ass-ton of whiskey in his room, so he doesn’t notice me carrying a couple bags out the back door and through the trees to my truck. I head inside one more time to check on our Sleeping Beauty in the spare room. Not sure what Hindley’s gonna do with him once the Coosaw cousins show up wanting beds and entertainment. They’re gonna have all kinds of twisted fun with our comatose buddy.
If I could take Ian with me, I would. But I gotta put me and Cathy first, and there’s no way we could lug around some supernatural coma patient. Besides, something about the guy still weirds me out.
“I’m leaving,” I tell Ian quietly. “Just wanted to say I’m sorry you’re like this. Maybe it’s better this way. I got the feeling you weren’t a great person. I mean you look decent, but inside…nope. Your soul, man, it’s messed up. So yeah…this is probably best for everyone. Maybe you’ll pass on quietly one night, if the Coosaw Lockwoods don’t kill you first. Or maybe you’ll stay like this forever. Who’s to say? Anyway, I’m gone, and I’m taking Cathy with me. Good luck.”
A muscle in his face twitches.
Frowning, I lean over him. “Hey.”
He doesn’t respond. His eyes don’t move beneath his eyelids, and his breathing remains steady.
If he’s waking up, I need to get out of here before he makes any noise. My escape window narrows the longer I hang around here.
I hurry downstairs and out of the house, closing the back door quietly behind me. Then I hop into my truck and check my phone again.
Nothing from Cathy.
The fear that’s been dogging me since I last saw her nags at the back of my mind. I’ve looked for her on socials, but if she had any accounts, they’re gone. I haven’t set eyes on her in days. What if her dad hurt her? What if the church folks at Wicklow hurt her, despite what that pastor said?
I don’t care if she really is ghosting me or not; if anyone has hurt her—if they’ve so much as touched her or scared her, even a little—I’m going to lose my fucking shit. She doesn’t have to be with me, but she deserves to be free.
There’s another possibility, of course. She could be wandering around the woods on some crying jag, deep in one of her banshee episodes. Maybe she’s had more episodes than usual lately, and that’s why she hasn’t been in touch. Or…god, what if she had an episode and fell in a hole, broke her leg or something, and she’s lying out in the woods waiting for me to come find her? What if she wandered onto the road and got hit by a truck? What if…
The bottom drops out of my world for a second, and my brain screams,What if she died?right before I remember the tattoo that links me to her.
If she’s dead, I’d know it. But I can’t bear to think of her needing me when I’m not there.
Unless my first theory was right and she’s done with me. Can’t bear to think on that too long either.
I’m driving dangerously fast. I need to slow down. Don’t wannatest how genuine my driver’s license looks just yet. I got me a Social Security number now, too, all linked up to the license. The guy I bought the identity package from said the SSN was legit, that everything was “clean,” so I’d be good to go, whatever that means. He better have been right. I sure paid him enough.
There’s a mist hanging over the grass this morning. I pull off the road just before I get to the church and walk through the fog until I’m right at the edge of the trees bordering the church’s land. I can see the parking lot pretty clearly, and the entrance to the church. Everything is gray and wet and dripping, and the people entering the church fit the mood ’cause they’re all dressed in black.
There’s a reddish car pulling up, the dull color of drying blood. It parks, and Cathy’s Aunt Nellie gets out.
A couple seconds later, Cathy climbs out of the passenger side.
She’s wearing a black dress, long sleeved, high necked. Her brown hair has been combed flat against her skull and woven into a long, tight braid. Not a stray curl. I can only see the side of her face from here, but she looks calm and content. Like this church service is where she wants to be.
Holding a Bible to her chest, she walks sedately at Aunt Nellie’s side. She mounts the steps just as Edgar fucking Linton comes through the open double doors. He pauses. Takes her hand in his. Smiles with all his stupid teeth, leans close, and speaks in her ear. She nods and then follows Aunt Nellie into the church.
My hand shoots out and grasps the slender trunk of a sapling near me. I clutch the tree savagely, my chest heaving.
The Cathy I know is wild, mischievous, hungry for sex and adventure. But in the two weeks since we last spoke, she has changed. They’ve turned her into one of them.
Here I was, like an idiot, working my ass off, draining myself tothe dregs, struggling to make enough money so we could run away together—and all the time shewasghosting me on purpose. She was making her choice, and she chosethem. Him.
