While the Savage Sleeps (14 page)

“
Well, anything’s possible, I suppose, but if he had symptoms indicative of influenza, and I’m assuming he did …”

“
Sore throat, fever, chills?”

“
Textbook indications of the flu. If that’s what was going on, then I’d imagine that’s what he had,” the doctor said. “When people come down with the influenza virus, especially children, it’s pretty obvious. Not many other ailments appear the same, other than a cold, which, of course, is much less severe. Do we know for sure if he was running a fever?”

Cameron looked down at his notes. “Teacher said by the looks of him, he was. But he never saw the nurse. Went home early. After that, well … we don’t know
what
happened.”

“
Assuming he ran a fever, I’d say it was a case of the flu. Which brings us, I suppose, back to how he contracted it.”

“
Just wondering here …” Cameron said, scratching the back of his head and looking down at his notepad, “any other reported cases in town recently?”

The doctor shook his head. “No, can’t say I’ve heard of anything like that.”

Cameron made a quick note, then looked up. “One more question,” he said. “Can the flu affect brain functioning?”

The doctor tilted his head slightly. “As in, causing someone to commit murder?”

“
Something like that.”

Grayson smiled grimly. “Highly unlikely. Influenza is a disease of the upper respiratory tract. It doesn’t really go anywhere else, unless it develops into meningitis. That’s when the virus spreads into the spinal cord or lining of the brain. Even so, I’ve never heard of it driving someone to murder. That would be so far out in left field … I just don’t see it. Besides, the symptoms of meningitis are frequent vomiting and severe neck pain. If anything, the victim becomes weaker, more incapacitated—not stronger and more violent. Besides, it sounds like Ben was in the very beginning stages of contracting the flu. Not much chance he already had meningitis at that point.”

“
Yeah,” Cameron replied, “the teacher said it seemed to come on pretty fast.”

“
Had they tested for flu or a meningitis infection during the autopsy?”

Cameron shook his head. “Not a standard procedure, and I’m afraid by the time we found out about it, our window of opportunity had already closed.”

“
I see … then I’m afraid I don’t know if I can offer anything else. For what it’s worth, the symptoms you describe
are
indicative of a standard case of influenza virus.” He thought for a moment. “I can check the medical journals on the slight chance there’s something about other conditions that might mimic influenza symptoms …”

Cameron shrugged as he stood up. “Anything would help.”

The receptionist seemed delighted to see him again, waving as though they were old friends. Cameron waved back with a thin smile. If there were a law against perky, he thought, Becky would be a first-class felon.

Chapter
Twenty-Six

Albuquerque, New Mexico

Kyle opened her eyes to a veil of darkness. It surrounded her, smothered her.

Her muscles pulled tightly against the back of her neck, and she could feel her pulse throbbing in her wrists. A short, vivid image had flashed through her mind, coming and going as quickly as the jump of a flame.

A voice, a name, and now a face. Kyle recognized her immediately.

It was the eyes. Green, but not the kind one might expect; the kind that you see when food spoils, a grimy, putrid shade, one that looks like it would stink. Behind them, an amber glow raged like two flaming jewels scorching through a quarry of darkness. Although the image hadn’t lasted long, barely a few seconds, there was enough for Kyle to absorb and commit to memory.

Bethany was a tiny waif of a child, with soiled, unkempt hair and a face not much cleaner. In fact, a layer of viscous, wet filth seemed to cover her entire body.

And there was something else—it was her expression: calm, except for a lingering impression of fear running just beneath the surface, barely detectable. Kyle knew the look, had seen it on many other occasions before on the faces of different children, ones who had not only died, but who also had done so under cruel and tragic circumstances.

Something horrible had happened to Bethany.

“
Follow me,”
she’d said, gesturing for Kyle to come toward her.

Follow her where?

Kyle wondered; but just like all the other times, Bethany disappeared before revealing the answer.

Why does the child vanish so quickly, if she wants me to follow?

The whole event happened just as Kyle had wandered into that intermediate stage, the one where the line between waking and dreaming often blurs—the one when
they
often liked to pay their visits.

Still, all she had was a jumble of disturbing, bloody images, along with a dirty little girl who appeared very timid, very scared, and very much
not
of this world.

It was a start, but hardly enough to go on.

Frustrated, Kyle rolled onto her side, her desire for answers wrestling against her need for a good night’s sleep. As it turned out, she would get neither.

Just outside her bedroom door, she heard a creaking noise, like footsteps. Kyle knew every sound in that house, every clank, thud, and squeak, and she could tell the exact spot from which that one had come.

Somebody was inside her house.

Chapter
Twenty-Seven

Albuquerque, New Mexico

Kyle pulled the nightstand drawer open, reached in, and wrapped her hand around the rubbery grip of her revolver. She’d bought the weapon years ago to protect herself against a patient-turned-stalker. Now, she was thankful to have left it there.

She heard a sharp thud outside her door and froze, afraid to move an inch, fearing even the squeak of a mattress might draw attention. Tightening her grip around the trigger, she held steady, waiting and watching.

But after several minutes of silence, Kyle saw and heard nothing.

Slowly, she eased her way out of bed, gun at her side, padding softly toward the door. Using her other hand, she turned the knob just enough to disengage it from the jamb, then pulled it open a crack so she could peer through.

The hallway was empty.

She moved on to the foyer, treading lightly, concentrating on every step, her senses heightened, her mind on high alert.

Suddenly, Kyle heard commotion coming from the living room downstairs and froze. She walked to the edge of the staircase, looked down, and drew a steadying breath.

When she reached the bottom of the steps, she immediately felt the air turn frigid. She’d wandered into a patch of ice-cold air so chilly that it turned her breath to steam as it left her mouth. A wave of goose bumps wriggled up her arms; still, she moved on.

But not quickly or easily. Along with the chill, a commanding resistance penetrated the air—something thick, soupy—and the harder she pushed against it, the stronger it seemed to become, like trying to defy a powerful water current. Laboring with each step, she struggled her way through it.

Kyle had experienced this phenomenon before but never to such an extreme.
Cold spots
, she remembered,
an indication of energy from a lingering, paranormal presence.

Slowly, she lowered the gun down by her side, knowing it would do her no good—you can’t shoot the dead.

She put the weapon away in a drawer and headed toward the living room.

Turning the corner, Kyle had the uneasy feeling that someone was standing directly behind her. She spun around, but saw nothing. Still, she couldn’t shake the intense impression of another’s presence.

A loud crash interrupted the thought, but it wasn’t coming from anywhere near her; it was coming from up near her bedroom.

Kyle looked toward the top of the staircase, then back down and across the living room. Noises were coming from all over the house. First upstairs, then downstairs, now upstairs again. She was chasing ghosts, chasing her fears, and getting nowhere.

Anger replaced fear as Kyle turned to climb the steps again, but upon reaching the top, her emotions quickly changed. She stared with disbelief at her bedroom door.

Closed. She knew she’d left it open.

But that wasn’t all—the doorknob was cold to the touch, icier than a tombstone in the dead of winter. Even worse, when she tried to pull her hand away, she found she couldn’t—her fingers stuck to it, fused like glue.

They were also quickly turning numb, which set off a wave of panic. Then her skin started to burn. Closing her eyes, Kyle leaned in slowly, and with force, pulled back quickly, breaking free, and landing on her backside.

Kyle sat motionless on the floor for a few seconds, catching her breath, while at the same time, trying to figure out what to do next.

Slowly, she got back to her feet, eyes trained on the door. Putting her hand inside her sleeve this time, she wrapped it around the knob, turned it, then pushed the door open. To her surprise, when she let go, it swung out violently, slamming against the wall. Startled but determined, she stepped forward, peered into her bedroom.

And saw nothing.

But she felt something: a hard slap across her face. She screamed, then heard more noise off in the distance, the sound of bells, hundreds of them. The sounds quickly graduated until finally reaching ear-shattering intensity.

Kyle finally gave in to her panic. Things were moving too fast. She didn’t know where to look or what to do next.

All of a sudden, the bells cut out at the same time, and there was complete silence.

Before she could gather her thoughts, she heard a child screaming, followed by a cold, tingling sensation that felt like icy water on her spine. Something, or
someone
, had just passed through her body. She had an idea who it was.

Kyle swung her head toward the window; it was wide open, although she knew she’d closed it earlier, and even though the wind was blowing in, the curtains were blowing
out
.

Just then, a powerful gale picked up speed and barreled toward her, lifting furniture inches from the floor, then slamming it down forcefully and violently. Things were falling off shelves; others did worse, flying across the room, one book missing her by inches as she dropped to the floor.

A brutal storm was raging inside her bedroom, inside her house. Determined to get to the window, Kyle picked herself up and pushed forward, struggling against the wind, the noise. When she finally got there, she caught the curtains with her hands and pulled them inside; as soon as she did, all the commotion instantly came to an abrupt halt.

The air was as calm as could be.

Kyle stood silent, gazing out at the bottomless night, wondering what she’d just experienced, and why. She closed the window and the drapes.

Then she crawled back into bed, burrowing beneath the covers and closing her eyes. But only for a few seconds. She jumped when she felt her toe pressing against slimy, cold flesh.

Someone was in her bed with her.

She screamed, swung her head to the right, and found a pair of flat, listless eyes staring back, only inches from hers.

Bethany lay right beside her, on her back, head turned toward Kyle, stringy, filthy hair clinging to her skin like wet, muddy grass. Kyle was peering into the eyes of a corpse.

She jumped from the bed and screamed, “What do you want?”

Bethany gave her the answer, coldly, impassively, and with only two words: “Help me.”

“
Help you what?” Kyle pleaded.

The child lay silent for a moment, a death rattle coming from her throat, dull, expressionless eyes still fixed intently on hers. “Five days,” she said, then paused. “You only have five days.”

And then the little girl was gone.

Chapter
Twenty-Eight

Highway 10

Faith, New Mexico

It didn’t take long for the other shoe to drop, and when it did, there was a loud, resounding thud, one that could be heard for miles.

Another victim.

This one turned up along the highway, about ten miles past the Fill ’n Grill Service Station and Diner. With the next sign of civilization more than twenty-five miles away, it was the perfect place to dump a body. The victim, a young female, lay inside a drainage ditch, barely visible from the road. A broken-down motorist had the misfortune of finding it first.

Deputies had already taken photos, bagged the hands for evidence, and cordoned off the scene by the time Cameron arrived to investigate. He slid down the steep embankment to take a better look, making sure only to step where there were no existing footprints or tracks.