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“I know. I worried that it might be overwhelming. But you deserve to know the truth. No matter what.”
No matter what. Don’t look away.
An unaddressed envelope sticks up from the folder, and I reach for it and palpate whatever’s inside. The back of the envelope is sealed when I flip it over, so I tear it open and reach inside for the small object. A tiny flash drive. Turning it over in my hands, I try to imagine what it could contain. Giving a shake of the envelope produces a business card that lands in the palm of my open hand.
Goldstein and Associates, with an address in Chicago.
The scale image tells me it’s a law firm. On the back is a phone number, written in hasty scribbles.
Detective Lozano.
As a general rule, my father didn’t seem to trust the police, so I can’t help wondering why he’d have the phone number for a detective.
Other objects lying about the desk are books--old, leather-bound books, and I nab the first from the stack. Voodoo, Palo Mayombe, and Dark Magic. The second book on the stack is one about satanic rituals. Along with the third. Beside those is an object made of broken twigs tied together with twine, in the shape of an animal head. A ram, or something, with a triangle face and horns. I lift a folder from beside the books to find sketches inside. More detailed images of what the object must be, and I’m convinced it’s a ram, or a goat, with pointed horns. It’s when I flip to a sketch of that long horned skull as a mask on a face that I drop the folder.
“The Goatman,” I mutter beneath my breath.
My father slips the key over my head, and grips my shoulders, fingers so tight it hurts a little, as he kisses my forehead. “I’m just gonna check things out, okay?”
“Daddy, I’m scared. Why can’t we just stay here?”
“We have no food, and we’re running low on water. I can’t get a signal on my cellphone in this room.”
“But I don’t want to leave.”
“It’s gonna be okay. He points toward one of the monitors. “You can watch me on those cameras, okay?” At my nod, he goes on. “When you hear three knocks at the door, I want you to unlock it, and we’ll leave together. Three knocks, okay? Knock, knock, knock.”
“You’ll come with me?”
“Yes. But if something happens, I want you to run. Run to Mr. Guidry’s as fast as you can. Tell him to take you to Russ James. 1224 Regnier. Man’s name is Russ James, do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Now, wait here for my signal. Three knocks.”
“Knock, knock, knock,” I whisper, as the scene fades back to the quiet chamber and the subtle flicker of my lantern. Knock, knock, knock.
Three, two, one.
A countdown.
One that’s always snapped me out of my head. Self-hypnotically, almost.
It was the signal my father told me that night. Only it never came.
Why?
“Why didn’t you knock on the door?” I whisper.
Black curling tendrils seep into my thoughts, darkening the edges.
Screwing my eyes shut brings to mind a blanched, white skull with horns, worn as a mask, by a man wearing all black. I know him as the Goatman.
Why?
“Minou, minou, where are you?”
A shuddered breath escapes me, and I open my eyes to sever the visual. “My mother …” A sense of urgency beats through me. “Tell me who she was. Tell me her full name.” But twisting around shows nothing but the emptiness where my father stood only moments ago. As if he’s disappeared. As if he was never there to begin with.
