Touched by Darkness (40 page)

To his delight,
Farscape
was on the Sci-Fi channel,

and he settled in bed to watch it. Sleepy now, he

was nodding off when the blinds at his window

started rattling. Startled, he sat up and looked at the

window. The blinds banged back and forth like

there was a strong breeze coming in. Only the

window was closed.

His senses tingled, and he felt the crawl of a

foreign energy along his skin. His heart started

racing. It took a moment for him to remember to

raise his shields. A wall photo of him and Mom

tilted sideways, static blared from the TV, and

items skittered along the dresser. The handle of the

door to the hallway began turning back and forth.

Afraid to try to make it through the door, Alex

huddled under the covers. He knew on a logical

level that it was probably just the ghost trying to

talk to him; on a gut level, he was scared stiff.

"W-w-what do you want?" he whispered,

scrunching his eyes closed. He knew from what

Luke had showed him that the ghost was leaving

wavering energy trails, which experienced

Sentinels would be able to see in their minds. But

he couldn't see anything. He pushed his shields up

further, tried to listen, like Luke had told him to.

He heard a high-pitched whisper, barely audible

over the TV static.
"Help... my... say... Say... no.

Help... my... My!"

"Help you what?" Alex asked, afraid to look.

"Stop! My! Say...no... No!"

He tried to make out more words, but he couldn't

figure out the strange hissing sounds. The energies

around him escalated. There was a crash, and his

eyes flew open. His new otter mug was on the floor

in a bunch of pieces. The picture of him and Mom

rocketed to the floor. The blinds were pounding

against the window now. All kinds of stuff went

flying through the air, and the hissing became more

of a wail, like wind in a storm. Only it was inside

the room.
"My. . myyyyyy!"

He knew Grandma and Grandpa wouldn't come to

his rescue. They couldn't hear anything because

Grandma slept with some sort of sleep machine and

a mask over her face, and Grandpa snored real

loud.

The pillow next to Alex levitated and rotated,

spinning faster and faster. Utterly terrified, he

leaped out of bed and lunged to the door, flinging it

open. He ran down the hall, stopped outside his

grandparents' closed bedroom door.

A noise had him looking back toward his bedroom.

He could almost see the flow of energy coming

down the hallway; he heard popping sounds as

pictures on the walls began spinning. Then the

hissing.
"Myyyyyyy!!!"

It was coming straight at him. He turned and ran.

He fumbled with the front door bolt, his heart

pounding furiously. At any second, he expected to

feel fiery claws grabbing him. Then he was out,

racing across the cold grass, gasping for breath. He

looked behind him, fearful that something might be

after him. But he saw only the dim glow from the

lamp Grandma kept on in the family room,

illuminating the open doorway.

He leaped onto Luke's porch, pounded on the door.

He hit the doorbell three or four times for good

measure, heard it chiming inside the house. "Luke!"

he yelled. "Luke, it's me, Alex!"

Dancing back and forth on his icy feet, he looked

back at his grandparents' house. So far, so good, but

he sure didn't feel safe. It seemed like an eternity

before the porch light went on and the door swung

open. Luke stood there in nothing but a pair of

jeans. His long hair was messed up and he looked

kinda sleepy.

"Alex! What the hell's going on?"

"The ghost! It's back and it's
really
upset!"

#

It took Sara Thornton four tries to get her key into

the lock. Of course, it didn't help that the porch

light was broken—another one of David's

uncompleted projects—and that the door seemed to

be moving. On the road, Beth and Mary leaned out

the car windows and hollered comments.

"Hey, Sara, locked out of your own house?"

"Shut up!" she yelled back. "I just can't find the

keyhole."

"It's supposed to be the man who keeps missing the

hole." Both of them dissolved into laughter over

Beth's remark.

"Go get screwed," Sara said, but she was feeling

too good to really care about their comments. She

finally shoved the key home, fumbled the lock and

door open, and swept grandly into the house. Beth

honked the horn twice behind her, then the car

screeched away.

Sara stumbled and almost fell, cursing. Who had

left the rug edge flipped up again? And who was

that asleep on the couch? Oh, yeah. It was Luz.

Couldn't stay awake, the stupid woman. And it was

only. . Sara squinted at her inexpensive gold-toned

Timex—a gift from cheapskate David—but her

vision blurred. Well, it was after midnight— she

knew that much.

"Sara? Are you all right?" Luz sat up and swung

her legs off the couch.

"You fell asleep," Sara said accusingly. "You're

supposed to be watching my kids."

Luz's dark eyes narrowed. "I did watch them. And I

fixed them their dinner, made sure they got their

baths, and put them to bed—after I washed their

sheets. I even cleaned your bathroom and scrubbed

your kitchen floor. They were both filthy." She

stood and began folding the blanket she'd been

using.

"I guess I should be grateful." But all Sara felt was

angry, her alcohol-induced euphoria starting to

fade. How dare Luz insinuate she wasn't a good

housekeeper?

Unable to concentrate on much of anything, she

decided to let the insult pass. "How were the kids?"

There. She sounded perfectly normal.

"They were fine." Luz stared at her. "They are good

children."

When they weren't driving Sara crazy. Swaying,

she pressed a hand against the front door.

Luz tossed the folded blanket on the couch. "You

are drunk. Again."

Another insult. "I deserve a drink now and then."

Sara sauntered over to the slat-back rocking chair

and tossed her purse at it. She missed, and the purse

slid to the floor.

"I knew you would come home in this condition.

Like old times, eh?"

The bitch.
But Sara forced herself to smile. She

needed Luz, who was one of the few people willing

to come to the poorest part of Zorro, and to put up

with Sara's kids. Without Luz, Sara would never be

able to escape her miserable life.

"Oh, yeah, like always," she muttered, staggering

over to pick up her purse. She got so dizzy, she

almost fell, but she used the arm of the rocker to

heave herself back up. She dug around in her purse,

pulled out two crumpled twenties—which her

mother had sent her to buy clothes for the kids—

and held them out to Luz. "Here."

"One is enough." Luz shoved the other twenty back

into Sara's shaking hand. "Use the rest to buy
los

niños
something more to eat than peanut butter and

macaroni."

One of these days, Sara wouldn't need Luz. Then

she could blow off the bitch. "Sure," she muttered.

"Thank you, and all that stuff. Good-bye."

Luz's eyes glittered for a minute, and then she

smiled. That smile chilled Sara to the bone.
"Buena

noche,
Sara." She picked up her coat and purse

from the end of the couch and sauntered to the

door. She looked back over her shoulder, her eyes

still gleaming. "May your dreams be... sweet"

"Good riddance," Sara muttered as the door closed

behind her. She started for her bedroom, but the

floor was uneven, and she couldn't seem to keep

her balance. Besides, the couch was so much closer

than her bed. It had a pillow and a blanket, except

Luz had folded the blanket. Now why the hell had

she done that?

Sara made it to the couch, sank down with a groan.

She dropped her purse again, kicked off her shoes,

giggling as they hurtled off into the darkness

edging the dimly lit room, and fell back on the

couch. She managed to get her head on the pillow,

grabbed the square of blanket and plopped it, still

folded, over her middle.

And passed out cold, oblivious to the edge of

darkness creeping over her.

On Sunday morning, Kara and Damien sat at the

breakfast table, lingering over a second cup of

coffee while he worked on his laptop. She was

reading the semiweekly Zorro paper, and she

couldn't help herself—she turned to Matt's obituary.

"He was so young," she murmured as she read it,

her heart going out to Matt's father, Glen.

Damien looked up. "Who are you talking about?"

"Matt Brown." Kara folded the paper. "Do you

think there will be another murder soon?"

"Absolutely." His eyes turned arctic. "The Belian is

definitely escalating, and enjoying the kills way too

much. We won't have to wait long. We'll take the

scanner with us today."

Nowhere to run from the darkness,
she thought,

carrying her mug to the sink and dumping her

unfinished coffee. "I'm ready when you are."

They began driving by the homes of the women on

their list of suspects. They parked a discreet

distance away and walked back, getting as close as

they could without drawing attention. Damien did

psychic readings around each residence. He asked

Kara to link with his third eye to enhance the

energies, just as they had with the ghost.

"I didn't know a Sentinel could use a conductor like

this," she commented as they walked through the

wooded area behind Katie Woodward's house.

Richard had certainly never done it, but then he'd

also never taken her to a Belian crime scene.

"Not many do. They either haven't realized it can

be done, or they want to spare their conductors the

physical and mental drain, to reserve their energies

for actual conductions." Damien shot Kara an

apologetic look. "I'm sorry to use you like this,

because I know it's draining. You'll be tired later."

She already was, but how could she complain,

when three people had already lost their lives? "I'll

be fine. Are you picking up anything?"

"Nothing of note. Who's next on the list?"

"Mary Roberts," she said as they walked back to

the car. She looked up at the overcast sky. It was a

dreary day, cool and damp and gray. An ominous

presence seemed to drift in the chilled air, or maybe

it was just a reflection of her macabre mood. If the

grim set of his face was any indication, Damien felt

the same.

They got in the car and he started it. Instantly, the

police scanner, which was plugged into the car

power outlet, hissed to life with static and voices.

He turned up the volume and they heard the

dispatcher say: "Adam Six, code three."

"Adam Six, code three, go ahead."

"We have a DB at 1021 River Road, juvenile,

possible homicide."

"Copy. I'm headed that way."

"What exactly did they just say?" Kara asked,

although she'd picked up the alarming words

'
juvenile
'
and '
homicide
'.

"They have a body, and it might be a minor. Do you

recognize the address?" Grimly, Damien swung the

car around with a screech and floored it toward

River Road.

"Not off the top of my head. Oh, not a child."

Sickness and the presence of evil seeped through

Kara.

Damien let the scanner run through the channels,

and they heard more jargon: Blanco County

Sheriffs also being dispatched, along with an

ambulance and other emergency vehicles. It was

like a replay of Matt Brown's murder. The actual

scene was similar, too, with two police cruisers,

Chief Greer's white pickup truck, and a jumble of

onlookers filling the road.

When Kara saw which house it was, she didn't wait

for Damien. She leaped out and raced toward the

people, her heart hammering. She heard the

screaming before she saw the woman.