Текст книги "Hemlock Veils"

Автор книги: Jennie Davenport

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“That was Road Thirty-Two,” Eustace explained. “You keep taking that and eventually, after a few curves and a couple turns, you’d be to Hemlock.”

“And this forest—the beast’s territory—is safer than the road?”

“Just quicker.” Their pace naturally picked up as the downhill slope steepened, but eventually the ground leveled out. The vegetation became mossier—more like the rainforest she always imagined Salmon-Huckleberry Wilderness looking like, which probably wasn’t far. She would have to save her admiration for tomorrow, however, when sunlight offered her clear sight.

“You see, I have an obligation to stand up to it,” Eustace said, continuing his story. “When it took Miss Holly, no one besides me got a good look. The tavern’s light shed on him just so, just enough for me to make eye contact. It stared me down, with those devil eyes, and something passed between us. It knows who I am, and knows I’ll never stop. And in a way I can’t explain, it seemed to accept it. I swear I saw the thing nod right before it leapt back into the trees, Miss Holly screaming in its arms.”

Elizabeth allowed her imagination to conjure the images. With her chest close to Eustace’s back, the wetness in the atmosphere began numbing her extremities.

“You know, Beth, for a disbeliever, you’re awfully interested.”

She smiled. “For knowing I’m a disbeliever, you’re awfully open to sharing.”

“Well, you seem all right to me. Besides, like I said…”

“I’ll know soon enough.”

He chuckled. “We only have about a quarter of a mile to go.”

“Tell me why Hemlock Veils is Oregon’s best kept secret.”

“One of Oregon’s best kept secrets is more accurate. I’d say our monster is the best.”

“But you seemed to think I should have heard of him.”

“And people around here have. But when folks think a story’s a mere story, their disbelief masks its reality, doesn’t it? That makes it the best kept secret. No one really believes the beast of Hemlock exists. People sense evil here and have come in search of it, sure, but they either come up disappointed or run away from here scared shitless. And in that case, who’s going to believe them?”

She took in the calming sound of boots in the mud and rain in the treetops. The beam of his light guided them over a fallen mossy trunk, and she stepped high. “Have you lived in Hemlock Veils your whole life?”

“Just about. Perfect little place, really: population only two-fifty.”

Though she nodded, the concept was far from her. She’d never lived anywhere but Los Angeles. Hemlock Veils sounded remote and isolated…and just the kind of place she was looking for. If it really existed. She wondered what she would really find at the end of that mile.

That eerie sensation pricked the back of Elizabeth’s neck again, and she stopped; something watched them. Only this time it was closer, blunter. And at the same time Eustace straightened, her heart dropped. Her eyes followed his. With a rigid stance, he stared at nothing she could see: trees, darkness, and more trees.

At once the air seemed colder.

“You feel that too, don’t you, Beth?” he whispered. He hadn’t turned to her.

Tree branches shook and shifted, first ahead then to their right, startling her into Eustace. They rustled above, then below; behind them and to the left, and again to the right. It darted here and there with a speed unlike any animal she knew, and Eustace aimed the double barrel of his shotgun in every direction, even up high. It was everywhere, this thing she couldn’t see. Either more than one hunted them, or it was just as Eustace said: not from this world

Whatever it was, it circled them.

And Eustace’s words didn’t seem so crazy anymore.

Elizabeth breathed shallowly, her hands in fists as she twisted in every direction, trying to pinpoint the movement that seemed to come from everywhere all at once. Then, in the wide beam of Eustace’s light, it darted past. A flicker of reflective eyes, a mass of blackness: an image so fleeting she wasn’t sure it was real.

A low grumble from behind made her turn with a jerk, but Eustace’s light had fallen around his neck, as both his hands now clasped the shotgun. Only heavy breath and a bass growl gave the animal away.

“Still skeptical?” Eustace said, his voice no longer a whisper.

“Your light,” she managed with an unsteady heart. In a movement quick and somewhat panicked, Eustace removed the leather strap of his spotlight from around his neck and handed it to her, returning both his hands to the shotgun.

She pointed the spotlight ahead and the gasp that escaped her chest didn’t sound like her own. Light bathed its large, hairy frame, reflecting off its eyes. Even if she had allowed herself to believe Eustace’s words, she would never have imagined a being so huge. Not even his drawing did the monster justice. And a monster it definitely was.

It stood erect, displaying the large, muscular physique of its upper body, before dropping to all fours and baring its teeth. Hundreds of them, it seemed: long, razor-sharp, and dripping. Just like the drawing, all of them appeared stuffed into its large mouth for one purpose: to shred.

A coat of short, dark fur covered its body, but a spiky ridge of longer black fur began at its snout, trailing over its head and down its spine, where it joined its long but bushy tail. The tips of its ears were so sharp they would appear as weapons themselves if they weren’t hung with a limp curve. And those claws: they could do just as much damage as those teeth, with their extended, sharp edges, decorating the largest paws she’d ever seen.

But the more she stared, the less they looked like paws. They were neither paws nor hands, but somehow a combination of both. Whatever this thing was, it appeared to be a mix of everything deadly. With those long ears, she imagined spectacular hearing, and with its long, wolf-like snout, a keen sense of smell. Eustace was right: it probably had her scent as soon as she’d entered the forest.

Its jowls opened wider, exposing more deranged teeth. With a monstrous huff, a cloud of breath and saliva sprayed the air, making her flinch.

But she couldn’t look away.

Slowly, deliberately, it began to approach, its frame roped with muscle. Through its thin, wet fur they rippled with its movement, and even while on all fours, it still towered above her. She and Eustace didn’t stand a chance. Within a matter of seconds, it could crush every bone in her body.

“Why you still here, Beth?” Eustace asked, stepping in front of her and pointing a shaky shotgun at the beast. It stared past Eustace and right at Elizabeth, its eyes still reflecting the light.

“I’m not leaving you.” They retreated, her with the light and Eustace with the gun.

“I’ll fare just fine on my own. Always do, don’t I, you son-of-a-bitch?” he said at the beast, who closed in on them. “All I need is one shot…”

The monster roared with deafening fierceness, its jaw so wide it appeared dislocated. Elizabeth started back; the anger seemed to be directed at her. “Eustace…”

“When I shoot, you run. You hear me?”

Before she could argue, a brilliant blast exploded from his shotgun, but the place before them was now empty. The beast materialized at Eustace’s side, its jowls ripping the shotgun from Eustace’s hands and tossing it to the trees. It knocked Eustace to his back, hovering over him.

Adrenaline coursed through Elizabeth’s limbs in Eustace’s defense, and she threw a rock at the monster. It hit its shoulder and bounced to the forest floor; she may as well have been throwing a grain of sand. The beast growled that same grumble that could almost be mistaken for an idling motorbike, and its eyes said, You’re next. With its teeth bared in her direction and its massive form towering above a feeble-looking Eustace Bathgate, a tremor rippled down its spiky spine.

“I’m the trespasser here,” she said as though it could understand, forcing her voice brave and attempting to stand tall.

“What are you doing?” Eustace whispered. He sounded wounded, out of breath.

“Let him go. You want someone, take me.” She couldn’t believe her words, especially how easily they’d come. But her fear hadn’t come from dying; only from seeing something she didn’t understand, something truly horrendous. The truth was she hadn’t been afraid of death in years—not with her brother’s killer’s gun to her chest, and not with a hideous monster about to rip her to shreds. What was there to fear when she had nothing left to leave behind?

Her realization set her bravery on fire, allowing her to take a single step closer.

The monster rippled with another tremor, and steam puffed from its nostrils, framing its muzzle. Rain droplets cascaded down its fur and Elizabeth’s own hair dripped. It stared her down, contemplating her offer. Perhaps it could understand her after all.

“Get the hell out of here, Beth!” Eustace shouted. Before she could argue, the monster lurched for her, making her stagger back and trip over a slick log. Things went black when her back slammed to the ground, and for a disorienting moment she thought the pain in her head had done it. But her senses were still alive, and her awareness still present. Just when she realized she’d dropped the spotlight, rain no longer pinged her face.

Its mouth hovered directly above, its breath warming her skin. With a deep swallow and a shaky hand, her fingers trailed through wet leaves until she found the switch on the spotlight.

It illuminated the monster’s face, which was even closer than expected, and her heart nearly stopped. It growled, a deep rolling in its throat, and offered an intimate view of its tongue and ridged pallet through strings of saliva that decorated many deadly teeth. Teeth that would devour her at any moment.

Closing its mouth, it sniffed her hair, a low vibration humming in the back of its throat. She closed her eyes, her heart sinking in preparation. It smelled of musk and moisture, as the whole forest around her smelled. Another sound from its throat, though not a growl, demanded her attention. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was—something akin to a hiss.

In the brief moment she met the animal’s eyes, something changed. Strange, how out-of-place these eyes were, how unlike the rest of its features. True they were colossal and mysterious, but nothing close to frightening. They seemed curious of her, and their color was a deep, rich brown ringed by golden honey. Luminous as large glass marbles, they reflected the light like an animal’s, but they almost seemed human. These eyes knew something, held secrets captive.

She rose to her elbows but the beast moved closer, making her crawl backwards like a crab until a tree blocked her from going any farther. She held its eyes, held her bravery. A sixth sense tugged at her, telling her this massive and terrifying creature wouldn’t kill her. “What…are you?” she breathed.

Another rumble escaped its throat, and just as it backed away, allowing her life, a burst of fire shot from her left. The blast from Eustace’s shotgun still echoed through the trees, even as the beast was suddenly nowhere to be found. It howled from a distance away, probably shot through.

“Come on,” Eustace said, pulling her to her feet. “Now we’ve really pissed it off.” They ran, Eustace pulling her along as though he was younger than she.

And all she could wonder as she repeatedly looked behind them was whether the monster would survive the unfair gunshot.

Chapter 3

Regina Washington—with a narrowed, cautious stare—poured Brian Dane another cup of steaming coffee, then returned her hand to her ample hip. She may not be able to refuse service here, but that didn’t mean she didn’t wish it. And oh, how she wished it for this sandy-haired ladies’ man. “Is that good for now?” she asked.

“It’s always good when it comes from you,” Brian replied.

She glared. Apparently women were going for the scruffy look these days. She’d even seen women her own age, thirty years his elder, be fooled by it. It was something she would never understand.

While filling his mug with creamer, he winked his famous wink. It wasn’t enough creamer, though, since no amount would better this coffee. The Hemlock Diner was the only place serving coffee around here, but it was still a wonder folks came in to drink it. Oregonians may need their coffee just the same as they needed air, but Regina didn’t think this black, gritty stuff could really be considered coffee. She’d tried to better it, but never had enough time or money. And it didn’t matter anyway, because people still ordered it.

Aside from being a coffee-crazed Oregonian, Brian ordered it because of Nicole. Usually, he had only two things on his mind: women and cars. He wasn’t just interested in the coffee; he was interested in getting glimpses of Nicole Eastwood from every angle. Nicole was Regina’s best waitress and, rumor had it, before she’d come to Hemlock Veils she’d tried to make it in acting. Regina had even heard she’d changed her last name to sound more like a movie star.

Regardless of her objection to Brian’s foul mind, Regina’s job was to keep the customers coming, even at fifteen minutes to midnight—near closing time. If it was up to her, the Hemlock Diner would close at ten p.m., but when someone like Mr. Henry Clayton owns the place, you do as he says. Mr. Clayton owned nearly every place in Hemlock Veils, even though he stayed out of most. Never had she seen him out and about with the rest of the folks in this close-knit town, and tonight was no different. He was probably in that mansion of his, sleeping in a big bed made of silk.

Mr. Clayton did make his appearance in the diner every morning, though, and only in the morning. Regina looked over Brian’s grease-ball hair and eyed Mr. Clayton’s corner booth now, darkened, empty, and polished for sunrise. It stayed vacant for him all the time, as though he’d walk through that midnight door and join the rest of them in talk of town gossip.

But that would never happen. It would be only in the morning, his suit darkened by the shadows rising sunlight created as he sat in that booth and sipped on Regina’s sorry excuse for a cup of coffee while keeping his nose in the Portland Newspaper. He might fool other folks, but Regina knew he paid the paper no mind. He came to keep an ear out. Whether to make sure his shoddy diner was running the way he saw fit or to keep up on Hemlock Veils residents, she didn’t know.

Because Mr. Clayton never said a word. Regina guessed, from doing the math, he had to be in his forties by now, though that just didn’t seem right. He didn’t look a day older than he had ten years ago, when he’d first shown up in town. And what a looker he was—fifty times more so than the young and naïve Brian Dane. Mr. Clayton was the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome. He was huge really, reminding Regina of one of the gigantic trees in this forest. But that man had classic charm: somehow rugged and suave at the same time, and always dressed in fancy suits. And though Mr. Clayton had come to this town young, his soul was older than most—even older than Eustace Bathgate, who’d been here longest. Everyone knew Mr. Clayton was in charge, whether due to his arrogance or the way one didn’t speak to him unless spoken to.

At this moment, listening to Brian going on and on, Regina wished she could command that kind of respect. Or, in Mr. Clayton’s case, fear.

Fear aside though, some folks came to the diner in the early hours just to satisfy their curiosity about the richest man in Hemlock. But as soon as his traditional half-hour passed, he was off to Portland to run a business no one in town knew a lick about. Then he’d come back by nightfall and disappear into his mansion, with Arne Randolph as his only companion. Arne was Mr. Clayton’s driver, butler, and personal assistant all wrapped into one. He’d lived here as long as Regina could remember, since she’d moved here with her mama forty years ago. Only then, the mansion—and even Arne Randolph—had belonged to Mr. Clayton’s father, Mr. Henry Clayton Senior. When Regina was just a girl, she’d seen the older Mr. Clayton only a few times; it seemed being a recluse was a trait passed from father to son.

Hell, no one even knew Henry Sr. had had a son until he’d passed away ten years ago and Henry Jr. came to town, taking over everything his father had owned. It was strange the way they owned the town but had no part in it. Mr. Clayton let things run the way the residents wanted them run, even let Sheriff Taggart take the reins. Yet still, the unspoken air about this place said they all answered to Mr. Clayton.

Those invisible reins took hold of Regina especially, since one of the only things he insisted on in this town was keeping the Hemlock Diner open until midnight. Why, she didn’t know. He’d never been in that late himself. Maybe he wanted someplace for his fellow Hemlock residents to converse, to stay out of trouble. The residents, including her, might be intimidated by Mr. Clayton, but she did get the inkling he had their best interests at heart. She would never forget the one afternoon, five years ago, when Mr. Clayton came into the empty diner. Regina had been the only one working and she’d stood there half-frozen when he entered, the bell jingling behind him.

Are you going to offer me coffee, Mrs. Washington, he had said, or do I need to make it myself?

Sorry, Mr. Clayton, she said, rushing about behind the counter. Just surprised to see you here is all. No Portland today? No one ever made small talk with Mr. Clayton, but it felt wrong not to, since it was just the two of them.

He didn’t sit at his usual table that day, either, but sat on a stool at the counter, sighing. Not today, he said. And they talked for at least five minutes. He even asked about her beloved Nathaniel, who’d passed away the year before and left her a widow. She realized on that hot afternoon that cold front or not, Mr. Clayton had some pleasantness inside him somewhere. He even thanked her for the coffee before leaving. The coffee she knew he had to hate just as much as she did.

Still, even then he’d been Mr. Clayton. Never Henry. Eustace had called him Henry a few times, getting him mixed up with his father, whom Henry Jr. looked so much like, and it had never gone over well. Mr. Clayton, he would always correct, sometimes through his teeth. Most folks steered clear of him, even when their curious eyes—the women’s especially—watched from a distance.

It was probably a good thing he didn’t come in this late, she thought while trying to tune out Brian’s crude joke. Sheriff Taggart, Deputy Holman, and Old Ray—who sat at Brian’s table—chuckled. More out of courtesy, Regina hoped. If Eustace were here, his laugh would probably barrel through this place.

As much as it pained her to admit, Regina had to hand it to Mr. Clayton. Even though she disliked keeping his diner open so late, having a place for folks to converse at this hour seemed to keep the town in a somewhat peaceful state. No one was getting into trouble or getting wasted at Old Ray’s Tavern, which closed at eleven. Or even wandering into the forbidden forest on account of some stupid dare. It was a nightly ritual for these men to sit in front of Regina and talk about the day’s events, as little as they were.

Brian’s laughter faded when his eyes zeroed in on something behind Regina, and by the glazed-over lust in those eyes, Regina guessed that something was her best waitress. But Nicole Eastwood wasn’t just Regina’s best waitress, she was the prettiest girl in town, with the help of a California-style nose job and breast implants. Which meant destructive flirting from Brian Dane. When he came around, Nicole couldn’t keep her head on straight. A customer was always getting put on the backburner or a dish clattered to the floor. Regina wasn’t naïve. She’d heard the gossip about Nicole and Brian sleeping around. It’d been that way for years: sinful escapes to Brian’s garage anytime either was bored.

Regina thought herself a devout Christian woman, and prayed for Nicole’s soul. But some women can’t be changed. Some women, like the scantily-clad Nicole Eastwood, thrive on one thing only, and that thing is the attention of a man. A man who had brought his share of outside women to town, yet would still sit, night after night, undressing Nicole with his eyes. Nicole loved every second of it, too. Sometimes—with a bit of guilt, given what the girl had been through—Regina was convinced Nicole had nothing but a head full of rocks.

Regina moved aside just a hair, obstructing his view of Nicole bending over the counter to clean the menus. Since she didn’t usually do such a task at this hour, it had to be for his eyes. Nicole’s skirt had been hiked especially high tonight, too, as well as her top, which meant t.hey all got a real good view of her tattoo—the one just above her rear Regina had heard the kids around town calling a “tramp stamp.” She wasn’t sure, but she also thought Nicole must have gotten a dye job, since her hair seemed blonder than usual.

While Taggart, Holman, and Old Ray went on about Eustace and his crazy guns, Regina glared at Brian. She couldn’t help moving a little farther to the left to impair his view even more.

“Come on, Regina,” Brian said, smooth-talking. “Don’t you always say jealousy is a devil’s trick? Just because I’m admiring Nicki’s ass doesn’t mean I can’t admire yours, too.” He lifted a brow, his blue eyes attempting to do what he did best: seduce. Regina wanted to slap him. Especially because if a woman like her—over fifty, stout and curvy, with a dark and tired complexion and afro-textured hair—ever gave him the time of day, he’d run scared.

“Jealousy ain’t got nothing to do with it, boy.”

“Then you won’t mind moving aside just a hair?” He peered around her hip then gave a slight nod in Nicole’s direction. Nicole giggled.

“I’ll have none of that going on in here, Brian. Nicole’s working. What you two do on your own time is between you and the Lord, Heaven help you, but in my place—”

“Your place?” Brian straightened, his blond whiskers getting lost in the lines of a coy smile. “Does Mr. Clayton know you call it your place?”

She rested her hands on the table, her eyes boring into his. He smelled of bad coffee, motor oil, and cologne, the last one no doubt to cover up the first two. A trustworthy mechanic was the only thing he was good for. “Mr. Clayton may own these walls, but I run it, Mr. Dane. Don’t you forget it.”

Brian ran his rough, oil-stained fingertips up her arm. “Have I ever told you I like a strong woman, Regina?” he said in a hush. The men at his table snickered. “Speaking of your place…”

Regina growled, swatting his hand, and the tighter her lips became the more Brian laughed. She waved a finger at him. “You just finish your coffee, boy, and leave us be.”

Gunfire ricocheted in the distance. All conversations came to a halt and every head perked. A muffled roar followed, one that could have been mistaken for rolling thunder. And as it always did, Regina’s stomach sank—so much she felt the need to clutch it just to keep it in place.

Sheriff Taggart shot to his feet. “Damn Bathgate!” With a hand on the firearm at his hip, he darted to the door. “How many times do I gotta tell him to stay outta those woods?”

As though everyone’s feet couldn’t move them fast enough, they followed; even Regina left the empty coffee pot on Brian’s table and raced outside. Aside from Eustace’s house, the diner was the first establishment in Hemlock Veils, the first thing anyone saw when driving in from the west on Clayton Road. It was on the southwest corner of Red Cedar Loop and Clayton Road, and more importantly, the first thing staring the forest in the face. Too many nights Regina had watched Eustace disappear into those trees, only to emerge later with no success.

It wasn’t just Sheriff Taggart, Holman, Nicole, Brian, Old Ray, and Regina who ran into the rain without a second thought. Bill and Anita Thurman’s kid, and some other teenagers, already stood under the street lamp, drenched by rain. Sheppy stood there too, his red backpack soaked through.

“You think he got the bastard this time?” Nicole asked no one in particular, clinging to Brian’s arm. Her teeth chattered.

No one replied. The seconds passed excruciatingly, and no matter their differences in that moment, the group huddled as one—all with eyes on the darkened hemlocks that concealed their town so secretively. They waited, holding onto a strand of hope that maybe, just this once, Eustace had been successful—even Sheriff Taggart, who’d ordered him not to do it.

Nicole’s acrylic fingernail shot out, aimed at the trees. “Look!” she cried, grasping Regina’s arm with her other hand. It was hard to tell from here, but someone—or something—came their way, rustling the branches. While the rest of the group tensed back in anticipation of what might crash through, Regina inched closer, shivering as rain dripped down her face. It soaked through her uniform, even to her behind.

Two figures shot through, one in a limp: Eustace, with someone else in tow. “Good Lord,” Regina said in relief, running to them.

At his side was a soaked woman, small but with eyes wider than the moon on a full night. Regina supported him from his other side.

“Inside,” Eustace ordered, out of breath and managing to pick up his pace with an impaired gait.

Everyone, huddled around him and trying to keep up, spoke at once. “What were you doing out there?” Taggart demanded.

“What’d it do to you?” Brian asked, calling over Regina’s shoulder.

Nicole, voice as shaky as ever, said, “You got it, right, Bathgate?”

They reached the diner, filing in two bodies at a time—a mass of voices and dripping figures. In the chaos, Eustace and the mysterious woman had yet to speak. Eustace leaned on the counter, holding his hand tenderly. The woman, whose breaths came and went in a shudder, stared out the window. Nearly purple lips accented her white face. “You shot him,” she said to herself.

“You’d rather I let it shred you?” Eustace rushed, and that was all it took for silence. Every eye and ear waited for an explanation. But neither of them seemed to realize the crowd was here. Eustace—breaths finally slowing and beard still dripping—stared at the woman with an unreadable, almost cautious expression. He removed his cap.

The silence made the woman turn. Her eyes snapped out of whatever trance she’d been in, for they shot to Eustace’s bloody hand. “Eustace,” she said, rushing to him. “You’re hurt.” It was a wonder how in the world she knew him. Eustace Bathgate didn’t know anyone outside of Hemlock Veils. She looked at Regina, tucking wet brown hair behind her ear with a shaky hand. “Ma’am, do you have a first-aid kit by chance?”

“It’s nothing,” Eustace said before Regina could respond. “Regina, get this one a blanket before we lose her to hypothermia.”

“I don’t exactly carry blankets around here, Eustace,” Regina said, hand on her hip.

The young woman pried Eustace’s fingers open, and he flinched. Blood covered the deep gash on his palm. “It’s not nothing,” she said, as though Eustace’s mother. “This is deep.”

“Must’ve been when it ripped the shotgun from my hand,” he said, trying not to wince.

“Ma’am,” the woman said at Regina again, while Regina still tried to grasp what they’d just said. “Some bandages and antiseptic would come in real handy right now.”

Regina stared her down, trying to get a read. If it wasn’t Eustace in need of assistance, she might tell her to get her own bandages. Something felt strange about the girl being here, as though she’d already turned everything topsy-turvy.

“Fine then,” Regina finally said, walking to the small cupboard behind the counter, the one with all the odds and ends. The first-aid kit she’d put there a couple years ago after Nicole’s incident should still be there somewhere. “You oughta go to the clinic, Eustace,” she said, still searching.

“I’m not waking Doc Ortiz just for a scrape.”

Regina found the kit and slid it across the counter. The woman rummaged through it, pulling out gauze and applicators that looked like large Q-tips.

“You trust this woman to stitch you up?”

The woman’s eyes shot to Regina only briefly. “He won’t need stitches.”

“Oh, you a doctor?”

“A nurse…kind of.” She doused an applicator tip with Betadine and began to apply it to Eustace’s hand, gently. He nearly jumped, then sighed and looked away.

“How are you a nurse…kind of?”

“Yes, I trust this woman,” Eustace said in response to Regina’s earlier question, not allowing the visitor to answer. He sent a warning glance at Regina. Something had to be said about her if Eustace liked her. “Beth here saved my life.”

There it was. Regina couldn’t stop the sensation that came over her at his simple statement. Something comforting, almost a true peace, settled inside her chest, despite her many questions. It was clear everyone else’s curiosity had piqued too, since the only sound came from the package of gauze the woman named Beth opened. Regina’s eyes flitted from Eustace to Beth.

“Saved your life?” asked Deputy Holman, unconvinced.

Eustace gave a single nod. “Everyone, this is Elizabeth Ashton.”

“Bathgate, I swear,” Taggart said, face red and mustache twitching. “If you don’t clue me in on what’s going on here…”

“Sheriff, calm down. Let’s everyone calm down. I promised her a safe place to stay tonight and she’s going to get that. She’s had a long journey, her car’s broken down on Mt. Hood Highway, and she trusted an old fool to get her here.” He paused for effect, looking to all eyes. “An old fool who just so happened to give her face time with the beast. And when I say face time, I mean literal, breathing-in-her-face time. So I think it best we show our respect.”

Nicole gasped, and without realizing it, so had Regina.

***

Violent wind rattled the motel window’s screen. Raindrops smeared across it, hindering Elizabeth’s view. She lay in one of Anita Thurman’s flannel nightshirts, awake and alert. Bill and Anita owned the motel and had asked her whether she wanted a room with an excellent view, or one that safely faced the street. Of course she’d picked the view, even after they’d tried convincing her it was a mistake. As though seeing the forest would be too traumatic in her fragile state. It had only made her want the room more.