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She dressed quickly and quietly, the words in her dreamland repeating in her head. The words the woman had said that last night at the ranch.
Omens and witchcraft.
The woman had looked wild—blonde hair and blood everywhere. And in some deep part of herself, Valerie felt reverence for the woman. So young. So full of power and purpose. She had set forth the events of the night—the death of the family—Markus, and his children. His inbred daughters. His vile sons. She’d lived with them, mingled with monsters. And what did that make her? She wondered. What kind of monster would leave that girl—whoever she was—alone in that cave with the Deacon?
She threw on her coat, rushing out of the front door. She would confront the Deacon. Demand he take her down to the cave again. She wanted to see in the light of the early morning what he had shown her there.
When she sat behind the wheel of her car, she closed her eyes, repeating the words. They sounded like something Nicholas would read in his horror books. Tales of fangs, and small towns, all the morbidity of a novelist bringing forth images of pain. She wondered if Nicholas would become a writer one day. Let the world see his talent. She’d only seen scraps, but she knew he had it. What was the point of trauma if you couldn’t flay it alive for the page?
Valerie did not have that talent. And she envied him the pen, however small.
She thought she saw movement in the trailer, and she stopped mumbling and watched the window. Then, after a moment, she cursed, put the car into reverse, and drove out of the trailer park down the street. Slowly she wove through town, to the outer limits, to Steele Bluff road. The trees looked menacing as her headlights illumined their dark, spindly branches and fallen leaves. They were sleeping, wasting away until the spring. The waking sun shone through the dark branches, reaching for her.
She wanted to see spring there, a fresh rebirth. But she feared she could not do that. The Deacon had ruined the romantic image she had created for him in her mind.
Godly man.
Ghastly man.
Ghoul.
They never failed to let her down, just as her own hands and dark thoughts often did.
She parked next to the lookout, killing the lights.
She sat there for ten minutes, hands on the wheel, then her lap, and finally, covering her face. Tears came in waves until finally she composed herself and reached for the door handle. She gasped when she looked at the long driveway that led to the Deacon’s home.
He was waiting on his front steps, watching her.
Naked, glasses off, white eyes hypnotizing her.
She shut the car door and walked to him.
TWENTY-SEVEN
There was no grace period, no reprieve from the worry.
When I walked into school after sleeping in late the next morning, it was clear nothing would ever be the same.
I pulled my backpack higher on my shoulder as my eyes canvassed the scene. Students were sitting on the hallway floor, blocking the lockers and some entrances to classrooms. I could hear crying, soft words, and an argument down the hall as I walked toward my locker in a trance. Every person I made eye contact with had red eyes and tears streaking down their face, so I walked faster, rounded the corner. When I looked at my locker, I saw Kyrie holding Nicole. Jessica stood a few feet behind them, a furious look on her face, but eyes still red.
I rushed forward, reaching for Kyrie. Her eyes opened wide when she saw me. “Nicholas where have you been all morning?” she cried, moving away from Nicole, wrapping her arms around me. I stiffened in her embrace but tried to endure it.
“What happened?” I asked, but maybe I already knew.
“They found part of her,” she cried out.
Jessica stepped closer, jerking her chin at me. I pulled away from Kyrie, and she grabbed Nicole again as I moved to the side, following Jessica to my locker. She was blunt. “They found Amber’s head.”
My heart stopped. “Her … her head? Just—”
“Just her head. With some necklace in her mouth,” she whispered.
“Where?”
“Ten miles out of town, toward the Grave.”
“The what? Who’s grave?” I ran my hand through my hair, closing me eyes. Images from my dreams flared through my head. “Who’s grave?”
