Midnight Screams (Banshee Book 1) Read online

  By now, he figured Constable Rider would know everything he did. It made him feel light, purged even. Washed clean in more than just the physical sense. His bruises weren’t hurting and his split lip was healing nicely. Even his hair was being uncharacteristically cooperative. As he spiked the last tips, he decided that today, despite all odds, might actually be a good day. Singing along, he shoved everything into his backpack and glanced at his watch. There was still plenty of time for him to duck over to the café before class. If it had decent coffee and donuts, this would officially be the best day ever.

  He left the locker room and proceeded down the hall with a shimmy, a shake, and a flurry of footwork. Ending with a slide, he managed to travel a few feet before a hand grabbed him roughly by the hood of his sweater and yanked. Stumbling to keep upright, he was dragged into a janitor’s closet, crossing the limited space in a few steps. His back crashed into the shelves hard enough to shake his earphones free. The music still whispered into the room as the door swung shut, sealing him within utter darkness.

  Benton didn’t hesitate to charge forward the second he felt movement. He pushed the person before him into the now closed door with a solid thud. Aware of his lithe form, he pressed against the body, attempting to pin them before they could throw a swing. Shock turned him rigid when, instead of Victor’s bone and muscle, he found himself pressed against a far more yielding form. His limited experience with the sensation didn’t stop him from instantly recognizing the feeling of breasts molding to his chest.

  “Easy, it’s just me,” Nicole whispered.

  Her hot breath brushed over his neck in a way he enjoyed just a little too much and he lurched back until his spine collided with the shelf wall again.

  “Nicole?”

  After a shuffle and a soft tinkling sound, she found the pull chain and switched on the weak overhead bulb.

  “What is wrong with you?” he snapped.

  “Keep your voice down,” she whispered.

  “Why?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I don’t want anyone to overhear us, obviously. That’s the whole point of meeting in the closet.”

  “This isn’t ‘meeting,’ it’s kidnapping,” he hissed back. Every time she shushed him, he rose his voice a little louder. “And if you want to have a private conversation, we could have just talked in the completely empty hallway!”

  “Are you always so tense?”

  He stared at her for a long moment. She stared back, as if she didn’t understand why he would object to being randomly pulled into a storage room a day after being violently attacked. Coming down from his shock, he reached for the door handle.

  “I’m leaving.”

  She slapped his hand away.

  “We haven’t even talked yet.”

  “Why ruin a good thing?”

  Again, he put his hand out and again she slapped it. Somehow, she was able to get a lot of pain out of such a small movement.

  “Could you be serious for one moment?” she asked, her mouth scrunching up into a frown.

  “I am. I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “That’s not how you should talk to a friend.”

  “Yeah, still not my friend.”

  Nicole closed her eyes, lifted her hands, and took deep soothing breaths. When she spoke next, her voice had returned to its peppy hostess tone.

  “I apologize, I don’t mean to pressure you into saying it. Your actions speak loud enough.”

  “My actions?”

  His eyes widened when she lifted the stack of loose pages he had ripped from his notebook. The dream. She had the printed copy of the dream.

  “Why do you have that?”

  Casually, she folded the stack in half and neatly slid them back into her bag. “I couldn’t leave them at home. Mom might have stumbled across them.”

  He rocked on his feet as his stomach plummeted into his shoes. “She hasn’t seen them?”

  There was a slight squeak in his voice but she didn’t seem to notice. She actually looked proud.

  “Don’t worry, I kept it out of sight.”

  “Why would you do that?” He bent forward with the sheer force of his bellow.

  At last, he got a reaction out of her. Unfortunately, she just looked surprised.

  “What is wrong with you?” he snapped.

  “Keep your voice down.”

  “You need to give that to your mother! Now!”

  “If you wanted her to see it, why did you leave it for me?”

  A manic bubble of laughter escaped him as he clutched his hands into his hair. “I didn’t.”

  “It was on my porch.”

  “Your mother’s porch.”

  “Benton, you need to calm down,” she said with practiced control. “You’re not making any sense.”

  “What?” He clenched his jaw to stifle his anger as she shushed him again. “Let me get this straight; you find a story depicting a gruesome death, quite possibly evidence in a crime, on your doorstep. And you decide that it can’t be for your mother, a highly trained, law enforcement officer with access to firearms. No, it has to be for you, a neurotic overbearing teenager. Did I get that right?”

  “Well, I just naturally assumed.”

  “When Hannibal Lecter comes to town, you tell the Federal Police, not the Scooby Gang!” he hissed.

  “Mystery Inc.” she mumbled sorely. “The company name of the Scooby Gang is Mystery Inc.”

  “It doesn’t matter!”

  “Scooby-Doo is a much loved childhood memory for many people–”

  “Oh my God,” he muttered as he began restlessly shift around the limited space. “You are deranged. Give that to your mother.”

  “No.”

  “Say again.”

  “No. We’re going to find Victor and take care of the empusa on our own.”

  Confusion forced aside his anger. “What the hell is an empusa?”

  “It’s from Greek mythology. Kind of like a transporting vampire that preys on men.”

  He stared at her.

  “I couldn’t figure out what it is. So I’m working the different options into sentences and seeing what sounds correct,” she pulled a slip of paper and pen from her pocket and scribbled something out. “Not empusa.”

  “Nicole,” he said slowly. “You do remember that I’m on the outside of your head, right? I’m going to need a little more of an explanation.”

  “Vic’s so called girlfriend. It’s not human, right? You’ve been in its head, you know. I’m trying to figure out what it is so I can kill it.”

  He stammered, “What?”

  “It’s going to kill my friend,” she said, jutting her chin out defiantly. “It’s killed others. We need to take care of this.”

  “No, your mother needs to take care of this. She’s the one with access to guns, remember?”

  “I have access to guns.”

  “Why do you have access to guns?” he snapped with horror. “You should not be allowed to have that.”

  “That hurt my feelings.”

  He pressed his fingers to his temples as he tried to regroup. “Nicole, she’s trained for this sort of thing. She signed up for it.”

  “She’s trained to handle human felons. Even if we did tell her, she’s not going to believe us. She’ll be putting herself in unnecessary danger and I can’t allow that.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “We’ll be just fine on our own.”

  “Why do you keep using plurals?” Benton asked hesitantly.

  “Because you’re coming with me.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “I can assure you that you are mistaken,” he said as he reached for the door again.

  “I need help looking through Victor’s house.” She slapped his hand again, sharper than before.

  Holding her gaze, he stressed every word. “I do not care.”

  “Well, prepare to care,” Nicole said sternly. “Because if you d
on’t help me, I’m going to tell my mother exactly who wrote that story.”

  “Go ahead.”

  She jolted. “Huh?”

  Feeling like he finally had the upper hand in this conversation, Benton smirked. “It will be your word against mine.”

  “And why would my mother,” she stressed the words with a hint of mockery, “not take my word over yours?”

  He pointed to her bag. “Maybe because if you’re telling the truth, you’re admitting to willfully tampering with evidence in a criminal case. You really should have handed that over.”

  “Oh,” she whispered.

  “You’re horrible at blackmailing people.”

  She frowned. “I’m just new at it.”

  “Right,” he shook his head. “I’m leaving.”

  Nicole instantly moved to block his path. She scrunched up her mouth, narrowed her eyes, and balled her fists until her arms shook just a little.

  “What is that? What’s going on here?” He waved a hand in the air to indicate her face.

  “I’m staring you down with my steeling glare.”

  “I’m not going.”

  Her confusion was quickly replaced with determination. “Aren’t you a little curious as to how I knew you wrote it?”

  Benton froze. “How?”

  “Victor sent it to me. So I’m guessing there’s a file somewhere on his computer which will look pretty incriminating given recent events. Like how you promised to kill him in front of a police officer.” Nicole took a step closer, holding his gaze with a challenge of her own. “Now I’m not tech savvy. I have no idea if that file will lead straight back to you, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is; are you tech savvy enough to be sure that your butt is covered?”

  The truth was, Benton wasn’t.

  “Damn it,” he hissed.

  “Exactly. Now, stop fussing and get in the car.” She flung open the door and pointed down the hallway like a teacher sending a child to time out.

  Chapter 12

  Benton shivered as Nicole edged her jeep deeper into the shadows of the house. It loomed up outside of his window like a gigantic beast made of warm wood and crimson tiles. Nicole didn’t stop the jeep. Under the roar of the engine, he could hear the gravel drive crunching under the wheels, the sound putting him on edge. The house was picturesque, set upon the brilliant green of the surrounding property. He couldn’t see a single thing that wasn’t beautiful and quaint. Not a single reason why he suddenly felt like spiders were crawling under his skin. He didn’t want to go in there.

  “Are you picking up on something?”

  Benton rocked forward with shock as Nicole sharply slammed on the breaks. He turned to find her watching him intensely, expectantly.

  “I’m not psychic,” he snapped.

  “Are you sure? Have you tried?”

  His mouth pulled into a snarl. She sighed, pulled out the paper and pen he had seen in the storage closet, and scribbled something on it.

  “What was that?” he said.

  She snapped her head up to study the house. “What? Where?”

  “I meant in your hand.”

  Instantly, she shoved everything back into her pocket. “Nothing.”

  “You have a list on me?”

  “In my defense, there’s obviously something up with you and you’re not being forthcoming.”

  “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered.

  “Thank you.”

  He closed his eyes. She had to be messing with him and he refused to give her a reaction. When he felt a little more in control, he opened his eyes to look out the window. A scream ripped from him, sharp and short, as he threw himself back. The gear shift dug into his spine, Nicole shot questions at a rapid pace, but he didn’t notice either. Everything within him was focused on the dark specter by his side. Separated by a thin layer of glass, its edges blurred as if it were a smear against the air itself. It didn’t have a face, just a blob of white bone that tarnished the bottomless pit. Still, he knew it was looking at him.

  “What’s wrong? What’s there?” Nicole asked hurriedly.

  It moved like smoke as it lifted another patch of white to the window. A sharp, grinding squeak cut through the car; Nicole heard it. Her fingers dug painfully into his right shoulder as she finally fell silent. Benton recognized the sound. Not from his real life, but from the shattered remains of a dream. It was the sound of bare bone grinding against glass.

  He jolted when the being moved. It drifted backwards, gliding over the earth without ever touching it, slipping up the stairs, and disappearing through the front door. The journey took a split second. It never stopped looking at him. It never stopped pointing.

  “Go,” Benton said numbly. “Now.”

  Nicole brought the jeep back to life then stopped. “We need to find Vic.”

  His frustration boiled over and he whirled around to face her. “Death just went into that house, and it was staring at me.”

  “What?”

  Instantly, Nicole fumbled with her seatbelt and was out of the jeep before he could grab her. Hurling every profanity he could think of at her didn’t stop her from running towards the house. He jumped out of the car but didn’t follow.

  “Did you miss the part about Death?” he roared.

  Without hesitation, she wrenched the door open and ran inside. “It’s after Vic!”

  A second later, she was gone, taken from his sight by the shadows of the house. Alone, Benton glanced over his shoulder, his hands tightening around the edge of the door. The jeep was still rumbling, the keys swinging tantalizingly, begging him to just get in and go. With a sharp growl, he ran towards the house, leaving the jeep door wide open.

  His conviction vanished when he reached the threshold and saw the deep shadows that drenched the house. None of them seemed real. As if they had no dimension to them, no depth. Unsure what to do, he shouted for Nicole. His voice echoed back to him like a taunt and he shuddered. Awkwardly shifting his weight, he strained to hear over the thunderous roar of his own heart. Racing footsteps slapped across the kitchen floor. He moved towards it before he could stop himself.

  The shards of sunlight cutting through the kitchen windows were a comfort. They illuminated the space in a homey glow, lighting up the dust that drifted lazily in the air. He took a single step onto the tiles and the world went black. Blinking rapidly, he turned around, desperately searching for a single trace of the light. There was nothing. Almost tripping over his own feet, he spun around, ready to flee to the front door. There was nothing there. Only complete, unbroken darkness.

  At first, he had just thought it was a trick of his eyes. He couldn’t breathe as a slow procession of white patches began to litter across the world around him. They began to move, drifting closer without creating a single sound. It was then that he knew. They weren’t a trick of the light. Death was before him, around him, so numerous that they blotted out the sun. He screamed.

  ***

  The house was empty. Nicole checked every room in rapid succession but couldn’t find a single person. There was no trace that anyone had been there in days. Panting, she burst out the back door and glanced around the backyard. The sun twinkled off something metal in the distance. She squinted into the glare and was about to move forward when she heard Benton scream.

  Heart lurching into her throat, she barreled back into the house as fast as her legs would allow. She slipped over the kitchen tiles as she tried to bring herself to a sudden stop. Benton stood in the middle of the room, arms thrashing, stumbling around with wide, unseeing eyes.

  “Benton?”

  He instantly turned to her voice but didn’t look at her.

  “I can’t see,” he whimpered as he staggered towards her.

  “We’re getting out of here.”

  She reached out to grab his questing hand. Then she saw it. An eye. It watched her from within the gap created by the cupboard doors. Glassy and wild, it belonged to something far too big to fit within the
limited space of the cupboard. Impossibly, the clawed hand snapped out through the slip of space. Benton turned within the same second.

  Blood splattered across the walls, punctuated by the ripping of clothes and the wet sound of severing flesh. Grasping at his chest, Benton staggered and crumbled onto his back. She was by his side in a second, hands wrapping around his arm, her back aching as she dragged his weight back onto his feet.

  “It’s me,” she told him as he struggled against her.

  Teeth clenched against the pain, he scrambled to his feet and allowed her to pull his arm across her shoulders. Together they hobbled towards the door. The eye followed. It appeared in every crack. The gap between the window frame and the wall. The slats of the floorboards. The space between the couch cushions.

  Blood soaked Benton’s hoodie. His knees buckled, jarring her with his weight and almost bringing them both down onto the living room floor. The floor rug bunched under their feet, making it harder to keep them upright. He clung to her, his fingers leaving trails of blood across her jacket.

  “Just a little further,” she assured.

  Benton was shaking as they ran out the front door, the eye watching them go with an unblinking glare. They staggered down the steps. His feet stopped moving, forcing her to drag him, his shoes cutting groves into the gravel. She didn’t dare to look back. Blindly, Benton reached for the car and half fell onto the passenger seat. Sweat dripped from his fevered skin. Heat radiated through the denim of his jeans as she forced his legs up. The second his feet were out of the way, she slammed the door shut and ran to the driver’s side.

  “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed as she locked the door behind her. “It’s going to be okay. It will. We’re leaving.”

  She reached across him to lock his door just as he lurched forward. A thick sludge spewed from his mouth. It was stark white and had the appearance of a solid form even as it dripped over the dashboard. Nicole pulled back, watching in horror as Benton hurled again. He slammed back against the chair, body rigid and neck straining. The white substance began to seep through the blood oozing from the open wound on his chest.